#and then i find a second (smaller) version

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[chrystalmaniac]

I decide to spare the biggest fuckin spider ive ever seen in my fuckass european home and the next day it's on my towel when i get out of the shower???? Disrespectful behavior

[reality-shitting]

General realizations ab shifting that helped me

The void is not a realm or a place- it is YOU. You ARE the Void. The Void is solely the awareness of being, fully.

You are not ONE being. Think of the consciousness in you as being interconnected with all other infinite versions of you. These interconnections converge into your full consciousness, the true YOU. It's almost Eldritch to think about.

Something I'm just now thinking of, perhaps this means the subconscious is all other versions of you- you're separated and cut off from experiencing the entirety of being, but that entirety is still there, guiding you from behind the scenes.

No matter what the assumption, "I am" is true. I am kind, as my actions and thoughts show, but I'm also cruel and cold-hearted, as may be the perception of another. I think I'm funny, but someone else may think I'm cheesy- therefore, I am both. And this also goes for the personas of myself in other realities. I am everything. Simultaneously, this also means I am Nothing. I simply am.

To add to the points above, I believe this "Eldritch" conglomerate is what we call the Void state, and would explain why every manifestation happens instantly once we reach this state. Think of it like accessing the files in an infinite data base- all you need to do is find the files you're looking for and download them.

As much as people will try to stress things like "you need to let go" or realizing that shifting is easy, you won't truly be able to understand what they're saying until you experience it.

All things exist at once and every inconceivably small action creates a new reality. As small as "this single cell from 7000 years ago died .000000001 seconds prematurely", and smaller.

Shifting IS easy- in the same way that gleeking or stretching is easy. Some people are able to do it on command or go further than others with no training whatsoever. Others may do it accidentally and sporadically. This does not mean the latter are unable to do these things at will, but they simply need a bit of help learning to do it on command.

Question stressing you out? "But what about this plot hole?", "How does XYZ work??", "What will happen back in my OR???"- STOP. No need to stress yourself over that, this by itself I feel cost me years on my journey. Everything will work out. It doesn't matter how, but it will, and it will either even itself out or be in your favor. Don't even think about those things. Relax.

Another one that held me back MASSIVELY. Struggling to visualize your DR? "I know it has THIS SPECIFIC TABLE in this SPECIFIC place and everything has to be perfect"! No. Your visualization does Not need to be perfect. Nor does it have to be "accurate", really. Once you just let your mind wander and let your subconscious make up it's own layout, it'll help you slip in much more easily. I put so much pressure on myself to make sure I was visualizing my specific reality, and it became so much easier when I just trusted myself to build it up from my subconscious instead of "forcing" a look

They say once it's in the 4D (imagination), it's already real. That's why you're encouraged to embody, think, act, feel as your DR self. Like playing pretend as a kid, you'll be so focused on your imagination, you don't even realize you're in your OR. If you don't shift through that alone, it certainly helps make you feel far more connected. This is also why I came up with the Furina method (although I suppose it's debatable if I really "came up" with it)

Methods/Advice are like pants. Some are too itchy, some are too tight, some you like the feel of but there's just some small flaw. When you find what you were missing, what you needed to hear, it'll be a perfect fit.

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[allisonmckenzieart]

Well, after many months- I'm happy to share my (rather ambitious) cover for our Final Fantasy Ladies zine: Lucia Sidera. I still can't believe the team trusted me with such an important cover. I decided to be insane and try and draw every main gal from each title and spin off (I ran out of time, so I didn't get everyone sadly). The mod team was already SO patient with me. I didn't have to do all this- but I legitimately had this vision since 2009 (and there were a LOT less gals back then). You can see from teh initial sketch layout, how many character were originally planned- but then...I went off the rails. (note, the first image is the poster version, and second is book variant)

Final Fantasy is kinda my life, let's be real- as corny as it sounds. It has been with me most of my time here on Earth. It set me upon the path I'm on now. I wouldn't be Allison without these characters, the music, the art, the stories. I won't mush too much, but this, to me, was a very special opportunity to show just how much I love this series. Getting to share that with other people in this community, whose life has been deeply touched by Final Fantasy meant a lot to me- and I hope people find there faves in this cover!

I have the remaining folded posters from the zine bundles coming in the mail, but will also be offering this as a 11x17 print soon! So much detail means it won't be coming in smaller sizes, apologies!

Anyway, it would be all too easy for me to talk about this cover and my thoughts overall but I suppose it's not overly necessary- it can speak for itself I guess! I hope you like it :)

[summertiide]

hence nothing remains except for our regrets

sometimes you just gotta smash your interests together like playdough!!! here's the Great God Grove gods in OFF's style!

shoutout to @weirdalchemy for the sketch of Huzzle Mug's pose and a ton of help in working out the other ones!

the full-sized + unsprited sketches / some assorted rambling under the cut!

turning them into little 200px max sprites lost some of the detail i really enjoyed on some of them (thespius basically lost all of his hair flowers, and bauhauzzo lost a few nice rock-chipping details i was super fond of u_u), so i figured i'd include my sketches also!

a few extra design notes from while i was trying to figure everything out

i wanted to keep Miss Mitternacht really simple, and tried to lean into the early-game boss sort of look! (i was also trying to remember how to get the sketchy-pencil texture to translate into the smaller versions, oops)

Cobigail and Inspekta were the first ones i thought of when i decided to make all of them! Cobigail's jumpscare face was an instant pick, even if i lost all of those extra little lines in the spriting process

drawing typewriters is a nightmare. people who draw Click Clack all the time at his typewriter are stronger than i could possibly imagine

i got stuck on Thespius for a while, and he was the second to last one i finished - he's a lover, not a fighter!!! i wound up sort of trying to take an angle similar to Sugar's in OFF, an optional boss who you have to deliberately go for (i have this distinct vision in my mind of a boss track for him called "Swansong")

Bauhauzzo is meant to look kind of stuck in the ground, like an obelisk!

Inspekta was taken for sort of a "busted doll" look, from that bit in the art book where they said he was animated to "move like a plushie"! he was my favorite of the bunch to work on, even if the hands were kind of a Situation

it was kind of a bummer that more of King's eye-veil didn't turn out in the sprite, but i couldn't quite find a way to make it show up without making it hide her face too much! people drawing her posing with the sword was a huge source of inspiration, though, it just felt right

i might do more of these sometime soon - maybe the Bizzyboys as a sort of group fight? i also thought about doing a Godpoke Batter type of look but i couldn't quite figure out how to finagle that, but i may try again later on!

[knuppitalism-with-ue]

Ok, another Mexidracon thread because I find this critter just fascinating. In our latest stream I tried to illustrate my point further by showing the proposed sediment probing behavior I assume for this animal.

