#and now I’ve had to tell her what I’m doing and I feel like I just gave another piece of me away again

[capuccinodoll]

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 💗

[cinnamanz]

# ONLY ON CAMERA — chapter forty-six!

when katseye's main dancer daniela avanzini accidentally throws shade at chart-topping singer y/n l/n on an interview, the internet erupts in chaos. with y/n already in hot waters with the press over her latest scandal, both their pr teams scramble for damage control. the solution? a 'picture-perfect' fake relationship to turn the headlines in their favor.

wc: 774

CASUAL

Y/N DIDN’T WANT TO BEAT AROUND THE BUSH THIS TIME, so as soon as daniela had let herself in the house with the spare keys y/n had given her, her voice cut through the air, sharp. “what are we, daniela?”

the question froze her mid-step. when she’d agreed to coming over y/n’s and talking about god knows what, this wasn’t what she had in mind. she looked up, meeting y/n’s eyes—wide, uncertain, and brimming with something that made her chest tighten.

“what do you mean?” daniela asked, her voice quieter, cautious.

“don’t play dumb,” y/n said, crossing her arms as she stood in the middle of the room. “you come here, you stay, you kiss me like i’m the only person in the world, and then… you leave, like it’s nothing. so, tell me. what are we? ‘cause i’m- i’m done with whatever this is.”

daniela sighed, running a hand over her face. “y/n, i don’t know. we’re… friends.”

y/n blinked, the words hitting her like a punch to the chest. “friends?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief.

daniela’s shoulders tensed. “i don’t want anything exclusive right now. i just—i just got out of that mess with him. i can’t handle another relationship.” her brows furrowed as she shifted in her spot, pacing around the living room. “i thought we were on the same page.”

“the same page?” y/n’s voice broke slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “daniela, this doesn’t feel like ‘just friends.’ i’ve been here, letting you into my life, my heart, and you—” she cut herself off, swallowing the lump in her throat. “you’ve been here, too. don’t tell me this doesn’t mean something to you.”

daniela stopped pacing, turning to face y/n with a sharpness that caught her off guard. “of course it means something. but i can’t—i won’t—jump into something serious again. not after him. i just wanted this to be casual, to feel… free for once.”

“you’re here every time, daniela. every time you need comfort, every time you want to forget. is this really what this is to you? something casual? a distraction? something to pass the time while you figure yourself out?” y/n shot back, her voice rising. 

daniela’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. “that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?” y/n took a step closer, her chest heaving. “because that’s exactly what it feels like. like i’m just here to fill the gap he left, like i’m not enough for you to want more.”

“don’t do this,” daniela muttered, looking anywhere but at y/n.

“no,” y/n said, her voice rising, the anger bubbling to the surface now. “then give me the truth!” y/n’s voice broke on the last word, frustration toppling over. “because i can’t keep doing this—letting you in, letting myself fall, just for you to pull back the second it gets too real. you don’t get to make me feel like this, and then just brush it off like it’s nothing.”

daniela’s head snapped up, her own frustration boiling over. “you think this is easy for me?” she snapped, her voice shaking. “you think I don’t care? i do! but i told you—i can’t do this right now. i can’t be what you want me to be.”

“then why are you still here?” y/n whispered, the pain in her voice cutting through daniela like a knife.

“because i don’t know how to let you go,” daniela admitted, her voice cracking. the words fell heavy between them, her own vulnerability raw and exposed.

“that’s not enough,” y/n said, shaking her head, jaw set in a tight clench as she inhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair as she screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at the other woman. 

daniela stared at her, the words lodging in her throat, suffocating her. “y/n, i—”

“just go,” y/n interrupted, her voice low and trembling, a finality in her tone that made daniela’s chest ache.

“please, don’t—”

“go,” y/n said again, louder this time, though strained as if it hurt her to utter the words. it did, in a way.

daniela hesitated, her own emotions clawing at her throat, but she didn’t know how to fix this. didn’t know if she could. so turned around with clenched fists, movements stiff and hurried, and stormed out the door, leaving y/n standing in the middle of the living room.

y/n didn’t chase after her, didn’t call out. she just sank onto the couch, a deep, exasperated sigh leaving her parted lips as she turned on her phone.

masterlist 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆ next

well well well

taglist : @meganskiendielsbtc @rosiehrs @artrizzler19 @goofymickeyr @sunshinez4 @urmom2314 @meizinisnumberone @yeetaberry127 @xochitlisbest @ssamlovr @saysirhc @nyssalvr @ninguitar @kristalag @1luvkarina @idleyuri @kathleenmikaelson @sed7ction @hazel-tanthamore22 @yazzyminny @vrtualstar @meiphobic @cassiespoiler @yjiminswallet @gtfoiydlyj @taikabui @cceanvvaves @c-yerim @waitsobs @firstclassjaylee @bowforgodjihyo @thepurin @chaepu @bandaidss320 @manonsmartini @haerinkisser @esccecvp @blushmimi TAGLIST CLOSED!

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”

[avipop]

TY FOR TAGGING ME NYLL I ALWAYS WANTED AN EXCUSE TO TALK ABT MY USER!

Ooh, now I feel like a lot of people think that my name is inspired by vivziepop, bc I mostly posted hellaverse stuff when my channel was getting popular, but in reality it dates back to around 2 or 3 years ago, in 2021 or 2022. Back then I had my old channel, (Which was named social meteor r which is absolutely fucking hilarious because that was actually the time that I had no friends but I thought it was clever eh honestly I could yay abt my old yet for a looong while if I wanted to but let’S save that for another day eh?) but like that channel was created and like I wanted a cooler user. I didn’t dare change my OG channel name so I used it as my roblox display name! Because my roblox USERname is one of my first ships which I used to be very embarrassed about but now that I think about it it’s not even that bad so I’ll tell y’all— it’s Beastboynraven. Now the name Avi has a bit of a tragic backstory which is what made me an emo villain but don’t worry I’m reformed now I think (sorry guys movie tropes are my new way of communicating but like I’m not even kidding that trope is literally what happened y’all spinel kin moment) I added the ‘pop’ because idk I guess I just saw it s9mewhere and thought it was cool. Or my PD equivalent gave me the idea I don’t remember but point is—IT WAS NOT I SPIRED BY VIVZIEPOP OKAY IT WAS MADE BEFORE I EVEN EVER KNEW ABOUT HER AT ALL

I have a few plays on my name across different platforms such as Avipoppy, Avipoop, Avipopsicle, and like I do have different names but I believe all my public accs are js Avipop.

I have a horrid memory so I’m js gonna tag the ppl who i’ve shared PMs with ! ^^

@lapis-lazul1 @peach-petrichor @lapidot-art-archive

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[g4rvez-r3id]

Anything For Ellie : Part Two

Spencer Reid x Single Mom!Reader

Synopsis: It’s your daughter, Ellie’s birthday and your ex has broken yet another promise to her. Spencer’s there to comfort you and perhaps, feelings come to light.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: mild angst, but mostly fluff! reader has issues with ellie’s biological father, crying, yelling, kissing- that should cover it.

Author’s Note: here is part two! anyone want a part three?

part one

It was Ellie’s birthday. And Spencer had gotten lucky with not getting called in for a case. (He’d been the first person to show up to help you decorate your apartment). Of course, he’d come to help you the night before, especially the decorations you wanted to put on the ceiling and seeing as he was tall enough to help with decorations, he was the man for the job.

There were a few hours left of the party, Ellie had been laughing and running around with her friends, having fun and playing games. And even Spencer had shown Ellie and her friends a couple of magic tricks, playing the part of the magician of the party and exciting them.

All of the moms that were there seemingly harbored a crush on Spencer, all jealous of the fact that this Spencer was your next door neighbor and even some of the moms had asked if you two were dating (and if they could get his number if he wasn’t). You’d felt a little territorial over him, laughing it off with the moms and brushing off their comments because at least they didn’t have the luxury of living next door to the sexiest man alive.

Even Penelope, Spencer’s friend — that later became your friend — made an appearance at the party. Ellie always loved the bubbly Miss Penelope Garcia and you’d met her when you’d run into him and Penelope at a coffee shop one time. Since then, Penelope had become a best friend of sorts and came to visit at the bakery all of the time since she met you.

It’d been a couple of minutes before you were going to cut the cake and have Ellie blow out her candles. You’d been waiting on her father to show, like he’d promised Ellie. And as you watched Spencer show another magic trick, you paced. You’d sent text message after text message to your ex and he’d yet to respond to you.

Finally, your phone began to buzz and your ex’s contact came through on the screen and you quickly excuse yourself from the party, going out into the hall since your apartment was noisy at the moment.

Spencer had noticed as you walked out into the hall and by the lack of appearance from Ellie’s father, he knew it was most likely him calling you. Quickly, he distracted the kids with his playing cards, telling them to try and practice the trick on each other and went to go and check on you.

When he opened the door, your back was turned to him and you were angry. “What am I supposed to tell Ellie, Mark? You promised her you’d be here!” Your ex said something on the other line and you’d yet to notice Spencer standing there by your door.

“Something always comes up, Mark. And it’s not fair to Ellie, especially on her birthday. If I knew any better, I’d say you didn’t care about her at all.” He cuts in , most likely to tell you you were wrong, but you interrupt him almost immediately. “No, you don’t care! Otherwise, you’d be here. I’ve tried giving you the benefit of the doubt for Ellie’s sake but I’m tired of bullshit excuse after bullshit excuse. And now, I have to tell Ellie how her bullshit father is not showing up to her birthday like he promised. And you know what? I’m going to the courts and requesting full custody because you cannot be bothered to be there for her like an actual father.” Another pause. “I can do that, Mark. You hardly ever see her. It will be a no-brainer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, one of us wants to be there for our daughter and since it’s definitely not you, I’m stepping up to the plate. Screw you, Mark.” And with that, you hang up and groan out of frustration.

It’s then that you see Spencer standing there and you’re flustered at the fact that he may have just witnessed that entire thing. You sigh and hold your phone up, “Ellie’s dad not coming.” You say. “Yeah, I gathered that.” Spencer stated.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks and you scoff at him, “Am I okay? Not really.” You look down and feel the tears brimming in your eyes and you feel arms wrap around you. Spencer was never really one for hugs, so the motion kind of shocked you. You felt small as you find yourself wrapping your own arms around his torso and you just cry. And he lets you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Spencer assures but you shake your head, “I just wanted him to keep his promise to her, for once.” Spencer rubs your back in comfort, head resting on the top of your head. “I know.” He whispers to you.

“The least he could do is show up and be there for her, you know? And I try and try and try and he’s always just… it makes me feel shitty because he acts like I keep her away from him and I don’t. I encourage their relationship and he’s the one not putting any effort for his own kid!” You exclaim out of frustration and you pull away, looking at him as you wipe your tears. “Maybe he was right, I am a hot mess.”

“I know, but you know what? It’s his loss.” Spencer tells you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “He chose not to be here but that has nothing to do with you or with Ellie. And if he wants to remain in a state of unhappiness, then that’s on him.” You sniffle as Spencer speaks to you so kindly. “You’re amazing, Y/n. You’re kind, you’re smart and funny, Ellie is so lucky to have you as a mother. I see how you are with her. And you do everything in your power to keep her happy. Your hard work does not go unnoticed, Y/n. Don’t think otherwise.”

You sniffle as you nod at him. “Okay.” Spencer puts a hand over your shoulder. “You’re doing just fine without him around.” He assures and you nod again, “How is it that you always know exactly what to say?”

Spencer simply shrugs, but you stare in awe. You’d had no idea that he thought you were amazing. And he told you you were a great mother. And by no means did you look from validation from a man but Spencer… he was different. Hearing this praise from him made you feel confident. And confident enough to do what you were about to do next.

You’d both been standing close so you don’t know exactly who initiated it or what but one second, you were staring at his lips and then next, they were on yours. And by the look on Spencer’s face, which was mostly laced with shock and confusion — you were the one that leaned in.

You quickly back up, “Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry.”

“Wait, Y/n—”

“We can totally forget that just happened.” You quickly look at your watch. “I need to— It’s time for Ellie to blow out her candles.”

You attempt to head back in your apartment when you feel Spencer grab you by your hand and twirl you around as your lips meet his again and this time, you melt into his touch. His hands are holding your face as he kisses you, so passionately you nearly want to lift your leg up like they do in the movies.

You pull away when it becomes a chore to breathe and you look at Spencer as he asks, “Can I take you out on a date sometime soon?” He asks and you smile with wide eyes and a small nod, “Okay.”

“We should probably go back in, Ellie’s probably waiting for cake.” Spencer reminds you and you nod, “Oh, right!”

You walk back into your apartment, Spencer behind you as you walk over to the cake and light the candles. Ellie is sat at the table with her friends and you place the cake in front of her with a large smile as you encourage everyone to begin to sing ‘happy birthday’.

“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Ellie, happy birthday to you!” Ellie closes her eyes and makes a wish before she blows out her candles and you look up at Spencer with a large smile on your face.

“Alrighty, Ellie, cake or presents first?” You ask and Ellie cheers, “Presents! Presents!”

There was a whole table filled with presents just for your daughter. Penelope had begged for Ellie to open hers first and she’d received kinetic sand, a doodle pad and three squish-mallows. She was spoiled rotten, the girl. She’d received toys, more stuffed animals for her collection, pretty much everything she wanted. Spencer had been bringing the presents to her, putting them in front of her and watching them being demolished by Ellie. It was only a matter of time before one more present was left on the table.

“Oh, it looks like this one is from Spencer!” You exclaim, looking at the man with a guilty smile on his face and Ellie cheered as she began to unwrap her present and nearly shrieks when she sees what he got her.

“What is it, love?” You ask and Ellie smiles as she shows her friends. “Spencer got me a magic kit!” Spencer had indeed gotten her a magic kit. She’d had her very own cape, gloves, hat and trinkets. “Oh, and here!” Spencer reaches over, giving her his card deck. “But this is your card deck!”

“I know, but every great magician needs a good deck. And you have the greatest there is.” Spencer smiles and Ellie laughs, “Now, I can be just like you!” You look up at the man with a large smile and then back at Ellie, “What do you say, Ellie?”

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer!” Ellie says and Spencer nods, “Oh, of course, Ellie! Anything for you.” You look over at Spencer and he gives you a sly wink and you smirk his way and Ellie looks at you, “Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have some cake now?”

“Of course, princess.” You tell her and Spencer decides to help you with that as well.

Later, you’ll have to tell Ellie that her dad wasn’t able to make it but as far as you know, the whole thing with your ex is behind you. You occasionally steal glances from Spencer — who you’re going on a date with soon, you keep reminding yourself because it’s so weird to think — and smile to yourself in a way that makes you think how funny life is.

Spencer feels the same way, you think in your head. It’s so crazy to you that he does. And he kissed you. And he asked you on a date! Suddenly, the signs are clear like no other. He’s always liked you. He’s had to have. You look at him one more time and when you look up, he seems to already be staring at you and that just confirms it for you.

