#Needed that w after trying to plan lunches this week

[pathogenic]

SO the firecracker recipe I reblogged is a no go because I lack an instant pot. But wouldn't you know it - there is an oven varient

[lcriedlastnight]

coming home after a shitty day and napping with lando is all a girl needs. you both wake up at midnight rambling, barely even awake, then go straight back to sleep again cause god what i would DO to be wrapped up in his arms all cosy and warm mmfghds

ugh so true anon! i need me some of this pls. also i might've gotten carried away with this one teehee, she was only supposed to be a baby blurb!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1.3k

this day was seriously one from hell, you were sure of it. throught no fault of his own, lando had made you late for work this morning. you were too busy admiring his sleeping face to realise that an hour had passed and you were not even out of bed yet. you had rushed around trying to get ready. your makeup was not sitting right on your face, so it took you twice as long to get ready because you had to take it off and start again.

then last night, when you had put your uniform into the dryer, you did not even notice that the machine was not even plugged in, so your clothes were still wet and you had no time to dry them. lando had told you not to go to work in wet clothes or you would end up with a cold but you had snapped at him, asking what he thought you should do seeing as you were already running late and had no other options.

lando knew about how stressed being late made you, he knew it made you freak out, even though you would be fine, so he offered to run your hairdryer over them to see if he could make it any better seeing as you told him you had no time to plug the actual dryer in. lando forced you to quickly eat some breakfast, so you do that then brush your teeth. by the time you pull your uniform on, it was still wet but it was a little bit better. you kiss lando goodbye and rush out the door.

you had called the cafe you worked in while you were driving there, explaining that you were on your way and how sorry you were for running late. you made up some bullshit excuse that your car would not start and they had believed it. the first good thing to happen today.

once you had actually gotten to work the place was swarming with people, you had never, ever seen it like this before. it was so difficult trying to force your way through the crowd to even get inside.

you saw your coworker and had asked what was going on and she just shrugged. the rush had lasted three hours. you and all the staff were rushed off your feet the whole time, and then for an hour afterwards because the place was a dump and it was a five man job to clean it up.

the one thing that you usually looked forward to on the days you were working and lando was with you was having lunch together, but of course today that hadn't gone to plan either. because of the rush you had completely missed your usual break time by hours and that had made you miss your usual meeting with your boyfriend. today was one of those days where you felt like you needed it the most too. you had taken a sneaky ten minutes to cry in the stockroom. whoever was watching the cameras then would have had a great laugh.

lando also usually brought your lunch to you so you never brought food with you to work when lando was at home so that caused you to have to go down the street and buy food, which you hated because it rubbed in the fact that you were not sitting with you boyfriend, laughing about something funny he had seen on instagram right now.

an hour before your shift had ended you had ended up with a hole in your trousers. you were so embarrassed because the sound of the fabric ripping apart was so loud you were sure they could hear it down the street. you had asked your manager if you could new ones but she had told you the new uniform shipment was not due for another three weeks, so you had to go the next three weeks with ripped trousers. 'this day cannot get any worse' you had thought to yourself. it did.

once your shift had finally ended, you jumped into your car and did not look back. turns out you had left your phone in your locker so you had to turn back.

walking through the doors of your shared flat with lando had felt like literal heaven. it was fleeting as seconds later, you heard laughs and shouts coming from lando's gaming room. he was busy. the only thing you wanted after your shift from hell was to come home in lay in lando's arms. you felt bad interrupting him and you did not even know if he was streaming or not so you left him to it. you peel your clothes off and jump in for the quickest shower you had probably ever been in.

you had no motivation to made dinner for yourself so you treat yourself to the leftovers from whatever lando had made himself and collapse onto the couch.

"hi honey! you're home?" lando asks. you did not know when he had came through but you mumble your reply into the couch pillow anyways. it does not take a genius to work out you were upset and lando being lando, well he did what he knew best. he saunters over and crawls up behind you, arms pulling you into his chest. it takes a little shuffling to make it work but once you were both comfortable and content wrapped in each others arms, you let out a content sigh.

"bad day, pretty?" lando mumbles into your neck, pressing light, innocent kisses in his wake. you groan as his words remind you about your nightmare of a day.

"just kept getting worse." you pout, reflecting on the worst parts of your day. lando coos against your skin, it tickles and brings a smile to your once moody face.

"my poor girl, you're so brave." lando jokes. "i think someone needs a little nap, hm?" lando suggests. usually you would protest, who goes for a nap at seven thirty at night but you knew that this time, there was not a bone in your body that was saying no. in lieu of answering you just move yourself so that lando's chin was resting on your head, and you were hiding in his chest. "just for a little bit." you mumble. lando hums then you are asleep minutes later.

when you come to it is dark in the living room. you had not slept for a little while, like what you had told lando. it seems that he had also fallen asleep. you barely feel like you have woken up, but you know you have because of the discomfort of the two of you falling asleep on the couch.

"lan, wake up." you grumble with a less than gentle tap to his cheek.

"lan, we need to go to bed." you try again.

"m'already in bed. go back to sleep." lando mutters as he tries to shush you by pulling your head back into his chest. your next words are muffled by lando's hoodie. you fight a little against the hand on the back of your head, keeping it where lando wants it, trying to get him to move to the bed.

lando groans, one hand moving to sling over the back of the couch to grab the throw cover you keep there. he then, in one quick move your half asleep brain cannot even begin to compute, he pulls you on top of him and wraps the fluffy cover over the top of you.

"there, y'comfy now so jus' go t'sleep please, baby." lando pleads, bringing a hand to move under your pyjama top to run across the plain of your back. you keen at his soft, warm touch.

"kay." lando grins and tangles his legs with yours, wanting to be as close to you as he possibly could be.

"don't bitch tomorrow when you have a sore back." you warn him, words slurred with the sleep that was seconds away.

lando huffs. "worth it."

[pfhwrittes]

housemate!kyle x gender neutral reader let's goooooo.

rating: PG-13 (for now) pairing: eventual kyle "gaz" garrick x gender neutral reader word count: 1.5k TW: bit of swearing, fluff, mentions of original characters AN: i fully plan on writing more of this, but i wanted to get the first part out before i start the next part. as always, barely edited so funky grammar and typos are still likely. this is completely self indulgent. please send love to @391780 for cheerleading me with this one!

–

your housemate sucks since meeting her new boyfriend. 

your normally sociable, polite and reasonable housemate has turned into some kind of lust-crazed succubus since meeting dale, spending hours upon hours of her time shut in her bedroom with him. and if she doesn’t shut the fuck up in the next five minutes you’re going to kick her door in. or castrate him. or possibly burst into sleep deprived tears.

“oh! oh god! fuck! dale, baby, oh my god!”

jesus fucking christ. it’s 4.30am and ruby is wailing like a cat in heat at the top of her fucking voice. she’s so loud you could swear she and her soon to be castrated boyfriend were fucking in your bedroom instead of the room next to yours. briefly you debate yelling at the top of your lungs but you don’t want to disturb the neighbours any further, so with a muttered curse you snatch your pillow and duvet off your bed and stomp downstairs to the living room so you can sleep on the sofa. 

you get settled onto the sofa and glare at the ceiling in the living room, the sound of rhythmic thumping and moaning still audible even with the increased distance between you and the nymphomaniac formerly known as ruby. you mutter and grumble to yourself as you shut your eyes trying to get at least a little bit of sleep before needing to get up for your job interview in the morning. 

–

at midday you kick the front door shut behind you and shrug your coat off your shoulders as you step further into the hallway. 

“hey i’m home!” you call up the stairs, “my job interview was an utter shit show so i’m thinking we get a chinese and a bottle of wine to commiserate, yeah?” you pause waiting to hear ruby’s usual reply reminding you not to order from the golden palace but silence greets you instead. 

“huh. weird.” you mutter to yourself as you pass through the living room, dropping your bag and coat on the sofa as you beeline towards the kitchen. ruby’s probably making something for lunch while listening to one of her creepy true crime podcasts. 

“hey ruby - oh.” you cut yourself off as you walk into the kitchen, no sign of ruby except for the used butter knife leaving a greasy smear on the counter and a pink post-it note stuck on the front of the fridge. you step forward to pluck the note off the fridge and squint at ruby’s loopy handwriting.

gone 2 stay w/ dale 4 a few days! look after widget for me - r xxxx

you huff a breath out of your nose and crumple the note into a ball so you can pop it in the kitchen bin with the crumbs you sweep off the side into your palm. ugh. it’s such a little thing but you feel frustrated tears well up in your eyes in response to having to clean up after ruby once again on minimal sleep. 

a tiny high pitched mrr! interrupts your internal grumbling and you turn around to face the little tabby that is waiting patiently by an empty food bowl. 

“hiya widge, have you been a good girl while i’ve been out?” you ask softly as you crouch so widget can bonk her head onto your outstretched hand. typically widget doesn’t answer but she chirps again before padding back to her bowl, politely requesting that you get with the programme and make with the biscuits before cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. 

you sigh and push yourself up from the floor, just another half finished job left for you. great. 

–

a week later, with no sign of ruby and your texts unanswered, your laptop chimes on the coffee table with a new email. you hope briefly that it’s one of the companies you’ve applied to responding to your application with an offer for a job interview, but your heart sinks as you realise it's an email from your landlord, john. 

you skim over the email and you feel your eyes sting as select phrases leap out at you. “i’m sorry to inform you that ruby has decided to end the tenancy agreement at 141 hereford way early” ... “you can choose to remain in the property as a sole tenant after an additional credit check to ensure your affordability” … “alternatively, please let me know when ruby has collected her belongings so i can advertise the room to other prospective tenants”. 

fuck. that utter bitch. she’s left you unemployed and now potentially living with a total stranger. fuck. 

your hands shake slightly as you reach for your laptop so you can start composing your reply to john. 

“hi john, thanks for letting me know. i haven’t heard from ruby in a week now, so i’m unsure when she’ll be able to collect her belongings but i think it’s probably for the best if you look at advertising her room as available to rent. i’ll start bagging up her belongings today. kind regards….” 

it’s official. your soon to be ex-housemate really fucking sucks. 

–

several days pass with a flurry of emails to john and even more unanswered texts to ruby, when a solid jaunty knock startles you out of the doze you’d dropped into on the sofa. you hiss as widget launches herself off your stomach using her claws for purchase so she can bolt up the stairs away from the noise. you swear under your breath as you kick one of the six black bin bags that line the hallway filled with ruby’s crap as you edge your way to the front door. the silhouette you can see through the frosted glass in the door knocks again just as you reach for the handle and pull the door open. 

“yeah yeah i’m here -” you cut yourself off with an embarrassed sound as you get a good look at the man standing at the threshold.  oh no, he’s fit as fuck is your first thought and you’re not wrong. 

the first thing you notice, as you flick your eyes over him quickly, is that he’s in incredible shape. the stranger has broad shoulders and a muscular chest that tapers off into a narrow waist. the second thing you notice when you raise your gaze back up to his face is that he has a jaw dropping smile when he flashes you a friendly grin. 

“hey, i’m kyle. your new housemate.” he says confidently, “john should’ve mentioned me.” 

you shake yourself out of the slight daze you’ve found yourself in - seriously no man should have skin that perfect - and you offer your own tentative smile back. 

“uh, yeah. sure. sorry i was -” you glance back into the hallway and cringe at the sight of the black bin bags “- um. in the middle of something.” you finish weakly, hoping you don’t look too obviously like you’ve been napping in the middle of the day. 

your housemate - kyle - rumbles out a slightly bashful chuckle. 

“no, no it’s fine. i would’ve been here earlier but i had to give a witness statement for the accident on the high street.” kyle reaches up and tugs at the brim of the scuffed blue baseball cap on his head awkwardly. 

“oh shit, really? what happened?” you query him eagerly, your love of gossip overriding your mild embarrassment in a flash. kyle’s eyes crinkle happily at your tone and he leans in conspiratorially, letting his hand drop away from his face. 

“some guy walked into an open manhole cover.” he says with a completely straight face. 

you burst out a startled laugh. “no fucking way!” 

kyle nods, his lips twitching in a poorly concealed grin. “yeah, stuck like winnie the pooh, i swear to god.” 

you have to hold onto the edge of the open door to stop yourself from collapsing into fits of laughter. “how -” another gleeful cackle escapes you before you can compose yourself, “how the fuck did he manage to do that?”

kyle shrugs. “he just walked straight through the barrier, surprised the lanky fucker missed it really.” 

you collapse into laughter again, feeling your cheeks ache from the width of your grin. holy shit, that’s the best thing you’ve heard all day. eventually your slightly hysterical laughter peeters out and you wipe at your eyes as you look at kyle who is grinning back at you. 

“so, fancy letting me in then?” he nudges at the frankly massive khaki rucksack at his feet after a moment of silence as if to remind you that he isn’t just here to charm you with silly stories and his offensively handsome good looks. your embarrassment flares once again as you realise you’ve just been looking at him instead of asking him to come inside like a normal person. 

“sorry, yeah of course.” you step back from the door and turn around so he can’t see the way your cheeks are now flushed from embarrassment instead of laughter. “sorry about the mess.” you say apologetically over your shoulder as kyle follows you into the hallway.

“oh i dunno, it doesn’t look too bad to me.”

you hear kyle kick the door shut behind him and you laugh again to cover up the way your stomach flutters at his tone. if you didn’t know better you’d say he was flirting with you, but you discount that as wishful thinking on your part as you lead him towards the stairs. 

it is wishful thinking, right?

[bbobpul]

stranded on the same ground — j. suh

NOTE. hey sorry for ghosting (again...) PAIRING. johnny suh x fem reader GENRE. hurt/comfort, angst SYNOPSIS. the entire process of getting over your ex, johnny suh (and meeting each other again) WARNINGS. profanity, mention of alcohol W/C. 4.8k

(⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ masterlist.

The morning of your breakup with your first-ever boyfriend isn’t as awful as you expected. Life went on like it usually does. Blinded by anger, you wished for your ex to have the most terrible, annoying, and awful day ahead and all the other days that followed. Call it childish, if you may. Call it a little bit immature when I say the two of you didn’t really end on bad terms. Your only worry after you parted ways was, ‘How could he fumble so badly? ’. You didn’t cry the morning after your breakup with Johnny Suh, but you did on a random Tuesday night when you saw the sticker he put on your tumbler. You cried again the following week when you found yourself walking on the same route you would always take with him on the way to the terminal when both of you had enough time before heading to work. 

It truly is the little details that bring you to tears. Not the broken promises and the plans you made together that you will never fulfill because you are used to those things, unfortunately, because you weren’t really that loved when you were younger, which is sad, and now that the only person that showed you affection is gone for the sole reason that ‘the two of you need more space to grow and move forward’. 

It’s all bullshit. And you hope he thinks the same. 

You hope he feels the same. You hope that every day he wakes up, he reaches his arm to the other side of the bed and realizes that you no longer lay beside him. You hope that every time he prepares the table, he gets two spoons and then realizes that he has to eat alone and not have anyone to talk about absurd things during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which leaves him no choice but to watch stuff on his phone. On top of that, you wish that his WI-FI doesn’t work, so he will be bored to death.

You sat at the lonely six-seater dining table so early in the morning. It’s been three months since you broke up with Johnny, and really, you don’t feel anything right now other than the desire to make this day as productive as possible, and you seem to be on a really great start. 

You woke up at 5 a.m. in the morning to go on a morning jog, and when you reached your desired time, you decided to stop by the bakery to grab yourself some pandesal. When you got home, it was almost 7, and you decided to use your espresso machine that has been sitting in your kitchen, praying to be used. The fact that today was your first time using it was very evident because you had to get a chair to get it from the highest counter, and the box that it came in is now covered with dust. And then it hit you.

That coffee maker was a gift from Johnny. No, you’re not going to cry. You wouldn’t let that little piece of equipment ruin your day. Even if it was an anniversary gift. Even if you know damn well, he saved up most of his salary to buy you that. And now you’re on the verge of tears as you remember the fact that you didn’t even get to thank him properly because that was also the day you broke up with him.

And now! Another! Day! Ruined! Thanks, Johnny Suh.

In the end, you decided to drink instant coffee.

You heaved a sigh, trying to contain yourself. No! You wouldn’t let that happen. He should be the one crying over this espresso machine because it’s so expensive. Hell, he knows you don’t even drink coffee. He bought this for himself and gave it to you, and now he can’t even take it back because you are no longer together. Ha! Take that, Johnny Suh.

But then again, Johnny Suh is rich as hell so he won’t be crying over a gift for his ex.

Moving on (something you obviously can’t do), your work as an architectural designer starts at 9 a.m., and for some weird reason, you wanted to look your best when going to work. After all, you are going to meet tons of clients (and you are running for senior architect, so obviously you gotta do a bit of sucking up to your superiors because you! need! the! money!).

So with your desire to get promoted and get more money, you decided to go to work an hour early.

God forbid nothing cliche happens when you are at work, like meeting your ex and having him as your client, because if your memory doesn’t fail you, my goodness, Johnny Suh talked about wanting to have his own house by the end of this year!

“Architect, meet Sir Johnny Suh.” You are fucked. Seeing him again was one of the scenarios you made on your way to work today, and you blame your mind for being imaginative to the point of manifesting him right in front of you. 

“I’ll be assigning you this project because this is a great opportunity for you to grow and improve.” Sounds familiar. Maybe because that’s what you told Johnny when you broke up with him. “I believe you are responsible enough to lead your own team, and this is your chance to demonstrate your skills,” your superior told you. It wasn’t very clear on your end because your ex is just a few feet away from you.

“Thank you, ma’am. I will do my best,” was all you could say. Your boss then left you alone with... him.

You stood there in shock, but you tried your best not to express it with your face, mainly because you didn’t want him to think that he still had an effect on you. You didn’t want him to think that his showing up at your workplace so early in the morning three months after your break up still has an effect on you. 

You thank the universe that some of your colleagues are late because if they were here, they would make fun of you until the sun sets. After all, they were the ones you drank with until your heartaches ended.

You looked at him and saw him looking at the displays in your work. You realized that this was his first time here. Throughout the course of your 7-year relationship, he never insisted on visiting, or maybe you just didn’t let him.

‘He looks.. well.’ You thought to yourself, and you don’t know why there was a hint of disappointment laced in the crevices of your brain. Could it be because he looks like he is doing a lot better than you or because he looks like he is doing a lot better without you? 

There he is, still standing tall, and here you are with all of your fears coming back to your system. The fear that led you to end everything, despite everything being good, If the reason you gave him that night wasn’t really clear on his part, it wasn’t clear to you either. After all, your mind was clouded with your low self-esteem, but it was a lot more than that. It was too much for you to take, and you just didn’t want to burden him anymore. He has a book of plans, and yours was paper thin due to your uncertainties. But is that even important now that everything is done?

You cleared your throat in an attempt to get his attention. “Let’s head to the conference room.” Putting your ex aside, this is a great opportunity for you to get promoted. You haven’t seen the project proposed by your client, but this is your chance to get the salary you deserve and your own office. After countless nights of working overtime and overextending yourself, it will all soon be worth it. You hoped.

Johnny Suh won’t ruin this chance.

You didn’t let the awkward walk to the conference destroy the harmony and creativity you could offer for this project, and the moment you sat on one of the chairs in the conference room, you didn’t waste any second asking, “What are your goals and objectives for this project? ”

Your immediate question didn’t surprise Johnny. You are the type of person who is very driven. And he knows that. Very well.

“I would want a space that is aesthetically pleasing and functional.” His answer exuded a lot of professionalism. Something you hope he maintains until the end of this project.”

“And what is the budget for this project?”

“As long as we don’t exceed tens of millions, though I don’t mind not staying within the budget only if it is very essential for the house.”

‘Tens of millions. He really has a lot of money, huh? ’ You thought. You look at the mood board on the folder handed to you by your boss, and right there you understand why he needed that much money. It’s almost a mansion! 

