#IT WAS ONLY AFTER I TAUGHT IT THAT PEOPLE MATTERED THAT IT COULD BEGIN TO BE ABLE TO HELP THEM. ( the machine )

[artytaeh]

okay. so, hear me out

we all talk about how the slytherin boys seem to never loose a chance for a fight. doesn’t matter the reason, or if there is any in the first place. it’s a well known fact they’re good with their firsts

but i thought . .

what would each of the slytherin boys’ reaction be to you throwing a punch for them because `` somebody was talking shit about them behind their back `` ?

the second paragraph got my attention. it made me think why the slytherin boys would get into fistfights and how good they are at throwing a punch.

mattheo's experience was built in physical impulsivity since he first felt the need to defend himself; theodore learned from mattheo because being his best friend walks hand in hand with supporting mattheo through his chaos; lorenzo comes from observing mattheo's antics; blaise definitely got a stepfather somewhere who was closer than the others, and blaise liked him because he taught blaise stuff that fathers, typically, teach their sons; draco is lucky that he's armed with a lot of rings and somehow it works.

about being defended by their significant other...

MATTHEO is torn. on one hand, hot as fuck; on the other hand, please tell him that it didn't fuck up your knuckles. definitely giddy that he was worth the fight in someone's eyes, especially a loved one like you are. if you got hurt, mattheo will carefully bandage/take care of your fingers himself, then teach you how to properly land a punch — and the weakest spots you could go for, in any scenario you might find yourself in. still insists that you have him for a reason; mattheo is here to beat up his way for you, so no need for you to get your hands dirty. probably the beginning of playing tickle fights.

THEODORE immediately dislikes the idea that he indirectly provoked problems slash pain for his partner. even though theo can't control people's opinions, he can't help the guilt that naturally comes to him, wondering if his bad habits are being, somehow, influencing you to do the same. doesn't want you to think that he's angry, so after some silence, he gives you a smile and breaks the quietness with a sarcastic comment to make you laugh. discreetly implies that he'd rather not bring you to his mess, while pressing a kiss to each of your knuckles.

LORENZO would be giddy. at first, his boyfriend instincts would fire loud alarms in his mind, then soothing with a sense of pride that he's being defended by his partner. enzo enjoys the attention, truly, to the point that he doesn't immediately get upset that people are tearing his image apart in a harmful way. gently coaxes you away from the conflict, caressing the hands that defended him with you on his lap; kisses you silly, every inch of skin he finds. and when you're distracted, enzo makes sure that he got the funny guy or girl alone to make a proper threat to shut the fuck up—more important than that, for them to leave his partner alone.

BLAISE doesn't fancy conflicts. avoids them because he's too classy and superior to that, unless absolutely necessary—if someone manages to get him that furious, or to make sure that his friends aren't outnumbered. blaise might hear people talking badly about him, but in his eyes, it's more powerful the act of not caring/treating those gossip as an unimportant thing that'd waste his time clearing up. that being said, wouldn't really like that you are increasing the problem—but wouldn't be mean about it. takes you away from the fight with grace, smoothly talks you into ignoring those words with him.

DRACO is a mess of different opinions, thoughts and feelings. it's not a surprise that he'd enjoy the chaos, especially if his partner landed a good hit on whoever low life that wasted time badmouthing draco. makes a 'oooh' sound—like in poa during beasts class, or gof while cheering for the dragons—with his friends joining to hype you up. only afterwards does he get slightly insecure that people might think that he needs someone to defend him, because he's not enough to defend himself on his own. wouldn't take it out on you, but the doubt would eat him away.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 14: "The one with the nightly calls" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: With Frankie in Boston, the small phone calls at night begin to carry more weight. Meanwhile, things get harder for him. But it doesn’t take long before he’s close to you again. WC: 16k

A/N: I have nothing to say… just thank u for reading and sooo much love to all of you!! Don't forget to let me know what you think, your feedback really matters <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

Wednesday, October 16th

Frankie called you after dinner. He’d been in Boston for almost two weeks now. He left on a Friday—the fourth Friday of the month.

The first night he called, it felt casual, like a passing thought. He told you about his day, the kinds of things he did and saw, because you hadn’t spoken at all that day. The next night, at almost the exact same hour, he called again. He didn’t seem to notice the pattern. But by the third night, you were already waiting for it, your phone close by, your chest pulling quietly toward the sound of his voice.

Tonight, you took a shower and got into bed with Mr. Darcy. You already knew your phone would ring, maybe not right away, but soon. And when it did, it would be him.

Sometimes the conversations meandered. He’d talk about Jamie, mostly—how they spent hours walking, sometimes talking, often in silence. Frankie didn’t say it outright, but you could tell he was trying to anchor Jamie to something steady, something outside of the hospital walls and the quiet fear threading its way through their days. Because Henry, his dad, was sick. Not just the kind of sick that passed with time, but the other kind—the one people didn’t like to name until they absolutely had to. They were still waiting on tests, on confirmation, but everyone knew. It hung there between them.

Luna seemed steadier with her family around. Frankie told you that most evenings they all sat together in the living room, watching movies with the lights low and the volume too high, like maybe sound could shield them from dread. Helena didn’t want to go back to Austin just yet. But Frankie wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay. Work was waiting, and so was everything else he’d pressed pause on. Still, every time he mentioned going back, Luna reminded him—gently, but firmly—that it was okay to leave when he needed to. That it didn’t make him a bad brother. That love could stretch across state lines and that being present didn’t always mean being in the same place.

With Jamie, Frankie seemed lighter somehow. He’d tell you stories every night—about the park they discovered not far from Luna’s house, where the trees were tall and gold-tipped, and how Jamie insisted on racing him from bench to bench, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. They rode bikes, Frankie jogging beside him when the hill felt too steep. He taught Jamie how to cast a fishing line, how to use his fingers to tie little knots that held. There was something grounding in it, he said, using your hands like that. Jamie clung to him with a kind of unspoken admiration that made something in Frankie’s voice catch when he talked about it. One night, Jamie asked him if he’d take him flying someday—really flying—and Frankie said he would. In Austin, he promised. When they came to visit.

Each night he’d give you pieces of his day, and you’d offer yours in return—your routines, the small details of your work hours. You told him that Santi had been trying, with the kind of stubborn optimism only he could sustain, to organize a group trip somewhere not too far, somewhere quiet, maybe on a weekend.

“When Fish gets back,” he had said, like it was obvious.

You’d seen Emma a few days ago too. She wasn't that subtle about this new thing going on with you. She never was. She tried, in her own way, to keep her thoughts to herself, but she had a certain look when she did—eyebrows tight, lips curved, like biting back smiles and words.

“I’m not going to say anything,” she told you one afternoon while you were pushing a cart through the grocery store. That night you were making pasta—she was on sauce duty, claiming it was the only white sauce worth making. “I know how you get. All bashful and avoidant every time I bring him up.”

“I know what you think,” you said, grabbing a bottle of olive oil and dropping it into the cart. “You think we’re rushing things. You don’t have to say it. I can see it in your face.”

“Rushing?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “He’s in another state. You talk once a day, maybe twice. I don’t think it’s too fast. I think you’re moving the way people move when something it's... you know.” She turned away from you, scanned the row of spices, distracted. “What I do think is that you haven’t realized that you’re probably already dating.”

You blinked. “We’re not dating.”

“Oh no?” she turned back, one brow still raised, like a challenge. “Then what exactly are you doing?”

“We’re… friends. More than friends. For now. I dunno. Don’t name it.”

Emma smiled, but not in a mocking way. It was softer than that.

“More than friends,” she echoed. “You should see the way you sound at night when you talk to him. You get this voice. All careful and… sweet. ‘When are you coming back?’ ‘How’s everything over there?’” she teased, doing a vague imitation of your voice that didn’t sound like you at all, but you let her have it.

You laughed, half-guilty, half-exposed. “I dunno. It just sounds too serious to say things like that.”

“To say what? That you miss him?”

You looked away, pretending to search the shelf behind her for something—anything—your fingers trailing along the edges of jars you didn’t need.

“I think he’d like to hear it,” she added, quieter this time.

And you didn’t say anything, but you wondered if maybe he would.

So the days passed quietly. The nights followed suit—predictable, comforting, marked now by something you hadn’t anticipated relying on. Each evening, almost without exception, his call came at the same time. Not by agreement, not because you’d asked him to. It just kept happening, like some new law of nature.

Tonight was no different. You were already in bed, the lights off, your room wrapped in the soft blue glow of the TV. Some show played faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching it.

Your eyes were half-shut, your body sinking into the warmth of your comforter, your breathing deepening without your permission. It wasn’t even that late—barely past nine—but the day had pulled at you from every direction, and you felt the weight of it in your bones.

When your phone buzzed, you didn’t startle. You simply reached for it under the covers, your fingers brushing past Mr. Darcy, curled at your side. He flicked his tail in protest.

You didn’t need to check the screen. You already knew. But you did anyway, as you always did.

[Frankie🍾 ]

The contact photo was one you had taken right after the skydive. His hair had been wild from the wind, his cheeks flushed from adrenaline. He wasn’t looking straight at the camera—his smile was off to the side, crooked in that way you had started to recognize as entirely him. He was still wearing the black jumpsuit, the straps hanging loose around his shoulders like he hadn’t had the energy to take it off yet.

You pressed accept and stretched out, your voice sleep-rough as you spoke.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Were you asleep?”

“No. Almost. I’m in bed.”

“Long day?” he asked, and then you heard it—the brief crackle of static, the soft inhale. He was smoking.

“You?”

“Not really. I’m out in the yard. Bambi’s trying to lick my face.”

You laughed, quietly. “Leave him alone. Those are dog kisses. That means he loves you.”

“Well, I hope Mr. Darcy doesn’t hold it against me when I come back. Do you think he’ll know?”

“Oh, he’ll know,” you said, smiling into the dark. “He’ll smell the betrayal. You’ll have to earn his forgiveness.”

“Mmm. You know him best. What’s the strategy?”

“The obvious one,” you murmured. “Food. Kibble and wet tuna. He’s kind of basic like that.”

“Reliable,” Frankie said. “I like that in a man.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just listened to the soft night sounds on his end of the call—the wind, maybe, the distant creak of something wooden, the faint thump of paws on the grass. You imagined him out there, sitting outside like the previous nights, Bambi pressed against his side. You imagined the glow of the cigarette, how it lit up his features for brief seconds at a time.

“And what about you?” he asked.

You turned slightly, shifting beneath the covers. “What about me?”

“How am I supposed to deal with you?”

For a moment, you didn’t speak.

“I think I’m easier,” you said eventually. “Just seeing you would be enough.”

There was a beat, and then you heard him exhale through his nose, amused. The kind of quiet, private laugh he gave when he didn’t want to sound too affected.

“I’ll be back this weekend. Maybe sooner.”

You smiled into the dark, instinctively, and tried to temper your voice. “Really?”

“Yeah. Mai and I. Mom’s staying a bit longer. She wants to be around to help Luna and Henry with Jamie while they take care of everything else.”

“How are they doing?” 

“Better,” he said, and you could hear the thoughtfulness in it. “Or, I don’t know—better within the context of everything. Henry’s holding up. Luna too. They took Jamie out for a walk today, just the three of them. She said it helped. Like things made sense, even if only for an hour.”

“That sounds nice,” you said. “I bet Jamie loved that.”

“He did,” Frankie said, and there was a warmth in his tone. “Then when they got home, he asked me to take him to the movies. Invited two of his friends. He planned the whole thing himself—texted their moms and everything.”

You smiled. “He really likes having you around.”

“Yeah, he does,” Frankie said, and he was laughing now, low and incredulous. “I think he thinks I’m cooler than I actually am. We saw some video game movie. The boys were hyped. I was just… lost.”

You laughed. “You’re getting old.”

“Maybe. Do you have any idea how many words I didn’t recognize tonight?”

“How many?”

“Definitely more than three. Jamie tried to explain them all, but when I tried to use one in a sentence, he told me I was ‘cringe’ and should just stop.”

You laughed again. Mr. Darcy shifted beside you, unimpressed by the noise.

“You’re officially out of touch.” 

“I think I’ve made peace with it,” he said. “If it means I get to be the uncool adult who buys popcorn and lets them talk through the previews, I’ll take it.”

“Come on, tell me one of the words.”

There was a pause. Frankie made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. You can tell me when you’re back, then.”

“I’m not making any promises,” he said, amusement spilling through the line. You heard the faint inhale of a cigarette, the soft exhale that followed. “My mom says hi, by the way. Actually, they all do. But she wanted me to tell you that her hello is the most enthusiastic. Like, she made a point of that.”

You grinned. “Tell her I say hi too. To everyone. But especially her.”

“I’ll pass it on. Bambi—hey, hey, off,” he muttered, the sound of shuffling fabric and a low thud in the background. “Goddamn, I swear. He’s trying to climb on top of me. Anyway—what did you do today?”

“Nothing thrilling,” you said. “Work was the same as usual. After that I stopped by Bill’s. It’s almost finished now. It’s looking really good. Just needs the shelves filled and maybe a few more touches.”

“That sounds nice,” he said, and you could hear him settling again, like he’d shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be a great space. After that Julie said she was craving burgers, so we got burgers. Then I came home. I had a headache so I took something for it and stood under the hot water for a while. That helped. And now I’m here. TV on, lights off. Mr. Darcy’s asleep at my side. Very thrilling night.”

He laughed softly. “That’s good, though. That you’re okay. God, you have no idea how much I miss my bed.”

“Are you not sleeping well?”

“Not really. Jamie wears me out in the best way—he’s got me running around after him like I’m twenty again. I forgot how much stamina kids have.” There was a pause, and a sound like he’d scratched his jaw. “But even when I’m tired, it’s hard to actually sleep. I sort of just lie there.”

You frowned a little, your voice gentler. “You should go to bed early tonight. Take a hot shower. I know I sound like one of those people who don't get it but, that helps me. Maybe it works for you too?”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Although I need to know—how hot is this magical shower supposed to be? Because when you say hot, you mean skin-peeling, bone-melting hot.”

You laughed. “I don’t know, Francisco. Hot enough for you. Warm enough to trick your body into relaxing. And then don’t get stuck in front of the TV like you always do.”

“You’re watching TV now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have trouble sleeping,” you countered, tugging the blanket higher over your chest. “The moment we hang up, I’m out. Like a light. I’ll sleep better than a baby.”

“Are you mocking me?” he asked, half-playful, but with just enough mock offense to make you laugh again.

“I would never.”

“Oh, I have screenshots,” he said. You could hear the grin in his voice. “You think I don’t, but I do.”

“Fake screenshots. Fabricated evidence.”

“Sure, sure. Who does nothing fears nothing—or something like that.”

You didn’t speak for a few seconds. The warmth in your chest had started to climb, spreading outward.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, “go try to sleep, okay? I miss you. Call me tomorrow.”

It came out faster than you intended, like the words had been waiting behind your teeth for too long.

There was a pause on the other end. Not long, but long enough to make your heart jump once, then again.

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Get some sleep,” you repeated, more carefully this time. “Call me tomorrow.”

“No.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “No? What do you mean no? You’re not going to call me?” you asked, voice light, teasing. “Or you’re not going to sleep?”

There was a pause before Frankie answered. On the other end of the line, you heard the soft rustle of wind or leaves, and then the familiar sound of him inhaling. A breath in. Then a quiet exhale of smoke.

He laughed softly. “Sure, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay.”

“And I miss you too.”

You closed your eyes and felt the heat rush to your cheeks, your mouth curving helplessly. You were glad the lights were off, as if that could somehow protect you from how young and exposed you felt in that moment. There was something embarrassingly teenage about it—your heart beating a little too fast, your body betraying you.

You let out a soft laugh, not bothering to hide it. If he heard it, let him.

“Okay,” you murmured, “ now go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You get really commanding sometimes,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll listen to you. Just this once, just tonight.”

“Mhm. Return to Ithaca, Odysseus.”

Frankie smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling up almost involuntarily. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and he didn’t bother to hide it. At his feet, Bambi was curled up, eyes lifted toward him, the whites gleaming like thin crescents in the low light.

“See you soon,” he said, voice low.

“See you soon, Francisco,” you said. Then the call ended—cut clean, final.

He stared down at the screen, thumb hovering over your name. Your contact photo was still the one he’d taken the day you went skydiving—your hair a mess, the sky swallowing the plane behind you, your smile too big for the frame. He remembered the way you had turned to him, half-nervous, half-thrilled. How he hadn’t been able to look away.

“If you keep grinning like that, it’s going to get stuck,” said a voice beside him.

Frankie startled. He hadn’t heard her come out. Luna.

She laughed, full and unbothered, and he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray before tucking his phone into the front pocket of his hoodie.

Luna sat next to him, cross-legged, her shoulders brushing his lightly. She tipped her head back and looked up, at the sky.

“Jamie passed out like a log,” she murmured. “I’m guessing you’re wiped too.”

“A bit.”

She tilted her head to look at him properly, her expression gentle.

“You’ve got shadows under your eyes. I keep hearing you come down here after midnight.”

“Not me. Maybe the house is haunted.”

That made her laugh again. She let the silence settle for a moment before asking, “Did you tell her you’re flying back tomorrow?”

He exhaled, drawing a hand over his mouth. “No. I thought maybe—”

“Frankie.” Her voice was gentle. Not scolding, not pushy. “It’s okay. You need to go home. We’re okay here. All of us.”

He hesitated. “I told Jamie I’d take him to the museum.”

“You can take him next time.” She reached out, laid a hand on his forearm. “He’ll understand. He’s a tough kid. And honestly, he’s had the best time with you here. You’ve given him something special. I should thank you for that.”

He smiled, eyes fixed on the horizon like something might move out ther.

“It’s nothing. I .. I like it here,” he said, pausing. Then, quieter: “And sometimes I miss you. A little. You know that, right?”

Luna let out a soft laugh, folding her arms across her chest. “Do you? That’s news to me. You barely even call.”

Frankie turned his head, gave her a look that hovered somewhere between amused and exasperated. “The phone works both ways, Luna.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She nudged his knee with hers, a teasing gesture. “Speaking of phone calls... how’s your girl?”

“She’s okay,” he said, voice neutral, almost too casual.

“Did you tell her Mom says hi? You know she’ll ask me if you did.”

Frankie laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I passed it along.”

Luna leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Another reason you should head back. She’s waiting for you.” Her voice was light, but not unkind. She tapped him on the shoulder. “And you’re turning red, by the way. I can see it even in this light.”

“Jesus,” Frankie muttered, rubbing a hand across his face.

She ignored that. “Sofi wants to make a bet,” she said with a grin. “She says we should guess how long it’ll take before you pro—”

“Oh, my God.” He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. When he looked at her again, there was a faint plea in his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?” Luna laughed, unbothered. “We like her. That’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it? That we all like her?”

Frankie shook his head like he was trying to dislodge the whole conversation. There was something boyish in the way he looked down at the floor, something almost shy.

“Relax, I’m joking,” Luna said, her voice light, almost airy. “It just wouldn’t be as much fun teasing you if you didn’t turn that exact shade of red every single time.”

Frankie took a step back, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

She kept looking at him, her smile lingering. Then her gaze shifted—first to Bambi, who was lying at her feet with his tail starting to sweep rhythmically across the floor, then back to Frankie.

“How are things with her?” she asked. “Is she good to you?”

Frankie laughed quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor.

He knew what she meant. Not just the words, but what lived underneath them. Is she different from Rachel? That was the real question. Of course Luna would never ask that outright—she was too tactful for that, too soft in her own way—but he could see it in the set of her mouth, in the steadiness of her stare.

“She is,” he said eventually. “She’s better than I probably deserve.”

Luna tilted her head, frowning slightly. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked away. “She’s… patient. With me. More than she needs to be. Sometimes I say things, or do things, and I know they don’t come out right. I confuse her. And still, she tries to understand me. Always.”

“And you don’t think you deserve that?”

“I think I can be difficult,” he admitted. “Hard to be around, sometimes.”

“Mm. That's not true.”

“I’ve been worse than usual lately,” he added. “But I can talk to her about it. She listens.”

He looked over at his sister, and she gave him this quiet, knowing smile. Frankie hesitated, the memory creeping up before he had a chance to decide whether or not to share it.

“You know,” he said, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment. “You know we didn’t get along at first. At all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There was this fight. Not just a little disagreement. A real argument. We were in the car. I was driving her home, and… I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed too far. She cried. I could tell I was making it worse even while I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop. I think I felt—desperate, or something.”

He paused, shaking his head slowly, like he still couldn’t believe himself.

“We were talking about something, about her life, something that mattered to her, and I just bulldozed through it. She got out of the car and walked home in the dark. I left. I didn’t go after her. I went home and felt like absolute shit.”

Luna didn’t interrupt. She was still watching him.

He reached down, brushed his hand along Bambi’s back.

“A couple days later, I went to her place. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had to show up. And she was upset too. Not just about the argument, but everything that came before it. She told me I’d hurt her. Not just that night—over the years. And she was right. But then she asked if I’d forgive her too. She said she wanted to start over.”

He looked at Luna then, his voice softer. “And I told her, ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s try.’ And we did. But I still don’t know what she sees in me. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.”

He stared ahead, posture still, his breath leaving him in a quiet exhale through his nose. Not quite a sigh. Something smaller. More contained.

Luna parted her lips, about to speak, but Frankie beat her to it.

“And I don’t mean it like a rational thing,” he said. “Not like a clear thought I tell myself—‘you don’t deserve this’—it’s not that. It’s more like... even when everything’s good, when I’m with her and I actually feel happy—I... I..." He stopped abruptly, as if startled by what he had just said. “I mean... like, like there’s this feeling underneath it. Like I’m doing something wrong by being there. Like I’ve stolen someone else’s seat.” He glanced at her, but only briefly. “Like I don’t belong next to her. Like I don’t deserve her.”

Luna didn’t move for a second. Then she tilted her head, the corners of her mouth pulled down in something between sympathy and disbelief. Frankie looked away again, eyes flicking down to the dog lying at their feet.