You are going on a date with Spencer Reid.

This should be interesting.

[ang3lofdivinity]

Warning: Lightly suggestive, can be seen as romantic or platonic.. BUTTTT…

I’m thinking about Calypso!Reader having some mermaid features whenever they got into the water.

The first time Jinx saw you step into the water, her jaw nearly hit the sand.

She’d been lazing on the rocky shore of your secluded island, sharpening her knife while keeping half an eye on you; because she always kept at least half an eye on you. You were fascinating, after all, with your calm demeanor, the way you hummed while walking barefoot across the sand, the way you somehow made her forget the chaos screaming in her head.

But when you waded into the shallows and the sunlight caught the iridescent scales creeping up your legs, Jinx FROZE. Her knife clattered to the ground.

You turned back to look at her, the water lapping gently at your thighs, and tilted your head in question.

“Something wrong?”

Jinx’s eyes widened, completely dumbfounded by your question. How the hell are you still acting so calm?

“What the hell is this?” she shouted, gesturing wildly toward you.

You blinked, then glanced down at yourself. The scales shimmered faintly in the sun, a mix of blues and greens like the ocean itself had gifted you its colors.

“Oh,” you said, as if this were the most casual thing in the world.

“This happens sometimes. When I’m in the water.”

Jinx was on her feet in seconds, sprinting toward the shoreline with a manic glint in her eye.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were part fish, toots?!”

“Because I’m not part fish,” you replied with a small laugh.

“It’s… complicated. Let’s just say the ocean likes me.”

The waves seemed to agree, brushing against your skin like they couldn’t bear to part from you. The wind picked up too, tugging at your hair as if to remind you it was part of your power, too.

Jinx, now up to her knees in the water, leaned in close, her gaze darting over your scales.

“Can you breathe underwater? Do you, like, grow a tail?”

You smiled at her excitement.

“You’ll figure it out eventually. When I tell you. Or, even show you if I feel nice enough.”

“That’s boring thoughhh!!” Jinx said, poking one of the scales on your arm with a curious finger.

Before you could reply, Jinx grabbed your hand and tugged you further into the water. The waves surged higher around your waist, and with every step, the scales spread further across your skin. It was as if the ocean itself was calling you home.

Jinx watched with rapt attention, her usual chaos momentarily subdued.

“Do something cool,” she urged.

Rolling your eyes, you motioned with a finger to let the wind swirl around you, sending ripples across the water. Then, with a flick of your wrist, the ocean rose in a small arc, splashing Jinx full in the face.

She sputtered, then burst into laughter, water dripping from her hair.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, though the grin on her face betrayed how much fun she was having.

“You asked for it,” you replied, your tone light.

Jinx’s laughter softened, and she studied you with a rare gentleness in her eyes.

“Seriously, you really are a goddess. Never knew about this before..”

You felt a warmth in your chest at her words, though you tried to brush it off.

“I’m just me,” you said, stepping closer to her.

Jinx tilted her head, her grin returning, sharper now.

“Yeah, but ‘just you’ is my favorite thing I’ve ever found.”

. . .

“Do the scales also appear on your neck? Waist? Your—“

“Okay, enough questions for today about this!”

“BUT I’M CURIOUS!!”

Calypso!Reader and Jinx masterlist.

[lucygraysboy]

“who says that’s where they belong, hm? they’d argue they belong at your sides,” he playfully counters, thinking she really does, to a certain extent, remind him of his ma when she gets down to lecturing and scolding. it has him beaming at her, slipping his other foot into the boot. “maybe i’m just fishin’ for compliments, wantin’ to hear how smart i really am.” walking up to her, he extends his hand slowly in sundance’s direction, palm down, to let the horse get familiar with his scent and feel more comfortable with his presence. his other hand finds the small of lucy gray’s back, his voice soft but teasing, “who could possibly doubt the strength of these mighty arms? only a fool.” though, he has to refrain from rolling his eyes upon hearing shamus doesn’t hold grudges. yeah, right, and she glares at him every time he’s near because she adores him so much. “if you don’t want none of your friends fightin’, you gotta tell her to behave, tell her i’m not a bad man.” though, now that he’s thinking about it, maybe the goat’s been able to sense he’s an outlaw. maybe if he just gives her some time… “she better. i’ll put some effort into smoothin’ things over with her, but i ain’t makin’ no promises ‘cause she can be very stubborn.” just like lucy gray, but billy bites his tongue and just smiles to himself in amusement. pale blue eyes watching sundance’s body language, the ears remain relaxed and so he lays his hand on the horse’s neck, offering a gentle pat.

“ain’t nothin’ to it, doll. as easy as breathin’.” he makes sure the reins are secured properly, not causing the gentle creature any discomfort, before turning his attention to the songstress. “i’ve got you.” he rests his calloused hands on lucy gray’s hips, kissing the top of her head before lifting her effortlessly onto sundance’s back, as if she was weightless. part of him wishes they had brought a saddle with them as they provide more stability and control, but riding bareback, although more physically demanding and somewhat less comfortable, is better when there’s two riders. their journey will be fairly short, he reminds himself. looking up, his hand resting on her knee now, he sweetly asks, “you okay? everythin’ alright?” his other hand stroking sundance’s neck in silent praise. what good, patient horse. he swings up behind her, his strong arms circling around to hold the reins. “just lean into me, i won’t let you fall,” he whispers close to her ear, keeping his voice calm and hoping it’s as steadying as his hold. he guides her dainty hands to the reins, his large ones atop them, making sure she has the illusion of control. “so, lesson one, what we don’t do when we want the horse to start movin’. we don’t jerk on the reins, it can confuse ‘im, make ‘im stop or back up. and we don’t kick hard, we don’t want to startle ‘im and get thrown off, right? so, we just sit with our back straight but relaxed, we can lean a little bit forward but not too much, and we talk to ‘im and give a gentle squeeze with our legs. like this. vamos, sundance. camina.” feeling the cue, sundance begins to walk forward, somewhat lazily but that’s better, billy thinks. “look at you, lucy gray, you’re doin’ so good.”

"by keepin' your fingers over there where they belong." lucy gray playfully scolds like a mother. "you know good as i do, that ain't the truth. don't make a mine out of a molehill." might as well say she's still scolding him like a mother to drop the silly pouting. "you're a very smart fellow and i'd never call you a rotten word like that, like i said." reminding him once again, but starting to become confused..is he really meanin' all that? or playin' with her? brows gently furrow momentarily until she gets it... he is playin' with her. "alright, you better be." smiling in amusement, has to admit to it being funny at least. "well, you know a thing or two about tricks too." how impressive, he's smart and knows how to pull a few tricks of his own... makes her very impressed. "they ARE and none of you better be doubtin' it." hand gently smacks his hand squeezing her big bicep. "shamus don't hold no grudges." that can't be the truth, when she's definitely a stubborn little goat. "and i'm not takin' up for her, i'm tryin' to be optimistic cause i don't want either of my friends fightin'." him and shamus, which causes her to giggle talking about shamus like she's a person too. "oh, that'd be a sweet idea of you to do. shamus will have to forgive if you bring her dandelions." one of her favorite snacks. watching him come over, looking to him then towards sundance, a smile resting on her lips at how sweet he sounds talking to her horse. "i guess i'll have to be. hm? i got no choice but get up on here." smiling shyly, despite it definitely making her a little nervous.

[ramp-it-up]

Worth the Fall

Summary: James Bucky Barnes WAS an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. Despite the fact you have questions about Bucky and your parents’ conversation at Thanksgiving, you’re hitting your groove as a couple, but there is no time for alone time.

Word count: 3.4 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This part of the story is getting everything caught up to a month ago, lmao. Thank you for continuing to rock with this story. And let me know if you like it (I hope you do!)

This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both You've Got Me Thinking and the Steve Rogers fic Peach III.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Initial angst, Steve and Peach, Bucky’s anxiety. No time for nookie! Flirting Intimations of sexting and phone sex. Praise kink, fluffy Bucky, horny Bucky, dom Bucky. F@cking versus making love, wall time, sex with clothes on, raw p in v, creampie, after care, intimations of oral (f receiving!) dirty talk, Bucky applies for a second job. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

————

You walked along the sand and inhaled the ocean air.

You were shaken to the core. 

Bucky Barnes had surely just taken your parents out to ask for your hand in marriage. But it was so soon, how could he be so sure?

Also, you were an independent woman. How dare he talk to your parents before he asked you to marry him!

He wasn’t your feudal lord.

You were scared witless and turned to the waves to try and calm down. 

“He loves the hell out of you, you know.”

Steve had fallen in beside you as you stared at the ocean. You looked up at him, trying to smile, but failing. To Steve you looked terrified.

“It’s just so….”

Steve smiled to himself, remembering that Bucky had purchased the ring weeks before, after just a few days of knowing you. But that wasn’t his story to tell.

“Just know that I’ve never seen him like this. And I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s never been so open, so determined with a woman before. You make him a better man. It’s truly amazing.”

Steve looked so earnest. Your cousin had done quite a number on him.

“You don’t have to be scared. You are ‘The One’ for him.”

This time you managed a smile and an arched eyebrow. You had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about his best friend.

Steve chuckled.

“Gah. Don’t look at me like that. You and Peach and that eyebrow.”

You laughed at that and grinned, more relaxed now.

Steve looked off into the waves himself.

“So fucking cute…”

He looked down and kicked a rock, a small smile on his face. You could tell he had it bad.

“Thanks for the pep talk Steve-o. And I get what you’re saying. I love Bucky Barnes with all my might, making every other relationship I’ve ever had seem… trivial.”

You glanced at Steve, who was nodding at your sentiment.

“I’m just spooked at the possibilities. I mean…this seems…like a lot.”

“I know. Bucky gets intense.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Understatement of the year. And you’re a lot like your friend.”

Steve looked at you, one eye closed from the sunlight in his eyes. He didn’t have any sunglasses and the sun highlighted his windswept hair and the planes of his handsome face. You were squinting at him and you could totally see why Peach let him touch her goodies. 

Steve was kinda hot.

You sighed.

“Listen. I’ll be alright. Bucky and I just need to chat.”

Steve smirked.

“Chat. Is that what the kids call it now?”

You laughed and swatted him on the arm as you continued walking again.

“Fuck you, Steve. But for real. Thank you for checking on me. I appreciate it. And I love you for it. I just wish my cousin could see this side of you.”

Steve scoffed.

“Fucked that up good, didn’t I?”

“Not gonna lie, she’s kinda blinded by rage right now. But don’t give up on her. She’ll come around.”

Steve looked at you skeptically and you shrugged.

“80– 75% chance she’ll come around.”

You both laughed.

“Just remember what I said yesterday. She’s a tough nut, but she has a huge heart behind that wall. She is determined about the success of that dance school and she is competitive as fuck. You know what to do.”

Steve grinned. 

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

—-

You and Steve re-entered the kitchen laughing, you holding on to his arm. 

Peach was at the table drinking coffee and dedicated to ignoring Steve.

“Thanks again for the pep talk Steve. I appreciate it.”

You gave him a long hug and when you separated, you saw Peach’s eyebrow cocked in what you could only imagine was the way Steve described. You stifled a giggle and leaned up on your tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“You better stop before Bucky comes back and chops me in the throat.”

Peach humphed, and you knew exactly what she was thinking.

You laughed at Steve as he headed toward the stairs, ignoring Peach right back.

“I’m gonna go get my running shoes. A turn down the beach will help me get some of this tension out.”

You watched Peach as she watched Steve roll his neck and stretch on his way out of the room, her coffee stalled in mid air. Her head was on a swivel as he walked out of the room, checking out his formidable ass. She sighed and then remembered that you were there.

You looked at her and she looked at you.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I didn’t say a word, cousin. Yet. But we will talk later. Any coffee left?”

—-

The week ended up smoother than when Bucky and Steve arrived, and before you and he and Steve left on the jet back to New York, Bucky surprised everyone with an invitation to Vermont for Christmas. 

Your heart did a funny little thing because why would he invite your entire family on an all expense holiday vacation from Christmas Eve to New Years unless he was going to…

You couldn’t dwell on what ifs, and you didn’t want to spook yourself. You just decided to appreciate the moment.

It was funny watching your cousin’s face and the corresponding look on Steve’s. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be stressful at all.

Perhaps there would be entertainment.

—---

Later, back in Brooklyn, there was a whirlwind of activity as the Rebirth Foundation geared up for the annual summit and gala. 

During the second week in December, Rebirth Endowment recipients (which included your cousin this year!) flew in, were oriented and toured around New York City. The two culminating events were the summit, held at NYU, where there was an art lecture series, a panel, and the gala. 

Steve usually participated in the summit by himself, with Sam or Natasha sometimes joining him on stage along with the city’s movers and shakers in the art scene.

But this year Bucky was participating.

He said he wanted to be more prominent in the Art community moving forward as a path toward legitimacy, and you knew that tangentially, that had something to do with you.

When you got back from Thanksgiving, there was a week to prepare for the activities. Your Arts and Culture Alliance in Brownsville, as a part of Rebirth through the Howard Benson exhibit, was a stop on the tour, and you had a ton of work to do. 

Bucky and his three partners obviously had their own long list of to dos, but he also needed to be there for Steve, who was a wreck at the thought of Peach coming into town. 

Steve was so far gone.

But James Buchanan Barnes.

You’d never seen Bucky Barnes shook. 

Sure, you’d seen him excited, impatient, horny, angry, and a little irritated, but never truly nervous.

And you shouldn’t have thought it, but it was adorable. 

Friday night, you met your cousin at the airport and witnessed the beginning of her downfall. The cocktail reception later at the hotel had her, and by proxy your own, head spinning. 

You grinned at the way Steve was handling everything. 

Bucky was beautiful and you admired him as he toasted the guests, his beautiful tenor a nice contrast from Steve’s baritone as they both gave their salutations. Only you knew how anxious he was to speak in front of people and for everything to go well. You felt privileged.

You realized that James Buchanan Barnes was a good man who just wanted to be better for you and for his community.

And suddenly you were not afraid of a future with him.

—-

During this time, you two shared brief cuddles and quick kisses, furtive touches and brief bouts of handholding when you saw each other at events. The mornings meant salacious pictures and quick phone sex to take the edge off, but you weren’t able to luxuriate in each other as you usually did.

You missed Bucky’s full attention, but the fact that you were working together on something worthwhile was the shit. You loved this man and you wanted to work beside him as an equal, not just be his sex toy.

This was the week that you fell completely in love with Bucky Barnes.

Thursday was the day of the Rebirth Art Summit and Bucky was pacing up and down his home office, reading glasses switching locations from perched on top of his head, to his delectable mouth, to his handsome face as he reviewed his notes.

You looked up from the ones in your hands with which you were quizzing him and smiled at him.

“Jamie, it’s going to be okay.”

He stopped to look at you, a faint smile on his face. He came over and pecked you on the lips and gave you a hug.

