#but i think it was time to finally write this list

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 7: "The one with unexpected visit" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: You plan your weekend, preparing to tackle the clutter—the disorganized clothes in your closet, the ones strewn at your feet, but most of all, the chaos in your mind after an unexpected visitor shows up at your door. WC: 10.4k

A/N: Okay. Here it is. 😭

Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

Friday, August 30th

“This place is packed,” Santi muttered beside you, his gaze sweeping over the crowded tables, each one occupied by people leaning in close, lost in conversation or absorbed in their laptops. The low hum of chatter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm sugar hung thick, comforting, almost intoxicating. The display case by the register was lined with golden croissants, glistening danishes, and—most importantly—rows of perfectly round, sugar-dusted donuts.

“The donut thing must be true,” he added, still scanning the room like he was making a tactical assessment.

“No, I heard the coffee’s actually good. Though, yeah, maybe the donut thing too.”

“I hope so. I want my free donut,” he said, flashing you a grin.

Ahead of you, two people stood in line. The café itself was like something out of a storybook—warm, inviting, all soft golden light and mismatched wooden chairs. A chalkboard menu hung above the counter, the handwriting slightly smudged in places, as though someone had changed their mind halfway through writing “oat milk.” A framed picture of what appeared to be the owner’s dog hung beside it, wearing a tiny apron.

“When’s Yov coming back?” you asked, nudging forward as the line inched along.

“Sunday. Why? Trying to get rid of me already?”

“No,” you said, smiling. “You can stay with me if you want. Tonight.”

Santi nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

“Dinner at Will’s place.”

“Ah.” You nodded, as if that explained everything. “Well, I guess I’ll be alone again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he laughed, nudging your arm playfully. “As if you don’t love being alone.”

“That’s true,” you admitted, raising your eyebrows. “Now that you mention it, maybe I’ll use the night to finally sort out my closet. Do you have any idea how many t-shirts must be buried at the bottom of everything?”

“Wow,” he said dryly. “You really know how to have fun on a friday night.”

“Next,” the man behind the counter said, his voice carrying over the soft hum of conversation and the clatter of ceramic cups.

You and Santi stepped forward. He ordered an espresso. You ordered a latte. Simple, predictable.

But beside you, you could feel Santi hesitating, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Like he was holding himself back.

“And I’ll have a blueberry muffin too,” you said, sliding your gaze toward him, leaving space. An opening.

Santi didn’t say anything.

The man behind the counter gave you a knowing smile. He looked like he was in his early forties, maybe late thirties. His light brown hair was touched with soft gray at the temples, and his eyes—large, dark green, almost too deep for their color—had the kind of quiet presence that made you think he was good at remembering faces. He was tall, too, though he moved with an easy, unhurried air.

“This your first time here, right?” he asked, punching your order into the register.

You nodded. “It is. I, uh—” You gestured vaguely toward the sidewalk behind you. “I have a bookstore just a few doors down. Right next to the florist.”

Recognition flickered across his face. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah, Vandspell Books—that’s yours?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been meaning to stop by,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel before leaning slightly against the counter. “My daughter loves to read. She’s in that stage where she’ll devour an entire book in a day.”

That got your attention. You smiled, suddenly much more invested in the conversation.

“Really? What’s she reading now?”

“Anne of Green Gables. She’s ten.” He hesitated, as if considering something, then added, “Do you have any recommendations?”

Your mind immediately began sorting through titles, but a quick glance behind you told you there were already three more people waiting in line.

“Oh, I have lots,” you said, shifting your weight slightly. “You should bring her by. I’d love to talk books with her.”

His face lit up, as if the idea genuinely delighted him. “Of course. I’m Bill, by the way.”

You told him your name, then gestured toward your brother. “This is Santi.”

“Nice to meet you, Santi,” Bill said, then tilted his head. “You want anything else with your coffee?”

Santi opened his mouth, hesitated. “Uh…”

“Pick some donuts,” Bill interrupted. He gestured toward the display case behind him, where an array of golden, sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled, and rainbow-sprinkled donuts sat under the soft glow of the pastry case lights. “On the house.”

You turned just in time to see Santi’s expression shift. You smiled.

With coffee in hand and two paper bags filled with still-warm donuts, you and Santi stepped out of the café and onto the sidewalk. The air outside was delicious, the kind of perfect morning where the sun felt warm against your face without being overbearing. A breeze moved lazily through the streets, carrying the scent of fresh bread from a bakery down the block, the faintest hint of lavender from the florist next door.

And, as it turned out, everyone had been right about the coffee. It was good—really good, the kind that made you close your eyes for a second just to savor it. The donuts, too. You had chosen one with plain icing, while Santi, walking beside you, was already biting into his, the chocolate coating cracking under his teeth.

“You look happy,” you observed, watching as he chewed, looking for all the world like a contented child.

Santi laughed, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt. “I’m happy in the mornings.”

You reached the bookstore and pushed open the door, the small brass bell overhead letting out a familiar chime. Immediately, the scent of books wrapped around you—old paper, faint traces of vanilla from the spines, something earthy in the air like dust settling in sunlight. The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, pooling in golden patches on the wooden floor.

You took a sip of your coffee and moved behind the counter, switching on the computer, unlocking the register, setting everything in place for the day. Santi made his way to the couch on the left, the one tucked against the universal classics section. He sat down with a sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him, his gaze drifting across the shelves.

“Thinking about something?” you asked, noticing how still he’d gone, how his eyes seemed focused on something only he could see.

“Not really,” he said, leaning back. Then, after a pause, “Just remembering how dad used to read Henry James to us.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “And Poe. That man was out to terrify us.”

You laughed, the memory slipping in as easily as if it had happened yesterday—those slow, humid summer mornings, your father behind the counter, his reading glasses sliding down his nose, the two of you sprawled out on the floor, half-helping, half-distracted.

That first summer, when you were seven and Santi was twelve, you had spent the mornings at the shop mostly because there was nowhere else to be. Santi had been having a rough year at school, and your parents had decided bookstore shifts were a more constructive punishment than being stuck at home. You, naturally, had followed him. It had been the off-season, slow and uneventful, so your father had pulled The Turn of the Screw off the shelf and started reading it to you in pieces, depending on how long you could sit still. He hadn’t expected you to love it, but you had. You’d finished the book quicker than he planned. And after that, the habit had formed—morning readings of Poe, a little May Alcott, sometimes Dickens. Always, at the end, your father would close the book, clear his throat, and say in that particular, expectant voice, Well, kids, what did you learn?

“Yes,” you said now, settling onto the couch beside Santi. “I remember every story like it was yesterday.”

“Well, you have a better memory than me,” he admitted. “I’ve forgotten a few.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up.

“Take the book, then.” You crossed to the shelf, letting your fingers trail along the spines, stopping when you found the one you wanted.

“Really?”

“Yes, Santiago.” You pulled the book free and handed it to him. “Read it again and tell me what you think of it now that you’re old.”

He laughed, flipping absently through the pages. “Change of perspective, huh?”

“That’s what they say.”

Santi made a quiet sound, thoughtful, tapping his fingers against the book’s spine. “Something I remember, though.”

“What?”

“The way Henry James talked about it.” He paused, searching for the phrase. “Change of perspective.”

You laughed. “You mean 'points of view’?"

Santi nodded.

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Nothing. Just an interesting thing to think about. How we all have different points of view. How stories—experiences���can be—”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, swatting his arm as you walked back to the counter.

Santi just grinned, flipping open the book.

Saturday, August 31st

“What about this one?” you asked, holding up a shirt to the light filtering through the blinds. Mr. Darcy, curled at the foot of the bed, blinked at you in slow, feline disinterest. You stretched the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head as if seeing it from a different angle might reveal something new. “I think this color looks good on me,” you mused, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you think?”

Mr. Darcy did not respond. His eyes drooped closed, an infuriatingly serene expression settling over his face.

With a sigh, you pressed the shirt against your chest for a final moment of consideration before tossing it onto the “stay” pile. The bed was covered in these small mountains of fabric, some meticulously folded, others crumpled in a way that suggested their fate was still undecided.

“You’re not being much help,” you told the cat. He responded by shifting slightly and sighing—a real, proper sigh, as if he too were exhausted by the ordeal.

You picked up the last two sweaters that had been holding you hostage in indecision for the past twenty minutes. One was soft and familiar, a shade of blue you always liked on other people but never felt quite right in. The other was oversized and cozy but had a tiny stain near the collar you would never actually get around to fixing. With a sharp exhale, you placed them both in the “go” pile.

This had taken so much longer than you expected.

Yesterday night, full of unwarranted optimism, you had yanked everything from your closet in a single dramatic motion, watching as shirts and dresses tumbled onto the floor in a heap of fabric and regret. At first, you moved with purpose—lifting, sorting, folding—but soon, fatigue crept in. You had far more clothes than you realized, and the sheer volume of it all became overwhelming. Then your stomach growled, and you told yourself you’d take a quick break, have dinner, then get back to it.

Except you didn’t.

Instead, you ate too much, stretched out on the couch for what was supposed to be just a moment, and woke up (many) hours later with Mr. Darcy sprawled across your chest, his full weight pressing into you like a tiny, indifferent furnace. Your mouth was dry, your limbs heavy, and the mess was still waiting for you.

Now, after a long shower and a strong coffee, you had finally pushed through. The bed was covered in neat stacks, some slightly more chaotic than others, but it didn’t matter. Most of these clothes were staying.

Humming along to the song drifting from the speakers in the living room—Perfect by The Smashing Pumpkins—you began folding the last of the pieces, tucking them carefully into drawers, smoothing them into place. The sun had started to set, golden light spilling across the room, stretching shadows across the floor. Mr. Darcy let out a soft sigh in his sleep.

You rolled your shoulders back, stretching your arms overhead. The apartment felt quieter now, softer. As if, for the first time in a while, there was a little more space to breathe.

When everything was finally in place, you stepped back, hands on your hips, surveying your work with quiet satisfaction. The closet doors stood open, revealing rows of neatly folded clothes, the bed cleared of its previous chaos. It felt good, in a small but tangible way, to have imposed order on something.

Mr. Darcy chose that moment to stretch luxuriously, arching his back, his tail curling in the air. He let out a slow, deliberate meow, as if announcing his presence.

“Oh, now you’re awake,” you said, sitting down on the bed just as he slinked over to rub his head against your leg. His purring started up instantly, a low, soothing vibration under your fingertips as you scratched behind his ears.

“You’re a sweetie, you know that?” you murmured, pressing your forehead lightly to his.

He responded with a small, almost reluctant meow.

“Of course you know,” you said. “You’re the cockiest little thing in the world, and I love you for it.”

Mr. Darcy accepted this praise for a few more seconds before deciding he had better things to do. With a final flick of his tail, he hopped off the bed and padded out of the room. You followed his lead, heading into the bathroom.

Your reflection in the mirror was flushed, your skin still warm from the shower. Strands of hair clung to your neck. You ran your fingers through it absently, shaking it out, then padded barefoot to the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave read 5:37 PM. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, which explained the hunger curling in your stomach. You opened the fridge, scanning the shelves, your eyes landing on a carton of eggs. Maybe pancakes. You could make pancakes.

Just as your fingers brushed against the milk, the doorbell rang, muffled beneath the music playing in the living room.

You cursed under your breath, shutting the fridge with a little more force than necessary before glancing toward the window.

“I’m coming!” you called, raking a hand through your t-shirt, smoothing the fabric over your stomach as you walked toward the door.

You glanced down at yourself—Santi’s old, faded Soundgarden t-shirt, worn soft with time, and a pair of shorts. Not exactly presentable, but it was just your brother. What did it matter? You only hoped he’d had the decency to bring food. A bowl of his stew, preferably.

You opened the apartment door and made your way downstairs, still prepared to greet him with some sarcastic remark about how he always showed up unannounced. Your fingers curled around the handle of the front door, pulling it open with a practiced ease, your lips already forming the beginnings of a smirk—

But then, you saw who was standing there.

Not Santi.

Frankie.

The smirk disappeared instantly.

Your gaze rested on his face, searching for something—an emotion, a clue, anything that might tell you what he was thinking. But if there was something there, you couldn’t decipher it. All you could tell was that he didn’t want to be here. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something you weren’t perceptive enough to name.  

“Hi,” he said finally, shifting his weight back slightly. “How are you?”  

There was a hesitation before you answered. “Fine.” Your eyes dropped before they could linger too long on his face, skimming down his body instead. No cap. No glasses. A gray T-shirt, black cargo pants. His car was parked behind him, engine off, as if he wasn’t sure how long he’d be staying. “You?”  

“I was wondering if we could talk for a minute. About the other night.” His voice was steady, careful. “If you want to. If you can.”  

Your pulse jumped, an uncomfortable awareness settling in your chest. You hoped the heat rising in your cheeks wasn’t visible, but it probably was.  

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do you want to come up?”  

You stepped aside, gesturing toward the stairs with a thumb.  