‘Why does he need a house this big? ’ You asked yourself. Maybe it’s for his family. He always mentioned wanting to build a house for his mom and dad so they would live closer to them and not experience the hassle of buying expensive tickets and tiring flights.

After more questions, you almost forgot that you were working with your ex. Maybe you don’t really care anymore. Maybe you didn’t care that he was starting to turn one of his plans into reality. A house? Such a big step into your 30s. While you go home every day to a small apartment that has been opening its doors for your big problems, Maybe in those three months, he already found the path while you were still navigating the route towards it.

You looked at his back as he stepped out of the room. A view you are strangely familiar with. Even if the results of your decision still haven't caught up to your life, change is very different in Johnny Suh. Change looks good on him.

You let out a small laugh when you remember the number of times you wished the worst for him. Turns out he is doing a lot better now that you are gone from his life. Aside from that, he didn’t sound affected at all. It’s just you who is still stranded on the same ground.

But there is something you can’t deny. Not blinded by anger anymore. You are really proud of him.

After the meeting, you gathered your team. You hired an engineer and an assistant. You also consulted a group of construction workers willing to work on the project. It's the productive day you wished for.

As the day came to an end, you received a text message from him.

Please be at the groundbreaking ceremony. It’s nothing big but it would be nice to have you there.

The message read. As much as you didn’t want to go, he is still your client and you need to, for the harmony of the team.

I will be there. You typed on your phone as you waited for a cab to stop in front of you. This is the closure you needed. This is the closure you need to move on from your paper-thin plans and actually move forward with real, concrete plans. It doesn’t matter if you are navigating the route alone; as long as you know, when you walk towards the path you promised him, you will carry no regrets. You will know that it was for the better.

The 20 minutes you spent inside the taxi were more excruciating than that random Tuesday night when you first cried over the two of you. It’s bittersweet in the sense that you no longer feel angry about your own choices and feel sad because you have come to the realization that you no longer have the right to pry into his choices. He wants to build a house. Good for him. He specifically asked for you to design his house. Fucking great. It totally doesn’t feel like he is doing this to make you feel bad. But knowing Johnny, he is not the type of person to hold a grudge. If he loved you in the past, then he has no reason to hate you in the future, despite not being a part of it anymore. 

And the day of the groundbreaking ceremony came quickly. You wore your best clothes to look as presentable as possible, and as expected, the moment you stepped foot onto the site, the cool breeze was the first one to welcome you. The 500-square-meter lot was surrounded by trees inside a gated community. It's a very secluded area. You wouldn't expect this to be in the middle of the city. The walls and trees hovering over the houses are enough to muffle the noises from the highway.

"Hey there, it's good to see you," Johnny greeted you warmly, his smile stretching wide across his face. You reciprocated with an equally warm smile. Despite only seven simple words passing between you, the air seemed to thicken with emotions, leaving you momentarily breathless. Johnny's presence was striking, a stark contrast to the person you had parted ways with three months prior. 

"Ah, well, I couldn't possibly leave a client hanging," you replied with a light chuckle, trying to shake off the sudden intensity of the moment. You blamed your tardiness on traffic, a common excuse but one that felt feeble in this instance.

Johnny's laugh was soft and understanding. "No worries, I completely understand," he reassured you.

The exchange hung in the air, followed by a brief but poignant silence. It was as though the unspoken weight of the time apart and the changes that had occurred in both of your lives weighed heavily in the space between you, mingling with the anticipation of what was to come.

"Hey, are you feeling hungry at all? There's a sandwich over there if you're in the mood. Oh, and by the way, Engineer Lee is currently in the tent."

“Not really,  I will just take a look around the lot. Thanks”

The ceremony started earlier than originally planned. You stood at the back with your friend Ten, who is also the engineer you hired for this project. You watched Johnny with his parents, holding a golden shovel, marking the ground as the start of the construction process. Materials are all set, and the design is already settled. The workers will be present on the site tomorrow, and they will start working on the foundation of the house. 

You let out a sigh of relief when Johnny’s parents didn’t notice you at the ceremony. Maybe it’s because of the new haircut, or you really just didn’t want to be seen. But that really is inevitable when Johnny and his family are inviting the entire team for dinner at their house. And Ten has been pushing you to at least say hi to them. After all, the family didn’t do anything wrong to you.

“Just go to them and say hi!” He said as he slightly pushed you towards them. Your eyes were glued to the family. They were laughing, and his mother looked very happy as she fixed her son’s hair. You are used to seeing them like this. They were like your second parents at the end of the day.

You mustered your courage and walked towards them. You don’t know why you are so nervous about greeting them when they’ve only given you nothing but love.

“Hi, auntie, uncle.” You greeted them with a genuine smile plastered on your face. They turned to look at you in surprise.

“Oh my goodness, honey. You didn’t tell me that the best architect in town will be in charge of the house,” his mother said before engulfing you in a hug. You wrapped your arms around the older lady and laughed in response. You exchanged eye contact with his father before smiling and nodding at him, and after that, your gaze fell on Johnny, who was looking at the both of you with emotions whirling around his face—something you cannot quite paint. He was smiling, but his eyes looked very different. You brushed it off with the reason that you guys haven’t seen each other for months. What rights do you have to dictate the emotions in his eyes?

“How have you been, darling?” His mother asked you with so much gentleness laced in her voice. Her eyes scanned every part of your face.

“I am doing great, auntie. How are you?” 

“Well, I am really thrilled for our new house! And to have you design our home, ugh, it’s like a dream come true.” She said, and you gave her a small smile. “I saw how much you worked hard to get where you are right now, and I am so proud to see how far you’ve come.” She continued as you both slowly walked away from Johnny and her husband. 

You could only hum in response. Overwhelmed by the love and appreciation she is showering you with. You looked at your hand; she was squeezing so tightly, and you realized that the moment you lost Johnny, you also lost the mother who has showered you with love ever since.

"Listen, I know whatever happened between you and my son is no longer my place to pry into, but I just want to ask you to try and settle things. I understand he can be a bit stubborn, but if you two can't reconcile romantically, at least try to maintain a friendship," she said unexpectedly, catching you off guard with the sudden turn in conversation. You gazed at her, unsure of where she was leading with this.

"You're the one who understands him better than anyone else, who knows the deepest corners of his heart. It'll be difficult for him to find someone else like you," she continued, her words carrying a weight of sincerity as she held your gaze. "He loves you dearly, my dear."

"I loved him too, auntie. But sometimes parting ways is for the best. I hope you can understand that," you replied softly, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness.

"You know I'll always understand," she reassured you, her tone gentle and understanding.

"Thank you for everything, and for trusting me with this house," you expressed your gratitude sincerely.

"Honey, trust me when I say it was all him. He trusted you with this house," she replied warmly.

Dinner with the future house owners came and went and now it was time for goodbyes. There wasn’t much talk while you were eating. You were just enjoying the switching conversations in your surroundings. You would answer when they asked you questions  but you don’t actively participate in the discussion.

"Thank you for dining with us, Engineer Lee, and honey," Mrs. Suh addressed both of you with a warm smile. "Thank you so much for coming."

"It's my absolute pleasure, auntie. Thank you so much for having me," you responded with genuine gratitude, your smile reflecting the warmth of the evening.

"I'll get going, ma'am, sir," Ten interjected, offering to drive you home. You glanced at him, mustering a condescending smile, and mouthed, 'I can handle myself.'

"You sure?" he persisted, concern evident in his voice.

"Yep, don't worry," you reassured him.

"Okay. Bye, everyone. Thank you so much for this amazing night," Ten bid farewell, expressing his gratitude to the gathered company before making his exit.

"Uh, I can drive you home," Johnny offered as Ten's car exited the gate.

"Oh, no, no nee—" you began to decline, but Mrs. Suh intervened.

"Yes! Yes, drive her home. You commute, right? You know it's dangerous for you to commute, especially late at night. So yeah, take her home, Johnny," she insisted, her concern for your safety overriding any objections you might have had.

You can never, and I mean never, decline any offer from Mrs. Suh. She has always been persistent, and that is one of her charms. Something Johnny didn’t get from his mom. You can never say no to her, not in the way that she will get mad or upset if you decline; she is just so good at it.

You took a deep breath and let out a smile, “Okay.”

And there you were, in your ex’s car, three months after your breakup.

It was like your throat was dry because of the coldness inside the car. You couldn’t bring yourself to utter a word, and the same thing goes for the man driving. The route to your apartment is something you have memorized so well, and now it is mixed with the familiar, clean scent of his car and the feeling of relief that you are going home with the person who was once the love of your life. It’s very familiar. 

Because it was all you lived for in those seven years.

You worked your best because the thought of going home with him and telling him about your day is what you lived for all those years. You worked your best because you wanted the best for the both of you without knowing it’s what would break the two of you. Maybe it was the overwhelming amount of socialization you did earlier, but now you could admit that you were insecure. You were insecure about him having so many plans and being so sure of his future with you while you worked tirelessly at a job you were not sure deserved you. You wanted the best for him, and you just didn’t have the capability to be the best for him. You wanted more for yourself because he made you feel small. Not intentionally on his side. You can now admit that it’s totally your problem. He never did anything wrong. You just think he is too good for you. And you wouldn’t let him have a future with someone like you. 

You wouldn’t want him to live in a future that is uncertain.

“Engineer Lee mentioned something about paint and tile picking tomorrow for the interior.” He took the upper hand and broke the silence. You looked at him and nodded your head.

“Yeah, uhm, you can tag along if you want.” You regret saying that. Why did you immediately assume he wanted to come with you? 

“I was going to ask about that. Okay, I will go tomorrow.” He responded, and then silence hit the both of you for the nth time. 

Friday, rush hour, everyone desperate to go home, and you were one of them.

You wish Johnny would just drive faster so he wouldn’t have to sit in the painful silence, but the traffic wouldn’t let him. 

You made a concerted effort to keep your gaze away from him, determined not to let your neck betray your curiosity. Despite your best efforts, fate seemed to have other plans, and against your will, your muscles betrayed you, turning your head to face him. To your surprise, you found him already looking at you, his gaze meeting yours in a brief moment before both of you looked away at the same time. 

You want him to ask if you are doing well. You want him to ask how you’ve been in those times you weren’t together. You want to see him desperately get to know you again in those times he missed your presence. You want him to ask, or at least say something. You want him to initiate a conversation. You want to know if he still cares about the choices you’ve been making. You want him to ask about the little things happening in your life, just like before.

But he didn’t.

Until you reached your building, he didn’t ask anything.

From days to weeks, until it became months of working together, nothing much happened. Totally not that closure your foolish ass expected. Honestly, why were you even expecting anything? Now that months have passed and it’s been a year since you ended everything, I don’t know why you are still expecting anything when you don’t even know what you want to happen.

Sure, he would casually talk to you when he’d drive to the site to visit. Sure, he would buy you breakfast or lunch, but you are not the only one. You are working for him, and he is paying you. He wants you to do a great job, and of course he would treat you well. Sure, he would still invite you to dinner with his family, but he would also invite Engineer Lee. 

On the other hand, Johnny has been making extra efforts to make you comfortable after that night. Not expecting anything in return, maybe his mother was right. A little effort will make a friendship between the two of you blossom. After all, it’s a very essential thing when you are working together. But he can’t help but notice that after that night on the road with you, you were being a little more cautious than usual. As if you were walking on eggshells around him. He understands that you feel sorry for what happened, but he isn’t the type of person to dwell in the past now that you are still here in the present.

You have been very ignorant of the fact that he is trying to mend things between the two of you, and now that the project has almost come to an end, with Johnny seeing you as oblivious to his efforts, maybe he should try a bit harder.

If only you knew. If only the both of you knew how much you hoped something would happen that night when he drove you home. If only one of you asked something. But let us not dwell on what could have been; you are here, and this is the last day of construction. They are only installing the lights outside and painting the exterior walls. 

Like many other nights before, no one took the initiative. As always. The two of you might be so used to it by now.

The housewarming event came up next, and both of you knew this was your last chance. This marks the end of the project and the opportunity to mend the broken hearts you left each other with.

After working hard for years, you finally got the promotion you wanted. You proved yourself with a project they assigned you, and he was somehow involved too. But all the credit goes to you. You worked really hard to find the best supplier and design the house they wanted.

You've accomplished the first and final wish you made for him. Now, you don't owe him anything anymore. You designed his first house and have become a better version of yourself in the process. Perhaps that was the closure you needed—not just with him, but with yourself too.

And you were fine with just that. You didn’t want to expect anything anymore.

You made sure to greet all the people you worked with throughout this project, and you didn’t forget to express your gratitude to the team that supported you and showed patience every step of the way.

As you socialize with more people, Johnny, who has been observing you the entire time, has a genuine smile on his face. ‘Change looks good on you,’ he said to himself. He can’t help but be proud. He doesn't have any reason not to. You look the happiest right now, and as someone who knows all your dreams, this is a check in the box among many others. 

He made the right decision by picking you as his architect. Other than being good at what you do, he saw this project as an opportunity for you to really get what you want, and the reason why you ended things with him was growth. He knows how much you need that push in your life. He knows how much you need something to happen in your life. Even if it means losing you. Even if it means not being with you every step of the way, He is happy for you and the change you made in that one year.

Amidst the bustling crowd, you locked eyes with him and offered a smile, prompting him to raise his champagne glass in acknowledgment. With purpose, you made your way through the gathering until you stood beside him on the balcony of the freshly constructed house, both admiring the view of the garden below.

For several moments, silence enveloped you both, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Thank you for your brilliance, architect," he finally said, breaking the silence.

"It's my pleasure," you responded, the words carrying a sense of fulfillment.

"As an extra payment, can I take you out to lunch tomorrow?" His offer brimmed with confidence, breaking the quietude with a hint of anticipation.

“How could I ever say no to that, Mr. Suh? ”

[chosotallgf]

UNEXPECTED TURN - CHOSO KAMO [chapter 1]

SUMMARIZE.. y/n never bothered getting to know choso after the shibuya incident happened and he became an ally to jujutsu high but what happens when he decides to try and get to know her on a personal level and they start getting put on mission together

TAGS.. choso x fem!reader, shibuya incident arc spoilers!!, post shibuya incident au, character dearth mentioned, slow burn, smut, angst, reader is a sorcerer, oral sex, masturbation + more

A/N.. hi this is my first fanfic ever also I posted it on A03 under the same username. keep in mind I’m a beginner at writing lol. like & rebolgs are appreciated | DONT NOT REUPLOAD :D

………………………………………………………………………………….

you and choso where out having lunch discussing your plans for an upcoming mission later that day. It’s been half a year since the shibuya incident, even after the many deaths that took place that night you ended up finding yourself making a new connection later down the line

choso become an ally for jujutsu high short after the incident, first it started off with you two getting place together to go on small missions together outside of Tokyo. When you first heard of the idea of you and choso being partner up you weren’t a big fan of it, everyone seem to connect well off of first interaction and start to enjoy choso company especially after finding out that he is yuji half brother but you? barely even talk/avoided him outside of missions.

“what are you thinking about”? choso asked as he saw your blank expression as you two were waiting on the food to come out “Huh? oh.. just that how much I hate working with you that’s all” you softly smirk at him. you love teasing choso so often that become y’all daily thing to do to each other. One day after you and choso got back from a mission you were about to head out of jujutsu high until you heard fast steps catching up to you.

“hey.. um y/n you have a moment?” choso asked awkward while scratching the back of his head. you then turn around and sign “yeah what is it?” choso honestly wasn’t sure how he should approach you, when y’all get sent on mission its just strictly about the mission no personal stuff about each other lives, nothing.

he kinda took the hint that you didn’t want to conversation about anything outside of that 3 weeks after the incident when you both were on the train headed to koyto and he asked how long you been a sorcery at jujutsu high and you responded with “why do you care just let’s just do our jobs, the faster the better”

every since then choso didn’t dare to bring up anything after that until the day he generally was curious and had enough of this ‘only talk during and about the mission thing’ he wasn’t a pushy person but he can bet there has to be more to you than this nonchalant mask you are pulling because of the story’s yuji told him when he himself first started out and you and gojo teach him. he had to know why you were so casual with everyone but not him

“Sorry to bother you y/n, don’t take this the wrong way but did I genuinely do something to offend you? every since I came to jujutsu high and going on mission I feel like you been bothered by my presence of that makes any sense” your response could go south either way choso though he didn’t know if you would just curse him out or just turn around and keep ignoring him like you been. “Are you that much of new puppy that you need everyone attention and become friends?”

“hey wait a min don’t go yet” as you turned your head a little bit choso could see your eyes get glossy. “Let me go pls” you barley spoke. A single tear fell down your face. “I’m sorry if it’s becaus-“ choso was about to finish his sentence until gojo loudly interrupted them.

“Heyy choso how have you been? Oh y/n you there too? did you file the last mission yet I haven’t seen it yet if you did” gojo said when he got a glimpse of your hair behind choso back as he was walking up to y’all. as soon as you heard gojo voice you quickly pull your wrist back from choso and he let go.

you then quickly rush off campus and into your car. “Hey come back” choso shouted. You thought how embarrassing that was,now you wouldn’t even dare show your face in front of choso now after he seen you in that state. “I guess she really doesn’t like doing reports after all” gojo said confused.

part 2 coming soon… don’t forget to like & reblog :)

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 2

Womp, womp. I apologize in advance for this part :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: ANGST x3, unrequited feelings, arguments

Word Count: 1,550

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

Part 1

Over the next couple of days, you’re kind of glad that Bucky doesn’t reach out. You see each other in the common areas, but he doesn’t offer to hang out or train together, and neither do you. But you’re the type of person that can’t hang on to negative feelings for too long, so after about a week, you’re ready to be ‘just friends’ with Bucky again.

You start by sending him a text, totally innocuous and about something random you’d seen, but his reply is short. A little odd from him, but hey, he’s probably busy at the moment and still feeling a little weird. You’ll try your hardest to get you both past this awkward phase in your friendship.

You glance up from the reports you’d been writing all morning. It’s close to lunch now, so you head to the kitchen to find something appetizing. You hope the chef has been in…

Walking into the kitchen, you see Bucky and Steve sitting at the island. There’s a large spread of food between the two of them, but you know it will be tucked away to their stomachs in no time.

“Hey, boys!” You greet cheerfully.

Steve turns around and gives you a broad smile and a “hey” back. Bucky just slightly nods his head and throws you more of a grimace than a smile.

You squint your eyes at Bucky’s ‘greeting’, but continue on into the room to start preparing a sandwich since there’s no stealing what’s left on the island. You and Steve start up a conversation which Bucky barely participates in except when one of you asks him a direct question. You can see Steve throwing Bucky exasperated looks when he thinks you won’t notice.

You throw everything into the sandwich press to heat up and turn around to lean against the counter and peer over at the boys. Bucky sits at the island, just spooning food into his mouth and ignoring you and Steve to the best of his ability.

“What’s up with you?” you finally question him.

Steve shoots a panicked look between you and Bucky, which lets you know that Bucky must have told him about what you’d said. Which, to be expected, you suppose. They’re best friends. And you’d already told Nat and Wanda about everything, anyway.

“Me?” he questions. Bucky looks at you kind of puzzled before going on, “I’m just… trying to help?” He says this more as if questioning the validity of his plan than giving an actual answer.

You’re quick to laugh it off. “Jesus, Buck. I agreed we should stop fucking, not stop being friends.”

Steve’s eyes widen further and Bucky chokes. He has to clear his throat before he can respond properly. “I guess that’s not a secret anymore, huh?”

You frown at him. “I figured you’d already told him everything – Nat and Wanda know.” You throw an apologetic look Steve’s way. “I’m sorry, Stevie. Didn’t mean to upset your delicate constitution.”

“Har har,” he quips. You smile brightly back at him.

Bucky sighs deeply. “I just don’t think –”

“Stop,” you interrupt him. “I told you to forget about it.”