I did the image on the left on stream but I wasn't that happy with the background so i did the second version above. Again, I don't think these arms were made for fishing, it's arms don't appear flexible or powerful enough to grab or spear fish.

It's relatively short legs also might hint at an overall slower locomotion style, like wading through shallow water, something that would have been abundant in its coastal/deltic environment...

Something that I also let influence this reconstruction is a certain specimen of Ornithomimus which shows traces of feathers on the forearm but NOT of the metacarpals. This might mean that the primaries were just smaller but for the purpose of this reconstruction I went with naked hands... (artwork by Julius Csotonyi)

In this last quick doodle I wanted to show the way I imagine these guys going after invertebrates. This of course assumes many things. Like, that the interpretation of the original authors of this fossil is correct; that the rest of the animal was rather "normal" for an ornithomimosaur or that these limbs had a practical use at all. Another thing that is of course possible is that these arms actually were display structures, very colorful, maybe fully feathered. But I personally prefer the sediment probing idea for now and would avoid yet another display function case.

I hope we find some more specimens in the near future and I would love to see some more takes on this animal. It's been a while since I thought about a new dinosaur this much.

[vrystalius]

I HAVE A REQUEST

WHO WOULD LET ME BITE THEM TO CONFORT ME FROM OVERSTIMULATION

Yum!

Who would let you bite them in order to feel better? How willing would they be? (Human/Hashira version)

Includes: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Mitsuri, Genya

Sanemi Shinazugawa 8/10

Sanemi has a high pain tolerance but is not good at observing and understanding emotions. You’ll have to ask him to bite down onto his shoulder or hand and he’ll happily offer his hand. He’d curiously watch as you chomp down onto the side of his hand. If Sanemi feels like annoying it teasing you, he’d start pulling his hand away, playing some sort of pulling game like you would with a puppy. He’d grin slightly when he does that. You look kind of cute when biting him..

If you chomp down onto his shoulder, his body would shudder slightly. Arousal would pool in his stomach while letting you bite him. Sometimes, he wonders if he has some kind of thing for getting bitten.

But overall, Sanemi’d let you bite him whenever you please. Just warn him beforehand. You didn’t once and bit down onto his hand, making him flinch ans accidentally punch you in the face. He was both insulting and apologising to you over, over and over while trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re weird, I haven’t showered yet. I gotta taste like shit.”

Kyojuro Rengoku 9/10

Kyojuro will try everything to help you feel better, and that includes letting you bite him as hard as you want. His fingers are a little chubbier, meaning they’re nice to chomp down on. It takes a second for him to notice your distress/discomfort, but after you ask Kyojuro if you can bite him he’d offer his arm to you in an instant. He would stare at you with wide eyes as you bite down onto his hand and pat your back as some kind of encouragement or attempt to make you feel better. Kyojuro knows that biting him may be soothing for you, so he sometimes offer you his hand even if you don’t ask for it. He just wants you to feel better.

Surprising him by biting down onto his shoulder or hand makes him feel worried for you rather than upset or surprised. Kyojuro is worried for why you acted so suddenly and if you are being okay. He would’ve pulled you a little closer, wrapping his arm around you and offer a soft smile.

“Oh, you seem downcast, my flame. Would you like a bite?”

Gyomei Himejima 6/10

You remind Gyomei of a kitten, the way you bite down onto his thick and large palm. He believes that there are different ways to solve your problems that include not biting him, but he doesn’t mind your urge to bite him. Sometimes, he’d pet your head in a comforting gesture or offer a hug, but only if you’d like.

He sometimes worries if his skin is too thick or tough for you to bite, and if your teeth are hurting.

Sometimes, Gyomei will offer you something else to bite down onto, like his red pearl bracelets. They’re hard and not nice to bite down onto, but for you, he handcrafted a bracelet with smaller beads that are nicer to chew onto. He may not be sure why exactly you want to bite his finger so badly, but he will let you anyway. It’s adorable to him.

“Are you sure you want to bite me? Would you like my ricebun instead?”

Mitsuri Kanroji 8/10

She finds it absolutely adorable! Mitsuri would worry about you feeling distressed/overstimulated and would immediately offer up her hand or arm to chomp onto once she has the slightest suspicion that you are feeling anything but content with something. Soon after discovering your biting habit, she might start to try out different types of lotions and find out wich one tastes the best for you. Mitsuri wants to make sure she tastes well for you! One time, you caught her thinking about applying a thin layer of honey onto her skin, but you managed to talk her out of it.

Mitsuri would sometimes ask if she can bite your hand, just to try out how it feels. She accidentally bit down too hard and gave you a bruise, so she never really asked you again.

“I just applied a new sakura lotion Shinobu gifted me! Wanna try it out? Here, bite me!”

Genya Shinazugawa 10/10

He doesn’t mind at all. Genya wants to make sure you feel good at all times, and if making you feel better may include biting his hand, arm, shoulder or whatever, then he’ll happily oblige. Genya is worried that he might be the reason that you feel bad or overstimulated, so he won’t offer his hand right away. He’d just hover around you silently, trying to give you silent comfort of sorts.

His fingers are a little thicker and calloused, so Genya won’t mind if you bite down harder. Besides, in case you draw blood, his demon blood will heal him almost instantly.

Also, sometimes, he himself gets the urge to bite something. He might feel overwhelmed or have too much energy left over, so sometimes Genya would gently take your arm and bite down onto your wrist. He tries to be gentle and to not leave any bruises, but sometimes he gets a little to distracted by the taste of your skin and might leave a bite mark or draw blood.

“O-Oh- Fuck, sorry- you’re bleeding! Oh, sorry, fuck! wait- let me grab some bandages. Agh, I’m so sorry!!”

💠

Genya my sweet baby 😭 I love him so much. But anyways, about that one dog video you tagged me in, I think that dog will solo Kokushibo any day. The Upper Moon demon has no chance against a stick wielding dog, that’s simply impossible!