“‘M so glad you are here tonight, even though you tried to stay away.”

You sighed into his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his Bucky smell.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I was just giving you space. I know tomorrow is important to you and I don’t want to distract—”

“Frumoasă. You don’t distract from anything. If anything, you add to my life. You add so, so much. I love you. And I miss you. I want you here with me tonight.”

You melted into him, chuckled and shook your head as he held you. This feeling was crazy.

“What?”

You heard his voice in his chest, but he didn’t move, except to sway just a little, as if soothing you. It worked.

“I love you too, Bucky. And I miss you too. So much. It’s wild to feel so much in such a short amount of time.”

You and Bucky had only been together about three months, but you knew this was it.

“When you know, you know, my love. And we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

You hugged him tighter. What was understood didn’t need to be said.

He kissed the top of your head and then moved back so he could see into your eyes.

“And having you in my space while I get ready for an important event is everything.”

You looked him in the eye, thinking of sucking his dick for being such a dream.

“Bucky…”

Bucky took your hand and raised it to his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that, Frumoasă. I will be forced to fuck you all night long, something that is long overdue.”

He kissed your forehead.

“But there is much work to do.”

You cast your eyes down and whispered, “You’re right.”

Bucky took you in, looking so demure and being so patient with him. It was such a turn on.

“Such a Good Girl for me.”

You wanted to fall to your knees, but you just bit your lip and went to sit back down, crossing your legs as you began quizzing him again. 

Soon, you told your pulsing pussy. Soon.

You worked late into the night and soon dozed on the leather couch in his study. The next morning, you woke in Bucky’s bed with a sweet note on your pillow. You smiled and knew that he’d carried you to bed and held you all night long.

—--

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

You sucked your teeth at your cousin’s comment, but you didn’t pull your gaze away from Bucky up on the dias the next day at NYU. 

You were proud and in awe of your man. Your smirk turned into a grin as he glanced at you and started to speak.

You were down bad. And Bucky was too. After almost two weeks with little to no physicality, your energy was at supernova strength and about to cause a black hole in the universe.

That’s how intense this thing was. 

You were wet and hard and soft in all the right places.

Bucky had to pause frequently for the interpreter, and it gave you a chance to make googly eyes at each other. You ignored Peach’s subtle retching noises as you concentrated on Bucky. But you cut your eyes over to her while Steve spoke and found her visibly eye fucking him. You smirked when she noticed you noticing.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

She was trying to distract you. You laughed.

“Fucking-A.” 

You nodded up at the stage.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You were shocked as hell when she responded.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

You elected not to tease her about her response. It seemed as if Steve was working the plan.

You resumed watched as Bucky did his thing. He was glowing, handsome and impressive as hell. No one would believe he was as introverted as he was. But he was flourishing in the spotlight, seemingly born for his. He exuded confidence. 

It was such a turn on.

—-

Bucky watched you watching him and talking to your cousin and knew your tells. You were probably wet and ready for him. He briefly thought of what he was going to do to you later before he refocused on the task at hand. Knowing you were there for him was such motivation.

When he made his way back over to you, you were an angel, giving him a huge hug and exclaiming, “You were so fucking good up there, Jamie! I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky felt his heart explode and although someone was pulling him away from you, he mouthed a promise in your direction.

—-

“Later...”

You definitely read those sexy lips and your heart started racing. You looked around for your cousin, expecting to be roasted, but she was nowhere to be found. You shrugged and made your way to the subway, assuming that she was gathering with the other recipients. There was more work to do in Brownsville and you were busy anticipating the night.

You waited all day for Bucky’s text to tell you what time Nico was picking you up, but it never came. The rest of the day flew by and by the time you were walking home, daydreaming of dressing up for the gala tomorrow night and what Bucky might wear, you happened to check your phone and saw messages he’d sent just 10 minutes before:

You looked so good today. Especially this morning. Good enough to eat.

I’ll be at your place in 30. Wear that bra, no top, that skirt, no panties, and those heels.

You blushed and thought of the mirror selfie of the cream lace lingerie set you were wearing underneath your cream colored cowl neck sweater and grey wool pencil skirt that matched your grey wool coat.

Yes, Daddy, you replied and picked up the pace to make it to your brownstone ahead of him, your heart beating a mile a minute.

You thought you were prepared when you opened the door after Bucky knocked, but you weren’t.

In fact, you were shaking with anticipation.

There he was, bundled up from the cold, but those blue eyes sparkling down at you.

Bucky stared at you for a beat, and then walked toward you, taking your face in his hands and backing you up against the entryway wall, kicking the door closed behind him.

“My Frumoasă. So good. So perfect”

And then he leaned down and kissed you.

—-

Bucky had the strangest thought as you opened your door.

I’m home.

Although this was not his place, he realized that you were his home and that he couldn’t wait to make you his wife. His eyes swept down your form, pleased that you had followed instructions. You were such a badass, capable woman and partner and he just had to be inside you soon. 

He complimented you and his cock stiffened as your mouth parted in desire. He knew your praise kink very well. Bucky cradled your beautiful face and moved inside to kiss you.

His demanding mouth parted your trembling lips, sending tremors through your body. You clung to the lapels of his coat to tether you to earth as his tongue invaded your mouth. You suckled it, previewing what you wanted to do with his cock later. 

He pulled away, his bright blue eyes blazing, and his jaw clenched so tight as he shrugged out of his winter coat. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d think he was angry, but the look was desire. 

And only for you. You grew warm from the inside out.

“I can’t wait. Wanna make love to you, but I have to fuck you now.”

Bucky bent his knees and grabbed your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him and hold on to him as he walked you over to your couch.

You attacked his face as you were sat down firmly on the bulge in his pants and Bucky accepted your assault, chuckling as you kissed him from his hairline, to his forehead, down his nose, each cheek, skipping over his lips to his stubbly dimpled chin and finally back to that mouth. When he kissed you again, his hands were everywhere, starting at the nape of your hair, pulling so your neck was exposed as his mouth moved down to mark you up, then trailing down to your fine lace bra cups.

Bucky palmed your full breasts, weighing them in his hands and watching your face as he twisted your nipples. You nipples tightened under his touch and you arched your back, moving and giving him a view of what was underneath your skirt. He admired your ardor, you squirming and moaning on his lap.

It was his dream come true.

“So fucking hot, Frumoasa. I’ve been craving you. All day. All week. Ever since Thanksgiving. Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Bucky…need you.”

You grasped the lapels of his jacket as his hand traveled down your torso and as he leaned down to travel under the hem of your skirt. Your soft fingers peeled his jacket away and unbuttoned his shirt. You opened it and ran your hands down his chest, rubbing his nipples with your thumb and trailed your hand down to his happy trail and proceeded to try and undo his belt buckle.

Bucky grew hot at the warmth of your thick thighs and the way your cunt was so hot that he could feel it through his pants. 

He had to have it. 

Panting now and desperate, Bucky tugged your skirt up, flashing your bare pussy, but it was difficult to get rid of because it was still buttoned. It slipped out of his hands and he grunted in frustration.

“Ah, poor baby…” 

You leaned forward, brushing the locks of hair that had fallen into his flushed face, grazing your nipples across your chest with a sexy smile.  Bucky whimpered and you smirked at his desperation. You slowly reached behind you to your zipper, pushing your chest toward Bucky’s face. He licked his lips and pulled your bra cups down, causing your warm breasts to spill out and his hands to be drawn to them again like magnets as he watched you loosen your skirt.

When you grabbed the hem to bring it over your head, he released you, watching as the fabric moved above your crotch.

Your pussy. Fuck.

Bucky could never get enough of staring at it, the dark petals, which were spread open for him as you sat on his lap were calling his name. He licked his lips, suddenly parched.

“What are you thinking about, Bucky?”

You had a pretty good idea, but you wanted, no needed, to hear Bucky’s voice right now. You reached behind you again as you unclasped your bra and suddenly you were naked on an essentially fully dressed Bucky Barnes.

It was sexy as hell. 

“I’m thinking that your pussy is a work of art, Frumoasă. It’s perfect. I’m thinking that I want to spend at least eight hours a day between your legs, make you cum over and over again, make you beg me to stop, and to start again. How I want you to taste you and make you squirt so I can swallow you down…”

You moaned and started grinding on his bulge, causing Bucky to curse.

“Damn, Baby. You’re gonna make me jizz in my pants like a teenager.”

Bucky grabbed your ass and reached between you to tease your clit, feeling how wet you were.

“Fuuuuuck, you’re so wet.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled as he grabbed your waist and lifted you to your knees on either side of him as he unzipped his pants and pulled them and his underwear just down past his ass to get his cock out. He grabbed your cheek as he stroked himself and rubbed his thick cock head in your juicy pussy.

“Fuck me Frumoasa. Slide down this dick for me.”

You brushed Bucky’s hair off his forehead again as you nodded and started to slide down his fat, hard cock. Your head lolled back on your neck as you reached the root of him.

“Oh… Bucky… Fuck….”

You could feel Bucky pounding inside you, long thick cock battering your cervix and you whined, leaning back and working your hips as Bucky fucked up into you and thumbed your clit while the other hand guided you up and down his dick. 

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were shining as he looked up at you. You knew he was close and you couldn’t take it.

He started to speak and you knew it was over.

“Frumoasă. I-I’m gonna need you to… oh holy fuckkkkkk!”

His stutter made you start to cum.

As soon as your pussy started spasming around him, Bucky started shooting his spend all over your warm walls causing you to convulse and hug his head to your chest. He clutched you to him, whimpering as he held onto you for dear life as he came.

He collapsed backwards, taking you with him as you became boneless in his arms. You rolled off of him and curled up on the couch as Bucky stood and untangled himself from his clothes.

You closed your eyes for a minute as he got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth to clean you up. When he finished, he kissed your forehead and gathered you up in his arms.

“You turn me on like no one else, Frumoasă. You’re it for me. I love you.”

You cuddled into him as he lay you in your bed.

“Me too, Bucky. You’re my one. I love you, too.”

Bucky kissed your forehead again, and then proceeded to move down your body.

“Good, now. I need to clock into my main occupation. Hour one of eight.…”

—-

If you like it, hit Reblog! ☺️

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 3

// Sorry for the delay; I had some things to take care of, so I couldn’t focus on writing the fanfic. But~, I finally finished the 3rd chapter and even started working on the 4th one… ohoho, that one’s going to be interesting. 👀

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Place: Rejet Labels building

Ayato: A hotel, huh? Well… whatever they will make us do there, it can’t be that bad, right?

Subaru: Dunno about you, man, but as soon as I know I’m being filmed, I’m pretty much doomed to mess it up.

So yeah, it actually is that bad for me!

Ayato: Haa… relax a little, will you?

At least you’re not going to be stuck on the farm like the Hyung line. If you think working at the hotel sucks, imagine milking cows in the middle of a mud pit!

Subaru: Eww! G-Gross!

Ayato: Yeah, exactly! So, quit whining!

Subaru: Heh, I gotta wonder how they even convinced Reiji to go there. Knowing him, he wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like that!

Ayato: I bet the manager kept the farm thing a secret. If Shu knew, he would have faked being sick in a heartbeat!

— someone spies on them —

???: Hmm…

Kanato: Laito, what on earth are you doing?

— Laito flinches —

Laito: Oh my…— Kanato-kun, didn’t your parents teach you about not interrupting people when they’re in the middle of something~?

Kanato: Well, I’m sure your parents made it very clear that spying on people isn’t appropriate either, but here you are, completely ignoring that little life lesson.

Laito: Nfu, touché.

Kanato: Now tell me, what is this all about?

Laito: Nothing important~. I’m just trying to figure something out.

Kanato-kun, don’t you think Ayato-kun has been acting a bit… different lately?

Kanato: That depends. What exactly do you mean by "different"?

Laito: Isn’t it obvious? It feels like he started ignoring me.

Kanato: That might just be your imagination.

Laito: Hmm… Something still doesn’t sit right with me.

Kanato: If this is causing you so much concern, it would be best to ask Ayato directly what’s going on with him.

— rolls eyes —

Laito: ( You don’t get it. )

Place: Hotel

Co-worker 1: They’re on their way!!

Co-worker 2: Someone, pinch me! I’m about to faint!

Yui’s monologue

Today is the big day!

The hotel staff has been working tirelessly ever since they got wind of the idol announcement.

They’ve been running around, handling everything with meticulous attention to detail, so as to make sure that everything runs smoothly.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’ve only been in Tokyo for less than a week, and now I’m about to meet two members of one of the biggest groups at the moment.

It somehow feels surreal…!

Although, I really do wish Hana-san could be here as well… She’s the one who deserves to see Ayato-san in person more than I do. But, I suppose there’s nothing that can be done about it.

For this reason, I genuinely hope I’ll be able to get that autograph for her.

Receptionist: This is bad, this is really bad!

Yui: …!

Did something happen?

Receptionist: Unfortunately, yes! Our porter fell down the stairs while getting ready and broke his ankle.

He won’t be able to come in today, and with all positions already filled, it will be impossible to find a replacement!

Yui: Oh no… That’s awful!

( Everyone has put in so much effort to make this day perfect, and it’s just so unfair for something like this to happen out of nowhere! )

But... is there really no one available to pick the luggage and take the boys to their rooms? I don’t think it would take too much time, and the person could easily get back to their usual tasks afterward. Surely someone can step in, right…?

Receptionists: If you’re so confident about that, why don’t you volunteer then?

Wait— That’s it! You could totally do that!

Yui: M-Me!?

( This is not the way I was going for! )

Receptionists: Exactly!

You're a work-exchange girl, right? Your role in these tasks isn’t as crucial as an actual employee’s, therefore your presence isn’t that essential.

That means you could skip whatever task you're doing and step in as the porter today before anyone even notices!

Yui: ( Did I just get called ‘useless’ indirectly? )

I… I would love to help in this situation, but, I’m sorry, I’m not qualified enough for such a job.

( I doubt I would be able to carry the luggage to begin with. Who knows how heavy they are with everything packed inside? )

Receptionists: I beg you, Komori-san!

If you’re worried about whether a girl can handle it, these boys will just stay until tomorrow. They most likely won’t have a lot with them.

Yui: Uuh…

( If it’s just for one day… )

— sighs —

Alright, I accept.

Receptionist: Thank you… Thank you so much!

If there’s any way I can repay you for this, just let me know!

Yui: Ah, there’s no need to. I know you’ve all been working hard for this, so it’s the least I can do.

Receptionist: Well, on a positive note, you'll be the one leading the boys to their rooms, which definitely makes you luckier than the rest of us.

I think this experience alone is rewarding enough, fufu.

Yui: …!

( Wait, I hadn’t really thought about it like that— This will be the closest anyone in the hotel gets to them today, won’t it? )

( I know I should be excited about it, especially since I’ll be able to ask for that autograph for Hana-san, but... ah, I’m feeling so nervous all of a sudden! )

Receptionist: ( The limo arrived! )

Komori-san, go to the hallway!