Frankie nodded once, silent, and crossed the threshold. As he passed, you caught the faintest trace of something—clean, warm. You exhaled through your nose and turned to close the door behind him, hesitating a beat longer than necessary. A small, quiet breath left you before you followed him upstairs.  

At the apartment door, you pushed it open and stepped inside first. He hesitated for half a second before following, his eyes flickering to the floor, scanning for the cat.  

“Sit,” you said, already walking toward the kitchen.  

He wordlessly lowered himself onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees. You opened the fridge, the sudden cool air brushing against your skin as you scanned the shelves.

“Do you want something to drink? I have coffee, tea, juice, um—”  

“Water’s fine.”  

“Okay.”  

You poured two glasses—one for him, one for yourself—and returned to the couch, setting them down on the coffee table. You almost sat beside him. Almost. But at the last second, something made you change your mind, and you lowered yourself into the couch across from him instead.  

Silence stretched between you, thick and unmoving. Neither of you seemed to know where to begin.  

You were just about to reach for something, anything, when he let out a breath and spoke first.

“I owe you an apology.”

Frankie’s voice was steady, but there was a tightness in his jaw, in the way his fingers laced together, elbows resting on his knees like he was bracing himself. He was looking at you now, fully, not shying away. “For the other night and… for everything. I’m sorry.”

Your brows pulled together. “Everything?”

The word sat between you, unanswered.

Everything felt too big, too vague. How far back did he mean? Since the other night? Since years ago? Since always?

His gaze dropped to the coffee table where the glasses sat untouched. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were weighing his words, as if the right ones might suddenly appear among the condensation rings forming on the wood. When he lifted his eyes again, he looked more sure of himself.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard about Harry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said all that shit. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I had no right to get in your business like that. And it won’t happen again. You can trust that.”

There was something about the way he said it—without defensiveness, without expectation—that made you believe him.

“I know I don’t have an excuse,” he continued. “But I do know how you feel.” His fingers flexed against his knees before his hands finally relaxed. “I’ve been there.”

His gaze dipped again, like the weight of saying it out loud was too much. “I’ve been abandoned. And I found out the hard way that it was pointless to spend every day crying, wondering why.”

Your mouth opened before you fully registered the thought.

“Rachel.”

The name landed between you, quieter than you meant it to be, as if it had slipped out on its own.

Frankie nodded. You noticed the smallest movement in his expression—the way his eyebrows twitched slightly, how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. A moment of remembering.

“And I know you’re not me, and Harry’s not Rachel,” he said. “But I couldn’t help it. It felt the same. Like I was watching something repeat itself right in front of me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.” He nodded quickly, closing his eyes for a second, like he needed to reset. “I know.”

Frankie rubbed his palms over his thighs, exhaling through his nose. “Seeing you hurt over him reminded me of myself, and I—I—”

“Do you wish someone had demanded you get over it? Would you have preferred someone to yell it in your face?”

The question came out softer than you expected. Frankie’s head tilted slightly, his lips parting just enough for a breath to catch. Then, slowly, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“I wish they’d been less careful with me,” he admitted. “Everyone acted like I was this fragile thing they couldn’t say certain shit to. Like if they said the wrong thing, I’d just… break.” His eyes flickered to yours. “Honestly? If I could go back, I’d tell myself to get over it. That it didn’t make sense.”

“But that’s not how it works,” you said gently. “You can’t force yourself to get over something. And you can’t force other people to, either.”

His jaw shifted slightly, the muscle tightening before releasing again. “I just would’ve liked some honesty. You know what I mean?”

You held his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I get it. But, what, did you think I wanted the same thing? Everything you said that night wasn't new to me."

“I just... I know I have no right to tell you what to do. Or give you advice," he said, quieter now. "And even beyond that, I know the way I spoke to you was wrong. I was insensitive. And for that, I’m sorry.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I got caught up in it. I saw how much you were hurting, and I—I messed up.”

His hand dropped, and when he looked at you again, something in his expression had softened.

“You and I… we’re not exactly made for each other, are we?” His lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “And I don’t even know what it is that makes us like this. But whatever it is…” His voice grew quieter, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear the last part. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

For a moment, you considered the easy way out. You could tell him you understood, that you had been unfair too. You could nod, accept his apology, smooth over the jagged edges between you.

But the truth was, you were tired. Tired of this, tired of swallowing words, tired of pretending you didn’t feel the way you did. And, honestly, you had no idea when you’d get another chance to say these things to him. Knowing yourself, probably not anytime soon.

You took a breath, tried to shape your thoughts into something measured, something that wouldn’t unravel into a mess of frustration and regret. But overthinking it wouldn’t help. It never did.

So you just said it.

“You make me feel stupid,” you told him, and even though your voice was steady, it felt like tearing something open. “Almost all the time. Since the very first day.”

Frankie blinked, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Like all my choices are inconsistent, irrational. If I wanted to be sad about Harry, if I wanted to cry over him, why couldn’t I? Just because something similar happened to you? This pain is mine, Frankie. I get to decide how I deal with it, how I suffer through it. That doesn’t mean I’ll carry it forever. That doesn’t mean I need you—or anyone—to rescue me from it.”

His expression didn’t change, but something about the way he was breathing, the way his hands were clasped so tightly between his knees, told you he was listening.

“And I get it,” you continued, exhaling sharply. “In some messed-up, roundabout, very us kind of way, you were trying to help me. But you…” Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “You have this particular way of hurting me. Like you know exactly where to push, which strings to pull to completely disarm me.”

Frankie didn’t move. He just kept looking at you, so still it was almost unnerving. And as the words left your mouth, you felt something uncoil inside you, a weight lifting. But it wasn’t enough.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back, bracing yourself.

“Can you be honest with me?” you asked. “Really honest? No bullshit, no deflections.” You gestured vaguely with your hand, like you were wiping the excuses away before he could even reach for them.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Tell me how you feel about me.” The words landed heavy in the space between you. “Tell me how you feel about the way I treat you. Tell me what it does to you, being near me. What you feel, and what you’ve felt all this time.” You inhaled, grounding yourself. “Right now, Francisco. I’m asking you for honesty.”

For a second, he just stared. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. Or like he was trying to figure out if this was a trap.

And then he seemed to decide that, whatever it was, it didn’t really matter.

“I…” He exhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I feel bad.”

His gaze dropped to the coffee table, avoiding yours like he was embarrassed to be admitting it out loud.

“I feel inadequate. Out of place. Like when you’re a kid and you go to a birthday party and no one wants to play with you.” His fingers flexed, then stilled. “Like I’m failing a test over and over again.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, letting his words settle, letting them exist in the space between you. If he had felt that way—if he felt that way now—you had never noticed. Not even once.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, careful with your tone, as if the wrong inflection might break whatever fragile honesty was hanging between you. “I mean… I never thought anything I said actually got to you. All these years, you always seemed so sure of yourself. Like you wanted to prove that between the two of us, I was the one who wasn’t enough.”

Frankie lifted his gaze, meeting yours. His expression didn’t shift, but something in his posture did—something subtle, something you almost missed.

“What made you think that?” he asked. “What made you believe that what you said didn’t affect me?”

“You.” 

Frankie blinked, caught off guard.

“You make me feel small,” you went on, voice steadier than you expected. “Like I don’t know what I’m talking about, like I’m constantly getting it wrong. Every time we’ve argued, you always seem to know exactly what to say to hurt me, like you have some map of my insecurities, like you know exactly where to press.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “And I’ve always felt like you win. No matter what I say to you, no matter how angry I am, it never feels like I’ve landed a hit. You always turn it around, always make it worse for me. And then it’s like you’re fine—like you’ve already moved on, like it didn’t even matter. Like you enjoy knowing you won, until the next time we see each other and do it all over again.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted slightly before he exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. He pressed his lips together, jaw flexing, and when he looked back up, something unreadable had settled into his expression.

“I didn’t feel like I won the last time we saw each other,” he said. “If that makes you feel any better. Or any of the other times, really.”

You let out a quiet breath, looking down at your hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them.

“Shit,” you muttered. And then, because it felt right—because it felt true—you lifted your eyes to his and said, “I’m sorry.”

His brows twitched slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry for everything I said to you,” you continued. “It wasn’t true. None of it. I was just—I was mad, and I was hurt, and I wanted you to feel just as bad as I did.”

Frankie’s lips curled at the corners, a small, wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

You shook your head. “That’s not—” 

“It’s okay.”

“No, that’s not okay,” you said, shaking your head, as if you could physically reject the thought. “Because something like that—what I said to you—no one deserves to be treated like that. And it wasn’t true. Not even a little bit. I don’t actually think those things about you, Francisco.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “I just wanted to hurt you.”

Frankie exhaled, looking down, shaking his head as if he could shake off the weight of it.

“I deserved it.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “I… I didn’t know I made you feel that way. That it was that serious for you.” His hands flexed against his knees, knuckles pale with tension. “I didn’t know, or maybe I just didn’t let myself realize it. Not until the other night, when I—When I made you cry.” A pause. Then, barely above a whisper, “Jesus Christ, I’m such a fucking asshole.”

He pressed his fingers against his temples for a second before looking back at you. “All this time, all these years, I knew we were hurting each other. But I didn’t think—I didn’t think anything I said could actually wound you like that.”

“You didn’t realize?” The words left your mouth before you had time to temper them, sharp and incredulous.

Frankie nodded, almost to himself. “We fought, we pissed each other off, and in you, all I ever saw was anger. I thought, yeah, she hates me. So I figured that was all I was provoking—just that. Just anger. I never thought I was really—” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. “I never thought I was actually hurting you.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “That’s what always got to me the most,” you muttered. “How come you always knew where to hit? How to cut?”

Frankie’s eyes rested on yours, unreadable, and then drifted down to your hands. You were twisting your fingers together, restless, wound tight.

He let a breath pass before answering. “The first time we actually argued was that day at the lake, remember?”

You did.

You nodded, and Frankie went on. “I took your life jacket by mistake. And when you found out, you just—tore it out of my hands without a word. We hadn’t even talked much before that. Barely knew each other. But that moment felt like… like it told me everything I needed to know.” He wet his lips, glancing at you briefly before looking back down. “I went after you, asked you what the hell your problem was, and you said I needed to be more careful. That I should keep my hands off your stuff. That I always managed to screw things up.”

His fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Later that day, you lost the parking ticket, and we argued again. And I—I remember throwing it back at you. That you were the one who always screwed things up. That you were careless. That you needed to pay more attention.” He gave a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head at himself. “After that, I don’t remember the specifics. Just that it was always like that between us. Always fighting, always picking at each other, always knowing the worst possible thing to say. And Santi losing his mind over it.”

He glanced down at the side of the couch, where Mr. Darcy had stirred, stretching lazily before padding toward Frankie’s feet. Frankie reached down, scratching lightly behind his ear, gaze unfocused.

“I didn’t know the things I said were touching a nerve,” he said finally, still not looking at you. “But I did know that the things you said to me were.” His fingers stilled in the cat’s fur. “It always felt like you knew exactly where to press. Like you could see my insecurities before I even admitted them to myself.” He finally looked at you, his mouth curling in a wry, humorless smile. “And if you think about it too much, it’s almost funny. Because our attacks—our words—they’re the same. They always have been.”

You followed his gaze to your cat, who had curled up beside his feet again, content. Your thoughts tangled together, unspooling into more questions than you could keep track of. Would he answer them?

“Yes, I understand that. What I don’t understand is…” You stopped, your throat tightening so suddenly it caught you off guard. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to push through the burning behind your eyes. “What I don’t get is… why?”

Frankie looked at you, his expression unreadable at first, then shifting into something closer to confusion. “What?”

You blinked rapidly, a thin sheen of wetness gathering in your eyes.

“From the very beginning, you never liked me.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Since the first day, the first moment we met. You made up your mind about me on the spot. Why? You didn’t know me. You knew nothing about me, and yet somehow, you decided I was—” You stopped, struggling to find the right words. “—not worth your time. Not worth being kind to.”

His expression didn’t shift at first, just deepened into something unreadable. “I don’t... I don't know what you mean.”

You let out a breath, something like a laugh but without the humor.

“Francisco.” His name felt strange in your mouth, too formal, too intimate at once. “Come on.”

"No... I mean, I know it was weird, but that's not how I—"

“From the very beginning, you hated me.” A tear slid down your cheek, warm and humiliating.

“I didn't,” he said quietly.

“You did. Since the first time we met.”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching, like maybe the answer would be written there instead. “The first time we met?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated. “I... I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing.” He glanced downward, rubbing his palm over his jeans, like the answer might be tucked somewhere there. “I—”

“We are.” Your arms folded tightly over your chest, and a single tear slid down your cheek.

Frankie watched it fall, his expression still, like he was afraid to move. “Are you... are you talking about the party?”

Your breath came out unsteady. “Yes. When Santi introduced us.”

Something changed in his posture, a nearly imperceptible shift. He straightened, his head tilting slightly.

“You decided,” you went on, voice gaining weight, strength, “that I wasn’t enough. That I was something you just didn’t care to bother with.” You swallowed against the ache in your throat. “Why? What was it about me? What made you so sure, right away, that I wasn’t worth respecting?”