Also, thank you so much for requesting! This was very fun! Sorry if I haven’t included many characters or the ones you wanted me to write about 😅

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[dwaekkicidal]

𓆩Mochi Boyfriend Channie𓆪

gn!reader | he was top of the poll :3 Lix's will be posted tomorrow and then I will only make more if somebody requests other member versions <3

Mochi Channie who introduces you to the boys pretty early on, mainly because they begged to meet their new parent but also because they are his whole life, so it's important to him that you all get along. Their opinion is important to him so when they all approve of you instantly (and you handle them well), he’s through the roof

Mochi Channie who is shy about skinship, especially in front of the others, but will tank through it just to see the smile and blush covering your face (as if his ears aren't bright red)

Mochi Channie who encourages you to allow him to spoil you and eases you into it with smaller things like buying you small snacks, then ordering your favorite food after you’ve had a long day and showing up unannounced with it and your favorite treats, then finally will ease you into accepting brand name jewelry/clothes or any gifts that are generally expensive/valuable

Mochi Channie who puts everything (that he can) on pause to answer your texts and calls, even cutting himself off mid sentence when he sees your contact show up with a distressed message

Mochi Channie who calls you every morning and night when he's on tour, even when he's exhausted and doesn't want to do any talking. He'll sit there and listen to you talk about your day and falls asleep to the sound of your voice and the comfort of seeing you beside him once again

Mochi Channie who gives you secret sneak peeks into their latest endeavors, 1. so you know what he is doing at all times and 2. so he can see your eyes sparkle at events you find particularly interesting

Mochi Channie who gives you sneak peaks into songs like he did in Chan's room, only giving you a second or so of noise and then being a tease and leaving you hanging

Mochi Channie who, if you puppy dog eye him at a particular demo that sounds interesting, literally can not resist you and will show you as much of the song as you want/as he is comfortable with

Mochi Channie who, over time, opens up more and will eventually start taking your compliments to heart (Christopher you WILL love urself. 🔫<3)

Mochi Channie who is a fast learner: memorizes every little thing about you within a week of figuring out. New favorite food or drink? Knows the exact order and your preferred store of purchase. New favorite song or movie? Always plays it whenever he can.

Mochi Channie who indirectly asks stay for opinions on gifts for you. Goes on Bubble to send a picture of some items and a message along the lines of "Which do you want? haha." he reads through the replies and tallies them, using the final count to make a decision

Mochi Channie who may be inexperienced at first, but again is a very fast learner. So much so that by the 3rd or 4th time you guys are having sex, he knows your body to the same degree as, if not better, than you

Mochi Channie who has every spot that makes you squirm, every angle that makes you cry out, and every kink that makes your legs weak engrained in his head

Mochi Channie who won’t hesitate to fulfill your needs of him being rougher. also not hesitating to sit you down to discuss specifics and put rules in space

Mochi Channie who researches new positions, trying the most interesting out in order to figure out which one feels the best and has you shaking the fastest

Mochi Channie who gives you whiplash the first time he's rough with you. He wine and dines you while being his usual soft and lovey dovey self.. until he's not

Daddy Chris who pins you to the front door the second it's closed, pushing his thick lips against yours in a sloppy make out session

Daddy Chris who spends over an hour on just foreplay (mainly edging hehe), wanting things to be perfect and wanting you to be as relaxed as possible before he loses control

Daddy Chris who eases himself into you gently, like he normally does, but gives you whiplash when he starts to fuck into you meanly

Daddy Chris who "You asked for it, so just fucking take it. You promised you would be good for me, remember baby?"

Daddy Chris who does nothing but smirk and thrust harder when you cry out about how good he feels and how close you are despite the fact that he just started fucking into you

Daddy Chris who likes to put you in doggy so he can sneak a hand in your hair to pull you back-to-chest with him, giving him free rein to whisper filthy things in your ear while keeping you close

Daddy Chris who goes back and forth with his words. One second telling you things like how “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Taking me so well” and the next second saying things like “Aww it's too much? Good. Take this fucking dick, baby. It's made just for you."

Daddy Chris who pulls as many orgasms from you as he can before he's finished, sweet talking you through every. single. one. so he can watch you squirm below him with the biggest smirk on his face

Daddy Chris who only ends the night after you're overstimulated out your mind, tears running down your face and drool sliding down your chin

Daddy Chris who cleans you up, pressing sweet kisses to your temple and whispering soothing words to calm you down. He holds you close in the shower and at first just lets the hot water fall onto your skin before he washes you both

Mochi Channie who goes on like normal the next day, as if he didn't fuck you within an inch of your life the night before

Mochi Channie who still gets red in the face when you two show any skinship in front of the boys, but is more confident now that he realizes how deep in you both are <3

[selineram3421]

Well I just read you newest story about y/n being Husker's younger sibling. Especially how much focus there was on Al just wanting to piss him off.

So if I might suggest: Alastor with a y/n who's Charlie's sibling/Lucifer's child. Seriously we saw him already losing it when all claimed to see a daughter figure in Charlie...Al flirting, etc. with a different child might actually kill him.

Anyway I love your work, keep it up ^-^

- 🖤

*cackles like an insane person*

Royally Pissed

Prologue

Alastor X Morningstar Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ reader is blonde for obvious reasons, cussing, mention of depression, angry short King ⚠

Lucifer treasured his children.

Of course he messed up at times, not every parent is perfect. Though he does regret not seeing his children all that often.

Charlie was doing something. Somewhere.

Shit, that sounds bad.

And you would come by and check up on him every so often.

While Charlie looked like him, she had her mother's height. You looked more like Litlith..but had his shortness.

Of course you were adorable!

His littlest one, born a few seconds after Charlie. Twins that came out like opposites in looks but similar in some ways.

He gifted you a rubber duck for every birthday. One that had a tutu, one that had multiple eyes, one that had a built in music box, one that had a jester hat, one that honked like a goose, one that-

Ok, it was a lot.

But you loved his duckies! You even had bookshelves just for them!

Currently you were with him in the castle. Or more like you being in the other room while he was working on another duck.

Then he got a phone call from Charlie.

"Daughter. Daughter calling!", he said in surprise.

After talking about Heaven and a bit about the hotel, he got excited when she said for him to come see the hotel for himself.

"My daughter wants to see me~!", he sang before pointing at a duck on the floor. "Take that depression!"

"Dad?", he heard you call out, finding you opening the door. "Do you want lunch now?", you asked.

Lucifer cheered out your name and grabbed your hands before twirling you around. "Charlie called! She invited me to her hotel thingy!"

"Oh, that's nice.", you said. "I hope you have fun."

"You can come too!", he stopped the twirling. "We'll all get to hang out again!"

You smiled and agreed.

"Great! We've got to be there in an hour!", he says before letting you go to skip out of the room.

Staying put, you glance at the rubber duck filled room with slight worry.

"It wasn't this bad last time.."

.

You stood behind your father as you both waited for the doors to open.

It's been a while since you last saw Charlie, it being around a few months. Looking around you can see she cleaned up the building quite well. It was more broken down when it first appeared on the news when she pitched her idea.

I'm glad she's doing well. You thought before hearing the door.

"Charlie!", your dad said with a wide smile, holding his arms open.

"Hey Dad.", your sister waved before getting glomped with a tight hug. "Uh..it's uh, good to see you too Dad.", she said before having to push him off to breathe.