“And so I leave,” he added, voice lower now. “I pull away. I don’t mean to. I just… I don’t know how to hold it all without feeling like I’ll break something. And she never blames me. Somehow, she gets it.”

Luna closed her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together. When she looked at him again, there was a wrinkle between her brows.

“Why wouldn’t you deserve someone who’s patient with you? Who actually listens to you?” Her hand moved to his arm, light pressure just enough to make him feel anchored. “None of what you’re telling yourself is true. You know that, right?”

Frankie wanted to nod. He wanted to meet her eyes and say yes, he knew. But instead, his head tilted a little, the motion uncertain, unfinished.

She didn’t wait. “Well, you have to start knowing. Because someone made you believe the opposite. Someone taught you not to expect anything good. They conditioned you to settle for the scraps they gave you and convinced you that was all you’d ever get. And it wasn’t just one conversation or one mistake. It was years of it. Of being made small.”

Her voice didn’t waver, even as her fingers gripped his sleeve tighter. “Of course it’s going to take time to undo that. Of course it’s hard to believe anything else. But you can. And you have to. Because this—” she gestured, vaguely—“this doesn’t get to be the end of the story.”

Frankie looked at her, his face unreadable but not closed off.

“And I know it’s not going to be easy,” Luna said. “But you have to try. Because if what you have in front of you is something good, something that makes you better, you don’t just get to let it slip through your hands.”

She paused, watching him closely, like she was trying to gauge whether the words were landing where they needed to.

“Yeah, she’s patient,” she went on. “She obviously cares about you. But people have limits. You keep handing someone your doubt over and over again, eventually they get tired of carrying it.”

She exhaled, slowly, as if remembering something. Or maybe trying to forget. “It’s awful. That feeling of being with someone but not knowing where you stand. Wondering if they love you, or if they’re just staying because it’s easier than leaving for good.” Her gaze lifted, her expression hardening just slightly. “I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

She leaned in a little, her tone shifting—not cruel, but pointed. “So figure it out. Be brave about it. Don’t leave her sitting in the dark, trying to guess how you feel. If you do, you will lose her. Don't fuck it up.”

Something tightened in Frankie’s stomach. That peculiar mix of dread and longing. He wanted to explain—wanted to say, I’m not sure she’s even mine to lose. That whatever this was between you—this warm, electric, confusing thing—hadn’t been defined, hadn’t been claimed. It felt real, sure. It felt important. But you hadn’t named it. You hadn’t promised anything.

Still, he didn’t say any of that. Because the truth made the story more complicated, and right now, he needed it to stay simple. At least on the surface.

But she was right. He knew that in his bones.

“You’re flying out tomorrow,” Luna said, gently shifting the subject. “I’ll drive you to the airport. And after you’ve settled, you’ll call me. Let me know how you’re doing.”

Frankie gave a small nod, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I will,” he said. “But answer the damn phone.”

Luna let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I always answer the phone.”

Frankie smiled—briefly, instinctively—but the expression faded almost as soon as it had appeared. A sharp, jarring sound echoed from inside the house. A thud. Deep and unmistakable, like something solid hitting the floor. Then a low groan followed, wounded and human.

Luna was on her feet in an instant. Frankie had already moved, pushing the door open, moving into the hallway with purposeful strides.

Just beyond the entrance, at the base of the staircase, Henry was slumped on the floor. His posture was hunched, arms hanging limply at his sides, one hand weakly pressing against the side of his head. There was blood—on his forehead, smeared across his cheek—but it wasn’t immediately clear where it was coming from. His eyes were wide, unfocused.

Helena knelt beside him, her voice hushed but panicked, her fingers carefully brushing hair away from his brow as she inspected the injury. From the edge of the living room doorway, Mai stood frozen, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. She looked like she wanted to move forward but couldn’t. Her skin had gone pale. She hated the sight of blood. Always had.

“Oh my God.” Luna’s voice cracked as she rushed over to Henry, already crying. “Henry—baby—what happened? Are you okay? Your head—”

Henry blinked, his mouth moving, struggling to find words. Nothing came out at first. He looked like he didn’t know where he was.

Frankie crouched down beside him, steady hands reaching to guide Henry’s chin upward, tilting his face gently into the light. His touch was careful, instinctive.

“I was coming up the stairs,” Henry said at last, voice uneven, breath catching at the end of each word. “I—I don’t know what happened. I got dizzy. Then everything just… went.”

“Okay,” Frankie said, nodding, reassuring. “You’re alright. Doesn’t look like anything’s broken. Just stay there, alright? Keep still.” He turned briefly to Luna, who was already pulling her phone from her back pocket, hands shaking.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, her eyes full of panic and tears already streaking her cheeks.

Behind them, a small voice broke through the noise.

“Dad?”

Frankie turned. At the top of the staircase, Jamie stood barefoot in his pajamas, holding onto the railing. His face was pale and rigid with fear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Jamie,” Frankie said, standing up, moving toward him with soft, cautious steps.

He reached the boy and tried to take his hands, but Jamie pulled back, sudden and stiff, his eyes still locked on his father’s crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs.

Frankie hesitated. He didn’t know what the right move was—whether to stop him or let him come down. Jamie moved first, stepping down without a word, and Frankie followed just behind, arms half-raised in case he needed to catch him.

When Jamie reached the landing, he froze. Then, without warning, he burst into tears. His small fists clenched and unclenched in front of him, twisting into each other like he was trying to hold something in—but it was too late. The fear and confusion had cracked through.

Frankie stood near him, his chest tightening, unsure if reaching out again would help or scare him more.

Then he reached out, his hand finding Jamie’s small shoulder. The boy flinched at first—just a reflex—but then turned and collapsed into him, his face pressing hard into the front of Frankie’s shirt. His small hands clutched at the fabric, fingers tightening as the sobs overtook him. He was trying not to cry, Frankie could tell, trying to swallow the sound down into himself, but it kept escaping in short, hiccuping gasps.

Frankie wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. There was nothing precise about the way he held him—just instinct and care, the way you’d hold something fragile that you didn’t want to break. He turned and lifted him off the floor, arms anchored beneath his knees and back, careful not to jostle him too much, carrying him upstairs like he was still the five-year-old who used to fall asleep in the backseat of the car.

Inside Jamie’s bedroom, the air felt smaller, quieter. Frankie set him down gently on the bed and shut the door behind them. For a second, neither of them spoke. The sound of Jamie’s sniffling was soft now, like he was trying to push the noise down deep inside himself.

Frankie crossed the room and knelt in front of him, his knees hitting the carpet with a muted thump. He reached up, cupping Jamie’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the boy’s flushed cheeks.

“Jamie,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

He did. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet, mouth still trembling at the corners.

“It’s okay. Your dad’s okay.”

Jamie blinked at him, and Frankie could see the skepticism land instantly.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, voice shredded at the edges. “I know he’s sick.”

Frankie’s hands stilled. There were no words at the ready. No script. Only the sharp realization that lying wouldn't work. 

“I know.”

Jamie’s voice cracked in half. “Is he going to die?”

Frankie felt something pull tight in his chest. It was like his heart had been tied up in cloth and dipped in water—heavy, sodden, impossible to wring out. His eyes burned, and he blinked, fast and hard, willing it away.

“He...” He tried again, forcing steadiness into his tone. “He’s sick. But he’s getting help. The doctors are really good. Remember what your mom said? They're the best. She wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true.”

Jamie didn’t respond right away. He just kept crying, softer now, quieter, like his body was getting tired of holding it all up.

“But he got hurt,” he said, voice tight.

“I know. But that—” Frankie leaned in a little, pointing to his own forehead. “That was just a cut. Up here. It looked worse than it was. You remember when you fell off your bike? That scrape on your knee? All that blood? It looked huge, but it wasn’t. Just messy.”

He nodded, barely. His eyes didn’t leave Frankie’s.

“It was scary,” Frankie continued. “But it was only a scare.”

Jamie hesitated. “How do you know it’s just that?”

Frankie glanced down. The pads of his fingers were stained red. He curled them into fists and tucked his hands into his lap like they didn’t belong to him. Then he looked back up.

“Because I checked. With my own hands. It was bleeding, yeah, but it wasn’t deep. Just a surface cut.”

The boy searched his face, eyes darting between his mouth and his eyes, like trying to catch a lie midair.

There were two knocks at the door, and then it opened a beat later without waiting for an answer.

“Jamie,” Luna said softly as she stepped into the room. “Honey, are you okay?”

Jamie didn’t say anything right away. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist, his face still damp, expression uncertain. Then he gave a faint nod. Luna walked across the room and crouched beside the bed, brushing a hand through his hair.

“We’re going to the hospital, with daddy,” she said, watching his face closely, “but everything’s alright. Okay?”

Jamie looked up at her, then past her to Frankie, his mouth parting just slightly.

“Can I go?” he asked, barely above a whisper. The room fell quiet.

Luna didn’t answer right away. She glanced at Frankie—one of those looks that lasted less than a second but held a full conversation inside it—and then turned her eyes back to her son.

Frankie cleared his throat, adjusting where he knelt.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and tapping Jamie gently on the calf. “What if we finally watch that movie you asked about yesterday? The one with the animals. Remember?”

Jamie’s eyebrows knit together, uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice thin.

Frankie shifted a little, resting one arm on the mattress.

“You know the one I mean, right?” he said, feigning confusion. “The movie with the animals and the board game... How was it called again? Tumanji?”

Jamie blinked at him for a second—then his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing.

“No,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but brighter. “Jumanji.”

Frankie snapped his fingers. “Ah. That’s it. I always mix it up with that other one. You know, the one where the guy gets stuck inside a board game and becomes a tomato.”

Jamie gave a short, surprised laugh, the kind that sneaks out before you remember you’re supposed to be upset. “That’s not a movie.”

“You sure? Sounds like Oscar material to me,” Frankie said, raising an eyebrow.

Luna gave him a look—half grateful, half exasperated—and smoothed her son’s hair again. Jamie’s body had relaxed by then, shoulders dropping just slightly, a flicker of lightness beginning to return to his face.

He turned to Frankie again. “Okay,” small but clear.

Thursday, October 17th

The morning passed quietly and the bookstore felt half-asleep. You spent most of it rearranging the same shelf three times, more for something to do than out of necessity.

Nancy stopped by before noon. She came every few weeks, always with lipstick on, her earrings matching her outfit. She was in her seventies—sharp as ever— with the kind of silver-white hair that looked like it had absorbed sunlight and kept it, somehow. You liked her. She had a warm, sturdy way of being that made you feel less alone in your skin. She always brought up Piero, her husband, who sounded like the kind of man who made tea before you asked and let you have the last cookie. They sunbathed on their patio every afternoon, she said, beneath a striped umbrella. She talked about it fondly, like sun and silence were sacred, like afternoons stretched longer when you spent them side by side with someone who knew where all your scars were and loved you anyway.

She told you she used to teach math but had always preferred stories. “Numbers are always perfect, but people are interesting,” she said once. She kept journals—dozens of them, she claimed—stacked in boxes in her attic. You told her you’d love to read one, just to see how someone like her had seen the world when they were younger.

Before she left, she narrowed her eyes at you playfully.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” she asked, leaning slightly over the counter.

“Twenty-nine,” you answered, your voice soft, the way it always was when someone surprised you with affection.

She smiled as if you’d given her the exact answer she was hoping for.

“I’ll bring you the one I wrote when I was your age. Maybe there’s something useful in it.”

Later, the stillness cracked open. A group of teenagers tumbled into the store like a wind you hadn't prepared for. They made a mess of the juvenile section, speaking too loudly, touching everything with the kind of reckless hands that had never had to shelve anything. You asked them more than once to be careful, using the voice you reserved for rules you wished didn’t need saying. One of them dropped a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower like it meant nothing at all.

They didn’t buy anything. They left the shelves in chaos. Normally, you would have accepted it as part of the rhythm of the place—books always moved, never stayed where you put them. But today it stung. There was something careless about their presence. Putting the books back felt like an apology you weren’t sure who to give to.

Later, a man came in asking for a book. He couldn’t remember the title, just that it was about a man, something existential, maybe something to do with murder, or exile, or the sea. You suggested The Stranger by Camus.

“No, no, not that one,” he insisted, shaking his head like you’d misunderstood him completely. And then he described The Stranger to you, again, nearly word for word.

You didn’t correct him. You just let him keep talking. Because some people need to arrive at the truth on their own. 

By the time the sign on the door read closed, your whole body ached with the kind of exhaustion that comes from quiet tasks performed for hours on end. You moved through the familiar routine almost without thinking—lights off, blinds drawn, register counted, the keys pressing cool and metallic into your palm as you locked up.

At home, you undressed slowly, letting your clothes fall where they wanted to, and stepped into the bath. The water climbed around you, and for a moment, everything felt still again. It was the kind of warmth that softened you, let the tension uncurl from your shoulders, made you forget how much your feet had hurt.

Afterward, wrapped in your robe and already feeling better, you padded into the kitchen with the light kind of optimism that sometimes appears when you're clean and your hair is damp and everything feels slightly reset. You opened the fridge, thinking about pasta or maybe something with melted cheese.

What you found was something closer to satire than sustenance: one pathetic lemon, the skin hardened like old leather, and a wedge of cheese in the kind of condition that made you feel vaguely judged by your own refrigerator. You laughed out loud—just once, flatly—then let the door close with a gentle thud.

You could’ve ordered in. Of course, that was always an option. But something about the quietness of the evening made you want to cook. Something comforting, something with cheese and butter or... bolognesa, but the really well done one, like the kind of meal Emma would send you videos of in the middle of the night with messages like we NEED to try this. So you got dressed, pulling on jeans and a nice shirt, trying to look like someone who might bump into someone they used to love at the grocery store, even though that wasn't true.

It was already six, the sky dipped in pale pinks and oranges, the air still a little bit thick. You moved quickly, maybe too quickly—partly because you were hungry, partly because the idea of dinner had already taken root in your mind and you wanted to see it through.

On the way back, your grocery bag hung from one shoulder, slightly digging into your skin. The sun was almost fully gone. You tilted your head back to look at the sky, letting the dark soft colors press into your mind.

You were still looking up when you reached your block. And then, without warning, your attention snapped downward. A figure. Familiar. Standing just outside your front door, hands tucked into his jean jacket pockets, head tilted slightly, like he’d been waiting a while.

You frowned, not quite alarmed but confused, and started walking faster, your footsteps picking up rhythm against the sidewalk.

He rang the doorbell just as you reached shouting distance. And then he turned.

“Frankie?”

His eyes found yours. He smiled, and something about it made you stop walking entirely, just a few feet away from him now. You adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, your smile echoing his. For a second, neither of you said anything. You just looked at him. Like you were reading his face.

He looked different. That’s what struck you first. Not bad—just different. The tired kind of different. His eyes were glassy and faintly red around the rims, like he’d slept too little or thought too much. Maybe both.

You noticed it immediately.

He crossed the short distance between you and gently slid the bag from your shoulder without asking, his fingers brushing against your skin. You let him. You watched him in the soft dusk light—his profile, the quiet concentration on his face as he adjusted the weight of the bag—and something in your chest softened.

You stepped closer. Without overthinking it, your arms wrapped around his neck, your body leaning into his with a kind of quiet certainty. He held you the way he always did: arms snug around your waist, pulling you into him. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. You felt the heat of it long after his lips left your skin.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice low, your face turned slightly so you could get a clearer look at him. “I thought you weren’t coming back until the weekend.”

He smiled, barely. “Or sooner, I said.”

You opened the door and stepped aside so he could come in. The small suitcase in his hand bumped against the frame as he passed, and you watched him carry it up the narrow stairs, placing it just inside the apartment, next to the door. You realized then that he probably hadn’t even gone home. Most likely, he’d come straight from the airport.

You set the groceries on the kitchen counter, the plastic rustling against the marble. When you turned back around, he was standing beside the couch, looking at you as if he was trying to remember something important. Your smile hadn’t left yet.

“Well?” you said, stepping toward him. “How are you?”

That’s when it shifted.

His mouth twitched, a near-smile interrupted midway. His shoulders fell, not all at once, but in degrees, like gravity had started pulling harder. His eyebrows knit slowly, his whole expression beginning to slide. His eyes—always expressive, always easy to read if you knew how to look—began to shine. Not dramatically. Not enough that someone else might notice. But you did. Of course you did.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching for him without hesitation, both hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing lightly across the skin beneath his eyes.

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at you. Close up now, you could see it more clearly—how tired he was. His eyes rimmed with red, the faint trace of tears that hadn’t yet fallen. The kind of exhaustion that lived deep in the bones, behind the eyes, beneath the skin. And something more.

Then you pulled him into your arms again, tighter this time. He dropped his face into the curve of your neck, and you felt his breath catch slightly as he exhaled. You pressed your hands into his hair, threading your fingers through the messy strands, and held him there.

At first, his breathing came in short, uneven bursts. You felt it in the way his chest rose and fell against yours, in the way his arms clung to you a little too tightly, as if you might disappear if he let go. But you didn’t move. You just held him, one hand in his hair, the other splayed across his back.

Eventually, his body began to ease. Not entirely, but enough. His breaths evened out, becoming quieter, steadier. He pulled back just slightly, enough that your faces were no longer touching, and you tilted your head to look at him properly. He did the same.

Your eyes scanned his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. You reached up and brushed your fingertips along his cheek, a gesture so gentle it barely registered.

He kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or hard, but there was urgency in it nonetheless—like he'd been waiting to do it, or needing to. His lips met yours and you responded instantly, your mouth moving with his as the space between you disappeared again. You tilted your head and the kiss deepened. But then he pulled back, leaving your lips warm and a little dazed.

You studied his face, your expression shifting into something you hadn’t planned. Tenderness, yes, but also a quiet ache for him.

You reached up and brushed your fingers through the side of his hair.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice soft, your thumb grazing the edge of his jaw.

He let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but then paused. “I mean… I’m just tired.”

You didn’t believe him, not fully, but you didn’t push. You let your hand rest against his cheek, tracing light, absentminded shapes along his skin.

“We can talk about it later,” you said. “If you want.”

“I’d like that.”

You smiled, small and reassuring, and nodded. “Now tell me—are you hungry?”

He squinted slightly, the ghost of a smile creeping across his lips.

“Starving.”

“Good,” you said, patting his chest before stepping back. “Now I’ve got the perfect excuse to make something that’ll impress you.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you cross the room.

About thirty minutes later, you were standing at the stove, carefully pouring the chopped vegetables into the pot where the tomato sauce had already begun to simmer. You’d pulled up a recipe Emma had texted you weeks ago—something she’d raved about that night she sent five voice notes in a row. 

The ingredients were simple—onions, garlic, bell peppers, crushed tomatoes, some ground meat you’d picked out after asking the butcher three separate questions, and just enough red wine to make it taste richer than it actually was. Still, there was a method to getting it right. Things had to be done in order, in the right way, or it wouldn’t come together. You were focused on that now, adjusting the heat beneath the pot until the bubbles at the surface softened. You stirred gently, watching the sauce thicken, hoping the meat would turn tender enough to fall apart with a fork. The pasta would come later, once the sauce had earned it.

The smell was already blooming through the kitchen. You leaned in, eyes fluttering closed for a second, just to take it in.

Then, the sound of a door opening, then closing again. The quiet shuffle of feet along the hallway.

Frankie appeared a second later, leaning into the wall next to you, one shoulder pressed casually against it.

“That smells really good,” he said, eyes drifting toward the stove.

You looked at him and smiled. He was wearing those soft gray-and-black striped pajama pants you’d seen once, paired with a plain white T-shirt that clung just slightly to his chest. He’d pulled them from his suitcase before heading into the shower.

“Thanks,” you said, eyes drifting to the damp patches forming on his shoulders. “Your hair’s still dripping. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”

“I can shake it out, if you want,” he offered, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Before you could stop him, he tilted his head and gave it a little shake like a dog just out of the rain, droplets scattering into the air, some landing on your cheek.

“No!” you laughed, holding your hands up in protest as he moved a step closer.

He retreated, still grinning, and reached up to push his damp curls back from his forehead.

“I’ll dry off,” he said. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“So impatient,” you teased, pressing a hand lightly to his stomach as he passed behind you. “How was the shower?”

“Hot,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but don’t you feel renewed? Like your whole nervous system just reset?”

He tilted his face toward you, that crooked little smile still playing on his lips. “I’ll let you know after dinner.”

You rolled your eyes, even though he wasn’t looking. Earlier, you’d adjusted the water for his shower, turning the handle just right, testing the temperature with your wrist like you were preparing it for a toddler instead of a grown man.

“Not so hot,” he’d said, already pulling his T-shirt over his head. And then, as soon as the water hit his skin, he let out an exaggerated groan. Sure enough, seconds later came a low, satisfied sigh, like he'd just entered some kind of heaven.

You didn’t comment on it. But now, standing in front of him, you gave a soft shake of your head and said, “Come here,” brushing past him gently and catching his arm as you went.

He let himself be pulled, trailing behind you. You brought him into the bathroom and pointed to the closed toilet lid.

“Sit,” you instructed. He did.

Frankie looked at you with mock suspicion. “What are you going to do to me?”

His voice was cautious, playful, like he half-expected you to pull out a pair of scissors. You didn’t respond, just reached for a clean towel and began pressing the soft fabric into his damp hair, patting and squeezing gently, your movements steady but firm. His head dipped forward under your hands, shoulders relaxing a little as you worked.

“Look at you,” you murmured, a teasing edge in your voice, “like a child.”

He gave a snort in response, a quiet puff of breath.

“I hadn’t finished drying myself,” he said, his voice a bit muffled, like he was talking more to the floor than to you.

You didn’t answer. Just kept working. After a moment, you tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink and knelt to open the cabinet beneath it. Frankie stayed where he was, watching quietly now, as you pulled out a small hair dryer and plugged it into the socket by the mirror. You glanced back at him, holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Bend your head a little,” you said, and he did, obedient.

The dryer clicked on with a soft hum, not too loud, and warm air began to rush over the back of his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair as you dried it, lifting and separating the strands, moving with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive. Your fingers grazed his scalp as you worked, massaging without thinking, just because it felt right to do.