The last word broke in your mouth, and you turned away, unable to keep looking at him.

Another thin tear traced the curve of your cheek, warm against the cool air. Frankie shifted, pushing himself up from where he sat, his movements unhurried but purposeful. He didn’t hesitate—he crossed the space between you, lowering himself beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence in the subtle press of air, the quiet weight of him.  

He didn’t touch you, not really. Just the faintest brush of his fingertips against the edge of your jaw, a barely-there pressure, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Like he was testing the shape of the moment, waiting to see if you would pull away.  

“That’s not true,” he murmured. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Something burned beneath your ribs, something twisting and insistent, and you shook your head, exhaling sharply. A thin, bitter smile flickered across your lips, but it barely lasted a second. It collapsed the moment your eyes found his again, replaced by something heavier, something almost resigned.

“I heard you, Francisco.” Your voice was quiet, steady. “I heard you that night. Talking to Will.”

Frankie’s expression barely shifted at first. He was watching you carefully, trying to read you, as if unsure whether this was an accusation or something else entirely.

“What are you talking about?”

You studied his face, searching for any flicker of recognition, but there was nothing. Not yet.

“After dinner, when everyone went down to the bonfire,” you started, measured, watching for his reaction. “Benny stayed behind to help me with the dishes. I was already feeling off—because of you, because of how you looked at me when Santi introduced us, because of how you acted during dinner. Like there was something wrong with me. Like I was—” You hesitated, feeling heat rise to your throat, but forced yourself to continue. “Like I was something unpleasant that you had to avoid.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, but there was a shift in his features—subtle, almost imperceptible. He looked puzzled. But still, not like he knew.

You exhaled through your nose, gathering yourself before speaking again. “I wasn’t in a good mood after that. So after we finished, I went to the bathroom. And that’s when I heard you.”

Something in Frankie’s posture stiffened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you go on.

“You and Will were outside, talking near the bathroom window,” you said, watching him closely now, waiting for something in him to give. “I wasn’t trying to listen. But then I heard you talking about me.” You swallowed. “You were telling him there was something weird about me. That I had... something.”

A pause. The air in the room changed. Frankie’s gaze darkened—not in anger, but in something closer to realization.

“Will told you not to be like that,” you went on, voice quieter now. “He said I was Santi’s sister, that you should at least try and talk to me. And you—” You stopped, bracing yourself, because saying the words out loud after all this time felt different, sharper. You forced them out anyway. “You said you’d rather sacrifice yourself in another way.”

And then—there it was.

His expression shifted, something cracking open behind his eyes. His brows lifted slightly, and his mouth parted like he might say something, but no words came. He pulled back just an inch, like the memory had physically landed in his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, breath measured, something about the way his shoulders rose and fell too precise. He shook his head—at himself, at the situation.

When he finally met your eyes again, there was something different there.

“What else did you hear?” His voice was careful, but there was something uneasy in the way he asked.

“Just that,” you said simply.

“Nothing else?”

You shook your head. “Does it matter?” Your voice was steady, but there was an ache behind it. “You were clear.”

Frankie dragged a hand over his mouth, exhaling as his gaze flickered to the floor again. For a moment, it felt like maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, finally, he looked back at you.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“I heard you, Francisco,” you said, voice steady but sharp at the edges. “I heard you clearly—”

“I know,” he interrupted, nodding, inching closer. His voice was quiet but urgent, like he was trying to get ahead of whatever was coming next. “I know you did. But it’s not what you think. I didn’t—I never thought those things about you, I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Just—just listen to me.”

Your stomach clenched. “Why the hell would you say it then? If you didn’t believe it, why did you say it?” You could hear your own voice rising, the frustration bleeding through. “Because from where I was standing, it made perfect sense. The way you looked at me that night, like I was something disappointing. Like I wasn’t what you expected or wanted me to be. And then to hear you say it out loud to Will—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It all lined up.”

Frankie held your gaze, unblinking.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, firm, his voice low. And for some reason—against all logic—you almost believed him.

You swallowed. “Then tell me the truth! Tell me what happened!”

Something flickered across his face, something uncertain. His posture stiffened just slightly, and his eyes darted away, just for a second, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go down this road at all.

He hesitated. Then, finally:

“I can’t,” he said. The words came out carefully, cautiously. “I can’t tell you. But you have to believe me when I say that what you heard wasn’t the full story. It wasn’t even the full conversation. I—” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I said those things so Will would drop it. So he’d stop insisting.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “Insisting on what?”

Frankie’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting slightly, landing on Darcy, who had perched himself on the coffee table, lazily observing the conversation. He didn’t answer.

Your patience frayed at the edges. “Francisco.”

His eyes finally met yours again.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I promise. Just—not right now.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you just tell me?” You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you, your face inches from his. He had nowhere to look but at you, no way to slip past the moment, no escape. “I asked you for honesty.”

His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to steady something inside him. His eyes had darkened, locked onto yours with an intensity that sent something twisting in your stomach.

“It was a weird night for me,” he said finally, his voice rough at the edges. “A weird week. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head, running a hand down his face as if he could wipe away the memory. “Please, you have to believe me. Yes, I said those things to Will, but no—none of it was real. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think those things about you.” His voice caught slightly before he pushed through. “I barely knew you. We’d exchanged, what? A few words? An introduction? I wasn’t sitting there analyzing you, deciding what I thought of you. And whatever impression I gave you that night, whatever you think I believed—I swear to God, it wasn’t that.”

You let out a shaky breath, something sharp and unsatisfied curling inside you.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Your voice wavered but held. “How do I know you’re not just lying to make this easier, to convince me I misheard, that this was all some kind of misunderstanding?”

“I—”

“You ignored me all night,” you went on, your heart picking up pace. “When the others spoke, you were fine. You looked cool, easygoing. But when I spoke?” You let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “It was like you forgot how to be a person. Like you wished I wasn’t there at all. You barely looked at me, and when you did—” You hesitated, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So tell me, Francisco. How can I fucking believe you? You deliberately ignored me all night. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Are you seriously going to deny it? Do you think I’m stupid?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, something unreadable passing through his expression. And for a moment, all you wanted was to know exactly what was going through his head. To break him open and sort through whatever the hell he was keeping from you.

But it wasn’t that easy.

“No, not at all. I... I just... Fuck. Yeah.” He dropped his gaze, running a hand over his jaw for a moment before looking back up at you, his eyes filled with nerves. “I know I acted weird that night, I do. But it wasn’t because I didn’t like you or because I thought anything bad about you. And I know I probably sound like I’m making excuses, but I swear I’m not. I mean it. I’m serious.”

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. Are you seriously trying to tell me that something happened that night that made you act weird only with me? Just me? Come on, Francisco, don't fuck with me."

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn’t think I was being that obvious. I didn’t think you noticed how I was feeling that night. And I never would have imagined that you thought my attitude meant I didn’t like you. Honestly, I remember feeling like you were the one ignoring me all night. If I had realized back then that it looked like I was ignoring you on purpose, things would have been different."

"That's not believable, Francisco, seriously. Just stop."

"I'll tell you everything, I promise. Just... not right now. The conversation with Will, that whole night—I’ll explain it all, really."  

You snorted, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at him.

“Please, trust me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ll tell you, I will, but not right now. I can’t.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But if you trust me—” He stopped himself, inhaled sharply. “God.” He shook his head, stepping back slightly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You have no reason to do it. I know that. But please—please, just trust me.”

"Why should I trust you? I know I have no real reason to. But give me one. Why should I trust you?"

Frankie stared at his hands for a few seconds, trying to come up with an answer (or maybe an excuse?) to give you.  

"I don't have one." He met your gaze, his eyes full. "I... I only have my word. And if you decide not to trust me... I get it."

You stared at him for a long time, searching his face, studying every shift in his expression, every flicker of hesitation. You were ready to call bullshit, to let yourself hold on to the anger, to the version of him you had carried around for so long.

But you couldn’t.

Because somehow, against every instinct, every logical explanation—you believed him.

Whatever else Francisco was, he wasn’t lying. Not right now.

“All right, okay,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “I don't know what's wrong with me, but I trust you. But you’ll tell me. You will. You promise.”

Frankie nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you. I will.”

"And I won't wait too long. I mean it. I think I deserve an answer. I do."

"Yes, you do. And you will get one, I swear."

You stared at him in silence, your eyes locked on his, like lie-detecting machines. Frankie didn’t look away. He held the gaze until it felt like it was too much.

Then, ee exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face before looking at you again. “Jesus… are you telling me this all started that night?”

You let out a small, humorless breath, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know what super secret reason you had, Francisco, but you were a dick to me. That’s just how it was. Whether you like it or not.”

His lips pressed together, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to piece something together.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I really am. I just… I thought this was all because you didn’t like me first.”

You turned to him with an incredulous look, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

His mouth twitched, just barely.

“I didn’t like you,” you admitted. “But only because I thought you were a rude, arrogant pain in the ass. That’s all. In fact, you have yet to prove to me wrong. ”

Frankie let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Is that why you didn’t give me a slice of cake?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at him. “And how do I know you’re not still that smug asshole, huh?”

Frankie held your gaze for a second, then shrugged.

“You don’t.” His expression softened just slightly. “And if you wanted to take some distance after all of this, I’d get it.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

He nodded. “I haven’t exactly been good to you. Not at all. I’ve hurt you, disrespected you. And yeah, it’s been mutual, but… I’d understand. If you wanted me to step back.”

You swallowed, something thick forming in your throat.

“I’ve been mean to you, too.”

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. “Yeah. You have.”

“Remember when I threw that dart at you?”

Frankie groaned, rolling his eyes. “I still have the scar. Of course I remember.”

You looked at him then, amused, but it didn’t last. The lightness of the moment faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by something heavier pressing against your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. You blinked hard, but it was useless—your eyes were already burning. “About the other night. I’m really sorry. You’re none of those things. I don’t think you’re a failure. And I—I feel awful about what I said, Francisco.” You let out a breath, your voice wavering. “And I really like your family. Your mom is… she’s wonderful. No one with a family who loves them that much could ever be a failure.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could wipe it away, Frankie moved. He didn’t hesitate this time.

His arm came around you, pulling you in—not forceful, not demanding, just steady. Solid.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your hair. “It’s all right.”

You closed your eyes for a second, listening to his heartbeat, to the rise and fall of his breath.

“I’ve been a jerk to you,” he continued. “I just hope someday you can forgive me. For all the times I made you feel small or stupid. You’re none of those things. Never have been.” He let out a quiet breath. “I was—I'm just an asshole.”

You pulled away from him, your breath still unsteady, the warmth of his proximity lingering on your skin. When you looked up, his expression was tight, conflicted. There was something guilty in the way his gaze dropped for a second, like he wished he could take back whatever had just passed between you.

“Maybe,” you said, a small smile curving at the corner of your lips, though it wasn’t entirely lighthearted. “Then again, maybe we’re just too different. Or similar, at times.”

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours, steady and unreadable.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice even. “That must be why you make me so uncomfortable sometimes.”

A small, puzzled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyebrows pulled together.

“What do you mean?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you could see the realization hit him, the regret arriving a beat too late. His shoulders shifted, a quiet exhale leaving him as he glanced down at the cat beside him, as if Mr. Darcy might somehow provide him with an escape route. But then something like amusement flickered across his face, and a breathy, almost reluctant laugh followed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally looking at you again. “It’s strange. You make me nervous, I guess. Like, I don’t know how to talk to you, what to say. Maybe it’s the arguments, maybe it’s my self-esteem, who knows.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, as if it wasn’t something that had been bothering him for a long time.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed.” A pause. “Although, now that I think about it, you do come across like you have a hard time talking to women.” The words were teasing, but your gaze stayed on him, curious.

He huffed, shaking his head. “I grew up surrounded by women. Believe me, a man learns things,” he said, eyes steady on yours, serious but with something wry beneath the surface. “Even if he doesn’t want to.”

You let yourself smile then, dropping your gaze to your hands. There was something about this—about him, about the quiet between you—that felt different than before.

Mr. Darcy rubbed against your legs, then made his way toward Frankie, stretching out lazily before flopping onto his back, belly exposed, trusting. Frankie ran a slow hand through the soft fur, absentmindedly scratching along the cat’s ribs.

Funny, you thought. Mr. Darcy already trusted him enough to show him his ridiculous little belly.

Maybe—just maybe—you could consider doing the same.

“Frankie?” you murmured, watching the sharp lines of his profile, the way the dim light carved shadows across his face. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, absentmindedly pinching at the skin around your nail, a nervous habit you hadn’t been able to break.

He turned to you at once, eyes steady, dark, unreadable. “Yeah?”

You hesitated. Swallowed. “I want this to end.”

A crease formed between his brows. “What?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, as if that could encompass everything—the biting words, the unresolved tension, the years of something tangled and unsaid. “The fights. The confusion. I’ve had enough of it. I don’t want it anymore.”

Frankie was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, his expression serious but thoughtful. Then he nodded, once.