Then she noticed you, saying your name in excitement.

"I would have done more if I knew you were coming to visit too!", she said and brought you into the hotel by your hand.

"No, you don't have to worry. I'm sure what you have is enough.", you reassured as you followed her in.

From the corner of your eye, you saw two demons right next to the door. On your right there was someone in red and turned your head to see a tall deer demon. Looking to your left, you saw a woman with long white hair and an X over her eye.

"Hello..", you waved with a shy smile.

.

Alastor glared down at the King as soon as the short man barged into the hotel.

How could that be more powerful than me? He thought as his eye twitched.

Then Charlie pushed her father off and excitedly greeted someone outside, grabbing their hand to bring them in.

His eyes widened at the smaller version of Lilith.

"Hello..", they waved shyly at everyone in the room.

And then the little cat that the Princess had walked over to greet the two.

"Kiki!", the two blondes kneeled down to pet the one-eyed feline.

After walking around, Lucifer commented on the bar, so Alastor teleported closer before speaking up.

"Just some of the renovations we had done!", he pointed at the bar with his microphone staff. "Adds a bit of color! Don't you think?", he said before facing the King.

He teleported even closer to the Kind and introduced himself after the monarch questioned who he was, shaking the apple cane instead of the King's hand.

As soon as the deer demon let go, he wiped his hand on his coat.

"You are much shorter in real life.", he said pinching his fingers a bit, emphasizing how small the blonde man was.

"Who is this? Who is this?", Lucifer asked and turned to his daughter once seeing her walk over. "Is this the bellhop?", he asked her.

"Aha! No!", Alastor said before fixing his bow. "I am the host of the hotel! You might of heard of me from my radio broadcasts."

"Hm. Nope!", the King pretended to think before dusting off his sleeve. "Maybe it's why Charlie calls it the HAZBIN hotel! Ah ha ha!", he nudges his daughter with his elbow.

"Ha ha ha!", the deer tilts his head at every short laugh that left his mouth before looking at his claws with a knowing smile. "It was actually my idea."

"Ah haha! Well it's not very clever!", the blonde replied leaning forward a bit.

"Ah ha!", the Radio demon laughed loudly before leaning down to meet the King's gaze. "Fuck you.", he said very clearly, static only in the background.

"OK!", Charlie pushed the two away. "Ok! Anyway!", she said as the two looked away from each other. "Dad!", she turned to her father.

While the two were occupied, he saw the small Lilith looking Morningstar talking with the others, wearing a bright smile as they laughed.

He focused back on the conversation when the Princess said his name.

"We wouldn't have been able to pretty it up this much.", she said and the two blondes turned to face him.

"Charlie has a very unique vision!", he said with his usual smile as he walked over. "I am happy to fulfil her bizarre requests!", he places a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"Thank you Alastor.", the blonde smiled, feeling happy.

He noticed the way Lucifer hated it, and calmly smiled.

"Quite an impressive young lady.", he said and tilted the Princess's head up a bit with his hand before moving his claws back to himself. "We're all very proud of her.", he says and places an arm around her shoulder, pushing her a little close.

Having enough, the King cleared his throat.

"Charlie! Dear.", he said before pushing between the two, getting them separated. "Why don't you introduce me to your OTHER friends!", he pointed towards the group with his end of his staff.

"Oh! Yes, of course!", Charlie said and began introducing Vaggie to her father.

Then someone got his attention with a tap on his arm.

Snapping his head towards the person, he saw the Lilith look alike move their hand back.

"Oh, I apologize. I called out to you but got no response.", they said with a bit of a frown. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Upset?", he questioned, still wearing his smile.

"Yes, you furrowed your brows a bit when I tapped you.", the small blonde gestured with their finger.

How observant..

"No, I am not upset at all!", he gave a quick closed eyed smile. "And your name is..?"

"Oh, I'm-"

And then they were interrupted when the chandelier fell.

This was supposed to be a oneshot but then I remembered how detailed this would have to be.

~Seline, the person.

Part 1

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @gallantys @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @+?

ML II for Alastor🎙 | RP ChL 👑

[bunny-jpeg]

make 'em young dumb and full of cum

toto wolff

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, russell!reader, age gap (20s/50s), doggy style, (failed) pull out method, daddy kink, filth (!!!)

this rabbit runs on reblogs & comments! feed the bunny

toto wolff was a man who enjoyed the adrenaline of the race. both as a driver and as a head principal. but, lately, everything felt slower. while mercedes wasn't on top of the world yet, it was making good progress. but the slow days made toto want to sink his teeth into something.

"this is stupid george!" toto heard a voice nearby that took him away from his phone. he looked over in the direction of his driver and a girl by his car.

"aw, c'mon. you always talk about how you have no way to show off to your friends that your brother is a formula one driver! you can get a little closer the car, it won't bite!"

toto took a second glance at you and his stomach sank. he knew about george's family, and had even met them on more than one occasion. but george had a sister who rarely if never around the track due to her being away for school. something about a master's program.

but as you shifted a little closer to george's car and smiled at the camera, flashing a peace sign, toto knew where to sink those canines into next.

-

toto had thought out this entire plan. he had put all of his skills to use, figuring out how to get such a precious woman into his bed. he was quite a bit older than you, and in all honesty, he wasn't even certain that you liked older men.

but you came to him like a gift from heaven. you were in his hotel room, with your clothes off. a compromising position for the sister of one of the best driver's in the world. it was even more scandalous that toto was standing in front of you. his arms crossed and his eyes staring down at you.

you felt so much more smaller, physical you were. he towered over you. the man was over six feet tall, and he was a great bit older than you. it was a domineering factor in every way, size, age, status, wealth. you were some little university student and toto wanted to devour you whole.

"you look lovely."

you shifted a little, "i'm pretty sure you could've found someone hotter in the stands, mr. wolff." you swallowed a little. the focus on you was a little too much. you had become so used to your brother being the center of everything, you were fine with being left alone. but to feel toto's searing gaze on you, heated by an undeniable lust was a bit much.

"don't look away from me." he said as he took you by the jaw and made you look up at him. he admired your beauty. those beautiful eyes, the softness of your bottom lip. the small scar on your cheek, it made toto a little curious. he wondered how many more scars and marks littered your body upon inspection.

you looked different than your brother, but in a good way. toto didn't want to fuck the female version of his driver. you were your own woman, and toto couldn't get enough.