After a few minutes, he exhaled slowly and said, “You’re going to put me to sleep.”

You smiled but didn’t stop. Instead, you nudged his chin up with the back of your fingers, tilting his head so you could reach the front. He opened his eyes, just barely, as if it took a real effort. You met his gaze briefly before moving your eyes again, concentrating on what you were doing.

He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you. And you didn’t feel the need to break the silence.

After a while, you clicked off the dryer, the hum falling away like a thought slipping from your mind. The room felt quieter now, the only sound was the faint hum of the television playing in the living room. You wrapped the cord carefully around your fingers, looping it into a neat coil without rushing, then set it down on the cabinet.

You turned back to Frankie. He was still sitting, head slightly tilted, watching you in that unblinking way he had. You ran a hand through his hair.

“All done,” you said quietly, offering him a faint smile.

He stood with a soft grunt, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. The hem of his shirt shifted slightly, exposing a thin line of skin. You were just about to open the door when you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist. You turned, caught off guard, and he pulled you toward him in one fluid motion.

His hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek with a familiarity that made your breath catch. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, brief, tender, almost shy. Then, without waiting, he kissed you again, this time properly.

You smiled into it. That unconscious, reflexive smile that made your cheeks ache a little. He felt it and smiled too, the curve of his lips brushing against yours. You slid your hands up the front of his shirt, fingertips gliding over the fabric, settling on his shoulders. The cotton felt damp under your palms.

You pulled away, just enough to see his face clearly, to speak without your lips brushing.

“Your shirt’s still wet,” you murmured, your voice lighter now, teasing.

He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes but didn’t release you. His arms stayed around your waist, grounding you there. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Apparently, you were a damn good cook. The kind that surprised even yourself. Because an hour later, Frankie was sitting across from you at the small kitchen table, setting his fork down with a soft clink against the plate. He reached for the wine glass with the same hand and took a sip, his eyes closing briefly like it really hit the spot.

The apartment was quiet, save for Al Green playing on the speaker in the living room—How Can You Mend a Broken Heart drifting across the place, soft and clear.

Dinner had been easy. No heavy conversations, nothing you had to tiptoe around. Frankie seemed lighter now, more himself, in a dry T-shirt this time. He told you stories from his days in Boston, sticking to the parts he liked, the positive ones, wich were a lot. He asked about Bill then, about how things were going at the coffee shop, and you gave him the short version. Not because you didn’t want to talk, but because there wasn’t much to say. And you didn't feel like talking about Bill.

Mr. Darcy took the dinner invitation too, hopping into the spare chair between you like he’d been formally seated. He spent half the meal squinting at the table’s edge, trying to sniff his way into a bite, before giving up and curling himself into a quiet loaf.

“This was amazing,” Frankie said finally, leaning back with a sigh, like his body needed to announce how satisfied it was.

And honestly, it had been amazing. The meat had turned out just the way you’d hoped. Tender, flavorful, melting on the tongue in a way that made you close your eyes for a second. The vegetables soaked up the wine and seasonings too. And Frankie had eaten like a really starving man, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. You had no problem refilling his plate twice, then again when he scraped up the last of the sauce with a piece of bread.

You tilted your head and smiled. “I’ll accept that compliment. Graciously.”

He laughed, and then nudged your foot under the table with his, a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. You looked up just as a yawn slipped out of him, unfiltered.

“So, how’d you sleep last night?” you asked, raising your glass, swirling the last sip of red wine before bringing it to your lips.

Frankie paused. He didn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t,” he said eventually, with a small, apologetic smile.

You tilted your head again. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head, and his fingers began to move around the stem of the wine glass, drawing quiet circles. 

“Henry had an accident.”

You didn’t speak at first. You watched him carefully, expecting an explanation to follow, but it didn’t. He just sat there, eyes fixed somewhere near your hands.

So you shifted in your seat, and then you asked: “What happened to him?”

“He fell down the stairs,” he said. “He got dizzy.”

Your stomach turned. Frankie gave a faint nod, as if trying to convince himself more than you.

“It wasn’t terrible,” he added quickly, “just a few stitches. Nothing broken. But the fall was bad enough that they kept him at the hospital for observation. He hit his head.”

You winced, your mind catching on the small detail.

You remembered what Frankie had told you last week—about the tumor. A small mass, tucked inside Henry’s frontal lobe, as if that part of the brain had quietly betrayed him. It had started with the dizzy spells, sure, but then there was that evening—he’d gotten confused during dinner with some friends, blanked out while telling a story he’d told a dozen times before. Then the blurriness came, the sudden jolts in his chest, the racing heartbeat. Frankie had listed the symptoms without drama, just a steady recounting. The headaches had been going on for months, along with the exhaustion and his growing inability to concentrate. Tests followed, more than one. And more still to come. They hadn’t reached a decision about surgery yet. But they would soon. One way or another.

Frankie’s voice cut back in, quieter now. “Jamie saw him.”

Your gaze flicked to his face.

“On the floor,” Frankie continued, eyes fixed on the tablecloth, tracing the pattern with the edge of his finger like he needed something tactile to focus on. “Henry was just lying there, blood all over his face. And Jamie—he just cried. He asked me if his dad was going to die.”

You inhaled sharply, instinctively. “Frankie…”

You wanted to reach across the table and touch him. You almost did. But something held you in place.

He looked up at you then, and his eyes were watery but not spilling over.

“I didn’t know what to say, I felt like an idiot. Like some useless bystander in the middle of this thing that’s eating him from the inside out.”

You said nothing.

“I couldn’t lie to him,” he went on. “He’s just a kid, but he’s not stupid. And he deserves more than some empty reassurance. I couldn’t look at him and say, No, your dad’s not going to die, because how the hell would I know that? What if I said it and I was wrong?”

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t fall apart. He just looked at you, like he was still waiting for someone to tell him the right thing to say.

“What did you tell him?”

“That Henry had good doctors looking after him. And it’s true.” He gestured vaguely, his hand moving in the air like the thought couldn’t quite land. “But the feeling—it was awful. Just awful.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You reached across the table, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand in a soft, steady motion. He turned his palm upward, and his thumb found your fingers like it was second nature.

“He’s so little,” Frankie murmured. “Just ten. Still thinks the moon actually follows him when he walks home at night. He’s not supposed to know what it means to be scared like that. Not really. Not yet. He’s not supposed to be worried about things like this. He’s supposed to be, I don't know, riding his bike or forgetting to do his homework. Not standing over his dad wondering if he’s going to die.”

Your fingers traced over the curve of his knuckles. “I’m sure you were good with him. And I'm sure it helped him a lot to have you there with him. I don’t think that kind of presence goes unnoticed. Even at that age, kids know when someone shows up for them.” Your voice was soft, as were your fingers stroking his hand. "There are things that no one can protect him from, but you can be there for him. And I think he'll always be grateful for that, to know that his family was there. Whatever the outcome of all this."

Frankie didn’t reply at first. You saw something pass across his face—tiredness, maybe, or something more complicated. Then a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, barely there.

“We watched a movie after they left for the hospital. Luna and my mom went with Henry. So it was just the three of us. Jamie, Mai, and me. We put on Jumanji.”

“Oh yeah? Does he like Jumanji?”

“He loves it,” Frankie nodded. “Though he didn’t make it to the end. Fell asleep halfway through. Mai and I just looked at each other and decided to let him be. I stayed on the couch with him till they got home.”

He glanced down then, his eyes landing on Mr. Darcy, curled up beside the table with his head resting on one outstretched paw.

“I didn’t sleep at all,” he added quietly. “Not when they came back, not even after I got into bed. I just laid there with my eyes closed, trying to feel normal. It wasn’t until eleven in the morning that I even looked at the time.”

He sighed, not dramatically, but like something heavy was pushing out of his chest. Then his gaze returned to you.

“I needed to come back,” he added. “I wanted to stay longer too—mostly for Jamie. But Luna said she’d take care of it. She’s good like that. She drove me to the airport. And the whole time, I was just thinking... I had to see you.”

The words settled into your chest with more weight than you’d expected. You blinked once, then again.

And suddenly, guilt crept in. You thought about how much time you’d taken earlier, moving through the kitchen like you had nowhere to be. You’d cooked like it was a weekend, like this was just another evening. You’d focused on simmering and seasoning and letting the wine reduce just right, and he—he had been running on fumes. Barely holding himself up.

He’d crossed the country running on nerves and zero sleep, and you’d made him wait for dinner.

Your eyes dropped to your lap, and your voice softened. “Frankie, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted gently. “Being here feels... good. Normal. And that helps more than you think.”

“But you must be exhausted. I’m sorry.”

Frankie smiled. “No, I’m okay. Honestly. I think that shower of yours worked some kind of miracle.”

You shook your head lightly, resting your chin in your palm, elbow anchored to the table.

“Oh, so now you believe in the healing power of water,” you said, with a faint smirk.

He laughed. “Between that and three servings of your cooking, I’m practically a new man. Almost.”

“Almost?”

He shrugged, a little dramatically. “Well, I’m sort of counting on you to escort me to bed. In case that part wasn’t clear.”

The comment caught you off guard and made you laugh out loud.

“Wow. Bold of you.”

“Me?” he said, leaning forward like he had every right to be amused. “Come on, Shortcake. Don’t act innocent now. We both know you’ve been using me for my body.”

You burst into laughter again, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to suppress the grin that had already taken over your face.

“Alright,” you said, rising to your feet. “Get up, I’ll take you to bed.”

From his seat, he didn’t move, just looked at you with exaggerated offense. “So you’re not denying it?”

You turned to face him, hands finding his shoulders, your thumbs brushing over the fabric of his T-shirt. He was warm under your touch, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Something tells me that even if that were the case,” you said, voice low, “you’d be completely fine with it.”

He chuckled, head tilting toward your hand. “Ha. You're right,” he said. “Got me.”

“Such a slut,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though the smile hadn’t left your face. 

You turned toward the table, beginning to stack the plates absentmindedly. Behind you, Frankie stood up too, and without needing to say anything, he joined in, making quick work of the task. It took barely two minutes—your movements wordless but coordinated.

Then, before you could stop him, he was at the sink. You told him to leave it, that it could wait, but he shook his head, already reaching for the sponge.

“Bad manners,” he said over his shoulder. “Can’t just eat three plates of your food and leave you to clean up alone.”

So you didn’t argue again. Instead, you stayed beside him, leaning your hip against the counter, your arms crossed loosely over your chest. He told you about the day Jamie convinced him to climb a tree in the backyard, how he scraped his elbow and Jamie laughed so hard he nearly fell off the branch above him. Mr. Darcy circled your feet as he spoke, issuing small, dramatic meows, clearly under the impression that it was dinnertime for cats too.

Once the counters gleamed and the dishes were stacked neatly in the rack, the two of you drifted down the hallway in easy, familiar silence. Going to bed together didn’t feel like a decision, exactly—it felt like a continuation of the evening. Like the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask what to do or where to go. He just followed you.

In the bathroom, you watched his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, his hair soft under the light, a slight crease between his brows as he concentrated. You stood beside him and picked up your toothbrush. Washed your face. Moved around each other without bumping into one another.

Later, you opened the quilt on your bed, fluffing the pillows absently. Frankie stepped into the room carrying Darcy in his arms like a baby, muttering something about him being spoiled. He set him gently on the mattress, where the cat immediately made a low-pitched grunt of satisfaction and curled up without ceremony.

You began to undress, turning your back toward Frankie out of instinct. And it was only when you felt the cool air touch your skin that you realized your face had grown warm. You weren’t used to this part—the exposed version of yourself, no lights dimmed, no rushed urgency to distract from the fact that he was watching you.

But he didn’t say anything. He just lay back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, his eyes resting quietly on you, steady but unintrusive. You felt them on your back like sunlight through a window. Not harsh. Just there. 

You pulled the T-shirt over your head, the fabric brushing lightly over your skin as it settled around your torso and hips in soft folds. Then the pajama shorts slid into place. The air in the room felt nice against your skin.

You climbed into bed, moving across the mattress on your hands and knees until you reached his side. Frankie was already lying down, one arm bent beneath his head, eyes watching you as if he’d been waiting for you to arrive. You asked him to switch off the lamp on the nightstand, and he reached over to do it without a word. The room shifted into semi-darkness, shadows cast against the walls.

Then he asked if you could put something on the TV—just for a while, he said—and you didn’t argue. You reached for the remote, flipping through the titles.

“See?” you said, bumping your hand gently against his stomach. “You always end up watching something before bed.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upward without effort, and didn’t deny it. You let your head rest on his chest, the weight of you melting into him like it had always belonged there, your ear tuned to the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart. You scrolled through the options until you passed You’ve Got Mail.

“That one,” he said.

You turned your head slightly, gave him a sideways look. “Tom Hanks again?”

He nodded like it was the most obvious choice in the world, and you remembered—of course—the time he confused You’ve Got Mail with When Harry Met Sally, and how he still owed you a viewing of that one. You pressed play anyway.

The remote ended up somewhere between you both, half-lost in the sheets. You adjusted your position slightly, shifting until your hand came to rest against his stomach, the warmth of his body seeping into your palm. You tilted your head to look at him, just to make sure he was okay. His smile had softened, his features quieter now, the tiredness more visible around his eyes.

You leaned up to kiss him—just a small kiss, one that lingered more in feeling than in time. Then another, closer to the corner of his mouth, which made him exhale softly. You felt his hand move across your back, not hurried. His fingers settled in the space between your ribs and your hip, that narrow, delicate stretch of skin that always seemed to hum a little under touch.

You lowered yourself back down, head on his chest again, eyes turned toward the screen. Meg Ryan was typing, oblivious to the irony of her anonymous confidant being the man she resented most in real life. The small bookstore, the way she poured herself into it, the quiet sense of being edged out by something bigger and more impersonal—you understood it. You smiled faintly at a comment made by the woman who worked with her, something dry and sweet and accurate.

After a while, you noticed Frankie’s breathing had changed. It had deepened, evened out. You felt the full rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You looked up and found him fully asleep, his face softened in that way people’s faces only do when they’re truly resting, the tension drained from his brow.

You reached for the remote again and switched off the television. Then you adjusted your position without really thinking, curling closer to him, your arm draped across his middle.

Within moments, your own body followed his into sleep.

Friday, October 18th

You rolled onto your back, the sheets shifting beneath you, and laughter spilled from your mouth as Frankie’s teeth grazed your neck. Your hands reached for him instinctively, fingers weaving into the softness of his hair. He laughed against your throat, and the sound sent something warm crawling down your spine.

The alarm had gone off ten minutes earlier—seven a.m.—but it had hardly mattered. He’d been awake an hour before that. When you’d asked him why he hadn’t woken you, he said, simply, that you looked like you needed more sleep. So he got up, used the bathroom, then came back to lie beside you. Awake. Still. Waiting until you woke up.

Now his hands trailed across your stomach, and at first you laughed again, your body twitching under the softness of his touch. But the laughter thinned quickly into silence, replaced by something else. Something heavier, slower-burning. His mouth traveled from your neck to your jaw, the sharp little bites replaced by warm, open kisses. 

He adjusted his weight over you, settling into the space you made for him without question, your legs curling around his hips. Like your body already knew how this was supposed to go. You pulled him closer without speaking.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t something you eased into. It was immediate, almost greedy—the way someone kisses after too much waiting, too much wanting. Your hands came together at the back of his neck, fingers tightening against the heat of his skin, and his tongue brushed yours, coaxing a response that felt like surrender. You kissed him back like you needed to prove something. He moaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the room was full of heat and breath and the wet, open sounds of two people lost in each other.

Then there was a soft thud beside you, something landing on the mattress with a little bounce. You pulled back instinctively, your lips parting from Frankie’s with a sound that felt too loud in the quiet. Both of you turned your heads at the same time.

Mr. Darcy had made himself comfortable on the bed, his front paws neatly folded like he owned the place.

You laughed under your breath, the sound caught somewhere between affection and exasperation. Frankie shifted back slightly, still close but no longer pressed against you.

“Close the door,” you murmured, your voice already taut with frustration and want.

Frankie let out a breath and peeled himself away from your body. You watched him move without meaning to, your gaze dragging to the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of his pants. He reached for the cat, pausing with his hands hovering in the air, expression torn between hesitation and amusement.

“He’s going to be mad at me,” he said, eyes flicking toward yours.

“What?”

“Darcy.”

You sat upright, your body still tingling with everything unfinished, and let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not going to be mad.”

“Cats get offended. You know that.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, the air around you cooler now without him so close. You bent to scoop Mr. Darcy into your arms, your fingers sinking into his thick, soft fur. He didn’t protest. He never really did with you.

“I know,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his little head, “but I don’t think he’s going to take this personally.”

You stepped out into the hallway and set him down gently, giving him a fond stroke between his ears before straightening. When you turned back, Frankie was already waiting. He closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

You hadn’t even finished turning when his hands were already on your hips—firm, certain, hungry—and he walked you backward without saying a word. The backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress, your balance faltering just slightly.

And then there was only him again.

You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, sitting first and then rolling back, your hair fanning out over the sheets. Frankie followed, his body settling over yours with ease, like gravity made the decision for him. His hands bracketed your waist, grounding you there as his mouth returned to your neck—small, scattered kisses pressed into your skin.

His hands shifted, thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs before gathering the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward. You arched your back to help him, lifting your arms above your head as the fabric slipped off and disappeared somewhere behind him. His fingers moved without hesitation, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts—no pause, no teasing—and he dragged them down in one swift motion, underwear and all, until the fabric was a memory at the end of the bed.

You laughed, the sound breathy and full of something that felt like disbelief. Your whole body buzzed, cheeks flushed and chest warm as your hands roamed over him—his arms, the curve of his shoulders, the warm plane of his stomach under his shirt. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his breath uneven and catching as he pressed his body to yours. The feel of his clothes against your bare skin made you restless, every second tightening something inside you.

You broke the kiss with a smirk. “So desperate.”

Frankie tilted his head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and it hit you low in your stomach—how much you wanted him right then, how much you liked watching him like this.

One of his hands slid along your waist, then down the curve of your hip and thigh, fingers firm against the softest part of you. He squeezed gently, just enough to make you bite your lip. His eyes stayed on yours, that maddening smile still tugging at his lips as his hand moved higher. He touched you where you needed him, his fingers slipping between your folds—just enough pressure to make your breath catch, to make your teasing dissolve into something quieter and hungrier. Your legs parted instinctively, your body answering before your mind could catch up.

He laughed under his breath. “And I’m the desperate one?”

You were about to say something back—some clever response—but you didn’t get the chance. He dipped his head and kissed your collarbones, his mouth hot against your skin. The kisses trailed downward in a lazy, almost reverent pattern, until he reached your breasts. He opened his mouth over one nipple, drawing it in with soft pressure, his tongue moving in slow, careful circles that made your back lift from the mattress. A moan slipped out of you, unrestrained, and you closed your eyes, your hand tangling gently in his hair.

He released you with a quiet pop, breath warm against your chest, and didn’t pause before continuing down, mouth brushing over your stomach, your navel, lower still, until he was right there, in front of you.

And you didn’t dare breathe.

You leaned back onto your elbows, your arms trembling just slightly under your weight, trying to keep yourself upright so you could see him. Your eyelids fluttered halfway shut, lips parted as if you might say something, though the only thing leaving your mouth were uneven, stuttering breaths. You were already unraveling, and he hadn’t even really started.

And still—still—he wore that fucking smile. That smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly how this was going to end and how badly you were going to fall apart in front of him.

You shifted beneath him, restless with anticipation, your hips tilting up on their own. Frankie’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, grounding you.

“Hold still,” he murmured, the grin vanishing from his face like a curtain pulled shut, his voice edged with mock severity. Like he was scolding you. Like you were misbehaving.

You were opening your mouth to say something back—something witty or obscene or both—but then his lips met you. Right there. No warning. No space for speech. Just him.

His mouth closed over your clit, his tongue moving in steady, broad strokes, soft but focused, like he was tasting you and thinking about it, like he could memorize the shape of you with his mouth alone. The air left your lungs in jagged exhales. One of your hands found the back of his head, your fingers threading into his hair, not pulling yet, just holding. Needing to touch him, to anchor yourself to something solid while the rest of you dissolved.

He devoured you like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was nothing hesitant about it—just his tongue, his lips, the heat of his mouth, working you with a pace that sent electricity firing down your spine. He kissed you, licked into you, sucked at the most sensitive parts of you like he was possessed by the need to make you come apart. A low sound came from his throat, something close to a growl, and the vibration of it nearly undid you. You cried out and your hips bucked, but his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place, his grip unyielding but not rough.

And somehow—somehow—he still managed to be gentle. You were burning up. Every inch of your skin too hot, your thoughts too scattered to hold onto. You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a desperate sound—half-groan, half-command—you sat up and reached for him, grabbing his hair and tugging it back, not harshly, but with enough force that he lifted his head.

He released you with a slick, obscene sound. His mouth was wet, his lips flushed, and his eyes met yours—dark, gleaming, the kind of look that made your knees weak even though you were already lying down. His breath caught in his throat. His cheeks were tinted pink, heat radiating from him like a second sun.

You reached for his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric with something that felt like insistence. He didn’t resist. As you tugged it upward, he shifted easily, dropping to his knees on the mattress so you could pull it over his head. The shirt landed somewhere behind him with no ceremony. Then he placed his hands on your waist and pushed—not harshly, but with just enough force to send you tipping back against the pillows.

He stood beside the bed and undressed in one fluid movement, pants and boxers sliding down together, left pooled on the floor. Your breath caught—just for a second—and heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your face. The sight of him made your stomach tighten.

Frankie climbed back onto the bed, one hand wrapped around himself, moving with quiet pressure as his eyes drank you in. The way you lay there—waiting, open, flushed—clearly affecting him. His breathing shifted. His pupils darkened. For a moment, he just hovered there, like he was taking a mental picture.

Then he leaned down and kissed you. Not with hunger, not yet. As if he wanted to be tender before losing control.

But then he pulled back.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your hand reaching instinctively for his arm.

He glanced toward the door.