“Well, it’s kind of fucking hard to forget,” Bucky gripes, stabbing his spoon down into his bowl.

You freeze for a moment before saying anything. You blink several times and take in a deep, calming breath.

“Hey Steve, could you give us a second?” you ask quietly. The man needs no further prompting; he’s immediately out of his seat and through the doors with a supportive little grin thrown your way before he’s out of sight.

You’re still leaning back against the counter, but now you pull your arms up to cross over your chest. You hate that all your hard work over the last few days might derail so quickly. You were already vulnerable once, and it didn’t turn out how you wanted; you’re not sure if you can do it again.

“I said I’d handle it, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I can’t.” Bucky looks up at you, his jaw tight. 

His anger is so far from expected, you’re unsure what’s going on. You pitch your head forward, disbelieving.

“What?”

“Maybe I can’t handle it; did you think of that?” he repeats. His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands up, fists gripping the edge of the counter. “Did you think that maybe I’d be uncomfortable knowing how you feel about me?”

“Buck–” you try.

“No, Y/N.” There’s reproach in his voice. He takes a visible calming breath and lets up on the countertop before it begins to crumble.

As much as it hurt the other night, this is a million times worse. This isn’t embarrassment about being rejected anymore – you can live with that – but his genuine anger over your confession guts you. You inhale a shaky breath and prepare yourself.

“I told you time and again that I don’t want a relationship. We agreed before we started anything that there wouldn’t be feelings. You promised me. You lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” you try to defend. “I honestly didn’t feel like this in the beginning.”

“But when you started to get feelings for me, you didn’t try to stop us! You let it go on, thinking that I’d change my mind!”

“Now wait a minute –”

“I’m just…” he takes a deep breath in and out. Again. His shoulders drop and he shakes his head, the fight leaving him. “I’m trying my best not to be angry. But I am.” 

Bucky looks up from where he’s been staring at the floor, trying to avoid looking at you more than necessary. You can only imagine the look of hurt on your face as Bucky fights back a defeated sigh.

“Look. I know it’s not your fault – I never should have suggested it in the first place.”

“Bucky–”

“And I wish I hadn’t.”

You suck in a tight breath between your teeth. Bucky wishes he’d never suggested it? That means he wishes he’d never slept with you at all, right? Regrets spending all the time with you that lead to being as good of friends as you are? Or were, you guess.

He regrets it? Regrets you? 

Goddamn. There’s a pain so deep inside your chest, you can’t distinguish the feeling from having a bullet lodged in your lungs. You rub deep and hard with your knuckles against your sternum, drawing the pain outwards.

There’s silence in the room.

“I see,” you whisper shakily. You suck your bottom lip roughly between your teeth and nod your head slowly, looking away from Bucky. 

You’re unsure of where to go from here. Obviously you and Bucky can’t go back to the way things were – you can’t just pretend like you hadn’t taken a sledgehammer to your friendship that night after the movies.

You catch sight of Bucky from your peripheral vision. He takes his rough hands and runs them through his long brown hair, gathering it into a bun at the nape of his neck. You know it’s a nervous habit more than functional, given the situation you’ve found yourselves in. 

It guts you to realize that your admission has caused him this much stress, caused him so many negative emotions. He’s worked so hard after all the shit Hydra put him through. Worked to make himself into a normal man with boundaries he wanted and needed respected.

And you hadn’t done that. You’d trampled all over the lines he’d drawn in the sand, barrelled right up and over to the other side.

“I didn’t mean –”

“Don’t you dare apologize, James Barnes,” you command. He looks slightly surprised by the hardness of your tone and the sound of his real name in your mouth. You hadn’t called him by his given name since becoming friends. “I’m the only one responsible for my own decisions, no matter who brought up the idea. I agreed. I caught feelings. I ruined it. Not you.” Your voice softens to make sure that Bucky knows you’re not angry with him. Not over something you did. “Don’t apologize for my mistakes.”

You step away from the countertop, moving so that you’re on the same side of the island as Bucky. Face-to-face now, but with a meter of space separating you, you look directly into Bucky’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” 

It takes him a moment to stop reeling from the sheer intensity of your apology. The sincerity behind those last two words blowing through him but also rooting him to the spot. Bucky swallows thickly and nods once, accepting your apology.

You blow out a breath and crook him a sad smile. You place one foot back, taking half of a small step away from Bucky, giving him space. Giving you space.

“I’ll go see if there are any extended missions. Maybe go help out with some of the conflicts going on.”

Giving him a lot of space.

“Doll.”

“It’s alright,” you say, still with the sad smile. “Maybe Nat can go on that mission with you, huh? You’ll have more fun together, anyway.”

“We would have had fun together,” he said. 

The ‘if you hadn’t messed it up’ left unspoken, you thought sadly. You flatten your lips and put on a thoughtful expression, nodding your head after a moment. 

“Yeah, we would have.”

Part 3

@jackiehollanderr @aboobie (will not tag) @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze

[wayfaringhoax]

Riddles

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Click here for part two

Word count: 12k+

Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts. 

This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.

New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.

Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!

Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.

As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.

Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.

How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?

You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.

Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.

Sure, shit got real when you got older.

After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career. 

Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.

Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.

You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.

On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.

Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.

An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking. 

Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.

A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.

A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself. 

A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.

Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him. 

You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness. 

Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available. 

Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer. 

Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control. 

Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.

Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole. 

“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”

Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”

Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”

“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.

Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”

Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached? 

You’d sign yourself up right now. 

The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.

Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.

“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”

Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.

“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.

Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.

With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment. 

Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence. 

You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.

Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.

Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.

****

He’s struggling.

Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.

He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.

He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous. 

Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit. 

And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel. 

He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.

You were far too good for him.

He had baggage; struggles he was still working through. 

You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him. 

Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.

Yep, he needed to stay away from you.

Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.

There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.

It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.

Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.

A text message from you.

Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.

He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.

Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x

Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.

He sends his reply swiftly.

Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?

Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.

You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.

Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him? 

Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response. 

Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.

Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.

Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name. 

Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut. 

Get it together, Frankie. Get it together. 

He found it a little harder to type his next words.

Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.

He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.

You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.

Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too. 

The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you. 

Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita. 

The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.

Any guy, huh?

And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.

Even you? 

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.

Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.

Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles. 

On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.

“Do you wanna come over?”

Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”

“Be there in 15.”

****

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess. 

What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.

You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie. 

Is this really happening?

The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.

Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile. 

He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there. 

Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find. 

And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.

His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now. 

Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.

Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it. 

When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic. 

You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.

The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.

Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him. 

He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants. 

Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard. 

He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.

Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.

Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.” 

How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?

By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death. 

“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.

You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”

Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him. 

And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs. 

Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.

“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.

You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.

But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.

���On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”

Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back. 

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.

“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.

He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.

You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.

However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand. 

“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.

“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say. 

“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation. 

Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet. 

He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.

You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.

But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win. 

Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.

His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.

“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”

He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes. 

Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you. 

Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need. 

After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing. 

His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him. 

“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.

Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”

And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed. 

He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet. 

Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair. 

“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you. 

And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.

“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.

He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away. 

It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has. 

You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.

“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”

“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard. 

“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face. 

You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm. 

There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him. 

One time isn’t enough. 

He can’t give you up just yet. 

****

The two of you soon get into a rhythm. 

You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.

But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world. 

The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.

You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.

Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.

Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering. 

You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded. 

One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture. 

You start showering together, too.

The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom. 

He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine. 

On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day. 

You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.

After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.

You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car. 

Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.

You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did. 

An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it. 

It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good. 

You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.

“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.

You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.

What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”

Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.

You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.

However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there. 

You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed. 

This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby. 

He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different. 

But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.

Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.

The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route. 

The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.

You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.

Frankie was scared, too.

In fact, he’s worried.

You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety. 

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.

He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.

However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter. 

Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.

Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through. 

Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes. 

You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.

Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.

Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely. 

Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.

Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X

It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight. 

He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.

Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.

Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it. 

Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.

You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on. 

Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately. 

Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship. 

Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.

You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.

You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.

It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.

Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door. 

You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.

After a few seconds, you succumb. 

“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”

She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.

Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.

“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.

“Who is he?”

You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”

It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”

You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.

“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.

You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter. 

Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.

It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy. 

He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention. 

But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.

I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?  

And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.

You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options. 

All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this. 

Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends. 

You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.

It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.

****

Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.

After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do. 

He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.

Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact. 

He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.

And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.

Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed. 

It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex. 

That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend. 

Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.

So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.

The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out. 

Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.

It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.

Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.

Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you. 

You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.

There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick. 

You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.

You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption. 

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

And you’ve got him. 

Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.

When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast. 

He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again. 

And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?

Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place. 

Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.

Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship. 

Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends. 

You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight. 

Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.

His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy. 

Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way. 

As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.

Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up. 

Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.

You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you. 

He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again. 

After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you. 

“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.

After a beat of silence, he pushes again.

“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.

It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you. 

Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves. 

He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs. 

When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?

Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better. 

Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.

He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now. 

“You know what I want.”, he says.

The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.

And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs. 

You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.

His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.

A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin. 

So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you. 

Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him. 

The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that. 

“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.

And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind. 

What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want. 

And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.

Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.

Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.

You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh. 

“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.

You’re not ready.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads. 

And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway. 

This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication. 

Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him? 

By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out. 

After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage. 

As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache. 

****

It’s not a secret that you miss him.

Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt. 

You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’. 

You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.

The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.

You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.

But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.

You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about. 

It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover. 

What would he say? 

Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past? 

Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?

You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.

And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress. 

He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.

Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.  

You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.

So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie. 

As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him. 

The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him. 

Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.

Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.

Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week. 

Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.

And you do, after a poignant pause. 

“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come. 

He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.

You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”

Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.” 

He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.

You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”

Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure. 

“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.

Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.

“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.

“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.

“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying. 

“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.

“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”

He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.

“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.

Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.

“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.

It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.

But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.

Then, you go and throw him a curveball. 

Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.

And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”

He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.

He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.

Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.

“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.

After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.

He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.

But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you. 

And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.

You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.

Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something. 

He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.

“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.

And he knows those last three words could scare you off. 

Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful. 

It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.

Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Shades of Pink

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, jealous/possessive Matt, underage drinking, Matt being a fool

a/n: Thank you all for being patient with me! My brain has not been feeling up to writing lately but I managed to get the next few chapters of this fic planned out! I have a couple more written so the plan is to post an update for this fic every 3 weeks. I hope that's frequent enough for y'all :)

w/c: 5.8k

Matt’s skull rattled as the machine in front of him gave a shriek, metal grinding on metal. Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand over the machine’s interface, growing more frustrated when the start button was rendered functionless. 

The telling chime of an error message echoed in the damp basement and taunted him. “Fuck!” He cursed, kicking the reinforced frame in anger. Great, now he had no clean clothes AND his foot hurt. 

Growling in irritation, he yanked open the door and began grasping handfuls of soaking wet clothes and dropping them into his hamper with nauseating splats. 

The suds from his detergent quickly settled into a film over his skin, actively worsening his mood. Setting his jaw, he hefted the rapidly dampening laundry bag over his shoulder to trudge back to his room. 

Each step sent shockwaves of tension through his frame, he was freefalling into overstimulation at this point. By the time he reached his floor, every cell in his body was rigid, trying desperately to hold back the rage-induced sobs building in his chest. Fumbling with his key, he managed to push the door open with a slam—startling Foggy and, unexpectedly, you. 

“Hey man, we were about to come find you so we could grab lunch. You, uh, you ok?” Foggy asked skeptically, but Matt ignored him. Instead, focused on your soft footsteps from the edge of his bed to his stiff form in the doorway. 

“What happened, trouble?” The name suggested you were hoping to lighten his mood, but he could practically taste the concern rolling off your skin. 

“Washing machine broke. Didn’t feel like dealing with it, so…” Matt shrugged, biting his cheek fiercely to avoid becoming emotional in your presence. 

You tutted in sympathy, reaching to his shoulder to slip the bag of laundry from his clenched fist. “Well, after lunch I can drive you to my place and we can do laundry there, if you want?” The warmth of your fingertips over his torso sent a shudder down his spine. “Matt..?” 

“Yah, that…that sounds good. Let’s, uh, let’s do that.” Matt responded lamely, shuffling from foot to foot as he willed his tense body to slacken. 

“I’m sorry your day started so poorly. Do you want a hug?” Your voice was soft, your posture hesitant as you asked Matt a question he didn’t know he needed to hear. Nodding miserably, he collapsed against you. 

Your soft hands wrapped around his chest, pressing upwards between his shoulder blades with delightful pressure. Matt melted into the embrace, feeling the frustration flood out of his body with each of your inhales. Threading one hand into his hair, you scratched lightly, eliciting a dreamy sigh from him. Giggling in response, you squeezed him tightly before drawing away, much to his chagrin. 

You chuckled, tracing a thumb over the deep furrow between his brows. “Wow, that bad?” 

Face falling, Matt’s mouth fell open in a mixture of embarrassment and horror. Shaking his head profusely, he stammered. “N-no, not at all, I just—“ 

Lightly shoving his shoulder, you laughed brightly. “I’m kidding, trouble. It seems like you needed that. So…” Turning back to face Foggy (who Matt had forgotten was there) you smiled. “Lunch?” 

“Foggy if you spill that in my car, you’re banned. You hear me? Excommunicated from my vehicular sanctuary.” You groused, glaring at the blond who was precariously balancing a large milkshake on his knees in your rear view mirror. 

Blushing, Foggy quickly moved the cup to a more sturdy location as he finished his burger. “Yes ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, making you abandon your scowl for a satisfied smirk. Matt was smiling beside you, sipping his coffee carefully to avoid the same threats as his roommate.  

The three of you were seated comfortably in your car, bags of both Matt’s and Foggy’s laundry stashed in the trunk as you inched closer to the building you lived in. 

Your loft was hidden away in the back corner of a bland building about 8 blocks from Campus. The worn red brick stood about 15 stories tall, complete with the paint-dripped doors and crooked windows that one comes to expect when seeing cheap student housing. 

The inside was drafty and humid, the insulation having rotted away through decades of storms and frat-style ragers. The walls were far from soundproof, given they were about 90% white paint, which had encouraged you to begin seeking refuge in Matt and Foggy’s room whenever you needed to study or, honestly, a moment of peace on a weekend. 

Which is how you found yourself toting the two boys back to your spacious yet slightly dingy loft which, amazingly, had its own functional washer and dryer. And, thankfully, a really comfy couch given that Foggy hadn’t done laundry once since move in. 

“How on earth have you made it this far in life without doing a single load of laundry?” Matt panted between giggles as Foggy’s face scrunched with a pout as he shuffled over to the washer. 

“I don’t know! My mom always did it.” Matt failed to hold back a snort and Foggy crossed his arms. “It’s not that funny, Murdock!” 

“Do your siblings know how to do laundry?” You raised an eyebrow at him, not even trying to keep your smile contained. Matt was in stitches beside you and his laughter was contagious. 

“I mean yah, but—“ Matt guffawed and Foggy sank into his seat, sullenly glaring at the pair of you. “I hate you guys. So much for friendship.” 

A bout of giggles burst out of you. “Don’t worry, Fog. We’ll show you how. It’s really not that hard, just need to know a few things.” 

You opened the top of the washer. “I’m assuming you don’t have detergent then?” Taking Foggy’s indiscernible mutter as an affirmative, you pulled out your own. 

“That’s fine, I’ll loan you some, but I expect you to buy your own next time, Nelson. This shit ain’t cheap.” You pointed a finger at him and he put his hand up in promise. 

“Scout’s honor.” 

Matt turned to you with a grimace. “Shit, I didn’t bring any either. It didn’t cross my mind.” 

With a humorous twinkle in your eye, you pinched his waist. “That’s ok, Matt. You can use some of mine whenever you want. Not a problem.” 

Foggy’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious!?” 

Ignoring him, Matt gave you an overly gracious smile, clearly picking up on your mirthful spirit. “That is so kind of you, sweetheart. You have such a giving personality.”

Foggy spluttered in irritation, head whipping between the two of you incredulously. 

“Anything for my favorite guy.” You purred, sidling up to him as Foggy choked. Matt couldn’t help the flutter of his heart at the implication of you preferring him over anyone else. 

“Guys, c'mon. You’re being mean.” Foggy pouted. You chuckled but pulled away from Matt to wrap the other boy in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Fog. I love you too, scout’s honor.” 

Foggy grumbled at your promise, but returned the hug. “Yah, yah. Sure ya do. Anyway, are you gonna teach me something or will I continue to wander through this world clueless about the wonders of clean clothes?” 

Giggling, you pulled him over to the machine and launched into a thorough explanation of the process. While he was sure you were sharing good tips, Matt’s brain was not at all focused on your words. His mind was transfixed on the heat cradling his shoulder from your faded touch, and the steadiness of your heart when you’d called him your favorite guy. 

It was hard to not let his thoughts wander, when the smell of you coiled around him like a scarf on a bitter cold day. Your heartbeat danced along as you spoke animatedly with Foggy—teasing, confident personality slowly beginning to reveal itself as you grew more comfortable with the two roommates. Matt was no stranger to his tendency to fall head first for quick-witted women, but it was getting harder to obey his rational side when you opened yourself to him in ways like this. 

Trusting him, encouraging his teasing sarcasm with your own goofy humor, leaning into his touchy nature as if you wanted it too. The fact that he was about to be wearing your laundry detergent for weeks was not going to help quell his growing infatuation. 

Your voice broke through the growing pile of thoughts in his mind. “Right, Matt?” 

“Uh, what?” His face must have reflected his dreamy confusion because Foggy snorted. 

“Doing ok over there, Casanova? Did we lose you in the intricacies of a habit you already have?” Matt rolled his eyes as he heard two hands land on hips, knowing Foggy was giving him a shit-eating smirk. 

“Believe it or not, Nelson, I don’t have the most fun listening to you all day every day. Forgive me for letting my mind wander while you learned something simple.” His tone was meant to be light, but the nerve Foggy had unknowingly struck left his voice harsher than intended. 

Stepping in between him and his roommate, you placed a hand on his arm gently. “Hey, it’s ok that you tuned us out and it’s ok that Foggy needs help with this. I was just letting him know that we were always here if he had any questions.” 

Wincing as he realized you were mediating a conflict he’d accidentally created, he smiled sadly at the blond. “Sorry, Fog. Of course you can ask me. Always. I’m practically a laundry expert.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.  

His attempt worked immediately. “Aw, you sap. You’re forgiven.” Foggy smashed himself against his roommate, eliciting a grunt from the taller man. 

“Thanks, bud. I appreciate you both dealing with my bad mood today.” Matt spoke quietly, a flicker of fear sparking in his chest. 

“What bad mood?” You asked, joining the hug. The two of you squeezed Matt until he groaned at you to get off, setting off fits of giggles in you and Foggy both. 

“Ok, now that we’ve started the washer, I can give you the tour!” You exclaimed, stepping towards the doorway. “This way, gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed.”

The act of doing laundry at your place shouldn’t have been as life-changing as it was for Matt. Your soft floral scent clung to all of him—his clothes, his sheets, his skin. Each inhale brought him closer to you, and it was more indulgent than any sensation he’d ever experienced. Connecting with you at all was incredible, but to have your presence melding into his belongings as if you had chosen him, claimed him. It was divine. 

Unfortunately, as had been evident his entire life, all good things come at a price. The cost of feeling this close to you was the new pressure on his delicate senses. He adored the fact that he was able to carry a piece of you with him, it brought more emotional comfort than he could have imagined, but his nose and skin were less happy about the idea. 

“Matt, I’m begging you, rewash your clothes, man. You’re, like, allergic to that detergent, I think.” Foggy bit his lip, circling his roommate as he looked at the irritation crawling across Matt’s back. 

“‘M fine, Fog.” Matt tugged on a shirt, ignoring the worry emanating from his roommate. “My skin is just sensitive, is all. It just needs to adjust.” He left out the fact that this slight effect was nothing compared to the reaction his skin had every time his clothes were washed in coarse starch by the nuns. At least this was a symptom of your genuine care for him, rather than general disdain for his needs. 