“Right.” His voice was steady. “I don’t want it either. And I get it. If you want me to stay away, I will. I’ll tell Santi. I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you—”

“No,” you interrupted, leaning in just slightly, just enough for him to notice. “I don’t want that either.”

That caught his attention. His posture shifted, the tension in his jaw loosening. “No?”

You shook your head. “I think Santi’s had enough, too. I don’t want to put him in the middle of this, make him feel like he has to split his time between us. It wouldn’t be fair. Don’t you think?”

Frankie exhaled, nodding. “Yeah.”

You glanced down at the coffee table between you, the two water glasses still untouched, condensation pooling at their bases.

“I just… I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel good, for either of us. Maybe we could try again. Be normal. Be… cordial.” Your eyes flicked back up to him. “We’re doing it right now, aren’t we?”

Frankie let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Look at us. Talking like regular, well-adjusted people. What’s next? Respecting each other?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a smirk. “Actually, I’d like that.”

“So would I.”

“But it’s not going to be easy,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening slightly. “This is years we’re talking about. You don’t just patch up a road that broken overnight.”

“I’m aware of that, ma’am.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Really?”

He lifted his chin, his shoulders squaring as if accepting a challenge.

“That’s right,” he said smoothly. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your brow furrowed. Suspicion prickled under your skin as you studied him. “How?”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth, something familiar sparking in his expression. You recognized it immediately. It meant he was up to something.

“Are you still making your list?” he asked.

You blinked. “Yeah…”

“Good.” He leaned forward slightly, the space between you shrinking just enough. “If you let me, I could help you with that.”

Your lips parted, then curled into a grin. “You’re telling me you’d go to a club with me just so I can kiss strangers?”

Frankie laughed, deep and genuine. “If that’s what you want. Do you?”

Your gaze dropped, landing on Mr. Darcy sprawled between you, tail flicking lazily. You considered it for a second longer than you meant to.

Then you looked back up at Frankie.

“Not yet,” you said.

“Okay. Just think about it. Pick something, and I’ll do it with you.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Really?” Your skepticism sharpened the word, your head tilting slightly as you studied him.

“Just say it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stood there, watching him, searching his expression for any sign of hesitation. Was this just him being polite, trying to smooth things over? Or did he actually mean it? Would the weight of the last few years—the fights, the misunderstandings, the things he knew you’d overheard—make him agree to anything just to prove a point?

The thought was almost amusing.

Your list was long. Some things were easy, some a little more complicated. Others, though, would be downright painful in the oppressive august heat.

How far would Frankie really go? He’d said anything. But how much did anything actually mean?

“Okay,” you said finally, drawing the word out just a little, watching the way his shoulders stayed loose, the way his eyes remained locked onto yours, waiting.

“Anything, then,” you repeated, testing him.

He didn’t blink. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” The corners of your mouth began to curve upward, the anticipation stretching into something almost giddy. You let the moment breathe, dragging it out just long enough to watch a flicker of uncertainty cross his face.

Then you said it.

“Skydiving.”

Frankie made a sound—something between a cough and a laugh, caught in his throat. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his expression somewhere between surprise and intrigue.

“Skydiving?”

“Yes.” You nodded, resolute.

For a second, he just looked at you, like he was waiting for you to take it back. Then, to your astonishment, he nodded.

“Perfect. We’ll go skydiving, then.”

Your breath hitched slightly. Your smile faltered, just for a moment.

“Really?”

Frankie shrugged, still watching you. “Yeah. If that’s what you want to do.”

“Good. Yeah.” You nodded, though the certainty you’d felt a moment ago was already beginning to waver. “Skydiving. I want... Skydiving.”

Frankie watched you closely, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We can do something else if you want.”

“No, no.” You shook your head, as if saying it more than once would make it true. “Skydiving. I want that.”

You stood up, grabbing your glass of water from the coffee table and carrying it with you toward the kitchen. The condensation on the glass chilled your fingers as you took a slow sip, trying to steady yourself.

Behind you, Frankie got up too. His footsteps were unhurried as he followed, his presence easy, unintrusive. He stopped in front of you, shifting his weight slightly as his hand settled on his hip. His grin had stretched wider, like he was already enjoying whatever came next.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll figure out all the details this week and let you know.”

You watched as his gaze drifted past you, landing somewhere on the wall behind you. He seemed to be thinking about something, his lips pressing together briefly before his eyes flicked back to yours.

“I think it’s a good idea, you know?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Starting the list up here,” he tapped his fingers against his temple, “and then working your way down. I mean, after this, going camping in the middle of the woods is going to feel like nothing.”

You considered that, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s true.”

His smile deepened, like he could see the shift in your expression, the way you were already beginning to believe it. “See? It makes sense.”

There was a beat of quiet. A comfortable one.

Then Frankie’s posture changed, his shoulders squaring just a little as he took a step closer. His voice was softer now, more deliberate.

“Well. Thanks for talking to me.” His eyes searched yours. “And for listening to me.”

You exhaled, glancing down at your glass before looking back at him.

“It’s okay, really. I needed it too.”

Frankie’s head tilted slightly. “Yeah?”

You lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Yeah.” A pause. “And I really hope things will be different from now on.”

He nodded, slowly, his gaze dropping to your feet as if grounding himself. “Me too.”

But he didn’t move just yet. He stayed there, hand still on his hip, eyes lingering on the floor like there was something else on his mind.

You watched him in silence, a dozen new questions forming, waiting on the tip of your tongue.

But they could wait. You could ask them another time, another day.

Now you knew you could.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” Frankie said suddenly, shifting his weight before stepping back. His voice was casual, like he’d just remembered he had somewhere else to be. He was already turning toward the door. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah—oh, Frankie,” you called after him. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder, brows lifting slightly.

“Santi told me your mom was asking about me,” you said. “That she was a little worried. Is everything okay?”

Frankie exhaled, running a hand over his jaw like the question had pulled something heavy to the surface.

“Things are complicated,” he admitted. “But don’t worry. I’ll tell her something—”

“I’ll go to dinner with you,” you interrupted. “At her place. If you want.”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes. “Oh—you don’t have to, really.”

“I know,” you said. “But I will. I don’t mind. Besides, I promised her.” You lifted a shoulder, watching him carefully. “Really, it doesn’t bother me. I like your mom.”

Frankie studied you, his gaze steady, assessing. Like he was waiting for you to crack, to take it back, to say you were just being polite.

You didn’t.

After a few beats, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to her, then.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling.

“Okay,” he echoed, and this time, there was something softer in his voice. He smiled back. “See you, then.”

“See you.”

He pivoted on his heel, crossing the room in a few strides. The door creaked open, and just like that, he was gone.

You stood there for a long moment, gripping your glass a little tighter, your mind catching up with everything that had just happened.

Were you actually going to throw yourself out of a fucking plane?

Jesus.

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 @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella

[julysalad]

My Big List Of Underappreciated Tomarrymort Works On AO3.

❗This list is based solely on my own fanfiction preferences. I think all fanfiction deserves to be read and known, even if I, personally, don't include it in this list❗

As a very picky reader, I'm usually left dissatisfied with the portrayal of characters or quality of the plot even in works that have many kudos and bookmarks. I often find my attention straying from the text, even if I was interested in a work after reading summary or first chapters.

So, in this list of recommendations I will include fanfiction that, in my opinion, deserves more readers and recognition. And that is the reason why I'm setting the bar at works that have less than 5000 kudos on AO3.

I'm also not adding fanfics that fall under Plot What Plot/Plot Without Porn tag on AO3 here. Firstly, because I've never seen anyone read their porn based on anyone's fic recommendations 🤷🏼‍♀️. Secondly, because I don't find myself lacking high-quality, well-written tomarrymort porn.

Works will be placed in no particular order.

More Precious than Rubies by Strange_Soulmates (T, 44K, 6/6)

Harry Potter has recently escaped from his dragon-guarded tower. So has his fellow prisoner - the dragon who was enchanted to guard him. Harry's friend is missing, however, and so he sets off to assure himself of his well-being before he finds the person responsible for imprisoning them both. Accompanied by a stranger with a familiar name, Harry finds himself with more questions than answers as he slowly learns about the customs of dragons and the history of the dragon he befriended, the fearsome Voldemort.

Fantasy AU. One of the first tomarrymort fics I've ever read and instantly loved. Very fluffy and tender work, no hurt only comfort. Harry and Tom | Voldemort are just really sweet together in this one.

The Nature of Mating by Strange_Soulmates (E, 22K, 6/6)

Ron and Hermione have spent the last year searching for their missing friend, Harry Potter. Just when they think they have finally found an answer, they're swept away themselves.

Harry Potter is tired of waiting for Tom to finish making a move, and is determined to take the last steps of their courtship himself if that's what it takes.

Voldemort? Voldemort just wishes his little pest had better taste in treasure.

Sequel to More Precious than Rubies. If you loved the first part, you'll probably love the second.

Mary Magdalene by @vashhanamichi (E, 17K, 4/?)

Based on a prompt for the Daddymort fest: when Harry tries to destroy four of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes they turn into babies instead and latch on to Harry like ducklings.

or:

SCANDAL! Young Mother Of Four Claims Dark Lord Hasn't Been Paying Child Support

The summary is self-explanatory in this one. Very enticing, very sensual work with dark themes. Mind the tags. Even though it hasn't been updated in a while I really hope it will be continued 🙏

Those Made of Lightning and Blood by A_Single_Cactus (E, 53K, 5/5)

A story in which Harry believes his soulmate bond is unreciprocated. Voldemort is his soulmate, but he's not Vodemort's. What he doesn't realize is that he's meant to speak his first words to Voldemort in a different time, not in front of the Mirror of Erised.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Soulmates AU. Falls under Tom Riddle Is His Own Warning tag (like most of the works in this list, to be honest). I really love the author's style in writing, the fanfic is a very easy read (I read it in one go).

The Reverent Son by A_Single_Cactus (E, 9K, 1/1)

When Harry decided to raise Tom Riddle as his son, he never could've imagined, one day, that the demon would want him. He never could've imagined his child growing to be a monster.

Lord, save him.

Church AU with demon!Tom. Mind the tags. Another work by the author of Those Made of Lightning and Blood. This fanfic comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but I still decided to include it because I really like this author's style.

In Your Soul is Sealed a Pleasure by mosiva (E, 22K, 2/2)

“So confident,” Voldemort murmured, “to be waiting here alone, this late at night.” He let a little menace seep into his tone.

The man merely smiled in return, cocky. “Oh, is this a bad area?” he said. “I hadn’t realised, what with the lack of streetlights and the not-so-distant screams. Silly me.”

Harry’s been sent back in time, but he’s still not worked out what it is about this specific moment that gives him the best chance to change things for the better. All he’s managed to do so far is talk to an oddly intense man in an alley and try not to get mugged.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The times of the First Wizarding War, with obsessive Voldemort and funny, charming, witty Harry.

A Light That Never Goes Out by @kippipies (M, 108K, 13/?)

Harry steals from the wrong people and finds himself left for dead with a bullet in his skull.

Except he doesn't die.

And now, he has an infamous criminal organization called the Death Eaters hot on his tail, determined to correct that mistake. Even worse, the group is led by a deranged kingpin named Voldemort, who seems to think trying to kill Harry is the best fun he's had in years.

Mafia | Mob boss AU. I've never thought I would enjoy a non-magical Harry Potter AU, because, for me, the whole point of Harry Potter is it's a magical world and a very important part of both Harry and Tom's characters. So if you're sceptical, like me, please give it a try – I promise you won't regret it. No "big strong alpha mafia boss falls in love with tiny little weak omega at first sight" in this one. An incredible story of slowly progressing obsession. The work is regularly updated.

One of my most favorite works.

What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries (M, 16K, 6/6)

Harry is sold at auction to a man who is clearly in some kind of disguise - Lord Riddle isn't as charming as he looks, and the way he looks at Harry...

A bit of guilty pleasure fanfic for me. I just love works with dark obsessive Tom | Voldemort and a bit of old fanfic tropes...

Saving the World, One Blowjob at a Time by NixandShit (E, 13K, 1/2)

Harry goes back in time to stop everyone from dying and ends up in a weird Slytherin hierarchy and saving the world by distracting the future dark lord with sex.

Time-travelling Harry AU. This work also comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but, just like with "The Reverent Son", it has plot and I just reeeeally love the author's style in writing. So yes, I'm including it.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 114K, 6/23)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to.

When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The work by the author of "What He Grows To Be", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (the amount of kudos is completely deserved). The author's style is incredible, the portrayal of characters is immaculate, the plot and plot twists are one of the most well-written I've ever seen! The fanfic isn't finished, but please support the author and read it anyway!

One of my most favorite works.

Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry (M, 87K, 2/2)

“You’re really quite a delight, Harry. I can’t believe I went weeks thinking you were useless and boring.”

Somehow, unwittingly, Harry finds himself engaged to Tom Riddle.

He’s not entirely sure how that happened.