“Wallet,” he said. “I’ve got a condom in there. Just a second.”

You didn’t let go. “I’m on the pill.”

He paused. Just for a beat. His expression changed—something unreadable passed through his eyes before he gave you a half-smile, crooked and curious.

“I know. But are you sure?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening slightly on his skin.

“Yes. Unless you’ve been with someone else in the last two weeks.”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You think I have that much game?”

“So no?” You were smiling already, because you already knew the answer.

He grinned, then settled over you again, the heat of him returning like a tide.

“What do you think?” he said, voice close to your ear. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“There hasn’t been anyone else these past two weeks?”

“No. No one.”

“Good,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re dirty, you know that?”

You let your head fall back, a breathy laugh slipping from your lips. Frankie was still looking at you and his hands shifted on your thighs, guiding your legs open. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled between them, his body warm and solid and so unbearably close.

He lined himself up with you, the pressure unmistakable, and stayed like that for a second longer than necessary. His eyes didn’t move from yours. You felt the first inch of him press in, a careful tease of sensation, then retreat. Then again. Your breathing stuttered, lips parting as he rocked forward one more time, deeper this time—until he was all the way inside you.

The stretch of him made you gasp. Your arms went around his shoulders instinctively, anchoring yourself to the firm heat of his body. He buried his face in your neck, not kissing, not speaking, just breathing against your skin like he needed that closeness just as badly as you did.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You felt him in every part of you. Your legs curled around his waist, the tension in your muscles easing as you adjusted to him.

Then he started to move. Gentle thrusts at first—unhurried, almost reverent—but they built gradually, gathering heat with every motion. You felt your breathing pick up, a soft ache forming deep inside you, the kind that was only ever satisfied by more.

Frankie pulled back just enough to look down, eyes trailing over where your bodies met. Your own gaze followed his—tracing the sweat on his chest, the flex of his arms where they braced beside your head, the slight furrow in his brow, the pink flush creeping down his neck.

Your heart thudded hard against your ribcage, a wild, fast rhythm that echoed through your whole body. The sound of his hips meeting yours—the sharp, wet cadence of it—wrapped around you like heat, made your hands tighten on his back, your legs press harder into his sides.

“Harder,” you whispered, your voice shaky, breathless. “Faster.”

His eyes met yours again, and something lit behind them—something raw and dark and beautiful. He didn’t answer, just gave you what you asked for. His pace shifted. The thrusts turned deeper, rougher. The bed hit the wall behind you in time with every movement, and your body arched up to meet him without thinking.

Little cries spilled out of you, rising and falling with each motion. Your skin felt too tight for your body, your chest too small to contain the rush of feeling inside it. Every nerve ending sparked to life under his touch, under the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

You weren’t thinking anymore, not in words. You were all sensation and sound. The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, the heat of his breath on your neck as he sank his teeth into your skin—harder this time, almost too much.

“Don’t stop,” you said, not even sure if it came out as words or just sound. “Don’t stop, please.”

He didn’t. His rhythm didn’t falter. You felt the world tilt around you, narrowing to the shape of his body over yours, the pulse between your legs, the wild flutter of something huge and inevitable building inside your chest.

“Yes,” you breathed—maybe out loud, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

His skin was flushed and slick against yours. Your nails pressed into his back without thinking, dragging down the slope of his spine. He made a sound in response—something caught between a moan and a gasp—and then he lifted his chest from yours, just slightly, like the heat had become too much.

His hands framed your face, but his hips kept moving, pulling you with him. His eyes dragged down your body, like he needed to memorize every inch of you, and you reached for him, one hand curling around his arm, the other flattening against his stomach. The muscles jumped beneath your touch, taut and flexing with every movement.

Something was building low inside you, quiet at first. But then his hand slipped between you, his palm resting on your belly like he wanted to feel what you were feeling from the outside. And then—his fingers. His thumb circled your clit with an unsteady rhythm, the pressure sending a hot jolt through you so fast it knocked the air from your lungs.

A choked cry tore from your throat before you could hold it back. Your hands gripped his arms instinctively, like if you let go, you'd float away entirely.

Frankie thrust deeper, harder. Your body moved in sync with his, like there was no boundary anymore between where you ended and he began. The feeling in your abdomen swelled and then you were falling into it. Your mouth opened in a soundless gasp, your whole body locking around him as the orgasm ripped through you in pulses that felt too intense to contain.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and there was something raw in his voice, as if he couldn’t hold himself together either. “Where—oh, fuck—”

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his hips still working, but messier now, rougher. His breath stuttered as he came, and you felt it—the warmth spilling into you, the throb of it, how every part of him seemed to stutter and collapse in the same breath.

You wrapped your arms around his back, your legs still spread beneath him, your chest rising and falling against his. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move for a long moment, except to breathe. You both did. And then, finally, gently, he pulled out of you.

You exhaled at the loss, an ache already beginning to take shape where he’d been. But then he kissed you. Softly, his lips brushing yours with a sweetness that made your heart clench.

Was it wrong—was it selfish—to feel this sense of quiet satisfaction? To think, even for a second, that you were glad he was back, alone, with you? That he was here, in your home, within reach, surrounded by your things. That you had him to yourself, even if just for now.

Frankie let himself fall beside you, his body heavy with leftover heat, the curve of his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. He hadn't caught his breath yet. Neither had you.

You turned toward him and propped yourself against the curve of his shoulder. Your hand found the line of his jaw, fingers skating gently across the stubble there.

“Well,” you said, “looks like you slept really well.”

A low sound caught in Frankie’s throat—half a laugh, half a hum—and he let his eyes close for a moment.

Thirty minutes later, you were both in the kitchen. You sat across from each other at the small breakfast bar, twin cups of coffee resting between your arms. Your hair was damp but not dripping, his too, curling faintly at the ends after the shower.

Darcy was chewing noisily near your feet, tail brushing across the floor every so often. Frankie was absorbed in something on his phone, his brow drawn together in focus. You sipped from your cup while scrolling the morning news, the headlines half-forgotten as soon as you read them.

Then your phone vibrated in your hand.

Santi.

You glanced up, your expression shifting. Frankie looked up too, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. You lifted a hand slightly to let him know it was fine, and picked up.

“Hey, Santi?”

The noise on the other end told you he was outside.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rushed, “how are you? Are you at the bookstore already?”

You checked the time. Almost nine. “I’m good. Not there yet, though. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” A beat. “What’s going on?”

You leaned back slightly. “Not much. What’s up?”

“I talked to Frankie early yesterday. I think he got back.”

You flicked your eyes up to the man sitting across from you, who looked especially focused on not looking up just then.

“Yeah?” you said. “That right?”

“Sort of. I thought he was coming in today, but whatever.” You heard the soft thud of a door closing on his end. “We’re heading to Will’s cabin with Yov. He and Benny are going early. Since Fish is back already, I thought maybe we could head out this afternoon. Before dinner. It’s only about an hour away. What do you think?”

“Oh. Yeah? What time?” 

Across the table, Frankie raised his eyebrows in your direction and tilted his head slightly, a question embedded in the movement. You met his eyes for a second and bit down gently on the inside of your lip.

“Around six. Maybe a little after? Could be seven,” Santi said.

“Yeah, I—um—yeah.”

“If it doesn’t work for you, that’s fine. Maybe you’ve got plans or something.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then found your voice again. It came out lighter than you intended. Too eager, maybe. “No, it’s not that. I like the idea. Six works. That way I can get a few things packed and maybe close the bookstore a little early.”

“Perfect,” he said, the smile clear in his voice. “I’ll check with Frankie just to be sure.”

You hesitated. “It’s okay. I’ll be ready then.”

“Good. That’s good.” He paused, and the background noise on his end seemed to quiet for a second. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah. Bye. Take care. Love you.”

His reply came faintly, like he wasn’t quite near the phone anymore. “Love you, too.” And then, the call ended.

You set your phone down on the counter. The screen darkened. The room filled back up with the sound of Mr. Darcy still gnawing at his breakfast and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You looked across the counter at Frankie.

“What was that about?” he asked, eyes narrowed slightly with gentle curiosity.

You opened your mouth to answer, but his phone buzzed before you could speak. It vibrated sharply against the surface, and when you both looked down, Santi’s contact photo was lit up on the screen. Determined.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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[starlightguh]

The Sharpest Tongue

Word count: 2,822

Summary: What if the stone Sylus won hadn't been the right one to send him and MC home to Linkon? As MC struggles to learn the local language, she finds herself the subject of the other warriors in the clan. Too bad it seems like Sylus has the sharper tongue amongst them all.

Tags: Cunnilingus, Grasslands AU, Jealous!Sylus

A/N: This is a bit shorter than I had planned, but I wanted to write something for the grasslands AU and saw someone mention we needed more jealousy grassland stories, so here you go! 100% transparency, I could not find anything on Talanian language, so I used Mongolian words, I'm not familiar with the language so if there are mistakes, I apologize!! I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Find this fic on Ao3 as well!

The Khan had given Sylus the bright red stone for his victory in the battle against the best warriors in the clan. My worries weren’t for nothing as there wasn’t any trace of meta flux emanating from it. No matter how hard either of us tried, we couldn’t resonate with it.

So we were stuck in the grasslands.

For someone who should have been happy due to our victory, both me and Sylus held somber faces around the celebratory fires and festivities. I could feel his red eyes staring at my downcast face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“We’ll just keep searching kitten…As long as we’re together we can keep looking for a way to return home.”

I inhaled deeply and nodded silently as I turned to look at him, his expression was really soft and full of apology. I wanted to go home badly. But…Sylus had a point, wallowing won’t do anything. We’ll just make a plan to find a way back to Linkon.

I steeled myself by fixing my slouched posture and closing my eyes to take deep breaths. After a few moments I opened my eyes and smiled at Sylus, “Well I guess now is the time to embrace the nomad lifestyle…Until we find our way back home that is.”

Sylus stands, my eyes lingering on his distracting buff physique as he holds out his hand.

“Let’s not weep and try to make the most of our time together, hm? Shavanika.”

His baritone voice stirs an excitement in my belly as I take his hand and he begins to twirl me to the rhythm of the festive music the villagers are playing by the campfire. I feel the beads in my hair slap my cheeks as I spin around the orange hues of the warm flames near me. For a brief while as me and Sylus danced around the flames, my anxieties had drifted away. I was grateful to have him by my side and ease my worries.

My bare feet feel unsteady as I haphazardly try to follow the rhythm of an unfamiliar tune, but the warm and strong arms of the silver-haired warrior in front of me hold me steady. I smile and laugh at Sylus’ serious expression as we dance and lose ourselves to a night full of joy.

—————————

After the festival, we packed up and moved to travel alongside the rest of the villagers. Me and Sylus agreed we would adapt to our surroundings of the people around us as we tried to find any clues about a way home.

I was not the fastest learner, but I did get a few things down, the women taught me duties I was expected to help with, from herding livestock, sewing, cooking, and laundry, I was slowly earning my place amongst the others. However, I was struggling with learning the language. I could pick up a few words here and there, but I couldn’t really understand or communicate as properly as I would like.

Then there was Sylus, he was a polyglot so picking up the language wasn’t difficult for him. He must have been fluent only after a solid two weeks of study. I was envious, but also grateful since I relied on his help a lot to learn and understand.

The warriors happily accepted Sylus, he easily fit in and would help them with hunts for resources as well as military strategies and ideas. The Khan favored him a lot and Tara told me whispers of them wanting to promote Sylus to a general title.

While we hadn’t been traveling with our clan for more than a month, we easily slipped into our roles quickly. And now it seems we quickly have found ourselves involved in more politics than we would like.

It was like any other day, I was riding my cream-colored stallion through the grassy fields trying to get the flock of sheep on the right path. I called out the different sounds and commands I was taught while keeping a stead-fast pace on horseback.

My hunter's instincts kicked in as I noticed one sheep was away from the herd, and upon further investigation, it was being hunted by a hungry coyote.

“Shit,” I hissed to myself and acted quickly as I grabbed a rope from my satchel. As the coyote pounced, I lassoed it and used my strength to pull him away from the sheep.

I was heaving and sweaty as I just lifted the clueless sheep back to the herd. As I was getting back on my horse, I heard some whistles call out to me. I glanced around and noticed a group of four warriors walking up and cooing at me.

I didn’t really recognize them, I only knew they were of the same clan since their chest guards had the same color ropes that Sylus wore. The men spoke to me in Talanian, but I could only pick out words like ‘strong’ and ‘brave.’

“I uh…am not familiar with the language yet, chlaarai .”

They seemed to just smile as one made a comment to the group in Talanian, they laughed and just waved goodbye toward me as they rode off.

I didn’t think much of this encounter until the next day.

We had set up camps deep in the Northern Grasslands, orange was taking over the skies as the dawn broke. I was hanging clothes I had just washed in the river on a clothesline outside one of the elder's yurts.

Behind me I heard the sharp tongue of Talanian, I glanced and noted those same big warriors from the other day were talking. I had paid them no mind as I did my duties.

Suddenly I heard the sharp thuds of angry footsteps behind me and a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around my waist. I glanced up and saw a very pissed-off Sylus glaring off in the direction of the four other men.

He yelled at them in Talanian and growled when the other men responded in what I could only assume was a taunt. Sylus let go of my waist and marched up to one of the men and grabbed him by his leathers. People started to gather to watch the rowdy commotion.

I turned and saw Tarna and sighed in relief since she could explain what was going on, “Hey, Tarna….What exactly is happening?” I asked her urgently as it sounded like the men were raising their voices.

“Well…It seems the Khan’s second son Gansu said something about your er….” She paused and looked shy when translating what was said, “birthing hips, and how he wanted you as a wife to bear his children.”

I stood frozen as it all clicked into place. I looked over at Sylus who was still arguing with them, a scowl marred on his face.

“Sylus came in and said they shouldn’t speak about you that way that you were his beloved. Gansu told him that it didn’t matter to him unless you two were wedded or you were pregnant.”

“Seriously?!? If he’s the son of a Khan he can marry whoever he wants. Why would he want me?”

Tarna shook her head at me, “That’s why Sylus is arguing, he says that you are with him and will never have anyone else’s children.”

The arrogant Gansu held a smirk as he practically hissed at Sylus, a dark expression glazed over Sylus’ face. I’ve only ever caught glimpses of Sylus angry, but never this murderous.

“What did he say?” I asked Tarna, my voice full of worry. I could feel the icy chill of Sylus’ anger even from a distance.

“Gansu just said ‘well whoever takes it keeps it’ as a threat… I think you should go over and stop Sylus, if he gets in a fight with the Khan’s son they could severely punish him,” Tarna warned me.

I nodded and without a second thought, I ran up behind Sylus and gently placed my hand on his lower back. His tense body seemed to ease up a bit at my touch as I tried my hardest to speak in Talanian.

“ Amarkhan bai….S-Shavanika …” Fight not, beloved . These were the only words I could best make out with my limited knowledge.

Silently he grabbed my hand and glared down Gansu as he turned to walk away with me. I felt his grip on my hand tighten as Gansu and his men still taunted behind us. We began walking off towards our yurt and it wasn’t until we were a safe distance away I had to whimper to Sylus.

“Your grip is too tight it hurts,” I cried.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and he softened his grip and rubbed his large thumb soothingly across my hand, “Sorry sweetie… I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I don’t exactly know what was said, but Tarna translated some of what you guys were saying. I didn’t realize the Khan’s son and his friends saw me herding sheep yesterday.”

“The Talanian language is very harsh, most of the words are very direct. The disgusting words from the Khan’s second son really got under my skin is all… Why didn’t you tell me you ran into him yesterday?”

“I didn’t think it was important… Also, I hardly saw you yesterday,” I sigh, “You came back to our tent pretty late… Are you sure you weren’t up practicing Talanian with the other village girls?” I hiss a bit. While the Khan’s son may be chasing my skirts, I can’t ignore the fact that all the girls of the village have been trying their hardest to catch Sylus’ eye.

Sylus stopped in his tracks and growled he turned to me and looked down with a sharp gaze, “How many times do I need to express to you I’m not interested in the other village girls?”

I match his glare and put my hands on my hips, “And how many times do I have to tell you I can handle myself, the Khan’s son doesn’t scare me. I’ll just refuse him.”

Sylus tsked his lips and leaned down to lift me up on his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“No. It seems like I need to practice Talanian with the only village girl who matters to me,” he says sharply. He gives my butt a playful smack as I’m hoisted over his shoulder, my face in the direction of his backside.

I smack his butt back and he just chuckles, “You’re not getting out of this one Shavanika, so simmer down kitten.”

When he strutted into our tiny little yurt and set me down, his red eyes shined with a mixture of excitement and mischief. His hand remained on my waist as he spoke in a low and seductive tone.

My back arched at the feeling of his hands trailing down my waist and gathering my skirts up in his large rough palms. He set his other palm in the dip on my hip as he stared at me with almost an appraising look in his eye. “Let’s start with the lesson…What did that man call these?”

His left dominant hand was under my skirt caressing my thigh, I let out a shaky breath as I closed my eyes and tried to remember the foreign words spoken earlier.

“T-Toro? Kha-?” I sputtered out as his palm found its way to one of my bare-asscheeks. He squeezed it and tsked his lips as he brought his face closer to mine and he spoke lowly.

“Torkah Khongo,” the purr in his voice did nothing but further my arousal. I was being engulfed by the dominant energy Sylus was putting out. It didn’t take very much for me to become putty in his strong hands.

His other hand reached under my skirt as well and without further notice, the lengthy skirt that usually met my ankles were now scrunched up at my waist. Underwear wasn’t a common thing within the tribe, so I had been forced to forgo that luxury and be commando under my lengthy traditional clothing. I think for a situation such as a lustful Sylus, it was beneficial to be as naked as possible.

“Do you know what the translation is?” He quirked a brow.

“B-Birthing Hips?”

“Mhmm,” there was a slight growl to his response, “he said that you had the birthing hips to bear him many sons.” Sylus gripped my hips in a tightening grip. “Too bad for him these hips are miniikh.”

Sylus dropped to his knees in a squat as his mouth bit a part of my inner thigh, his hands rubbing the bare skin before him. “Do you know the translation?”

His mouth placed hot and wet kisses in my inner thigh, teasing me by being so close to where I actually wanted his mouth. I gasped out an answer as he was torturing me with kisses, “M-Mine?”

“Good girl, seems like you do know more than I thought,” he whispers breathlessly, “Let me reward you.”

He then licked my dripping slit, I let out a whimper in surprise.

“Tell me, who do these hips belong to?” He asked as he pulled away from licking my heat.

“Y-You.”

He smacked my thigh at my answer, “Ah-Ah-Ah, in Talanian sweetie.”

“ Ta,” I moaned out as he suckled on my sensitive pearl.

With a pop of his lips, he pulled away and smirked, “Hmm that’s a good answer, but I have a better one. Repeat after me: Nökhör .”

The pronunciation of the word feels strange as I try my best to repeat it, “noct-core?”

Sylus just shakes his head and repeats it slower for me, when I finally pronounce it right he rewards me by entering one of his fingers into my dripping center.

“Keep saying it sweetie, practice makes perfect,” he chuckles and his mouth finds my center again as he slowly devours me.

With his finger slowly pumping me and his greedy tongue flickering on my sensitive folds, my voice is nothing but a loud and needy whine of this new word he’s taught me and I haven’t a clue what it means. All I know is Sylus likes it as he happily groans into my dripping cunt.

“Louder. I want the whole tribe to hear you scream it, so everyone knows we belong to each other and no one else,” his lower face is dripping in my essence and his red eyes have a bit of a manic and desperate look as I look down on him.

“Sylus….” I lose my mind as he now has three fingers in me and the mouth of a sinner as he loudly slurps at my folds with his sharp tongue.

Ecstasy and euphoria wash over me as I come on his face with that new and unfamiliar word on my tongue. My knees shake and nearly give out, but Sylus stands and lifts me up so my legs are wrapped around his middle.

I lean my head forward as I pant into his ear, “What’s the translation of that word.”

He laughs as he rubs my back while I come down from my high, “Why, it’s my future title…It means ‘husband.’”

“Sylus! How bold of you to assume!”

He frowned at this and glared at me, “I'm not assuming anything, but unless you want to be the wife of the Khan’s son, then you must be mine…I can’t protect you from the leaders otherwise.”

I blush, “I-It’s just so embarrassing….I never thought about marriage.”

He smirks a bit, “Well I'm glad I can change your mind, at least while we’re here. Linkon has a very different culture from the grasslands, and we can talk about a proper marriage when we return home. Deal?”

“Fine but you’re not knocking me up while I'm here,” I huff at him as he lays me down on our pelts and strips off the rest of his clothes.

“I make no promises, but I’ll do my best. You’re just too tempting, Shavanika.”

“Only for you my Nökhör.”

That night Sylus made me scream so loud that the Khan’s son did nothing but glare daggers as Sylus confidently walked through the village the next day I, on the other hand, was forced to stay in bed due to my wobbly knees. When I finally returned to my duties after a day's rest, the other girls just giggled as they saw me.

Tarna translated a message for me that the elders are happy for whatever blessings me and Sylus marriage may bring, but to keep it to ourselves at night. I was horrified and embarrassed, while Sylus walked around as the proud warrior both in the grasslands and in the bedroom.

The strongest warrior and the sharpest tongue will always come out on top I suppose.

~fin~

Translation guide:

Shavanika - Beloved

Chlaarai - Sorry

Amarkhan bai - Fight not

Torkah Khongo - Birthing Hips

Miniikh - Mine

Ta - You

Nökhör - Husband

[stvllioner]

hi sweetie my head is currently empty save for a sweet and understanding reader choking on dabi‘s bad boi d3ck and he rewards them for it afterwards and I wanted to request if you feel like writing something like this but if you don’t that’s totally ok! thank you for reading this ask anyways (^–^)

      dabi/touya todoroki x [fem]pro-hero!reader

warning(s): sexual content, oral (f → m), finger sucking, choking, fucking on camera aka sex tape, dacryphilia, mentions of masturbation, petting, semi-public sex, established relationship.

key: e/c = eye color.

read more: masterpost | adult masterlist | drabble list

a/n: it's a tame... i keep falling out of writing lol. im not sure if it does a good job on the blowjob aspect but it sort of does?? yeah? yeah. thank you, anon!