“And this has nothing to do with that fact that you’re adorably into our mutual friend,” Matt winced as Foggy teasingly handed out your name. 

“I’m not ‘into’ her, Fog! What the hell?” 

“Sure, that’s why you’re walking around using more control than I’ve ever had in my life to not scratch your skin clean off your bones?” Foggy shook his head as Matt attempted to inconspicuously slide his hand back into his lap from where it was itching his side. 

“Like I said, sensitive skin—“

“Not to mention that you’ve had more headaches this week than in the nearly two months I’ve known you?” Matt remained silent at the allegation, hoping not to convey admission with his lack of words. 

The headaches had been more of a nuisance than the scratchy fabric rubbing at his angry skin. He wasn’t used to this much exposure to scented items in his personal space, let alone pressed against him. But it was all worth it to hear the sweet little sigh you gave when you were close to him, comforted by the familiarity. 

“Nothing to say for yourself? You realize the more you avoid this conversation, the more likely it seems that you like her, right?” 

Matt just sighed. “I can’t like her, Fog. We are in our first semester at one of the most prestigious law schools in the country and she’s one of two friends that I have. I can’t lose that, and I don’t have the time to start a real relationship. So we need to stay friends.” 

“I get it, Matt. You’re not really a long term kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn! She is so sweet I’m sure she’d be more than patient with you.” Damn Foggy’s intuition for constantly discovering the core of Matt’s insecurities. 

“She deserves better than me.” 

“Matt—“ 

“No, Foggy,” Clenching his fists, Matt let out a breath through flaring nostrils. “I’m not good enough.” 

Foggy sighed, but dropped the subject. 

Despite Matt being more than confident in his inability to treat you the way you deserved, he found himself growing incredibly envious of the attention you started receiving from other men. There was no doubt in his mind that you were attractive, he’d had more than a few conversations with Foggy (and enough time in class biting his cheek in anger as the men around you fixated) to know that you caught the attention of damn near everyone in the room. 

Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t afraid of standing up for your beliefs or confronting an ignorant point raised by a classmate. It also could’ve been the fact that you were one of the only students who knew what was going on. Your intelligence was captivating, and the way your voice carried defiantly across the room seemed to encourage the affections of both your peers and the Property Law TA. 

Explanation for their interest aside, Matt found himself practically swatting potential suitors away from you each day, irritation swelling in his chest as your heart fluttered at the attention. You’d shyly admitted to him that you’d never had a long term relationship before and that you weren’t used to being sought after. If he was an ounce more of a man, he would have confessed just how much you deserved the affection, even when it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t fair of him to keep you from happiness, he knew that, but every time your pulse skipped as another boy complimented you, it felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. 

So he’d taken to stewing in his own silent fury, currently pretending to read ahead while actually listening intently to your bubbling laughter as a boy a few rows behind you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with some generic pick up line. Shifting in his seat to disguise the rumbling growl in his throat, his heart sank as the bachelor invited you to a party that evening. Giggling, you giddily accepted, writing down the details before scurrying back to your seat. 

There was a noticeable warmth in the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Matt could practically feel the radiant smile you were wearing. As he was working up the dignity to break the silence, you turned to him gleefully. “Matty,” He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip at the new affectionate nickname. “What would you say to attending our first college party?” 

Trudging back to the corner across the horrifically sticky wood floor, Matt set his jaw and chugged the disgusting alcoholic sludge he’d been served. Waiting impatiently for the buzz to wash over him, he glowered in a stiff armchair as you flitted around with the overly flirtatious host. Foggy had disappeared ages ago with a peppy journalism student, telling him not to wait up. 

The party was off campus at the house of your fellow Torts student. He and his large handful of housemates lived in a shabby 3 bedroom that felt fragile in design, as if the strong bass blasting from the beer-soaked speakers would shatter the foundation at any moment. Sweaty bodies pressed together in a pulsating mass, dancing to the ear-piercing techno music and slurping down cheap booze. 

Matt was well aware that he was not explicitly invited to this soirée, but hearing you ramble excitedly at the idea of the three of you attending together had been too sweet to shut down. Your gracious host only seemed a bit miffed that two boys had shown up with you, taking no time to brush off Matt and Foggy’s polite greetings and whisk you away like the true gentleman he was shaping up to be. 

James or Josh or whatever his name was, Matt could honestly care less, clearly intended to get in your pants, and was taking no time to attempt that. After pumping you full of Jell-O shots, he engaged you in conversation about the volunteer work he loved so much during high school. Matt didn’t need to hear his heartbeat to know that was utter bullshit, but you responded with elation, ecstatic to find another law student with a similar moral compass to your own. The dark haired law student was more focused on the fact that he could smell his rival’s arousal brewing, a set of wandering hands becoming increasingly noticeable despite the quaking music and overwhelming atmosphere. Hearing a nervous giggle spill out of your mouth as you shrugged out of an inebriated touch, Matt stumbled off the cushions he sat on, ambling over to you to ensure you were safe. 

Before he’d even reached you, your attention landed on him and your pulse stilled. The relieved exhale that left your lips as your eyes found him in the crowd gave his ego a boost for the ages. Waltzing up to you with a smirk, he wrapped an arm protectively around your shoulders as you smiled up at him. “Hey, you! Long time, no see.” Your voice was cheerful despite the situation. 

“You doing ok?” Matt asked, ignoring the brooding man to his left who had backed off a bit since Matt had walked over. 

“Uh huh!” Your head bobbed with a nod, leaning into Matt, you waved towards your suitor. “Jake was just telling me about his work with the Red Cross after Hurricane Isabel.” 

The buff man gave a condescending chuckle, eyes darting over your form. “The Peace Corps, actually.” 

You gasped, “Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry!” Jake simply smiled, his eyes darkening as Matt subconsciously clenched his hand around you. 

“Quite alright, sweetheart,” He drawled and Matt’s small grin vanished. How dare he call you that? Only Matt was allowed to call you that. “It’s easy to get confused about that stuff. But, yah, it was just so…rewarding, ya know? Helping all those poor people who lost their homes. Can’t wait to do it again after graduating.” 

“Oh, you’re going back to the Peace Corps? How noble of you,” Matt smiled, thinly covering his irritation at this jerk’s arrogance. 

“Well, either that or a similar organization. It’s just so important to give back, ya know?” The tone of the other man indicated that he, too, was holding back a stream of anger. 

As Matt was about to spit back a response, a drunk guy tripped into Jake, who promptly “spilled” (threw) his drink onto Matt’s pristine shirt. Jumping away from you, Matt stood up straight to let the excess liquid drip off his torso, trying not to scream as the damp fabric fused with his skin. 

Jake, ever the charmer, let out a barking laugh. “Shit, sorry man. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Course you weren’t,” Matt muttered, flicking excess moisture from his hands. 

“Oh gosh, you ok, Matty?” You hurried to grab paper towels from the counter behind you, pressing a wad into Matt’s hands while using another handful to dry his shirt yourself. Standing there frozen, Matt’s tipsy brain couldn’t fathom how amazing it felt to have your fingers pressed against his stomach as you tried to clean him up. 

Realizing with a jolt that he hadn’t responded to your worried question, he placed a hand over yours gently. “Uh, yah, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t worry about him, beautiful, he can clean up in the bathroom while we chat.” Heat pushed aggressively at his already sticky skin as Jake sidled up behind you, placing eager hands on your waist as the douchebag tried to pry you from Matt. 

Suddenly, something in him snapped. He wasn’t happy with the immense amount of sensation he’d had to endure nor the fact that he’d been listening to a complete asshole flirt with you all night. Not to mention, said asshole seemed to be moving faster than you wanted and was now physically removing you from Matt’s safeguarding after pouring foul-smelling punch all over his clean shirt? That was just unacceptable. The dark force within Matt that was constantly simmering below the surface was ready to erupt. 

Stepping forward with a snarl, Matt was ready for a fight, but he didn’t have to start one. 

Pulling out of the grasp of your aggressive suitor’s hands, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s. “Sorry, Jake, but I should get going. I have to be up for a scholarship event tomorrow, and I’ll need a good amount of sleep if I want to act not-hungover.” You giggled, smiling at him. “I’ll see you around?” 

“Sure. Whatever,” Jake feigned a smile, stalking away but muttering loud enough for Matt to hear, “Stupid bitch.” 

Matt growled, taking a firm step towards him, but you tugged on his hand. “Hey,” You murmured, squeezing his hand, “Let’s get out of here.” 

Not wanting to upset you by giving away the other man’s shitty intentions, Matt trailed after you as you wove through the crowd and out the door. The grip of your fingers around his hand was grounding, allowing him to push away the less pleasant feelings from the party. Shoving past a group of people playing beer pong outside, you sighed as your lungs took in fresh air for the first time in a few hours. 

“Wow, that was…” you trailed off, steps faltering slightly. 

“Yah.” Matt agreed, trying not to blush as you linked your arms together on the path towards his dorm.  “I’m…sorry.” 

Turning to him, your footwork halted. “For what, Matty?” 

“I didn’t mean to stop you from enjoying yourself. You and…Jake,” Matt practically choked around the name. “Really seemed to hit it off.”

You were quiet for a moment, your steady heartbeat echoing in Matt’s ears, before you burst out laughing. Giggles became chuckles which transformed into uproarious laughter. You had to pull yourself out of Matt’s hold to cradle your stomach as you cracked yourself up. Matt just stared blankly at you, brain flooding with pure confusion. 

“Matt,” You wheezed. “He’s a total douchebag.” 

“But, but I thought—“ Matt shook his head, breaking into his own set of giggles listening to your bright, infectious ones. “Stop laughing! He was all over you!”

“Yah because he’s a douchebag!” You exclaimed, as if it was obvious. Falling back against Matt’s side, you tucked an arm around his waist and began marching forward again. “He told me that bullshit story about the Peace Corps, but they don’t accept minors. So he was either lying about that or his age.” 

“Why did you talk to him for so long? You had me fooled.” Matt ran a hand over your back, smiling with relief that you hadn’t been as smitten with Jake as he’d assumed. 

“I don’t know!” You shoved him lightly as he snorted at your behavior. “I’m awkward, Matty! I kept trying to end the conversation and he just. Kept. Talking. And then I felt bad because he seemed like an ok guy, but then he started getting handsy and I was soooo over it.” 

Growling deeply, Matt’s arm tightened around you. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the room was over it at that point.” 

You just hummed in thought. “Well it’s a good thing I have my Matt in Shining Armor. Now let’s get you home so you can change.”

“About that..” Matt slowed his pace, not wanting to let you go quite yet. He needed a plan, and fast. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m just…I can’t exactly tell, but I assume the shirt is going to stain?”

With a grimace, you traced a finger over the patch the drink had touched. Matt’s light blue shirt wouldn’t stand a chance after 24 hours. “Oof. It’s likely if it’s not treated tonight. That punch was eerily red. Like inedibly vibrant in color. But if you use a stain remover—“

“I don’t have that.” Matt blurted, “I, er, I just really like this shirt,” God, that was the worst excuse he had ever come up with. Nice going, Murdock. “and I don’t want it to stain. Would you, um, could you—“

“Is the great Matthew Murdock asking for my assistance with laundry?” He could hear the smirk you wore. “I thought you were an expert.” 

“That’s hearsay.” He objected, teasingly. 

You giggled once more. “Well, what kind of person would I be if I let my knight’s shining armor stay tarnished?” 

Matt feigned a groan at your cheesy comment. “You know what, on second thought—“ He started to pull away from you, but you held fast. 

“Nope! You want to hang out with me even though I say goofy shit. That’s your bad. No turning back now, you’re in too deep, Murdock.” 

“Lucky me.” Matt remarked, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone. 

“C’mon, slowpoke!! Time is of the essence!” You pulled Matt up the last flight of stairs to your loft, laughing as he pretended to go limp so you would drag him further. “Hey! Be careful, trouble, you weigh more than I can handle.” 

“Excuses, excuses.” Matt lurched forward, toppling against you as you opened the door. You squealed, but nestled into the contact anyway. The door creaked open and you both shuffled inside, there was no sign of anyone else in the apartment. 

“My roommate went out with her boyfriend.” You explained, as if reading his mind. “They usually hang out here but I think they were drinking for free somewhere.”

“Good for them.” Matt snorted, being tugged towards your laundry room. 

You instructed him to sit on top of the dryer while you opened the washer. “Your shirt, sir,” Holding out a hand to him, you messed with settings on the machine. 

Removing each plastic button from its corresponding fabric loop, Matt was suddenly painfully aware of how intimate the action was. Biting his lip to keep his growing…feelings…at bay, he tried not to dwindle on the fact that you had asked him to undress. In your apartment. Alone. 

You may have just realized the tension of the moment as well, heat flooding your body as your movement stilled. In one swift movement, Matt gracefully removed the dress shirt and placed it in your outstretched palm, imaginary sparks cascading up his arm as his fingertips brushed your bare skin. 

“Thank you,” You nearly whispered, gaze lingering on his parted lips for a moment too long before you busied yourself at the washer. “Um, Hydrogen peroxide should fix the discoloration. It might smell a little, though. We may need to wash it twice.”

“That’s, uh, that’s fine.” Matt murmured, arousal becoming difficult to ignore. 

“I can wash your undershirt too, if you want,” Matt’s skin jumped as your fingers danced over the fabric where the spilled drink had seeped through. 

“Yah. Yah, ok.” Your hand rose and fell with Matt’s chest as he breathed. Time had slowed to a crawl, nothing existing outside the little haven you had painstakingly created for him. Tugging the garment up and over his head, he gripped it tightly for a moment before passing it over. “Here.” 

You took the fabric gingerly, eyes not straying from his mouth. “Thanks.” Still clenching the shirt in one hand, you cupped his cheek and leaned in. Matt greedily followed your lead, nose bumping against yours for only a second before—

The sound of a door slamming made you both jump apart. Drunken laughter rang throughout the hallway but abruptly stopped as Oscar and Jen took in the scene before them. Eyes flitting between shirtless, panting Matt, and your embarrassed face, it painted quite the picture. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jen giggled, pulling Oscar towards her room. 

“Carry on, children!” Oscar guffawed, running after her. 

Grimacing, you turned back to Matt. “Shit, Matt, I—“

“You know what, I should really get going.” Matt snatched his undershirt from your open hand, sliding off the dryer and beelining for the door. 

“Matt, wait!” You called after him, but he was already gone. 

Exhaling nervously, you clenched your fingers around the item you held before knocking firmly on the door. 

Foggy’s equally anxious face appeared as the door opened. Tension ebbed from his brow slightly as he met your wide eyes. “Well, what do you know!” He greeted you in a loud voice laced with false surprise. “So lovely to see you, my dear. Please, come in.”

Stepping past Foggy with a grimace of a smile, your gaze quickly found Matt—tucked away against his thin headboard, looking like he wanted to vanish into the faux wood. 

“Wow, would you look at the time. I really should be going.” Seizing his coat from the bed, Foggy scurried to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, frantically. 

“Out. With, er, my other friends. Bye!” The slam of a door concluded his swift exit. 

You avoided looking at Matt, shuffling from foot to foot for a moment before sitting at the edge of Foggy’s bed. The raven-haired boy had a skittish energy, like a feral cat, and you didn’t want to scare him off. 

Biting your lip, you desperately scrounged for any remaining courage within yourself, trying to muster up the nerve to break the silence, but Matt beat you to it. 

“I’m starting to think you two planned that.” He spoke quietly, toying with a stray thread on his comforter. 

You gave a humorless chuckle. “Guess we need to work on our acting skills, huh?” 

Matt just grunted. C’mon Murdock, work with me here. 

You took a deep breath, “Matt, about Thursday night—“ Your sweet friend interrupted you with a wince. 

“I’m sorry.” Matt’s face was practically mournful, but his apology left you confused. 

“Sorry for what?” You tilted your head, honed in on him as he curled further into the corner. 

“I…I made it weird. I didn’t mean to, it just happened! You were trying to do something nice and then I had to go and ruin it and then your roommates came home and—“ 

“Oh, Matty,” You launched yourself off of Foggy’s bed and flung your arms around Matt. Startled, he teetered for a moment before returning the hug. “You didn’t ruin anything. We were both…a little tipsy, and it was late. We weren’t acting like ourselves. We can just forget about it!” 

Pushing down the disappointment that surfaced at your desire to move past the near kiss, Matt was a bit relieved that you didn’t hate him. “Really?” He asked as you settled against his side, nestling into the arm he threw over you as if you belonged there. 

“Of course! If you’re willing, we can move past it.” Then, with a bit more vulnerability, you added, “I care about you a lot, trouble. I’m not going to let a little awkwardness keep us apart.” 

Matt smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder, taking a moment to weave your fingers together. He basked in your warmth for a bit before curiosity outweighed his desire to hold you. 

“What did you bring with you?” His voice was still soft, tentative, like he was still doubting that you cared for him. 

“Oh!” Escaping his grasp, you leapt to grab the crumpled heap of fabric from the other bed. “I brought back your shirt.” 

Matt gingerly took the clothing from you, wondering why he hadn’t smelled the strong floral detergent when you came in. Forgetting his manners, he brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply before running his fingers over it. 

It was soft, more so than when he had worn it last. It held traces of your vanilla soap, and even fainter remnants of tequila and peroxide, but it smelled like…nothing. Or as close to nothing as any porous object could ever get with his delicate senses. 

“I, um, I hope it’s ok. I used a new detergent. Fragrance and dye free, supposed to be good for sensitive skin.” You shifted on the balls of your feet, watching him turn the shirt in his grasp . 

Taking your hand, Matt tugged you back against his hip, embracing you again. “Thank you.” He struggled to form the words around the lump of emotion in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Foggy may have mentioned that the clothes we washed last time were giving you a reaction.” You shoved him lightly. “You should have told me!” 

Shrugging, Matt sighed. “I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

Snuggling in closer, you frowned. “You never bother me, trouble. You ok?” 

Matt scrubbed at his eyes hastily, “M’fine.” You clearly didn’t buy his bullshit, but you didn’t call him on it either, simply using a gentle thumb to wipe away a stray tear that his hands missed. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Matty. But, if you want to, I’m right here.” 

Eyes filling with tears again, he stifled a sob, waiting for the ability to pull himself together before he spilled his secrets to you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get emotional, it’s just—“ Your hand came up to stroke through his hair as a strangled cry broke free. “No one has ever done this for me before. I’m just…not used to it.” 

“You’re my best friend, Matt. You deserve to be taken care of, and I’m happy to do it.” Pressing a kiss to his temple, you guided him to your shoulder and simply let him cry.

Tag list: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock

[stargazer-sims]

The New Tenant

Clancy: How was school today, guys? Any big discoveries or juicy drama?

Grey: I got an A on my essay for English. Oh, and tryouts for the school play are next Friday, so I’m gonna sign up.

Frankie: Middle school theatre. Ooh…

Clancy: Be nice to your brother, Frankie.

Frankie: He’s an awesome actor, but the school play isn’t exactly drama.

Grey: But, it is. It’s literally drama.

Frankie: Ugh!

Clancy: He does have a point.

Frankie: Okay, fine. Can we talk about my drama now?

Grey: It's not your drama. It's our drama. This is gonna affect me as much it affects you.

Clancy: What is it?

Frankie: It's about Forest. Camellia told me she overheard Uncle Fox and Uncle Takahiro talking last night, and she said they were discussing kicking Forest out. She said he was gonna move in with us.

Grey: Frankie texted me at lunch and told me. Is it really true?

Clancy: Your uncles aren't kicking Forest out, but Uncle Fox and I did have a conversation about letting him move to our place.

Grey: Ugh... Mom!

Frankie: How could you do that to us?

Clancy: I don't see how it has anything to do with you.

Frankie: It totally does! Now we're gonna have to socialize with him.

Grey: He's so weird.