"i'm sorry, sir."

he chuckled, "sir sounds very nice on your tongue. but i know a word that sounds better." when you perked up at his words, he added, "daddy."

the change in your expression made him chuckle before he leaned down to kiss you deeply on the lips. you were a fine woman, perfect like wine.

you whimpered, "daddy!"

he pulled away and started to undress. maybe next time you'll wear one of his button ups to the track. keep you nice and safe, thinking of daddy while he works. you swallowed when he got his under shirt off, followed by his expensive leather belt and his slacks. everything was off and on the floor before he got on the bed beside you.

"why don't you get on your hands and knees for me, beautiful." his large hand was on your thigh, fingers threatening to get in between your legs.

you nodded and kissed him once more. you felt a flutter in your chest. there was a angle of this that said it was wrong. but, you were both adults. and it wasn't like your brother would find out. plus, the attention that toto gave you made you feel electric. it was unlike any other man you had ever been with.

they were boys. toto was a man.

his gaze lingered as you got further up onto the bed, your face buried in the softness of the pillows with your hips angled upwards to have easy access for toto. toto soon got behind you, on his knees. his back was curved to get closer to you. the size difference was noticeable.

but he liked them smaller, struggling to take even his fingers. watch them become so soft and warm around his aching cock. and you were just euphoria when he managed to stuff his entire cock inside of you. your back arched and you hips raised further, you whined sweetly into the covers.

his hands were placed on your hips and he started to rut up against you. he could feel the heat pool in his gut. you were beautiful. he started to rut against you, moving his hips up against you. you fit him perfectly.

"you'll pull out right?" you asked meekly.

he reached for the back of your head and rubbed it gently, "of course, schatzi. of course. no need to worry."

you visibly relaxed more which allowed toto more of an opportunity to move against you. he pushed you further into the mattress with each heavy thrust. he pressed you further down by the back of your head which gave him more leverage.

you held onto the covers and tried to meet his pace. look at you, trying to hard to be a good girl for toto. he loved the feeling of you against him, you were a sweet little vice that milked him for all he was worth. a woman like you was dangerous, you could have the whole paddock under your thumb if you chose so.

but you'd never do that, right? you'd behave. plus, call toto a possessive old man, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that you didn't slip between his fingers. you were a prize to be kept. maybe it was a small blessing that you hadn't been at the paddock as much, if toto caught sight of you sooner. by now you would've been married with two children. kiss goodbye to you undergraduate degree.

"please. daddy." you whimpered.

the bed moved a little bit under your motions. his soft groaning was over shadowed by your louder whimpers. the heavy breathing and the squeaking of the bed filled the room. your cunt was soaked and he speared into you with a quickened pace.

"you feel so good, my treasure." he said as he leaned over you. next time he'd love to see your face and to hear your noises better. not muffled by the soft hotel pillows under your head.

"thank you, daddy." you replied. already so good for him.

where had george russell been keeping you this whole time? his precious sister off away to university. maybe it was the best that you were so far away for school for so long. for toto's own sanity.

if he knew you were the apple in the garden of eden then maybe he would've second guessed having you in his hotel room. but now he was hooked in a way, anything to keep this precious woman under him.

all the thing he wanted to do you.

his pace staggered, your cunt was a vice around him. he needed to fill you to the brim, he needed to know that he marked you properly. there was no need to be playing around with boys anymore. not when you had a man like toto by your side. his pace only got more erratic, when your back arched further and you climaxed. your head buried in the covers.

"ah!! toto!" you whimpered loudly as you clawed at the covers under you with those pretty pink nails. everything about you was perfect. he finished inside of you and you made such a sweet noise. you said softly, "wait, wait! you were supposed to pull out."

toto just wrapped a strong arm around you and said to you softly, "don't worry, schatzi. it won't take." not yet.

-

george russell got a shiny little contract wrapped in a bow about two weeks later. a promise that mercedes would be his home. toto said that he greatly believed in the driver.

and toto got a winter break in monaco with the sweetest thing since honey. he may have been lying to george, a little bit. a little white lie never killed anyone. in reality, he wanted you as close as he could get you.

true, if george moved to a different team, toto would still see you. the problem is that you wouldn't be wearing the mercedes colours. you'd be in something more garish. he needed you close, if he had to he'd put you in the shirts he wore to the races. something to stake a claim, as if your cunt was sticky with his cum at all times.

"good girl." he said softly into your ear, "your brother was pretty excited about that raise in pay." he moved up against your slowly, "you helped me make that decision."

you arched your back and gripped onto the expensive covers. you whimpered, "really, daddy?"

"yes.' he kissed the shell of your ear, "and next year will be even bigger, if you do one little thing for me, schatzi."

you nodded, always eager to please. your cunt was tight around his cock as he pressed into you.

he held your hair and pressed you a little further into the bed, "you be good for me for the entire season. take a year off of school." he hoped one year would turn into two, and two would turn into a drop-out. toto was a man who loved action. but, he also loved the idea of making george russell's sister his bride. <3

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Jason deserves to be someone's no. 1 superhero.

(Art by Victioria Palomino)

Red Hood was many things for many people. A criminal, a nuisance, and a threat. Most treated him with disdain, and few tolerated him. But no one claimed to be a fan of him. Not in a sense Superman or Wonder Woman have fans.

You kept your opinion on the man strictly neutral, hoping you'll never find yourself in the same room as him, not out of hatred, but simply a sense of self-preservation.

Until one day, you find yourself unwillingly in the crossfire of Gotham's latest criminal and it's the day you meet your unlikely savior. He's no less imposing or terrifying even as he sets you on the pavement in one of the alleyways.

"I'm not going to bite off your head if that makes you so jumpy."

"Ah! I...uh...sorry. It's just that you're..."

"'S fine, I'm used to that."

At that moment you felt really scummy. There he was risking his life for you and you were acting like has rabies. As you watched him run towards the explosions you promised yourself that you'll thank him properly next time you see him.

That opportunity comes fairly soon. Every day in Gotham is a new threat, this time in the form of sentient crawling vines with razor-sharp thorns. One of them nicks your cheek and others would probably do much worse, but a few well-aimed bullets make them fall limply on the pavement. It's your red-hooded savior and he's sporting several deep gashes as well as a cracked mask.

He barks at you to run so you do, but you linger in the safe distance, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him. When all is said and done, you see a flash of his red hood ducking behind a garbage container. You carefully sidestep the fallen debris and find him sitting on the ground leaning against the wall, clutching his shoulder.

You realize it's not the best time to talk to him, that gets affirmed by the glare he shoots you from underneath the torn hood. The fear makes your heart thump and your tongue gets stuck to the roof of your mouth. Still, you step closer, slowly, ready to back away at any second, as if you're approaching a wild animal backed into a corner, and you might as well.