(E/C) irises look so heartbreakingly iridescent under Dabi's unrelenting back camera flash.

there was not a single thought behind your eyes as it was that much evident after allowing yourself to be so indecent in such a crude place.

you should be patrolling the block, but instead you find yourself in a cramped car, slurping down a villain's cock like there was no tomorrow. safe for him, he still had his clothes in tact, but he couldn't say the same for you. you had told him your shift was almost over so it didn't matter and you'll make something up to make up for the ruined costume later. Dabi would call himself shocked, but also proud at how well he had taught you to lie so naturally and well.

lying in devotion to him as you gazed hopefully at him, mouth so perfectly around his cock, and saliva at the corners of your mouth. selfishly, he asks for you to brace yourself as he pushes your head further onto his length. with quick thrusts as he could manage in the small space, Dabi could care less on how obvious it was that maybe there were people in here doing things they shouldn't be doing. only crooked people seemed to be around this hour anyway.

his cock slides itself easily between your lips, your saliva that forms at the corner of your lips and your combined humming to avoid the gag-reflex helps with him getting closer and closer to his release. he groans in distaste when he feels the familiar feeling build in his stomach and pushes your head away from his length. your hands that wrap around the rest of him that couldn't quite reach your mouth to stroke him, your expression now confused more than anything.

the camera probably lost a bit of focus then, but you were still clearly in view; he always made sure that you were always the main focus.

you ask him what's wrong but is silenced when he seemingly cups your check, lovingly, and strokes your cheek with his thumb. your pretty eyelashes blink up at him before you move your head to the side, enough so he can slip his thumb in your mouth and you happily suck on that too. he curses under his breath and withdraws his hand from you, instructing you to fully pull off your uniform. the hero costume that was specifically tailored for, you, and you only. you comply without any questions, careful to not hit him as you undress.

"play with yourself."

and you do just that.

but instead of just using your own hands, you take two of his fingers into your mouth and lubricate them with your tongue; the wet muscle in your mouth playing with his digits. he growls as you toy with him, instead forcing hand further into your mouth causing you to gag over them. he promptly pulls them out as he lets you catch your breath and turns you over to your hands and knees. phone be damned, he needed to fuck you now.

Dabi tosses the device elsewhere in the car, the object releasing a soft 'thump' as it signifies its landing on the floor. he doesn't even warn you as he begins to pet your already sopping folds, the amount of slick never ending. he circles your opening, teasingly, before he sinks them in, two at once. you softly hiss as he works his fingers into you. you were more than ready to receive him but your tightness was delaying it. as he manages to slip in another finger your jaw drops and your hips press into his fingers. trying your hardest to not moan at loud, you cover your own mouth and take his preparation.

you whimper out his name to warn him of your climax and groan outwardly when he withdraws promptly. he tsk's at your eagerness and uses your slick to wet his tip. through with teasing, he aligns himself to your hole and rubs his tip against your opening. he promptly drops a glob of spit to help with lubrication, not that you really needed it, but you know he likes it messy. it's almost humiliating how elated you shiver once he sinks his cock into your awaiting cunny, legs spreading and hands finding anything to brace yourself.

without his usual carefulness and his on-edge mood for the night, he sets an aggressive and fast pace, hands gripping you tight and nails digging into your skin. you blissfully whimper at the pain that shoots through your body, not sure to say anything about it as the sick part of you loved it anyways. unfortunately for the limited room in the car, it didn't allow much space to work with and it was frustrating Dabi deeply.

"turn around for me, doll."

it was a command more than it was a question. which you didn't mind, either. with carefulness, you followed his directions and turned around for him, assuming the position and holding in your breath as you ready yourself for his pace. his reinsertion was gratifying to say the least. with a swift motion and his hands spreading your cheeks to observe both of your holes, the embarrassment that you would've felt in this moment died long ago. "look at this ass," he teasingly calls out as he delivers a playful smack to your bum, watching as your cheeks bounce on his dick. now he wished he hadn't tossed his phone to the front to savor this moment for later.

your pager starts buzzing with work temptations, the sound of the device nearly going unnoticed by you. in a lust-filled haze, you weakly lift your head up from within the confines of your arms and try to support yourself. you babble, something about needing to look at it—your pleas going unnoticed and Dabi's eyes narrowing at your anxiety. the male sharpens his thrusts deeper into you (how it was still possible, you weren't sure) to command your full attention once again. selfishly, the rocking of his cock graciously stroking your walls without delay in his rhythm ultimately breaks your resolve. with familiar vigor, one of his hands snake forward to play with the bundle of nerves to help further you along, his actions giving you no choice but to finish on his cock.

if only he hadn't tossed his phone elsewhere, he could have captured this moment to sit along with all his favorites with your name on it.

all rights reserved © do NOT steal, alter, translate or copy this work.

[monsterboness]

practice - two

summary: as the days get closer and closer to a certain scene, y/n still isn't feeling as prepared as she could be

pairing: bill skarsgård x female reader

warnings: NSFW, mentions of masturbation (female), kissing, breastplay, dry humping, accidental orgasm (is that a thing? it is now), embarrassment, mild angst

word count: 2974 words

a/n: this part is a little later than i expected it to be, but i did say that i’m slow at writing smut. also i know that in real life there would be an intimacy coordinator to work through a scene, but this is fiction and therefore more exciting.

(let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

one | two | three | four | epilogue | bonus

Things had been going exceptionally well for Y/N. They were three weeks into the shoot, and any nerves she’d had about returning to a live-action film set after so long had been put at ease, thanks to the director and crew.

But most of all, thanks to Bill.

The two of them had become fast friends at the beginning of the shoot, but since that afternoon in Y/N’s trailer, they’d become just that little bit closer. In fact, they were almost joined at the hip; they ate all their meals together, spent downtime together, and even taught each other things that they could use in future performances - Y/N taught Bill voice techniques, and Bill taught her about stunts.

“I told you it would be love at first sight,” the director had teasingly said to Y/N after noticing how inseparable they were.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Y/N said, trying to hide the blush that had started to creep across her face.

“Uh-huh, just make sure to invite me to your wedding someday.”

Y/N had rolled her eyes at that, but she couldn’t deny that she was feeling a certain way about Bill. Small, friendly glances had turned into longing gazes so quickly that it felt like that was how they’d been looking at each other the whole time. 

What had surprised her the most was how comfortable he’d seemed to have gotten with her. When they’d first met, he was just as shy as she was, despite being used to being around new people all the time, and he kept some level of distance. But now he was fine with being closer to her, often brushing his fingers against hers while they read a script together, placing his hands on her shoulders or arms as he stood close behind her, or giving her hugs whenever they said goodnight.

No matter how much she tried to see him as just her co-star, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he looked at her when she talked, how he laughed at her stupid, dry jokes, and the way he said her name all made her want to melt. She couldn’t stop imagining his lips on hers, his arms around her, or his cock inside her. 

She wanted him so badly that it was clouding her thoughts and interrupting her sleep.

While she’d gotten comfortable with touching and being touched, and she constantly fantasised about him fucking her, she still didn’t feel completely ready for that scene, no matter how much she psyched herself up. She’d practised the motions alone in her room, with a toy in her cunt, her fingers on her clit, and Bill in her thoughts, but it wasn’t the same as having him there with her.

He’s going to see me naked was the only thought in her head, circling round and round until her mind became a vortex. 

He’s going to see me naked and hate what he sees and never want to touch me or have anything to do with me ever again. He could get any girl he wants, why would he want to be with a fucking loser like me?

There was only one way to deal with this problem: she needed some more practice with Bill.

Y/N couldn’t stop fidgeting as she stood on the steps to Bill’s trailer. She pulled at the cuffs of her hoodie and chewed the inside of her cheek as she bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to pluck up the courage to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest as each second passed, and she could hear the blood rushing to her face.

Come on, Y/N she told herself. You’ve known him for three weeks now, it’s not like he’s going to tell you to fuck off.

Her stomach turned when she thought about what she was about to ask him, but there was a scene at stake that she didn’t want to go badly, thanks to her inexperience.

She was just about to knock on the door when it opened, making her take a step back. Bill was just about to step out of the trailer when he saw Y/N.

“Oh, hey,” he said with a smile. “I was just about to go look for you.”

“Here I am,” Y/N said, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay. “Why were you going to look for me?”

“I know you’ve been a little nervous about the scene, and I wanted to know how you were feeling today.”

God, he’s so fucking sweet it hurts.

“I’m still not one hundred percent,” she said as she turned her eyes to her feet and pulled her sleeves over her hands. “Could we maybe... go over it?”

She felt stupid as soon as the words left her mouth, worrying that he was going to say no.

“Sure,” he said, bringing her attention back to him. “Come on in.”

Her legs felt heavy as she forced them to move up the steps and into the trailer. She forced herself to breathe normally as she took in her surroundings.

Although it was the same as hers, Bill’s trailer was a lot more organised: a couple of empty water bottles sat on the coffee table alongside his copy of the script and an open pack of cigarettes, but she couldn’t see a lot of mess. Her trailer, on the other hand, frequently looked like a bomb had exploded in it.

“So, what exactly did you want to go over?” he asked when he closed the door behind them.

“The, uh,” she started to say, but her tongue felt like it was thick in her mouth. “The love scene.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘sex’, suddenly prudish, opting for a word she’d heard be used by older actors in the past.

“Okay, what part of it do you need help with?”

She noticed a blush spread across his cheekbones. Surely he couldn’t be as embarrassed as she was?

“It’s the movements. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You just do whatever feels natural, like you would do in real life.” Y/N looked at him blankly. “You have had real sex before, right?”

She shook her head. “I would’ve thought that me telling you I’ve never had a boyfriend would have given that away,” she said, wanting to pull her hoodie over her head and sink into the floor.

“Oh shit, of course. Sorry, Y/N, I should have remembered.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I go around telling people that I’m a virgin. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“Hey, there’s nothing embarrassing about it,” he said as he took her hand in his and led her over to the sofa for them to sit next to each other. “You’re sharing your body with another person, it can be scary.”

“Can we talk about the scene now?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, right, the scene.” He picked up his script and flicked through to the scene in question.

Just looking at the directions made Y/N’s stomach turn; just kissing Bill was nerve-wracking enough, this was something completely different.

“Okay,” he said as he read through the script. “The beginning is easy enough. I’ll be on top, so you don’t need to do much.”

“And then? What about when I’m on top?”

She read through the directions again; not only did she need to writhe around on top of him, but she was about to have his hands on her breasts too. 

I picked the wrong day to wear my hair up, she thought as her face started to burn.

“We can work that out,” Bill said, placing his hand over hers to comfort her. “Do you trust me?”

She looked at their joined hands and thought about what was about to happen. Of course she trusted him. He made everything feel so easy, so natural. She’d worked with actors in the past who would have just left everything to chance and refused to rehearse with her, and here she was with someone who was willing to help her out. Who treated her as another human being and not just another step on the way to a paycheck.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, her voice small. “I trust you.”

“Good,” he said as he smiled softly at her, his eyes dilated slightly. “You’ll want to be sitting in my lap for this.”

Y/N gingerly let go of his hand and climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs and her hands on his shoulders as she hovered over him. 

“Like this?” 

He placed his large palms on her hips, the feeling immediately travelling straight between her legs. She wanted nothing more than for him to slip his fingers lower and touch her clit over her thin yoga pants as it started to slowly throb.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” She nodded. “That’s the kind of motion you’re going to do.”

Haltingly, she lifted herself onto her knees and lowered herself back down again, testing out the motion. She’d done it before with one of her toys inside her, but that was something she’d done completely alone while thinking about him. There was no way she was ever going to own up to that.

“Is this okay?” she asked as she continued the motion, unable to properly focus with how his hands were holding onto her.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. That way’s better for show, but you could try another way.”

He gripped her hips a little tighter and pulled her to sit on his thigh, her pussy dangerously close to where she wanted to be the most. 

“Just move your hips forwards and backwards,” he said, guiding her by pulling her towards him.

She mimicked his movements, her swollen clit dragging against his thigh with each pass of her hips. She could feel herself getting wetter and bit her lower lip to stifle a moan, her eyes drifting closed as she continued to grind against him.

“That’s good,” she heard Bill say, his voice suddenly closer to her ear. “Just keep doing that.”

She gasped when she felt his lips on her neck, laying gentle kisses along her jaw before he made his way to her mouth. His lips were so soft against hers, caressing them as she whined into his mouth. She ran her tongue against his lips, taking the lead and plunging it into his mouth when he let her.

Her body was starting to get hot, the thick hoodie no longer seeming like a suitable outfit. His hands slowly drifted up from her hips, no longer guiding her but skimming across her stomach to dip under the band of her bralette.

“Can I touch you here?” he rasped against her mouth, waiting for her to give him permission.

“Yes,” she breathed before breaking the kiss to pull her hoodie and top over her head in one go. She opened her eyes as she tossed it onto the sofa beside her, taking notice of how Bill looked at her as she straddled him.

When she’d picked out her underwear that morning, comfort had been her only priority, but now she was glad that she’d picked the bralette. The grey fabric didn’t show much of her breasts, but just enough cleavage for him to notice.

She watched as his eyes dilated and travelled down to her breasts before he dipped his head to kiss the base of her throat, his hands dipping under the cotton to hold her breasts.

“Don’t stop,” she whined as she threaded her fingers in his hair.

Her eyes fluttered closed when he started to kiss her neck again, his hands gently squeezing her breasts and his thumbs stroking her nipples, making them harder and harder with each caress.

A small moan escaped her lips as she rocked her hips faster, her throbbing clit starting to tingle and burn with pleasure. She wished so badly that his cock was inside her, that he was touching her for real.

Even though they were just rehearsing for a scene, it felt real enough to her.

She pulled his head back to kiss her lips again, a short moan of his own escaping his mouth when they made contact, their tongues tangling together as he continued to fondle her chest, keeping his touches gentle.

She tried so hard to keep her coming orgasm at bay, clenching her pussy tight and digging her nails into his shoulders as he continued to kiss her, but it was futile.

Her orgasm crashed through her like a wave, her hips stuttering against his thigh and her breath escaping her lungs in gasps as her cunt clenched around nothing and her essence gushed out of her, soaking her panties. Lights flashed behind her eyes with each clench, and she eagerly kissed him back as the endorphins flooded her body. Her body shook in pleasure as it subsided, leaving her only with the hope that he didn’t know it was real.

Thankfully, Bill was none the wiser.

“If you do it like that, you’ll have no problem,” he said against her lips as he took his hands out of her bralette.

Y/N stilled to catch her breath and tried to ignore how her clit continued to throb as she looked at him, taking in his soft smile and gentle gaze. She could have dived back in to kiss him again if something else hadn’t caught her attention.

What the fuck is that? Y/N wondered as she felt something damp between her legs. She dragged her eyes away from Bill’s face to where she sat in his lap, and they slowly widened in horror once she realised what it was.

Oh, fuck she thought. I just came. On him.

She should have been able to talk to him about the scene, about anything else, but instead, alarm bells were blaring in her head. She shuffled back slightly to see if there was any ‘evidence’ on his clothes but, thankfully, he was clean.

She couldn't say the same about herself, though.

Although she couldn't see, she knew that there was an obvious wet patch over the crotch of her yoga pants, and that was only going to get more noticeable if she didn't climb out of his lap soon.

“Are you okay?” he asked her as he moved his hands back to her waist. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to go,” she choked out, her voice small and strained, as she jolted out of his lap, pulled her top and hoodie back on, and scurried to the door.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake.” 

She was just about to pull the door open when she felt his hand circle her wrist. Her heart slowed down in her chest, but it was still fast enough for her to notice. 

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing her attention back to him. “Try to breathe, okay?”

She took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus on his hand on hers as it slipped down to twine their fingers together. Her heart still hammered in her chest as she kept her eyes on the door, unable to look at any part of him.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. “Was it me? Was it something I did?”

No, she thought. It was something I did.

She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, it was just way too embarrassing. He’d never want to have anything to do with her ever again, let alone work with her.

“I just panicked, that’s all,” she said, her voice small. 

Panicked because I just had the best orgasm of my life while grinding against you.

Gently, Bill tugged on her hand and pulled her into his chest, enveloping her in a warm embrace. She initially stiffened when her cheek bumped into him, but she let herself relax against him, her ear resting on his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. The gentle beat soothed her frayed nerves, and she lifted her arms to wrap around him, trying to keep him as close to her as possible.

Her eyes drifted closed as she melted into his embrace, the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent filling her senses as he softly stroked her back. Even through the thick fabric of her hoodie, she could feel her skin tingle under his hands, and she wished he would just push his hands underneath like he’d done before.

“Feel better?” he asked her after an extended silence, his voice vibrating in her ear.

“A little,” she said, her voice still shaking. “Just first-time nerves, I guess.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed before bending down to softly kiss the top of her head.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open.

He’d never called her anything like that before, just her name.

Conflicting emotions whirled around in her head. Of course she wanted him to be like this with her, who wouldn’t? But there was the film at stake, she didn’t want to let her feelings for him cloud her mind and affect her performance.

This isn’t right, she said to herself. You came in here looking for help and ended up starting something bigger.

“I should go,” Y/N said again, begrudgingly wrenching herself free from his grasp.

“Y/N, wait,” she heard him say as she threw the door open and rushed back down the steps to her trailer.

She could only deal with her feelings the only way she knew how.

There was no way she’d be able to be alone with Bill again.

tags: @unlimitedlust @malenoradgn

[cloudcountry]

just realized i NEVER posted this to tumblr??? HELLO??? if it wasn't for ao3 this shit would have been lost media because i literally cannot find it in my google docs??? HELP???

ANYWAYS!! WELCOME TO WHAT THE TWST BOYS LEFT YOU WITH AFTER YOU BROKE UP

its bittersweet. you guys broke up on good terms. post-formatting auburn here and omfg what was i THINKING this shit HURTED. OW. CRITICAL HIT I NEED A HEALER. FUCK.

Riddle Rosehearts leaves you with an appreciation for learning, a strong sense of awe at the bookshelves lining the walls of NRC’s library. He leaves you with a pen, tucked at the bottom of your backpack that you forget about until a late night study session. You find it and giggle, remembering the time he gave it to you when yours ran out of ink, and you begin to take notes with the red-rose ink.

Trey Clover leaves you with a sense of nurture. You pick up cues from people that you never would have seen before and know exactly how to act, and it isn’t until you find yourself “babying” Ace that you step back and laugh. Of course Trey rubbed off on you, he always was taking care of you with nobody to help out him.

Cater Diamond leaves you with extensive knowledge of camera angles. When you’re taking pictures with your friends or just you, it's like you know exactly which filter would look best with every shot. Sometimes you’ll stumble upon a filter you only ever used on his pics, and you’re filled with a bittersweet happiness. Simple photo editing holds so many memories, and you can only hope he’s making new ones, too.

Deuce Spade leaves you with a motivation to protect yourself. When you started dating him all that time ago, he insisted on giving you some form of self defense lessons just so you could protect yourself. He made you more confident, even if he never knew it. You’ll always be thankful for the way he unknowingly made you stand up straighter, like you were proud to be yourself.

Ace Trappola leaves you with a lighter soul. He’s always been a goofy person, and you know full well that he’s never changed. He made you way more optimistic just by dealing with things the way he did, always being true to his heart no matter who he was speaking to. You always admired that about him, and it made you feel like you could be more like yourself even when he wasn’t there anymore.

Leona Kingscholar leaves you with a piece of his pride. He always told you to keep your head up especially when you’re scared half to death. You find yourself using his advice every time you face a situation you’d rather not be in, and slowly conquer everything that used to freak you out. You finally glow with the pride that you know he would have been so proud of if he was still with you, but you’re starting to think that maybe he’s proud of you anyway.

Ruggie Bucchi leaves you with a determination to constantly fight for better. You need to make the best of your circumstances, being transported to a world where you’re powerless with nothing but the shirt on your back. He’s taught you to be crafty and resourceful, and to never let yourself be taken advantage of. You can’t thank him enough...and really, you can’t anymore, but that’s okay.

Jack Howl leaves a carefully planned school year in his wake. You find yourself planning out your day, little events scribbled into your calendar and schedules created in the margins of your notebook. Jack had always reminded you of things and you wanted to let him know how much you valued his efforts to keep you on track, so you started writing down his schedules too. It isn’t until you flip back through your notebook to find older notes that you see “Track and Field Meet - 5pm” and feel a pang in your heart.

Azul Ashengrotto leaves you with a ton of home-economics knowledge. Long after you two have broken up, you still find yourself checking on your monthly expenses and tweaking your meal plans, and it isn’t until you’re laying in bed one night that you realize you wouldn’t be nearly as efficient as you are now if it wasn’t for your previous sweetheart.

Jade Leech leaves you with a fascination for the world around you. He took things that you didn’t think twice about and twisted them into beautiful sights, and you never quite looked at them the same way. It’s not a bad thing, it’s quite the opposite, actually. Your world has never been more beautiful, even if the boy that opened your eyes isn’t there to see it with you.

Floyd Leech leaves you with a restless need to do something. Sometimes, during your down time, you’ll set down your phone and start pacing around your room, wondering why your legs just can’t seem to sit still. Then something clicks—Floyd used to barge into your dorm and dance with you at random intervals, but he doesn’t do that as much anymore. Laughing to yourself, you slip on a coat and decide to take a walk—anything to get the fidgeting out of your system.

Kalim Al-Asim leaves you with a brighter smile and higher patience. You’d always had to chase after him on whatever misadventure he decided to go on that day, apologizing to Jamil with a wobbly smile on your face once the day was done. Kalim never failed to make things brighter, even your breakup. You two still hang out sometimes, but you aren’t as close as you used to be, even if the memories of your adventures remain.

Jamil Viper leaves you with some of his best recipes. It may seem silly or insignificant to anyone else, but you know exactly how much time he spent cooking and baking for Kalim and his entire dorm on a daily basis. He even found time to bring you and his club snacks occasionally. You still know how to make his favorite curry, and if a recipe calls for dates you scratch them out from the ingredients out of habit.