The driver will soon bring their luggage there, where you’ll have to wait for them. Once they enter, the hallway entrance will automatically close, and then the three of you will head towards their room.

— lends her keys —

I hope the instructions were clear enough. Good luck!

— Yui nods and quickly leaves —

Place: Hotel hallway

Yui: ( Phew, I can’t believe I made it in time. )

( I’m already starting to hear voices, so they must be clo—— )

— entrance opens —

Yui: …!

Ayato: ( Is that… a girl? )

Subaru: ( Hah!? Who even thought it would be a good idea to make a girl a porter? Can she even lift our stuff—? )

Yui: ( No way… they’re even more handsome in real life…! )

( I’d better avoid looking at their faces, otherwise I’ll get too nervous to even concentrate! )

W-Welcome to the “Yume no Mori” hotel. It’s a pleasure to have you here!

— bows and takes luggages —

( Hooh… heavy! )

Please, follow me.

— they start walking —

Subaru: ( Dunno if it’s just me, but I’m low-key starting to get second-hand embarrassment watching her struggle like that. )

Ayato: ( Why would they even hire such a weakling for this type of job? I thought this was supposed to be a 5-star hotel, but maybe they’re just out of budget or something? )

Yui: ( The receptionist told me they’ll be leaving tomorrow, but what on earth did they even pack in these things? My arms feel like they’re about to fall off! )

Subaru: Oi! You… Do you need help?

Yui: Eh?

— looks up —

Ayato: ( Subaru, what are you doing? )

— brushes his hand off —

Can’t you see? This is her responsibility, not yours, so let her do her job.

If she’s not capable of taking it seriously, then she just shouldn’t be working here anymore and risk damaging the hotel's reputation.

Yui: ( Such cold words… )

( While it’s true that I’m not cut out for the porter job, saying something like that to someone is simply uncalled for…! )

A-Anyway, thank you, but there’s no need to. We just arrived to your room.

— opens door and hands them keys —

By the way… I would like to apologize for my poor performance.

The truth is, I am deeply grateful for this opportunity and I——!

*THUD*

( Did they just… slam the door in my face? )

Place: Hotel room

Subaru: Man, the hell’s wrong with you?

Ayato: With me!? You’re the idiot who offered to do her job in the first place!

Subaru: I was just trying to help, okay!? Am I not allowed to do anything without getting chewed out for it now?

Ayato: Tch… you’re so oblivious that it’s giving me a headache. This person works at one of the most prestigious hotels in Tokyo, she should know better!

Imagine putting your trust in someone, only for them to screw up so badly that it could end up destroying everything.

Subaru: But she didn’t even screw up, she was just struggling, that’s all!

Seriously, what’s going on? All this time, you’ve been known as the friendliest person to the fans. You even helped the bodyguard hold the concert fence, for crying out loud!

So what’s with this sudden shift in attitude, huh?

Ayato: That’s…— Well, things have changed! There’s a lot more going on behind the scenes that you don’t even see.

If I keep acting as I once did, the consequences won’t just fall on me—they’ll affect all of us, understood!?

( I just can’t afford to be selfish again… The choices I make now have an impact on others, and I have to be more mindful of that. )

Subaru: I mean… if you put it like that, it makes sense, but you still shouldn’t lose yourself in the process, y’know?

At the end of the day, no matter how much someone screws it up, we... we’re a team, so yeah, we’ll have to find a way to fix it together, I guess.

( Damn, I'm really not good at putting these things into words! )

Ayato’s monologue

"We’re a team."

Those words are supposed to be reassuring, but why do they only make me even more nervous…?

What will truly happen if I put the group in danger, huh? Will they really back me up, or just turn their backs on me?

Shu doesn’t seem like the type to overlook such mistakes—he basically said as much the other days.

As for Reiji and Kanato… Yeah, forget it. They’d make it sound even worse.

And Laito… he’s the one I’ve always been closest to, but even with him… I don’t know. A part of me can’t shake the feeling that if it came down to it, he’d take their side too.

So that only leaves Subaru.

However, knowing him, he’d probably just end up jumping on the bandwagon too. No way that guy would want to be seen as my accomplice or something like that.

Haa… that would indeed be an uncomfortable situation.

After all, no one likes to have shade thrown at them.

…!

( Wait—! )

( Exactly! No one would like that! )

— stands up and heads towards door —

Subaru: Oi, where are you going—?

Ayato: I have to solve something, I’ll be right back.

— leaves —

Subaru: Ok…?

Place: Hallway

Ayato: ( That’s true, I was too harsh on the porter. I didn’t stop to think about what she might have been going through. )

( Maybe she was having a bad day and by letting my own irritation get the better of me… well, I must have surely made it worse. )

( I mean, if I were criticized, I’d feel like crap too. It’s obvious nobody enjoys being judged, especially when they’re already struggling, right? )

( And yet… I did exactly that to her. )

( So yeah, I’ve gotta fix this! I’m going to find her and apologize, even if it’s super awkward. )

Oi, porter!

Author’s note:

*If you forgot what happened in the first chapter and are wondering why Ayato and Yui don’t recognize each other, well that’s because Ayato was wearing a mask and a cap back then, and they were also in the dark, so they couldn’t notice each other’s features well.

[kangnoeulsdoll]

Behind Closed Screens.

OF user!Se-mi x fem!reader

𐙚₊˚🪷⊹ ᰔ

synopsis: When you discover Se-mi’s secret OnlyFans account, your world shifts.

word count: 836

a/n: my next fic is definitely gonna be either Nana Osaki or Kang No-Eul :3

warning(s): suggestive

Your first clue was the late nights. Se-mi used to disappear into her office, shut the door for her job, and would not be heard from for hours. You'd imagined she was working on something important—a project at the office or one of her endlessly creative side interests she didn't actually share so often.

But now, as you "picked up" after her, you found out the truth.

Her laptop was on, the screen buzzing with a soft glow, displaying a website that made your heart skip a beat. OnlyFans.

It wasn’t just any profile—it was hers.

Sleek promotional photos of her in a bra and panties, soft videos with her voice topping the captions, and tens of thousands of likes and comments thanking her.

You felt your cheeks burn as you realized just how many people had watched her this way while leaving enormous amounts of tips and pleading for more.

"Enjoying the show?"

Her voice sent a jolt through you. You turned quickly, finding her leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. She wasn't ashamed—in fact, she seemed to have been looking forward to this moment.

"Se-mi," you stammered, stepping away from the desk. "I—this isn’t what it looks like."

Her giggle was soft mumble as she approached you. "It’s exactly what it looks like," she teased. "You found my page."

"Y-you’re on OnlyFans?" You held it together, absorbing all flood of data.

She pressed back into the desk, out arched her finger across the laptop computer monitor and shut it down. "It’s a little hobby of mine," she admitted. "Something to keep life interesting."

You blinked, your heart pounding. "And you didn’t think to tell me?"

"I was waiting to see if you’d figure it out," she said, her smile widening. "You’re clever. I knew it was only a matter of time."

You weren’t sure whether to feel shocked or impressed. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few months," she said. "It started as a curiosity—something fun. But people really seem to like me." Tilting her head, she fixed her eyes in the darkness of her gaze. "You’re not mad, are you?"

Mad? No. Flustered? Absolutely.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I just… I didn’t expect this."

Her hand found yours, her touch warm and grounding. "It’s not a big deal," she said softly. "It’s just me having fun, expressing myself."

"Expressing yourself?" you echoed, glancing toward the closed laptop.

She giggled and her other hand continued to hold it firmly on the arm, and so on. "You’ve always said I’m good at being confident," she murmured. "Turns out, other people think so too."

You choked, and your heart raced as it hit the sweet spot. "And what exactly do you… do on there?"

Her smile widened and she edged in, her breath warm under your ear. "Why don’t I show you?"

Her cheeks flushed as she flinched, the stare glittering with dark whimsy. "Unless, of course, you’re too shy."

I'm not shy", you blurted, to which a cute laugh escaped from the girl.

"Good," she murmured. "Because I’ve been thinking about involving you."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Involving me?"

She nodded and, using fingertips, lightly stroke over your chin to lift the head upwards to meet hers. "You’ve always been my biggest supporter," she said. "Why not let everyone else see what I see?"

You couldn't help but be drawn to her, the strength of her voice, which began to run down your back. But, it was a beginner's trip, a somewhat exhilarating and a somewhat overwhelming journey.

"I don’t know if I’m ready for that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s okay," she said, her tone softening. "There’s no rush. But maybe… you’d like to see how I work?"

You blinked, your pulse quickening as she grabbed her laptop, flipped to the next page of her notebook and logged in. She managed the page without difficulty, retrieving her drafts.

"Here," she said, tilting the screen toward you.

The video was simple but captivating: Lying in bed in a silk robe. She wasn't making much progress—just fiddling with the hem of the robe, letting it fall off of one shoulder, her voice a bit of whisper every now and then, something you couldn't quite make out.

"People pay for this?" you asked, incredulous.

"Of course they do," she said with a grin. "It’s not just the visuals—it’s the attitude. The confidence. That’s what they’re here for."

"Still think it’s weird?" she asked, her voice low.

"No," you admitted, glancing at her. "I think it’s… incredible."

Her expression softened and she took your hand. "I’m glad you think so," she said. "Because I’ve got plenty of ideas—and you’d be perfect for them."

with Se-mi, life would never be boring.

[seeingivy]

at this point i know you know it’s gonna be eren. x fuck you if i can't have us. but what if it’s like a criminal minds!au and y/n x eren are coworkers and in a forbidden relationship (at this point my fingers are just crossed u like criminal minds too and get that i am YEARNING for a spencer reid x i can see you type of thing) omg this is so fun u are a genius btw

sending you roses and kisses and hugs

fuck you if i can't have us x eren jaeger

**part of my tortured poets concert event

--

“do you have any fun plans this weekend?” 

you swivel back from your computer, abruptly stopping the speed of your chair with the heels of your shoes to catch sasha and connie draped across the closest desk desk – two fresh, steamy cups of coffee in their hands. the looks on their face betray the innocent imposition and you shoot the two of them a polite smile, before shaking your head. 

you can tell the not so innocent question has now piqued the interest of eren, who’s sitting three desks away, and very indiscreetly peeking over the monitor of his computer.  you shoot him a look of recognition, one that has his head ducking back under the monitor, before you turn back to the two of them. 

 “are you free on saturday?” connie asks. 

“i could be. depends on the plan. the company…” 

connie narrows his eyes at you, beckoning for an explanation. 

“the company?” connie asks. 

“that’s right.” 

“who said anyone else is going to be there?” sasha asks.

you click your pen in your hand twice, before twisting it between your fingers. 

“you’ve approached me hours before the end of my shift and inquired about my weekend plans. the last three times you’ve done that, you’ve inadvertently tried to set me up with your friend – jean, was it? – in a series of group hangouts, where i’ve somehow been isolated with him alone for at least an hour. two of those times, he was the one to drive me home, in which he spent a painstaking amount of time asking me about myself, far outside of normal curiosity. now that you’ve settled on what i’m assuming is your version of an easy introduction, at least enough to pique my interest, you’re now going to propose that i go out to dinner with him alone.” 

connie lets out an unwavering groan, accompanied by sasha’s boisterous laugh, as you lean back against your desk. 

“i’ll do twenty bucks that you were going to suggest italian.” you add. 

“how could you possibly know that?” connie groans. 

“that’s why i’m the detective and not you.” you offer. 

sasha gives him a consolation pat on the back, one that he immediately shoves off in disgust. 

“i’ll go one step further. our beloved junior detective here has zero interest in your friend – jean, was it? – but just entertains whatever weekend plans you seem to spring on her from a lack of good, stable friendships in her life.” 

you turn towards eren, who has now materialized at your side, a stray hand strewn across the back of your chair, and an unmistakably pleased look on his face from the chuckles he’s earned from sasha and connie from his comments. you narrow your eyes at him.

“really?” you ask. 

eren shrugs. 

“all signs point to yes. the only reason that you’ve been free three weekends in a row, to entertain such plans, is because you haven’t had any other ones. and loneliness spurs us to entertain even the most tiresome pursuits.” 

you roll your eyes at eren, unnerved by the very pleased look in his eyes, as you turn back towards connie. 

“well, the latter part of that statement i can actually agree with. i’ve had far too many tireless pursuits recently.” 

you watch as eren’s eye twitches, something you silently relish in, before turning back to connie. 

“you can tell jean that i’m free for italian at seven tomorrow. he can pick me up from my apartment.” 

you can feel eren’s grip on your chair tighten, certain that he’s trying to mitigate his immediate reflex to go slack jawed at your words, as connie and sasha rush out of the room, presumably running for their phones. the second they’re down the hall, you look up at eren – who’s shooting pinpoint needles into your forehead – his glare steely. 

“what the hell?” 

“i have a lack of good, stable friendships. far too many tireless pursuits. i could at least go for a free dinner. maybe get a kiss at the end of the night if i’m lucky.” you murmur. 

you watch as eren darts his eyes around the room quickly, before bending down and pressing a swift kiss to your lips, just long enough for you to feel the warmth simmering off of his cheeks. you’re quick to push him off, before reaching up and smearing the glitter of your lipstick off of his face. 

“i do recall you telling armin and mikasa that i was an arrogant virgin two hours ago.” he notes. 

“do you want to get fired? erwin is three doors down.” you whisper. 

“no. let’s get italian. tomorrow. i know you’re free.” he jests. 

you shake your head at him. 

“no can do. i have plans.” 

eren reaches for your wrist, his fingers warm on your pulse point, as he beckons for you to lean against him. 

“sweetheart.” 

“oh?” 

“i was teasing. you know that.” 

“so you can dish it but you can’t take it back?” 

eren narrows his eyes at you. 

“it’ll be funny if you promise me that you won’t go to dinner with whoever this jean character is.” 

“well, i’ll do that when you actually decide to take me out instead of doing…whatever this is.”

eren squeezes your wrist in his grasp, eyes uncharacteristically earnest, as he pulls you immediate closer, enough to teeter your balance. you place your hands out in front of you, firm on your shoulders as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“eren.” 

“how serious are you being? if you recall, we’re not dating because of you.” he murmurs. 

“well, i’m dead serious now. i…i just get tired of sneaking around. i got over the fact that our job is dangerous, that it ties us together in ways that aren’t good sometimes. and i like you, i don’t know how you feel about it, i just…” 

“i like you.” he interrupts, almost demanding. 

“then, do something about it. i’m tired of doing this in between thing, i understand why we do, but…i’m willing to take the risk. otherwise, i don’t know.” 

eren gives you a thoughtful nod. 

“and if i don’t?” he whispers. 

you shrug. 

“well, fuck you if i can’t have us.” 

--

“y/n. this is hitch.” 

you look up from your computer, quickly closing out the last of your tabs, to find eren peering over your monitor, a short girl standing at his side – with an almost bored expression on his face. 

“is this the girl from the sequencing lab?” you ask. 

eren shakes his head. 