"Go away." He growls, teeth flashing from the crack in his mask and you visibly shiver. Despite your fear, you crouch right next to him and pull out a couple of bandaids you always have in your mind. With trembling hands, you start to bandage up the feared vigilante. You keep his face for last, just to ignore the intense unflinching stare that's burning into you the whole time.

"The hell are you doing?" He asks, without any bite this time.

You swallow the knot in your throat.

"I...I never got a chance to...thank you." You say, voice getting smaller and smaller with each word.

"Thank me?" He says incredulously.

You meet his gaze for the first time.

"Yes, for saving me."

He lets you finish your work without another word. When you mention the shoulder. He gets up and slams it against the wall, popping the bone back in the socket as you watch in horror. He doesn't even whimper. He thanks you for the bandages and in a moment he's gone again.

Later that night, Jason Todd is lying in bed in his safe base. Staring at the colorful bandaids covering his arm.

Meanwhile, you start to unconsciously pay more attention to this masked vigilante. Whenever you see him in a newspaper, you clip out the part, when you hear his name on TV you pull the volume up. You search his name on the internet, getting what's undoubtedly some really cool shots of him on his motorcycle. Yeah, he's really a badass, the killings and questionable morals notwithstanding.

You're getting more intrigued by the day. Who is he? What made him pick up the guns and the red half-face mask? What's his relation to Batman if he's wearing a version of his symbol on his chest? Does he admire him, or hate him? Is he aware of his reputation? Is he deluded into thinking everything he's doing is ultimately good, or is he brutally self-aware and just doesn't care? His morals are what intrigued you the most. You often wonder if violence is maybe sometimes the answer, considering how many times you and your close ones got hurt or traumatized by Gotham's villains.

You start to wear a black T-shirt with a red bat-like symbol on it. You don't flaunt it, but there is undeniable giddiness when you hold it in your hands, fresh out of transfer press. You had to make it yourself because there's no official Red Hood merch, shame really. Soon a mug and a bracelet follow.

Next time you meet Red Hood, you're the one who saves him. His bike is damaged, and he's running away from cops when you grab him by the hand and pull him to the place you work at. Thankfully, no one of your coworkers is there that day so you don't have to explain to them why there's a masked man armed to teeth in the breakroom. You offer him some tea and biscuits before the coast is clear and he can leave again.

Before he leaves, Red Hood compliments your t-shirt. You look down and realize it's the one you made. You have to duck behind the front desk to hide an explosion of blush on your face, listening to his quiet chuckles. For the rest of the day Red Hood is smiling.

You heard that he is in the neighborhood. You ponder it for a long time before you book it out of the door. When you find him, you stutteringly ask for an autograph. Red Hood stares at you as if you'd gone crazy. He takes the white sharpie and scribbles his name on your back. You take the pen from his limp hand and thank him with a beaming smile. It's then Jason realizes he has a real-life fan.

The next time he sees you, he asks only half-joking if you want to take a photo with him. Your eyes widen at that.

"Y-you're sure?? I don't want to bother..."

"Just look here."

He says as he bends down to put his face next to his. You're too flustered by his proximity to react fast enough as his phone flashes in your eyes. By means unknown to you, the photo is in your phone several hours later. You look like a moron. Wide-eyed, red-faced, and gaping into the camera, but you keep it. It's a selfie with your favorite Gotham knight, after all.

When he saves you this time, he escorts you all the way to the rooftop of your apartment building. Red Hood asks how are you gonna repay him this time. Teasingly backing you up against the wall with one hand pressed to the wall behind you. You're once again reminded how big he is, but this time it does not make you fearful, it makes you flustered. You duck under his arm and tell him to wait. You hand him a plastic container, and he raises a brow at you. You explain to him it's your homemade enchiladas. What you didn't know at the time is that you'll have a hungry vigilante waiting on the rooftop for his next lunch like a stray cat.

With time, the scary vigilante became what you dared to call a friend of yours. You eat together, you talk, sometimes you patch him up and in return, he gives extra care to make your neighborhood safe. You learn a lot about him in several months and yet, you've never seen his face.

It's the end of the year, and you haven't heard from Red Hood for some time. He must be busy. It's not like he owes you anything. He probably has a life outside of vigilante work. Still, you do miss him. You don't hear from him until that fateful fight with Barman. You barely hear the news reporter over the blood rushing in your ears as you watch Red Hood get slammed into through the window of a run-down factory. Without thinking it through, you rush to the location the news reporter mentioned.

You never saw Red Hood so...defeated. He was always so big in your eyes, bigger than life. And now he is slowly bleeding from the neck while shards of glass are littered around him, with Gotham's so-called hero standing over him. You shout you're not exactly sure what, but it makes the Dark Knight freeze. You don't even spare him a glance as you kneel over your hero. His mask is even more cracked than the first time you met him. You can see the black eye and the split lip, but it's the resignation in the healthy eye that makes you unreasonably angry.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!!"

You shock yourself with the force of that angry roar. Batman takes a step back, arms held up in defeat. Eyes confused, searching but mostly...sad, that surprises you the most. You don't have time to dwell on it as you feel Red behind you trying to get up. Deciding you'll ignore the Bat indefinitely, you support the Hood with your weight. The rest is a blur, police escort you out of the scene, giving you a lecture about civilian safety you barely listen to.

He let him escape. Batman let Red Hood escape the scene. You heard him giving an explanation to the police, lying from under his black mask. You were more perplexed than ever by their relationship.

For the next few days, you barely sleep. Worried sick about Red Hood. He might as well be dead and you wouldn't even know. That thought brings tears to your eyes.

One snowy afternoon, you walk up the stairs from your apartment to the rooftop. You haven't been there for a long time, avoiding that place. Just so you don't have to wait for him, only for him to never come again. When you open the door, you almost pass out. He's there, on your rooftop, flesh and blood. His huge back is facing you, red hood back on.

"Red?" the inaudible croak of his name is carried away by the harsh wind, and yet, he turns around. Only this time he's not wearing a mask. There's a white streak in his hair, a jagged scar runs from his lip all the way to his hairline, and his eyes, unflinching, are fixed on you.

You have never seen such vibrant green.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

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The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[repulsiveliquidation]

Rain || Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut (18+), somnophilia (consensual sex while asleep), anal sex, rimming, strap-on sex, choking, spanking, fingering, rough sex)

a/n : hii! just a little something i whipped up while at work today :)

There was rain pouring down outside, the sun hiding behind dark clouds. The pitter-patter of raindrops slowly begged Alexia to go back to sleep but she fought hard, the warmth beside her was way more tempting than a few more hours of sleep. 

She scooted over, arm slipping under the sheets to pull at the smaller form that was softly snoring beside her. She felt the heat of your skin, chest rising and falling steadily in your sleep. 