Vil Schoenheit leaves you feeling beautiful. He never once looked at you wrong, whether you had just woken up or had gotten into another mud fight with Grim or if you were wearing a swimsuit. There was nothing but love in his gaze and a reminder to keep your head up on his tongue, because in his eyes you were precious. Because to Vil, you were unapologetically beautiful (and you still are. You always will be.)

Rook Hunt leaves you with an eye for detail. After picking up on everything you did and telling you about every habit he examined, you became keenly aware of your habits and how to manage them. You’re far more observant when it comes to your own self care, and you know you wouldn’t be as diligent if it wasn’t for the insistence of your ex.

Epel Felmier leaves you with a love for nature. You’re hyper aware of how long it takes apple trees to grow and what you can do to help them along. You whisper to your plants now and sing little songs to them and you water them. Your friends have even started coming to you for pointers, and despite the fact that Epel isn’t your partner anymore, you refer them to him automatically.

Idia Shroud leaves you with an absurd amount of techy knowledge. With all the gadgets Ramshackle has because of him, you’re thankful he took the time to explain how they worked. The gifts he made for you almost make the fact that he had to end things with you because of his...family business and that you’ll likely never see him again easier to swallow.

Malleus Draconia leaves you with a greater love for the night sky. You had a person to share the sight of the stars with for once, someone who loved looking up at them just as much as you did. You can still feel the chill of his hand over yours as he reached for it, holding it like you were the most precious treasure of all. Now, when you look up at the stars, you feel a pain of longing in your chest. You miss him.

Lilia Vanrouge leaves you with knowledge of the worlds you’ll never see. You find yourself drawing parallels between this world, your world, and the mystical places Lilia used to talk about. Even Trein has been impressed by the knowledge you’ve displayed in his essays despite not being from this world, and you can only force a laugh.

Silver leaves you with a safety net, something you can use to calm down whenever. His childhood lullaby. He sang it for you time and time again when you were having trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar place when your anxiety got a bit too much. Whenever you have a nightmare now, you find yourself humming the old Briar Valley tune, in hopes that it will give you some comfort.

Sebek Zigvolt leaves you with a greater appreciation for reading (and a pile of bookmarks tucked in an old leather box he presented when he started “courting” you.) You still find yourself exiting Ramshackle on the weekends, and heading to that very same tree you two used to read under. There’s a part of you that wants to look for him, to check and see if he’s also heading to your tree, but you don’t.

[lizzieisright]

can you expand canon tlou alpha abby more? i’d love to know more about her

Ohhh I enjoyed exploring alpha!Abby's story so much, thank you for the req!

Okay so I wish I could do the bullet pointy hcs thing, but I can't, so there is me rewriting the whole tlou 2 plot for Abby's backstory (and I guess her and reader's future too).

Alpha!Abby grew up with an alpha parent (Jerry), and she looked up to him in terms of how to be a proper alpha: how to carry herself as someone safe to be around both in sense that she won't hurt her people and that she will protect her people. She was friends with Owen (although I debated if I wanted Owen to be an omega, but their personalities would clash) and she was dating Mel at the time of Jerry's death.

She was sweet and dorky, protective as shit, but otherwise quite popular among people. She was a person everyone could go to for help, just like her dad was there for anyone who needed him.

Her first rut happened when she was sixteen and she took it well, but her presence grew extremely strong: from a sweet adorable alpha to a walking challenge that everyone backed down from. This part is not something she enjoyed after working so hard to be seen as safe and comforting, but she still had her personality to compensate for it. Mel found it cute, but she didn't like that Abby could influence her so easy. Owen teased her about it to no end, but in the beginning they were constantly going from 1 to 100 in terms of being at each other's throats, because Abby couldn't control her impulses to get back at Owen. If before the rut her snarls were playful and passed as friendly, after her rut the same snarls she saw as friendly became an invitation to a fight, which Owen instinctively accepted. It took some work, but with Jerry's and Owen's help Abby learnt how to control her own alpha presence.

Then Jerry died, and with him died the sweet, adorable part of Abby. She grew bitter, always at edge and ready to snap at everyone at all times. She couldn't let go of her revenge, and no matter how hard Mel tried to get her soft, protective alpha back, Abby didn't bulge. So Mel left her.

Without an omega to worry about, Abby closed herself off completely and started having casual sex with a lot of omegas at the stadium: it helped her burn some of the tension and she didn't have to open up - it was a win-win. She always had company when she wanted it, and could just snarl at anyone so they'd leave her alone.

Abby became this ruthless killing machine because every target had the same face for her - Joel's face. It took time before she was able to see past it and getting to know people at WLF to return to her protector role. Thinking of herself as someone who kept people at the stadium safe made her more focused and Abby performed even better like this.

She took the news about Owen and Mel pretty well - it's been a long time since Abby had cared about Mel as her omega and not her friend, and Owen was good for her. He was able to keep his heart (and humanity) after Jerry's death, unlike Abby.

And this is where you come in.

A new transfer, an omega whose special skills were shooting and close combat. Unlike others, who found it ridiculous when omegas were military trained, Abby didn't care: she had omegas on patrol with her and you were not supposed to be an exception at learning how everything worked here. And then Abby got threatened with a knife to her throat, which only pissed her off.

She got her heart back the moment she saw you in heat: in pain, tears, begging her not to do anything to you, clutching your knife so you could protect yourself. It hit Abby hard: as she sat under your door for the three days of your heat, she had to reevaluate a lot about herself. Abby thought about how she insulted her father's legacy with her assholish behaviour that an omega didn't see a protector in her, but someone to be protected from.

It hurt enough for Abby to start trying to be better, to remember what her dad taught her. As she started courting you she took a few moves from Jerry's book and it was the first time in years when Abby thought of her dad without all-consuming rage and desire for revenge. It was disappointing, in a sense - Abby's whole life purpose was to revenge her dad and now she only thought of his legacy.

So in this AU Abby doesn't go after Joel and Ellie (I think if they ever met Abby and Ellie would just beat the shit out of each other and then get super drunk, beat each other again and part ways as not quite enemies not quite friends).

However she did meet Lev and Yara, which changed her just as it did in canon. She saved them both and went to Mel and Owen to help, which they did, and without Ellie to kill them, they convinced Abby to go and look for Fireflies instead of participating in meaningless manslaughter. You agreed, because seeing two kids caught in the crossfire was enough for your heart to bleed. You adopted the kids right away, Abby didn't even have to use her puppy eyes on you. And with the unhinged sharp-shooter of an omega on her side, Abby, Lev and Yara made it out from the Seraphites' island.

And then you all went to the Catalina island and lived happily ever after, while Abby found some comfort in seraphites' religion and was able to fully let go of her father and start a new, meaningful life with you and your little family.

[ayukas]

SEASONS

love comes in many forms, each as beautiful as the seasons themselves. sion, riku and yushi each came into your life at just the right moment, filling it with joy, laughter, and passion. but as all seasons do, they eventually fade away, leaving behind only memories of love's fleeting warmth.

pairing oh sion, maeda riku, tokuno yushi x fem!reader genre hurt comfort notes another draft thats been sitting in the basement for months orz i🩶onriyu reblog if u love onriyu 2!!!!!!

WINTER

just like the shifting seasons, love takes on different forms, each carrying its own beauty and impermanence. as snow drifts past the windowpane, you find yourself reminiscing over three seasons of love, each distinct yet equally unforgettable.

SPRING

spring arrived with the scent of rain-soaked pavements and the buzz of new beginnings. you met riku at a small town cafe, the air thick with freshly brewed coffee and the soft chatter of customers. he was a quiet man with a steady presence, similar to the way petals clung onto branches before silently being carried away by the wind.

your love bloomed quickly, delicate and fleeting, much like the cherry blossoms that lined the streets. with riku, love was defined as gentle touches over warm mugs, shared glances that spoke more than words, and laughter that was carried by the spring breeze.

but riku was a dreamer, and his dreams were far too big for the place you call home.

when the opportunity arose for him to pursue volleyball professionally, he had already made his mind long before he needed to speak the words out loud. standing at the train station, with the scent of blossoms lingering in the air, you forced yourself to smile as he held you for the last time.

"we'll see each other again, right?" the words slipped past your lips, delicate with hope.

his smile was soft, yet bittersweet.

"of course."

and just like that, spring faded, taking him with it.

SUMMER

summer was a blaze of golden light, in the heart of a festival where music pulsed through the humid air. this was where you met sion—bold, untamed, and the embodiment of summer itself. he was introduced through your brother, daeyoung, though introductions were hardly necessary. after all, sion always had a way of making himself known, attracting people into his orbit with effortless charm.

love with sion was reckless abandonment, stolen kisses beneath neon streetlights, and the rush of wind through open car windows during late night drives. he taught you how to let go, to live in the moment without worrying about what comes next. your days were filled with sun-soaked adventures, while your nights carried the scent of sea salt and the distant hum of the city.

but summer, no matter how colourful, always fades into something quieter. and beneath sion's carefree laughter concealed a truth he had been avoiding.

"i don't think i'm ready for something serious."

the confession came softly, like the way a tide recedes from the shoreline.

sion was someone who loved deeply, but feared being loved in return. and so, as the summer heat began to wane, so did you, leaving behind only sun-bleached memories and the ghost of a warmth that once existed.

AUTUMN

autumn carried a crispness in the air, an aroma of cinnamon, and the quiet promise of change. you met yushi at a halloween party, a ridiculous coincidence given that he was dressed as a minion, and you, had come as the purple equivalent.

your love was built on laughter—playful teasing, stolen glances across crowded rooms, and shared warmth beneath oversized sweaters. yushi was a contradiction, both lighthearted yet deeply thoughtful, the kind of person who could make even the dullest days feel golden.

but beyond the laughs and easy smiles, there was something unspoken, something hesitant. it wasn't until the leaves had fully turned and when the air carried the first whispers of winter that he finally told you,

"i have to leave soon."

the words lingered between you, caught in the stillness of an autumn evening. he didn't want to go, and you didn't want him to leave, but life had a way of tugging people in different directions, making choices before hearts were ready to accept them.

and so, as the last of the autumn leaves drifted to the ground, so did your time together. your love, much like the season, had been beautiful in its transformation.

WINTER

snow falls in thick, quiet flurries, blanketing the world in white. winter is the season of calm and reflection, and in its quiet, you find yourself wondering about the loves you lost and the memories you gained.

each season held something different—the softness of spring, the intensity of summer, and the warmth of autumn—but winter, winter is yours alone.

the seasons will always shift again, and perhaps love will find you once more. but for now, you let the snow fall, allowing yourself the space to simply be.

[jasi-jx]

˙✧˖°📷 ⋆｡˚꩜ 𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 (ft. gen narumi)

𝗴𝗲𝗻 𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗶 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 !

tw: swearing, bad language, people being bad with feeling, kinda fem!reader but boys can also be girlbosses, gen being egotistical and cocky (are we surprised?), mentions of sexual acts, reader is a girlboss,

author’s note: Third crushing post in a row lets gooo. I decided to make it a series. You can find all of them (for kaiju no.8) under #jasi-jx favorite.

_______________________________________________

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ This guy…he has standards. If he is crushing on you, you probably do fit those standards

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Said standards being, strong, can give it back to him. So a general girlboss.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ In fact does not polish his sarcastic and cocky personality for you in the beginning

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ I like to imagine when he first saw you he legit went “Are they single? No? Imma make them mine”. Bro thought he could have you right then there

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ The whole “I want someone strong” came to kick him in the ass when he realized you weren’t easy

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ That day, he read all of your files, asked about you to literally everybody

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Now you have unlocked, gen narumi, the strongest, trying (in his own way) to woo you

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ There are two sides to this. Him openly flirting with you outside of work, and him acting badass on the battle field (he folds if you praise him after)

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ As for you, you’re like “He is a manchild…but he is hot when he fights…what do I do…”

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Wore his hair slicked back like he does in battle 24/7 when you told him he looks better like that (still love his bangs)

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ He is going around bragging and talking about you to anyone and everyone, as if you are already dating.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Taught you how to use his weapon whether you asked him or not.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ If you went on a mission with him, he was not off your ass. He was like “get behind me!”. Bro was heavy on protecting you no matter how powerful the kaiju is.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ You were like “Huh?!”. He worded his need to protect you in a way that made it seem like he didn’t take you seriously.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ If you ran past him and defeated the kaiju on your own, he definitely fell for you all over again.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ On the topic, he loves watching you fight. The only time he is ever like “Nah, I’ll just watch.” when there is a mission.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Would step in if he felt like you were in danger though.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ One of the rare moments where he leaves his games is when you’re training

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Did legit fantasize training with you and pinning you down, having a whole ass sexual tension moment

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ If that did happen, he thought about it moment for a week

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ If it didn’t and you kicked his ass, he still thought about it for a week. Only this time he swore to himself next time he would turn it around.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ If you game, he somehow convinced you into playing with him.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ In the end, either you folded and asked him out, or he got impatient.

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ Impatient Gen, walked up to you, pulled you in, gave you a half sloppy kiss.

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

Izuku vs 1-A: Katsuki’s Hypocrisy

Hey y’all 👋. I’m back for yet another rant about everyone’s favorite character 😂.

So Izuku’s fight with 1-A, the one where they try bringing him back to UA after he runs off, is a heavily criticized part of MHA, and for good reason. Today, I want to talk about the biggest flaw in the entire scene, and that’s how Katsuki proves once again that he’s really learned nothing.

Katsuki begins his portion of the confrontation insulting Izuku, claiming he’s looking down on everyone else and believes that they can’t handle themselves against AFO. Katsuki frames this as an ego thing, and the scene is supposed to show how Katsuki’s using his own personal experiences of underestimating someone/overhyping their own self to show that he knows what he’s talking about.

Thing is, Katsuki’s experiences and what Izuku is currently doing are two different things.

Izuku left to protect everyone. He witnessed what Tomura and AFO can do during the former’s attack on UA. Many heroes died and several of his classmates almost did. He knew Tomura and AFO were targeting him, and that they would attack again and again until either they were killed or he was. To protect as many people as possible, he left and kept himself hidden with the idea that Tomura and AFO would try tracking him down and he could bring the fight somewhere where casualties would be reduced, if not eliminated. There’s certainly flaws with his plan, but it was one he created out of desperation and selflessness.

Furthermore, Izuku would’ve done this no matter what. If one of his classmates was Superman himself, he still would’ve left (ok, maybe an exaggeration, but you get the point). He was willing to risk his life so that no one else would have to get hurt.

This is far different than Katsuki treating everyone as inferior to him due to him being born with a powerful quirk. Katsuki went out of his way to hurt others, Izuku went out of his way to save others. Katsuki looked down on others due to having a stronger quirk. Izuku saw that people were targeting him due to his own quirk, the one quirk that had beaten his opponents before.

This is why Katsuki comparing himself to Izuku falls flat. Katsuki’s actions were fueled by selfish reasons whereas Izuku’s were fueled by selfless ones. Izuku never saw himself as superior when making his decision, he simply realized that his quirk is what was fueling the actions of Tomura/AFO.

Another issue with the confrontation is when Katsuki mocks him for being an All Might wannabe. Bro, your hero name’s literally an homage to All Might’s. Your whole reasoning for being a hero is because you want to be like your interpretation of All Might, a powerful hero who doesn’t lose. Izuku is an All Might wannabe, yes, but he inherits most of All Might’s good qualities.

Going even further, prior to the confrontation itself, Katsuki has the audacity to blame All Might for Izuku’s decision. Yes, a lot of Izuku’s actions are influenced by his admiration of All Might and the hero’s failure to teach him to be better, but he’s not the only one to blame. In fact, he’s not even the worst offender. A lot of his issues stems from Katsuki’s bullying. His lack of self worth that he’s gained from Katsuki is part of why he’s always willing to sacrifice himself without any care for his own safety. Katsuki is who taught him to hold everything in and not want to burden others with his issues, because he doesn’t feel like he’s worth being listened to. Katsuki completely destroyed his self esteem, which is what causes all the negative traits he picked up from All Might to be amplified. His hesitancy to trust others with his burdens can also be traced back to this. Shota’s “logical ruses” also add to this, as 1-A clearly don’t trust him, and as a result, end up not always trusting the heroes to do their jobs. It’s why 1-A went out to rescue Katsuki himself.

Ultimately, Katsuki’s projecting his own behavior onto Izuku, but their situations aren’t comparable in the slightest. Izuku’s actions are fueled by selflessness and a lack of self worth. Katsuki’s are fueled by an inflated ego and his selfish desires. Katsuki’s callout fails to work because he once again shows that he doesn’t understand Izuku, the role he himself played in shaping him, and what it means to be selfless.

[bwat5-blog]

Caitlyn Kiramman's Strength

**Spoiler warning for all of arcane**

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”- Ambessa

Caitlyn's commander arc has been a HEAVY topic of debate. I have written plenty as have many others. I am writing this after reading a wonderful exchange between some other users who added even more to my understanding of this story.

For my purposes today, I am thinking about Caitlyn's strength. The question of true strength is one pursued in many ways throughout this story. Vi learning she deserves to be loved for more than the strength of her arm, Huck explaining to Caitlyn that he became addicted to shimmer because he just wanted for someone else to be afraid for once. So what of Caitlyn? Her strength to achieve, is the strength to forgive.

There are many kinds of strength. Caitlyn is agile, and a great fighter. Her mind is sharp and creative. Even as a rookie enforcer she has the force of will to follow a mysterious tattooed Zaunite into the undercity, never knowing how her life would change. What she would lose, and what she would gain.

People have made many ham-handed attempts at demonizing Caitlyn's character arc in season 2. Their failure to grasp the ways in which grief can warp us is their cross to bear. In Caitlyn's story, we watch as a kind, clever, idealistic and brave young woman is terrorized and almost murdered by wanted terrorist, only to watch helplessly as her mother falls to the same killer. Because remember my friends it's easy for us to look at Jinx's actions and try for understanding. We were there when Powder was a scared little girl holding her sisters hand on that bridge. Caitlyn wasn't. And in a span of mere days, all for the crime of believing she could make a difference, her reality is violently transformed in front of her.

This show gives us many depictions of the illusion of strength. My mind goes to the breaking of Powder and creation of JInx, in which Silco lauds the strength she has achieved by "letting Powder die". When the truth is that no matter how strong her body has become, her mind has only grown more fractured.

Caitlyn's takes control of her house. She demands her seat at the council, and forms a strike team to go into Zaun all of her own accord where they actively engage in combat against the Chem Barons. Strength? On the surface yes. But the unfortunately reality is that she is not an agent of law and order, bringing peace and safety to troubled streets. She is on a crusade. And with every step she takes down that road, she destroys more and more of what really matters to her, until even the woman she loves lays heartbroken and alone. All culminating in her glorious rise to Commander. Strength..

It is during this bleak time in Caitlyn's story, that she and Ambessa have a conversation. Caitlyn is questioning the Noxian's brutal tactics, and if the ongoing occupation of Zaun is really worth it anymore. Ambessa says the quote at the top to remind her of her rage.. and of her fear.

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”

And it works! For the time being. Because what neither of them could have known is Caitlyn was soon to be reunited with the woman who reminded her of inner strength. The woman who believed in her, who supported her, who sacrificed for her. Who at the moment of their reuniting, even with that emotional chasm between them and all of Caitlyn's wrongs known, trusts Caitlyn to save her father.

Trust... that single word from someone so important to her and Caitlyn begins to find herself again. Ambessa taught her to kill, to trick, to oppress and debilitate. Caitlyn's physical body growing stronger and more dangerous while her soul was buried deeper and deeper beneath the waves. But it was not until Vi was still willing to believe in her, to give her a second chance, that she truly began to breathe again.

It is in this time, that Caitlyn's true strength emerges. When face to face with the woman she knows captured her heart, and who calls her to account, the question of who deserves who gets a second chance is left in the air. What Jinx took from Caitlyn cannot be undone. And Vi is not asking her to love Jinx, or to love what she did. She is asking her to let go of the hatred, and the fear, and the pain. To live not just for Jinx's benefit but for Caitlyn herself as well. To carry the same strength in her heart that Vi demonstrated by telling her about Vander. And in so doing, for the sake of herself, and the woman she loves, Caitlyn sets aside that rage, and opens the way for them all to start healing.

Our story ends with Vi, and Caitlyn enjoying a quiet moment together. Violet's journey was never about physical strength, but about the strength to admit she deserves to feel loved, and protected, and safe. To know that she is worth more to her partner than the strength of her arm. Caitlyn was almost swallowed by her darkness, never having been more alone than when she was one of the most powerful people in the city. Now here, at the end of things, it is because she found the strength to forgive the person who wronged her, and in aspiring to be the person Vi deserves has begun to forgive herself, that she finds peace.

[simp-ly-writes]

To Be Someone To You

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.8)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You started your new life, got a new job and making new friends yet it seemed no matter how hard you tried to forget about him- Jayce's presence always lingered in your life and it seems that even he himself is not ready or willing to be out of it- he begs you not to be stranger, we only want to be someone to you.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective! jealous! grovelling! Jayce, some emotional angst but a LOAD of fluff (potentially cheesy) and mutual pining, kissing, teasing, sharing clothes, intoxication, a side-OC, reader is mentioned to have hair and is shorter than Jayce, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,814

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: THEY ARE JUST SO UGH, I NEED IT- PLEASE 😩‼️

─────── · ·

─ · · The carriage continued down the road and into a neighbouring region. You were shocked to see various members of the local guard awaiting your presence and helping you out of the carriage before leading you towards their parliament buildings. To your equal shock people waved and smiled once seeing you, what the hell did Jayce do now? You ask yourself standing in front of the prime ministers desk. "We have been expecting your arrival Miss (last/name). Councillor Talis had informed us..." you zoned out for the rest of his speech nodding along until Ximena Talis squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality, "...we have a few professors and scholars in the area that would love to work with you if you are interested Miss?"

You smile and nod, "I would love to take that opportunity, thank you." An assistant suddenly comes in running, "this way, ma'am," they lead out of the office and back out onto the street, pointing you in the direction of the university before the parliament doors shut behind you and seemingly on your old life.