Time-travelling Harry AU. A work full of funny scenes, smart dialogue and entertaining plot! The progress of Harry and Tom's relationship is portrayed realistically, and this is one of the most important things I value in fanfics.

The Sense of Self by SpitFire97 (E, 87K, 7/7)

This is the story of Death entrapping Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort in a series of reincarnations to undo the chaos the two of them have collectively caused. It’s a story of how two adversaries tangled in fate are forced to learn about themselves and through that, about the other; of them trying to work together for a change - if only, to pursue their individual goals.

Time-travelling Harry AND Tom | Voldemort AU. The character portrayal, the plot, the relationship between Harry and Voldemort – everything is portrayed perfectly in this work. I don't usually read works that have Death as a sentient being in them, because I usually find it frustrating when Death treats Harry Potter as someone special, almost bowing to him, and sends him back in time. So if you're, like me, wary of reading such fics – rest assured that this won't be a problem in this work. Harry's MoD!status doesn't make him overpowered – he's just as powerless as Voldemort, both of them being puppets in Death's hands.

One of my most favorite works.

Yule Ball by @holaolla1 (E, 5K, 1/1)

“How do you find our first dance, Professor?” the Slytherin's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts bringing him back to the harsh reality. He looked skeptically over to Riddle's face, a sly smile playing on the latter’s lips.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think we'll ever have another?”

“I’m sure we will,” Riddle’s smile grew wider. Harry huffed deciding not to comment. After all, if one ignores the problem long enough, the problem will eventually disappear on its own.

Professor/Student AU. A short, well-written work.

Vicious Circle by Bakuko, cyberslut404, kewpiekewpie (E, 194K, 37/?)

Harry and Hermione are transported back in time, while Tom Riddle begins his first year at Hogwarts.

Time-travelling Harry AND Hermione AU + Professor/Student AU. The work is regularly updated. I really love the plot and author's style.

One of my most favorite works.

Kisses Cursed by The_Fictionist (NR, 49K, 13/13)

Fairytale AU. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast.

Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was instead a nightmare, left lingering upon the earth a very long time ago.

Harry just knew it wasn't safe to walk near the Riddle House after dark.

Incredible. Just incredible. I have no other words for this masterpiece. I stayed up until 6 AM because I just couldn't put my phone down until I finished this work. This fanfic deserves to be published as a Harry Potter fan-book. The author of this work became a professional writer and, let's just say, I can see why.

One of my most favorite works.

The Devil's Playground by The_Fictionist (NR, 26K, 3/3)

AU. The Devil's Playground was the most exclusive nightclub in London, if not all of Europe. So, frankly, Harry wasn't entirely sure how he came to be bathed in its flawlessly concocted ambiance, with music pounding in his ears and an entirely delicious drink cold against his palm. But it had something to do with the deaths.

Supernatural AU. The work by the author of "Kisses Cursed" .

The Closing Of The Year by kcstories (T, 4K, 1/1)

After his divorce, Harry Potter moves in with Tom Riddle. So does his ten-year-old son Albus Severus, who tries his utmost to get used to his new surroundings and to the strange, sinister man his dad has fallen in love with.

A very fluffy, comforting work featuring post-war Harry, Tom | Voldemort and Albus Severus. I really like the budding relationship between Tom and Albus, love for Harry being a bonding point for them. All three of them are just so sweet together.

Enthralled by @obsidianpen (M, 5K, 1/1)

“Do you know what it is like, to be bitten by a vampire?”

Vampire AU. A work by the author of "No Glory", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (and one of my most favorite fics). Very sensual, enticing and hot work.

Dulce Et Decorum Est Mori by beetaker (E, 134K, 10/10)

“Do you think he meant it?” Harry asked, once the professor was gone, tracing the gilded lettering of his own name on the letter he'd given Harry. “We're really Wizards?”

“It makes sense,” Tom shrugged, though he could hardly look away from his own letter, the proof of what he'd always known, in some pit inside himself, that he was something different from everyone around him, that he was something better. He'd believed the first priest that had told him the same thing, albeit it opposite in nature, that he was a devil. It had made sense at the time, just as this answer did. Anything that offered an explanation for his being set so apart.

“I'm glad it's both of us,” Harry said, green eyes somehow greener, the natural brightness in him turning incandescent. Tom had thought he'd known the answer for that before too, dull hours at Sunday service spent gazing at the sun illuminating stained glass portraits, thinking: angel. “I'm glad we're going together.”

“We'll always go together,” Tom said, knowing it as fact, unable to imagine anything different. Wherever he went, Harry was sure to follow. It'd been that way forever. It would surely always be that way.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Tom and Harry Grow Up Together AU. This story is Tom Riddle's POV and it's very well-written, it's an amazing study of his character, his sociopathy, his relationship with Harry. The great character portrayal+great plot combo I'm always looking for in tomarrymort work is present here. Please go read it, it has awfully little attention!

One of my most favorite works.

Keep Your Enemies Closer by @duplicitywrites (T, 3K, 1/1)

"Evans does have quite the... physical advantage," says Avery.

"We saw him tackle that enormous Hufflepuff beater during the last match," comments Lestrange. "He's mad."

"Do you think he could lift you, Tom?" asks Nott.

"Shut up, all of you," Tom says, but it's too late. He's thinking about it.

Time-travelling Harry AU. Funny, comforting work with Tom Riddle Outsmarting Himself ™.

The Marry-Harry Incident by Anna_Hopkins (G, 3K, 1/1)

"Why, is that an engagement ring you're buying, Harry? Who's the lucky witch or wizard, hm?"

Harry... panicked. "...You. It's for you."

Or: When Voldemort shows up at a Muggle department store, Harry blurts out the first explanation that comes to mind.

A funny, humorous and comforting work.

The Heir de la Mort by @rowena-rain (E, 82K, 18/?)

When Voldemort hits Harry with the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest, it fails yet again. Only this time, the problem is that instead of ending a life, it creates one.

“Harry Potter,” he says softly, tasting his prophesied killer’s loathsome name on his tongue. “The Boy Who Lived.” Come to die.

A pause. And then, he utters the fateful words. “Avada Kedavra.”

First, everything goes green.

Then, everything goes black.

When the Dark Lord regains consciousness, he hears before he sees, and the first thing he hears is crying. Why is there a baby crying?

Child fic, but not a fluffy, no hurt only comfort work – it has dark themes, as Voldemort is not exactly what one might call a great parent. However, the work is well-written, I like the plot and Voldemort is slowly changing as the time passes. I highly recommend this work.

In the Shadows by orphan_account (M, 5K, 1/1)

For so many years Harry had been running. Hiding. Hoping that Tom had simply forgotten him. Or, thinking that Harry was just a beta, had decided to chase someone else.

He should have known better.

Living close to knockturn alley.

Even the shadows all have eyes.

Omegaverse AU. Another guilty-pleasure fic for me, as Harry in this one is kind of damsel in distress, but sometimes I just want to read something that is predictable in a good way.

[lovefender76]

study day

steve helps you at the library!

you had desperately begged steve to go with you to the library for the past 3 days and he finally caved, assuring you he’d help you search for the book you so desperately needed for the paper you were writing. he knew how stressed you could get when doing an assignment for school, wanting it to be the very best and so steve felt obligated to not only help you but decrease the stress you felt.

you both pulled up outside the local library in steve’s bmw, you had offered to walk but steve argued. “your bound to pick up more than one book, we’ll just take the car” it was a fair argument and it had happened once or twice before. you scoured the bookshelves after directing steve to check the opposite end of the library thinking that would lessen the time spent away from your work. that was until someone whispered in your ear “i’m bored”, you turned to see steve pouting at your side. you giggled before pressing your hand to your mouth, “you can wait in the car”. steve dramatically shook his head at your response “i’ll just stay by your side” he spoke softly slotting his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

eventually you found the book, pulling it from the bookshelf and proudly showing steve who silently cheered. moving back to the front desk you checked out the book noticing that steve had picked one out for himself as well. you made your way back to the car, steve following closely behind you “i’m proud of you” he called after you. you turned with a questioning look on your face “huh”, “you only picked up one” he remarked. “maybe i’m getting sick” you chirped sarcastically, pretending to check your own temperature. steve came up behind you wrapping his arms around you, “you should probably rest straight away then,” he murmured in your ear “can’t have you getting ill now”.

once you got back to steve’s house you immediately got to work in his living room making notes of different points you could make throughout your paper and writing down the corresponding pages that support them. you were less than 15 minutes into the task when steve crashed down beside you “you need to rest” he claimed. you gently pushed him away “just give me 10 more minutes and i promise i’m all yours”, steve grumbled at this but relented knowing pressing you would only extend the amount of time you worked.

ten minutes later steve whined, he had been patient all day and so you dropped your pen down. turning to him ready to give him all your attention steve surprised you; “do you want to read your ideas out to me? sometimes actually saying them helps you make more sense of them” he offered. you smiled sweetly at him, feeling beyond grateful that you had been blessed with such a thoughtful boyfriend before nodding- picking up the notepad you read out what you had wrote down eyeing steve every so often to see him nodding his head as he listened to you speak.

“you’re going to smash this y’know” steve commented after you got through your list, you smiled leaning into him “thank you so much for your help today” you told him. he hummed in response as you both curled into each other more than ready to settle down for the evening.

[newttxt]

hi quip! i really like your one piece comics and i am curious how you do them! i'm not good at comics and want to be better at drawing them! how do you learn how to make comics?

thank you!

uh oh... im afraid u have caught me at the perfect crossroad of "bored at work" and "unrelated task ive been meaning to do but keep putting off."

this is long. i hope you like reading (and grayscale progress pics). and of course!!! disclaimer before we begin that this is just how I, personally draw comics. there is no "right way."

quip's comic-making process!

Switching my typing to make this more legible...

My process can kinda be broken down into 6 steps:

Brainstorming

Thumbnailing

Sketching

Panels & Text

Lines

Tones/Colors

1. Brainstorming

My brain is a leaky sieve on a good day, so I sloppily jot down ideas in my phone notes the moment I have them. This helps me when it's time to draw too, because if I feel art blocked, I can look through old concepts and see what catches my interest.

Otherwise, I love drawing for other people's writing. :) And if worst comes to worst, doing manga/comic page redraws in my style teaches me new things every time.

Once I have my idea, I'll usually make a bulletpoint list of "plot points" or "story beats" I want. Then I plan the comic with this format that I've adapted from a tutorial I read once. I'm going to use my most recent comic (original comic post) as an example.

I start in the third column, writing notes of what I'd want to see in each panel. I also include the dialogue (in this case, I didn't have to write the dialogue! it's from the fanfic linked in the original comic post!). I usually write the whole name like [Luffy:], but at this point I've drawn so much of these guys, just the first letter works.

I like to handwrite these notes to get an idea for how much text I'm putting in a single panel.

After I describe all the panels, I go back and separate them into pages. I can't tell you how to know how many panels to a page. It's whatever works for you. I just kinda know about how big each panel will be, and so I can feel when I'm probably running out of space. (Also. You can change things later. I don't in this example, but I add/drop pages/panels all the time.)

2. Thumbnailing

Thumbnailing—as the name suggests—should be done tiny. Too tiny to accidentally get sucked into details.

This is about marking down blobs where items/characters go, and figuring out the paneling. I'll draw and redraw these a bunch of times too.

This is also the most time-consuming/brain-working part for me. If I were in a zine that did progress percentage, I'd try to finish thumbnailing around the 50% mark (but I'm also a moderately fast artist, so your mileage may vary).

I think the terrible quality makes them charming, actually. I really like how silly they look. :')))

I will add, when you draw your "page" rectangle, make sure it's the same proportions as your actual canvas for the final image. You want an accurate idea of how much space each panel will take up, especially if you have a lot of text.

3. Sketching

This is my most recent change to my usual workflow, and it's saving me a lot of time. I make my thumbnails a bit bigger (each one about half the size of the final canvas), and I sketch these basic body forms right over them.

It just helps give me placement for my actual lines!

I usually draw these in a paleish color so I can lower the opacity and not get distracted by them while lining. The random darker parts are to either help keep two forms separate (like when two characters have their limbs all over) or to better define sections that were too sloppy/poorly proportioned.

I also think this helps my poses stay looser, because I have more dramatic/wriggly shapes that aren't too bogged down by proportions yet.

Sidenote: I CANNOT show this here, but sometimes this is when I take videos. Of myself. I prop my phone camera up and shoot a video of me acting each panel. :/// It looks really dumb, but it also shows me fun body language ideas like hand gestures, expressions, weight distribution, etc. Just pretend you're an overdramatic cartoon character, and try not to worry about your roommates or mother walking in on you doing odd things. (You can also use the video for anatomy reference later, but I usually just capture the vibe and don't try to copy the actual video frame.)

4. Panels & Text

Oh, boy. So, the panels are usually just straight lines (though it's fun to make creative exceptions, like a round panel to mimic looking through a spyglass), but there are some fancy rules that I don't strictly adhere to.