Soft kisses along your nape and shoulder lulled you out of your snooze, a grumpy groan already dragging through your voicebox. 

“Ale, it’s Sunday, go back to sleep…”

“Sí, sí, sleep.”

The captain wasn’t going to let you off that easily. She’d gotten back late from Sevilla last night and crashed almost immediately, staying awake just long enough to shovel food into her mouth. Now, with the whole day to waste with you, she didn’t want to miss a second of “personal time.” 

You’re snoring again, this time much louder and much clearer. Alexia sat up looking annoyed, staring at your back that faced her. Her eyes, having the mind of their own, wandered along the shape of you. There was a little skin showing along your back where your shirt was riding up, toned back teasing her intentionally. 

“Fuck mi amor, how am I supposed to resist you?” 

Alexia, in her stroke of genius, pulls the covers off gently and climbs out of bed. She tiptoes to the closet, rummaging quietly for her strap. She finds it and quietly runs back to get it on. 

Alexia stands beside you, clothes stripped off and strap hanging low from her hips. Very carefully, Alexia pulls the blanket off you, the pattering of rain now much softer as it stops. You’ve got the prettiest lace underwear on, a deep maroon that was secretly her favorite. 

You were fully on your stomach now, your snores an abbreviated version of what they were earlier, muffled by your pillows. 

Alexia lifted your matching lace top, the ruffled edges seemingly turned her on even more. There was a pause when you shifted under her and she quickly stood on her knees, taking her weight off you. You simply pushed a leg up towards your chest and sighed, nuzzling your face into the pillow. Alexia gently sat back down, softly kissing your exposed back as she fought to keep her hips from involuntarily grinding into you. 

“Mmh, you’ve always been so fucking beautiful princesa, even when you were sleeping.”

She slowly pulled your panties to the side, exposing your already soaking cunt. Her mouth waters, jaw aching as she scoots down to taste you. 

Her tongue is warm and flat against your pussy, lapping gently at your sticky folds. Her eyes make sure you’re still asleep, fingers very very gently pulling your thick thighs apart. You give Alexia no indication of knowing what she was doing, so she gets a little brave. She spreads your ass and watches your asshole pucker at her, practically asking her to have a taste. 

When she does, she watches as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. You always were a little anal whore, the feeling of her tongue on your ass never failed to drive your arousal up. 

Alexia spat on your ass, thumb gently rubbing it in. It caught on the edge a few times and Alexia had to stop herself from clenching her own thighs together. Your pussy was dripping, the gentle throb of your heartbeat was delightfully obvious to Alexia. 

“Ale…?” 

“Bon dia, princesa,” Alexia whispered sexily, helping as you gently turned onto your back.

“Más, por favor,” you whined, legs draping wide open over her shoulders. Alexia grinned maniacally, nodding gently at your sexy request. 

A dainty finger slips into Alexia’s mouth, the noisy slurping that reaches your ears only makes the throb between your legs all the more intense.  

She pushes it into your ass gently, gorgeous eyes meeting yours as she gently fingers you open. You feel the stretch just a little more than usual, a pleasant ache plastering a satisfied grin on your face. Alexia pulls away to suck on her fingers a little more, pushing two digits into you when they’re wet enough. Your hips grind down into her slowly, fingers gathering a little spit from your mouth to use to play with your clit. Alexia audibly groans, watching as you double your pleasure. 

She gets that manic smile on her face again, pulling her fingers out of your ass before kneeling between your legs. You’re still playing with your clit when her fingers jam themselves into your mouth. You’re taken aback and gag loudly, Alexia’s eyes rolling into her head when you keen. 

Alexia fingers your mouth while you touch yourself, your fingers aching to slip into your pussy and mimic her fingers in your mouth. You can taste yourself on her fingers and that only spurs you on, your first orgasm building up hard and fast. 

She pulls her fingers away from your lips when you begin to gurgle your warning, soaking wet fingers expertly finding your pussy before slamming in to send you into your first orgasm. 

“Ale!” you moan, muscles spasming in pleasure. 

“Sí, buena chica,” Alexia praises, fingertips jabbing your sweet spot with no mercy. 

Alexia doesn’t bother to give you a little heads up, pulling away for less than a minute to prep her strap. She lubes it up and smears the rest on your asshole, pulling your thighs over hers before she’s pushing into you. 

“Taking me so well, beautiful,” she coos, thumbing softly at your swelling clit. 

“Ale,” you beg, “Ale, por favor.”

“Sí, te lo daré, cariño, I’ll give it to you.”

Give it to you she does. Her hips pound up into you, shoulders barely touching the bed. Your long manicured fingers can’t find material to hold onto. Blood rushes to your head and you can feel the world of pleasure consume you. 

Alexia bends you in half, thighs pressed tight against your chest. Her skin slaps yours, hips thrusting into your ass rough and hard. Her teeth are gritted together, eyes dark and lustrous. 

“Is this what you wanted, cariño?” 

“Fuck, yes!” 

Alexia turns you on your side, pounding right into you deeper this way. She takes a breast in her mouth, suckling hard as she fondles the other. You can barely moan, everytime you relish in a sensation she gives you a new one to drool about. 

“Hold yourself open, my pretty little slut,” Alexia leans by your ear to whisper, watching as you do as she says. She lubes her left fingers up just a touch, warming the gel up before slipping them into your pussy.

Now stuffed in two places, Alexia’s hips thrust in while her fingers pull out, repeating this sequence like a well-oiled machine. It was utterly dizzying; you were seeing stars. 

The captain, seemingly impressed by her own handiwork, now moved her freehand wherever else she could. She dragged her nails along your tummy, kneading your breasts one after the other. She gave them a few love taps that rattled them deliciously, making her eyes roll into her head just a little before they reached their final destination. 

Your neck loved Alexia’s hands. They wrapped around your throat so perfectly. Her thumb and index finger always pressed the right spot to deprive you of just enough air to give your vision a few black spots. 

“Fuck!” you choke, the tug behind your naval intensified as Alexia fucked you harder and faster. 

“Coming, my love?” 

“Can’t Ale, please–”

“Come, slut,” Alexia spat, hips pounding you into the mattress so hard the frame was shaking. 

You come and she lets go of your neck, the breath of fresh air that fills your lungs somehow intensifies your orgasm. You’re shaking and moaning her name, body trembling and twitching from the shocks. 

Alexia draws the hottest bath she can, gently climbing in with you in her arms. The steaming water soothes your aching limbs, bringing relief. 

She holds you close and leaves the softest kisses along your shoulder and neck. You giggle and settle into her arms, feeling safe and sound. 

“I missed you,” you mutter after a while, looking up at her as she smiles.