“she’s from human resources.” eren states. 

you narrow your eyes at him. 

“are you filing a complaint against me as a joke?” you ask. 

eren shakes his head. 

“you just need to sign….” 

eren pauses, before quickly taking the papers from hitch, and pointing to the three highlighted lines on the paper. 

“there, there, and there. we can’t go on a date, in good faith, before declaring our relationship to hitch first.” 

“you’re serious?”

“sign them quickly. you can question my intentions at dinner because the office closes in…eight minutes.” 

you put your hands up in defense, quickly signing all three lines, before eren takes the papers – shooting hitch one last smile – before running down the hall. hitch shoots you a polite grin, before crossing her hands over her chest. 

“i leave work early on fridays. and i was on my way out, before your…boyfriend over there gave me a very impassioned speech about italian food and seizing the moment and then offered me a giftcard to the coffee shop on the corner to stay here and draw up the papers. he’s very keen on doing things right, not jumping through hoops and all that. it would be very adorable if it didn’t mean i had to push my own dinner plans.” 

you shoot her a smile, one that barely conceals your own excitement, before reaching for your own purse. you can find a similar gift card, one that eren spared you two weeks prior as a gift, and extend it out to her. 

“i’m sorry. he can be very razor focused when he sets his mind to one thing. here’s another gift card.” 

hitch shoots you a smile, as she takes the card. 

“i can tell.”

[theocddiaries]

Robotnik: Wait, you like Sonic??? [bursts out laughing]: Oh… hey, when you’re about to tell him, let me know so I can be there. I want to see your faces, hahaha! Rouge: Don’t listen to this guy. What does he know? The only butterflies he’s ever felt were just gas. Robotnik: Bat, I’ve spent enough time trying to destroy that hedgehog to know your friend is going to embarrass himself. What are you even thinking, Shadow? If Sonic even said no to Amy, who’s independent, nice, and strong, do you think he’s going to say yes to you? When you're an anxious, bitter, useless thing whose only accomplishment in life was nearly destroying the world and everyone Sonic loves in it? Come on… Come back to Earth… Shadow [lowers his ears, looking at the ground] Robotnik [wipes a tear]: Damn, that was good… [dials a number. talks while walking away]: Orbot, look, we’re postponing world domination till tomorrow, because my day’s been made today. You're not gonna believe-- Rouge: Don’t listen to him. Shadow: No, he’s right. Besides, to Sonic, his brother is his whole world, and this kid hates me. Rouge: That’s not true-- Tails: Wait, you know that? Rouge: Is today about discrediting everything I’m trying to say or what? Tails [ignores her]: Is that why you agreed to take care of me until he came back, anyways? Shadow: And put up with all your antics, you're not a walk in the park, either. But don’t worry, because once Sonic's back we'll not be forced to spend time together again. Tails: No, wait-- [sighs]: I’m going to regret this, I know it. [dials his brother’s number]: Sonic? [motions to Rouge and Shadow to stay quiet] Sonic: Hi, Tails! Everything okay? Tails: Yeah! I--I wanted to ask you for some advice. Sonic: Sure, shoot. Tails: So… there’s this girl in my class that I like, but I think she only wants to be friends. I was thinking of telling her, but I’m scared she might not reciprocate and will stop even being my friend. Sonic: Well… Listen, you never know if that's what gonna happen. I’d still do it. Those things are better said so you’re both on the same page. Tails: And what if she doesn’t want to see me again? Sonic: Look, if she needs some time, that’s okay. But if she’s your friend, it’s because she likes you, even if it’s not in that way. Look what happened with Amy and me. Tails: Yeah, that’s true. So if you were in the recieving end…? Sonic: I'd feel flattered. And I'd like to know in case I don't like them back so I can help them and be there for them without it being too much. So, just be honest with her. Tails [gives Shadow a knowing look]: Yes, sounds a lot like you. Sonic: And who is it? Do I know her? Is that Zoey girl, isn't--? Tails: Okay, bye, be careful! [hangs up]: See, whether it’s a yes or a no, he’s not going to laugh at you or push you away. Shadow: …Thank you, Tails. Rouge: It's crazy that you had the same situation with that Zoey girl and just happened to remember it now. Sometimes life works in such funny ways. Tails: …And in moments like this, I understand why you and Knuckles match so much. Rouge: Aw, thank--Hey! Shadow: Told you.

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 BEYOND THE JOB // JJK

daddy jungkook (literally)

; babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

— 1/??

“seriously though, you have to fuckin’ quit that job already.”

Sasha, who happens to be your best friend ever since you started working at the local elementary school, just lectured you again. she was already teaching there when you arrived, you spent your lunch breaks with her and even be each other’s substitute sometimes.

surprisingly, she quit a few months after that. you stayed close though. at first, she was dying to know the drama happening among the teaching staff, but as shit kept going down which included you and the principal, all you ever hear from her is that you need to quit.

it wasn’t a huge surprise to her when you first told her your boss, aka the school’s principal, asked you out. it was weird, but everyone knew he was.. a little desperate. he had asked most of the female teachers out, some who agreed could only say bad things about the experience.

you declined his offer politely, explaining that you don’t want your personal life to mix with your job. it was awkward after that, but turns out he seems to be the dumbest person on earth. he asked you out two weeks after that, again.

still to this day, he keeps asking you out over and over and you keep rejecting him over and over again. sure, he got a lil’ crush on you, sweet, right? fuck no. he’s a pervert, doesn’t know what personal space is.

“but i need the money. i don’t know where else i could get such good salary.” you told her, for the nth time.

“be a stripper,” Sasha casually said, sipping on her diet coke while your eyes widened.

“don’t say nonsense, dafuq..” you both shared a giggle, but you definitely won’t put that job idea on the bottom of your list. maybe in the middle, or top 5. if you really can’t find a good place, then gotta be top 3.

“you could be one until you save enough money, then look for a less crazy one.”

“there’s never enough money, sasha.” you sighed, fuck inflation. when you grew up and finished studying, you realized the hardest part of being an adult was money. it’s crazy how difficult it is to make a living.

“if you don’t give in your quitting notice tomorrow, i’m gonna do it for you instead.” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“i don’t want to make a decision too quick. not until i know i can find another job.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

…

“okay.”

she squealed in her chair, gaining some attention on the two of you.

“if you dare to lie to me right now, i’m gonna make you eat your own shit.”

you kicked her under the table, sending her a glare. “behave, bitch.”

┈ ⪩⪨   ┈

“oh, __! what brings you here today?” your boss, sehun immediately stood up from his chair, ready to greet you with a hug.

panicking, you reached your hand out with a paper, catching his attention. “this is..?”

“my resignation notice, sir.”

“your what?”

he took the paper from your grip, examining it carefully. his eyebrows fell together, eyes scanning every single word.

he backed up, resting on the edge of his table. he looked at the paper again, rereading the first sentence.

‘Kindly accept this letter as my formal resignation…’

“are you sure, __?” he asked, putting the paper on his table. he crossed his arms, frustration written on his face.

you fixed your hair, giving him a firm nod. “yeah, i’ve been thinking of it for a while now.”

“i’m glad i could be a part of this amazing team, but i just feel like,” you struggled to find the words, obviously you didn’t want to tell in his face.

‘aye bruh, stop bein’ a pervert and you might stop losing your workers’

“look, teaching isn’t my thing. and i feel horrible to find that out so late.”

“well, if your passion for teaching ever comes back, you’re more than welcomed here.”

“thank you,” you smiled, because even though he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met, your co-workers have always been kind to you.

the children also love you, and you’re extremely thankful for all the support and love you got from everyone.

during the usual lunch break, you co-workers heard the news too. they all wished you the best with a hug, some getting emotional too.

officially, this was your last week working at the school.

when you got home, sasha sent you a link to an advertisement.

‘looking for a nanny’

you laughed, dialing her contact. didn’t take her long to answer, obviously. she’s always on her damn phone, even when working.

“you can’t be serious. a nanny?” you laughed, finding the idea of you with a kid ridiculous.

“have you seen the description? girl, they pay damn well!” she said, followed by her exhaling.

“didn’t you say you’re gonna stop smoking?”

“i stopped. for three hours.”

you shook your head, putting her on speaker as you clicked the advertisement.

“fifty thousand won?” you blurted out loud, “a day?!” sasha hummed on the other side of the call.

“told ya’..”

“that’s.. nice. woah, yeah, nice.” you mumbled as you continued to read the requirements and some important details about the job.

“give it a try.” sasha said, but your eyes caught a sentence.

“they want someone with experience, as expected.” you let out a long sigh and fell back on your bed.

“you got the experience.”

“me? sasha, i never looked after a kid-“

“you work with kids. first and second graders. and they all fuckin’ love you.”

“that’s different.” you groaned.

“it’s not. a kid is a kid. 3 year olds are just as damn annoying as 7 year olds. prove me wrong..”

you laughed, she was right. they can be a huge pain in the ass, but they have the purest soul.

“true.”

“give it a try, __.” she said again, calling you by your name. oh she’s serious serious.

“yeah, i might call tomorrow then.”

“might? no, you will.” she corrected you and you rolled your eyes.

“sure.”

you called them the next day after considering it for half a day, being the typical embarrassment, you called at the wrong time.

the man was in a hurry, so you both just quickly agree on a time to meet in person. that happened to be the day after.

you looked at the address one more time after you got off the bus, realizing it was more of a wealthy neighborhood. you only had to walk about 5 minutes until you got there, hesitantly but you pressed the bell.

a tall, young man opened the door. his skin is smooth and fair, almost perfect. his hair dark, slightly wavy which was styled in a mullet cut, longer at the back.

his choice in clothes seemed to be rich, a white ribbed polo shirt with short sleeves, causing your eyes to drop to his sleeve tattoo in a second. he paired it with black tailored trousers.

“hey, you must be __?” he asked with uncertainty and you came back to life, smiling to him.

“yeah, i am.”

“great, come in.”

he stepped aside and you walked in, taking off your shoes and jacket.

the house was oddly barely decorated, not a single picture or painting on the walls, very few plants, which you’re sure are fake plants also. the house wasn’t really colorful, most of the furnitures are bright. like beige and cream white.

“would you like a drink? water, tea, soda? maybe coffee?” he suggested as he walked in front of you, leading you to the living room.

“no, thank you.” you politely refused, feeling a little.. off in such a nice home. not something you’re used to.

you sat down on the couch, carefully not to mess the neatly placed pillows behind. god you looked so uncomfortable and awkward.

“i’d like to introduce myself again, in person this time.” he spoke as he sat down on the armchair, next to the couch.

“i’m jeon jungkook, 27. i’m a dentist in the center of seoul. i’m the father of a sweet angel, nabi. she turns 5 in a few weeks, we could say she’s in her, erm,” he struggled to find an appropriate word.

“crazy phase?” you asked with a smile.

“yeah, something like that. she’s been loud lately, that’s all.” he chuckled, resting his arms on his knees.

you nodded and held your small bag tightly, “i’d like to introduce myself better too, then.”

“i’m __, 24 and i currently work at an elementary school. i handed in my resignation letter and this is my last week as a teacher, so i’m searching for a new job currently.”

you paused, hesitant what else to say.

“elementary school? so, you work with kids?”

“yes, first and second grade.”

after a few minutes of getting to know each other more, a little girl, most likely his daughter, walked down the stairs with her sleepy appearance.

“oh!” she stopped the moment she saw you, the tiredness leaving her eyes.

“nabi, c’mere.” jungkook held out his hand, “this is __. what do you say?” he asked her, holding her tiny hands.

“hello.” she greeted you and you smiled, her shyness is adorable.

“hi.”

“__ is here because she would like to look after you.” he said and she looked up to him so fast, you thought her neck would snap.

“daddy, are you leeving me?” she gasped and jungkook chuckled at her words, shaking his head.

“no, but when i’m at work, someone needs to be here and take care of you. how about __, does she seem nice? hm?”

the little girl shrugged, hugging her father’s arm. he sent her back to the bedroom, saying he would be there soon too.

“well, she’s a little shy at first but, i think she’s gonna open up fast.” he smiled and stood up, your eyes widening a bit and you stood up too.

“does that mean, i got the job?”

“see you next monday?” he asked and you almost started jumping, but you held back. instead, you gave him a huge smile and nodded.

“monday then.”

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Dating but not really (Tim Drake x Reader)

Prompt: Tim and you are totally dating. His brothers are just being skeptics... right? (2.3k words~)

 The cool swish of the doors opening alerts Tim of a presence, Jason’s heavy footfalls giving him away before his voice.

“Hey Tim you joining me on patrol tonight?” 

Jason’s voice echos across the Batcave, as he crosses the expanse of corridor to reach Tim sitting at the Batcomputer preoccupied with a surveillance task.

“Can’t tonight, I’ve got a date. Dick’s gonna join you instead” he replies without looking away from the screen.

Jason raises an eyebrow at that. He crosses his arms as he comes to stand beside Tim, assessing him with a skeptical look.

“A date? Well who’s the lucky girl?”

“It’s a date with (Name)” he responds, still distracted by his task.

Jason nods, seemingly impressed “Nicely done, bout time you finally asked her out. Your moony glances at her across the room was getting somewhat nauseating”

Tim nods at that, only half paying attention at his brother’s words. 

A beat passes before he whips his head towards Jason, “Wait what? This isn’t a first date”.

“No? Still didn’t muster the courage to ask her out? Well don’t worry little guy, I’m sure eventually one of your ‘hangouts’ is gonna turn into a date”

Jason knew (Name) was one of Tim’s closest friends, he also knew that Tim had a crush on her since forever, but the boy seemed to get far too nervous and tongue tied to actually act on his feelings.

Tim sputters at Jason’s words, “What-no that’s not what I meant. We’ve been dating for two months now”

Jason balks at his words “What? Really? No way”, his brow furrows at the thought.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim asks, seeming to take offence at Jason’s reaction to his revelation.

“Well, I guess I couldn’t tell things had changed between the two of you. I mean she comes around a lot, I didn’t really notice anything different in your interactions” he shrugs.

Before Tim can answer, a beep draws their attention. They turn to face the entrance of the Batcave as it opens, Dick walks in.

“Hey Dick, did you know that Tim and (Name) were dating”, Jason’s voice echos across the cave as the third brother approaches the duo.

A bright almost congratulatory smile appears on Dick’s face, “Really now? Nicely done Tim”

His words accompanied by a fatherly pat on Tim’s back, seeming quiet chuffed by the news.

“Yeah, They’ve been dating for the past 2 months” Jason adds, his tone still conveying a sense of disbelief which causes Tim to give him a look.

“Oh” 

Though Dick was surprised, he was much better at masking his expression than Jason, the only tell being the slight widening of his eyes which he quickly schooled into one of his bright smiles.

“That’s nice” he quickly added before there was too much of a pause. Tim only huffs in response,

“Why is that seemingly so hard to believe?”