─────── · ·

─ · · In the next coming days that turned into weeks you worked alongside Evren, a professor and active researcher at the local university as his new lab and teaching assistant. It felt great to meet new people, be back in the lab space, and to see all of Evren's students, you loved your new position getting to work with the next generation of scientists and develop their skills yet it always surprised you how excited they were to talk with and learn from you.

─ · · You could scoff remembering your first day sitting in Evrens' office as he walked you through the learning material and basic questions students commonly asked that you could filter for him. You were beyond anxious to mess something up or to have a hoard of students calling after you yet Evren only taught the upper years and from having such small classes he really only needed you to grade work and developing new material with him.

─ · · Evren always made sure you were comfortable and confident before leaving you with the students or in the lab when he had to take a step away. He even helped you to move in to your's and Xiema's new apartment and bought a wine bottle for you all to share while building furniture (class was cancelled that next morning as you all stayed up way too late laughing and sharing stories).

"Do you know I was married for a year?" he asks you, cheeks flushed red from the booze in his system as he fixed his glasses- an anxious tick. "No way, really?" you asked, leaning forwards in your seat with wide eyes as Xiema scoffed mentioning she was heading to bed as you two waved her goodbye for the night. "Yeah, high school sweetheart turned out not so... sweet. Stole all my work and designs I had yet to publish."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Evren," you say, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he shrugs, fixing his curly brown hair. "Well," he begins in a matter-of-factly tone, "I actually thanked her for doing so since I came up with a better idea the next week." You throw your head back laughing as his dry commentary, your heart racing remembering how Viktor used to talk to you like this. You face soon falls remembering the man Viktor connected himself to... Jayce.

"Hey, everything alright?" Evren's face falls, green eyes looking into yours with concern as you pull away and look distantly through the window. "Just... remembering past things," you try and move conversation, feeling anger, pain, and sadness starting to boil underneath your skin the more you think about it. "Favourite book?" Evren asks into the dead air as you look at him with relief for not asking any further questions- he seems to silently understand what you were going through internally and you were thankful for it.

"Asking all the hard questions aren't you now," you tease before burying yourself into the blankets on the couch as he throws you a pillow, "don't fall asleep on me now-" Evren begins to say seeing you ready to doze off. A wave of deja vu flashes over you and see Jayce's eyes looking into your own before blinking them away to see green again. Evren now looks exceptionally concerned, "I wasn't going to press earlier but I am worried about you, friend."

You smile at the term, something you both established at the beginning as many of the students "shipped" you two together. "I just hate that I miss him. Hate that I always check the death lists coming from Piltover- wait to see his name as they study corpse after corpse. I just feel disgusted with myself for..." you fail to continue your sentence, confused as to what to say next.

The thought of Jayce Talis made your heart race and equally ache, he made your blood boil and yet when you flipped through one of the few journals you packed, you broke down at the messages and jokes he wrote to you in the margins, you couldn't help but cry for everything you had lost. You swore to see him sometimes between the ailes of bookshelves in the library, at the market, or out of the corner of your eye. But when you would walk closer, you would either just walk right through the mist of him or just blink him away like another fleeting thought.

You were bitter towards that fact as you regretted your final moments together. You knew your feelings were in the right but looking back, you would have made the same choices that Jayce did. Trying to play into that fantasy future you both could have had for as long as possible... knowing the inevitable. Giving yourself that peace to enjoy every moment no matter how short as if nothing could come in between you both. It pained you with want just pleading with your past self to step back into that council room and just hold him, go against your pain and your anger and just have lived a little moment longer.

Evren holds out his hand and seeing that you don't take it he gently flicks the side of your head, "It's okay to be frustrated. You hate them because you loved them once, nothings wrong with working through emotions at our own pace."

"Thank you Evren... I really needed to hear that," you respond, closing your heavy eyes. "Goodnight, (name)," he whispers before you hear the door lock closed behind you for the night.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your daily schedule continued as it usually did yet today felt different and the title of todays paper only concerted that, 'councillors working together to build stronger cities'. Piltover and Zaun were combining resources to rebuild- your heart ached remembering this is what Viktor and Jayce worked so hard towards... and now they wouldn't be able to see their vision finally coming to life. Near the end of the newspaper it noted that the final list of the deceased would be out by the end of the week, and still not sights on the name Jayce Talis.

─ · · You stumbled into Evrens office later that day holding coffees for you both as you apologized for being late, the shock of the headlines still ringing through your head, "shit sorry I'm late, did you get a chance to read the news yet- its crazy I never thought this day would..." you slowly stop talking once not hearing Evren respond, hanging up your jacket over his as he stares at you, leaning against a windowsill with an apologetic look on his face before walking over and pulling you in for small hug.

You pat his back, "bad day already?" you mumble with a slight groan not looking forwards to it. You feel Evren shake his head before another voice clears their throat from behind you both. You feel as Evren jumps in your arms before he pulls away and grips your shoulders, forcing you not to look just yet. "I promise you that I had no idea, if I had I would have screened you first and this was not my choice and-"

You take a deep breath before looking over and your heart drops seeing... "Jayce?" sitting behind Evrens desk glaring at the other mans hold on you before catching your eyes and smiling anxiously. You can feel the world slow, your vision tunnelling to his smile and the shake in his hands he tries to hide by holding them together. Blinking away tears, as he slowly nods and stands, you hold out your hand, silently asking him to stay in his spot. "Am I seeing things, Ev?" you ask in a small voice, unsure.

Evren takes his time to respond, "that is Councillor Talis," he confirms before starting to move out of the room to give you both space yet you reach out and grip his hand for support. You look at Evren, "thank you, I'll be in lecture soon." He nods, giving your hand a squeeze and shuts the door softly behind himself.

"I know you must be confused but please allow me to explain-" Jayce begins before you cut him off with a heated glare. "No, Councillor Talis. You will fucking listen to me when I say you shouldn't be here after what you did to me. You said you were going to die, going to leave me, and yet you have the audacity to stand before me and plead?" You watch as Jayce's expression falls, his shoulders dropping as his head lowers apologetically, shuffling on the spot as if you kicked a puppy- your heart aches and you only become more frustrated.

"No Councillor you don't deserve to be moping around after the utter shit you pulled trying to play hero. I won't thank you, won't get on my knees and worship you- no. Do you understand how many nights I held myself sobbing to sleep, thought to see you- to hear you, desperate to feel you?" you are vibrating with anger, electricity flowing through your veins power by the passion in your heart.

"I do understand," Jayce's tone is firm, a warning to your heart for what is to come. You watch as he walks over and stands before you, his head tilting down and cocking to the side as he looks over your features distantly with dark eyes- you hate yourself for blushing.

"When I got stuck in the rune, I was forced to see your dead body before you consumed my every. waking. thought. It was your voice that called me back to you, that allowed me not to feel the pain in my leg, the ache in my ribs from starving. The thought of your touch against my body propelled by every step. I didn't stop- wouldn't stop until I knew you were safe... and you know what happened afterwards," Jayce allows a smirk to form across his features once seeing you subconsciously bite the inside of your cheek before taking a few steps back as you let out a breath you didn't know to be holding.

You walk after him as Jayce moves to leave against the desk. You stand in front of him before slapping him straight across the face. Jayce flexes his jaw, licking away the taste of iron building in his mouth. He looks back at you with wide, remorseful eyes and press lips- your blood boils, "I fucking hate your face."

"Mhmm?" Jayce hums, imploring you to continue getting your anger out. You take a step closer, standing in between his legs as you grip the lapels to his coat, knuckles turning white, "I hate that I'll always listen to everything you say and desire your touch. Hate that I still care about you, that I still want you. I hate myself! Hate my weak heart and yet I still let you have it- I fucking hate that I can't move on. Can't function a day without thinking to see you. I HATE YOU- hate that I love you, Jayce!" You punch and sob into his chest, utterly tried and longing for him to comfort you in a way no one else could as large warm palms hold you closely and tightly to his chest.

His beard tickles the top of your head, ruining your styled hair and yet you can't find it in yourself to care about anything. You feel sick with yourself for almost moaning when he kisses the side of your head and hums his apologies into your hear. You are embarrassed with yourself as you shake your face into the crook of his neck.

"I'll do anything for you to be mine again... and if you can't accept that just yet or even ever... I just want to be someone to you- just not strangers, never strangers... please," Jayce begs, squeeze your hips once feeling you starting to pull away but letting go once seeing your puffy eyes mirroring his own.

"I would say yes to everything now, Jayce. But I know that wouldn't be good for either of us knowing what happened last time," you explain as Jayce lowers his head into a nod, "I love you," he speaks softly.

"I know, I know," you respond, taking a deep breath before picking up your notes and learning material, "and thats why you are going to leave me alone for awhile... just so we both can sort though ourselves and come back with clearer minds." Jayce chuckles a little, "what part of me do you need a clearer image on, sweetheart?" he teases watching as you groan and huff your way to the door.

"Goodbye, Jayce," you twist open the doorknob only to feel a hand on your shoulder, holding your movements, "not goodbye- never again," Jayce says while looking into your eyes sternly. You raise your chin, "of course.... see you later then?" you try and say yet it comes out more like a question. Jayce smiles, your heart skips a beat, "better, see you later," he leans forwards to kiss you but ends up kiss air as you flee down the hallway smiling to yourself. Jayce sighs, watching as you turn down the hall and out of sight, back to square one.

─────── · ·

─ · · You feel bad that Evren paused the class as soon as you appeared, checking over your face and telling you to spin three times to ensure you were a-okay. The rest of the students fell into a hysteria and all you wanted was for his lesson to continue and for life to move on. "I'll beat of that councillor if you need me to miss!" "Would you ever consider going back?" "If he were ugly he wouldn't have gotten away with all of the shit he pulled!"

"Silence!" Evren ordered as everyone fell back into their seats and reopened their journals, you looked towards your friend with thanks, seating yourself beside him as you finished marking the papers before you, inputting the grades into your tables to help take your mind away. The class went by more quickly than you thought once zoning out, "how about a nice long lunch break this afternoon?" Evren asks, holding out your coat with a smile.

"Is coffee included?" you ask, offering a small smile watching as his grows, "of course it is."

─────── · ·

─ · · "So tell me, am I going to have to hire another assistant?" Evren asks, stirring the sugar in his coffee while watching your expression tick with annoyance. "I'm not jumping his bones as soon as I see him, at least not again after thinking him to be dead." Evren kicks his feet in laughter, the table jumping with the movement as you kick his shin, mumbling for your friend to, shut the hell up.

"I mean... I would jump his bones. Did you see that oxford shirt?" Evren groans, twirling his non-existent long hair as you roll your eyes. "And here I thought you had my back?"

"I do! I do, but after him threatening me... I think I questioned my sexuality-"

"WHAT?" it was your turn to yell as other cafe-goers looked between the two of you in question. You sunk down into your chair, embarrassed yet eyes demanding to know the answer as you took a sip of your coffee. Evren regretted his words not wanting to stress you out further but every time he would try and change conversation... you would only ask him again.

"Well... I think someone told him the wrong information about our relationship. I walked into my office not expecting anyone yet as I sorted through our schedule on the board and then next thing I knew a hand was being clamped down on my shoulder, the other on my hand in a tight shake..." Evren continued to recall the story of their interaction with Jayce who appeared to "size him up-" you scoffed.

"...and then he said to me," Evren lowers his tone watching as you shake your head at him, "...'I've killed gods and came back from the dead. If I hear that you've done anything against her- know that there isn't a place on this planet I won't be able to find you'."

"He said that?" you ask to confirm- Evren nods his head, chuckling, "He was so jealous saying it- I would have laughed if I wasn't so scared shitless."

"Oh god," you sigh out.

"Oh Jayce!" Evren mocks... whatever we're you going to do?

─────── · ·

─ · · It had been a few weeks since you had last seen Jayce. He had been sending flowers to your apartment with little notes attached that you kept in a box underneath your bed. Jayce also donated a very generous amount of money to your universities department and event sent service people to help fix your leaking sink and shower.

─ · · Jayce was very conscious about keeping physical space between the two of you just like you had asked. Even though it pained him listening to you talk in lecture as he stood at the back of the hall and when he stared down at the tattoo on his arm.

─ · · Everyday was a new challenge for you both not running to one another- it posed a new hurt that you both needed to feel mutually as you jotted down what you wanted out of your future the next time you both were to talk. Jayce on the other hand swirled your ring between his thumb and index finger, reminiscing on past dreams that if he waited just long enough could become his future.

─ · · Jayce always made sure to tell you when he was headed back to Piltover and for how long he would be gone since he was still needed at the Council as they rebuilt the cities and reestablished their trade routes and partners. As a parting gift, he offered you a shirt of his or left his jacket behind somewhere in your apartment when you were out a work and he visited his mother. Evren would also laugh when seeing you practically live out of the large jacket as you glared at him, daring him to say anything.

─ · · In one of his attached notes to a new pair of boots from the Zaun cobbler you liked he noted down Viktor's final words to you and worried for your letter back. You thankfully took the information well... or at least he couldn't see any tear stained pages or furiously written text, just thoughtfully exposed words in a mature understanding of the events. A part of you did wonder for a moment what a future with Viktor would have been like before realizing you both argued more than you agreed on things and the little moments you both shared were only possible because of meeting Jayce... Jayce, your heart heart longs for... and how could you refuse his affection when you wanted him just as much?

─────── · ·

─ · · A part of you was worried that your presence and relationship with Jayce was keeping him away from spending time with his mom but when you and Evren came back from the bar one night totally hammered, your drunken self was almost made sober by the shock of seeing Jayce open your front door for you once hearing you struggle with your keys.

"Had a good night there, sweetheart?" he asks in a loving and equally teasing tone as you fall into his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Wow, you're really here! Hey handsome," you giggle, feeling as his back muscles flex as he holds you up in his arms. Evren mumbles something about heading into your kitchen but all your groggy mind can think about is pawing at Jayce.

You stand on your toes, trying to kiss him. Jayce remembers your words of wanting space and moves his head to the side, your soft lips fall upon his beard with a huff, "mean! I wanted to kisss you since I misss you~" you slur your words together, suddenly becoming interested in your glimmering heels in comparison to Jayce's dress shoes, "I love how much bigger you are to me, always so warm and huggable," you giggle, feeling giddy with yourself before stepping away and running after Evren, "Ev! you should really get a hug from Jayce! He gives the best hugs!"

Evren picks his head up, eyes squinting to the dim kitchen lights to look at you and Jayce who watches your every moment, hands extended and ready to catch you as you wobble on the tiled floors and towards the fridge in search of a snack, oooh apples!

You turn around, fridge slamming behind you in search of a cutting board and blade. Jayce's heart drops as he wraps his arms from behind you, gently taking the knife from you and doing the job for you.

You lean your head back, smiling softly at the man before you- touching his clenched jaw with fascination, "you trimmed your beard, it looks good."

"Thank you," Jayce smiles before presenting you the plate. Removing himself from your touch as he looks around to hide the knife from you. "Are you sober enough to get home? Or should I put a fire on in the living room?" Evren points at himself as Jayce nods, "yes, you."

"I've been sober the whole time to watch over that one," Evren points over to you as you wave cheerfully back, snacking on your apple slices and offer one to him in which he accepts. "None for me?" Jayce teases as you shake your head, "No," you state coldly. Evren laughs, "You ready to get to bed?" he asks you.

You look between Evren and Jayce, "Get your mind out of the gutter," he shoves your shoulder as you laugh, pushing Evren on his back as he pretends to stumble over into the wall, "if you start shoving me, I may just have to report you to the dean," he teases as you narrow your eyes. Jayce crosses his arms watching as you two rile one another up. "You wouldn't dare!" you point your finger in his face.

Evren puts his palms up and shrugs, "Hey, I know that you're leaving by the end of the year anyways- what difference would a few months make?" He asks looking over at Jayce expectedly.

Your gaze also turns towards Jayce, eyes softening as you fall into his side. Jayce holds your upright, thumb gently rubbing the side of your arm. "Are you saying I can't hold a grudge?" you ask, feeling as Jayce fixes your hair our of your face.

"Well, I was trying not to say it like that-" you scoff as Evren treats you with a deadpan stare looking between you and Jayce expectantly. "This means nothing right now," you say, wrapping Jayces arm around your front and playing with his fingers. Jayce stiffens staring down at you yet you look forwards- having a silent conversation with Evren who sighs, "okay, goodnight you two. I can trust you to make sure she makes it to the couch, right?"

"Of course," Jayce says, squeezing you against him for a moment as you smile and wave goodbye to your friend, listening to the door close behind him before stepping out of his touch. "Did you... really mean that?" Jayce asks, not expecting a confident answer since you still appear under the influence.

"No, just had to stick it to him," Jayce chuckles before saying something he hopes you will not remember in the morning, "I miss you, so much... I just want you back but I'll wait... forever if I have to but I'll always live with hope." You look at Jayce for a long moment before heading towards your bedroom. Jayce stands there in the kitchen wondering if you even heard him before hearing your voice whisper-shout down the hall.

"I miss you too... I just want to make sure its more than that first."

─────── · ·

─ · · In the morning you her Xiema in the kitchen, the local news radio ringing through the apartment as you groan and place a pillow over your head, I really have to start saying no to nights out, I'm getting to old for this feeling...

─ · · You startle at the sound of a knock at your door, but Xiema's in the kitchen? Jayce sighs from behind the door, gently opening the door but not looking in as he calls to you, "Morning sweetheart, my mom told me to come and wake you up. Evren wrote in saying you both were..." Jayce contains a laugh, ""sick" this morning." You mumble something incoherent that Jayce only picks up the end of, "...come here."

─ · · Jayce opens your door fully before walking over to your bedside and crouching down to look at your face as you smile at him lazily. Pulling your hand from underneath the covers to hold his cheek, feeling as he nuzzles into your touch- closing his eyes as he drinks in the moment not knowing when the next time would come... if ever, he feels his heart drop as you watch his expression become pained. Guilt gnaws at your chest as you roll yourself over underneath the covers before patting at the empty spot.

Jayce opens his eyes, eyebrow raised as if to confirm. You nod your head and extend your hands to welcome his warmth to your side, intertwining your legs together as you rest your head on his arm and press a kiss to his chin, "I love you," your murmur, not confident enough to look at him in your soberness with the confession.

Jayce gently tips your head back in his direction, his other hand massages your thigh as you hum at the feeling while looking into his eyes filled with nothing short of pure adoration, "I love you too, princess."

You swat his chest before trying to crawl away, "no! you don't get to say that!" you yell into your pillow, holding it to your face once feeling his heavy arms wrap around your torso, touch calling you back to him. "Say what? princess?" he teases, purposefully using his groggy morning voice while taking away your pillow- you kick your feet. "Stop it," you huff, hair sticking up in all positions as you sit up and glare at him watching as his arm flexes from behind his head as he looks up at you, "I love watching your cheeks flush for me."

Your jaw drops as you are at a loss for words, "Jayce-" you warn feeling your heart rapidly beating in your chest. "I love hearing my name from between your lips." You throw yourself out of bed, "and I love you in my clothes."

"This is too much now, Jayce!" you plead for mercy (though you love it) as you run out down the hall and towards the kitchen as Jayce chases after you. "Morning Xiema!" you chime watching as she turns around to see Jayce hugging you form behind with a large smile that matches her own, "Good morning to you both, now who I made a few options..."

─ · · You all sit at the kitchen table together, passing food and the coffee pot. Jayce places an arm over the back of your chair, playing with your hair as you look apologetically towards his mom who just smiles brightly seeing you both together again.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: thinkin' 2 more chapters? 🤔 or... idk, I love these two together so much but I don't want to over do it! 😅

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Guard dog (modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: What is supposed to be a fun night at a concert devolves into an even more fun night.

warnings: smut, (public) sex, dry humping, Aemond coming in his pants, bathroom sex, p in v, afab reader

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @legitalicat

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

“Give that here, let me do it.” You take the eyeliner from Aemond´s hand and swing a leg over his lap to straddle him. Deafeningly loud metal sounds through the apartment, forcing your heart to beat along with it. You straddle his lap without a second thought, turning his head until he is almost smothered between your breasts. Not that the implications are any less lost on you, but after years close touch had also become quite normal for. Never was it this bad though.

“I could have done that myself, you know?” Aemond claims. Of course he does.

“I know. It's just prettier that way.” You release your lower lip while teasing, not even realizing you had bitten it in concentration.

“Prettier? Is that so?” He asks with a wide smile spreading his rosy lips.

“It is.” You shrug lightly, but right when you shift to stand back up, Aemond grabs you by the hips. Promptly you get pulled back into his lap and while you try to get some breath back into your lungs, he already begins to drive his fingers into your sides until you are toppled over in his lap. There is less air traveling back into your lungs than there is coming out, taking away all of the strength you need to pull away from him.

“No… stop… please Aemond…” The words are pressed painfully forward from your throat.

“I’ll never stop.” Aemond only warns you.

Of course he doesn't let up. If growing up with Aegon and Daeron taught him anything is not to give up easily. He tickles you no matter how often you weakly push at his arms and try to get away. No matter how often you say you can't breathe. That is until your body grows so limp, that you are everywhere. Your body loosely wraps around Aemond and fills his nostrils with a scent that has him intoxicated immediately.

Suddenly Aemond stops what he is doing entirely. Awkwardly he lets go of you and helps you stand back up. There is a beat of silence between the two of you, before things return back to the way they were, letting the two of you get ready

“So? What do you think?” You exclaim once you are done.

Putting on your boots, you even give Aemond a small twirl to present your entire outfit, making the jewellery jingle and you giggle with it. The answer you get is Aemond laying a finger to his chin in thought as he looks you up and down. Silently he prays to the seven that you don't notice the flush spreading on his pale cheeks.

“Are you sure about that skirt?” He inquires then. “It's kinda short.”

“Yes, I am. I didn't buy it to be ignored after all.” You smooth the admittedly very short leather skirt over. He was right, your outfit left very little to imagination, but fuck what people are going to say.