Frankie: Not to mention that he's lazy, and he's a total brat. Just so you know, I'm not doing his share of the chores and I'm not cleaning up after him.

Grey: Yeah, same. Like, why couldn't we have a cool cousin move in with us? I'd love for Takashi to move in.

Frankie: Or Camellia.

Clancy: Guys, enough! Forest won't be moving into the house with us. He's going to be living in the garage apartment. If you don't want to hang out with him, you don't have to, and you don't have to do any extra chores.

Frankie: So we can just totally ignore him?

Grey: I vote for that.

Clancy: If that's your plan, it's fine. I was kind of hoping you'd have a better attitude about this whole thing, though.

Grey: Why should we? Forest doesn't even like us.

Frankie: It's mutual. I'm embarrassed to even admit that jerk is our cousin.

Grey: Yeah, what Frankie said.

Frankie: Why is he moving into the garage apartment anyway? Did the uncles finally get tired of his shit?

Clancy: He's moving in because he needs to learn a lesson that he can't learn at home.

Grey: Like what? How not to be a complete jerkwad?

Clancy: Greyson!

Frankie: *giggling* But like, where's the lie?

Clancy: Frankie, do you remember the summer you broke your arm?

Frankie: Yeah, but how's that relevant?

Clancy: Do you remember how you broke your arm?

Frankie: Doing skateboard tricks at the park with Camellia and Matsu.

Clancy: Trying to go down those concrete steps at the park on your skateboard, after Uncle Fox told you not to.

Frankie: Yeah.

Clancy: And did you ever try that again?

Frankie: No, 'cause I didn't want to hurt myself again.

Clancy: Right. The point is, some people have to learn lessons the hard way. Sometimes giving people instructions or advice and hoping they'll make good choices doesn't work, and they have to go through something difficult before they get the message. Does that make sense?

Grey: And living in the garage apartment is going to teach Forest something?

Clancy: Your uncles are hoping it'll teach him not to take all the good people and good things in his life for granted. They want him to grow up a little bit and learn about responsibility.

Frankie: You think it's going to work?

Clancy: I don't know, but we're all hoping it does.

Grey: I'll bet next month's allowance it doesn't.

Frankie: Me too. Double allowance if he doesn't even make it a week.

Clancy: I'm not betting with you on your cousin's success. No one's going to lose their allowance or get double. You should want Forest to succeed as much as his parents and I do.

Grey: Why?

Clancy: Because you never know what's going to happen in the future. Some day, one of you might need someone to rely on, and what if Forest is the only one around?

Grey: I'll take my chances, thanks.

Frankie: Me too. Anyway, why would I ever need Forest when I've got Grey and five actually decent cousins? Me and Grey are forever. Right, Grey?

Grey: One hundred percent. Even if you're a huge pain in the butt sometimes, I'm always gonna have your back. Just like Mom and Uncle Fox.

Clancy: Okay. I can see this is as far as we're going to get on this topic today. We'll come back to it later if you guys want to, but just so we're clear, the decision is up to your uncles and me. You're allowed to have opinions, but we're not taking a vote, okay?

Frankie: We don't like it, but... okay.

Clancy: Grey?

Grey: If we don't have a choice, I guess we'll just have to make the best of it. You know, try to make things... interesting.

Frankie: Ooh... I see where you're going there. Are you thinking exploding gift box or exploding toilet?

Grey: Toilet. Definitely exploding toilet. Since we already know we don't have to clean up in there...

Clancy: *sighing*

[clueless-smut]

Unmasked Love

Summary: When Katsuki Bakugou and (Y/N) find themselves entangled in a secret relationship, they go to great lengths to keep it hidden from their classmates. However, fate has other plans, and their love is soon unmasked in the most unexpected way.

Word count: ~3000 words

Warnings: Fluff, mild language

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been weeks since Katsuki Bakugou and (Y/N) started their secret relationship. They kept it under wraps, stealing private moments whenever they could, and avoiding any displays of affection in front of their classmates. It wasn't easy, but they both knew that it was the best way to avoid unnecessary drama and distractions.

Their love blossomed in the shadows, hidden behind closed doors, beneath the moonlit sky. Late-night training sessions turned into stolen kisses, and casual conversations turned into sweet confessions. They cherished those moments, knowing that the world outside their bubble was not yet ready to witness their feelings for each other.

One fateful morning, the class was gathered for another training session with Aizawa-sensei. As always, Bakugou and (Y/N) were careful not to attract any attention. They maintained their usual distance, exchanging secret glances when no one was looking.

However, fate had other plans that day. During one of their training exercises, (Y/N) was caught off guard by an opponent's surprise attack. As they stumbled backward, Bakugou instinctively rushed to their side, forgetting everything else in that moment of concern.

Aizawa-sensei noticed the sudden change in Bakugou's behavior, and it piqued his curiosity. He narrowed his eyes and decided to keep an eye on them during the remainder of the exercise.

As the training session continued, Aizawa-sensei subtly observed Bakugou and (Y/N). He noticed the way their eyes always seemed to gravitate toward each other, the way their movements seemed to complement one another. His suspicions grew.

After the training was over, Aizawa-sensei called Bakugou and (Y/N) aside. "You two," he said, his gaze sharp as ever. "I need to talk to you."

Bakugou and (Y/N) exchanged worried glances but followed their teacher to a quieter corner of the training area.

"Something's going on between you two," Aizawa-sensei stated matter-of-factly.

"W-What? No! There's nothing!" Bakugou denied, trying to act nonchalant, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

(Y/N) fidgeted nervously, feeling the weight of Aizawa-sensei's gaze on them. "It's... it's nothing, really. Just friends."

Aizawa-sensei crossed his arms, unconvinced. "I may be a bit aloof, but I'm not blind. Your actions today were far from those of just friends. I won't pry, but I expect you both to remain focused during training. If there's anything going on, it could be a distraction to you and your classmates."

Bakugou's irritation flared, but he managed to keep his composure. "Got it," he muttered.

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. "We won't let it interfere with our training."

With a stern nod, Aizawa-sensei dismissed them, leaving Bakugou and (Y/N) to process the close call.

"That was too close," Bakugou grumbled.

(Y/N) sighed, "We have to be more careful from now on."

Despite their efforts to keep their relationship hidden, the class had started to pick up on subtle hints. Their classmates whispered and gossiped, making the atmosphere uneasy.

One day, as Bakugou and (Y/N) sat together during lunch, Uraraka approached them with a knowing smile. "So, you guys are dating, right?" she asked playfully.

Bakugou's eyes widened, and he glared at Uraraka. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't deny it," Uraraka teased. "We've all noticed."

(Y/N) blushed and tried to change the subject, "Come on, it's not that obvious, right?"

But their secret was no longer safe. News spread like wildfire, and soon, the entire class knew about Bakugou and (Y/N)'s relationship.

At first, Bakugou was furious, but as the day progressed, he realized that it wasn't all that bad. Their classmates were surprisingly supportive, cheering them on, and offering their blessings.

In the end, Bakugou and (Y/N) learned that love couldn't be contained or hidden forever. Sometimes, it had a way of unmasking itself, revealing the most beautiful and genuine emotions to the world.

And so, with their relationship revealed, Bakugou and (Y/N) embraced the newfound freedom, no longer bound by secrecy, but strengthened by the support and love of their classmates.

[suddencolds]

Foreign Home | [1/1]

hello!! I am back after 8 months of not-really-writing with an 8k word fic (which I cut down from 9k words). this is another OC fic w/ Vincent and Yves, who were introduced here!

anyways, this is very character-centric and establishes some things I wanted to establish about them / their world... I hope the little detour into character-development territory is okay.

Summary: Yves has told all of his friends that he's dating Vincent, so it's going to look increasingly suspicious if Vincent never shows up. Good thing Vincent is compellingly good at lying. Anyways, what could go wrong at a housewarming party? (ft. banter, fake dating, cat allergies)

—

Yves spends three weeks turning down invitations.

It’s lucky, he thinks, that he’s been able to stay in contact with so many friends from university—that so many of them have settled here, in New York. It’s less lucky considering his current circumstances:

Out of the people who made it to Margot’s New Year’s party, almost all of them remember Vincent. And—even more inconveniently—many of them seem set on inviting Yves and Vincent places.

Yves thinks up a dozen excuses. No, Vincent can’t join on our coffee outing—he’s got an important, un-reschedulable meeting with a client that Saturday. Sunday? His Sunday’s booked through until 5pm. I know, busy season is the worst to plan around. Or, I think Vincent’s going to be out for a business conference that weekend. The 22nd? I can check with him, but he’s taking a redeye flight the night before—I think he’ll be jet lagged.

The number of excuses he is capable of coming up with is unfortunately finite. Perhaps sorry, I think Vincent has an optometrist’s appointment that afternoon isn’t Yves’s best work, but he has to say something.

Really, it’s just more work to invite Vincent elsewhere—to explain that they’ve played their role as a couple a little too convincingly. That his friends all want to meet Vincent, now.

Back during his days of rowing crew, Yves has given out his fair share of relationship advice to the underclassmen, which has unfortunately—according to Margot—“cultivated an air of mystery about his personal love life.” It was always him and Erika, until it wasn’t. (Ex-matchmaker Yves and his mysterious, highly coveted new boyfriend, Leon says, when Yves complains, which is how Yves decides he will no longer be consulting Leon on the matter.)

“My friends really like you,” Yves says to Vincent, offhandedly, when he runs into him on the way back from lunch.

Vincent blinks at him. 

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“They really like you,” Yves says. “They want to meet you. They think we’re an interesting couple, and they keep pestering me for double dates and inviting you out to a whole bunch of events. I’m running out of excuses as to why you can’t come.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, deadpan, but there’s a slight twitch to his lips, as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m dead serious,” Yves says. “I told Nora that you couldn’t make it to dinner because of an eye appointment. Now if I want to keep this up I’ll need to photoshop you with new glasses.”

“I am a little overdue for new glasses,” Vincent says.

“Not the point. Regardless, I need to keep this up until we stage a breakup.”

“A breakup?”

“A fake breakup. To our fake relationship.”

“Is there someone else you’re interested in?”

“No,” Yves says. “But I’m preemptively saving you the stress.”

“The stress of playing your boyfriend?” Vincent says. “Last time, that just entailed going to a well-organized New Year’s party. I wouldn’t consider that exceptionally stressful.”

“That’s just the beginning. Don’t tell me you want to be dragged along to every dinner party and every downtown outing and every birthday I go to in the foreseeable future,” Yves says. “On top of working 60 hours a week, you’ll have to say goodbye to your weekends.”

“So that’s why you’re plotting our breakup.”

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’d need to explain to everyone how I dropped the ball.”

“I’m sure those new glasses must’ve been the dealbreaker.”

Yves laughs. Truthfully, Vincent could wear the most terrible, unflattering glasses in the world and still manage to look like someone whom Yves wouldn’t bat an eye at upon spotting at a photoshoot. The fact that his current glasses actually complement him very well, and the fact that he knows how to dress himself is just salt to the wound. “Yes, that’s the entire reason why I dated you in the first place. The glasses.”

“If you wanted to keep our false relationship up for a couple months,” Vincent says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Yves—who, until now, has been walking in the opposite direction of the floor on which he works—stops walking. “Pardon?”

“I like your friends,” Vincent says. “And more importantly, I don’t think it proves a point to Erika if you’ve just gotten into a relationship you couldn’t keep. So if you wanted to keep this arrangement for a little longer, I would be fine with it.”

Yves considers this.

He’s asked more than enough of Vincent already. But Vincent is right. He’s sure Erika must have her fair share of doubts about all of this—about Vincent, about their fake relationship, about its longevity. She seemed skeptical, when he’d last seen her, that Yves could’ve moved on so quickly. The worst thing about it is that he can’t blame her for that doubt. The worst thing about it is that he’d spent so much time accounting for his future with Erika that he hadn’t seen her start to slip away, hadn’t noticed the first sign of inadequacy, the first time her gaze lingered on someone else, the first time he ceased to be all that she wanted. He hadn’t steeled himself for a future without her, and now, half the time, it feels like he’s still playing catch-up.

If he wants to commit to this fake relationship, he’ll need more than one outing to show for it.

And, despite all odds, Vincent is offering just that.

“Okay,” Yves says, before he can think about how bad of an idea this is. It is really, really inadvisable. He’s sure if he weighs his options for more than a few seconds, he will come to the conclusion that he should be shutting his mouth. “If you’re sure—and only if you’re actually sure—what are your plans after work next Tuesday evening?”

“Nothing as of now,” Vincent says. 

“Great. If you can make it, there’s a potluck. Joel’s hosting. He recently finished moving into a new apartment, so I think it’s something of a housewarming party. He lives a little North, past the stadium, so I think I’ll head there right after work—I can drive you.” 

“That works,” Vincent says. “What kind of food does he like?”

“I’m not actually too sure,” Yves says. “I think he’s a fan of spicy food. But honestly, I think he’ll be grateful if you bring anything at all—which you don’t have to, by the way. You’re the esteemed guest, here.”

“I’m sure Joel’s new apartment is technically the esteemed guest,” Vincent says. “But I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Yves says. “It’s a date. I’ll make it up to you in any way you want, by the way—if there’s ever an instance where you need me to lie for you, I’ll do it.”

“Duly noted,” Vincent says. For what Vincent would ever have to lie about, Yves can’t guess.

More importantly, he has a date for next Tuesday. Something about it is more exciting, even in its dishonesty, than it has any right to be.

—

It’s only a few moments after Yves presses the doorbell that Vincent emerges, holding a couple plates covered meticulously with aluminum foil.

“I haven’t cooked for anyone in awhile,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I hope this doesn’t make a bad impression on your friends.” “Are you kidding? It smells really good,” Yves says, and it does—from the doorway, he can make out the scent of sesame oil, roasted garlic, ginger. “They’ll definitely like it.”

Vincent looks off to the side. “We’ll see.” It takes a moment for Yves to properly parse his expression for what it is.

It never occurred to Yves that Vincent might actually be nervous. At work, it’s rare to see Vincent even remotely out of his element—he always volunteers to take on their more difficult clients, and even on the rare occasion that something falls out of his expertise, he picks things up quickly. Yves has seen him give presentations at conferences without a sweat, articulate as ever. 

If Vincent had been nervous, those times—over prestigious conferences, over negotiations with major clients, over other difficult points of contention—it hadn’t shown. Either he wasn’t nervous at all, or he was just good at hiding it. But he’s nervous now, Yves realizes, which means— 

Vincent wants to make a good impression on his friends. It won’t be his first time meeting Joel, but it’ll be his first time talking to Cherie, Joel’s fiancé, or Giselle, one of Cherie’s friends from work. Mikhail and Nora will be there too. All in all, it’s a decently sized group, but Vincent has talked to larger groups of people before without so much as a shaky voice.

Something about it—about the seriousness with which Vincent regards this whole arrangement—is strangely endearing.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Yves says, and means it in more ways than one.

—

Joel’s new apartment, as it turns out, is already decently furnished, even though Joel had sent out the invitation with the disclaimer that everything is a mess, please bear with us.

“When you said everything would be a mess,” Yves says, leaving his shoes in a line at the door, “I thought your apartment would actually be something other than spotlessly clean and well arranged.”

“It’s easy to make things look neat if you move all of the clutter into the closets,” Joel says.

“It’s just a few boxes,” Cherie says. “But it was tricky to figure out how to place things. It’s a lot more spacious than the apartment we had in college.”

“No kidding,” Yves says. “It’s a seriously nice place.” Back in their last two years of university, Joel and Cherie had gotten an apartment just a few buildings down from the apartment which Yves picked out with Mikhail—they had similar floor plans. Yves distinctly remembers the space: creaky floorboards, space heaters lined up against the walls to last them the winter; decent natural lighting, and never enough kitchen space.

Back then, he and Mikhail had had separate rooms, so their apartment became a spot in which Erika became a frequent visitor, and then, at one point, stopped visiting at all. 

But that’s not the point. The point is, the apartment Joel and Cherie have picked out is much nicer than the one they’d had in college—for one, it’s more spacious, and the entire building has nice facilities and looks newer—and Cherie’s eye for interior design has only helped their cause.

“I’m glad you were able to come!” Cherie says, turning to Vincent. “Yves is always telling me about how busy you are with work.”

“He’s the one putting out all the fires,” Yves says. 

Vincent smiles, extending a hand for her to shake. “Cherie, right? It’s nice to meet you. And you’re—” He turns to Joel, with a slight sniffle. “Joel. I think we met last time.”

Cherie squeezes his hand. Joel laughs and says, “I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“He’s good with names,” Yves says. An acquired skill from all the hours of networking, probably.

“That’s a useful skill to have, especially if you’re dating Yves,” Joel says. “I swear he knows everyone.” He goes on to tell a story about how, back in university, Yves almost accidentally got elected as vice president for a business club he’d only shown up to once.

At some point into the conversation, Yves ducks into the kitchen to help with setup. He sets out the dish he’s brought—salmon sliders with mango salsa—and the beef skewers that Vincent made earlier (he’s not sure why Vincent was worried in the first place, because the skewers look very competently made). After that, he busies himself with finding a way to keep everything temporarily covered until they eat.

Something soft and fuzzy winds around his ankles.

He looks down, and the soft and fuzzy thing looks back at him with pointy triangular ears. This is news to Yves.

“You guys have a cat?!” He shouts from the kitchen, vaguely in the direction where Joel and Cherie should still be standing. “Since when?”

“Since a month ago,” Joel shouts back.

“Her name is Gingersnap,” Cherie adds. “Gin for short.”

“Oh,” Yves says, kneeling down to scratch her behind the ears. His hands are a little calloused from all the snow he’s been shoveling lately, but Gingersnap purrs anyways, evidently unbothered. “What the hell, guys, now I’m never going to be able to leave your apartment. Consider me a permanent resident.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Cherie says.

At some point, Gingersnap gets up, mewing, and heads out of the kitchen, and Yves resumes life as an active contributor to the potluck’s success. When he finishes reheating everything up, setting the table, arranging the dishes, and filling up two pitchers with iced water, he wanders back out into the living room. Vincent is there, alone, except he’s not really alone, because…

Oh.

God.

He’s kneeling down, unmoving, speaking to Gingersnap in a soft, low voice, holding out a hand for her.

She approaches him, a little tentatively, and then nuzzles her orange head into the crook of his hand. Vincent smiles—a soft, private smile. “Hi, Gin,” he says.

There’s the low, lawnmower hum of a purr as Gingersnap rolls onto the ground to let Vincent continue petting her. It’s a heartwarming sight—Vincent, from the office, crouched down to pet a cat that’s smaller than his hand. Yves thinks he might cry.

Then Vincent withdraws his hand, reaches up with an arm to swipe at his eyes. Something jolts through his shoulders, a tremor so slight that Yves wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t already been watching—

“—nGkt-!”

Gingersnap mews at him, perplexed but undeterred. “Sorry,” Vincent says to her, quietly, “I’m not trying— to—” It’s all he can get out before he’s veering away again, this time with both hands tightly steepled over his nose for—

“hhIH’—GKKtt-!”

He sniffles softly, though the sniffle is immediately followed by a small, quiet cough. He reaches up with one hand to rub his nose. Yves watches his expression draw uneven, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“hhIH…”

Whatever sneeze he’s fighting seems terribly indecisive—but terribly irritating—for the way he rubs his nose again, his eyes squeezing shut in ticklish anticipation.

“HhIH… hh… HH-hhH-hHIHh—”

 He cups a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, and not a moment too early—

“—hIHh’iiIKKTSHh-!”His shoulders jolt forwards with the force of it, though it gives him barely a moment’s reprieve before his breath hitches again, sharply, urgently. “IiI’DSZCHuuhh-!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent turns to blink at him. His eyes are a little red-rimmed and watering. There’s a thin flush over the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t tell me you were allergic to cats,” Yves says, rounding the corner to close the distance between them.