Dick was trying to think of a delicate and diplomatic way to frame his answer, but Jason’s bluntness beat him to it,

“I don’t know, guess I’ve never see you both be all gooey and in love”, now that Jason thinks for a beat, he thinks it’s probably for the best, he shudders at the thought of being subjected to two lovebirds in his own home. A shiver passes over his body. 

“Are you trying to say I’m not a romantic boyfriend?” 

“Well that’s not-“

“Where’re you taking her for your date today?” Jason butts in before Dick can placate Tim’s simmering nerves.

“We’re going to the library.” Jason raises an eyebrow at that, which causes Tim to add with  a rather exasperated huff “It’s a study date”

“And pray tell how is that any different from what you’d do before you started dating?”

“Come on Jason, I’m sure Tim and (Name) enjoy old haunts but also have new spots they like to explore from time to time” Dick came in on Tim’s defence with an assured smile, which slowly dropped into a surprised ‘o’ when he took in Tim’s sheepish expression.

“Well, I mean we’ve not really changed much of our routine since dating” Tim muttered, feeling less confident with each word. Were they supposed to? The two of them had a comfortable routine, and (Name) seemed happy with the arrangement. But was he supposed to be the one suggesting new ideas? Was she waiting for him to say something?

“Tim” Jason tuts, with a tone of disappointment mixed with affection that an elder brother would admonish their younger with, “Maybe you should put some more effort into this, I mean you if you really like her you have to show her that. If you just continue as you did as friends how’s she ever gonna know?”

Dick nodded, though he offered a more sympathetic smile. 

Tim wasn’t all too surprised by Dick’s stance on the matter, he was known to be a hopeless romantic among the brothers, sometimes going overboard with his grand displays of affection and high production movie-esque date ideas. Now Jason on the other hand wasn’t all that overt about his affections, though he tried to come off as tough and unassuming Tim had happened to stumble across his somewhat poorly hidden stash of Jane Austen novels in his room once before. 

But if even Jason feels like there’s more Tim can do for his budding relationship, maybe he really is missing the mark. Not for any lack of care on his part, but perhaps a result of an ignore is bliss, what with this being Tim’s first serious relationship.  

He looks back at them somewhat apprehensive, “So what do you think I should do?”

The two brothers glanced at each other, twin smirks adorning their face before they turn back to him

“Don’t worry little brother we’ve got you”.

———————————————————-

You found yourself a nice shade speckled spot on a park bench, enjoying the feel of cool breeze on your skin. You decided to enjoy the pleasant weather while you waited for Tim, who texted you he’d be running late. 

Your back was against the wood, knees pulled up, as you looked up at the sky, warm sunlight  peeking through the thick leafy overgrowth of tall trees.You were almost dozing off to the delicate sound of bird song till you felt a large shadow block out the light. Squinting an eye open to examine the sudden presence, you end up having to blink a couple times to register what you were looking at.

Tim standing in front of you. Expected.

But Tim holding a giant bouquet of flowers which almost overpowered his frame? Unexpected.

“Tim?” The question in your tone was not directed at Tim himself but rather at his appearance.

He was wearing a blazer with a pressed white shirt, which was odd given he’d usually show up in shorts and a T-shirt for your library dates. You’re quite certain he’s wearing a different cologne too. And is his hair slicked back with hair gel? Your examination of his get-up only adding to his nerves. 

Tim felt stiff and hot in the blazer, ‘Smart Casual’, those were the words Dick used to describe his look.

’A sharp look says you’re putting in the effort and care about how you show up for your date’ Dick nodded sagely as he fixed Tim’s sleeve cuffs. 

Jason observed the interaction with a light frown, he stepped up when Dick moved aside and loosened Tim’s collar, tilting one of the edges so they were no longer symmetrical.

Noticing Tim’s confused glance he added “Well you don’t want to look like a Toy Solider either, you need some personality, few tweaks and you’ll be artfully scruffy’.

So here he stood, a questionable blend between smart casual and artfully scruffy, not feeling all too much like himself. 

“Hey. Uh- these are for you” He says as he shoves the bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers towards you.

A short laugh of disbelief escapes you, the gesture is sweet but fairly out of the blue.

“Thank you. They’re wonderful… is there any particular reason for this?” you ask as you accept the flowers.

Tim feels his face flush, reason? No there wasn’t any particular reason, unless of course you count his brothers giving him a rom-com interlude date makeover as one.

“Well I just- just thought they’d make you smile” the words tumble out of him, hesitant and shy.

He always wants to make you smile, he hopes you know that. But perhaps his brothers have been right, maybe he’s been too subtle about his feelings. Maybe you don’t know how your smiles cause blood to rush into his cheeks, how his heart flips when he’s the reason behind them.

“Also I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner later today?”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Your place or mine?”

“How about a restaurant this time?”

He’d take her somewhere nice, somewhere that takes reservations. That’s some indicator of fancy right? 

And he’d pay, cause ‘that would be the chivalrous thing to do’, Dick’s voice echos in his ears.

Unless of course she wants to split the bill, in which case he ought to ‘respect her wishes and give her space’. Right, Jason’s words also ring true. Even if they happen to be pulling him towards two different directions.

Tim’s inner turmoil paints an expression of conflict on his face. You’re finding his behaviour quite odd, almost as if he’s acting out a role. Your eyes narrow as you consider him, causing the poor boy to stiffen further.

“Tim, do you think I’m angry at you?”

He blinks “What? No- no of course not” he replies with a strained laugh, his eyes widen slightly as he reconsiders your words 

“Unless you are?” Was that supposed to be a trick question? God he’s not good at this, maybe he shouldn’t have skipped that Tarot card reading by the self declared witch on Tiktok  last night, is this karma?

A short laugh escapes you, not unkindly and not direct at Tim, but rather at the situation at hand. 

“Well the flowers, the blazer and dinner date all together come off as an apology attempt. It’s not all very… you” (Name) shrugs.

Tim’s shoulders drop, “Yeah I guess not” A dry chuckle escapes him as he runs a hand through his slicked back hair. Part of him is relieved you’ve seen through him, but worry still gnaws at him.ffff

You pat the space on the bench beside you, he offers a weak smile before sitting beside you.

A sigh escapes him, his gaze remains firm on the gravel below, “(Name), you know I care about you right?”

You blink, the question seemingly out of the blue, though the doubt swimming in his eyes conveys that this is something he’s been mulling over.

“Of course I do Tim” 

“No- like I really care about you. More than friends” he pauses, frustrated at his inability to convey what he’s really thinking “This- what we have, it’s not just some summer fling to me. I really cherish it and I’m-”

He flinches as he feels your hand over his, he hesitantly meets your eyes, feeling his pulse steady at your gentle gaze.

“Tim I get it. I feel the same way…. what’s this really about?” 

He had to bite back a laugh, of course you’d catch on to his distress even when he struggles to find the words to voice it. 

“I don’t know if I’m doing enough. If this all just feels too casual- cause it’s not to me. It’s just when I do try to express it through a grand gesture it feels too artificial and forced… you saw right through me’

“Oh Tim, that’s what this is about?” A sigh of relief escapes you at his confession, you shake your head at him with an exasperated smile “For the record, I like what we have… it never felt like a fling, why would you think that?”

“Well- the lines between friendship and romance feel so blurry, I don’t know if I’m doing it right… I mean when was the last time I got you a bouquet of flowers” he asks, agitation evident in his tone. 

“Actually this is the first time you did”, Tim winces at your words but you squeeze his hand before he can spiral into a worse case scenario

“You don’t get me bouquets of flowers. You get me pretty daisies you find on your walk which remind you of me”

You fingers flick at his uneven shirt collar “And you don’t wear white shirts with blazers, you wear band tees and mismatched socks”

This draws an embarrassed laugh out of him “Right, not exactly a trend setter am I?”

His eyes flit to your warm smile, it comforts his nerves, it always does.

“Maybe not, but it’s you. And I like that. I mean, I like what we have… don’t you?”

God yes. Of course he does, it all seems to come so naturally to him. It’s so easy. And that’s what worries him, that maybe he’s taking it all for granted. Maybe he’s not able to show you how much you really mean to him. 

He gives a stiff nod “Of course I do. I just… I don’t know if it’s enough. If this is what it’s supposed to be or if I’m missing somethin-“

“Tim” you interrupt what would turn into a worry filled ramble by placing a hand over his, “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks it should look like, we get to define that for ourselves. Trust me, you’re more that enough. And you make me very happy”.

You peck his cheek so as to reemphasise your point, causing a light flush to adorn his cheeks.

“Alright. I’m glad…” That’s all he can muster right now. 

His mind’s a jumbled mess, thoughts flit around like agitated butterflies, but they’re soft, warm thoughts so he doesn’t entirely mind. One day he’s going to figure out how to tell you just how much he feels for you.

All in good time, he might ask his brothers again, only if he's really desparate. But for now you seem happy to figure things out as you go, and he’s all too happy to oblige.

[rafeysbambi]

bambi

part ix

summary:

kind, sweet and the definition of innocent, obsessed with pink, bows and all animals but especially deers. y/n has barely held a boys hand let alone been kissed until rafe cameron lays eyes on her

a/n:

hi new part!!! sorry for the delay i’ve been away with no signal but finally back home! someone mentioned on the last part about a tag list, please let me know if you’d like to be added to that ! hugs n kisses x

rafecameron: i’m here princess

you practically ran downstairs, seeing the message, rafe knocking on the door seconds later. you opened it to see rafe standing there smiling at you, another bouquet of flowers in his hands. “hey there pretty lady.”

“hi” you smiled up at him, “here come inside while i pop these in my room” you pulled him inside by his hand.

your father came out of his study hearing the noise, “ah hello rafe” he shook his hand giving rafe a small smile. “y/n or my receptionist i should say tells me you’re going to a bonfire tonight?”

“yes sir that’s correct.” rafe responded with a small nod his eyes glancing back up to the stairs you ran up.

“and tonight will there be drinking?”

“i won’t be drinking tonight sir no.”

“correct answer, good sport. you just make sure my y/n is well looked after son.” rafe nodded in response as you ran down the stairs.

“okay bye daddy i’ll see you later” you placed a kiss on his cheek before grabbing rafe by the arm and pulling him outside.

“you’re very eager tonight doll” rafe chucked as you lead him to the car. he opened the door for you before jogging around to his side.

“i’m just trying to save you from my fathers interrogations.”

“oh right so i should be thanking you now huh?”he smirked as he looked over at you and you just nodded your head and giggled in response. “alright doll you know what to do” you smiled at him as he handed you his phone. you couldn’t help but blush as you opened his spotify seeing that he’d added your playlists to his library and followed your profile.

god he’s so cute.

you scrolled through a playlist, clicking on juna by clairo. you watched from the corner of your eye as he listened to song, silently studying the lyrics. “do you like it?” you asked.

“yeah it’s cute baby, all your musics so cute.” he smiled reach over to hold your hand as he drove. you played with his fingers while you hummed to the music, looking at the window as you drew closer to the beach, the array of cars lazily parked indicating you had arrived. rafe looked over to you as he parked the car, “alright if anyone offers you anything, don’t take it, if you want a drink you let me know and i’ll get it for you.”

“okayy”.

“and if it feels like it’s too much, you just tell me and we can go somewhere else.” you just nod in response and he looks at you, his gaze full of concern, “i’m dead serious.”

“okay rafe, i promise you if i feel uncomfortable i’ll let you know.” you squeezed his hand before placing a soft kiss on his cheek, “i know that i’m safe with you.” rafe’s eyes softened, satisfied with your response, he got out the car to open the door for you.

“are you cold? do you want my jumper?” he looked over to you before grabbing his jumper out the back of the car not even waiting for you to answer.

“it’s still warm out rafe” you giggled looking up at him with your big doe eyes.

“i’m giving it 20 minutes before you start telling me you’re cold” he teases before grabbing your hand tightly and leading you towards the bonfire.

rafe was right, it was chaotic to say the least, there were people dancing mindlessly, people playing games with red cups, people running around and screaming. it wasn’t crazy like a murder scene unsafe crazy just completely different to all the garden parties and high tea’s you were used to.

“you good?” rafe looked down at you. you nodded in response, squeezing his hand looking around. “alright let’s go meet some people” rafe moved his hand to the small of your back as he lead you over to a group of people who all turned to greet rafe. “this is y/n” rafe introduced you to everyone, topper gave you a big smile.

“hey y/n, glad you guys made it.” he couldn’t help but to smile at the two of you, not used to seeing rafe like this. “y’all want a drink?” topper asked the two of you. rafe shook his head, causing toppers eyebrows to raise. “you not drinking tonight bro?” topper queried, causing a couple of the other guys to start questioning if rafe was okay.

“nah not tonight bro” rafe’s eyes flickered down to you for a second and topper immediately knew that this man was down bad causing him to nod and smirk.

you on the other hand were stood looking up at rafe wondering how much he would normally drink based off of the reactions he was getting. you knew it was common for people your age to drink and you were probably one of the few that hadn’t. you just didn’t know what to think, your mind kept racing back to what your brother told you, or even worse to the way ruthie and her friends laughed at the thought of you talking to rafe.

sensing your eyes on him, rafe looked down, moving his hand from the small of your back to rest on your hip, tracing small patterns with his thumb. he leaned his head down to your ear, “you all good?”

“yeah, all good” you gave him a small smile. he wasn’t buying it, grabbing your hand leading you away from the crowd. “rafe-“

“now tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head?” he asked tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“nothing i just-“

“it doesn’t look like nothing.”

“i just i don’t know what to think rafe, it’s like you’re this person with me and then with everyone else it’s someone completely different.”

“what?”

“all those guys just seemed so surprised you weren’t drinking like it was the most unrealistic thing in the world, but i guess i never really took you as someone who would party and drink a lot.” you started to ramble, each word making you feel more and more that you were just in fact putting your foot in your mouth.

“right so this is because a bunch of drunk guys wanted me to drink?” rafe pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“no that’s not what i mean” you stutter out quickly realising that you’d messed up.

“right okay well i’m going to go get a drink of soda” and with that rafe turned his back and started to walk off.

“rafe wait” but it was too late, you pulled at your hair in annoyance. you took a couple of deep breaths to compose yourself before turning around to try to look for where rafe was. somehow the 6’2 boy was out of sight. you sighed before making your way over to a bench perched around the fire. you sat down replaying the conversation in your mind over and over. you didn’t even notice when someone sat down next to you.

“you look way too sad to be at a bonfire right now” you practically jumped at the voice, turning your head to see the boy with messy blonde hair who started laughing. “woahh didn’t mean to scare you. god do i look that scary or something, you looked like a deer stuck in headlights there.” the boy was full of energy basically bouncing as he threw his head back laughing at himself

“sorry, i just wasn’t expecting it” you said softly.

“nah don’t apologise, s’all good uh what’s your name pretty?”

“y/n”

“right y/n it’s a pleasure to meet you” he stuck out his hand for you to shake, “i’m j-“

“don’t you dare touch her maybank” you looked up to see rafe storming over, he made it to you in seconds, pulling the boy up by his shirt.