“Just saying. If there will be guys ogling you I won't be a happy camper.” He defensively raises his hands.

“When are you ever a happy camper?” The question is as light-hearted as can be, but it is met with a serious look.

“I mean it. If someone so much as whistles at you, there will be problems.”

“Awww my own guard dog.” You go to playfully pinch his perfect cheeks only to get your hand swatted away by his own. “I´ll be careful… mom.”

Aemond clicks his tongue, but nevertheless the two of you leave for the concert that has your stomach flutter with butterflies at the thought of how long you had waited for it. All the way until you stand in your place.

As if by second nature, you lean your back against his chest and lean your head back to give him a small, happy smile. Aemond’s thumbs rub gentle circles into your hips and as a sign of thanks, you run your nails over his arms just barely enough to send a tingle over the skin. Everywhere around you people are wrapped up in their own little conversations, giving you a moment that feels private. Despite the mass of humans squeezed into the venue.

The supporting act is nice, but not even it can move you from Aemond's arms. You only get disturbed when his chest rumbles against your back in the small break before the band comes on.

“What are you growling at?” You inquire softly, looking at the stage, while trying to calm Aemond by once more running your nails over his body.

"Nobody." He murmurs, sighing and calming instantly at the affection. If only you knew the effect you had on him. “Are you trying to give me chills?”

“Is it working?” You smirk up at him.

Aemond doesn't need to answer verbally for you to know that something is working. The blood in his body rushes south and presses against your lower back. At the same time his hands on your waist tighten noticeably before flexing and then returning to their relaxed state.

“So, what did you actually growl at?” The way you turn your body around, however, rubs your back perfectly against Aemond's front.

“Just some guy looking at you weird.” Aemond swallows hard around the sentence in concentration.

“See, you are like my guard dog. I knew it.” You clap and laugh up at him.

This time as you lean up to playfully pat Aemond’s cheek, he lets you. He has no choice but to as the touch of your palm to his face makes your bodies rub together in just the right way.

“Don't say things like that.” He bows his head, but the breathy voice gives away how he feels about your words.

“It makes me very happy to have such a good boy though…” The way his excitement grows even harder and twitches against your back makes you bite your lip.

His pupil looks darker than usual and unfocused. “Please don´t tease like this.”

“Is my good boy gonna come in his pants if I don´t?” It´s a rhetorical question.

By now Aemond´s hips had set into a steady rhythm, snapping against your back for every bit of friction he could get.

“Gods… don´t say things like that. I´m serious, don´t you dare…”

“Why I'd never joke about something so… incredibly hot.” The fake pout and cute eyelash flutter is met by a bitten lip, tightly knitted together eyebrows and a glowy forehead.

“You´re not… You´re just saying that to get me flustered.” The breathless accusation is met with a light-hearted shrug and the band beginning to play. Even though the music is background noise in your own little bubble.

“If you keep this up… something’s going to happen.”

“Good.” You slowly trail a finger up his chest until it rests under his chin.

His eye flutters close in response. “You gotta stop. I mean it.”

“It's so much fun though.” Your thumb pulls Aemond’s lower lip from between his teeth and runs over it.

It's a simple action, yet one that has his mind reeling with the thought of how your hand would feel around other parts of his body.

“If you keep touching me like this… If you do…” Aemond stutters and lays his forehead on your shoulder as strength starts to leave him.

“Come for me then. Be my good boy and come in your pants for me.” It is a soft command whispered hotly against his ear.

“It's too public.”

“No one is looking at us.” With the way Aemond rested against you, your teeth graze the shell of his ear as you whisper into it.

It doesn't take much longer for Aemond to come undone. Leaning more against your shoulder and biting into your neck ever so slightly. The sharp teeth against the skin are almost enough to get you lost in him and miss the strange sensation of his cum staining his pants against your back.

“I can't believe you did that.” Aemond looks at you with an incredulous gaze that quickly changes to one of mischief. “I might have to get revenge now.”

Before you can read the plan from his eye though, Aemond pushes through the crowd. Once you reach the amps, your back hits the wall. That alone though isn´t enough to shut you up.

“Yeah, you might want to.” You show him a confident wink, but with Aemond´s own confidence rising so does the fluttering anticipation between your leg.

Aemond can tell you are trying to get a rise out of him with the playfulness and it´s working all too well. He is already rock hard again.

“I'd planned to have you on your bed the first time, but that’s too far away. I want you. Hands braced against the wall and open your legs.”

You do as he commands, glad for the privacy given by the amps.

“I want you too. Need to feel you.” You grunt as Aemond pulls your head back by the hair.

The other hand sneaks below the short skirt to teasingly wander along the already wet slit or rather the damp fabric covering it once.

“Fuck…” You can't hold back the swear as your knees buckle under his touch.

“You want to feel me there?” He breathes against your ear.

“Yeah.” You nod eagerly.

Aemond leads you away from your hiding spot and into the bathroom. The second the sound of the lock sounds through the room, you are able to breathe a little better from the stuffy atmosphere. In the same second you are also caged in between the arms of Aemond Targaryen and a cold, metal door. The air that just entered your lungs, leaves just as fast from the force of it. Aemond's hands trail his fingers over the tears in your tights, teasing the hem of your skirt multiple times, before finally pulling it up. Your own hands come down to his belt loops to pull him closer to your body. You lean up on your tiptoes to steal a kiss, however Aemond leans away for a moment first. Revelling in your sweet, confused whine at his actions with a smirk. Only when he has savoured it enough, Aemond leans down to seal your soft lips with his own. The way in which your bodies move against each other is purely animalistic to the point the air is so thick with your ravenous hunger, that you are sure it would be easier to breathe in the main concert hall.

Growing more heated by the second, your hands wander so desperately over each other's bodies to commit every bit to mind. After a while one of Aemond's hands pushes you back against the door by the neck. Your fast breath intermingles and as your eyes flutter open, they almost roll back at the way his kiss swollen lips shimmer in the flickering light.

Hastily your hands fly up to open the zipper on your leather vest at the same time as Aemond pushes down his pants and boxers just enough to free his cock. While you are still stunned by the sight of his excitement, his hands land on your hips again, ripping your tights at the apex of your thighs. Then he lifts you off the ground and pushes you back holding you up with one hand at the thigh.

Your legs wrap around his middle tightly, letting your head fall back when he pushes your bra out of the way to toy with one of your breasts, pulling and pinching the sensitive peaks between nimble fingers. Through the pleasure you barely feel him align himself with your wet entrance. And just as Aemond buries his hard length inside of you fully, his lips wrap around your other breast to suck at the sensitive bud. Pulling strangled moans from both of your lungs in the process.

“Oh gods… Fuck, you´re tight.” He sucks in a sharp breath as the words fall out.

At his words and sudden entry, your inner walls flutter around his length even further. Having a hard time adjusting to his deep strokes when he starts to thrust into you. The movement of your meeting hips is nothing short of bold, frenzied, determined to bring the other to climax as soon and if given the chance, as often as possible. “Your touch feels heavenly.” You praise the warm hands holding up and caressing your body.

“You have no idea what you do to me by just clinging to me like this.” Aemond praises you right back. Shivers running down your spine from it. The onslaught of kisses and nibbles to your neck that follows as he keeps driving his cock into you. The rising body heat and heavy breathing fogging up the mirror on the wall. On one of the strokes however, your bodies seem to shift ever so slightly, giving Aemond a new angle inside of your dripping walls, black dots beginning to dance in your vision as your nails dig into Aemond's shoulders.

“Do that again-” You gasp. “Shit, just like that, right there.”

“Fuck I love how reactive you are, princess.” His carnal voice pierces through the cotton that filled your brain in the pleasure addled state from his relentless pounding.

Your stomach tightens along with your walls around him, the knot inside it almost reaching its breaking point when Aemond carries you over to the sink, placing you just on its edge to more comfortably reach for your clit. Rubbing tight winded circles with dexterous movements.

“I'm so close… Wanna come with you, please” You huff in-between moans and cries of pleasure.

“I´m right behind you, just hold on a bit longer.” He swallows around the words, as overtaken by the incursion as you are.

You nod eagerly and try to take a deep, trembling breath to hopefully hold off your climax just a bit longer, a low hum escaping your throat as you let it out.

But in the end, there is nothing to be helped. You reach the height of pleasure and as the knot in your stomach snaps so does the climax wash over you. One last whine escapes your lips that easily could have been mistaken for a sob and as your shaking body calms and your eyes relax from rolling into the back of your head, Aemond follows you over the edge, groaning huskily from deep down in his chest. The smooth skin transports the rumble perfectly to the pads of your fingertips. His hand remains on your lower back to stabilize while the two of you recover, yet still your body sways back and forth ever so slightly. By the time you leave the bathroom, a queue had formed in front of it, but the dirty looks are easy to ignore when both of you have only one thing in mind. To get home as fast as possible.

[thethiefandtheairbender]

Had a good chat with my partner about it today that maybe let me put a finger on what's always bugged me about "we're here to fix canon" attitudes being so prevalent in fandom (especially in the past 10ish years) throughout my life. This is not to say there's never a time or place for that (I've written fix its myself, or the occasional meta on how something could be fixed/improved) or that people are wrong to (we're anti fandom policing). It's also not an issue to me on the basis of "I love my blorbo in canon and fandom mischaracterizes them in the name of 'fixing' them" etc as it is just... coming from a fundamentally different perspective for story analysis / interaction than most (not all) people in fandom, I think.

One of the reasons I enjoyed getting my English degree was because I was finally being encouraged to and taught in alignment with what my brain had always be inclined to do: you always assume that there's a reason, and a good reason, for the story to do whatever it's doing. It assumes that the story is already exactly what it is supposed to be as it is supposed to be, and it's up to you to find the reasons Why.

The story was boring, or made you feel uncomfortable/bad, or you couldn't root for a character or relationship? All of that, at least at the beginning, doesn't really Matter. You assume that the story is paced fine, you assume the discomfort was intentional or part of something broader (historical shit that hasn't aged well) or that the dichotomy of "I feel invested or not invested" isn't useful. And in doing so, you replace all that with asking why.

An example I'll use is 1984 by George Orwell. I read that book in high school and I fucking hated it. Normally, I like the protagonist the most in anything I watch/read, but in that book, I loathed both the two leads and were actively rooting for them to be captured and tortured so the book could end faster; it was an actively miserable affair. I don't think that was necessarily the author's intention (certain amount of death of the author is baked in, but for a lot of the texts I was reading, we didn't even know the author or anything substantial about them, i.e. Beowulf) but, more importantly, I don't think any of those things are Flaws or downsides in the text.

Part of this is because 1984 is a dystopian novel (if a romcom book breaks genre convention that badly where you're miserable reading it, yeah, maybe something went wrong, but more on that in a minute) but even then it doesn't really matter on the basis of genre; I'm sure some people read 1984 and felt fascinated/excited while reading.

Rather, the focus becomes: what do I find so unlikeable about the protagonists? Why would they be written that way (on purpose)? What does it say about the society they live in? What does it say about their characterization, social stratification, etc etc? If a character does something that I think is non-sensical, why? Have I missed something? Should I watch retrospectively for clues? Is there another way to engage and to understand? Is what I label as confusion potentially a, or the, Point?

It is only after finding the reasons, and/or finding them unsuitable, that I let my subjective feelings into play. While a story can have great merit on the basis of relatability, relatability or "this aligns with my worldview / expectations / desires / etc." is not the be-all end-all of discerning quality

For example, I'm never going to be a fan of Jane and Rochester (she's 18, he's her 40 year old employer who routinely lies to her) but there are reasons, Good reasons, they get together in Jane Eyre (a book so subjectively boring I struggled through it twice) in response to both when the book was written and with the book's themes / symbols / their characterization. If they didn't end up together, it would be a fundamentally different story; it would not be Jane Eyre. So objectively, it's fine and an understandably massive influence on the western literary canon; subjectively, it's so fucking bad and I'm so glad I never have to read it again. But if I stopped there with my lack of interest or dislike of the main romance, I'd be missing out on what the text has to offer as well, the text.

This applies to more modern day stuff as well. I don't like Double Trouble from SheRa as nonbinary representation, and I'm nonbinary myself; however, I can acknowledge that the things I don't like about them were probably simultaneously empowering and exactly what the author (who is also nonbinary) wanted to be per his own experience of gender. Having a "I assume the text is right" mindset means that I can hold space for my own feelings/analysis (i.e. I also did not like Catra's arc, as I think she needed to learn other things / be written under a different lens) while holding space for the text as is (under the canonical lens of Catra learning it's never too late to be saved, I think her arc is conclusive and well done). And these two viewpoints aren't fundamentally opposed, but can coexist as analytical soup, being equally true / having equal value under the subjective (my view) and more 'objective' (the canon text's construction, or what I / the scholarly consensus, if it exists, believes it to be, anyway) at the same time.

Again, none of this is to say that you can't take issue with a canon text, or want to change something. I remember one time I was watching a show where their refusal to explore a romantic relationship between the female lead and her guy best friend was actively making the show worse; I understood their reasonings of wanting to put them with other people to explore their relationships, and wanting to emphasize a male-female friendship at the core of the story, and I still wanted them to put the two together as a Ship instead for various reasons. But that doesn't mean my line of thinking would've been Objectively Better—assuming if they had been paired together would've been executed in the manner I'd enjoy, or that them being paired with other people couldn't have been executed in ways I would've enjoyed more—merely that I likely would've enjoyed the series more per my own subjective preferences.

What I see in fandom sometimes is that people, understandably, aren't approaching at the start from a "the story always has a good reason" as much as they are speed-running from a "this didn't make sense to me or felt bad/off" and maybe examining why (which is supremely useful!) but not going back to examine the other side of the coin as to why the story would do it anyway.

Because sometimes the story—or a part of a story—is still 'bad' to us. It's just worthwhile to look at why it's 'good,' too.

[muchanmocha]

What to Know About Mizi & Death

I bought receipts. A LOT of them.

—

Mizi and the other kids have always known they would die if they lose.

SUA: My parents and my teachers all said that it is an honor to be able to participate in ALIEN STAGE.

— Audition Interview

Anakt Garden's brainwashing had planted a misguided, sanitized concept of death in them.

Death only meant the end of their journey. They knew they would be "gone" and spiritually "return to the Great Anakt." They were taught dying on that stage is the best ending, the most blessed ending they could possibly achieve.

They didn't know the brutality of it — the ugliness, the twisted horror of an abrupt, violent end.

[...] despite falling into a state of shock after discovering the horrifying truths of reality.

— All-In Q&A

Sua did succeed in keeping Mizi in the dark. It was only upon her cruel end that Mizi found out death was far bloodier, far uglier than she could have ever imagined.

"You always knew what dying was right? Why didn't you tell me? If I had known I wouldn't have stood still like an idiot. I wouldn't have left you like that. I don't have anything Sua. Since I live in a universe without you, I want to follow you."

— disc:mizisua, scrapped dialogue

From the beginning, Sua's sister made sure she was well aware of the reality of death... but that wasn't the reality she wanted to live in.

"Mizi, I liked my spoken hope. I liked the dreams I dreamt. The world I saw through your eyes was everything to me. Sorry. Please protect my entire world."

— disc:mizisua, scrapped dialogue

For Mizi to know the same realities Sua did meant Sua would lose her world. But no matter how much Sua tried to keep it hidden from her, Mizi did have the opportunity to open her eyes to the truth. She just didn't take it.

Death gave Mizi pause, as it does naturally for all living beings, and she was not completely unaware of the flaws in Anakt Garden's facade.

Yet as a people pleaser and Sua's devotee, Mizi wanted what her God wanted — to preserve her "world." And that meant maintaining her ignorance for as long and thorough as she possibly can.

So she turned a blind eye to the occasional ugliness of their reality and pretended everything is fine.

The Mizi up until Alien Stage had let other people's decisions and wants dictate her path.

Pixie-cut-Mizi is determined to no longer be swayed by the situations she finds herself in, but rather, choose and act upon her own decisions.

— All-In Q&A

However that became a source of guilt. In the endless hours after, she obssessed over the fact that if she had allowed herself to know, to dig for the truth when the seams in the illusion showed itself, things would be different.

"If I had known I wouldn't have stood still like an idiot. I wouldn't have left you like that."

Mizi had a dream.

MIZI: Even if I lose, I get to go back to the Great Anakt… Still, I want to sing and perform with SUA for as long as possible, so I want to win with her, together!

SUA: I really want to go on stage and perform with MIZI. My dream is MIZI’s dream as well.

— Audition Interview

Death, blessed as the teachers made it sound, was still scary. Because to die would mean the end of her journey. To die would mean separation from Sua. But if they tie? Tying meant staying together with Sua, never to be parted by death. She put her faith in this outcome.

Sua was no different from an obstacle blocking Mizi's growth. She always made Mizi dream, giving her faith in a good ending.

— R1 Commentary, Artbook

MIZI: I heard that there’s never been a tie in all of ALIEN STAGE’s history… But if we get that tie, then I bet everyone will call us the most fantastic duo to exist in history, right?!

— Audition Interview

Yet the requirement of winning every match before reaching Sua is a formidable one.

So she's willing to take every advantage she's got to make it happen.

After it was clear neither of them could change Till's feelings for her, she had the ugly thought that at least it would help her achieve her dream. She turned a blind eye to what Till's love meant for him — how inevitably he'd die on stage for her victory, so she could live and move on to see Sua.

But at that time, she didn't truly understand the cost, the price of competing in Alien Stage.

Now she does.

This was not what she asked for.

This was not what she wanted.

The truth is, Hyuna's plan didn't include Till's rescue, as it was impossible. Mizi, aware of this, pushed aside her doubts and headed straight for Till's stage.

Mizi also holds a familial affection for Till. That's why, despite the risks involved (putting her own safety aside) her instincts compelled her to go to him.

— Wiege Q&A

She risked her safety to save Till.

She risked death to save Till.

Knowing intimately well what death involves now, she could not let him die.

But he did.

[dc-jxsontxdd]

Hello sis! Thank u for opening the box!!

What about Arkham Knight! Jason where he falls in love with the reader and is unexpectedly kind?

Thank uuuuuu🩷🩷🩷🩷

Too Sweet For Me

A/n: thank you so much for being my first req. I got super excited about the prompt and I hope it's what you were asking for.

Jason who despite everything he's been through, everything he's seen and done. How could you look at him and see anything but a monster? Let me tell you this, it's not easy and its not fast. 

Jason is the living embodiment of self sabotage and rage. And when you show him nothing but kindness and adoration? He can't take it. He’ll lash out on you, yell at you, might even throw you out. Honestly the thought of being in love and happy is a feeling Jason loathes. He loathes how much it scares him when he starts feeling his pulse racing when you touch him or how much he hates it when he hasn't seen you in days and begins missing the sound of your voice. Hes scared he wont be able to stop himself from wanting to consume you completely.

In Jason's head, the closer you are to him the closer you are to danger. How could he do that to someone who looks at him as more than the robin who died, more than the victim of the Joker. He needs to keep you safe even if it means having to remove himself from the equation.

Does not mean he's not looking at you. Cameras to the front of your apartment, gps tracker, following you around on patrol without you knowing. His defense is he is doing it purely to keep you safe. Which is true but also because he can't stand to actually be without you. 

As much as I think he would be avoidant, it's all tied to his trauma. He can't get close to people, he can't rely on people. His mother and adoptive father taught him just that, so why would you be any different? It's irrational and paranoid but his entire nervous system has been rewired from his time with Joker. He wants to be with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you by the waist, he wants to kiss you. He can't understand why those thoughts exist next to all the bad ones. He feels he's not allowed to think about those things because he doesnt deserve it. But watching you fawn and looking at him with those soft eyes? He doesn't know why, despite all these fears, he falls to his knees thanking you. He worships you, he needs you, he'll take anything and everything you give him with a smile. 

He tries his best to never raise his voice around you, keeps you away from all his knight business, never tells you where he’s actually going so he doesn't worry you. I'd be surprised if he even let you out without him. Not in a controlling way but in an extremely paranoid, you might get killed way. He's your protector, a knight in a different sense from his main mission. The person he becomes around you is not the big bad knight he is outside of your home. This doesn't mean the relationship is perfect, Jason has so much going on mentally there's no viable way he’d ever be the non toxic partner. He's jealous, dangerously so. He's killed men for just looking at you wrong. He's killed more for even referencing you. On his worst days, he probably has accused you of cheating when you obviously are not. He sometimes apologizes. 

Hell start fights for no reason, no matter how little you actually give him to fight about.

He'd leave for days, not to make you upset but because he genuinely doesn't know how to navigate any healthy communication. You might find your favorite flower placed at your window for a few days when he really feels bad. The fact you handle each outburst of his with reason and understanding, are able to hold his face in your hands even after everything he's done? He KNOWS he doesnt deserve you. He probably is even aware of his toxic tendencies. But you? He loves you. There's no one in his head that registers as permanent, but you? The only constant of his reality and existence, he'd be damned if he ever allowed you to leave him. Which in retrospect also adds to the red flag that is Arkham Jason.

He'd do anything you'd asked. Complained once your shoes were uncomfortable? New expensive pair the next day. Want him to stay in bed a little longer? He knows he really shouldn't but the feeling of your warmth against his skin doesn't feel real enough to utter the word no. 

He would not do this for just anyone, but you? Someone who has only ever shown him the good, he feels like he should treat you like the most expensive diamond in his possession. Sometimes it is probably hard for him to even think about you as an entirely human being. He wants to keep that part of you intact. He wants your kindness to never run out. He knows how little of it exists in Gotham, how much of it is manufactured and dulled. To him, you're a bright oil painting at the louvre. Something to keep guarded and untouched by filthy hands. To corrupt you would be sacrilege.

As for intimacy, don't expect a lot. Doesn't matter how you engage with Jason, his ability to be vulnerable is sometimes non existent. But the few times he is like a dream, heavy breathing, his chest to your back because he refuses to let you see his scars left by that damned clown. All hes focused on is how you feel and react. How sweet and beautiful you sound. Hes obsessed with you, every part of you. No matter how much he pulls and acts out, your presence, your love, is his lifeline. He thinks he'd actually die again if you weren't there.