“Slightly allergic,” Vincent admits, turning aside with a liquid sniffle. “It’s ndot - hhIHH-! - a big deal.”

“I didn’t know Joel and Cherie had a cat,” Yves says. “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you if they did.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I like her.”

“You might like her, but your body doesn’t seem to be a fan.”

“It’s a good thing that I have a consciousness, so I can codtinue petting her.” Vincent sniffles again, lifting one hand to rub his nose with his index finger. Yves does not know how to even begin to tell him what an inadvisable idea that is, but either way, he doesn’t have a chance to before Vincent’s eyes graze shut, and he turns to face away from Gingersnap before he jerks forward, catching a muffled - “Hh’GKK-t!” - into a clenched fist.

“Bless you,” Yves says. “You know, you’re really not going to make the situation any better if you keep on—”

“nNGKT-!!”

“—bless you!”

“hh—hHhih’iiKKsHHhUH!” The last sneeze is noticeably harsher than the others—it sounds loud enough to scrape against his throat, which seems to be further evidenced by the small cough that succeeds it.

“I’ll ask Joel if he has any antihistamines,” Yves says. 

“It’s fide,” Vincent says. 

“If you insist on spending time with Gingersnap, wouldn’t it be better to spend it without having to sneeze?”

“I would still have to sdeeze,” Vincent says, as if he’s already experienced in the matter—briefly, Yves wonders how many cats he inadvisably plays with on a frequent basis. “Just less.”

“That would be an improvement.”

Vincent looks away. “Antihistamines mbake me tired,” he says, after a little hesitation. 

“It’s a good time to be tired,” Yves says. “It’s not like you have any pressing work to get done.”

“I want to make a good ibpression on your friends,” Vincent says, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “That’s ndot going to happen if I fall asleep halfway through dinner.”

“If you did, I’m sure no one would fault you for it.”

“I’ll take something after we finish eating,” Vincent says. “If things haved’t improved by then. ”

“Okay,” Yves relents, and—since it doesn’t seem like Vincent is leaving anytime soon—takes a seat next to him on the rug. It’s a compromise he can accept.

—

Nora gets there next, followed by Mikhail and then Giselle. It’s Yves’s first time formally meeting Giselle, who turns out to be very tall and a little intimidating—she’s come straight from work, so she’s dressed accordingly, and she talks with the sort of quiet authority that Yves knows is usually indicative of years of experience. Right before they sit down for dinner, Vincent ducks out into the bathroom—‘I need to look at least marginally presentable,’ he’d said, seeming like he was in a rush—so Yves saves him a seat at the table. 

“Yves,” Giselle says, taking another salmon slider. “You made these entirely from scratch? This is delicious.” 

“Thanks,” Yves says. “To be honest, it was a bit of a gamble. I wasn’t sure if the sauce was going to pair well with it.”

“Yves is really good at cooking,” Mikhail says. “That’s half the reason why I roomed with him in college.”

“So what’s the other half?” Cherie says. 

“The other half is that he lets me eat his food,” Mikhail says.

Yves laughs. “For a second, I thought you’d have something nice to say about my personality.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mikhail says. 

“Yves is very good at cooking,” Vincent says, emerging from the hallway. Yves blinks at him. Whatever he’d done in the bathroom has done wonders—he looks remarkably put together. Not a strand of his hair is out of place. His eyes are dry, not red, not teary, not irritated, his collar crisply upright, his voice devoid of congestion. The only telltale sign about his ailment is the slight bit of redness to his nose, but it’s winter—that could easily be chalked up to the cold.

He slips easily into the seat next to Yves, his posture impeccable. Yves does everything in his power not to stare. 

“I think he’s responsible for some of the best hot chocolate I’ve had,” Vincent continues. That remark is surprising, too—repurposed from a memory as it is, it seems almost like something that could be genuine.

But Yves remembers how easily Vincent had lied, back on New Year’s—how easily he’d drawn the fictitious threads between them, almost thoughtlessly, as if they had always existed. 

I could make better hot chocolate, Yves thinks, before he can stop himself. I could really make the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted, if I just had time. It’s an absurd thought, and one that he doesn’t have much grounds for. He had been pressed for time, back then—he hadn’t known when Vincent’s ride was going to be arriving—but even if he’d really, properly tried, even if he’d succeeded in making the best hot chocolate he’s capable of making, there’s no guarantee that Vincent would’ve liked it.

He’s surprised by the pang in his chest, now, the desire to make true something that he knows to be false, to be worthy of the compliments that Vincent’s so easily spoken about.

“That’s definitely an exaggeration,” Yves says. “Technically, Mikhail didn’t even know that I knew how to cook when we signed the lease. The real reason why we roomed together is much more interesting.”

It’s a story he’s told before, though Cherie and Giselle haven’t heard it before. It’s easy to fall into it again: Mikhail and Yves met in their first year, over a group project in an intro to finance class. The two other members of their team had been dead weight, and at the time, Yves had thought—incorrectly—that Mikhail was just as bad as the rest of them.

It’s practically a comedy of errors—a series of miscommunications had led them to each finish the project independently. Yves remembers the all-nighters he’d pulled for that, nervous and over-caffeinated, until the day before the presentation, where he found that Mikhail had not—unlike the other members of their group—spent the last few weeks slacking off. 

Beside him, Vincent goes still.

When Yves chances a quick look at him, he sees: a slight, almost imperceptible ripple to his expression, before it smooths out again.

He nearly backtracks—his first thought is that perhaps something he’s said is the source of Vincent’s irritation—but then Vincent turns his face away. There’s the slightest disturbance to the line of his shoulders, and then—

“—gkT-!”

The sneeze is barely audible, stifled as it is into a half-closed palm, though the gesture is subtle, too—easily mistaken as Vincent simply looking away, resting his chin on his hand.

“I can’t believe you guys are still friends after all of that,” Nora says.

“Right,” Yves says. “I was so ready to never talk to him again. But obviously, we still had to give the presentation.”

He talks about how, in a half-asleep effort to salvage the project work, he and Mikhail had found some way to relate their findings to each other, to loosely bind the disparate subjects into a coherent thesis. Mikhail talks, too, about how they’d manipulated their presentation to get their combined work to seem sufficiently on topic.

Mikhail is halfway through his story when Yves sees Vincent jolt forward beside him.

He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of a sneeze—expertly stifled, just like the others—into a clenched fist. This one’s a little more forceful, even in its quietness—it leaves Vincent hunched over for just a moment, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he straightens again, covertly lowering his hand.

There’s a slightly hazy, distant look to his features, as if whatever’s been bothering him hasn’t begun to let up yet.

Yves nudges him with his arm. Vincent doesn’t exactly jump at the contact, but he does freeze, his shoulders stiffening.

“Hey,” Yves says, quietly enough that he doesn’t think anyone else should be able to hear. “You okay?”

Vincent nods.

“You sure you don’t want to take anything?”

Another nod. 

“I can’t tell you how little either of us proofread that paper,” Mikhail is saying.

“I reread it three months later,” Yves admits. “And he’s right. We really didn’t proofread it.” 

But it was a winning proposal, even though they’d both been too tired to realize it then. And still, Mikhail had still managed to hold a grudge against him for two long months. And then Mikhail had run into last-minute problems with his upcoming lease arrangement, and Yves had happened to find a decently priced two-bedroom apartment with no roommate, and he’d reached out half as a joke.

“You know those friends who say they can never room together?” Mikhail is saying. “Like, they hang out all the time, or they’ve been friends for years, or they trust each other with their lives, or whatever. But the second you put their living habits in close proximity, everything goes to shit? I think we were the opposite.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just because you two never had a good enough relationship to ruin in the first place?” Nora says jokingly.

She has a point. Yves is starting to think that all of the formative relationships in his life have all happened by accident.

—

Vincent and Giselle get along very well, Yves notes, listening to the two of them talk. Halfway through dinner, they get into a heated discussion about the more outward-facing expectations at work, as Joel and Cherie exchange knowing glances. Giselle talks about feeling accountable for the team she manages—for knowing that if they don’t perform, she’ll take the fall for them; for being careful not to disperse the stress from higher ups unevenly, for constantly feeling her way through how much work is reasonable to expect of them. Vincent talks about the stress of apportioning work to others—the knowledge in his own competence and the knowledge gap when it comes to how others will handle things, the desire to take on more work alone to make sure everything is accounted for.

Nora, who’d had an internship at a different firm after each year in college, weighs in too on the management styles she’d been under, to what extent the expectations from leadership affected the dynamic between her coworkers.

It’s interesting, Yves thinks, that they all have their own subset of worries, even when they come across as people who are so certain of themselves.

As the others speak, Vincent stops periodically to rub his nose with the knuckle of his index finger—an action that always seems to keep the irritation at bay, but never seems to mitigate it entirely. For a moment, his expression goes hazy, his eyes watering ever so slightly, but it always lasts only a moment.

When Mikhail cracks a joke that has the entire table laughing, Vincent takes the opportunity to cough quietly into an upheld fist. When Cherie talks about her and Joel’s extremely mathematical efforts to fit everything into the car before moving, Vincent turns aside, raising a napkin to his face with a quiet, well-contained sniffle.

It’s difficult to tell, at first. But his attempts to keep quiet, to succumb to his symptoms as inconspicuously as possible, take their toll on him. Every time he jerks forward with a near-silent stifle, Yves can tell, by Vincent’s expression when he emerges, that it’s just short of relieving.  Every sniffle seems to only add on to the mounting congestion, in the long run. It’s a slow, almost imperceptible unraveling.

And yet, when Yves asks about it—when he offers to ask the others for antihistamines, or when he offers to make the drive to a convenience store himself; when he suggests that they go out to get some fresh air—he’s always faced with the same nonanswer, the same dismissive, I’ll be fine. The same persistent, Don’t worry about it.

So Yves doesn’t worry about it, for now—at least, not outwardly.

—

At some point after dinner, they disperse. Yves talks to Joel and Cherie about the apartment, about the pains of moving in, about the other places they’d considered and about why this one had been at the top of the list. Then about the cat— “we had been talking about getting one,” Cherie says. “And then one day Joel was wandering around downtown, and one of the pet shops there was holding an adoption event, and then when I got home there was a cat in the living room.”

“He didn’t call you to come pick out a cat with him?”

“Have you ever heard of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission?’” Joel says. 

“He texted me before he brought her home,” Cherie says, and scrolls through her phone until she finds a text that says: Would you kill me if I brought home a cat. Just asking for a friend. And hypothetically if we extended this thought experiment it would be an orange cat that’s 2 months old.

“That sounds like a text from someone who’s absolutely decided already,” Yves says. “Ask for forgiveness, huh? So how’s the forgiveness going?”

“I let her name her,” Joel says.

“He’s on litter box duty for the next six months,” Cherie says.

On the other side of the room, Mikhail and Vincent are having a conversation—it could be because Vincent is the person in the room that Mikhail has talked to least, to date, but Yves has a feeling that it’s so that Mikhail can gain embarrassing intel on what Yves has been doing for the past few months.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vincent turn away, his eyebrows drawing together, raising both his hands to his face to catch a sneeze into steepled hands. Then, not a moment later, his shoulders shudder forward with another.

“Totally off topic,” Yves says, to Joel and Cherie. “Do you guys have any antihistamines?”

“I think we have some Benadryl,” Cherie says. “It should be in the bathroom cabinet, behind the mirror.”

He does find it there, eventually—next to a box of band-aids and a small cylindrical container of cotton swabs. Perhaps he’ll hand it to Vincent, discreetly, when he’s done talking to Mikhail. Vincent had said antihistamines made him tired, but now that dinner is over, it shouldn’t be an issue—Yves suspects people will start heading out soon, and he’ll be the one driving, anyways.

When he steps out into the hallway, Mikhail and Vincent are in the middle of a conversation. It’s a conversation Yves has every intention of interrupting, and no intention of eavesdropping on, until he overhears—

“So,” Mikhail says, “When you first started dating Yves, what was it that you saw in him?”

Yves winces. That’s certainly not an easy question to answer—he and Vincent don’t know each other all that well, and any planning they have done on the basis of their fake relationship has been almost entirely centered around logistics—events, important dates, flagship moments in the relationship, trivia-worthy personal details. Not… this.

But Vincent just laughs, seemingly unfazed. “Honestly, if I told you everything I liked about Yves, you’d want to date him too.”

“That’s a tall claim,” Mikhail says. Yves is positively certain that no permutation of words in the universe could make Mikhail want to date him. “You can’t just say that and not give any examples.”

“I guess Yves is a very considerate person,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “It actually confused me, at first. When I was growing up, after I moved here from Korea, I was brought up in the sort of environment where there was always an expectation for self-sufficiency. It didn’t matter how young I was, I guess—there were certain things I was expected to know, and certain things I was expected to teach myself.”

Something about his expression looks wistful, if not a little sad. But perhaps this is a trick of the light; perhaps his eyes are just watering from earlier. “My parents trusted me with a lot of things, but it was the kind of trust where they weren’t planning on filling in the gaps for me if I fell short.” 

“I know what you mean,” Mikhail says. “That must’ve been difficult.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Vincent says. “But I’m not telling you this because it was a burden to me, or anything. Back then, it was all that I had ever known. It was normal to me, then, because it was inevitable.”

“Yves is a very different person than I am,” Vincent says. “At times, when I was growing up, it felt like kindness was always something that had to be calculated.”

He pauses, sniffling again, before he raises his arm to his face with a forceful—

“hIhh’GKT-! Hh… hh-HHih’NGKktshH!”

“Bless you,” Mikhail says reflexively.

“Thadk you,” Vincent says, sniffling. He lowers his arm. “I was always taught that if you lend a hand to someone else, you have to make sure their success is not the thing that robs you of your spot—that sort of thing. But Yves is kind even without thinking about it. He’s kind even when there’s nothing in it for him.”

“So that was what made you develop feelings for him?” Mikhail asks.

“Eventually, yes,” Vincent says. “At first, I thought that we were irreconcilably different.”

“What changed?”

“Yves is an easy person to like, romantically or otherwise,” Vincent says. “It’s a little disarming to be on the receiving end of his type of kindness. And I think that’s ultimately what made me start liking him. He’s just the sort of selfless person you can’t help but admire, if that makes sense. It’s like—when someone does so much for you out of sheer selflessness, at some point, you start wanting to be a part of their happiness too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yves sees a small orange blur—mostly fluff, on four short white legs, with two pointy ears—bound from the kitchen into the living room.

“I get it,” Mikhail says. “That’s an interesting answer. It makes me hopeful that Yves might’ve stumbled into a relationship that will be very good for him.”

That’s a statement he’ll have to revise, Yves thinks wryly, in a few months, whenever it stops being practical for Vincent to keep up this act.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What makes you say that?”

“When he and Erika broke up, he was—” Mikhail pauses, briefly, and Yves is thinking about the many embarrassing—but completely, verifiably true—ways he could finish off that sentence. “—he was pretty upset,” Mikhail says, instead, which Yves decides is suitably merciful.

“Look, what’s between them is between them—I’m not going to claim I know all the ins and outs of their relationship. But given that Yves was living with me for much of the time that he and Erika were dating, I’ve seen them interact more times than I can count.”

“I don’t think Erika is a bad person,” he continues. “She’s very ambitious, which I think was good for Yves back when they first started dating. But I don’t think she recognized those things about him—how much he cares for others, how much he gives people the benefit of the doubt, how much he… well, frankly, how much bullshit he’s willing to endure on his end. I think she took his kindness for granted, a little bit, and she certainly didn’t go out of her way to reciprocate.”

“What I’m saying is, I’m glad he met you,” Mikhail says. Beside him, something small and orange hops onto the couch they’re standing next to. “I can tell that what you said was sincere.” 

If even Mikhail thought he was being sincere, perhaps Vincent is a little too good of an actor.

“Obviously, it’s early for me to be saying this, so you can take it with a grain of salt,” Mikhail continues. “But I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.”

The sentence feels like a punch to the stomach.

And—well.

I’m glad he met you. I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.

Yves has really dug himself into this hole, hasn’t he?

Mikhail thinks that Vincent is good for him—Mikhail, one of Yves’s closest friends, someone who is by no means quick to express his approval over whoever Yves is seeing—which means that when they inevitably stage their breakup, Yves is never going to hear the end of it.

Is it cruel to be taking Vincent to all of these events, to be introducing him to all of his friends, when—after the impending breakup—Vincent might never see any of them again? Is it cruel that Mikhail likes Vincent enough to be hopeful that this is going to last?

Yves doesn’t have time to contemplate it more when three things happen.

One—Gingersnap, who is still perched at the very top of the couch, nudges her face against Vincent’s arm and mews softly at him.

Two—Vincent stops what he’s doing to reach out slowly, cautiously, to scratch gently at the fur under her chin. Gingersnap purrs, leaning her head into his hand.

Three—Vincent withdraws his hand, suddenly, as if he’s been burned, twisting away reflexively. He lifts his hand—the same hand he’s been petting Gingersnap with (probably inadvisably) to his face, to cover a resounding—

“hh—hiHH-hHihh’iIZSChHH-uhh! snf-!”

The sneeze sounds ticklish and barely relieving, as if he’s been holding it in all afternoon. 

It’s only a few moments later that Vincent’s jerking forward with another ticklish, wrenching, “hh… hhiHH… NgKT-!—hh’hiiIIIK’TSCHhuhH! snf-! hiIh… hIIIH-IITSCHh’yyue!”

“Oh,” Mikhail says, finally comprehending. “You’re allergic to cats?”

“Just slightly— hIh… hH- Hiih—hhH’nNGkT-!” Vincent sniffles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry to - hh-! - cut our codversatiod short - hH… I… hhiHh’IiKSHhuh! Excuse mbe… hH… Hhh-! I’mb going to rund to the bathroom… hh… hhiIh… hh-HIih’iiIK’SHhUHhh!”

Yves ducks out into the kitchen before Vincent has a chance to head his way. He busies himself with removing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water, Somewhere behind him, he hears the bathroom door click shut, hears the slightly muffled sound of a sneeze, then another.

He shuts his eyes.

Vincent had said that it was fine. Should Yves have insisted? It’s Yves’s fault, again, that Vincent is in this situation, but then again, he couldn’t have known—both that Joel and Cherie would have a cat, and that Vincent would like her so much. Either way, Yves can’t help but feel partially responsible.

But would it be strange, now, to offer Vincent something to take for it, to openly acknowledge his affliction? Should he have done something earlier? Or should he wait to acknowledge it after they leave?

Against all doubt, he finds himself outside of the bathroom door.

Yves knocks.

There’s the sound of water running, inside, and then the sound of the faucet being turned to shut. Then there’s a brief pause. Yves is contemplating knocking again when the door opens just a crack.

There, Vincent stands, his eyes a little watery still, his nose just slightly redder than usual, his hair slightly out of place—he’s just washed his face, then.

“Yves,” Vincent says.

“Um,” Yves says, holding out the glass of water and, next to it, the bottle of Benadryl. “Thought you could use these.”

Vincent takes the cup, a little hesitantly, and sets it on the bathroom counter. Then he takes the bottle of allergy medicine, unscrews the cap, and removes two small pink pills.

“Thank you,” he says. Yves thinks he’s about to take a sip when he twists to the side suddenly, his eyes squeezing shut, snapping forward with a loud—

“hIIH’IIKKSHh’hUh!”

The hand he’s holding the cup with trembles a bit with the action, but the water inside doesn’t spill. 

“Bless you,” Yves says, taking the cup from him, before—

“hIHH… hh-Hhih’iISCHhh’Uhh!”

“Bless you!”

The only acknowledgment Vincent gives him is to take the cup back from him, sniffling, and down the pills in one quick, decisive sip.

“They’ll take some time to take effect,” Yves says, though he’s sure that Vincent knows that already, for the way he knew to take two, even without reading the label on the bottle. “Are you okay?”

“It’s been awhile since my last edcounter with a cat,” Vincent says, sniffling. 