“my bad cameron, maybe if you didn’t leave your girl all alone, i wouldn’t have to keep her company” and with that rafe punched him square in the face knocking him straight to the ground, people rushed over, topper and a boy sporting a bandana stepped between rafe and maybank.

rafe wasn’t interested in it though, he looked over to you grabbing your hand, “we’re leaving.” his grip was tight but not enough to be painful. the walk back to the car felt slow despite how fast rafe was walking. he opened the door for you, letting you get in before he got in himself and started the engine all without saying a word. he looked over to you, “seatbelt now.”

“rafe.” you pleaded with him, your bottom lip stuck out as you pouted.

“what?”

“are you mad at me?” you asked looking up at him.

“no, i’m mad that he nearly put his hands on you.”

“he was just going to shake my hand-“

“you didn’t see the way he was looking at you, god i should’ve punch his face in.”

you grabbed his hand, taking a deep breath, “rafe it doesn’t matter how he was looking at me because all i care about is how you look at me.” he looked in your eyes, and you felt his touch soften. “i’m sorry for what i said earlier it wasn’t fair of me to make assumptions based off of what other people say.”

“i did used to drink a lot more, you were right i suppose, it was just something we all did. but i haven’t since i met you.” he cupped your chin with his hand, you melted into his touch, “i’m sorry for losing my temper. i just hate the thought of you with anyone else, i can’t stand to think about it.”

“then don’t.” you said before connecting your lips with his, meeting for a sweet kiss.

it was perfect, better than any movie kiss, the butterflies, fireworks it was all there and though it only lasted a few seconds before you pulled away, cheeks reddened, your lips tingled with excitement for minutes after.

“not a bad night” rafe said with a smirk on his face, causing you to teasingly roll your eyes, before you placed another kiss on his cheek.

[percivaljacksons]

those little town blues (pt 1)

the modern percabeth ghost whisperer au. girl, at this point you have to trust me. first 5k or so as i edit the big mama doc for ao3. sorry not sorry to tease! i'd give this section a t rating

“For someone who just moved here, you really know your way around,” Piper says. “I absolutely thought you were taking us to the wrong platform.” 

Two descending notes play through the speaker above their heads. The Q train’s doors slide closed. The breaks release in a puffy exhale and the car lurches as they begin to move out of the Canal St station. 

Annabeth shrugs. “I like research,” she says. “Figured if I was going to do the whole ‘move to New York as a broke twenty-something,’ I might as well be prepared for it.”

“What a load of baloney,” Percy says from somewhere behind her. “You were walking right for the Downtown platform, too. You could say ‘thank you,’ by the way.”

Piper doesn’t react—of course she doesn’t. She just tells Annabeth with a sheepish smile, “more than I did. God, this is so embarrassing, but I really did Uber everywhere for my first few weeks.”

“Asshole,” Percy cuts in again. “I can’t stand people who do that.”

Annabeth kicks one foot back as subtly as possible. She doesn’t feel it connect with his shin, but he does quiet down.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Annabeth reassures her. “Silena said you moved here—what, two months before me?”

“Something like that.”

“Plus, I did a lot of exploring in the past few weeks and got turned around a lot of times. You’re seeing a well made facade.”

“Is that how you found that Wo Hop?” Piper asks. “God, I can’t get over that tofu. And it was in some random basement!”

While Piper waxes poetic about their lunch, Annabeth’s eyes slide to the left. It’s not an overly crowded subway car. There’s a couple pouring over the map on the wall, a short man reading a book in the seat parallel to the window, and around a dozen solo commuters buried in phones or listening to music. 

But to Annabeth’s left, leaning against the door, is a man with short cropped hair and an angular jaw. His button up shirt is untucked, wrinkled, and saturated with blood. She has to breathe through her mouth because she can smell it wafting off of him. From the corner of her eye, she can spot the elderly woman trying to read over the shoulder of the man by the window, ranting a rant he can’t hear. And, of course, right behind her is Percy, dripping wet. 

“I really hope you’re not about to take credit for finding Wo Hop on your own,” he says. 

“...in an article, right?” Piper asks, forcing Annabeth to tune back in again.

“Yeah, about the James Beard Foundation Awards,” Annabeth says. “It’s officially an American Classic.”

“Fucking typical,” Percy says. “I’m not telling you where that halal cart is now.”

“So cool,” Piper enthuses. “I didn’t even realize how much food there was out there that I’ve never even tried, you know? This city is crazy.”

“Best city in the world,” Percy and Annabeth say in perfect unison. 

Of course, only Annabeth and Percy know that. 

//

It started on her third day in New York, because Annabeth has, in general, always had completely shit luck. With a week until her new job began and her boxes (almost) unpacked, she woke up to a sliver of perfect blue sky visible between the brick walls outside her window and decided to spend the day exploring. 

While she waited for the shower to heat up, she drank a glass of water—straight from the tap—and looked around her joke of a studio apartment. Despite the near negative space she now called her own for the next twelve months, her singular closet was pitifully half empty. 

Annabeth frowned into her water. Half full? She’d never had many clothes, was the point. The t-shirts and jeans she’d favored in high school had stopped fitting once she started doing track and field more seriously, and her college dorm room hadn’t offered an abundance of space, either. 

She wandered back to the bathroom and stuck a hand under the tap. Only lukewarm. The previous two days' experience told her she had another minute before it would get hot, so she took out her phone and googled thrift stores nyc. 

The results were almost too many to believe. She shook her head. 

“Best city in the world,” she said to herself, and finally stripped down to step into the shower. 

In the end, she chose a thrift store in lower Manhattan, a little to the east so it was on the yellow line and she wouldn’t have to transfer trains. It was close to Washington Square Park, too, so she could check that off her architecture bucket list. Just like that, she had a plan for the day—and Annabeth loved having a plan.

She flew down the four flights of stairs, keeping her eyes on her feet so she wouldn’t get drawn into whatever was going on with the man who always lingered on the second floor landing. He left something in his jacket pocket, but Annabeth had never stuck around long enough to hear what it was or who he needed to tell. She’d get around to it eventually. Probably.

After riding the N train two stops in the wrong direction, she managed to get on a Manhattan and Brooklyn bound W. It was all part of the learning curve. The car was near empty, so close to the origin in Astoria, so she found a seat by the window and watched as the lower buildings of northwest Queens morphed into the skyscrapers of Long Island City before the train finally went underground. She pulled a book out of her tote bag before long and focused her gaze on the paper, even though the letters were swirling around the page so aggressively that she couldn’t read a word. 

Her dyslexia always got worse when she was stressed. She turned a page in her book, a perfect pantomime of reading, so that the three ghosts standing within fifteen feet of her don’t realize that she can both see and hear them. 

Spirits, earthbound souls, whatever. They were all ghosts, really, haunting people or places or things. She thought maybe they were haunting this specific subway car, except a man in a navy suit got off at 59th street and one of them—the woman in bright red lipstick and a mink coat—followed him off. 

Annabeth kept looking at her book, flipping forward a page every minute or so. She had long ago perfected the half-glazed over expression that tricked most ghosts into thinking she was just like everyone else—unable to see them. It was a small part of the reason she’d decided to move to New York: everyone here had that expression on. Everyone here avoided eye contact on the sidewalk and went about their business, so maybe—just maybe—Annabeth wouldn’t acquire her usual ‘rude and standoffish’ reputation. 

One of the ghosts sat down next to her. He was mumbling in a language she didn't recognize. Hungarian, maybe—a relief. She wouldn’t have to try so hard to not react if he said something appalling. 

Annabeth turned to the next page in her book. She didn’t even remember what it was about. The stops got more frequent in Manhattan, crawling at times only five blocks between stations after Times Square, before the W finally pulled into 8th Street-NYU. 

Annabeth put her book back into her tote and stood, edging around the ghost’s legs with a mumbled, “excuse me.”

She realized her mistake two steps later, when the voice got panicked and excited, rapid-fire consonant heavy speech trying to get her attention again. Annabeth kept her head down and walked towards the closest exit like she knew it would take her where she wanted. It worked, either because he thought it was a fluke or he was tied enough to that train car to stay put, and when she walked up into the autumn sunlight she was once again alone. 

Not unhaunted. She was never really unhaunted, but she could be—however briefly—alone. 

Maps told her that the Buffalo Exchange was close, only a few blocks south. She made her way there, realized she was on the wrong side of the street, and blatantly jaywalked to get to her destination. One thing she certainly would not miss about California was driving and cars and mechanics. She hoped Clarisse would love the hunk of bolts Annabeth couldn’t have more joyously parted with.

The thrift store wasn’t too crowded inside, because it was around 11 on a Tuesday, so Annabeth took her time. She started in the back, sifting through women’s cut jeans and giving up quickly, moving to the men’s section in the front where the inseams were longer. She found a few potential successes, all dark wash enough that she could probably dress them up for work, and made her way towards one of the circular clothing racks in the middle of the shop. 

Annabeth hadn’t lived on the east coast since she was twelve, but she remembered the cold bite of the winters. She didn’t have nearly enough sweaters to get her through January and February, only a few short months away. A few hoodies with stains and holes got flipped past, but eventually she came across a maroon crewneck with a faded lettering that said MONTAUK. She threw it on over her shirt and managed to catch her reflection in a nearby mirror—exactly the kind of baggy she’s always preferred. Perfect. 

“That’s mine,” someone said.

Annabeth looked over and gasped. Standing next to her, soaked from head to foot, was a guy about her age. He was a bit taller, with dark hair plastered to his head and green eyes so bright they forced the air out of Annabeth’s lungs. Every inch of him was dripping water in the middle of the perfectly dry Buffalo Exchange.

“You can see me,” he realized, eyes getting wider. “You can actually—holy fuck.” 

She bought the sweater, in the end, because she stopped letting ghosts decide what she was and wasn’t going to do a long time ago. Percy—I’m Percy, by the way, can you still see me?— didn’t seem to mind, even as she ignored him and checked out with her new pants and sweater. 

“I know you can hear me,” Percy said, following her out the door. “You’re not a very good actor, you know.”

Annabeth pulled out her headphones and slipped them on. She fiddled with her phone, miming a call, and finally turned to face the very wet ghost beside her. 

“Percy, you said?” She asked. 

He grinned. “Yes! Yeah, I’m Percy. I can’t believe you can hear me. It’s, like, so great to talk to someone.”

“I’m Annabeth.” She didn’t reach out to shake his hand, because they wouldn’t be able to anyway. “I’m going to the park. Want to come?”

They walked the two blocks to the north side of the park, until Annabeth stood directly under Stanford White’s famous arch. She knew it already, of course—the Tuckahoe marble used to construct it, the fact that it commemorated the centennial of George Washington’s presidential address in 1789—but Annabeth’s favorite thing about architecture isn’t facts or materials. It’s the way she feels looking at it; it’s something about the innate nature of human beings and the way they just can’t help their desire to create.

She could see Percy out of the corner of her eye, watching her. As she stood there, her gaze still fixed upward, someone in a purple t-shirt walked right through him.

“Okay,” she finally said. “What’s your deal? Normally I’ve gotten a whole life story by now.”

“Normally,” he repeated. “This happen to you a lot?”

“Look, do you see a white light?” Annabeth asked, already losing her patience. 

“A what?”

“God, I can really pick ‘em,” Annabeth muttered to herself. “A white light. Bright, blinding even. Maybe a loved one standing there waiting for you? Walk into it.”

“I—what?” 

“Unless there’s something you’ve left unfinished?” Annabeth prompted. It usually went smoother if the ghost came to terms on their own, but this whole conversation was messing with Annabeth’s plan for the day. She wanted it over and done with.

“What are you talking about?” Percy asked, his accent hitting harder than it had before. His ah vowel was like an A and U and W smushed together. “Why are you the only one who can see me?”

Annabeth closed her eyes. “Fuck,” she said. “Seriously? This is just my luck.” She turned back to Percy, kind of vaguely relishing how no one around them seemed to care that she was talking to thin air. “You’re dead.”

Percy blinked at her. A drop of water made its way down the arch of his nose. “What?”

“I can see ghosts. Spirits. People who haven’t yet moved on.” She let that sink in for a moment, then added, “like you.”

“Moved on to what?” He asked, his voice getting louder with pure panic. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said. “I’m not dead. I just have the pleasure of seeing all of you on your journey in between.”

“Fuck. What the fuck?” Percy started to pace, his hands on his head. “I can’t be dead! That’s such bullshit. I’ve never even left the tri-state area! And I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, lady—”

“Annabeth.”

“—Annabeth, because there ain’t no fuckin’ light, alright? There’s just this stupid park and a bunch of asshole NYU students walking right through me, and apparently, the only person who can see me is a goddamn Yankees fan, which is fucking rich. And!” He turned back to her, an almost triumphant expression on his face. “And I bet you you’re not from here, am I right? No shot.”

“I’m from…” Annabeth trailed off. She could’ve said Virginia, or the Bay Area, or something else. In the end, she just confirmed his suspicion. “I’m not from here, you’re right. This is my third day in New York.”

That made him laugh uproariously, too dramatic to be earnest, his hands flung out to the sides. “Of course! A fucking transplant in a Yankees hat. I can hardly believe my luck.”

With him standing facing her once more, Annabeth finally saw the logo made dark by his wet t-shirt. A baseball with dark blue skyline and orange piping, Mets written out across the front. 

“Are you done?” Annabeth asked. “I want to go see the narrowest house in the city next.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” he seethed.

“Which way is Bedford Street?”

He pointed behind him. “Like, six blocks that way.”

And so Annabeth’s first friend in the big city was a chronically damp, kind of asshole ghost named Percy.

//

“Silena said Piper liked you,” Clarisse says. They’re playing Battleship online as they FaceTime, both unwilling to admit that they want to talk for the sake of talking, and certainly unwilling to admit they might miss each other. 

It’s one thing to move across the country to an apartment you’ve never actually seen for the sake of a life you think you might like, and another to do it knowing you’ll leave behind the two best friends you’ve made in your entire twenty-two years on Earth. 

That are still alive, at least.

“She was cool,” Annabeth says. “So different from Silena, though. We got greasy Chinese food.”

Clarisse snorts. “Uh, yeah. Duh. Get sunk, by the way.” Her missile lands in open water. “Seriously? What the hell.”

“Be better,” Annabeth replies, confidently clicking on G3. Sure enough, a tiny explosion graphic goes off on G3. 

“What the—is there someone behind me giving you clues? I know that’s how you kept winning poker night in junior year—”

“I can’t see ghosts through FaceTime, that would be ridiculous,” Annabeth scoffs. 

“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Clarisse scowls. “Sure.” One of her shots finally connects, but Annabeth’s still smiling, two ships in the lead. 

“Did I tell you I’ve got a new one?” Annabeth asks, pulling her fidget cube out from its drawer and flicking one side of it. 

“A Casper? No.”