I believe (I have no technical training in this. Take everything I say with a grain of salt) the vertical gaps (between two side-by-side panels) should all be a consistent width and the horizontal gaps (between two panels on top of each other) should be another. The vertical ones? Should be thinner? Because you want the eye to easily glide between them, whereas the horizontal gaps should be a visual barrier to keep you from jumping ahead. Just something I've vaguely noticed.

There are lots of fun "default layouts" you can look up. Or keep it a consistent grid. I think it's fun to sometimes have characters/objects sticking out of panels and overlapping others. This is just a matter of taste, creativity, and inspiration. (Read Witch Hat Atelier... It has some of my favorite paneling...)

You may also notice I have already done the speech bubbles. This is, to me, a crucial step. This helps me catch early if I don't have enough room for all the words. It also lets me plan the art in each panel with the speech bubbles in mind. There's nothing worse than working really hard on a panel, and then you realize there's no room for the bubbles.

I also try to lay them out in a way that guides the eye! Even without art, can people tell where to go next? Better yet, if I want people to look at panels out of order (aka not left to right, in my case), can I use the speech bubble path to make them? Here's just a vague example of what I mean.

As an added bonus, doing speech bubbles early also allows me to be lazy! :) Ignore the comic; I'm not supposed to post it yet oops,, There's a whole lot of drawing to do on each comic page, and I am not wasting my time on stuff that will be covered up. So yes, if I hide my bubbles, there are a lot of unfinished lines trailing off into nothing. (As a bonus, if there's a part of a character you're struggling with—and it won't look weird to do so—you can move speech bubbles to just hide the problem area yayyy)

Making the actual bubbles could be their own whole tutorial, tbh, but there are some general guidelines I use.

Zoom out when you choose your font size. You want to know how it will look to the average reader, so it isn't super teeny tiny or way too big. You generally want to keep the same text size for all your pages/bubbles.

When I draw bubbles, I try to size them about one vertical letter height (and some change) around the words [left side]. This isn't always the case though, because humorously large or funny shaped text bubbles can convey different feelings [right side].

On Procreate, I set my bubble lines to Reference and just drag-and-drop the white fill on a separate layer below the lines. (Remember to turn Reference back off again when you're done, or your fill bucket won't work right when you're drawing.)

To get the white outlines I use to keep the bubbles from cluttering up the art, I literally just Gaussian blur an all-white copy of the lines + fills... and then I copy and merge it 5 times until it's opaque enough. This is a terrible way to do it, but it works for me. :')

5. Lines

This is the part that I can't tell you how to do. I literally just. Draw right over my wacky sketched body forms. Boom. Comic drawn.

I'll make three suggestions:

Don't focus on making every panel perfect. Give a little extra love to big ones or ones you want people to linger on. Otherwise, know that people are typically speeding through the art. It's way more important to focus on storytelling than art technique. In my opinion, a good story that's told well will always be better than a beautiful one told poorly. (Some comics are beautiful AND well-written... Alas, I am just a hobbyist who needs to get the ideas out of my head at top speed.)

Put your background lines on a different layer. Put your foreground lines on a different layer too, if you have those. Basically, I try to keep the main part of each panel (usually a character or object) on my lines layer so I can erase background/foreground/etc lines to ensure clarity/focus.

You can make background lines lighter colors too. I have too many numbers sorry. (1) Background. The stuff that's farthest away. Lightest lines. Few details; more focused on shapes and the suggestion of a background (I'm not good at backgrounds). (2) Midground. Same distance away as the characters are. Lines can be black. (3) Also midground, and also the same distance away. But they're very detailed, so I lighten them so they aren't so distracting. (4) The characters. Black lines for focus. For people who haven't seen the comic, I swear they are just hugging. This is SFW. D:

6. Tones/Colors

Do not. Do NOT ask me. I don't understand colors. I hate working with them, but I try because I want to improve. I hate doing anything beyond the simplest grayscale shading. Please go elsewhere for your coloring/tone advice. This is how my color picker looks 95% of the time. I have pre-set "percentages" of black that I got by lowering the opacity of a black layer and just color picking it. I don't even know the exact percentages I used. Good luck out there. Be better than me.

7. Sharing

This is a bonus step that I didn't mention earlier, but it's actually the most important of all of them.

You need a friend. Or maybe a groupchat or discord. A family member or coworker if you're really close like that. I don't know.

Find SOMEWHERE you can spam wips and be cheered on. Drawing comics takes a while, especially if you're trying to tell longer stories than I'd dare to attempt. If I don't force someone to praise me for every line I draw, I shrivel up and die.

Also if and when you post online, add alt text. I'll admit I'm the first person to complain and drag my feet on this, and I literally use a screenreader myself when my eyes hurt (strong prescription glasses wearer). Comics should be accessible, because stories are fun and everyone should be able to enjoy them.

***

Learning???

And I guess lastly, how do you learn to make comics? Two steps: 1) read them and 2) make them. This is the tragedy of creating things.

1) Reading them: I grew up reading comic strips, western serialized comics, and webcomics. I've always loved graphic novels too. Then in late middle school, I started reading manga (Death Note and Haikyuu were my first two), and now I'm trying to read more webtoons (sorry im so slow bree)!

I also... mass-consume doujinshi, thanks to proxy mailing services and bilingual friends/Google Translate/knowing some Korean. (I have an entire bookshelf of doujin, actually,,)

The thing is, it's not usually enough to just read comics. You also need to be thinking. :/ I notice paneling, comic devices, clever comedic timing, etc. as I go. It's just a lot of studying/learning while also enjoying the story.

2) Making them: You just have to start. :( Even if you think they're "bad." My first comics were actually just drawings placed randomly all over the page, connected by speech bubbles (yay... I was already practicing how to place bubbles to lead the eye around the page...). I was going to post a pic here, but I'm a coward. Backscroll my account and you can find some older ones though.

I also know my art in general improved dramatically when I did ten comics in ten weeks for my friend's fic. Don't do this. It hurt my hands/wrists. But do practice in moderation.

***

If you actually read all that... I hope it made even a modicum of sense. And maybe it was even helpful? Just know at the end of the day, there is literally no right way to draw a comic.

And if you aren't ready to go for it yet, you can start by just adding a couple speech bubbles to your illustrations or doodles! It's a way to add storytelling and dialogue writing to things you may already be making.

Yay. I love comics. :))))

[thatguywrites]

Vienna

Max Verstappen x Male!Reader

When Max is overworking himself to the bone in the preseason, and you need to talk some sense into him before he burns out

A/N I'm back after my one week break! I'm gonna try and write more fics to create a WIP list so that that doesn't happen, but I also encourage people to send in asks cause I'm gonna run out of ideas at some point :)

In the bustle of the preseason chaos, you hadn't had much time to spend with your lovely boyfriend. Between the incredibly boring F175, and testing instantly starting in the week following, Max was too busy running around, working out, taking calls, and providing feedback. It seemed the only times you saw him anymore were in the mornings and late at night, when he would slip into bed with you, muttering thanks for the certainly cold dinner you had left him, before he collapsing into sleep.

Finally, one day you managed to have him to yourself for a whole evening, as soon as his morning workouts were done, you would be able to push him into bed for some snacks, and movies, and boyfriend time. But, when Max arrived home, he was clearly still in work mode. Flurrying around the house, taking notes of things about the car that he hadn't told the engineers the day before, before hopping into the sim to do lap after lap in the model car Redbull had sent him.

Your kinder bars, fruits, and Netflix left untouched, you waited on the couch for him to finish. Maybe he just wanted to figure something out. Everyone gets like that; when something nags at them and they just need to get it right. He would be done by dinner.

By the time dinner came, you'd lost hope that he would come to bed naturally. It began to seem that you would have to do something yourself to get Max to eat with you and to finally relax. Walking over to his rig, you placed a kiss on his cheek, pulling his headphones back, "I'll be on the balcony, ok?"

Without looking away from the screen, he nodded, before shooing you away.

Once on the balcony, sitting down, you finally felt at rest. For a break moment you didn't have to worry about Max, or how he was working himself to the bone and you by extension. It was you, and the cool air of Monaco.

You got lost in your thoughts, but it could have been two or twenty minutes before you heard the door behind you open, and Max sit next to you, placing a blanket around your shoulders.

"You looked cold, in just a T-shirt" He said, softly. You noticed you could see his breath. Maybe it was cold.

"Didn't notice"

"Why out so long?"

Your own puff of breath appeared infront if you as you leaned back against your apartment, looking up at the now visable stars. "Thinking. Why were you on your sim so long? Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Max looked down, maybe ashamed. A small part of you felt good about that. That he felt bad about hurting you. But the rest of you just wanted to scoop him into a hug and never let go.

"I mean, last year's car worried me. And Lando's improved, and I'm sure Oscar'll be up there too this year, so I'm doing my best now to make sure we end up with the best car." You could feel his eyes on you, a nervous energy in your previous safe space, his warm hands wrapping around your cold ones, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for worrying you, and ignoring you. I'm sorry that I haven't been prioritizing us at all. I'm sorry that I spent my entire afternoon off working." He pulled you into his arms, resting his head on yours, and pressing kisses atop your hair.

"I didn't want to push you, I know your work is important to you. I don't want to act as if I'm above racing to you, I know it's your life, but I want to be a part of your life too." At your words Max jolted away, eyes wide, with a small pout on his lips.

"No! No, no, no, racing is a huge part of my life, sure, but so are you. I'm sorry I haven't made that clear, I love you. I just worry that I'm not trying hard enough for the world sometimes, that I'll fall behind on track because of it", He trailed off, looking down into the busy streets

"Well, I'm sure the fastest man on Earth, who works harder than anyone else I've ever seen will manage to pose a threat, even if he takes a break for one night, no?"

Breaking out into a smile, Max responded, "Yeah"

Taglist (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hi, this is the same anon who question what not to ask about! Thanks again for the reply, I feel so much more calmer asking knowing that I won't ask for something you not comfortable with!! I just had one thought in my head, how would Metal Sonic react if at one moment he was saved by a reader despite the fact that they are on different sides (I leave it up to you to choose the situation, maybe he will refuse the help or something but I just really will be interested read something like this :] ) and then, for example, the reader needed help!

Precis: metal sonic getting saved by reader and repaying the favor

Warnings: near death experience!!

Notes: oo this is a cute one!! It was really interesting to write and I'm glad you asked me to make this<3 ok but lowkey metal sonic is kinda fascinating, like, does he think or not? I'm fighting every urge in my body to not make reader have magical girl powers grbfxioslwkrnc metal sonic is a silly little thing confirmed by me😛 edit: I thought I'd make the tag lost generally and not only for the valentines posts lol

Metal sonic tag list: @eternallykokomi @francistimefranche

I have talked about how I view metal sonic many times; a robot who's loyal, proving he can destroy his body many times purely out of loyalty, choosing to stay with his maker until his end, the only times he falls in love is when his code shows faulty. His feelings, if he even has any, are a mystery. A huge mystery. What are his thoughts? There are so many questions that race your mind everyday, when you fight, when you stare, when you think of him. It's so much. Metal sonic is so fascinating

Let's say you're on Sonic's side, or maybe even on your own, nonetheless you're found to get into a fight with Metal sonic if you're against Eggman! When a fight did break out, all hell broke loose. There was a lot of damage, but on particular home, the roof fell off, leaving rubble and more falling straight on metal. In an act of your hero complex, or maybe just stupidity, you push (the disaster reference) Metal sonic out of harm's way. The landing was rough, but it wasn't that bad seeing as you landed on metal. Did you just save him? Metal sonic was bewildered, why would you save him? The robot immediately pushes you off and makes a run for it. What ever needed to be done could wait!

That little scene replayed in Metal sonics head over and over, during fighting, while on patrol. Everywhere. The way your panicked voice asked if he was ok, the fearful look in your eyes... It made him feel all warm inside. Maybe he was glitched? Even after virus scans, checkups, system repairs, anything and everything... You wouldn't leave his mind, something inside him bloomed, bloomed into something amazing. So this is love? So this is the love that everyone raves over everywhere he goes? It felt so nice, yet, it hurt knowing he could probably never love you. You didn't even like Eggman for crying out loud! So why should metal sonic like you?

When Metal sonic finally went back into the battlefield, it felt empty, nothing felt right. He could only watch you, think of you, yearn for you. His non existent soul thirsts for your contact after you've left. He knew the clock was ticking, maybe he could never confess? He couldn't even talk, what a silly little thing metal was. When metal sonic entered another mission, he knew there was a high chance of seeing you. It sounded like something made for you, he didn't know whether that was good or bad. When He saw you again, he first noticed how tired you looked. Have you not been getting sleep? Are you doing too much? He felt like he was gonna short circuit from worry. Your fighting was sloppy, your body looked spent and tired from fighting. You should take a break. The evidence of your tiredness showed when you didn't realize how a badnik was about to pounce on you, the eyes looking blood thirsty and out for its prey. Metal sonic knew in the moment he had to do something. Suddenly, when you turn around, you saw metal sonic, his sharp claws full of the oil of the badnik, eyes looking straight at you; lovesick. It's a small way of repaying the favor, maybe, just maybe, he could help a bit more.