“You forgot how bad it was?”

“It gets better with exposure,” he says. And worse without.

Yves says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really didn’t know they’d have a cat.”

“Even if you’d known, I ndever told you I was allergic,” Vincent says. “It’s fine.”

“I should’ve thought to check. Seriously, a housewarming party—”

“I told you, snf, I like cats,” Vincent says, clearing his throat. “So it’s fine.”

Yves looks around—at the bathroom, which looks just as pristine as he’d left it earlier, except that the tissue box on the bathroom counter is a little askew. At the slight tiredness to Vincent’s posture, even as he looks off to the side, tilting his glasses up to his forehead to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Do you want to get out of here?“ Yves says.

“I cad stay,” Vincent says, as if he really is willing to, despite the side effects. “Do you want to stay longer?”

I want you to be comfortable, Yves wants to say. 

Instead, he says, “I think I’ve just about caught up with everyone. Besides, we have work tomorrow, and I think Cherie and Joel do too, so I don’t want to stay too late, you know?”

“Okay,” Vincent says. 

“I’m happy you came,” Yves says, stepping past Vincent to put the bottle of Benadryl back into its original spot, where he found it. He snags the glass from the counter on his way out.

“Your friends are a fun crowd,” Vincent says, following him out.

Yves laughs. “I think just between you and me, Mikhail has been dying to interrogate you about this relationship.”

“He did idterrogate me,” Vincent says. “How much of it did you overhear?”

“What?”

“When you were standing out in the hallway.”

Oh. Well, perhaps he hadn’t been as discreet about eavesdropping as he’d thought. Yves says, “Okay, you got me. I heard a good amount.”

“I don’t think Mikhail noticed you there, if you’re worried,” Vincent says. “In any case, it doesd’t matter if you overheard. It was just the same story.”

They step out into the hallway. Giselle has left, already, to be home in time for a cross-timezone call with a team that works somewhere halfway across the world. Yves bids everyone else a goodbye (Cherie and Joel thank him for coming, and Cherie hugs him and Vincent both on the way out; Nora asks Vincent to send her a recipe to his beef skewers, to which Vincent admits sheepishly that he stole from a cookbook, to which Nora says “making it successfully is half the work;” Mikhail says, “If you and Vincent get a place too, I want to be invited to your housewarming party.”)

On the way out, Yves grabs both of their coats off from where they’re hanging in a closet next to the front door, and hands Vincent’s coat to him. There’s never much street parking by the apartment, so the car is parked a couple blocks down, and it’s cold enough to be worth bundling up.

“You’re very good at lying,” Yves says, when he’s sure that the door is shut behind them.

Outside, it’s snowing just a little. Snow falls from the sky in thick white flakes. Vincent pulls his hood over his shoulders, sniffling a little—though whether that’s from the cold or from the allergies, Yves can’t be sure. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Definitely a compliment. I just mean, you play the part really well.”

“So instead of being a good boyfriend, I’m a good fake boyfriend,” Vincent says, lifting his sleeve to his face to muffle a cough into it. “Somehow, that seems much less impressive.”

“It’s arguably more impressive,” Yves says. “It definitely requires a different subset of skills.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment. When Yves looks over, he sees Vincent raise both hands to his face, steepling them over his nose, his eyes fluttering shut.

“hHh… hHh’iiiIKKSshh’uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says. 

“Ndot— hh… hHh… done — hH-hhIh’nGKKTsHuuh! hHh-hH’IIZSCHHhhuh!”

“Bless you! Cats, huh?”

Vincent hums. It’s snowed all through dinner—the snow under their feet coats the sidewalk, powdery and untouched. Their shoes sink into it while they walk.

“I didn’t know you used to live in Korea,” Yves says.

“It’s not a secret, snf-!,” Vincent says. “But I ndever found an occasion to bring it up.” 

Yves can think of a hundred things to say—how it’s strange only learning this information secondhand; it’s strange to play the part of someone who knows Vincent and knows him intimately, and to know so little about him, at the core of it. Isn’t it like that, with coworkers? The only window he has to Vincent’s life is made up of the things Vincent has chosen to share with him—over small talk in the break room, or conversationally over their outings, or during longer drives.

He knows an assortment of trivia, like Vincent’s favorite color (green) or Vincent’s birthday (March 15th) or the number of siblings Vincent has (one), or when he had his first kiss (during his first year in university) or his least favorite chore (vacuuming) or how he spends his weekends (generally at the library downtown, catching up on work or working on his personal projects). But even that was only for the sake of having something to say if his friends asked him—of having a basic understanding of his supposed partner that Vincent could later corroborate.

“Was it very different there?”

“I moved here when I was pretty young,” Vincent says. “But it was very different.”

When Yves looks over, there’s something complicated to Vincent’s expression that gives him pause. “Back then, I was young enough that everything was new to me. So the cultural shift wasn’t as pronounced for me as it was for the rest of the family. I think that’s why they moved back, eventually.”

“Did that happen recently?”

“They moved back just six years after we came here,” he says. “I was in high school at the time, so I stayed with my aunt to continue my education here.”

“Was it difficult living here on your own?”

“Is this useful to you?”

Yves blinks, taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Is this information useful to you?” Vincent says, looking over at him. His glasses have fogged up a little in the cold.  “Do you think your friends are going to ask about it?”

“It’s—not exactly useful in that sense,” Yves says, backtracking. “I just wanted to know. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

That’s right, he reminds himself—he and Vincent are only doing this for appearances’ sake. 

“I got used to it,” Vincent says, finally, which isn’t exactly an answer. “It’s hard to say if—hold on, I— hh-!”

Yves sees him duck off to the side, raising his arm to his face.

“Bless you—!”

“hh-Hhiih’IIZSCHh’uhH!”

The sneeze is muffled slightly into his sleeve. Vincent sniffles, keeping his arm clamped to his face for a moment, in trepidation, before dropping it to his side.

“Apologies, snf-!,” he says, as if he has anything to apologize for. “It’s hard to say if things would’ve been better if I’d gone back with them to Korea. I just know things would’ve been different.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say to that. It feels like something that Vincent has thought about for years, something that Yves couldn’t even begin to comprehend—growing up here, alone. Away from his family, in a country foreign to him, with his family all the way on the other side of the Pacific ocean; staying with a stranger. To say that it had to have been difficult would be a vast understatement. 

Had he doubted himself, then? Had it been his idea to stay here, in the States? Had his parents told him it was for the best? Had he argued with them on the subject? Had they listened?

“Do you think you’re happy enough now to justify that decision?” Yves asks.

Vincent is quiet for a bit. Around them, the snow continues to fall, silent and slow, listing upwards on every updrift. “Sometimes,” he says.

—

When they get back to the car, Vincent is quiet. The car is frigid, the window panes cold enough to fog up when Yves puts his hand on them—he puts the heaters on to the highest setting. If anything, being out of the cold seems to make Vincent’s nose run even more—a fact which he carefully obscures, resting his face on the palm of his hand with a few muffled sniffles.

“Thanks again for coming,” Yves says. “I know I—and everyone else—already said that to you like a hundred times. But I mean it.”

“It’s ndo problem, snf,” Vincent says. “I’ll be sure to avoid putting you into contact with cats in the future,” Yves says.

“There’s ndo need for that.”

“While we’re at it, is there anything else you’re allergic to?”

“Not much,” Vincent says. “Unless you pland on getting rid of the entire season of spring.”

“That’s secretly why you chose an office job,” Yves says. “So you could avoid all the pollen by staying inside all day.”

“Busy season was - snf-! - idvented solely for that purpose,” Vincent says.

It’s barely a couple minutes into the drive when Vincent stifles a yawn into his fist.

“Are you tired?” Yves asks. “I mean, you did say that thing about antihistamines making you tired.”

“Wide awake,” Vincent says, before—moments later—hiding another yawn behind a cupped hand.

“Evidently,” Yves says, which earns him a quiet laugh.

“Tell me if you ndeed me,” Vincent says, leaning his head lightly on the passenger seat window. As if this is work, or something. As if Yves could have any conceivable reason to need him during the drive home.

“Not at all,” Yves says. “As a matter of fact, it’d probably be a good thing if you close your eyes. You wouldn’t have to look at all this traffic.” It’s a little past rush hour, but traffic is only just starting to clear up, and driving in the city at any hour has never been a particularly pleasant experience.

Vincent opens his eyes. “Do you wadt me to help navigate?”

“I want you to sleep,” Yves says. “I’m an expert at handling traffic.”

It’s as if all this time, Vincent was merely waiting for permission. Yves isn’t certain if he’s asleep, but he certainly looks to be—when Yves sneaks a glance at him, his eyes are shut, his shoulders slack, and his breathing has evened out. It’s an image Yves wants to thoroughly take in—the slow rise of his chest, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. 

Instead, he drives. Instead, he stares hard at the rows and rows of cars before him, at every traffic light, and tries not to think about—

Vincent, at the housewarming party, kneeling down to pet a cat smaller than his hand, despite being well aware of the consequences.

Vincent, calling Yves kind even without thinking about it, talking about him—about his best qualities—with near-artful dishonesty.

Vincent, walking beside him in the snow, talking candidly about growing up here; the unspoken understanding between them about how much he must’ve given up.

That Vincent, the same Vincent from work, asleep in Yves’s passenger seat, while Yves drives him home.

Yves can’t help but think that if he caught feelings for someone like Vincent, Erika would be the least of his problems.

[raschuuuu]

Summary: Y/N is a famous YouTube vlogger and Ruben Dias a famous professional football player. They've been friends for a few months but never met. Now it's finally time for them to meet but what happens when one of them falls in love?

PART 2

Rating/genre: fluff, friends to lovers

Pairings: Ruben Dias x female reader

Word count: 862 words

—————————————————————————————————

The same night I arrived in London, Ruben and I had another video call. And another three weeks later Ruben and I, of course, still kept in touch, but not that much because of one: He was busy and two: I've been busy too. I started filming vlogs again regularly.

I haven't told you what videos I'm shooting yet. I refer more to daily lifestyle vlogs or vacation vlogs. My videos like to be watched by girls and boys and I also film on twitch a few videos, which means I like to stream too.

Today I made plans to meet a good friend of mine, his name is Brett. Brett and I met at a little event in London, and he talked to me first there. It felt like Brett and I were friends forever. Brett was never in one of my videos, so he had a little debut today.

"Hey, guys, welcome to a new vlog from me! I hope everyone are doing fine. I'm meeting a friend of mine later, you've never met him, but he's a great person, and that's why I really want him to be in my vlog today." I said to the camera. „This is what I’m gonna be wearing today guys!“ I turned the camera around so you can see my OOTD in the mirror. I was on my way out and while I was walking I was talking to the camera.

When I got to the restaurant where I wanted to meet him, he was sitting there and I smiled at him. The camera was still filming all the time. "Here he is," I said with a big smile on my face, hugging Brett. Then I turned the camera around and Brett waved into the camera. „Guys this is my beste Brett!!!“ - "Hey, guys, I'm Brett," he said shyly. I had to laugh because I realized he must have been embarrassed. Brett and I sat in that restaurant and talked a lot, the camera kept filming. We told my viewers how we met, we made a lot of jokes, and after lunch at the restaurant, I continued to vlog. Brett and I had a nice day in London. We went into a couple of stores, I helped Brett to pick out a suit because he was soon invited to a wedding, and we went to a coffee shop and had coffee and cake. In the evening, we went to a bar and got drunk there. I finished my vlog the next morning in my bed. I had quite a hangover from the night before, and I said goodbye to my viewers.

I uploaded the vlog that same week on YouTube and got such nice comments from my viewers. Everybody loved Brett and wanted to have a vlog with him again as soon as possible.

When I was lying in my bed at night I watched at a documentation on Netflix and then I got a call from Ruben. "Hi," I said. "Hey," he said dry. "Are you all right?" - "Yes, I'm fine. Do you have a boyfriend now?", he asked all of a sudden. "No, why?" "I watched your vlog and it looked like you were dating," he said. I had to smile. What he and everyone else didn't know is that Brett likes dicks. Yeah he’s gay. He would probably try to hit on Ruben if he knew we were friends.

I decided to keep it to myself and not tell him. "Really? No, we don't date. But did you think we looked good together?" I asked. He didn't answer my question. I called his name. "No," he answered, and before I could say anything, he said, "I'll go to London and meet you tomorrow." Now I've been quiet. What's wrong with him? Why does he want to come all of a sudden?

"Of course you can come, but why all of a sudden? We didn't plan anything and I didn't clean up. I don’t have any food here. I need to buy food. Oh, God, I don't have anything at home," I replied and suddenly I got stressed. "I've just made a spontaneous decision. You don't need to buy anything. I'm gonna get a hotel. I'll come with Arabella. I'd like you to meet her. We're just getting to know each other, and I think it can be serious with her." He said, and somehow I felt weird. And if I'm honest with you, I felt jealousy as well. He didn't tell me anything about her when I was with him, and why would he want to introduce me to his situationship or whatever the fuck she is? "Uhm, sure I'd love to meet your girlfriend." I lied. I don't want to meet her. "But does she know about me? Did you tell her about me because I'm not really unknown and I don't want her to think anything wrong." - "Yes, I told her we were friends. She was surprised, but she was happy and she loves to watch your videos. We watched your video with Brett together. Her idea was to go on a double date together."

OH OH HELP!

[k3nofficial]

Health & Wellness Journey....

Good morning Angels! Let me just start off by saying I am soo happy with how far I've come in the last couple of weeks. Being realistic I've had my days but what I've noticed is my bad days don't turn into bad weeks anymore. Before if I had a bad day I would bring it into the next day and sabotage my entire week because of that one bad day. Now I'm able to almost completely reset at the start of a new day which is crucial.

Yesterdays recap:

I meal prepped for the week. All anti inflammatory meals and protein focused. Baked sweet potato bites, honey lemon shrimp, salmon salad, and white rice. Today I plan to put together some more things. Like little fruit salads with fruit that's already chopped and washed off for a quick snack, Overnight Oats for breakfast, Broccoli for lunch and dinner sides. Last but not least my gut and immunity shots. Consisting of Oranges, Ginger, Turmeric, Lemon juice, and Black pepper. If time permits I also want to make some chicken that I could eat for lunch and dinner.

I'm so so glad I did this I just know it's gonna make my week a lot easier. This was also my first time meal prepping so I'm very excited.

Todays morning recap:

Breakfast- Scrambled eggs w/ tomato's, green peppers, onions, and cheese. Chicken Sausage and Strawberries. A cup of green tea with lemon (and made my matcha after).

Wrote in my Gratitude journal & did my morning prayer.

Taking my vitamins after I upload this :)

Started on laundry (starting with my sheets).

I started my morning a little differently today. I woke up took the sheets off my bed and hopped in the shower. I'm normally a shower at night gal, But I wanted to try showering in the morning to see if it helps start my day with a better energy. I think it did. I felt more ready to start the day and get things done. I was moving a lot quicker too! I'm probably am still going to shower tonight because I need to work out today. Being honest I haven't done a workout in like 3 days :( I'm not proud of it but I'll get there. We're getting the basement done and its gonna have a gym so hopefully that will help having a dedicated place to go and workout in. In the meantime I do wanna get in the habitat of getting some sort of physical fitness in because I know it will help me so much!

Anyway girlies it's Sunday Reset!

Change Sheets.

Deep Clean bathroom.

Deep Clean room (including vacuuming & wiping down surfaces).

Finish Laundry (and put away if time permits).

Take out trash.

Clean up kitchen.

The best part of Sunday reset is waking up the next morning with a clean space and a clear mind. Anyway... That's all for now! Sending peace and love through the screen! 😘

[chosen-hero-inari]

Whumptober Day 10: Passing out from pain

A/N: Brought to you by @yumizurueleonora saying I should be mean to Saki.

If I were to step out of this thin white line I'm tugged by

It isn’t even noon. They’d only had their first few classes, it was an hour and a half before they all took a break for lunch, and then after that Leo/need was going to try recording their first demo album and practice for their live show!

So Saki cannot already be in pain. She cannot be in so much pain before noon she wants to go home and lie down in her plushies and not move.

It’ll get better, of course it’ll get better, it’s early! She can just push through it, Saki just has to make sure that no one notices, because if the others heard she was in pain now, then they’d cancel all their big plans for today even if she went home and felt better later.

Her back’s the worst by the time lunch comes. Each invertebrate disk feels like it’s creaking, and it’s making it hard to stand up straight but Saki Will! Not! Give! Up! She’s had worse at the hospital, and that’s why she’s not there anymore!

She could ask to go to the nurse’s office to get her pain medication but Miyajou’s full of gossips. No way that doesn’t get back to Ichika and the others and then they’ll be like “just to be safe, let’s put it off for today!”

No! Life isn’t about playing it safe! Life isn’t about being cooped up in a small boring hospital room where people constantly check on you and you’ll never get hurt but you’ll feel dead inside!

She can get pain pills after they record the demo.

When the final bell rings, Saki’s head hurts. God a migraine. She grabs an energy drink that’s supposed to have extra Vitamin B2 and hopes that’ll work. Save her, Riboflavin! It won’t matter though because she can play the songs that’ll be on their demo in her sleep.

“Saki-chan?” Honami asks. “Are you ok, you seem pale?”

“I’m great! We’re gonna have a demo!” Saki says. “Have you been working on the album art?”

Honami’s hand goes to her notebook, and Saki smiles, reaching for it. Instead of pictures of lion-like creatures like Honami did for their flyers, there are pictures of the old playground they used to walk by, with doodles of shooting stars and constellations overhead.

“I… I thought maybe it would be bad if I drew our first album cover from scratch, so I’ve just been thinking of what kind of layout we can do with images?” Honami says quickly.

“Oh!” Saki says. “I love it!” 

“Love what?” Shiho asks, walking up with Ichika. 

“Our first album cover!” Saki announces, showing them the sketchbook.

“It’s not exactly an album,” Ichika says, “it’s a demo, it’s only going to be a couple of songs to give to agents.”

“But!” Saki says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Soon we will have an album! Just after we record this. Now what are we waiting for?” Saki spins on her heel and runs off.

The studio they’re recording in looks totally cool, like the kind they have in movies. It’s so professional! So real! This is it, they can–

Saki wakes up in the hospital. Ichika is sitting across from her, and notices as soon as she opens her eyes.

“Saki!” Ichika gasps. “Oh my gosh, are you ok? We were so scared when you passed out we didn’t know what to do, Honami was freaking out and Shiho called the ambulance and I kept trying to wake you up and I wasn’t sure if I should do CPR or something.”

Saki frowns. “We didn’t get to record the demo.”

“The demo?” Ichika gasps. “Saki you fainted, I think that’s more important than the demo!”

Saki coughs. “But it’s not just the demo, you’re going to say we need to practice less because I might get tired.”

“W-well we were talking about it but–”

“That’s the problem! Do you know how much professional performers practice?” Saki asks. “Professional Broadway actors do eight shows a week, I heard Tsukasa-nii talking about it! If we wanna go pro, we have to keep up with that now!”

“If we want to go pro, we need you alive!” Ichika snaps.

Saki stares at her, at a loss.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” Ichika says. “B-but you really scared us, and if going pro means pushing you so hard you could get seriously hurt, then I don’t want to go pro.”

“But then Shi-chan would leave us,” Saki says.

“You seriously think that?” Shiho says, entering the room with Honami and hospital donuts.

“It’s your dream,” Saki points out.

“Well maybe it used to be,” Shiho says. “But right now, my dream is going pro with you guys.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without all of us,” Honami says. “So please, Saki, let us know when you need a break.”

Saki thinks she’s going to cry if she hasn’t started already. “Fine. Yeah. Let’s just get out of here. I hate the hospital.”

