#also sorry i've been ignoring notifications

[businesstiramisu]

Hello there! How are you? I have questions! In the notes of the last ask, you said "i should probably make another sideblog." Does this mean that you have a sideblog? Also, what is The Murderbot Diaries like? I've considered getting All Systems Red. Should I? Thank you!

Hello again! yep, i've got a handful of sideblogs. The most active one is @teashoptiramisu and it's for Avatar The Last Airbender fandom and (occasionally) multifandom fic recs. The others are basically inactive or secret. (Not, like, interesting secret, it's basically the same kind of fandom stuff, I just don't crosslink with my main. Hypothetical gravity falls blog would probably be another one of those but i haven't been online to set it up.)

re: The Murderbot Diaries -- it's fast-paced and sardonically witty and I find Murderbot to be the most relatable protagonist since Maree Mallory (who is basically Sophie Hatter with 20% more spite and depression, failing out of college). I'm also really impressed with the worldbuilding of the series -- both for it's consistency and solid logic, and how well it integrates with the adventure narrative. No dropping paragraphs of exposition -- not that I mind paragraphs of exposition, I'm also a big fan of Neal Stephenson and 1632 -- Murderbot seamlessly melds light explanation with action and droll commentary. I would say read the first paragraph and if you like what you see definitely check out the rest of the book (and series)!

[trashyandtiredsol]

sol. Sol. Sol. Sol. Sol.

SOL.

ilysm.

you are so friggin extraordinary.

never change.

you're amazing.

Kept trying to think of some paragraph long response to this but I'm absolutely shitty with words-

SO

Tam. The feeling is very mutual- for you and everyone I've talked to at some point since I've been on this hellsite we call Tumblr /affectionate

Talking with everyone on here, sharing my art with everyone- just existing with everyone on here and seeing what y'all create has turned into such a huge aspect of my life (especially my social life like- y'all ARE my social life at this point 😅)

Plus I'm fuckin so glad I decided to try out Tumblr when I did cuz it was around a sorta traditional point in my life (moving outta a toxic ass house and away from a toxic, isolated life and my ex supposed father figure). Coming on here and talking with you and everyone else brightens my day and I'm glad to be a part of everything :3

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ I could never hate you;

Pairing; fem!reader x nishimura riki Warnings; Suggestive but very very angsty Words; 3.278 Synopsis: When Niki returns to his parents’ countryside home, memories of a past love resurface, along with the regret of losing you. Despite his rising fame and a new girlfriend, Niki can’t escape the feelings he still has for you. As tensions mount, both of you are forced to face the unresolved emotions from your past relationship. Amid stolen glances and painful confrontations, Niki must decide whether to fight for the love he once had or move on, knowing that the weight of his mistakes might be too much to overcome. A story of love, regret, and second chances. My Masterlist;

A/N; Sorry for breaking your heart but I've been having a rough few days and had to let it out somehow haha. Jokes aside, I hope you like reading this, likes and comments are always appreciated, thank you so so much! All the love I've been receiving is just... thank you guys :(

As Niki stepped inside the familiar house, memories overwhelmed him. He vividly recalled the first time he visited his parents' new home in the Japanese countryside. It was a spacious house, tastefully decorated and equipped with the latest appliances. The backyard featured a pool and a small garden for growing crops. His mom took pride in eating the vegetables she had cultivated herself.

Niki felt genuinely happy for his parents—they had finally achieved their dream of living in a tranquil environment. He felt even prouder knowing he had contributed to the house's cost. Secretly, he loved it too: escaping the noise of the cities and enjoying a restful night’s sleep in his serene bedroom.

He also remembered you. You were one year older than him, kind and thoughtful. The first time he saw you was on his eighteenth birthday, when you delivered something to his mom.

There you were, carrying two boxes of eggs. He could still picture the way your dark brown hair framed your shoulders and your shy smile as you handed the eggs to his mom. He didn’t know your name, your age… nothing. All he knew was that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Niki glanced around the living room and inhaled deeply, the familiar aroma of his mom's cooking filling the air. Letting go of all his worries, he rushed to the kitchen, where his mom was busy preparing his favorite meal.

“Mom!” Niki called softly, hugging her from behind and resting his head on top of hers. He had longed for her motherly affection.

“Riki, you’ve grown even more!” she said, her voice full of emotion as she admired her son. “Sit down. I’ve been cooking just for you!” she added warmly, heading to the fridge to grab more food for him.

Niki ate in silence, his heart brimming with love as he savored the delicious meal his mom had prepared. He had missed it all—the food, the house, the quietness.

Later, as he helped his mother wash the dishes and chatted about his bandmates, the doorbell rang. His mom jumped slightly, glanced at the door, and then at Niki. She removed her wet gloves and looked at him again.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she said gently, her hands softly caressing his face in a soothing gesture. Niki tried not to dwell on it and continued with the dishes. He finished quickly, but as he walked upstairs, he heard his mom’s voice from afar, accompanied by someone else’s.

A sudden pang in Niki’s chest made him pause and take a deep breath. His body recognized the other voice before his mind could. He missed her. He tried to ignore it and went upstairs to his room, where he threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.

His phone lit up with a notification. As he picked it up, his wallpaper caught his eye. It was a selfie from his girlfriend, taken when Niki had asked her to be with him. She had long blonde hair, caramel-colored eyes, and a gentle smile. She was sweet, pretty, and entirely unaware of how Niki couldn’t stop thinking about you. He told himself it wasn’t his fault. When he was in Korea with his bandmates, it was easy to forget you. You weren’t there to remind him of your tender smile or your soothing voice.

But when he talked to his parents, you always seemed to come up in some way. You lived just a few roads away in a stone house surrounded by a farm. Your family worked tirelessly, tending to the animals and crops. They were beloved in the town for their produce at the local farmers' market, and Niki’s parents were no exception. His mom couldn’t get enough of the eggs and fruits your parents sold, while his dad often visited your farm to learn about raising chickens, hoping to start his own small flock.

Riki shoved the phone under his pillow and shut his eyes again, praying a nap might help. But as he reached for the covers, your voice rang out once more, clearer this time. He stood and wandered to the window, spotting you waving goodbye to his mom.

You looked different. Your hair had grown longer, now dyed a deep bluish-black, cascading in soft waves down your back. You seemed fuller, your figure more mature and hypnotizing. The curves of your body highlighted how much time had passed since he’d last seen you. As he observed you, your eyes met his.

Had your eyes always carried so much sadness? he wondered. They hadn’t been like this before—now they were empty and cold. He broke the connection quickly, already regretting getting up. Retreating to his bed, he pulled the covers over himself, wishing you’d leave him in peace, if only in his dreams.

A soft knock at his bedroom door stirred him from his thoughts. He glanced over lazily as the door creaked open, revealing his father, who stepped inside and sat down beside him on the bed.

“Hello, son. How was the drive?” his father asked gently as Ni-ki sat up, still groggy.

“It was fine. I was starving, but Mom already had plenty of food waiting for me,” he replied, his yawn betraying his lingering exhaustion.

���I have something to tell you,” his father began, his tone turning serious. Niki straightened up, now more alert. “I invited Y/N over for dinner. She’s been helping your mother with the crops, and we wanted to show our appreciation… In my defense, I forgot you were arriving this afternoon. I thought you’d come later tonight—”

“Dad,” Riki interrupted, “it’s fine. You don’t need to act like she’s a ghost. I’m okay.” Ni-ki lied, hating how much his parents knew about his feelings for you. His father studied him closely, reading his expression with ease.

“Are you sure you’re alright? She’ll be here soon,” his father said kindly, clearly trying to gauge his son’s comfort.

“I’m not hungry,” Riki muttered, avoiding his father’s gaze and shifting his focus to the window. “I ate a lot when I got here. I’ll just… sleep,” he added, hoping the subtle hint would stop his father from pressing further.

“Alright,” his dad replied, offering a gentle smile as he stood and quietly closed the door behind him.

Niki exhaled sharply, frustrated by the tension now lingering in his once-safe haven. He closed his eyes, determined to rest, but memories of the last time you’d been in his room refused to leave him…

You sat on his lap, his oversized t-shirt swallowing your smaller body. Your hair framed your face in soft waves, and your cheeks were flushed a deep pink. Your hands cupped his jaw, fingers brushing over his warm skin. He was shirtless, dressed only in black sweatpants.

“I hope you stay as sweet as you’ve always been…” you murmured, a soft smile lighting up your face as your fingers glided across his cheeks. Ni-ki was preparing to leave for Korea again to focus on his career; Enhypen was finally gaining the recognition they’d worked so hard for.

“Come with me,” Ni-ki pleaded for the fifth time. “I could probably get you a job at Hybe. Maybe you could start as an assistant in the graphic design department and work your way up. You’re so talented, I—” His words dissolved as your lips silenced him with a gentle, lingering kiss.