[moonlitenvyillust]

Hey TeleNeo fans, want some pain? No? Too bad here you go

Tags: men crying (why would that be a warning tbh), angst (or at least a try out of writing angst), love letters but the sender is dead, major character death, Telemachus is mentioned but is the sender, EURYCLEA MY QUEEN, Neo cries <3, don't you love making character's suffer, ancient Greek gays, TELENEO CLUB HAS FOUR/FIVE MEMBERS ISTG-, deprived of content. So I'll write it!, me being a tired bitch, based on: "to my dear Historia" With too many alterations.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

And so the letter ends.

The second he heard of the great Odysseus's return, he felt a pang of relief for Telemachus. His beloved finally got the one thing he had dreamed of for his entire life. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous... He never got such reunion with his own father. The great Achilles had died and that was why he was drafted to war.

He immediately set sail to Ithaca as he heard the news. He finished his little quest and immediately jumped onto a ship. His little mind could not comprehend how much he missed the island, but more over, how much he missed his Telemachus

Walking down from the ship to the docs, he was just about to go to the palace when-

"Excuse me, Lord Neoptolemus?"

That voice... Neo remembered her, that's Telemachus's nurse maid, Euryclea.

"It's so hard to try and find you, here, a favor from the prince"

She handed him a letter, albeit an not so old not so new looking one. Atleast a few weeks old. A stain is seen on the edge... Coffee? No, that's the colour of Telemachus's meds when it dries on white.

And the letter wrote...

"To my dear, Phyrrus

As I write this, my health is severely declining. I wished to give this letter to you directly–hell, maybe even say the words I wish to say. But my voice has been lost through my last fight with a suitor. He hit me hard enough, I think I broke my vocal chords. However I of course had asked Euryclea for her word, to give this to you during your next visit. I know for a fact you are a busy man, multiple quests given to you at a time. Henceforth I didn't send this letter, I didn't want to worry you and give you an unsafe return.

That said, I want to be selfish. Just for once. I swear it. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But even before the suitors plagues my life, I had been dying. In a literal sense.

My body is weaker than an average man and it's not only because of the fact I am untrained, but it's because of severe health disorders... Yes I have been training under Athena, but that doesn't mean my chronic pain just Dissapears. It gets worse, actually. But I can deal with it. Usually

I have realized that my time is no longer than at least a few weeks when this letter is wrote. The headaches had been more frequent, I fall over with leg pains more often, and it just overall shows a sign that my name is in the "to reap" Soul list of Thanatos.

I love you, more than how I would love a friend. But not able to be as a lover, for you deserve someone better. Someone stronger. Someone... Your height of glory. But I shall let myself be selfish for my last few days. I love you.

I ask for my body to only be burnt when you made an appearance. I know it's so much to ask. But words spread fast and you run faster.

So, if I die before you return... Consider this as my goodbye."

It had been a while since the last time Phyrrus cried

But just this once

He let himself weep

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I had a vague idea for this after watching a "to my dear Historia" Edit, so have this. Share my pain.

@ list because I know who would like this stuff @cutob @no1teleneoshipper @lenamiyabi @lemonade-tree7 here you go. We are deprived of content tbh. Have angst, almost forgot @kindred-spirit-93

[bealidiscope]

💿 • 𝓱𝓾𝓰𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮

𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

☆ chan x idol au f!reader fluff

☆ established relationship

☆ y/n is worried that when she helps chan produce she keeps messing up

☆ TW : hugging, kissing, flirting, self doubt , pet names , angst, crying , y/n breaks down

chan and you loom over his laptop ,it’s 3 am, this is the 3rd time this week u have been up this long with chan. do you mind? not a single bit, in fact you cherish every moment seeing your amazingly talented boy friend perfecting the songs for skz’s newest release. even if you don’t say this to a single soul, you have got to admit chan in his cozy hoody, beanie, perfect chocolate brown curls slipping out of it and his bare face, is just perfect to you, hot even.

he passes you your signature light pink gel pen as he asks, “y/n baby, can you see if you can help me write this verse? i just can’t seem to get it right.” “of course channie” you answered back reassuring him you will make the perfect verse, you stare at the paper, reading over chan’s lyrics. you grab your note book writing down multiple ideas then stare at it further more, again re writing your ideas, an extra word maybe, a ryhme or maybe even a completely different line, you think to yourself, intill you give up. you scribble it out ,causing the paper to tear. chan hears the massively loud rip of paper, he immediately spins his chair to face more in your direction.

“baby are you okay?” he inquired full of care as well as plenty of worry, “yeah yeah, im fine. my finger slipped and i accidentally ripped the page sorry my love” your voice full of doubt and anger, anger at yourself for not being able to write a song, who even were you if you couldn’t write a song? did chan deserve someone as truly utterly talentless as you? thoughts raced through your head, your eyes slowly welling up. until you broke, sat there next to your boy friend, wondering if your even good enough to be his girlfriend, or as he always swore his future wife.

he immediately grasped you in his arms, his heat pulling you back to reality. “y/n? i know your aren’t ok please just tell me what’s wrong?” he asked trying to stay calm and composed. he hated seeing you like this. you didn’t say a single thing, not even a single shake of the head, you just further nuzzled you head into his chest,still sobbing. chan grabs the notepad discreetly while he still holds you close. he reads between the scribbles as well as he can.

“y/n angel, this all can’t be about your writing, right? your song writings amazing and perfect just like you, please just look at me baby” he whispers whilst he besties a sweet gentle kiss on your temple. you finally look up, when he gives u get another kiss, further snaking one arm around your waist, the other around your shoulder.

“im sorry baby… im sorry that i just can’t write anymore, you don’t deserve this im sor-“ you remark, only to be shushed by chan like always .”no no y/n, do you know how much i love you, how special you are to simply put it, your irreplaceable. i’ve never loved another the way i loved you baby. please never say that, your perfect, talented, beautiful and so sweet, please never forget that!” he insisted, deeply saddened by the thought of you thinking so low of yourself, lifting your face up slightly. “i literally adore you, your my forever and always my love. im so so lucky to have you, you could of picked anyone else, but you picked me and that just makes me the luckiest and happiest boy ever, babe” he mentioned affectionately.

you two should there for a minute, blushing, yet still intertwined.

when finally he sat you down on his chair, crouched down, whispering in your ear, “i love you y/n please don’t forget that”. you immediately cocooned him in a hug constantly showering his face with kisses, intill you were out of breath. “i love you too chan, i love you more than you will ever, ever know”

🤍

ー　by 　bealidoscope 🌱

comment below to join tag list!!

💿 @hyuneskkami

[ak-fantasies]

A Fool

Yunho Imagine (Sequel to

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Yunho didn’t understand … where did it go wrong? 

(Inspired by fool - winner )

Tag list: @gigikubolong29 @fixonateez8 

sorry it took a bit yall... lol i got busy and had to write this one from the old scrap bucket called my brain. lol 

also I've tried posting this 5 times ;-; why does this hate me

Yunho called the number again, over and over, but no answer. His brows furrowed as he stood in the middle of the airport. 'Why wasn’t she answering?’ He thought before he felt arms around his waist. “Yunho!” Yuri said with a smile. Yunho looks at Yuri and smiles. He puts the phone away in his pockets and holds Yuri’s shoulder. “Yuri.. What’s wrong?” Yunho asked and Yuri shook her head. “Nothing… I’m just going to miss you..” She said, nuzzling her face into his chest. “I’ll miss you too..” Yunho said and Yuri smiled. “Say… Yunho…. If I never left, would we be together?” Yuri asked and Yunho froze. “I…” He paused, thinking about it. Yuri his first love and the one who he dropped almost everything for. “Would you give us the chance to be together?” Yuri asked and Yunho sighed. “You know that I’m already with (y/n)” He reminded her. Yuri pouts. “But every time I called you, you come running, even when you’re with her. Don’t you love me more Yunho? If you love me, why don’t you leave her for me?” Yuri asked and Yunho sighed. “Because that’s in the past. You left remember and you’re leaving again. I can’t handle that every time. (Y/n) stays for me.” Yunho said, and Yuri pushed him away. Tears falling down her face, but Yunho wipes them away. “I’ll return in a couple of years, so will you choose me then?” Yuri asked and Yunho shook his head. “I wouldn’t choose you then. I plan to marry (y/n) when we finish our research. That will be long before you return.” “But…” “Maybe if this was another lifetime,” Yunho said, kissing her on the top of her head. “I’ll win you back when I come back… Count on it..” Yuri said before grabbing her suitcase and walking to her gate.

Yunho called again, but when the line immediately disconnected, he felt his stomach dropped. He quickly called his driver and made his way toward (y/n)’s apartment. When he opened the door, it was empty. The entire apartment was empty, only a few items that he had given you were left. “(Y/n)?” He called out, hoping to hear your voice. Maybe he was selfish, as he didn’t know what he had done wrong to have you leave him so suddenly. Or maybe he did know. He really didn’t care about his pride right now, just for a moment, he just wanted to see you. Even if it is just for a moment, he wishes he had held onto you longer. He quickly pulled out his phone and made a phone call. “Hello?” The voice on the other hand, reluctantly answered. “Seonghwa… Where did (y/n) go?” Yunho asked, his voice barely pulling together. “(Y/n) didn’t tell you?” Seonghwa asked. “You think if (y/n) told me, would I call you like this?” Yunho answered out of frustration. “Woah, chill okay… (y/n) left abroad to pursue their studies. I think something about taking over the company soon.” Seonghwa said, not spilling too much as he knew that (y/n) would murder him if he said anything else. “Why didn’t they tell me?” Yunho asked, desperate for answers. “Yunho… (y/n) wanted me to give you something too.. You can meet me at the coffee shop that (y/n) always goes to.” Seonghwa said and Yunho agreed, quickly going to the coffee shop. An hour goes by, then two, three before Seonghwa finally shows up. Yunho was sitting in the corner, his leg continuously tapping as he was trying to calm down his nerves.

“You must’ve waited very long huh?” Seonghwa said, setting his bag down before sitting down across from Yunho. “What is it that (y/n) wanted you to give me?” Yunho asked, looking at Seonghwa with eyes that had been holding back tears for hours. “Yunho…. What have you been doing the past few months?” Seonghwa asked, as he calmly dug through his bag. “I’ve been busy with work, trying to get an engagement ring for (y/n), and spending time with Yuri,” Yunho said, trying to recount anything he did wrong. Seonghwa sighed and pulled out the letter. He hands it to Yunho, something inside the envelope with the letter. “I think, instead of worrying about Yuri, you should’ve worried more about (y/n).” Seonghwa said. Yunho quietly looked at the envelope, tears threatening to spill. He thought of what Yuri said before she left, and what Seonghwa said, made him realize that he put Yuri first before (y/n). How could he be so stupid to not reassure (y/n), who felt neglected and a second option. He was the fool and even if he’s sorry now…. Nothing will change. He just wants to hear (y/n)’s voice one more time. “Are you going to open it?” Seonghwa asked, and Yunho nodded, tears streaming down his face. He takes a deep breath before looking up at Seonghwa. “Can I ask for one favor from you?” Yunho asked and Seonghwa sighed. “If it’s something I could do, I’ll allow it just once,” Seonghwa said, out of sympathy. “Can I talk to (y/n) one more time? Even if (y/n) doesn’t want me anymore? I just want to ….” Yunho couldn’t finish his sentence as he quietly cried. Seonghwa sighed before getting his phone. He dialed a number and placed the phone to his ear as Yunho covered his face, trying to calm down. “This is Seonghwa. Yes… Yes.. I understand… He’s here with me right now… He wants a chance to talk with the heiress… I understand.” Seonghwa spoke, before extending the phone over. Yunho quickly took the phone. “(Y/n)…” He said, ever so softly, afraid that (y/n) would disappear if he spoke any louder. “Yunho…” (y/n) said, taking a deep breath. “I’m… I’m sorry. I was a fool.. I was selfish and didn’t realize that I was the one who pushed you away.. I know that nothing will change even if I regret it right now. I just wanted to hear from you one last time.. I know you won’t return, but if there was ever a chance… that I could see you again…” “Yunho… I hope you find happiness wherever you go.. I loved you.. I truly did. Be happy and don’t skip your meals. Find someone to love, and who loves you. You’ll be a great dad and whoever that person is for you, they’ll be super lucky. Goodbye.” (Y/n) said, before hanging up. Yunho’s tears continue to run down his face. The love story that once burned so bright, only to never have the happy ending they both wanted. Maybe the true fool was the one who let it go before the end.

[videnrambles]

Older Brother Yuji

Yuuji has so much potential as an older brother, if he wasn't the youngest of the first year he'd 100% act like an older brother. I've been thinking about this for the last hour so here are some scenarios for your consideration:

The first years get back after a rough mission, emotionally and physically drained, the other two pass out in their rooms. Meanwhile Yuji goes to the kitchen and makes their favorite comfort foods. He brings it to their rooms, softly knocking, waking them up to make sure they both eat.

Yuji staying up late to prepare breakfast for them because just because school is early doesn't mean you can skip, come on guys I made your favorite.

When either one of them go on a mission without Yuji he packs them a lunch. It's usually something simple and light that he knows they'll like and won't get soggy.

Yuji helping Nobara do her hair in the morning while she eats breakfast because she woke up late and Yuji is not letting her skip a meal.

Yuji letting Nobara try different make up looks on him.

Megumi bringing Yuji a toy that the Demon dogs ripped in half and asking him to fix it

Yuji repairing their uniforms, and yeah they could just get replacements but its only a small rip and he wants to practice his sewing anyway

He would 100% learn Megumi's favorite bands just so he could talk with him about them.

Would make everyone bento boxes with food shaped like animals

Makes megumi custom plushies of his shikigami

Goes to the gym multiple times a day so that each of his younger siblings have someone to spot them

Yuji has a backpack that he brings with him whenever he leaves the campus with either of the 2, it is the equivalent of a mom friend's purse. Inside is food, medical supplies (Advil, wipes, ice packs, ect), portable phone chargers, extra water bottles, any medicine they currently need, and fake IDs.

Forces the other 2 to have movie nights with him, they pretend to hate it but secretly love it

Yuji would make a list of things that he sees the other two look at for a long time in stores and then get it for them as gifts

Yuji is the only person the other two will willingly allow surprise hugs from, if Gojo tries it he will be hit

Yuji learns to make clothing/small accessories and makes cute things for Nobara based on photos she sends him of celebs wearing overly expensive accessories

Yuji carries them to bed if they fall asleep outside their rooms.

Yuji is easily swayed by "puppy dog eyes" from the other two. The puppy dog eyes in question are actually quite terrifying and anyone else would run screaming for the hills.

Yuji is a photographer, he takes the most pictures and videos whenever he is with the others. His camera roll is full of them doing the most random things together. He also has hundreds of polaroids and those picture strips from photo booths.

Yuji often does the bulk of the chores as he has lived alone and is used to maintaining a living place. While cleaning the bathrooms and communal areas is left to staff.

I have a bunch of details and ideas for this au so I may write some more stuff later. Maybe I'll finally make a story who knows.

[shellaxdude]

TMNTgust Prompts! get your prompts here! (below the cut)

information: tmntgust is a tmnt based writing event similar to events like inktober and tmntember. posting for the event will begin on august 1st, 2025. to give participants more time to make something for each day the prompt list is going up in advance. this event is open to all tmnt iterations, including fan iterations. there are 41 prompts. one for each day of the month of august and 10 bonus prompts. feel free to alter any prompt here as you please or sub in one of the bonus prompts for any you dont like/dont feel inspired for (my feelings wont be hurt). there are no rules for this event, so feel free to do as many prompts as you like, or feel free to skip around to your heart's content. when you post a work to tumblr, feel free to tag this blog and ill reblog it (provided it is not nsfw bc im not comfortable with that, especially for tmnt stuff). closer to the beginning of the event ill have a collection on ao3 up that you can add your works to if youd like.

i think thats all the important information! if yall have any questions, comments, concerns (or just want to say hi) just shoot me an ask! without any further ado, i present to you all, the tmntgust prompt list! happy writing!

April and Raph getting up to shenanigans - @error-core-animations

Donnie finds an old robot vacuum cleaner, adds some upgrades . . . and then loses it

Someone follows Mikey home

Donnie’s hands are injured: his brothers have to help out while he heals

Raph comes home in bad shape

A sewer tunnel caves in, and Leo is trapped

There is a leak somewhere in the sewers above the Lair and the water is getting in. No one from the city has come to fix it on their own, so Donnie has to do it.

Turtles go undercover on a passenger train to find a person of interest (killer, thief, mutant,time traveller, etc. could be a long ride or a short one)

An item that used to belong to Hamato Yoshi appears and the turtles must mount a mission to retrieve it for Splinter (whether he was Hamato Yoshi or not)

Future AU where one of the last surviving core turtles finds a photograph of their family that they haven’t seen in years

200 years in the future, a group of scientists discover the location of the turtles’ lair, looking for information that might help them in their current plight (The Batman (2004) cartoon season 4 episode 7 is the inspiration for this)

After an altercation with their enemies goes wrong, the turtles find themselves stranded at sea in a small sailboat. What could possibly go wrong?

Beach episode! Let the kids have fun!

The turtles parkour through the city, having the time of their lives. Until one turtle almost becomes street pizza and they have to calm them and each other down

Mikey trying to get more human friends - @error-core-animations

Leo and Donnie go on a trip to upstate New York to witness a celestial phenomenon (northern lights, comet, moon shenanigans, stargazing, etc) (maybe the others come along for the ride, but they better bring snacks)

Casey meets the turtles in a Monster Hunter AU. He’s been hunting them as monsters and now he’s finally found them *cue dramatic music*

Splinter and Shredder talking/arguing - @error-core-animations

Time travel! Donatello has just invented a time machine! Unluckily for the others, it works! However, the timing could not be worse as New York is attacked by something and they desperately need Donatello back.

Mikey follows a stray cat through NYC. He has the weird feeling it’s trying to show him something . . .

Give one of the turtles fantasy magic. They’re having a blast with it, but is this a gift or a curse?

One of the turtles opens up about being afraid every time they go out to fight off villains. The others reassure them that this is what bravery is

Raph is bored. Unfortunately (?) for Mikey, Raph has a solution to that

One of the turtles gets a cursed (or blessed) item thrust upon them from the owner of an antique store

One of the turtles takes respite beneath a structure in the middle of some poor weather (rain or snow). While there, they spot a creature that should not exist (be it extinct, mythical, or other). Curiosity gets the better of them and they decide to follow it.

There’s a large mutant creature running around in NYC, wreaking havoc. The turtles have decided to step up to the plate and handle it, but they discover that not everything is as it seems

During an altercation, a turtle gets knocked into a pile of garbage. They see a bright flash of light, and emerge to find that the other turtles and their adversary are all gone. Where did everyone go? And how do they get them back? Can they get them back?

Someone gets hit with a truth spell or serum and cannot stop being brutally honest. This causes problems when they need to save face, keep out of trouble with splinter, or keep important info from an enemy.

Something is in the Lair and the turtles need to find it before it finds them.

Donnie receives a strange signal and he’s not sure what it is.

Local mob boss receives an ominous letter at the claws of an unusual messenger bird. Somehow this becomes the turtles’ problem and they’re not happy about it.

Bonus!

One of the turtles gets lost in the sewer and the remaining people have to go get them out

Someone has a really bad day (ex: injury, lost item/pet, attacked, lost, etc). The rest of the family try to make it better.

One of the turtles gets a tattoo or piercing?

POV you’re the turtle’s vehicle.

Someone turns invisible for a full day.

Farmhouse trip!

Raph has a secret collection that he’s afraid of his brothers discovering. Unfortunately, Mikey does not like leaving his brothers’ secrets as secrets.

The first time the turtles feel the sun on their skin (or go topside at all, if you’re not writing for 2012)

Mikey gets stuck in a tree. Is he a cat? Find out at 11.

Shredder’s POV. What’s he planning?

i tried to keep some of them vague enough that you can insert whatever character you want into there, but feel free to substitute characters as you want!

(i linked to the accounts of people who made submissions and wanted to be credited not everyone wanted credit)

[eldritch-elrics]

the 5 best games i played in 2024

this is not a "top games of 2024" list, because, as always, i failed to play more than a handful of games that were released this year. instead, these are my favorites of the... 14 or so? games i beat for the first time this year. enjoy!

i tried to limit myself to putting one game per franchise on here. sorry, dark souls 3.

1. Dark Souls (2011)

a game about being one little undead warrior in a big mean world <3

dark souls! what a game! though i technically started playing this in december 2023, i think i'm allowed to count it among my 2024 games.

moreover, this is definitely going on the "favorite games of all time" list. i adore dark souls. it's rare that i start playing a game and instantly feel like we're speaking the same language. i love the weirdness and awkwardness of it, i love the grungy medieval fantasy atmosphere, the great characters, the difficult but satisfying combat, the incredibly memorable environments... the list goes on. there's a reason this is a classic. it's a very silly game and also a very clever game. i am incredibly glad that i decided to give it a try.

2. Silent Hill 2 (2001)

a game about a man who travels to a strange, empty town in search of his dead wife.

there was this one night in october in which i played through a frankly ridiculous chunk of this game in one sitting, and afterwards i felt completely insane in a way that i have very rarely experienced!!! what did they put in silent hill 2 to make it one of the most emotionally arresting game stories i've ever seen? i'm still trying to answer this one. add to that some top-notch atmosphere, excellent scares, and an environmental design philosophy that makes the world seem simultaneously more real and more surreal... and you get an incredibly tight, smart game where every part of it contributes to crafting the experience.

3. Inscryption (2021)

a game about playing a life-or-death game of cards in a spooky cabin with an old man who likes to cheat.

speaking of very clever video game stories!! inscryption is a fantastic addition to the metafictional games canon. of all of the games here, i think this one surprised me the most - it plays with your expectations so deftly, and all in service of a deliciously simple meta premise. helps that the core gameplay is extremely addictive, too. this was my balatro

4. The Beginner's Guide (2015)

a game about a guy showing you a few short games his friend made.

can i put a game on this list that i haven't played myself? though i watched courtesy play it, it's more or less a "walking simulator" sort of a game, so i got more or less the same experience. anyway, this is another metafictional game that subverts expectations in a major way that i am still thinking about nearly a year later. unfortunately, this is another one i shouldn't talk too much about - it's short, you should just play it yourself.

5. Lil Gator Game (2022)

a game about a lil gator trying to build the best playground game ever with their friends!

not only is this a very cute game about a cute gator exploring a big island, it is also a beautifully written game about games. not in the same way as inscryption or beginner's guide - it's about playground games! as someone who played a lot of those as a kid, this one struck a chord with me. it's also very creative, consistently laugh-out-loud funny, and all around charming.

honorable mentions:

Sable (2021) - what a cool world. what a cool way (and cool reason) to explore a world. this one majorly scratched my "exploring and collecting things" itch.

Dark Souls 3 (2016) - dark souls 3 is just really good, guys.

and if you want to see a list of all the games i played/experienced this year, here it is!

[ruvviks]

to celebrate nearly three years of posting about these bozos, have the clown brigade in all their glory (please for the love of god click for better quality)! bios are in order of the individual pictures! vincent "v" mayer [he/him] >> the living legend of the afterlife. a resourceful and skilled merc working for vitali dobrynin and many other fixers in night city vitali dobrynin [he/him] >> a high profile fixer from wellsprings, and v's partner. offers high risk / high reward gigs and is well known for joining his mercs on the job cato wu [she/her] >> one of kang tao's most wanted. becomes head of security for vitali after mikhail koshechkin steps down from the role shiro nakano [he/him] >> ex arasaka security turned assassin and security expert. handles vitali's most dangerous assassination gigs huxley byrne [she/they] >> skilled gunner and (getaway) driver. used to run with the moxes before becoming one of vitali's most trusted eddie wolfe [he/they] >> ex bouncer turned mercenary. handles most bodyguard-type gigs at vitali's office and provides on-site security lauren dimas [she/her] >> a skilled netrunner and techie from t-bug's circle. has known vitali since college and handles all of his office's cybersecurity mikhail koshechkin [he/him] >> vitali's ex head of security and main medic at his office. regularly tags along on gigs when no one else is available thibault lajoie [he/they/xe] >> ex doll turned mercenary. specializes in stealth operations and provides on-site security with eddie wolfe

taglist (opt in/out)

@nistarot, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @mojaves;

@shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption, @ncytiri;

@calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @faithchel, @radioactiveshitstorm, @strafethesesinners;

@fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys, @devilbrakers;

@aezyrraesh, @carlosoliveiraa, @adelaidedrubman, @fromgotham, @wardenevka;

@samuraifics

[d8tl55c]

oh boy !! ! ! ! !!! ! thANK y0u all for the kind words on my last art posts. you all get it and i was/still am so happy about it

as promised, here's some close-ups of the comic for image quality's sake, and other screenshots i rescued from the community whiteboard (and something else)

first up another sketch of mystery gender-ambiguous being. (please send me more name ideas for them if you got one- i like to hear em! (reminder it's the side character that appeared for <10 seconds in AvM Ep. 30))

a few fav scenes

emotional support cwab

they weren't meant for this purpose exactly, but i do have countless "fluffy sticks" loose in my notes and homework sheets from the school years.

papery critter.

even when i wasn't confident in fur or feathers, they helped me practice posing and create some satisfying gradients/flowing poses. (im a sucker for good tail poses) (oh yay! i found a good pic...)

and finally, little sneak peak for you for reading so far ;3

i realized that whiteboardfox is pretty great for my working needs. simple and to the point and all. feels nice with the mouse and the tablet.

so i started hashing out a big project idea just to see if it holds up and

[

several hours later ...

]

oh

oh man

it's a little bigger than i expected

<next>

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.