[jwonsoon]

enhypen - how they show affection at school 𖨆♡𖨆

☼ authors note - hi guys first post :) thinking about life w them at school god im going nuts - def not proofread im just rambling !

heeseung

his way of showing affection is through subtle touches </3. 

during those school breaks after exhausting classes he just wants to see you and listen to how ur day went.

his hand is always hanging around u, whether thats ur knee or shoulder giving u small squeezes of reassurance while ur with all ur friends to remind u nonverbally that he misses u. 

also if u guys are laughing about something he is always looking at you w so much admiration or leaning into you god i want him 

jay

HE IS SO OBVIOUSSSS. i love him so much 

jay would have such starry eyes he would completely light up around u. he is so smiley and giggly around you laughing at ur jokes that were not even that funny. 

he’s also such a good listener like he’s just so attentive and give u the exact energy u need when ur ranting like he gives me “yea i really hate when that happens too…” vibes. 

buys u food anytime. 

he would be so insistent calling you over and telling him to sit with him cus he wants u near to him he’s barely seen u all day :(( he’d whisper ur name like “come here i miss youuuuu” i cant i cannot

jake 

HANDS HANDS HANDS. 

he loves playing w ur hands bopping them around and intertwining w them when ur talking to him. (think him and jungwon in enhypen&hi i cant do this) u also love doing the same to him, he gets all giddy but he still wants to be attentive to the rest of the friend group and not seem too obvious so he’ll be nodding and listening but he’ll occasionally look at u and smile to himself. god. 

his form of affection is just simply being with u. being close in proximity. he just loves the idea of u being there

he misses u and doesn’t wanna see u stressed!!!!  when his hands are free he’ll have his arm around u rubbing ur arm asking what he can do to help :(

would also be so visibly excited to see u if u haven’t seen e/o all day he makes u feel so special. he is so comforting i love him so bad jake i love u

sunghoon 

SUBTLE TOUCHES PART 2.

but this is more subtle it HURTS. his hand is always lingering around yours. and he always nudges u or he’s always looking down at ur hands that are barely touching and sometimes u dont notice so he gets pouty OH MY GOD.

secretly memorized ur schedule so at the end of one random class he’s finished early and hes just standing outside like 🧍 ALL AWK waiting for you to walk to lunch together and ur like how did u know i was here…hes like 🤷‍♂️

sunghoon is really subtle with it. if he senses you’re having a bad day he’s gonna be extra goofy w lame dad jokes to try and distract u. he’ll buy food for u but make it seem like it was for him and give it to u “just because.” sigh . the little things

jungwon 

despite being busy af. he will always make time for YOU. like he has a meeting but he receives a text that you’re about to go home? he will be excusing himself for 5 mins to give u a proper bye. FUCKKKKK

always texting u. ur laptop BETTTTERRR have DND on or else it will be pinging every 2 seconds. just like how this boy is always on weverse, he is constantly updating u about funny shit that happens in class or just what hes thinking or ur future hang out plans “we should go here on saturday”

he would so walk u home from school if y’all lived near and he would get sad if he can’t bring u one day like “how come ur leaving early i cant walk u home and ive barely seen u all week :( “

somehow always carrying ur stuff - especially if u tend to leave things behind. especially hoodies and waterbottles. like by the end of the day ur like “ok so why do u have half of my belongings.” when u guys pack up after lunch he is always picking up ur stuff b4 u cus he just knows u sometimes forget 😞 

sunoo 

no matter how busy y’all are. sunoo wants to see u ☹️ u guys have barely talked the whole day. he will text to meet in the middle of class just quickly. “what floor are you in? can u leave class rq i wanna say hi :(“ 

compliments. COMPLIMENTS. always the small details too like if he’ll notice if u tried a new makeup look or if u did ur hair different. he’ll make u feel so pretty

walks with u around the campus during lunch after you guys are done to have one on ones. he likes spending time one on one with you cus sometimes its harder within ur bigger group of friends awh. 

would always have ur arms linked and laugh about stupid things with you FUCK SUNOO MY SUNSHINE 

ni-ki 

i luv him NI-KI so much im gonna get emotional. 

when he laughs or gets excited he’s practically jumping onto u or puts his whole body weight on u you’ve almost fallen so many times. 

always squeezing ur shoulders from behind to catch ur attention cus he’s so tall, similar to this sometimes he scares u from behind and u get so startled and he loves it cus he thinks ur cute and silly </3 but he sometimes does it when you’ve seen him coming from like 4 miles away… goofy ass 

when hes with u he’ll scrunch his nose and whisper “cute” to himself bc he doesn’t wanna be obviousssss😜u cant know that hes’s SIMPING!! (but he doesnt realize that u did see it and ur geeking)

likes to hug u when theres no one else around or fully lean into u like hes about to get a good nights sleep  😭

[theealluringstoryteller]

Against The World Around Us

The rewrite

Chapter 4

(This picture reminds me of how I envisioned Omorose’s eye color to look like. If that makes sense)

It’s been weeks since the Baroness accepted the low effort proposal and since then the planning of the wedding has commenced! King Rhett had hired planners, cooks,bakers, florists, tailors and dress makers for the occasion. Omorose signed off on the colors, the flowers, the cake and the design of her wedding gown! Any other notes and thoughts the planner thought were needed was addressed by either Aurelia or Nina when the Baroness was simply to busy with matters she actually cared for.

With her proposal and notes stored away in a leather folder tucked safely under her arm Omorose navigated her way towards Rhett’s office. She had already run her idea through Aurelia who encouraged her to take it to Rhett, seeming hopeful of the idea working. Heels ‘clicking!’ Echoing through the halls as she got closer to the office door alerting those who lounged and waited outside of Rhett’s door . All focus going to her as she gracefully maneuvered her way between the crowded makeshift waiting room.

A soft “Excuse me.” And a polite smile making it’s way to her lips.

“If it isn’t the Commander’s Bride!” A gruff voice hummed to close in the Baroness’s ear. Cringing Omorose took a step back “Please refer to me as The Baroness-”

“We don’t do titles here, Imperial!” Another spoke up in disgust.

Biting her tongue The Baroness nods in understanding. “Then refer to me by my name.”

“Omorose…Rolls off the tongue real nice and sweet.” The gruff voice snickers leaning against the wall beside King Rhett’s office door.

“Our commander is a lucky man! Am I right?!”

A Symphony of voices agreed sizing Omorose up in the wine colored dress she wore. She rolled her eyes feeling their gaze study the way the material hugged her body like a glove.

“Never seen a beautiful woman before?” She teased hiding her annoyance as she knocked on the King’s door.

“We have! They just don’t look like you.” The man with the gruff voice smirked flirtatiously.

“I’m flattered!” Omorose sarcastically replied just as Castin opened the door.

“Sweetheart,” he greeted peering down at her, copying what his soldiers were just doing “Looking stunning as always.” He compliments blocking the entry way. His charming smile would’ve had others cheering and turning red but Omorose ill feelings towards Castin blocked those cues.

“I’m flattered.” Omorose repeated in a tone that lacked any emotion, avoiding all eye contact with the Commander. Since that day where she tried to play that game Rhett suggested to her to get to know Castin better she felt it was useless to waste any energy and time on Castin. He made attempts at conversation and trying to have lunch or dinner with her but she coldly shut down each not in the mood for any crude jokes and sexual advances she was sure he would make.

“Excuse me. I’ve requested King Rhett’s audience.” She states standing patiently until Castin moved aside after studying her face for a few seconds.

“Right this way Sweetheart,” Castin ushered her in dramatically “It’ll just be a few more minutes and then we’ll head out to breakfast,” Castin told his soldiers closing the door.

Rhett stood up welcoming Omorose into his office. “Please take a seat!” He encourage pointing to the empty one next to the one Castin took occupancy in.

“I rather stand-”

Castin couldn’t help but, to snort at the refusal, feeling anything but insulted. “Think I have cooties?” He asked snickering. His eyes never leaving her standing form, obnoxiously admiring her curves, something Rhett glared at him for.

“Here is my the proposal of the program I’m sure Queen Aurelia has told you about.” Omorose continued ignoring Castin as if he wasn’t a short step away.

“Oh yes! I’ve been intrigued since she told me a bit about it. Children are more Capable than adults in certain situations and I believe this is a situation where they will succeed better than us,” Rhett held out his hand for the folder.

“What program?” Castin demanded finally taking his gaze off Omorose to set it on Rhett.

“The Baroness thinks it’s best if both Imperial and Intacian children have a space to learn both of our cultures and histories-”

“With out sugar coating any of it! It’s important not to hide anything or coddle anyone.” Omorose stressed to Rhett.

“If we get the right teachers and willing parents and children we can ensure that the future you’re trying to secure between Intacia and the Empire can happen. The only way we can move forward is to learn and be open minded. If the adults can’t do it maybe the children can inspire them.”

Castin sat silently watching and listening to Rhett and Omorose go over the Program she wanted to start. It was clear she was very intelligent and not blind to the history between their countries. Her actively wanting to be hands on in the process of change was a side he never really expected to witness. Sure Aurelia mentioned Omorose funding aid but he thought she did it as a lazy attempt to look like a good person.

‘She’s serious about this.’ He thought taking in the determination and passion she had in her eyes. The raw emotion behind her eyes stirred something in him yet again.Something he has yet to understand but it keeps gnawing at him. It was like air was knocked out of him but at the same time he felt like air was filling him and making him weightless. It was too weird for him to put in words.

‘There’s no way Rhett could say no.’ He thought casting an admiring gaze at her proud smile.

“Commander!” A following knock made a frown appear on the Baroness’s lips the words she was in the middle of saying getting cut off rudely.

“Right! Breakfast. I have to go before they decide to break down your door next Rhett,” Castin joked standing from his seat. His muscles stretching aching from pushing his soldiers and himself more this morning.

Rhett waved him off dismissively knowing he would see the man later that day“Enjoy breakfast.” He tells him reading over the budget Omorose had set.

Before leaving he bids a farewell to Omorose which fell on deaf ears. Rolling his eyes Castin opened the door leaving without another word. Normally Castin wouldn’t bother after being ignored once by a woman but there was just something about Omorose. Despite her treating him as if he wasn’t there in her presence he still wanted her attention

“Y’all are like hangry ducks!” Castin huffs leading the group off towards where the carriages were.

“You said you were paying! It’s not our fault you were trying to skip out on us to hang out with your fiancée.”

Appalled at what was said Castin scoffs “Trust me she’s no fun! Girls like her are too reserved and a tight ass-”

“Oh but I thought the Commander enjoyed a tight ass.” Joked a female soldier in the group.

“Ha ha! Raven!” Castin sarcastically replied with a laugh at the clever input.

“I don’t know Castin, if my woman looked anything like yours I would be canceling at the drop of a hat.”admitted Dutton biting his lips as he relieved the moment he saw Omorose in the red dress she wore.

“The way that dress was hugging her I would’ve been stuck to her like flies are stuck in honey- and those eyes!” Dutton whistled. Castin stopped turning to Dutton as the rest of the group looked on waiting to see their Comander’s reaction.

“Could make a man-”

“And woman!” Raven cuts in leading to Dutton to tilt his head in acknowledgment

“Could make us fall to our knees!” He finish. The rest of the group mumbled in agreement making Castin raise an eyebrow.

The group felt mighty free to just causally explain their attraction to the Baroness. Sure Castin was nice and saw them as friends but was boundaries not common like sense.

“She’s got y’all under her spell, huh?” He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

“Those lips!-”

“Don’t push it, Kayce.” Castin warned pointing a stern finger his way. Kayce smirked at the fact he easily gotten his Commander riled up. He held up his hands in mock defense. “I’m just saying! I would yeet myself into a body of water if it meant she would have to be the one to give me CPR.” Kayce laughs

“I get it guys she’s beautiful!” Castin says as he starts to lead the group to the transportation he requested. “But telling me-her soon to be Husband might I remind you- all of this is level 9 audacity.” Castin laughs.

“Apologies-”

“No need! I can’t blame you,” Castin began nudging Dutton playfully “She’s been blessed by the Goddess.”

The bright midday sun made the sea of colorful flowers look more vibrant. So perfect it was almost like someone took time to paint each flower petal perfectly. The gorgeous garden quickly came to be Omorose’s favorite place to get a moment’s peace of fresh air as she read her book. She enjoyed the gentle fragrance of the combining scents each plant contributed but, her favorite by far was the Peonies. Their beauty was something she had admired since she was little.

With the program approved by King Rhett and Aurelia and Nina handling the little things for the upcoming wedding Omorose found the opportunity to sneak off when no one needed her.

Her current book ‘Myths and Legends of Greece’ in her hands as she fawned over each word of the story ‘Perseus and Andromeda’ her mind painted a picture of a winged horse, a woman with snakes for hair and a hunting deadly gaze, a beautiful princess being sacrificed to a sea monster and a Demi god coming to rescue her after falling in love with her instantly. Her vivid imagination creating a whole new world around her she could’ve sworn she could hear the sea monsters body turn to stone. The squeals and crackling is settling stone so clear she didn’t notice she was being watched from a far. The words Rhett were saying floated in the air as Castin starred at the Baroness reading her book.He snorts a smile grazing his lips. He found it cute how she found joy in something so simple as books. From what he noticed from afar, from all of his attempts at trying to get to know her is that he could tell when she got to the good parts of the book. The way her eyes light up and her lips curl into a tiny almost nonexistent smile you could only catch if you truly paid attention was a dead giveaway each time. Something he also noticed was that she go through books quickly. He’s seen her with like 3 different books in a span of 2 weeks.

“Do you understand me, Brother?” Rhett demands noticing how Castin turned his attention towards his intended.

Rhett slouched his shoulders a sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head “It’s a shame.” The older man begin ‘tsking’ knocking his left shoulder against Castin’s right.

“Huh?”

“I think this is your first crush you had since you were that 17 year old new recruit.” Rhett hummed amused no longer caring about the topic he brought up prior.

“Crush? Rhett I’m a 27 year old man. I don’t do crushes.”

“So why are you starring down the Baroness?”

“She’s intriguing? Whenever you see her there’s a book in her hand! I can’t imagine anyone enjoying reading that much.”

“I once knew of a little boy who spent his days reading-”

“I was a child.” Castin huffed annoyed instantly when Rhett brought up the past.

“Maybe you need to rekindle your childhood love for reading. Maybe then you and the Baroness can be cordial-”

“I’m making the effort! It’s not my fault she’s ignoring me-”

“I too would ignore the person that humiliated and disrespected me twice. Have you even genuinely apologized for the lingerie and your inappropriate advances?”

Castin looked down remembering the time he apologized to the Baroness. It was just before the sunset. He was making his way towards the kitchen to see what the cooks were preparing for dinner when he felt a strong yank of his ear. He lost his footing before he easily removed the hand of who ever was bold enough to grab him like that. That’s when he met Nina’s cold gaze. His mouth screwed shut, the look in Nina’s eyes reminding him of his mother’s when she was furious at him.

Foul words and insults that would’ve made a sailor blush flew from Nina’s mouth so eloquently Castin thought she was a poet. The tongue lashing he received over the whole lingerie gift was brutal and had Castin feeling like a little boy who couldn’t do anything but listen and sulk. “You’re going to apologize to Omorose, or so help me, Goddess! I’ll make you wish you could climb back into your mother’s womb.”

“Oh I apologized! Nina made sure of it!” Castin grimaced.

“Rosie!”

“Rosie!”

The sound of two children caught the adult’s attention. A 10 year old boy and his 6 year old sister following just behind with a bundle of wild flowers heading straight towards the Baroness. Castin raised an eyebrow silently wondering why Intacian children were so eager to see his fiancée.

The scene before him made his heart melt. Omorose closed her book with a gentle smile as bright as the sun as she welcomed the two to join her. She accepted their hugs and gushed over their gift. Her reaction making the two Intacian children ecstatic. He couldn’t hear what was being said but he could tell it was kind words the way the children smiled at her. And then the boy curiously picked up the book Omorose was reading his head tilting in wonder. The way Omorose looked at him keenly before she encouraged him to take a seat next to her.

“See Brother! She’s nothing like the other Imperials.” Rhett pointed out as he too watched as Omorose plopped the little girl on the other side of her. With an excited smile Omorose opened her book and began reading to them happily. Glad she could encourage their love for books.

“So you were right!” Castin admitted, taking in the boy’s look of fascination. It reminded Castin of when he was that age, head stuck in a book as the words morphed into live scenes. It made him long for it back.

“Maybe now you’ll actually try to get to know her instead of getting under her dress.”

A few more months had passed and the days were spent with Castin trying to get in Omorose’s circle.

Under the guise of ‘to keep an appearance up’ he sat through lunches and little social gatherings where he tried to join in the conversation but was ignored and silenced. A mighty warrior suddenly felt small like the little boy he used to be who couldn’t fit in outside of his own small circle.

He had to admit Omorose was more than he thought her to be. Not only was she beautiful and intelligent she was also kind, and warm and he wanted so badly to experience her kindness and warmth. Something he hasn’t received from a woman in a long time other than Lilia. Because of his reputation women automatically try and succeeded in getting him physically but, as the wedding neared closer he realized he didn’t want just sex. Nina’s lashing words finally made sense to him. “Do you think it’s an honor to only be wanted for your body when you have so much more to offer? She’s seen people countlessly lusting after her! Be kind enough to show her something other than lust.”

He wanted more than just sex and he wanted it with the only woman who wasn’t swayed by his looks and Charm but luck seemed to passed him by because she keeps shutting him out.

He craved her attention, everytime he saw her looking so vibrantly beautiful he wanted to embrace her. He wanted to be let in like a lonely stray who longed for a home.

Castin didn’t know what he could do. He apologized months ago she couldn’t still be angry over that. Could she? And in his own way he has been kind. It was like Omorose was determined to be the object of his desires, desires he could never obtain because of how far away they were.

In mere hours he was going to be her husband and he has yet to even get her to smile at him. It was crazy how he has women falling to his feet and now he was pining for the Baroness so much so he was so close to falling on his knees at her feet.

Nina stepped back her tear filled eyes in awe as she gazed at Omorose in her wedding dress.

“We’ve talked about this moment and now it’s finally happening. You look stunning.” She gushed guiding Omorose to a mirror.

The Baroness’s breath was caught in her own throat at the sight of herself.

“It’s really happening…” she spoke to herself. “You’re going to be a wife.”

Silence fell over the room for a short moment and then with tears welled up in her eyes the Baroness cried “This is a mistake! I can’t do this! I’m going to end up just like them-”

“The bride is getting cold feet!” Aurelia announced rushing over to her friend with a tissue.

“If you want to run I’ll be right by your side-”

“I doubt there would be any running! All those Intacian Soldiers out there look very ready for anything.” Anree cuts Nina off rolling her eyes. “But if we have to fight our way out of here I’m all in.” She grins downing the Champagne Rhett bad gifted to the Bridal Party.

“End up like who?” Lilia questioned from the vanity she sat behind.

“Like her parents! They were the worse with and without each other.” Anree stated casually causing Lana to harshly nudge her “Not helping”she hissed.

“I was so blinded by wanting to help change things I didn’t realize I offered myself up to my worse fear to do it.”

“No! Don’t cry.” Nina cooed soaking the end of a tissue with Omorose’s tears that gathered at her waterline.

Frowning Lilia states “I know you and Castin got off on a bad start but once you get to know him he’s very kind-”

“Sure-”

“He is!” Lilia glared at Anree who snorted in return.

“Sure whatever you say…”

“Look Baroness, I don’t know how your parents marriage was and how they treated each other but, if you were to give Castin another chance I promise you won’t regret it.” Lilia urged. She noticed the change Castin had over the months when it came to the Baroness. She could tell that the man she grew up with was in love.

“I understand that you’re scared but it’s a little too late to back out now! Both kingdoms are relying on this marriage.” Aurelia reminded frowning at the wild look of panic in Omorose’s eyes.

“We need unite our kingdoms before another war breaks out.”

“Okay.” The Baroness breathes out.

“Okay?” Aurelia asked wanting a confrontation. Omorose nodded “yes! For the kingdoms!”