“His name’s Percy. He’s wet.”

“Is that some kind of horrible New York slang?”

“What?” Annabeth laughs. “No, he’s actually wet. Like, dripping water.”

“That’s new.”

“Plus, he had no idea he was dead. Bizarre.”

Clarisse frowns. Clarisse always looks like she’s frowning, so it’s really hard to tell when she actually is, but at this point Annabeth’s had years of practice. “That’s happened before,” she says.

Annabeth gets a flash of sun-bleached blond hair and that awful scar in her mind’s eye before she manages to shove it back into the box in the corner of her mind. “S’not common, though,” she says. “Usually means the death was traumatic.” 

“Not to play Silena,” Clarisse says slowly, finally managing to figure out which way Annabeth’s submarine is pointing, “but should you be doing this?”

“Talking to you?” Annabeth snarks. Her next shot misses. 

“Getting wrapped up in helping a ghost your first few weeks in New York. Isn’t that why you left California? Oh, get fucked, I knew that was your battleship.” 

Annabeth shuts that right down. “I left because I got a job. I knew New York would have a lot of earthbound spirits; that was kind of a given, it’s huge. And yeah, I did say I was going to try and focus on me a little more, but…I don’t know, there’s something about him.”

Clarisse looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that. “He’s…nice?” She asks.

Annabeth laughs. “Uh, no. I’m not sure I would be if I just found out I was dead, so.” She shrugs. “I won’t be able to help him cross over until he starts to remember more, anyway. Googling ‘Percy NYC’ got me a dollar pizza place in the West Village and some place called Percy’s Tavern that isn’t even open anymore.”

“Silena’s going to be so pissed that all we talked about on our call is your new familiar.”

Annabeth sinks Clarisse’s final ship. “No, she’s not.”

Clarisse raises her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Annabeth smirks. “Because you get to tell her that the new ghost is, like, seriously hot.”

Clarisse just shakes her head, grinning. “She is going to love that. Damn. Well, good luck. I’ll call whenever my ego can handle a rematch.”

“Okay,” Annabeth says softly. “Bye.”

“Love you. No homo.” 

Before Annabeth can reply, she gets hung up on.

“Typical,” she says to her empty studio apartment. No one, alive or dead, replies.

//

“Alright,” Annabeth says as she steps out of her office building, her headphones on. “Where am I getting lunch?”

“I’m not telling you,” Percy sulks. “You just abuse my knowledge. I spent a lifetime accumulating this stuff, only to give it away to some yuppie. Barf.”

Annabeth picks a direction and starts walking. “I read that Ess-a-Bagel is good,” she says, already knowing what will happen next with only a week and a half of experience.

“Overrated,” Percy says. He can’t seem to help himself. “Like, it’s good, but they only put the seeds n’ shit on one side. Shmear options are okay,” he adds a little begrudgingly.

“Like, cream cheese?”

“Like, cream cheese?” Percy mocks, his voice high-pitched and whiny. “If you ask for them to scoop out your bagel, I’m actually going to start haunting you.”

“As opposed to what this is,” Annabeth murmurs to herself, well aware that he can hear her. 

“Hey! I’m, like, super chill. I haven’t even tried to get your lights to flicker.”

“You’ve never even appeared in my apartment,” Annabeth acquiesces. “Or at work.”

He shrugs, falling into step beside her. “Seems rude.” 

Annabeth almost stops in the middle of the sidewalk, she’s so surprised. “Okay, that’s a first.”

“Are the people you see always rude?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s more like…it’s all on their terms. No one’s ever been that concerned about appearing in the middle of my calc final, for example.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly.” Despite having the light, she looks both ways before joining the crowd in crossing 6th. One of the idling cars honks at her.

Percy flips the car off. It doesn’t make a difference to anyone but her, but she appreciates it. “If you want to spend too much money on a bagel, I’m not going to stop you,” he tells her. 

Annabeth walks into Herald Square; she’d rather go through a tiny park than down the crowded sidewalk. “Where would you go for a bagel?”

“Absolute Bagels. 108 and Broadway.”

She snorts out a laugh. “You knew that answer way too quickly.”

“I’m tired of these bougie, overpriced bagels! Absolute is good enough I drag my ass to the west side—that’s how you know it’s legit.”

“So you’re from the east side,” Annabeth follows, nodding. “Okay, that’s something. Remember anything more specific?”

“Yeah.” Percy grins proudly, pushing his wet bangs out of his face. “El Barrio, baby! Proud of it. Just off 2nd and…” His grin fades. “Shit. Goddamn it.”

“It’s okay,” Annabeth soothes. “That’s something. I’m assuming that’s…a Hispanic neighborhood?”

“Spanish Harlem,” he says. “East side, north of, like, 96.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “These days, north of 110.”

They’re already on the other side of Herald Square; Percy picks up into a jog. Annabeth follows suit, only realizing that he’s trying to catch the light before it changes a few seconds later. They make it to the other side and slow back to a walk. 

“If you want,” Annabeth offers, “I could go there. With you, I mean. We could walk around, maybe spark a memory.”

“You’d do that?” Percy asks, his voice almost severe in its sudden quiet volume. 

Annabeth shrugs. She pauses on the corner, barely a moment of hesitation, but Percy points diagonally to the side of the street she wants to be on. With a wince of thanks, she says, “I want to see more of the city. Might as well check off a good deed while I’m at it.” 

“Well, I can make it worth your while,” he says with a confident nod. “D’you like Italian food?” 

“Am I human?”

“Okay, so we’ll swing by Patsy’s, then. Oh, or Sam’s! And that bakery with the killer conchas—”

“I have no idea what that is, but I’m sold,” Annabeth says. “Why does Spanish Harlem have Italian food?”

He shrugs, sending tiny flicks of water flying. “Dunno. Better Italian food than Little Italy, though.”

“Haven’t seen it yet,” Annabeth says, pushing her way into the surprisingly large bagel shop and immediately struggling to focus. 

“It’s mostly gone, honestly. Hey, you good?”

“Hm?” Annabeth blinks away from the menu behind the counter. “Oh, yeah, it’s just loud in here. You weren’t kidding about the cream cheese.”

Percy doesn’t say much as they wait in line, or as she orders—toasted sesame bagel with olive cream cheese—but he sort of squints his eyes, like he’s sizing her up. 

“What?” She hisses out of the corner of her mouth as the cashier rings up her order. 

Percy shrugs, the movement of his shoulders just barely visible out of the corner of her eye. “Nothing.”

She raises as much of an eyebrow as she dares, smiling quickly at the cashier, tapping her credit card, and hoping to get back outside as quickly as possible.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Annabeth says once they’re on their way again. The bagel is hot even through the paper bag it’d been stuffed in. 

Percy moves like he wants to grab the door for her, then awkwardly follows her as she jerks it open herself. “I just think you’re a sociopath for getting olive cream cheese.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Ever heard of not yucking someone else’s yum?”

“Nope. Where we headed?”

“I thought we’d sit in the park?” 

“The squirrels are going to maul you.”

“Well, you’ve never seen me fight before.” 

Privately, even as Percy laughs, she casts a few suspicious glances at lingering squirrels as they make their way into the park. Most are high in the trees or lingering around the trash cans. She picks a free table that’s far away from both, sits down, and kicks out the empty chair so that Percy can sit down, too.

“I feel like a food critic,” she says, unwrapping her lunch. She opens the bagel using two hands to get the visual, her stomach rumbling at the sight of cream cheese going a little runny from being sandwiched between two warm halves of bagel. “Except kind of like I’m cheating, you know? I haven’t had to look up any new things to try in two weeks.”

“You’re welcome,” Percy says. He rubs at one eye and flicks the water off his hand after. “But I feel like you should know that I’m not telling you everything.”

Annabeth gasps in mock offence. “But you’re so endeared by me.”

“Lie. I’m living vicariously through you.”

“By not telling me everything?” Annabeth asks cheekily, taking her first, relatively heavenly bite.

“You know what?” Percy says, clearly trying to sound pissed off but failing by laughing halfway through his sentence. He flicks some water at her, and Annabeth swears she can feel it land on her arm. 

“What’re these big secrets you’ve been keeping?” She asks. “It’s not like I’ve gotten food poisoning or anything.”

Percy sighs, still kind of smiling. “Well, then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they? Gotta keep some stuff for the locals.”

Annabeth pouts. Percy rolls his eyes.

“Fine, whatever.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing back across the street. “You didn’t have to wait on line in there.”

Annabeth chews slowly, trying to figure out what’s been lost in translation. “I…ordered in person?” She says. “I didn’t use, like, an app or something.” 

Percy looks just as confused. “Yeah, I was there. I’m saying you could’ve skipped the line.”

“No, you said I didn’t need to be online.”

“Yeah,” he repeats a little slower. “You didn’t have to wait on the line. Have you, like, stopped being able to hear me?”

“Who says wait on the line?” Annabeth asks incredulously. “You wait in a line, Percy.”

“Everybody says that! There’s an invisible line on the ground, and we all stand on it.”

Annabeth takes a bite without looking away from him, wondering how she ended up here. “I’ve literally never heard that before in my life,” she says through her mouthful. “Online is the internet. You wait in a line. I live in a city. I ride in a car.”

“You get on a bus. I ride on the subway. And I wait,” Percy says, leaning in, “on line.” 

“Maybe you’re not dead,” Annabeth theorizes. “Maybe you’re a demon raised from hell, come to torment me. Maybe you’re from an alternate universe!”

“This is what I get for revealing the schmear only express line at Ess-a-Bagel.” Percy shakes his head. “I should’a known.”

“What?” Annabeth asks. “I didn’t have to wait in that stupid fucking line?”

Percy throws his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Tell me that before next time. You had to wait in the line, too.”

He shrugs. “Not so bad. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

It sends her into a little bit of a tailspin. Sure, he’s actively dripping water on an otherwise dry and sunny day, but he’s around her age and died relatively recently, if the in-style cut of his jeans is anything to go by. He’s easy to talk to. It’s easy to forget he’s dead.

Annabeth takes another bite of her bagel. It’s a little strange that the sesame seeds are only on one side, but it’s just the right amount of chewy and pretty big for what she paid. The olive cream cheese is more of a disappointment, but she’s not going to tell Percy that.

“This is really good,” she says. “Your place is better? Or are you going to gatekeep that now?”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like Absolute is a big secret, they’ve got a crazy line all weekend.”

“Good to know.”

“I don’t fuck around when it comes to bagels, Annabeth. Honestly, have any of my food recommendations let you down?”

“No,” she agrees. “Why do you think you remember all of that so well?”

He shrugs, his eyes sliding to the side. Annabeth doesn’t think he’s particularly interested in the squirrel eating a cigarette butt, so he probably just wants to avoid looking at her. It strikes her somewhere beneath her ribs, how sad it is, to wander around your home with only the innocuous pieces left.

Not for the first time, she wonders what will happen when she dies. Will someone see her? Will she even know that she’s dead? Will she be here, or in San Francisco, or on Berkeley’s campus, or back in Richmond? Has she ever known a place her soul would cling to?

“What’s your favorite thing about New York?” Annabeth asks, deciding suddenly to change tactics. “Since you keep insisting us transplants don’t know—”

“—know shit about shit,” Percy finishes. He looks back at her. “Uh, it’s the best city in the world.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “I know that. That’s why I moved here. You could argue that means I love it more than you.”

“Shut up,” Percy says, his face screwed up with indignation. “No, it doesn’t!”

“Great comeback,” she drawls. 

“Okay, I love the people,” Percy answers. “I love New Yorkers, and the way we treat each other.”

“Like?” Annabeth prompts him.

“We leave each other alone, but if I’m short a dollar on groceries there’s almost always someone who’ll cover me. And I just…I love walking places, and the subway, and I love it when I hop the turnstyle so smooth you can’t even tell I jumped it. I love the old guys who play chess in the park. The graffiti. I love riding the bus at night and Biggie, and shitting on Jersey and the goddamn Mets. I love not giving a fuck, I guess.” 

“Well, that’s things you love, but what’s your favorite?” Annabeth pushes. “Mine is easy, it’s the—”

“—the architecture, I know,” Percy finishes again. “I like that, too. I…well, maybe it’s the food. The food here is the best.”

Percy has admitted to never going anywhere else, so Annabeth doesn’t really know how he knows it’s the best, but she doesn’t call him on it. 

“But my favorite…” Percy goes a little still, like he’s remembered something. “My favorite thing when I was a kid is gone now,” he says. 

“Yeah?” Annabeth prompts

“Yeah. It was on the west side, if you can believe it. When you got off an uptown 1 at 79th, if you went up the staircase that took you to the northwest corner—there used to be a Circuit City there, next to the DSW.”

“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Annabeth mutters.

“Yeah, it closed ages ago, but it was in this little, two story building. And it meant, when you were going up the stairs, if you looked up all you could see was the sky. Like the sky was the ocean and you got to go down the ladder and jump into it.” He goes quiet for a moment. Then, “now there’s an ugly fucking apartment building.”

Annabeth resists the urge to scoff. “You think any new building is ugly.”

“That’s not true! I like the Jenga building downtown.”

“The Jenga…” Annabeth thinks. “You mean 56 Leonard?”

“Is 56 Leonard the building that looks like a wonky Jenga tower?”

“I—” She sighs. “Yes. But it’s a Herzog & de Meuron.”

“You’re a hotdog and demure one.”

“You’re not that funny.”

He shrugs. “I dunno, you’re smiling.”

You’re flirting, Annabeth realizes. You’re flirting with a ghost, and he’s flirting back. 

“I can show you the ugly building some time,” he offers, blinking some water out of his eyelashes. “It’s right by the Natural History Museum. You like museums, right?”

“My second favorite thing about New York,” Annabeth confirms, and just manages to stop herself from saying it’s a date. 

//

Her dad texts her on a Saturday morning, the first time he’s reached out since she moved to the east coast, and his message reads [ Hi, Annabeth. I hope you’re settling in well at your new job. How is New York? Let me know when you might be free to talk.]

She doesn’t respond for three days. What’s there to say? She wishes she could explain to him that you can walk south on the east side of Broadway, from Grand to Howard, and you can look up and see the top of One World Trade peak through the buildings. You can look down so you won’t trip over the subway grate, and when you look back up again 56 Leonard has taken its place. 

She could tell him that if you walk past the entrance to the NQWR to the corner of Canal, you can see all of Herzog & de Meuron’s creativity, bottom to top, and you can decide that from then on out you’ll be calling it the Jenga Tower. She could type it out, or even try and call and inevitably tell him in a voicemail, but he wouldn’t get it. He’d probably say something ridiculous, like ask what Jenga was, or tell her about an exhibit that has something to do with planes that’s soon to arrive in the tri-state area, and Annabeth would remember why she hadn’t reached out either.

Instead, she tells him about work, and doesn’t talk about buildings or bagel shops or the bitter and charming conundrum of a ghost that’s taken to appearing at her shoulder as she makes a city her father hates her home.