“I… will… be here… waiting… for you,” you whispered between kisses, your voice firm yet tender, trying to make him forget about the idea of taking you away. You knew your family relied on you to manage the farm’s administrative side—the vital work that kept everything running smoothly.

Ni-ki stared into your deep brown eyes, his hair falling across his forehead as your hands cradled his face again. He was so attractive, so carefree, and so utterly in love with you. Your cheeks burned, your lips glistened from his kisses, and he couldn’t help the fiery desire growing inside him. His hands traced up and down your bare thighs, as though trying to memorize every inch of you.

You rested your head against his chest, savoring the heat of his touch as his hands wandered gently over your skin.

“Ni-ki…” you whispered, your voice soft as your eyes met his. In that moment, nothing else existed—just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Ni-ki regretted that night. He regretted not making you his. He regretted giving himself to the girl he now called his girlfriend. He regretted it because deep down, he knew you were the only one who’d ever stirred these feelings within him. Maybe it was love, but he had been too scared to name it.

Back in the present, Ni-ki tossed and turned in bed, unable to find comfort. You were downstairs, eating dinner and laughing with his parents, while he lay upstairs, lost in memories, wishing things had turned out differently. Like a coward.

You had ended it, but he knew the blame was his. He’d been too weak to break things off, so he let you take the burden—ignoring your calls and texts for days, going out with his friends, drinking until he could forget, and kissing someone else. It had been just a fleeting moment, but one he regretted immediately. Everyone had known he messed up. The silence from his friends spoke volumes...

“Mom,” Ni-ki called softly as he entered the kitchen, where you and his parents sat eating. His mom shot to her feet, concern flashing across her face as she realized what was coming. She glanced at you briefly, and you responded with a forced smile.

Ni-ki stood in the doorway, his black hair falling over his eyes as usual. He wore a loose T-shirt and sweatpants. His gaze landed on you, seated beside his mom, across from his dad. Your hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and you wore a simple black top. But your eyes—those deep brown irises—looked darker than he’d ever seen them, filled with hurt and emptiness.

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying to sound nonchalant.

You offered a thin, artificial smile, your voice almost breaking as you said, “Hey, Riki.” You avoided his gaze, focusing on your plate as you tried to finish your rice. Ni-ki’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice.

“Is there something you need, sweetie?” his mom asked, concern evident in her tone.

“I’m hungry. Can I sit down and eat?” Ni-ki asked, his voice barely audible, searching for a reason to stay. His mom glanced at his dad, who answered cautiously.

“Of course, son. Sit down,” his dad said.

An uneasy silence settled over the table. Ni-ki’s unexpected appearance after claiming he wasn’t hungry left everyone confused. Dinner continued, but the tension was almost unbearable. He stole glances at you now and then, the longing in his chest growing stronger, but each time your eyes met his, he quickly looked away.

“Y/N, darling, could you go pick a watermelon from the garden? You always know how to pick the best ones!” Ni-ki’s dad said warmly.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, managing a small smile as you got up to leave.

Outside, the warm breeze brushed your face, but it offered no comfort. Tears welled up and spilled down your cheeks. You tried to suppress the sobs, the knot in your throat tightening painfully. Quickly, you wiped your face and focused on selecting a watermelon wanting to just get this over with. But as you turned to head back inside, you saw Ni-ki leaning against the doorframe.

You thought about walking past him, but then his hand touched your shoulder—warm and familiar.

“Can we talk?” Ni-ki asked, his voice low and raspy. You took a deep breath, turning to face him. His tall frame loomed over you, his presence so close that you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Maybe we should,” you said coolly, trying to maintain your composure. You set the watermelon down and sat on the small step between the garden and the house. Ni-ki followed, sitting beside you.

He couldn’t meet your eyes. Shame and anxiety clouded his face. His hands fidgeted in his lap, and you noticed it. You could see how much he’d changed—his sharper features, his thinner frame, his longer hair. He’d grown so much over the past year, and you hadn’t been there to witness it.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” Ni-ki began, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know why I acted the way I did, and I know it doesn’t make it right. I should never have kissed her, not when I was with you.”

“That wasn’t what hurt me the most,” you said, your voice trembling as tears threatened to fall again. You lifted your head to look at him, struggling to hold yourself together. “What hurt was how you ignored me for days, and when you finally did acknowledge it, you wouldn’t let me speak. I was ready to forgive you, Ni-ki. I wanted to, so badly…”

Ni-ki heard the crack in your voice and turned to face you. He saw the tears sliding down your cheeks, each one a testament to the pain he’d caused. That sight broke him the most. You—his anchor, the one who had always been there for him—were crying because of him.

“I couldn’t face you after that,” he whispered, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his palm, finding comfort in his touch, but it no longer felt the same.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how your sister had grown up and found a boyfriend. You wanted to hold him, kiss him, but it didn’t feel right—not after everything that had happened.

“How are the boys?” you asked, breaking the silence. Ni-ki’s face brightened slightly.

“They’re good! We’ve been working hard and promoting a lot. People are starting to take us seriously,” he said with a flicker of pride. “Oh, and Jake bought a new collar for Layla. It’s adorable!” He pulled out his phone to show you, but as the screen lit up, her face appeared as his wallpaper.

Riki froze, glancing at you and noticing your expression shift from curiosity to sadness.

“This is Sun Yeon, my girlfriend…” he said softly, almost apologetically.

“Good for you,” you replied coldly, standing up. Dusting off your jeans, you turned to head back inside. “Let’s just pretend we’re friends so your parents don’t keep walking on eggshells around us.”

Ni-ki stood up and grabbed your wrist, stopping you from opening the door. Slowly, he pulled you toward him, trying to make you face him, but you couldn’t. Tears you had kept hidden for so long began to fall freely, dripping down your cheeks like rain. Your heart ached as if it were being crushed.

“Don’t say that…” Ni-ki whispered, bending down to lift your chin, gently forcing you to meet his eyes. Your face was flushed from crying—cheeks, nose, and lips painted in a deep cherry red.

“What am I supposed to say, huh?” you snapped suddenly, pushing him away. Embarrassed by the tears you couldn’t stop, you struggled to regain control. “Congrats on getting over me so quickly? I hope you have a great life with her?” you yelled, shoving him backwards with force. “Does it feel good to know that, even after a year, I still care about you, and you’re with someone else? Does it feel good knowing I still love you while you love someone else?” you shouted, standing on tiptoes to meet his gaze.

“NO!” Ni-ki yelled back, startling you and making you stumble. “I FEEL LIKE SHIT EVERY SINGLE DAY. I REGRET WHAT I DID CONSTANTLY,” he roared, his eyes locked onto yours as he backed you into the outside wall. “I started dating her to distract myself from you. And it worked for a while, but every time I see you or hear your voice, the guilt is so heavy it makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Then why didn’t you contact me after I said we were over?” you asked quietly, your knees weakening from the closeness between you. “I waited for you every single day…” you confessed, your gaze locked with his. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, and you instinctively reached out to wipe them away.

“I thought you hated me…” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand reached up to caress your cheek.

“I could never hate you, Riki,” you replied with a sad smile, more tears streaming down your face.

That was when Ni-ki lost control. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to show you how much he missed you. Without another thought, he leaned in and kissed you.

It started as a gentle peck, a test. When you pulled him closer, his heart raced—he knew you were giving him permission for more. His lips crashed into yours, urgent and hungry. You slid your tongue across his lips, deepening the kiss. But Ni-ki didn’t let you take control. Instead, he wrapped his muscular arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him.

A surprised moan escaped your lips, and Ni-ki used the opportunity to deepen the kiss further. His tongue danced with yours in a passionate battle for dominance. The kiss was fierce, filled with hunger and longing. Minutes passed as the two of you devoured each other’s lips until you finally pulled away to breathe. Your lips were swollen and glistening as if coated in an expensive gloss.

Ni-ki gazed into your eyes, as though unable to believe you were there with him again. He kissed your entire face with passion, then moved down to your neck, biting and kissing the soft skin there. The scent of your sweet perfume overwhelmed his senses. His long hair brushed against your skin, and suddenly, reality struck you.

“Ni-ki…” you called breathlessly, trying to push him away. But his lips stayed glued to your neck. “Riki, this isn’t right. You have a girlfriend,” you said more firmly, pushing him away.

The truth hit him like a brick.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened,” Ni-ki murmured, guilt consuming him once more. Even though he wanted you, and even though you wanted him, Sun didn’t deserve to be treated this way just because he couldn’t figure himself out.

“Maybe we should never see each other again,” you said coldly, anger bubbling inside you.

Ni-ki’s face fell, and he reached for you, grabbing your wrist.

“No, wait—Y/N,” he called, his voice desperate as he realized he’d made another mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that! I love you. Please,” Ni-ki pleaded as you started walking toward the house, ready to leave.

“No, you don’t. You don’t even know what you want. You don’t know anything!” you yelled without looking back.

“I’ll break up with her,” he said urgently, grabbing your hand just as you turned away. “I love you. Please, don’t leave…”

You froze, the weight of his words sinking in. Slowly, you turned to face him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell your parents I had to go and that I won’t be able to come here for a while. Goodbye, Riki,” you said, your heart breaking at your own words. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you walked away.

Ni-ki stood there, his heart heavy. But he wasn’t about to let you go. He couldn’t lose you again.

Taglist; @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay If you want to be added or taken off the taglist, just let me know!

[cheekyquokka]

gonna try this again because the first time tumblr formatted it weird.

✨ post a screencap of your lock screen photo, a screencap of the last/current song listened to, as well as the last photo of a celebrity that you saved in your phone

I was tagged by @snug-gyu!

idk if the fake jyp cards count so I added the next one. Lmao

I'm not sure who to tag, I assume this has already made the rounds. Do it if you wanna do it.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 6th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. ��Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[ebsmind]

⏾ SOMEWHERE IN THE HAZE, GOT A SENSE I'VE BEEN BETRAYED | jack hughes x singer!reader

summary : how y/n found out vince cheated the first time

word count : 1.3k

warning(s) : cheating (poor baby y/n ☹️), arguing, mentions of k wording Vince, Vince is a fucking asshole (sorry lol), crying (i hate to see my baby sad)

a/n : AHHHHHHH okay okay this is my first written part and I hope I did it justice bc as much as I love angst, it's hard to write it! anyways, I'm glad I decided to do this because it challenges me to not only go deeper for yall to understand reader it also kinda makes you see what she had to put up with (what the fuck vince) okay that's all I had to say! send me asks about this series bc I love talking about teehee OKAY BYE ILY

series masterlist

The stars glisten upon the midnight-colored skies. The clock that sits on your nightstand on the right side of the bed, has officially struck midnight, signifying a new day. You turn a page of the book you're reading, And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, a re-read. The early January winds whip through the city of Seattle. Draped upon you is a lavender-colored fuzzy knitted blanket. Handmade by Vince's mom, Tracy.

In the far distance, you can hear the water leaving the showerhead; Vince is taking a shower. The thought of joining him crosses your mind, but you shake the thought away and continue reading. You go to turn the 129th page, but Vince's phone dings before the next page is revealed. It takes a small fragment of a moment for your eyes to find where it sits. Once you do, you make a B-line to its location. You don't notice how his phone was placed face down until you reach the dresser.

Your eyes burn holes into the back of the phone. The clock is ticking. The more time passes, the less time you have to decide whether or not you're going to snoop through your boyfriend's phone. Your internal dialogue fights between two actions: Pick up the phone and read the text messages waiting for a response, or ignore it and continue reading your book. The little devil on your right shoulder wins the battle.

Before you even think about any consequences if Vince were to catch you, you find your right hand already reaching for the phone. The screen illuminates your face, reflecting against the blue lenses that sit across the bridge of your nose. The first thing you notice is the time, 12:34 am. Who in the hell is texting him at this time? The second thing you notice is how Vince no longer has you as his lock screen. Instead, you're faced with a picture of him on a golf course with some of his buddies. If it weren't for the worry about who was texting Vince this late a night, you probably would have cared. The third and final thing you notice is the simple "D" that had given him a notification four minutes ago. You don't have to unlock Vince's phone to read the message, FaceID recognized your face the moment you picked up the phone.

D

goodnight, can't wait to see you tomorrow 💋

*one image*

Waves of anxiety hit you like a tsunami. You reread the text message over and over, thinking that it'll change every time your eyes scan the last half of the message. It's imprinted into your mind, no matter how hard you try, it will never go away. The thought of pressing the message to fully see the picture makes bile rise up in your throat. Knowing it most likely contained some type of nude picture. Whether it was a picture of some nice expensive midnight blue lingerie, maybe even clear water teal, or a picture of the girl's tits, it was going to taint you for eternity. You weren't stupid. Things like this happen to stupid girls, but not you. It couldn't.

You don't hear the water coming to an abrupt stop or Vince walk into the room until he questions what you're doing. "Why do you have my phone?"

Your head whips up to where Vince stands, at the door frame that connects his master bedroom to the master bathroom. His light caramel curls rest on his forehead, beads of water drip down his chest, and his right hand rests on the knot in the towel that's wrapped around his waist. You don't realize the tears that started falling just moments ago until Vince asks, "Why are you crying?"

The gut-wrenching sadness you once felt slowly simmers down and a deep rust color of rage clouds your vision. Without delay, you chuck Vince's phone at his chest and scoff.

"Why do you fucking think?" You wipe the tears that stream down your face with the sleeve of your cream-colored cotton long sleeve, mascara ruins the once-clean shirt. Vince contemplates whether he wants to deny or openly be truthful with you, he unfortunately chooses the first option.

"Babe, come on!" He looks away from the lasers that are practically coming out of your eyes. He knows deep down he's screwed.

"No, Vince! You fucking listen to me! You better be so fucking grateful that I leave first thing in the morning because I'd probably kill you if I didn't!" Lungs working overtime so you can get all of that out in one go. Vince still stands at the doorframe, he doesn't plan on moving anytime soon.

"Who is she?" The question leaves your mouth under a breath, afraid of the answer that might leave Vince's mouth.

"I'm not telling you that." It leaves Vince's mouth at lightning speed, but you move even faster. Your feet carry you rapidly to where Vince stands, once he's in arm's reach, your hands start hitting his chest. You switch between curling your hands into a fist and punching, to slapping his chest. Uncontrollable sobs leave the depths of your chest, and tears cloud your vision to the point where you can only make out the silhouette of the man you never would have thought would betray you.

"I lo-lo-loved you! An-and you d-d-do this to me?!" Your sobs interrupt your ability to say the sentence in one go. Your body finally begins to feel the heartbreak. Your chest and nostrils burn, your head finally starts to pound, and your legs start to feel like jelly. Letting the sobs control your body and legs giving out, you finally accept defeat.

Your eyes close and you start to drop to the ground, this is a fight you aren't going to win. You wait for your body to hit the ground but it never comes, instead you're met with Vince's damp hands on your arms. He steadies you, "Woah, hey there. You're okay I got you."

Wasting no time, you shove the 6'0 man off of you, and before he can say anything else you spit out, "Don't fucking touch me."

Vince puts his hands up in defeat, "Okay! okay, I won't." Following Vince's response, you dash your way to the front door. The professional hockey player follows hot in your trail.

"Hey hey hey! Where are you going?" He tries to grab a hold of your shoulder to turn you around, your reflexes do you wonder and you shove his hand with all the willpower you have left. Disregarding Vince's question, you take your purse and suitcase -which had been placed right next to the door after you finished packing before you got into bed.

"I'm staying at a hotel for the night." Exhaustion hits your body, a bed -not Vince's- sounds amazing right now.

"No, stay. You leave in the morning."

"I'd rather be in some cheap hotel than spend another night with you." The backhanded comment leaves the boy stunned, you take it as your chance to finally leave. You unlock the door and guide your suitcase to follow you out the door. Vince never intervenes. You don't even bother looking back when you slam the door in his face.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, it doesn't dissipate until you're sat on a hotel bed. The mattress is hard, but you've gotten used to it when touring throughout your career. You take notice that the comforter won't do you any justice during the night but that isn't the first thing that's disappointed you today. Tears that stopped falling start to pour again, your chest aches and your heart feels like it's missing. You take a moment to finally acknowledge everything that had happened 25 minutes ago, and once you forcefully come to terms with it, you fall into a deep sleep. Not noticing the 64 missed calls and messages from Vince.

[blueberrylovv]

AM BACK!!!!

anyways hi hello I'm so sorry for being inactive for the past idk how long it all has been just oh so shitty and I was fighting for my life :') I am kinda still fighting for my life but ig I had some nice interactions recently, I started dressing up nicely every day, I am waking up around 6am every day even if my first class is at 9 or 11 and I have time to get ready in the morning (which is so unlike me I've always been last minute kinda gal waking up 10 minutes before I have to get out and stuff), I took 4 exams recently 2 for my Latin class and 2 for my German class and I got 100% in all of them so that provided some academic validation and motivation I needed.

ana has been kicking my ass, hate her so much rn... she came back, kicked down the door and said 'you're gonna be miserable now' and yeah I've been miserable alright. usually i don't mind when she comes back randomly bc usually I use her as motivation but this time she came back as 'you're not making any progress, you will never be able to achieve your goals do you even deserve fo achieve them blah blah blah' v nasty stuff hate it here but oh well I am pushing through ig...

but yeah I'm gonna get my ass back into posting here I think I would benefit from some creative output even if its just a board here and there

so sorry for people I've been ignoring I feel really about about it :c I'm gonna go through my notifications to check who @ me in the past couple weeks so I can respond to you even if it's v late :') also thank you to all the people who are still here and haven't unpfollowed me you're the best ill get back into interacting with you now <3

WATER REMINDER!

[megabuild]

bit of a ramble below! tl:dr; i have insane person problems and realised that this blog isn't healthy for me so won't be coming back until i'm in a better place, i have no intent on deleting it but may password protect it in the coming days for my own peace of mind :P love yall!

the absolute basics on my situation is that i almost certainly have OCD, have been vocal about this likelihood in the past, and while i was aware i was susceptible to obsessions and compulsions irt online interactions and my posts on here i was not actually aware of how debilitating the effect this was having on my life was until i went completely cold turkey and blocked tumblr from all my devices. like genuinely night and day. i have so much more free time when i'm not spending it constantly name searching on every platform available and scrolling through my blog over and over to be sure that i didn't post a slur by accident lol. i'd rather not get into some of the stupider details of shit ive done in the name of perceived moral purity because that's nobody's business but trust me when i say it was like a weight got lifted off my fucking shoulders lol like i was having regular delusions about making a post so bad grian himself would say i should kill myself on stream and believing it was possible 😭 really good disorder guys i love having this

i have a lot to say about the way this community treats each other, both good and bad, but i think i'd rather hold off and make more informed and thought out posts on that when i'm not still reeling from all the bullshit life's been throwing at me. i do love and value this community so much, especially all the mutuals and friends i've made here. i've also been made extremely uncomfortable in the past by the easiness that people slip into very strange relationships not just with CCs but with their fellow bloggers. including me ! and i am a relatively small blogger in the vast scheme of things. this is no hate to anyone who's sent an anon or whatever, many of you are lovely people, but it's also like, well i have been literally stalked on this blog before so i feel i have justification for being a tad uncomfortable . again, a lot to be said on the celebritification of average people and the obsession on making sure one makes "Objectively Correct" choices when doing something as simple as watching a minecraft series and having opinions on it .. but alas, no brain for it right now, and also i would rather not risk the ire of twitter teenager #48 lest i be qrted by thumbnail artists telling me to lighten up and accept the steady decay of all that is good in this sphere in order to make room for more #Content. Sit down and eat your yaoibait you stupid faggot! sorry this is a serious post ignore that part

to any of my beloved oomfies you are free to message and ask for my discord though i am also being a bit difficult to reach over there rn my bad (and i may not get back to you quickly because as soon I post this I am logging straight the fuck back out).. i have made a separate tumblr account from this one which is less social media and more a little archive of images and art i like (and also is not related to mcyt at all, outside of maybe one or two art reblogs if i see something that really catches my eye) so if we've hung out and you don't exclusively post mcyt you might see me around in your notifs but i'd prefer not to be linked back here. any projects, fics, other blogs etc. i have been working on consider on pause for eternity, with the only exclusions being 3rd life miraheze (which i'm currently looking into options for but will certainly never go away! much love still to all our contributors who have worked tirelessly through wild life to update our various spreadsheets and tables) and aoyuer which i'm sort of picking up and taking away and hitting with hammers until it's sufficiently divided from mcyt and i can call it an oc story for real. peep my toyhouse if ye are so inclined and wont tell the adoptbrained callout squads over there that my oc once upon a time was lowkey rpf.

anyway this has already gotten far too long as i'm a chronic yapper and overexplainer but thank you very much for hanging out with me and talking about these stupid ass blocks. i have a handful of posts in the queue i wont be getting rid of and don't doubt i will come back to chat more shit in future but at the end of the day i'm here to have a fun time on the computer and i just was not having that anymore. i was having a scary and fucked up time on the computer, and life is too short to put yourself through that out of some butchered sense of responsibility to the niche follower base you've cultivated. if you also have ocd delete your blog as soon as it hits 1k like actually. if you worked in the askbox mines and are now facing redundancy then go follow my enemy thecoolerliauditore. or dont im not your boss anymore. im too busy homebrewing my 3ds. smooches mwahs !!!!!!!!!

[ladysomething]

The amount of lestappen content we've gotten lately is amazing!

I've reread wygig like 4 times now I love it so much

Any chance of another snippet before Wednesday????

are you ... not sick of wygig? I did not realise it had that level of re-readability. but I'm delighted that it does!!

probably no more snippets .... I think ...

oh actually!!!

I started dicking around with a random concept after seeing @hotmandrivefast's recent fan art of lestappen kissing during Max's stream, so you can have everything I've written from that so far.

ridiculous vibes as is becoming my brand when I'm not writing wygig lol.

The problem, Charles thinks, is that he and Max have been together too long. 

A secondary, equally alarming problem, is that Charles has also clearly let Max have too much sex with him. The novelty has worn off. 

He’s boring. 

And how exactly has Charles come to these conclusions? 

Because he is laid out on the bed of their hotel room, shirtless, and Max is just . . . ignoring him. For his games. 

His computer is propped up on the bed, and he’s sitting on the floor, frantically poking at his controller and shouting in dismay. 

Charles frowns at him. 

Maybe he needs to break up with Max, just for like five minutes, so that Max appreciates him more. It’s slightly drastic, maybe, but there is literally nothing wrong with the way Charles looks. Actually, he gets endless compliments on his body and face. 

He is so fuckable. 

He’s so fuckable it’s like a selling point. 

So why is staring at his loser boyfriend, pointedly not being fucked right now? 

It’s atrocious. It’s terrible. It’s a state of affairs that Charles finds, frankly, unacceptable. 

He gets up on his knees, crawling over to kneel behind Max’s computer, and then pokes his lip out into a pout. 

Max, like, barely glances up at him, gaze lingering on his bare chest for only a few seconds instead of the usual ten, and then he looks back down to his game, groaning loudly. 

“Yeah, I know,” he grunts into his microphone. “Sorry—got distracted for a second. Yeah, I know.” 

Charles frowns, which quickly turns into a pout again. He taps the top of Max’s laptop pointedly, and mouths, “Max.” 

Max flicks his eyes up to him again, then says, “Guys, once second.” 

He lifts his hands to the headset, presses whatever buttons he needs to press, then pushes the mic away from his mouth. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, not anywhere near concernedly enough for Charles. 

Charles blinks, thrown off by Max not immediately devouring him. 

“I want to cum,” he announces, deciding that a no nonsense approach will work best. 

Max stares at him, clearly perplexed, and then says, “Okay?” 

Charles huffs. There is something seriously wrong here. Maybe he should revisit the idea of breaking up with Max for a few minutes. 

“So?” Charles asks pointedly. 

“So . . . what? You don’t need my permission.” 

Max is an idiot. No, maybe Charles is an idiot, for falling in love with an idiot. 

He retreats to the bathroom to lick his wounds and stroke his humbled ego, but he doesn’t cum. 

He has way more pride than that. 

The next problem Charles encounters is that now he’s come to see the original problem, he sees it everywhere. 

He texts Max to ask him on a date on Wednesday, and Max says he’s busy, sends a love heart emoji, and then an hour later Charles gets a notification saying that a Redline stream has started. So what if he always streams on a Wednesday? Surely one time he could skip it. 

He surprises Max by coming around, bringing Max’s favourite take out for lunch and a brand new toy for the cats to keep them distracted while they have sex, but Max says he can’t hang out that day because he’s in the middle of a stream. So what if the stream is for charity? Charles is still banished to the lounge to eat and play with the cats alone. 

He shows up for their breakfast date, ready to burn the eggs and bake a doughy croissant, but Max answers the door with an apologetic look saying that he’s got to spend a few hours in the sim. And so what if the RB20 sucks and he’s trying to hold onto his Championship lead? 

Charles has needs, goddammit. Vigorous needs that involve him regularly drooling into a pillow and being fucked so good he can’t see, or fucking Max until he cries and begs to be allowed to cum. He doesn’t really care which way it goes, as long as someone’s dick is up someone’s ass. 

And they have a healthy sex life. They have a great sex life, based on the way their friends judge them for being unable to keep their hands off each other, or the times they’ve been walked in on, or the way Max had to put a firm ban on sex during race weekends when Charles had been uncomfortable in the car one too many times. 

He just wants more. He wants so much more, all the time, he wants to sleep with Max’s dick inside him and he wants to have dinner while Max is kneeling and slowly sucking his cock, he wants to have a plug left in his ass so he’s ready for Max at any time and he wants to fill Max with so much cum it leaks out of him. 

He’s ravenous, hungry, a black hole of want, and he knows none of that is reasonable but he wants it anyway. 

Begrudgingly, he settles for sex when they can manage it, but right now they could manage it a whole lot more.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Lia's Writers and Blog Recommendations

Hi there lovelies! Lia here and I'd love to share the some creators that have so far been feeding me with amazing content and I'd love for you and them to know how I feel about their works so there is a bit of commentary (feel free to ignore if you're only here for recs). They are all from different fandoms and I genuinely love their works. I am not here to hate on anyone at all, simply here to bring attention to those creators I find worth reading. In fact I actually don't do negative commentary. (If I do, it's probably towards my life 😭)

This will be constantly edited if I find more creators that I loved within each fandoms. I'm sorry to all the creators I've probably bothered with this notification, if you want to be taken off this list then I will respect that and do so :))

I will respectively use the pronouns these people have provided in their bios and if they do not have it in their bios then I'll simply use they/them <3

To all tagged creators, y'all are amazing and so fucking underrated :3

CoD Creators

@frogchiro - This creator is more likely known for the absolutely scrumptious CoD hybrid AUs. MY GOD EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER AUs ARE JUST ON ANOTHER LEVEL. Ranging from Hacker girl!Reader to Baracks Bunny!Reader. (Octo König and Coyote Graves are personal faves of mine) (Her nsfw content is the most toe curling shit I've ever read)

@ghouljams - This creator is another known for their CoD AUs, only this time you may know them as the one who wrote the Cowboy and Medieval AUs. This person and @frogchiro actually got their inboxes mixed up a few times I believe, they're both really just that good, I clearly need pointers. (I honestly don't have much words because god do I eat their content up)

@wishesforyouo (previous account being: @puff0o0) - This lovely creator makes short but sweet CoD content, you may recognize her as the person who made the popular self-aware CoD AU. Definitely my cup of tea because I really like short reads from time to time. (Miss this AU, sweetie <3)

@blingblong55 - This creator loves to make me cry, idk why. I love her though, her nsfw content is also freaking delicious I can't even.

@xo-cod - This creator, I can't even begin. I just love their writing style, it's sweet, quite short and worth the read. (We also have the same name)

@lunarw0rks - This creator makes me wanna bang my head on a table with how good their Ghost content is.

@ceilidho - This creator I can't even begin to describe how fucking delicious the Ghost content is, idgaf if it's short (IT'S PERFECT). Like my god, how'd y'all come up with content that you do. I think she captures Ghost quite well in her writing.

@mistydeyes - This creator, my fucking god. Her content is so good especially the requests she gets. The overall vibe of her writing gives a specific aesthetic that I love so much and honestly their series is worth the freaking read. Series mentioned here, the writing style is so unique but captures the characters perfectly.

@wordstome - This creator made the GREATEST FUCKING FRIENDS TO LOVERS KÖNIG FANFIC I HAVE EVER READ. It was all just so perfect, the length, the pacing and the writing style is fucking incredible. God where'd y'all get the talent to write this, here's the link to said fanfic because I do not gatekeep.

@multifandomimagin3s - This creator and the amount of Rudy content, I AM EATING IT UP. What do y'all feed yourselves to write with this amount of quality? Like their depiction of Rudy (and of course the others) is just Chef's kiss. (Also idk why but this person seems familiar since I remember someone in Wattpad a long time ago who has the same user)

@lxvvie - This creator creates the best fucking characterization I've ever read, LIKE HELLO?! Horangi is so accurate and her version of König is too. I love it, I'm eating her content up.

@rustic-guitar-notes - This creator I wanted tag this Creator so bad on this creator list because I feel like they're so underappreciated and their works are so good, LIKE IT'S ALWAYS THE UNDERAPPRECIATED WORKS THAT ARE SO GOOD THEY MAKE YOU FEEL WHAT YOU NEED AND WANT TO FEEL.

@icarustypicalfall - This creator is mutuals with almost every single one of my fave mutuals and that's how I found them. MY GOD THE RUDY AND ALEJANDRO CONTENT?? I'M EATING THAT SHIT UP.

@skeletalgoats - This creator IS SO FREAKING UNDERATED, I FOUND MYSELF BINGING THIER WORKS AND IT IS SO GOOD AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S THE BEST THING? THEY HAVE MULTIPLE WORKS ON ROACH. Istg y'all, WE NEED MORE OF ROACH.

@ghosts-cyphera - This creator, HELLO MISS MA'AM? THE PS!GHOST AU?!?! SHE GOT ME THINKING OF IT ALL THE TIME NOW LIKE WHAT DOES SHE PUT IN HER WRITING TO MAKE IT SO GOOD. First of all I'm in love with her version of Ghost because he's just so fucking caring despite the sexual themes, SHE MANAGED TO MAKE A PORNSTAR AU WITH DOMESTIC AND ROMANTIC ASPECTS WITHOUT MAKING IT FEEL SHALLOW AND SUPERFICIAL, LIKE HOW? What kind of food are y'all eating to create the content you guys feed us readers with?

@halcyone-of-the-sea - This creator has their own aesthetic and vibe when it comes to the writing. OMG I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN WITH THE WRITING STYLE, IT'S SO GOOD AND DETAILED. NOT MENTION SHE HAS QUITE A LOT OF POPULAR WORKS THAT I BINGED LIKE THERE WAS NO TOMORROW.

@azereus - This creator, I CAN'T EVEN LIKE WHY SO CRIMINALLY UNDERATED? THEIR WRITING IS LITERALLY SO GOOD AND DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE ATTENTION IT'S GETTING. NOT ONLY THAT BUT I'VE READ THEIR WORK OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

@peachesofteal - This creator, OH MY FUCKING GOD, THE WRITING IS A GODSEND. I FINISHED HER WHOLE SERIES "LIGHT ON" IN LESS THAN AN HOUR AND NOW I'M CRAVING MORE. HOLY SHIT IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD. "MY GIRLS"?!?! GOT ME SO BAD, MY FUCKING HEART IS EXPLODING.

@drop-cherries - this creator brought me back on this list. You all must be saying "Lia you haven't updated this is so long, it must be some scrumptious ass work you've seen". DAMN WELL IT'S GOOD, got me in my feels and everything, needed that domestic life with Simon after so much nsfw content, I need breaks too y'all. Although I did like that one nsfw post earlier, if you saw that, no you didn't :). They are so criminally underrated too so go check them out, from one creator to another, they seem so freaking talented and I love using my platform to help you guys reach other creators too, who hardly get enough attention for something they worked hard on :>

@lostintransist - Another creator who has yet again brought me back to this list. Holy shit, if the word underrated is a creator, it's them. First of all, I NEED MORE UPDATES OF THE SEAMSTRESS AND THIS BUNNY BITES SERIES. It's written so freaking good like what. I get having a short attention span and not wanting to read long fics but this one.. this one you won't even be bored for a second. It's the type of fics you'd want to lose yourself in, I found myself finishing the bunny series in less than an hour, then left to starve for more. Edit: HELLO?! GET YOU A CONSISTENT AUTHOR, LITERALLY I AM OBSESSED WITH THE "Secrets are for grown ups" series that I wish I would've thought of it myself because I love angst so much (THEY BETTER NOT TOUCH THOSE KIDS, THEY'RE MINE!)

@sunni-stuff - Another amazing creator who sparked me up with their series, I don't know what is up with me lately but I am loving single mom!Reader so much. To whomever is planning on checking her out, YOU ARE IN FOR A TREAT. Where'd y'all get talent like this honestly? Like the amount of anticipation it takes to hook me in is a lot because of how short my attention span is AND MY GOD, ADIRA IS LIKE THE DAUGHTER I'VE NEVER HAD. I can just relate so much to the reader, I've always imagined myself working in a daycare too because I adore babies and kids. Her and @lostintransist have me on a leash fr.

TLOU Creators

@elliesbelle - This creator is top of this list for a reason, their content is the most scrumptious, drama-filled fanfics I have ever read. And yes I'm referring to their series "Nobody Compares To You". I can't even begin to say how much I love this creator, if I wasn't broke then I'd would've already tipped them. I personally think she captures Ellie's personality well. I appreciate a writer who implements shit that happen in her life into her stories. (Despite that, the amount of things happening in their love life is also some complicated shit that I love hearing updates from. Love ya belle <3) Me reading the belle's fanfic at 3am knowing damn well I have school the next day

@lovelettersfromluna - This creator is another amazing writer and holy hell are her works so good, like the length and writing style is just perfect. It's so compact yet it's not too long, add me on your ma'am taglist, please 🥺 <3

@seattlesellie - This creator, I just love her writing style especially with the knight!Ellie fic. Not to mention all the Abby content <3

@callmelola111 - This creator is another person to go to when looking for top tier Ellie fanfics, definitely worth the read on her works.

@clemellie - This creator AND WRITING TLOU SMUT IS A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN OH MY GOD, first of all, the characterization of both Ellie and Abby are so top tier then there's the ungodly toe curling smut. She is worth the fucking read every time.

@papipedroo - This creator has made a a series on Joel Miller x Reader angst AND I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO SAY HOW GOOD IT WAS. THEY GOT ME CRYING AT 7 IN THE MORNING. I also adore the writing style and pacing, I genuinely could not wait for the next part because I NEED Joel to grovel. I DON'T EVEN CRUSH ON JOEL MILLER AND THEY GOT ME HOOKED SO BAD.

[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

post US election hangover WIP Wednesday

thanks for tagging me @nisbanisba @carlos-in-glasses @captain-gillian

this whole US election mess is giving me war flashbacks to the Dutch election from last year with unfortunately a similar outcome... and the less said about that the better. I'm normally a news junkie, but today I turned off the breaking news notifications. I've had enough of things happening for now.

I'm also a big fan of sticking my head in the sand and pretending certain things don't exist so I've been writing ficlets all day - mainly for bucktommy (the brainrot is real at the moment) but here's a little something for tarlos with Judd that's been living in my drafts for a while. I don't really remember where I was going with it but maybe this will get the creative juices flowing enough to finish it.

---

“Whose face are you picturing?”

Judd looked up and saw TK leaning against one of the machines in the firehouse gym.

“My own. But I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Ok.” TK shrugged and sat down on a bench with the weights. “I’ll just sit here and watch then.”

“You want to watch me work out?”

“No, not you. My dad is trying to convince Carlos he’s allowed to use the gym here instead of paying for the one down town.” He explained. “And I do want to watch him work out.” He grinned and winked at Judd.

“Can’t a man just work out in peace here without you making eyes at your fiancé?”

“Sorry, not today.”

Judd rolled his eyes and focused on getting a few more punches in on the bag. If he could just work through his frustrations in peace, the world would be a better place.

“Yes Carlos I’m sure. I’m the captain here and I officially give you permission. You’ll be my son in law in just a few weeks, you’re family.” Owen said, gently pushing Carlos into the gym.

“It’ll only be a few weeks. Just until the gym at the station is done. It’ll be done when we get back from our honeymoon.”

“You can just keep using it after that too, nobody here minds. And like I said, you’re family.” Owen turned him around and patted his shoulder. “Have fun.” He said and left, leaving Carlos standing in the doorway.

TK got up and walked over to him, slipping his arms around his waist.

“If dad says it’s ok, it’s ok.” He insisted. “Come on, we can work out together.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow.

“What? Here? Now?”

“Not that kind of work out. We can do that in the bunk room.” TK teased, a little too loud so Judd would overhear.

“As long as you do it on your own bed and not when I want to sleep, I don’t care.” Judd told them and turned back to the punching bag.

“You alright Judd?” Carlos asked, walking further into the gym and somewhat timidly setting up one of the treadmills.

“Judd is in a mood but he doesn’t want to talk.” TK explained, sitting back down on the weights bench.

“Judd just wants to work out in peace without some smart ass know it all bothering him.” Judd snapped but TK ignored him.

“I can go…” Carlos trailed off.

“No you’re alright. It’s your fiancé that doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m just sitting here admiring my future husband in his workout clothes.”

---

tagging: anyone who wants to share something to make the sucky parts of life suck a little less today.

And also my askbox is always open for prompts! (for tarlos or bucktommy - but please no crossovers because i suck at those)

[daniyummy]

PART TWO! I'm sorry this took so long, I've had no motivation. But here I am, anyways, this will have fluff, angst and a twinge of smut. CW: Unprotected sex. (Assume you're on the pill)

Part 1 | Part 2

Happy reading!

----------------------------------

You saw it. Of course you did. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people tagged you. Did you feel bad? No, you were in the right. But, did you miss him? Yeah, really badly. You wanted to go to his apartment and tell him all the things you've been think since he posted that a few days ago.

You wanted an apology in person. Not on a Instagram post. Yet it took balls to do that. Post publicly that you were an asshole to your ex-girlfriend? Sure, you wanted an in person apology, but you were glad that he at least apologized for being an ass. You still loved him. But you didn't know if he moved on already. You didn't know what to do.

Or, did you know what to do?

Were you being a coward? 100%. Hell, you've been staring at the post religiously, it's become a part of your routine. So it was no surprise when you went to scroll you "accidentally" liked it. You quickly unliked it, praying Colby didn't get the notification. You knew he did, but hopefully he missed it. Little did you know, he's been staring at his inbox waiting for that one notification from you. His heart jumped out of his chest once he saw it. He sat up in his bed and nearly tripped well running downstairs to find Sam.

"Sam! She saw it!" Colby screamed, Sam flinched. "Lower your voice, dude." He mumbled, then looked confused. "Who saw what?" Sam looked at him with furrowed brows. "Y/N. Aka the love of my life." Colby held his phone out Sam looked and scrolled to find the notification, his eyes widening. "You think she's still into you? Also, that was cheesy as fuck." Sam cringed, Colby rolled his eyes. "Shut up, it's true. I don't know if she still feels that way.. " He sighed.

"If she liked it, it meant she saw it. She would've ignored it and blocked you if she didn't." Sam says, looking at his friend, a little concern behind his gaze. "Don't wait for her to come to you, one: she won't, two: it makes you seem like a dick who thinks you're above bring the first one to apologise first. But...if you apologise first, you seem desperate." Sam shrugs, Colby looks at him and furrows his eyebrows. "I am desperate.."

"Jesus Christ Colby.." Sam sighs, a slight smile on his face, Colby raised his hands on defense. "What? You told me you wanted me to be more honest with you!" Colby points to Sam, he chuckles softly. "Whatever. You gonna go see her..?" Sam asks, the concern returning. "I want to..I miss her. I'm an idiot for a losing girl like her." He replies, Sam nodded. Colby looked at him in faux shock. "You weren't supposed to agree, you dick!" Colby smacks the back of Sam's head. "They were your words!" Sam argues.

Colby rolled his eyes before grabbing his keys. "I'm going to see her.." He walks to the door before Sam calls out to him. "Use protection!" He teases, Colby grins. "She likes it raw." Colby counters, Sam makes a gagging noise. "Gross, man...I didn't need to know that.." Sam mumbles as Colby leaves to his car.

Colbys drive was quiet, his hands sweaty as he grips the steering wheel, his breath shaky as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment. He steps out, picking up the flowers he got at the store before driving to your apartment. Colby walks towards to elevator, clicking the button he had multiple times. Walking towards the door he has multiple times. Knocking three times. Preparing for you to open the door. The first thought that came to his mind when you did was

How he forgot how beautiful you are.

You stare at him in shock, and maybe a little pent up anger. "Colby? What the hell are you doing here?" Colby just stares, until he eventually gathering himself. "I-I wanted to apologise..in person. Not like a coward online." His voice is shaky, something you've never seen happen to Colby. He's usually so confident. Not nervous. Like he's confessing to his crush in middle school. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I realize now how much of a dick I was to you. You deserved better. You still deserve better. I never had a serious relationship, one I was monogamous in. That's not an excuse for how shitty I treated you. You don't have to forgive me, but I love you, and want to try again. I under-"

Colbys cut off by your lips pressed against his, his eyes widen before he kissed you back, this wasn't like your usually rough and sloppy kiss with him, he's gentle, loving. He sets the flowers down and pulls your body against his, you pull him in your apartment and he kicks the door closed. He picks you and carries you to your room. Something he's down multiple times, but this is different. Colby gently lays you on your bed, kissing and nipping at your neck.

You watch as he slowly removes your clothes, kissing every inch of your exposed skin. Colby runs his cold hands down your side, you shiver as you gets goosebumps, he chuckles and kissing your forehead softly. "Sorry, darling.." He looks at you, noticing how impatient you look, he smiles and settles between your legs, kitten licking your thighs, moving towards your heat, before, finally, he drags his tongue down your eager cunt.

You moan, Colbys eyes on yours as he continues licking at your pussy, sucking at your clit, lapping your juices like it's his favourite meal. His cock strains against his pants as he hears your moans and whimpers, he speeds up his movements. Colby notices your moans become needy and he smiles. "Cum on my tongue, love. Wan' to taste how good I make you feel." He mumbled into your cunt, and at his words, your body shudders with your orgasm, which he eagerly laps up. Colby slowly comes to a stop, he stands up and takes off his clothes before settling into missionary.

"You want this?" He looks at you, making sure you're okay. You nod quickly, he smiles, but wants to be sure. "I need words, baby." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Please Colby...I need you.." Your voice barely above a whisper, he kisses you as he slowly pushes his cock into your cunt, you gasp, you forgot how big he was. Colby bottoms out, not moving until you tell him he can, once you nod, he slowly starts thrusting, the thrusts deep and deliberate, you look at him as you realize..

He's making love to you.

Colby Brock, who would usually fuck like a dog, thinking with just his dick, is thinking with his heart and head. He's not being rough. You like this. "So good, sweetheart. You feel so good." You felt that coil in your stomach at his words, you look at him, your eyes needy. "Colby I'm going to cum.." You moan, he kisses your neck and thrusts faster, his hands lazily playing with your tits. "Me too, darling." Colby groans and kisses you as he feels you clench around his cock, he's thrusts become a little sloppy as he fills your pussy with his cum, you finish just after he does.

He pulls out and stands up, throwing his boxers on before walking out of the room, you watch in shock, thinking he was just going to leave. Until he comes back with a damp cloth, a few snacks and some water, he cleans you up gently, like he's afraid he'll break you, he puts his shirt on you, finding a pair of his boxers you "accidentally" kept to slip them on you. before setting the snacks in front of you. "Thought you were tired, so we'll shower in the morning. But thought we could watch a show, eat snacks and sleep." Colby kisses your lips softly, cuddling you.

"Can we watch Brooklyn nine nine?" You ask, he smiles. "Of course we can. I'm still sorry for being a dick." Colby cuddle closer to you. "I'm not going to say its fine, cause it's not, but just work on it. I forgive you." You smile.

You two talk a little, watch the show and eat snacks, before you fall asleep on his chest, he smiles and takes a picture. He posts it on Instagram with the caption "My girl."

Which gets thousands, maybe millions of likes and comments saying how happy they are for him. Colby smiles and kisses your forehead before letting sleep take him.

-----------------

Finally got part two done! Hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you have any feedback, and feel free to leave requests!

-★⋆Dani⋆★-

[pulim-v]

I have stuff to reply to but to get this out of the way so I can post KR today

Foggy Glasses and Corroded Copper: Rowan's Birthday - part 3

Warning: this work contains depictions of: alcohol consumption and intoxication

Rowan woke up on Sunday feeling incredibly unwell. His head hurt, he felt sick to his stomach, he slept fully dressed up and thus had an incredibly uncomfortable night, and to top it all off his ears were ringing incessantly. The worst part, though, was that he could not fully remember why he felt that way.

After drinking several glasses of water, taking some painkillers and asking his parents about what happened, Rowan decided to take a look at his phone. Though the bright light from it worsened his persistent headache, he still stared at the notifications in the screen

[3 unread messages from Dew Botanyuki K.I.T.]

["Hey dude, sorry for yesterday night '-, w-,)"]

["Idt you're doing great today (neither am I lol) so the car thing's postponed till next week, okay?"]

["Also umm... thinking abt it you might have been right abt some stuff from yesterday @~@ so thx 4 that"]

Rowan was stilll a tad lost about the situation, but he did remember a few scattered scenes. He responded to Dew, explaining that he didn't fully remember what happened, and though Dew didn't have all the information he did help out in piecing things together.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Hi Rowan! Glad you got here!" Dew said, extending their hand to Rowan.

"Hey Dew, good evening." Rowan said with a warm smile on his face. He was still a tad hesitant about this party, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend time with his dear friend.

Rowan shook Dew's hand, entered the room and took note of the people there - there were a few familiar faces, some chemistry students he'd seen before, and, of course, Octavia and her friends. Which included Spark.

"Hey, let me introduce you to a couple people real quick." Dew said, calling Rowan over as they walked right next to the drinks table. There, there were two people: one Rowan recognized as Blizzard, an arctic fox from Chemistry that talked to Dew every once in a while; the other (a red panda), he couldn't quite recognize, they must have been from another course.

Dew gestured towards the duo. "These two are my friends! You might already know them, since they share a few classes with you, but these are Sprout and Blizzard." they pointed towards the fox. "She's from the Chemistry course," and then they ponted to the red panda, who, as it turned out, was named Sprout, "and he's from the Chemical Engineering Course, the same as you!"

"I think we've met before. Rowan, right? Nice to properly meet you, though." Blizzard said, not looking in Rowan's direction.

"Heya! I think I've seen you around a few times, what's up?" Sprout said, seemingly unconcerned but with his gaze fixed upon Rowan.

"Umm, hi. Good evening, nice to meet you two." Rowan said, ignoring the sweat that ran through his back.

"Alright then, you three can keep chatting, I have to go check up on Via!" Dew said with a big smile on their face, before ruffling Rowan's hair and leaving towards a small group of people.

Rowan decided to take a proper look at Sprout. He seemed... interesting. His hair was red, short, and a tad messy. His shirt was haphazardly buttoned up, a red ribbon on its collar. He wore a green cardigan, though it was a tad dirty, with a small amount of stains here and there. What stuck out most to him, though, were his eyes. A deep and striking shade of red, but with large bags underneath them, as if the man hadn't slept properly in days. Rowan felt a weird desire to get to know him better, but he couldn't quite explain why.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Dew Botanyuki K.I.T.]

[Dew: That's how the start of the party went. After that, I just kinda left you there since I wanted to talk with Via '- w-)]

[You: I do remember that happening, yes. What was next, though?]

[Dew: hmm... idrk! I only remember what happened at the end, I think you drank a lot of stuff cuz you were rlly drunk .w.]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"So yeah, the new short is going pretty well." Octavia said, her friends nodding in agreement.

"That's wonderful, Via! Your short films are all really cool, you four are super talented!" Dew responded.

Suddenly, Dew felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see Sprout, who was clearly drunk, but had a very tense expression.

"Hey, dude, we need to talk real quick." Sprout said, with Dew noticing Rowan was by his side, his face very red for some reason. "You've left to hang out with your other friends and are pretty much ignoring your friend here, who only knows you in this party, and is probably drinking for the first time in his life, so now he's blackout drunk and saying a lot of stuff he'll definitely regret. Call his parents and have them take him home, aight? I can handle stuff over here." Sprout said, quietly but very clearly concerned, looking directly into Dew's eyes.

"Hey, Rowan, can you call your parents? I think you should go home." Dew said, looking directly at Rowan.

"Yeah, let me just... get my phone," Rowan said, taking his phone out of his pocket. A moment later, he put it back in there, a frustrated expression on his face. "It isn't turning on. I must've forgotten the flashlight on." Rowan said.

"Hey, umm, sorry to barge in, but are your parents the Lantanas? I could call them if you need me to." Octavia popped into the conversation, standing beside Dew.

"Yeah. How did you know that?" Rowan said.

"Oh, I go to their store frequently, and they talk about their son Rowan quite a bit. You also do resemble them a lot." Octavia said matter-of-factly.

"Thanks a lot, Via! You two can go to the kitchen to sort that out, I gotta talk to Dew real quick." Sprout said, awkwardly smiling.

Rowan and Octavia went out if the room, and Sprout directed Dew to one of the room's corners.

"What do you need to talk about, Sprout?" Dew said, a tad nervous.

"That guy was saying some kinda weird stuff. I won't say all of it, but you should probably ask him about it. All you need to know is he's assuming some weird things about you and Octavia, and he himself seems to like you quite a bit." Sprout said, his serious demeanor turning into a giggle at the end.

After Octavia and Rowan came back, they talked to Dew and explained that Rowan's parents couldn't make it, but they trusted Octavia's friend to get him back to their house. Sprout decided to keep taking care of the party, so Dew and Rowan went to Dew's car and left the house. As they drove, Dew tried to learn about what happened at the party.

"So, what were you talking about?" Dew said, not looking in Rowan's direction as he focused on the empty road.

"Ugh, I really have to tell you, huh?" Rowan responded.

"Only if you want to, but I'd really like that, from what Sprout told me - don't worry, he didn't say much - you were talking about me and Via."

"It's just... I think you're really handsome and cool and just a great guy!" Rowan said, and Dew noticed that it seemed as if he were crying.

"Well, I'm flattered, but what's the big de-" Dew started to say.

"And you're so hot, but I don't think you'd be into me and I know you're already into Via and I don't want to assume but- but-" Rowan sniffled, Dew barely being able to make out what he was saying through his tears. "Please don't hate me..."

"Why would I hate you?" Dew said, concerned. "I don't mind it if you think I'm hot. I don't feel the same way, but we can still be friends, and I really appreciate you telling me this, it's important to admit these things so you don't bottle up your emotions." They continued, slowing down Rowan's crying. "Though... what do you mean I'm into Via? Where did you get that from?" Dew concluded, feeling their face get a bit warmer.

"Oh, I'm sorry for assuming." Rowan said, pretty much not crying anymore. "It's just that every time you talk about her, you start blushing, and the way you comment about her in general just made it seem like you had a crush on her or something." Rowan concluded, his voice getting quieter as Dew noticed him shrinking into his seat.

"I never thought about her in that way... but I can see how you'd think that" Dew said, thinking deeply about it. Could he have a crush on Octavia? He couldn't be sure. Besides, there were more important things at the moment. Dew sighed. "The thing is... I'm sorry. I left you alone at the party and just spent time with my other friends, I should've put in more effort to include you." Dew continued, having difficulty with looking at the road as his eyes started to water.

Dew slowed the car down, glanced at the GPS and saw they were almost halfway to Rowan's house according to the address he had put in. They took a deep breath, than started talking again.

"It's... really hard. I try to pay attention to you guys, I try to put in effort, and show that I care, but that's just a really hard thing for me to do, y'know? And I don't know, I'm already taking meds for my ADHD, and that's helping out a lot, so am I just... lazy? Do I just not care?" Dew took his hand from the steering wheel and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry for dumping this on you, Rowan. I'm really sorry." They concluded, once again focusing on the road.

The car kept on moving, going through the moonlit streets, as the awkward silence inside the car was nearly as cold as the dark night on Mount Kimoru. As it reached the Lantana family's house, Rowan had drifted to sleep, a fact that Dew noticed only when they stopped the car.

Dew woke Rowan up, opened the car's door and took him outside, holding his hand and leading him towards the house's doors. Rowan's father answered the door, greeted Dew and thanked him for the help, apologizing for the trouble he had caused.

"It's no big deal" Dew laughed. "Good night, Mr. Lantana," Dew shook the man's hand, "And good night, Rowan." Dew hugged Rowan, who hugged back, mumbling something that Dew couldn't understand.

After Rowan's father closed the door, Dew entered his car. He sat with himself for a few minutes, thinking over what had happened, before driving back to the party to wrap things up.

[skibasyndrome]

(sry for spamming your notifs with all my reblogs but akfhajjfjsjd your five sentences so far have been fire)

wilmon + “Never in his life had Simon felt as uncomfortable yet safe.”

Never in his life has Simon felt as uncomfortable yet safe. The wetsuit feels tacky and a little too tight on his skin, and it's enough to make him wanna get out and leave while he still can. And that's not even accounting for the way his heart is heavily beating inside his chest at the prospect of having to maneuver their kayak over the rapid torrent rushing through the rocky river bed in front of them. The instructor standing behind their two-seater is saying things again, but honestly? Simon can't quite get himself to listen. He's a little distracted, not only by that aquatic hellscape he let his best friend talk him into joining him in, but also by that same best friend who - frustratingly in tune with Simon's emotions as he is - is leaning forward and snaking an arm around Simon's middle, at least as much as he can while Simon is wrapped up in a very restrictive life vest. "It's going to be fine," Wille tells him and when Simon turns his head, away from the angrily crashing water masses, and towards that sweet smiling face Simon very recklessly and despite all the very rational - if you ask him - worries, believes him. "Nothing can go wrong, I promise," Wille adds and Simon's stomach sinks, but in an entirely different way than before. He has half a mind to protest, to tell Wille that the fact that they need to wear helmets and huge fucking life vests and full body wetsuits and that the instructor with the cheery smile (who now has his stupid fucking hand on Wille's shoulder again like they're buddies or something) is still droning on about the safety measures must mean that something could very much go wrong. But nope. He feels stupidly, ridiculously calm with Wille trying his to squeeze his middle, one-handed and through a couple layers of heavy safety gear, with Wille ignoring the instructor and only having eyes for him. Stupidly, stupidly calm and safe. Wille leans forward some more, making sure he can talk close to Simon's ear, and tells him "I've got you" in a voice that's so surprisingly quiet that sends a shiver through Simon, one that he can't fully blame on the cold water. He feels stupidly, stupidly safe and somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, giddy and excited and like he'd do anything right now if Wille only held him through it.

Sorry for only getting to this one now, Lia 🙈😭And sfdajgjdfkgldfjg thank you so so so so much for all the love!!!!! 💜💜💜 I loved this sentence, I had like a hundred different scenarios for it popping into my head and choosing one was so difficult ahhhh, but this is what I went with lmao. Thank you so much for sending in the sentence!! 💜

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you (very likely more than) 5 more!

[oddvanilla]

Honey, I'm pregnant and it's yours

Also Petey misses you

Im scared even writing this, I know I'm gonna get smth along the lines of 'go the fuck away' but I jus can't help it

I know u know who this is

Also I'm also very scared of you at the moment

Thank you, and I know it seems weird but I can't help it but, I love you [I seem creepy, sorry, also u don't have to accept it]

Bye bye, u probably won't even post this but I've been killing myself thinking about doing this

Thank you

Also Petey really does miss u 🤣

Also just thanks again

[Also sorry I'm not like talking about our break up or anything Id just prefer to do that if I knew u want to too and not like this]

Bye bye for reals now, id put a silly photo but I'm doing this in anon for some reason :)

Bye bye

Also I know you probably didn't expect this to happen

But hey I needed to do something about it

Bye bye now

HOLY CRAP HOW DID I NEVER SEE THIS??? it must've gotten lost in my notifications or something idk...

HAI R**N* !!! I remember your name and every time I try to type my own, yours always comes first. Even when I'm filling up forums or crap...

I'm sorry for scaring you off!!! I still care about you. And for every time I forget to, here I'll just say: I still love you 🫶 even after everything that happened. You're like impossible to hate. I can't help it either🤷‍♀️

My sister still checks on you, even you know that. She tells me what happened to you and that kinda crap. I feel bad all the time, and I'm sorry. I would've said this way earlier If I could, but stuff happens,, YK?? It hurts me so bad knowing what I caused. I didn't mean to do this to you, and even back when we were friends I tried holding on because I can't let you ruin yourself. I miss what we had, that's one fact.

I do care if you kill yourself. I DO care if you slit your wrist. I do still care about you in general. All I wish you is love, that's pretty much. I even asked my sister to go and give you asks just so you're not alone anymore. I don't care if she replaces me,, hey at least you got a friend!!!

But I never deleted everything we shared. All the screenshots from our conversations are like a comfort place, even. I still listen to every song you used to spam. I know I hate pencey prep and frank iero, but I still listen to their music because it reminds me of you. I only hated MCR because I wanted you to have your own thing. I want you to focus on yourself and crap. But now I just went back to listening to MCR because it's all I have left of you. You deserve a real apology from me if you just let us talk this out!!!

I can't replace you, and you know that. I call people my husband or wife but I still have you in mind. You're the best person on here I know, and even though I hated it or pretended it, I miss waking up to lots of messages. Now I still wake up to those but from lots of different people. I don't like it that way, I wish you could just come back. I waited for you SO long and I gave up. I want you back and I would do anything for that. But I didn't go talk to you directly because you know I want you to have space. I miss having only ONE person to go to. I didn't ignore you because I had other people to talk to!!! If anything, my parents expected so much from me like school and other crap that I don't have time to reply to anyone either!!!

Now it's been rough and stuff. I almost have nobody to open up to. Everyone I know is either always asleep or always can't talk. But you're always there and that's one thing nobody can beat you at. I don't even text people first anymore because I feel like I'm a bother and when I'm with you it just feels easier because. You're accepting.

I never told anyone about what we had in detail. I never tried to do the same things WE did with anyone else either. Nobody has to know about what letters are missing in p** w*y h*g*er. Nobody has to know why we hated your brother and how he was a bitch. I don't even send people frerard fanfics anymore because I don't want a friendship story like ours just a 2.0 version. I think you're the one for me, if anything. I love you and you didn't mess up, I did.

I don't want you to leave me alone, I want you back. If YOU can do this then we could build everything back. just know that even if you don't want me, it's fine. But I won't try to find anyone better,, I'll just sit back, I guess🙏🙏 tell mamacita im not done with rizzing her up🙄🙄

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I called animal services on my parent's neighbours?

I want to begin this with saying neither me nor my parents get on with my parent's neighbours. My parents live in a rural area with about 6 acres of land. The field next door used to be just a large field however 6 years ago got brought by a middle age couple (50 and 65) and they built a house on it with the majority of the field still being used for their horses.

We never got on but for the most part just ignored each other until covid. During covid my parents started walking in the woods behind our house to get out of the house on a daily bases whereas before they would have gone travelling and walking other places. The new neighbours didn't like this. Both properties open directly onto foresty land however the easiest way to get to the main forest path is to walk along the fence that borders neighbours field. To cut a long story short there was a lot of shouting, signs and sticks blocking our way, harassment, and cameras to try and intimidate my parents not to walk behind their property. We got the police involved in the end and have a restraining order against the neighbours so they're not allowed to approach or talk to us within reason (obviously they can be in the field to tend to the horses etc)

I wanted to tell this to get the point that yeah parents and neighbours do not get on at all. Since the restraining order things have been peaceful however I did install a camera at the front of my parents property as we did have some damage that might have been neighbours but could have been anything else really. This was recommended by the police. My parents aren't good with tech so I take care of their phones/netflix and now having the camera connected to my phone so I get the alerts if someone walks by.

The neighbours recently got two puppies though they are now over a year old. They are GSP x Labs so working dogs that in my opinion would need a lot of exercise and enrichment. As I get the notifications for the camera I know what time the neighbour walks past with the dogs and it's every day down the same country road for 10 to 20 mins in the morning. To me it doesn't seem to be enough. I've also noticed since the dogs are growing up and getting stronger/not trained the neighbour seems to be struggling with them. My neighbour is 65 but not the fittest and this past week he's been taking one dog at a time for a 5 minute walk each.

Now all I have is the knowledge of the camera. They could be getting enrichment at home, let loose in the field with the horses to run but to me it just doesn't seem fair on the dogs. But since it's been peaceful for my parents I don't want to rock the boat and maybe cause the neighbours to retaliate. Even anon they probably would know who it is who called the animal services on them. But I also hate to see dogs not living their best life. I have no doubt they aren't getting mistreated and are well fed. I just don't think they are the right dogs for an middle age couple that do not leave the house except to get shopping and can barely give them a 10 minute walk. I don't even really agree with how they keep their horses either but again they're not mistreating them just keeping young horses in a field all day and not doing any training or anything at all with them. Just seems unfair.

Sorry for the long post, just been weighing on my mind.

What are these acronyms?