“I missed you too, princesa,” she whispers, tilting your head a little more to kiss you. It’s soft and tender, filling both your hearts with love. 

“I love you,” she whispers when she pulls away, strong arms wrapping tighter around you as the sound of more rain fills the room. 

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: Christmas tree worm

Merry Christmas from the ocean! For this festive occasion, I’ve chosen to cover an animal that certainly has the spirit of the season. The Christmas tree worm is the person who keeps their Christmas lights up all year of the sea and today we’re going to see what makes them tick.

(Image: the crown of a Christmas tree worm. It appears as two stalks emerging from amongst coral polyps. Small feathery, appendages emerge from the stalks in a spiral formation going up them. They are yellow, with brown tips. A smaller, round structure is near the base of the trees. End ID)

The Christmas tree worm (Spirobranchus giganteus) is a polychaete worm of the tube-building fan worm clade Sabellida. While they are called giganteus, that’s only relative to other fan worms as they max out at about 3.8 cm (1.5 in) long. Being tube worms, they build a tube of calcium carbonate that they live in. This tube provides protection for the worm, who can retreat into it if threatened by predators. Polychaetes are defined by the paired bristle-like chaetes on each body segment, which are often used for locomotion. Tube worms like the Christmas tree worm lack these kind of locomotive appendages as they spend their entire lives in their tubes.

I couldn't find a full-body picture of a Christmas tree worm outside of its tube, so this is the best you get. (Image: Serpula vermicularis, a member of the same family of tube worms as the Christmas tree worm, removed from its tube. It is a short, segmented worm with a plug on a stalk and a crown consisting of long, feathery tentacles arranged differently than those of a Christmas tree worm. End ID)

The feature that gives these worms their common name is a pair of feathery, spiraling structures that emerge from the head and look quite a bit like tiny, colorful fir trees. These structures, called crowns, are heavily modified version of mouth appendages called prostomial palps. The feathery bits are tentacles called radioles. The crown is usually the only part of the worm visible, with the rest of its body safely in the tube. The crown is used both for feeding and respiration, as it can perform gas exchange with the water like gills. Christmas tree worms, like other fan worms, are filter feeders. They expose their crows to the water and wait for edible plankton and bits or organic detritus to get caught by the radioles. Cilia then transports the food down to the mouth. Christmas tree worms have a modified radiole called an operculum that acts like a lid to the front of the tube, closing it off when the worm retreats. The crown also has light-sensing structures, allowing it to detect light and shadow. The visual capabilities of these eye spots is poorly studied. The crown makes up about a third of the body length and can come in a wide variety of colors. It can regenerate if damaged.

(Image: a blue-crowned Christmas tree worm emerging from yellow coral. End ID)

Christmas tree worms are found across most of the world, from the Caribbean to the Indo-Pacific, in tropical waters. They are coral reef dwellers who live in burrows built into had corals. Brain coral species are their preferred hosts, but they can live on other corals and have been reported living in sponges and on giant clams. Christmas tree worms certainly have a symbiotic relationship with the corals, it's debatable whether that relationship is parasitic, commensal, or mutualistic. They may damage nearby polyps and could spread harmful algae (that seems to be an open question), but I found sources suggesting they improve water flow around the coral, which could benefit it. When they sense a threat, the worms will rapidly retract into their tubes. Some time later (which can be seconds to minutes), they will cautiously emerge again. Worms living on crowded corals seem to be more timid, taking longer to emerge again. Christmas tree worms are broadcast spawners who release their gametes into the water. Fertilized eggs hatch quickly into larvae who must find their way to a coral and start their burrow. Christmas tree worms can live up to 30 years.

(GIF: a bright yellow Christmas tree worm retracting into its tube. The full retraction takes less than a second and leaves only a hole covered by the operculum. End ID)

Christmas tree worms are considered to have a stable population, but as they are dependent on corals, threats to reefs are threats to them. Thus, global climate change is a major threat to their survival. Predators of the worms include fish, starfish, and other worms. They are not of commercial interest to humans, but are popular among divers and have entered the aquarium trade.

(Image: multiple Christmas tree worms of various colors emerging from a coral. End ID)

[forsakeofabetterusername]

I made a zine about adjusting cheaper wheelchairs, after adjusting my NHS wheelchair.

Notes: Your wheelchair ‘service manual’ is a good resource for adjustments! You can often google them. Also, with the wheel adjustments, be prepared to move the breaks. Google how to measure for a wheelchair to find your seat width, and if you want to get extra, look at seat depth. Leg length is usually done by adjusting the footplate height.

Image description and printable version under the ‘read more’ .

Image Description:

An 8 page zine. Both images have the same content but the first one is arranged to be read on a computer. I am going to describe each page.

First page reads “A cripple’s guide to.. making a cheap(er) wheelchair work for you” and in smaller writing “by Sock - who uses an Invacare Action 2NG”. There is a drawing of a wheelchair in the centre.

Page 2 reads “Choosing a wheelchair. Look for adjustability (can you change wheel height? COG?), seat width (as close to your size as possible), and arm rests that can be lowered/removed.” Each item has a small drawing illustrating the point.

Page 3 reads “Adjusting a wheelchair. You will need… Allen key set (bike ones are good!), Pliers (for holding bolts) and Phone (for access to manuals, taking photos at each step.” Each item has a small drawing of it.

Page 4 reads “1. Adjust Wheel height. This can be done where the wheel “plugs in”. Your fingers should touch the wheel hub centre. If you can, move the wheel forward too (centre of gravity adjustment).” There is a small drawing of the wheel base, an arm reaching down to touch the centre of the wheel and a wheel base with an arrow pointing to the right showing it being moved.

Page 5 reads “2. Arm rest adjustments. Get your armrests as far down and as far back as they go. I keep mine on because of muddy weather/to protect clothes from spokes but you can also just remove them!” There is 2 drawings of a rounded and straight arm rest.

Page 6 reads “3. Modding castor wheels. Adjusting the height will change the seat angle. Smaller castor = easier turning, but makes rough pavements harder.” There is a drawing of a tilted chair with big castors and a straight chair with small castors, with a double pointed arrow between, with the caption “Play around!”

Page 7 reads “4. Footplates. You can take the footplates off and toe propel. You can make a foot sling out of a belt/luggage strap/paracord.” Both have an accompanying illustration. Then there is a note saying “if you have poor circulation, weakness, etc. oh might just want to keep the footplates on”.

Page 8 reads “5. Cushion. You need a cushion for your chair. Depending on how long you sit/how bony you are, you might need to spend a little more” then “£: Foam. ££: pressure relief cushion. £££: EBay/second hand for jay, invacare, low zone etc.”

End.

Printable version: