#i do really really want them all to fight though

[gluttonousgoddess]

As a simple example, that 8 glasses of water thing was a lie spread by scientists that were partnered with Gatorade. Just drink when you're thirsty.

Diamonds and bacon are in a similar boat. People love them mostly because of advertisements. That's why diamonds cost so much, too! Now, granted, gems are pretty, and bacon tastes good, but the ads did more harm than good.

And cutting calories doesn't work because calories are just how much energy it takes to boil it in water, and your body runs to use whatever nutrients it can when it has a deficit. It's not uncommon for it to eat at your muscles and other soft tissues instead of fat. As ironic as it is for someone like me to say, the best diet for losing weight is a balanced one. Sugar is the main issue, btw, not fat. In fact, fat is healthy for you, gets turned into lipids which can be beneficial for brain health. Now that doesn't mean you should just eat fat, it's all about balance and moderation. Grease is in a similar vein, it's not quite the best for you but a bit here and there won't kill you. And frankly, a bit of a belly is good for humans, it protects the body from bludgeoning and slashing damage. Sure, it'll hurt like hell, but you're more likely to get a punctured innards or have them fall out if you are thin than if you have some fat blocking the way. The main danger is the oily fat that surrounds organs, not the kind that covers your body. External is fine, internal is dangerous.

Then there's the BRAT diet. While it is easier on your digestive system, it can actually make diarrhea WORSE because the food is so soft it leaves acid left over. Same with grapes and meal substitute drinks. Especially meal substitute drinks! Liquid diets in general do this, but these are the worst because you drink enough to fill your stomach, prompting it to generate acid...for something that is pretty much already digested...I think you see the problem.

Everyone knows cold helps with swelling. Problem is, swelling is important for recovery, and putting ice on it actually slows recovery down. You actually want to put warmth on it! You want more blood to the area, because it brings nutrients and cells that fight infections.

As well, everyone knows to use IcyHot, right? Wrong, the chemicals used to make that work, especially the stuff that directly puts it on your body like the rollers, actually damages your skin and can lead to skin cancer!

And then there's Red 40. A synthetic chemical that also gives cancer!

Everyone knows you have to cook meat. Problem is, the smoke and char that can cause leads to cancer too. Not the meat itself, though. And I still don't trust any meat that isn't well done. Way too risky. You do know there can be germs inside the meat, right?

Everyone knows vaping is supposed to be a safe alternative to smoking. Problem is, water vapor in the lungs can easily lead to mold and infections. And the nicotine is so concentrated it's actually worse than cigarettes!

And my personal favorite, everyone knows Pokemon Gen 1 was held together with duct tape and dreams, except the glitches actually occur due to them using things to make other things happen. For example, having the name "Old Man" show up is done by storing your name in the town Pokemon tables. Those get reset when you enter a new route. But the area by the islands are coded to be water tiles within the city in the English versions. Not an issue, just program an encounter table for them...oh, right, since it's an English oversight, there was never an intended table. Really the easy fix would have been to extend the routes to include those edges. But yea, the reality is that the games did so much with what they had that hiccups occur. Same with Gen 2, that's why you can get a Celebi by using Beat Up, same index number. Gen 3 they got enough space to not have to be bleeding edge, so their glitches are from things interacting in ways nobody expected, like Glitzer Popping.

So yea, there's nothing wrong with fact checking "common knowledge", because we learn new things all the time. Common knowledge could easily be lies, or misunderstandings, or assumptions.

[rafesweetie]

track vii. MISS AMERICANA & THE HEARTBREAK PRINCE! (feat. rafe x pogue!princess!reader)

“the storm is coming but, it’s you and me,”

you weren’t sure rafe was capable of being kind.

he was always somewhat sweet to you, the kook often referring to you as ‘his pogue’, the only one he likes. but he always spoke lowly about your friends, and it hurt you.

you stopped bringing the pogues up for a while, not wanting to start any arguments between you and your boyfriend. in fact, you’d stopped hanging out with them in general.

rafe enjoyed having you all to himself, bringing you to the country club (much to your dismay), to prove you’re not all pogue, you have some class in you. and you were ever so happy to spend time with him, it wasn’t like you didn’t adore him, but putting on this fake act to please him wasn’t your vibe, all because you were nervous that he wouldn’t like you as much if you were full-pogue, like your friends that hates.

one day, pope heyward calls you, starting it off asking how you are, that you need to hang out soon, but then he asks for money, because your friends business isn’t going so well. the business that you declined working at, even though you helped find the gold.

“i’m a pogue like you pope, don’t have any,”

“yeah, but your boyfriend does.” was his answer.

nervously, you wait a few days until rafe’s having a good day. once you know he’s happy, you butter him up with homemade cupcakes and kisses and sex, until you’re sure he’s happy enough not to blow up on you.

“hey rafey?” you ask gently when the two of you are cuddled up on the couch, watching him scroll through his phone.

he sets down his phone to be present, knowing something’s up. “yeah, princess?”

“um, my friends called,” you start. “the pogues,”

“yeah?” he coaxes the hesitant words out of you.

“they need money for their business.”

“jesus,” he sighs, throwing his head back on the couch.

you sigh with him. “s’really important, for their shop,”

“their stupid-ass little business? it’s gonna go down with or without my money, baby,”

“don’t you feel at least a bit bad? they’re hopless without us, ‘n their my friends, and it’s like my team is losing or whatever—“

“your team? still picking fuckin’ sides? go out with a kook, but hate me, i get it,”

“rafe, i didn’t say that!” you whine. “i don’t really wanna fight, nobodies gonna win. i just feel like out of every kook i know, you’re the only one who seems to care at least a little about the pogues, and your sister, and they need us. they can pay you back,”

“yeah, obviously they will,” he sighs. “i’ll go in tomorrow, okay? i’ll give them my business card, see what me and them can figure out. will it make you happy?”

“yes, it will,” you answer.

“then i’ll do it.”

you smile and cuddle more into him when he says that.

“as long as you’re happy,” he murmurs. “you and me, okay? that’s my whole world.”

[calypsocolada]

how they are when they’re in love… ft. rengoku, tengen, sanemi, giyu, & haganezuka

an: welllllll hellloooo. i apologize for the wait! thanks for the request :) this was so fun to write :) pls enjoy!

request: "hi, i love your writing so much, your characterization is seriously on point <3 can i request kny x hashira reader about how they’d be like when they’d have romantic feelings for the reader? tysm if you choose to do this but it’s understandable if not <3"

cw: fem reader

wc: 6.7k

It’s the little things. Rengoku isn’t stubborn. He doesn’t hide things and he’s not ashamed. He realizes quite early on that there is something about you. Something that draws his eye. You’re not someone flashy or boisterous. You’re just someone that makes his mind wander. He likes your smile, he’s told you so. He likes when you blush, something so rare because you are so seemingly serious to most. He likes your sword style and the way you fight. He likes your voice and how if he catches you late at night your voice has a softer edge to it because you’re tired. He likes making you laugh and buying you food. He likes that you eat just about as much as him and doesn't seem to mind his loud voice. So sure, all of those things could easily tell him that he’s in love with you but… but it was just one single thing that solidified it all in his mind. 

Rengoku had a cold father. He had a warm mother and a kind little brother. He liked his family but part of him was… hesitant to start his own. His father never warmed to him. No matter what he did. He didn’t know if that was something he’d turn into. And he really didn’t want to take a chance. But… then he met you. And suddenly taking that chance seemed inevitable. Being with you seemed to weigh on his mind night and night again. He used to love winding down for the night until he met you, a cold demon slayer. Now he laid awake and thought of you. His father was cold and sometimes… you reminded him of him. Your coldness didn’t seem malicious but… it was still there. Still a gentle reminder that he needed more time to know you. His only glaring spiraling thought being; would you always be cold or would you warm to him?

“Lost in thought?” You interrupted his spiraling. He swallowed and smiled softly over at you. 

“A bit.” He answered cheerfully but his smile faltered as you stared at him intently. That stare felt as though you could see straight into his soul, cutting through all the barriers and barricades he’s built. 

“You’re not eating. That’s troubling.” You pointed out. 

“I’m fine.” He lied with a smile, reaching for his chopsticks. Your eyes tracked his hands movement and he found himself blushing at how closely you were observing him. 

“Is it the mission?” You asked, picking up and taking a sip of your warm green tea. Rengoku shook his head. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Really I’m fine.”

“So it’s not the mission.” You concluded, crossing your arms over your chest in thought. He stared at you for a moment and you stared back. “Tell me what it is.” You said and although he’s heard you demand things of others before this was no demand. It was a gentle question with a soft tone. 

There was a table between you two, a crowded restaurant with talking patrons but suddenly the room just felt empty, you being the only person his eyes wanted to see. He couldn’t just up and say he was thinking about you because it just wouldn’t come out right. He parted his lips to speak but nothing substantial crossed his mind. You observed all of it. 

“Never mind. Tell me when you’re ready.” You said just as softly, and when he met your eyes there was no ounce of coldness in them. He felt warm all over. Nothing he’d ever felt before. He couldn’t believe he had ever for a single moment thought you were anything like his father. You chose your words wisely, no you didn’t smile much but that made your smiles that much more meaningful when he had to work for them.

”I’m in love with you.” Rengoku said without a second thought. Your hand paused, eyes stuck on the plate in front of you. 

“Hm?” You asked, as though you hadn’t heard him loud and clear. Slowly your eyes rose to meet him. Those five words were written all over his face, his soft gaze, the slight smile on his lips. You blushed almost immediately.

”I’m in love with you.” Rengoku affirmed, no shyness. Your lips parted in silent surprise.

”Oh.” You said, unable to properly digest his words at this very moment. “You are?”

”I am.” He nodded his head, leaning back in his chair. You purse your lips, embarrassed. Rengoku didn’t push the subject, he paid for the meal and when you both stood he wrapped a shawl around you and you followed him out the door into the stinging winter morning. 

You trailed behind him a few steps, walking in the indents of the snow he left. Rengoku stood out in the snow, like a sore thumb with his bright hair and fire eyes. He stood out everywhere. You reached out, barely grabbing the back of his cloak. He paused, barely turning, eyes holding that same soft gaze. There were a lot of things you weren’t sure of. Your place in the demon slayer corp for one, you standing with your peers, how this next mission was going to go. But there was one thing you were clear on.

“I love you too.” You said softly, snow falling around you two. Rengoku turned more, snow crunching underfoot. You could barely meet his eyes, blushing profusely, hoping he’d think it was from the cold. He reached for you, hand sliding around your hip, barely tugging you a step closer. He kissed you then, leaning into your space and meeting your lips with a gentle press of his own. He pulled back long enough to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Come on, let's get you somewhere warm.”

~

Tengen was quick to fall for you. He is not embarrassed or abashed by what he feels for you. He loves loudly. It was like the cliff was in sight and then suddenly he was toppling over it with reckless abandon. It's not like you paid him any extra attention. He was a lot and you were shy, you tried your hardest to dodge him if you were being honest. But he found you. He always found you. And more importantly he saw you. Saw through the shy, curt expressions you wore. 

This time he found you at the butterfly mansion. He was recuperating from a recent mission when you were brought in, bloody and bruised. He could barely walk but he came to your bedside the first two nights. Or so you were told, you had been out for those two days. When you woke up the first day one of the girls changing your bandages told you about him staying with you and being forced away from your side. 

The next morning you woke up and Tengen was dead asleep in the chair next to your bed. The sight was… something. He was a Hashira and you were a slayer. He was always put together when you’d see him but… he was disheveled, his white hair a mess from sleep, his face serene. It was… it took your breath away. Something about his vulnerability and sudden softness made your heart quicken in your chest. 

You pushed up in your bed, it groaned gently under your weight and you paused as Tengen stirred. He moved just a bit before settling right back down. You pushed out of the bed after a moment. You’d overstayed your welcome at the mansion, you felt fine enough to travel and there was something… intimate about Tengen wasting so much time by your side when he should be focused on himself. 

Gathering your things up you moved quietly through the room, you slung your bag over your shoulder and reached for the door. 

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was smooth and rich from sleep. Your hand paused. Hoping in vain that you had heard things but then you heard him pushing up in the chair he was slouched in. You cleared your throat. 

“I was assigned a new mission.”

“I’ll accompany you.” He says and you spin around, shaking your head.

“No need. You’re recovering.”

“And so are you.” He says, pushing to his feet and stretching like a giant animal. You purse your lips as he yawns.

“I’m fine. You’re a hashira, you shouldn’t waste time on low level missions.” You say as Tengen raises a brow. 

“Low level?” He echoes, looking slightly amused. You nodded your head doubling down on your statement. He smiled at you, laughing slightly. He looked… entirely too handsome like this. You looked away, blushing. “Regardless of mission difficulty I’d still like to accompany you.” You swallowed, the room was small. Tengen’s hair was down, mussed a bit from sleep. Cheek still a bit red where he had fallen asleep leaning against his hand. You could barely look at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m sure you have more pressing things to do.” You offered and Tengen just brushed away your attempt with a wave of his hand. He walked towards the door where you stood and reached, brushing past you to pull open the door. He invaded your space, large and not entirely imposing. You felt startlingly comfortable this close to him yet at the same time your heart was in your mouth impeding your speech.

“Give me ten minutes to clean up. Don’t leave without me, little slayer.” He smirked, brushing past you to disappear down the hallway. 

“Wait,” You called after him and he paused. You stood awkwardly halfway in the hallway and halfway in your room, the cold air of the hallway brushing against your flushed skin. He cocked his head at you. You bit your lip, leaning against the door jamb before sighing. 

“I don’t… have a mission. I was just… trying to slip out.” You explained feeling guilty and a bit silly. Tengen didn’t look surprised, rather he just looked amused. He nodded his head.

“Is that so?” He asked, slowly walking towards you in the dim light of the hallway. You watched him approach, heat churning through you. 

“Mister Uzui-”

“Oh, that’s nice.” He smirks at your attempt at professionalism.

“I’m sorry for lying.” You blushed as Tengen actually laughed.

“I forgive you.” Tengen drawled as he approached you. You watched with bated breath as he reached and tucked your hair back out of your face. 

“Mister-”

“You can call me Tengen.” He cut in softly, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Tengen…” You cooed and that was the moment. Like a twig snapping in the forest. Quick and precise. There is not a single other person in this world he’d rather hear his name spoken by. His eyes dropped to your mouth. Your lips moved but he hadn’t heard a word you said. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmured. “I can’t focus.” 

“Hm?”

“I’m going to kiss you.” He said sort of like a warning. You blushed to your bone and couldn’t find it in yourself to pretend you hadn’t been wanting that. You nodded your head and parted your lips to answer but Tengen ducked his head, lips cutting off your barely formed sentence.

~

Sanemi’s love is consuming, it's possessive. He watched you from afar, eyes drinking in your every little movement. He watched you dive forwards, practice sword in hand as you evaded a clever strike from your opponent. You launched, foot forwards as you sent the boy sprawling backwards on the ground, dust kicking up around him. Sanemi set up, he couldn’t hide the smirk that stretched across his lips as you swung your sword forwards and pointed it at the boy. 

Ruthlessness. That's something Sanemi didn’t see much. Your swordplay was exact and left no room for imagination. He could see you becoming a Hashira in no time. 

The boy raised his hands in mock surrender and you reached a free hand out, pulling him to his feet. Sanemi’s eyes narrowed. The boy said something and the smile and laugh that sprung from you had Sanemi’s stomach in knots. He clapped his hands together in an instant. 

“Training’s done. Leave my sight.” He called out to the group of you. “Except you. You stay.” He pointed to you. The smile died on your face as your sparring partner patted your shoulder as he walked by, good luck he mouthed before jogging to catch up with the other slayers. You swallowed dryly as you heard Sanemi approach you. You steeled your expression and turned. 

“Do you think at the end of a fight with a demon you can extend your hand to them and yank them to their feet?” Sanemi asked as you furrowed your brows. 

“Uh- um… no…” you answered confusedly. Sanemi stared hard at you for a moment. 

“Um no? You sounded unsure.”

“No.” You answered, more sure this time. 

“The point of sparring and winning isn’t to give up when your opponent raises their hands, it’s to have them tap out in submission.” Sanemi chided as you nodded your head. He didn’t like the playing around after the match it seemed. 

“I understand.” 

“So what was so funny?” Sanemi asked as you blinked slowly. 

“Hm?”

“What was so funny? After your spat. What could that idiot possibly say to make you laugh?” You stared at him for a long… long moment. Not only could you not remember what your partner had said but also… Why did Sanemi seem to care so much? You shifted slightly, twirling your practice sword in the dirt. 

“I’ll be better next time.” You said, hoping that would appease this strange attitude Sanemi was sporting. Sanemi looked you over for a minute. 

“Has anyone asked you to be their tsuguko?”

“Yes, Mr. Shinazugawa.” You nodded your head and Sanemi moved a step closer. 

“Ah. Is that so?” He asks, reaching up to run a hand through his unruly white hair. 

“Just a few offers.”

“Who offered?”

“Um… Ms. Kanroji, Mr. Tengen, Mr. Rengoku, and Mr. Tomioka.” You name off, with each name Sanemi’s face gets a bit redder. You clear your throat. “T-that’s all.”

“Be my Tsuguko.” He says, his eyes connect with yours. You swallow. Out of all the Hashira… Sanemi was the only one you were wanting to train under. It was purely out of admiration and definitely not for anything… else. 

“Is— is that a serious offer?” You asked, eyes lighting up. Sanemi nodded his head and you couldn’t help the smile that took over your whole face. “I accept.” You said graciously. Sanemi turned away. 

“Good. We start in the morning.” He said over his shoulder. You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. 

“Yes, Mr. Shinazugawa.”

“Sanemi.” He said and your lips parted, brows furrowing softly. 

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to be so formal, we’re the same age.” He says before walking off. You watched him go, smile stuck to your lips. 

Two months passed and Sanemi was a ruthless teacher. He ran you ragged everyday, but you could feel yourself improving. You could feel the power in your swing’s strengthening. You knew you made a good choice training under him. You kept your rampant feelings at bay in favor of professionalism but… it was hard. You felt guilty for having these feelings and so you decided to tell Sanemi you were going to become someone else’s tsuguko. 

On Sanemi’s end there was something stirring. A sort of thorn in his side. He was… incredibly… stupidly… in love with you. He’d thought he’d just been fascinated with you at first and yeah… he is fascinated with you. But it’s much more than fascination at this point. Spending day and night, trading you up he could see why the other slayers would gather around you like a flock. He could see the appeal in telling stupid jokes just to see a smile. Ever since he’d asked you to be his tsuguko and you smiled at him he’d been chasing that high ever fucking since. It was addicting. Your smile, your laugh, your voice and smell and the way you fought it was all being captured and cataloged in his mind. 

Even now as he swung his sword to meet yours his eyes swept over your face, full of concentration, his heart swayed unevenly in his chest. He stepped back. 

“That’s good enough for tonight, good defense.” He commented as you breathed heavily. 

“Thank you.” You said almost breathless, walking over to place your practice sword with the others. 

“Wait,” Sanemi called after you. You passed, turning. 

“Yes?” You asked. Sanemi looked at you, he turned, gathering his thoughts. 

“You’ve… improved incredibly.” He says, scratching the back of his head. He wasn’t looking at you as he said it and for some reason you needed him to. You walked a bit closer, stepping in his eyeline. 

“You’re a good teacher.”

“You’re a quick learner.”

“I.. don’t know about that.” You laughed slightly. He stepped closer, he never licked when you talked down about yourself and he wasn’t going to change that about himself now. 

“You are. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I didn’t…” you cleared your throat. “I know that. Would you… give me some more truths?”

“Hm?” Sanemi hummed and met your eyes. 

“Mr. Shina- er… Sanemi…” you steeled yourself. “At the… risk of making things awkward… I can’t really keep things… at bay much longer.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m… in love with you. It’s… affecting my ability to be… ya know… professional.” You stumbled. Sanemi watched you, you watched his lips barely part in surprise and decided to prattle on. “You are under no obligation to say anything to me. I already spoke with Ms. Kanroji and she said she’ll take me off your hands-“

“Off my hands?” Sanemi echoed, taking a step closer to you. 

“She’ll take me in as he tsuguko so you don’t have to deal with me and my… feelings.” You stumbled, red faced and embarrassed. You couldn't see his eyes anymore. 

“You… you think I’d just kick you to the curb?” Sanemi asks as your eyes snap up to him. 

“Well, I-“

“I don’t want anyone to take you off my hands. I want to keep you.” Sanemi declared. You were speechless. Sanemi reached for your hand. His hand was rough and scared but he held yours with gentleness. He brought it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your knuckles. You watched this whole scene unfold… totally enraptured by this side of Sanemi. “Stay. I couldn’t stand to lose you.”

“Sanemi…”

“I love you. Stay.”

~

Giyu’s love is peaceful, it’s quiet, it’s soft blushes and special moments. You hated him. You had to hate him. You had to. Because anything else would be unacceptable. It would be a complete betrayal to yourself. To the you that first met the unpleasant Mr. Tomioka. The you with wide unburdened eyes. The you that ran deliveries for your family, in your small town. Completely unaware of the dangers and… complete unfairness of the world.

Mr. Tomioka came to your town. He was short with you, he didn’t talk much and had these… soulless eyes. The whole town talked about him. Apparently he was something called a Hashira. That’s what your aunt told you, apparently she’d gotten a few more words out of him then most. He was in town to investigate a few of the disappearances. You didn’t see much of the need for him here considering the three ladies that disappeared left notes. A lady at the local cafe you were delivering to had told you the girls had each run off with a guy they each met a town over. You were quick to believe because one of the girls had drunkenly told you two nights before her disappearance that she had met someone. Called him dark and handsome. She prattled on for a bit about him and seemed excited to see him again. 

“You spoke with her?” Mr. Tomioka asked you. He’d asked to have a few words with you about the girls after a day or so of him in town. You were… less inclined to speak with him because he had rubbed you the wrong way when he first arrived. Though this was no time for pride. 

“Yes, she was at the local bar. She was drunk and talked about a man she met.”

“When was this?” He asked, those soulless eyes on you as you fiddled with your hands. 

“Two days before she left.”

“Before she left? You don’t think she disappeared?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I guess I think she’s just with that guy.” You explained. Mr. Tomioka squinted his eyes at you, his face unchanging. 

“Her parents are very worried about her. They say she’d never up and leave.” He explains as you purse your lips. You were going to argue with that. Her parents knew her better than anyone. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Mhm… well… she said the man she was going to meet lived in a town over.”

“All of the ladies missing have told their friends and families the same thing. They’re meeting a guy a town over. Only they’re not seen again.” Mr. Tomioka explains. You sit up slightly. 

“Really?”

“Don’t gossip about this. This stays between us. I mean it.”

“I wouldn’t.” You declared sharply, slightly offended he would insinuate that you’d run your mouth about this. You were a listener. Not a talker, things said to you always remained a secret. 

“Everyone else in this town foams at the mouth to spread things across town.”

“It’s a small town, Mr. Tomioka. People care for each other.” You grumbled, crossing your arms. “They like to be in the know so they can help when needed.”

“They’re nosy.” He argues. Your eyes sharpen, lips pouting slightly. 

“They’re good people.” You pushed up from your seat. “Now if that’s all, Mr. Tomioka, I have work to get back to.”

“That’s not all.” He responded coldly. You stared at him, you didn’t sit back down. “There’s a link between the girls and I have a feeling you’ll be the next to disappear.”

“What?” You croaked. Mr. Tomioka didn’t convey any special feelings, he just reached for his tea and took a careful sip. He kept you waiting. 

“The three women missing share various traits. Age, eye color, hair color, and body type. I believe a demon has an appetite for a specific type of woman.” Mr. Tomioka explained. You stared at him. You stared some more. You parted your lips to speak and then shut them. Did he just say… demon? 

“I… believe I misunderstood. Do you mean demon as in evil?”

“I mean demon as in demon. I believe the creature is hunting pretty women like you and…” you zoned out. Demon? A creature? You couldn’t focus. You slowly sunk back into your chair. After a moment Mr. Tomioka noticed you not taking in his words. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is all a bit much for you.”

“Yes.” You nodded numbly. 

“Miss, afford me your time. I believe you are in danger. Let me stick near you to keep you safe. I believe the demon will try something soon and I want to be there to intercept it.” He asks, leaning forwards. 

“Whatever.” You waved him off. “I believe you are delusional but… I see no harm in humoring you at least till you figure out what happened to those girls.”

And stuck around Mr. Tomioka did. He walked you to and from work, assisted on your deliveries. As you slept he patrolled your cabin and watched out for your family. He ate with you at dinner and breakfast and lunch for at least a month and a half. Mr. Tomioka didn’t talk much and you tried getting anything out of him but he was all serious like. It was hard to get past that. 

You had started to believe he was a mad man when suddenly you felt a cold hand around your wrist while you were walking to work. When you turned you saw the demon and then a flash of light as Mr. Tomioka’s sword arched and sliced the demon’s wrist into two. You stumbled back as Mr. Tomioka made quick work of the demon. His slice was clean and true and you watched, wide eyed and unblinking as the demon dusted to nothing. You could even muster a word, so utterly terrified and exhausted and completely at a loss. Mr. Tomioka sheathed his sword.

He was right. He was right about the creature about it coming for you. You fell to your knees. Mr. Tomioka was at your side in the blink of an eye. 

“You hurt? I was quick to kill it, I thought.”

“Those girls?”

“Are resting easy now.” He says. Tears fill your eyes. You nod your head and look at the floor. You outlived those girls purely because of Mr. Tomioka. And you had been utterly and completely cold to him the moment he set foot in the town. Mr. Tomioka placed a careful hand on your back. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” You answered shakily. Mr. Tomioka offered you a hand and you took it. His… his eyes didn’t look so soulless now. He held your cold hand in his warm hand. He didn’t let go. “Mr. Tomioka… Thank you. You… saved my life.” 

“I’m glad you’re safe.” He answers you, his eyes connecting with yours. Your stomach dropped. A moment was shared. One where… you couldn’t believe for a moment you had despised this man.

The next morning you walked Mr. Tomioka to the train station. It was a quiet morning, dew stuck to the grass blades, a gentle fog rolled through the town. The train station was quiet, you two were the only ones there, even the train hadn’t arrived. 

Giyu looked over at you. The way your dress swayed, the way you stayed directly beside him as you walked. Giyu… felt trouble the moment he arrived in this town and it wasn’t the demon lurking in the shadows. It was you. He felt it the moment he walked into your place of work and you smiled so brightly he had to look away. Talked so sweetly that he couldn't form a coherent thought. His words were clumsy and came out sharper than intended because he’d never been this nervous in front of a woman before. He’d saved you and still couldn’t manage to put to words the way you made him feel. He knew you’d come around on him. Knew he’d rubbed you the wrong way at first. But the warmth in your smile as you thanked him last night kept him from sleeping. And now he was leaving, a new mission in sight and three words dying to spring free from his lips. 

“Quiet morning, it seems not many are leaving at this hour.” You observed as you stepped onto the train platform, Mr. Tomioka a step behind you. 

“It’s nice.” He commented and you turned, smiling. 

“It is.” The distant chugging of the train told you both that this little kinship you two had found with each other was coming to an end. “Oh! Mr. Tomioka… I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us and for… saving me but I wanted to give you this as thanks.” Your hands brushed as you handed him over some homemade food for his train ride. He nodded in thanks as the train pulled into the station. He lingered for a moment, he looked down at the food. You watched him, glancing towards the train, passengers filtering off. “Mr. Tomioka? You’ll miss your train.”

“May I visit again?”

“Hm?” You responded almost immediately. 

“May I… come and visit… again?” 

The question lingered in the air for a moment. You blinked, lips parting. 

“Of course. My family loves you. In fact the whole town has warmed to you. I’m sure they’d love to have you back again, no demon lingering this time.”

“And… What about you?”

“Me?” You echoed. He finally met your eyes. Your stomach dropped. 

“Have you… warmed to me?”

“Ah.” You cleared your throat. You wouldn’t lie. Not now… it seemed important in this moment not to mince words. “Very much so, Mr. Tomioka.” There was a small stretch of silence between you two. He clearly had felt the effect of your words. “Mr. Tomioka?” 

“Please… please call me Giyu.” 

“Giyu…” you tried his name out… you liked it. “If it wasn’t incredibly selfish of me to ask, I'd ask you to stay.”

“If it wasn’t incredibly selfish of me I would.” He returns. 

“So we’re… in agreement.” You say and watch the ever stoic Giyu Tomioka smile. It was a small, shy sort of smile but it was a smile nonetheless. You’d catalogue it. The train horn honked, signifying it was about to take off. Giyu stepped close, his hand gently hovering by your cheek. 

“May I? As a goodbye?” He asks. He didn’t even need to. You nodded your head and he leaned into your space and pressed his lips to yours. Softly. His thumb caressed your cheek and he deepened the kiss, his free hand wrapping around your hip. He pulled back, hands still on your hip and cheek. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I’ll come back.” He promised and with that… he was gone.

~

Haganezuka’s love is confusing, confounding, a bit frightening… to everyone else that is. 

Oh boy. You had… broken your first sword. The only piece you were about to recover laid pathetically in your hands. You shook with tears. It was just a sword. Why were you so worked up?

“That’s tough.” Mitsuri’s hand patted your back. “But a right of passage as a demon slayer.” 

“You’ve done this?” 

“Many times. Before I was a Hashira I broke at least ten of my swords.” She explains as you grip the piece in your hand. Turning to look at her. She’s smiling but then she cringes. “You’re going to have to request a new sword.” 

“A new one?” You echo as she nods her head. 

“We can travel to the swordsmith village together.” She smiles. “Do you remember the smith who made your sword?”

“Um. I believe it was Mr. Haganezuka.” You said and that smile dropped again. 

“Mr. Haganezuka?” She echos. You nod your head. “Haganezuka? With the sunflower patterned haori? The wind chimes on his woven hat?”

“Yes, Ms. Kanroji.” You say, interest and eyebrows piqued. She blows out, running a stressed hand through her hair. 

“You’re absolutely sure? You spoke with him before? You know his… nature?”

“His nature? I only saw him in passing. Mr.Urokodaki spoke with him.” You sigh slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes. This… I was hoping it’d be a relaxing trip for you after our mission. But… well…” She pats your head. “Get packed, we’ll leave for the village in the morning.” 

“Um, alright.” You said cautiously. You watch Mitsuri pout slightly as she pushes to her feet and trudges back towards her room. 

The trek to the village took about three days. When you arrived you were surprised to see so many swordsmiths bustling around. Mitsuri had explained to you that Mr. Haganezuka was a character. She said he was intense and to disregard his actions. To say the least she had you nervous as you trekked up the path to his house. Mitsuri had taken off to the hot springs the moment you two stepped into the village and stated for you to meet her. That after talking to Mr. Haganezuka you were going to need some time to relax.

You sucked in a breath, hand reaching up as you rapped your knuckles against his workshop. It was deathly silent since he lived a bit sways from the village. You could hear the distant bustling but not much else. The door creaked open and the first thing you saw was the mask. You sucked in a breath, eyes wide. 

“Yes?” His voice was muffled behind the mask. You stared, lips parted. You had fought demons but this scene had your heart on edge. His workshop was dark, he towered over you, looking down at you through the crack in the door. 

“M-Mr. Haganezuka?” You asked, voice shaky. He nodded. “I’m… a d-demon slayer. You… made me a sword.” You explained. He didn’t answer, just stared down at you. You wished you could see his expression, you read people well and behind a mask he was a mystery to you. “I was Urokodaki’s student.” You tried again. Again he just started. You instinctively stepped back and reached for your bag. You pulled out your broken sword and presented it to him. His head moved as he looked at the broken sword then moved again as he met your eyes. 

“Ah. I remember you.” Was all he said as you swallowed dryly. 

“I— I appreciated the s-word you made me. It… it was a great help. Unfortunately… I— b-broke it. I’m… still t-training and I was careless and uhm— and foolish.” You explained, you were unable to meet his eyes anymore. Your eyes glued to the broken sword in your hands. “I am terribly… terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not an inconvenience.” He said, and pulled the door open slightly. His workshop wasn’t as dark as you thought as you caught a glimpse of a fire churning in the hearth. You parted your lips, surprised by his words. “You’re alive. The sword fulfilled its purpose.” At that you finally raised your eyes just as he reached out, hand brushing yours as he grabbed the shattered remains. “Come back in three days. I’ll give you a new sword.”

“Really?” You asked softly. Haganezuka nods his head. “Well I appreciate-” The door clicks as he shuts it right in your face. Oh. 

Three days later you visit again. This time with Mitsuri in tow. She would not believe your story of how your first interaction with Mr. Haganezuka went. She claimed he put her in a headlock the first time she broke her sword. She said he chased her till sunrise another time. Mr. Haganezuka seemed… apathetic to you. 

You knocked on the door. No answer. You glanced at Mitsuri and she reached out and knocked. Nothing. 

“Mr. Haganezuka?” You called through the door. You raised your hand again and this time the door cracked open. You jumped, startled as the man pulled open the door. You're not sure how you could tell because of the mask but something was wrong with Mr. Haganezuka. He leaned against the door heavily. 

“Come in. I’ll fetch your sword.” He says as Mitsuri shoots you a confused look. You follow him as he walks laboriously through his workshop. 

“Mr. Haganezuka?” You ask, he tilts his head slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Your sword took me night and day to forge.” He says as he walks you into the main room, Mitsuri close behind  

“Day and night?” You echo. “Did you sleep? Eat?” You ask as Mitsuri warningly grabs your arm. 

“Here it is.” Mr. Haganezuka presents the sword to you. Your eyes widen. It was… different from your last sword. The hilt was a beautiful shade of maroon with intricate carvings. 

“Wow… this is… magnificent.” You were at a loss for words to describe it. Mitsuri sucked in a breath behind you, eyes bulging at the sight. 

“It will suit you well.” He says, leaning on his work table. 

“How much do I owe you, sir?”

“No.”

“N-no?” You echo. He just shakes his head. 

“Make sure to treat it well.” Mitsuri says. 

“I rather hope it treats her well.” He says, sliding into the seat. 

“Mr. Haganezuka, as a thanks please allow me to treat you to something to eat.” You step closer to him. Mitsuri grabs your arm but you don’t let her deter you. 

“Mr. Haganezuka is a busy man-“

“Alright.” He says to your surprise. 

You whipped him up something and Mitsuri took her leave. You laid the food out for him and grabbed your sword. 

“I’ll be taking my leave now.”

“You may stay. If you like.” 

“I figured you wouldn’t want company… that you’d want privacy-“ he reached up and undid the tie to his mask, letting it drop in his hands. You blushed. It was an instant reaction, one you couldn’t hide. He was… handsome. Very handsome. With dark hair and dark eyes. But also he looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes. 

“I don’t mind your company, slayer.” He says and you swallow dryly. 

“I’ll stay then.” You say and sit across from him, he pushes some of the food your way. “You eat. You need it more.” You say but he doesn’t pull the plate back. You sigh, and grab some food.

You spent a month in the village, recuperating from your prior mission, training with Mitsuri and occasionally seeking out Mr. Haganezuka. He was gentle, and kind. Mitsuri was unsettled when she saw how he treated you. Maybe unsettled isn’t the right word… more intrigued. She said she had never seen him act that way with anyone. Not even Rengoku. And everyone liked Rengoku. But you liked Mr. Haganezuka. He was an incredibly hard worker, almost working himself to the bone. He was diligent, he was… handsome. You’d never seen a man like him before.

On your last night you packed up your things. Mitsuri had headed out earlier that morning and you were to meet her later in the week. You tossed your bag over your shoulder and pulled open your door. You traced the same path back to Mr. Haganzuka’s and as you arrived Mr. Haganezuka was already pulling open the door. 

“I cooked.”

“You did?” You ask, a smile forming on your lips. He hadn’t worn his mask since the first time you two met. He nodded his head and you followed him inside, setting your bags by the door. “I just wanted to stop by to say goodbye but I guess I can eat before going.” He stops, turning slightly, eyes intense.

“Hm? You’re leaving?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod your head. “Ms. Kanroji and I have a new mission a few towns over.”

“Ah.” He says, he turns away, still paused. You watch him from behind, blinking.

“Mr. Haganezuka?”

“Food’s getting cold, come on.” He says, walking towards the kitchen. You follow excitedly. The dinner was quiet, a little too quiet for your liking. You cleared your throat, glancing at the time.

“Well. Mr. Haganezuka-”

“Hotaru.” He says, not looking up from his plate. “Please call me Hotaru.”

“Hotaru… I should be taking my leave. Thank you kindly for dinner and… and your company this month. As well as my sword.” You name off, grateful, a soft smile on your face. Hotaru meets your eyes for a second before looking away quickly. 

“You’re… very welcome.” 

He walks you to the door as you bend to grab your bags. 

“Must you leave so late?”

“I have a train to catch.” You say with a smile.

“Do you have… train fare?” He asks as you tilt your head.

“Hm?” You ask as Hotaru grabs some money, handing it to you. “Oh… Oh I can't accept this-”

“And it’s cold out. Don’t you have a scarf?” He asks, bustling out of your view again and reappearing, wrapping a scarf around your neck gently. You blush when his hands inadvertently brush your cheeks and again when he untucks your hair from beneath the scarf.

“Hotaru?”

“Ah! Let me pack you some food for the train and-- and some breakfast-” You catch his arm as he turns. He pauses, eyes darting to your hand. 

“I’ll come and visit.” You say. He meets your eyes slowly.

“Please do.” He says softly. There’s a quiet, almost tension filled moment as his hand slides over yours, his thumb gently stroking the top of your hand before pulling it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Break your sword as many times as you like.”

[devixncy]

Could you do a Thanos fic with a sweetheart reader. Just her being kind and talkative to everyone, and him supporting her: but also acting as a bodyguard and keeping anyone from taking advantage of her kindness. 

a/n: loooved this request, kinda hate how this turned out tho but i was writing this off of nyquil and whatever braincells i have left

✧ pairing: thanos/choi su-bong x sweetheart!reader

✧ content: fem reader implied, probably (def) ooc thanos, brief mention of drugs/alcohol/sex, mention of the games but deviates from the story line, basically post squid game au, swearing, tiny bit of violence, i think that's it??

✧ word count: 2.0k

All your life, you had been a bundle of joy. Your kindness radiated off of you wherever you went. There was nothing that made you happier than helping those in need, saying hello to people passing on the street, or picking flowers for strangers. You had been a victim of bullying as a young kid, and from there on out you vowed to never treat anyone else the way you were treated. Thus, you earned the nickname ‘sunshine’.

That’s why many were confused as to how you ended up with Thanos. Your bubbly personality and his arrogant, stubborn, cocky personality clashed like fire and water. That was how the two of you worked, though. You were his sun, and him your moon. You kept him sane on his worst days, the reason that he was on the road to giving up his habits of drinking and taking pills. It wasn’t easy, and it had been a long journey. His rapping career had taken a nosedive, losing most of his money to crypto scams and stupid decisions. Before he met you his life had revolved around meaningless sex and drugs, partying every weekend until his brain turned to mush and he couldn’t feel anything. 

During the games, though, you had captured his attention like no one else ever had. He had been mildly confused at first. 

“Hey, Señorita. Why don’t you come and join my team, yeah? I, Thanos the great, will keep you safe.” He and his partner, player 124, snickered. His cockiness didn’t bother you, though. You beamed, eyes lighting up as you were thrilled somebody wanted you to join them.

“Really? Yeah, for sure!” Your reply was genuine, throwing Thanos off. Most girls played hard to get, adding an element of thrill for him. He loved the chase, and for the first time there apparently was no chase. He and Nam-gyu exchanged confused glances, with the latter looking disappointed.

“Yeah, never mind. We can find somebody el-” Thanos was quick to shut Nam-gyu up, a grin adoring his face. He threw his arm around your shoulder, giving you a squeeze. 

“Why would we need anyone else when we have this beautiful flower right here?” Thanos replied as he looked at you with his pupils blown wide. Instead of being scared away, you felt sympathy tug at your heart. You could tell that the purple haired man was struggling, fighting demons that only he knew about. With that, you decided to stick with him. And it stayed that way through the rest of the games. He tried many advances, and was only met with sincerity. His constant unnecessary flirting was met with smiles and laughter from you, so carefree that it genuinely confused him even in his incredibly high state.

He continued to watch you during the games and within the dormitory, noticing as your small acts of kindness didn’t just apply to him. He saw you give some of your food to Jun-hee, insisting that she eat more. When tension arose between players, you were there trying to break it up and most of the time, it worked. You tried to be there for Min-su when you could tell he was scared. After so long, Thanos began to grow a soft spot for you, though he would never show it.

Once the games had disbanded as the vote to leave finally won, he spent many days with you lingering in the back of his mind.  He returned to his old habits, knowing it wasn’t like him to let his thoughts be consumed by a woman. His fascination with you really just stemmed from how you managed to be a beacon of light even in the darkest of times, and how even if you were feeling low it would be impossible for anyone to tell. Everyone else's needs came before your own. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to seek you out. 

Now, while his life was still anything but quiet, he had you. While he had a funny way of showing his appreciation most of the time (he still held that same arrogant personality that you had come to know during the games), deep down he was grateful to have someone like you in his life. He knew the kind of person you were, and he couldn’t believe you stuck by someone like him. You two were walking in the street and a fan came up to him? You would quietly step back, a smile on your lips as you watched them interact. He had a show? You were there front and center every single time, being his biggest supporter. He slipped up and took a pill? You didn’t look at him differently or hold any ill will towards him. You’d stay by his side, making sure he was okay and fussing over him until he came down. That never came without a stern lecture though, of course.

What he absolutely hated, however, was when people took advantage of your kindness. There were bad people out there, but you tried to see through it, always trying to find the good in everyone. He considered you a doormat at times; you let people walk all over you just because you had such a good heart.

The two of you were walking down the street late at night. He had his hood up and sunglasses on, trying to mask his identity even though it was dark out. A cigarette was held loosely between his fingers, lazily taking a puff every now and then. You walked by his side, your fingers intertwined with his free ones. He always had to be touching you in some way whether it was holding your hand, his arm around your shoulder, or sliding his finger into the belt loop of your jeans. The man did not care about PDA, he just wanted to show you off and let everyone know you were his any chance he got. 

He was stressed, wanting nothing more than to get back to your shared apartment. He couldn’t wait to unwind and get into bed with you, imagining as you put on one of his shirts that was far too big for your frame. While he was lost in thought, he noticed that your hand had slipped out of his. Turning around, he inwardly groaned as he noticed that you had stopped by a man on the ground. He stopped, watching the interaction warily. While he knew that you were too sweet for your own good, he supported it, just always keeping a watchful eye on the situation. 

You approached the man, frowning as you felt the chill in the air. No one should have to live like this, you thought. It completely saddened you. 

“Hello sir,” you spoke softly as you began to pull money out of your purse. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to be able to get some food and hopefully some water. You could smell the alcohol wafting off of him, making your nose scrunch but that didn’t deter you. “Here. I hope this helps.” You held out the money towards him. He eyed you suspiciously, snatching it out of your outstretched hand. Before you could pull your hand away, he grabbed your wrist. Your smile faltered slightly. 

“You think this is enough, bitch?” He sneered, clearly very intoxicated. His grip on your wrist tightened and you winced, trying to pull it away. “I know you have more in there. Let’s see what else you got, huh?” He went to reach for the straps of your purse with his other hand. 

“Hey, motherfucker! I’ll fucking kill you for that!” 

Thanos shouted from behind you, wasting no time in storming up and swiftly kicking the man. The impact was enough to cause him to let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, eyes wide in shock. Thanos delivered a punch, and then another one, and you couldn’t bear to watch anymore. You knew he actually would kill the guy.

“Su-bong!” You yelled out, grabbing his arm and pulling him away with all of your strength. His nostrils flared, seething as he snatched the money right back out of the man’s hand. Instantly, you shook your head, pulling the cash out of your boyfriend’s hand. “Don’t kick him while he’s down.” You said quietly as you placed the money back down by the man, not concerned as he was too busy trying to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him. Thanos rolled his eyes so hard they could’ve gotten stuck in the back of his head. He quickly pulled you away, gripping your upper arm. 

“This is why I hate the way that you are sometimes, sunshine,” He hissed, and his words stung only for a moment as you knew he didn’t really mean it. “What if I wasn’t with you, huh? Then what?” 

“I’m completely capable of taking care of myself, Su-bong.” You murmured, shaking your arm out of his grasp. You rubbed your wrist with your free hand, already being able to see the redness forming under the street lights. He grumbled, cursing as he grabbed your hand. 

“Let me see.” He inspected your wrist, anger bubbling to the surface again. He whipped around and glared at the guy on the ground, causing you to grab his shoulder and force him to keep walking. You knew his temper was like a ticking time bomb, especially when it came to anyone messing with you or even so much as looking at you the wrong way. 

“It’s okay, my love. I’m fine, we’re fine. My wrist is okay. Relax.” Your reassuring voice spoke quietly as he looked down at you, that painfully optimistic smile plastered on your face. He stopped walking and grabbed your face, smashing his lips onto yours. You reciprocated, kissing him back with a softness that rivaled his neediness. 

“You drive me absolutely crazy, you know that señorita?” He whispered, peppering kisses on your jawline and down your neck as you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I have to keep you on your toes somehow.” You joked as he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off of the ground momentarily as he squeezed you. 

“You sure do, sweetheart. I just want you to be careful, you know? You're too…nice, for your own good. Can’t have anyone taking advantage of my beautiful flower.” He growled, picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder like it was nothing. Your giggling fit continued at his dramatics, although you didn’t protest. He didn’t show his protective side often so when he did you secretly loved it. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Su-bong. You don’t have to worry,” And god, he hoped you were right. You had become his lifeline, the very thing keeping him on this Earth. His past meant nothing when he had a future with you in it. “As long as I have Thanos the great as my bodyguard, I don't have to worry.” He rolled his eyes at that comment, his free hand coming up and smacking you on the ass. He heard you gasp and could almost feel the wind up as you did it back, making him chuckle. 

“Alright now, my sunshine. Let’s get you back to the safety of my bed.” He hadn’t put you down but you didn’t mind even if you were getting slightly lightheaded. You whispered an ‘I love you’, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it. He did, though, and his breath hitched. You knew he wasn’t good at showing his emotions, so whenever you did tell him you loved him you took no offense when he didn’t directly say it back. Most times, he deflected and would just answer with something along the lines of ‘yeah, you too’. He was far from the sappy type, the polar opposite of you. This time, however, you heard him loud and clear when he whispered it back. A jolt of shock ran through your body, not expecting this to be the moment he finally said what you’d been waiting to hear. 

“Wow, you must’ve really been worried about me, huh?” You couldn’t help but ruin the moment.

“Aye, don’t push it now. Next time I’ll stand by and let him rob you.”

[imsofreakingtired]

idk if this might be off the table but can you write about sevika finding reader on the bridge about to jump off of it but she gets there just in time

Feel free to ignore if you don’t like it !

thank you for the request anon </3

disclaimer: this piece is not meant to trivialize, romanticize, or dramatize mental illness. i write these to cope and draw the content matter from my own experiences. if you are personally going through something like this, please please reach out and seek help!! tumblr is not a viable replacement for therapy!! and as always if this content is triggering or upsetting for you, pls scroll away and take care of yourself 💙💙

don't let me go

content warning(s): heavy angst, depictions of depression and self-destructive ideation (hurt/COMFORT this time tho trust 🙏)

"this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow if it weren't for you, i'd be here all alone i know in my heart this is where we belong this world is a wasteland... don't let me go."

~~~

*context: reader and sevika have been friends since childhood and now both work under silco.*

~~~

“Sevika,” you say. 

She grunts. 

“What’s your dream?” 

“My dream?” 

“What do you want. I mean really want.” 

Sevika rolls a broken bottle under her boot before pulling back her foot and kicking it into the river. It takes off with a sharp clinking sound, the music of breaking glass, before sailing through the air and plunging into the river water.

“Kill my old man,” she says.

“Okay, second to that.” 

She looks at you. “What d’you mean?” 

You stare back. She is only eighteen but looks older than her years, already tired of the world and its cruelties. She has grown too quickly for her young mind. Her body is hardened to the undercity. You love her with a hopelessness deeper than the black river dividing Zaun and Piltover. 

You ask again, “what do you want?”

She flashes you a rare crooked smile. “To live with you up there.” Pointing in the direction of Piltover. 

“In Topside?”

“No. In the sky.” 

There’s a pause. Then you say to her, “you’re so stupid.” 

“What do you want?” She returns. 

“Me?” I want you. The unspoken words tumble to the tip of your tongue, and you swallow them again. 

“I want a fucking break,” you say instead.

“Hunh.” She kicks another bottle. “We’ll get it. When Zaun is free, we’ll get it.” 

It isn’t quite what you mean, but you don’t try to explain yourself. You don’t tell her that she is the only reason you’re here, even when it sometimes feels like your will to live is clinging on by the fingernails. You don’t tell her that the sound of her voice anchors you when you start spiralling, guilt-ridden and full of self-hatred. You don’t tell her that the greatest fight in your life is not against the enforcers but with yourself. You don’t tell her that you fight every day because of her. 

Because you know she doesn’t fight for you. She fights for Zaun. 

~~~

Sevika watches you closely, though you never realize it. You have been acting strange nowadays, working for days on end without sleep or not coming into work at all. Silco has said nothing about it, because you’re one of his most prized henchwomen, but Sevika can sense something is off. You barely speak two words together unless it’s necessary, and when you do it sounds like your mind is far away. You look tired all the time and sometimes you disappear altogether, returning an hour later as if nothing had happened. And only Sevika notices the bloody cuticles, the swelling around your eyelids. 

One day she corners you in the passageway outside Silco’s office. 

“Are you sick?” she demands. It comes out more brusquely than she intends. She is mortified at her own concern for you. She doesn’t want you to see how much she worries for you, the effect you have on her. 

You look up at her in alarm. “No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. 

“Then why…” she searches for the right words, struggling not to betray herself. “Don’t lie to me,” she says at last. “Something’s wrong.” 

You can see right through her tough façade. You can see the concern in her frowning eyes. And all of a sudden you’re filled with deadly hope and an overwhelming desire to let go. Break down. Tell her everything.

But then you remember that most likely, she’s only concerned with the impact this may have on your usefulness to Silco—to Zaun. You’re terrified she might discover your condition and tell Silco to fire you, that you might be holding them back, that your emotional instability might make your jobs sloppy. 

So you do what you do best. You swallow your words. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I’m sorry.” 

Her frown deepens. “I said don’t lie.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, either.” 

“I have work to do, Sevika.” You try to move past her but she reaches out and stops you with her mechanical arm. 

“You used to tell me everything,” Sevika says. Was that a trace of sadness in her tone? Was it your imagination, or was there a softer look in her eyes? 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you say, and each word feels like a dagger in your own heart. “I swear.” 

You duck under her arm and walk swiftly away from her. 

~~~

It is a clear night and you and Sevika are on the rooftop of the Last Drop, sharing a bottle of wine. You can hear Vander and Silco arguing inside the bar, most likely on the topic of politics. They are already dreaming big, thinking past the long fight to overcome, visualizing a brilliant and abstract future. 

You do not see a future. On bad days you see nothing. 

On the good days…

Sevika takes a drink from the bottle and slings an arm around your shoulder. She can be casually affectionate when she’s in the mood, and you cherish these moments. You lean your head on her shoulder. Her skin is warm under her shirt. 

“What would you do if I died?” you ask her. 

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. But you feel her grip on you tighten. 

“If I lost you,” she says finally, “how do you think I’ll go on?”

~~~

When Sevika finds your note, the first thing she thinks of is that conversation on the roof, years ago. She has not forgotten a single thing you ever told her, and the recollection fills her with a terror she’s never known before. 

The slip of paper in her hand reads, you don’t need me anymore. Thank you. For all the moments you gave me before. 

Sevika doesn’t even stop to put on her cloak. She just turns around and runs. 

She’s too late. She’s too late. She’s too late. 

She tears down the street, pushing people carelessly out of the way. As she runs she activates the Shimmer cartridge in her mechanical arm. A hot rush, the familiar jolt, the searing pink in her vision. She runs faster, faster until the buildings are a blur around her, until the sweat flicks off her face. 

Between gasping breaths, like a mantra to you, she whispers, “Please. Please. Please.” 

~~~

It is too late to cry, it is too late to turn back, it is too late to think. Your chest is tight with all you remember. The waters churn under you. 

The only person in the world you have hung on for is Sevika. You tell yourself she will move on quickly. You tell yourself that your death would not make much of a difference to her. What was one person lost in the grand cause? Silco would be able to find a replacement in no time, and the great machinery of Zaun will continue to turn its weary gears. 

Sevika is now a part of that machine. Sevika will not miss you. 

You close your eyes and let your body fall forward. 

Someone screams your name, a raw desperate sound that doesn’t even sound human. 

A flash of rippling pink, a burning sensation around your waist, and then suddenly you’re on the ground. Someone’s arms are wrapped around you, someone’s voice is in your ear, and someone’s hot tears are falling into your hair. 

Sevika. 

Your eyes are shut because you’re afraid you’re already gone. You’re afraid if you open your eyes your senses will catch up with you, and Sevika will be replaced by the cold embrace of water, Sevika’s voice will become the rushing waves over your head. 

But she’s holding you still. She’s holding you so tight you can hardly breathe. She’s saying, over and over, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

And you can feel her heart pounding wildly against your ear, which is the only indication of how scared she actually is. 

You free your arms and wrap them around her neck. You let yourself break down. You cry until your chest feels like it’s tearing apart. She’s still holding you, her mech arm pressed into your back like a brace, and you cling to her tighter. 

“Don’t let me go,” you beg. “Oh god, don’t let me go.” 

“I won’t,” she says roughly, her voice shaking. “I never will.”

~~~

note: dear readers, i am sorry. 🥲

[strwbrychffoncke]

"ah, ah, you're obsessed.. ah, ah, you're obsessed!,, 1.8k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: sometimes caleb just wishes to devour you whole contains: nsfw! lnds caleb x afab!reader ,obsessed!caleb but whats new ,soft?dom caleb ,pipsqueak/baby/princess used as petnames ,kissing ,praise ,slight body worship ,teasing ,facesitting ,cunnilingus ,caleb eats u out through ur panties (later they come off) ,edging ,orgasm ,overstim but barely ,implied u keep going ,i think thats it note: (edited!) releasing this late just for it to be a new concept to play with :p editing this was so hard for no reason sigh

-

if someone asked him, caleb would say, in a roundabout way, that he was utterly obsessed with you.

though honestly, it wasn't hard for anyone to decipher that on their own given the way he takes any opportunity to mention you, much less if anyone were to catch sight of him with you— the little lovesick eyes he'd be staring at you with resembled a puppy, trailing after and following your every whim (not without some of his own teasing). furthermore, the shift in his eyes that he'd give to anyone that recognized you was usually enough to demand them not to interrupt your time together.

if you were to ask him, he might even confess that you were the very air that he breathed.

maybe thats why he's kissing you with so much fervor now, stealing your breath from your lungs to fuel and burn into his, but even then its not enough, not really.

he has you caged against his bedroom door— he didn't let a second pass after it clicked closed when he tugged your arm lightly to pull you against it, back hitting the wood with a light thud— arms coming up on either side of your head to trap you against him as he devours your lips.

your hands are clutching at the front of his shirt, left with no space to fight back as caleb's kisses grow almost desperate, borderline trying to consume you. after several minutes of this, you start tugging at his thin shirt, trying your best to push him back just enough to fill your lungs with oxygen.

"cale— mmph— caleb!"

he gets the message, breaking the kiss and watching as your eyes flutter open, one of your arms coming up, back of your hand hovering over your mouth almost acting as a barrier against any more subsequent kiss attacks as you gasp for much needed air.

you're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes wide and holding a mix of shock and... shyness?

caleb thinks the flustered look is the cutest on you.

his hands come let go of the wall in favor of holding your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks for a moment before his touch goes lower, hands sliding down your neck and down your shoulders and further, rubbing up and down your sides before settling on your waist.

he feels the way you shiver at his touch, and he can't help the satisfied and pleased curl of his lips.

he leans in close, lips hovering right above your ear.

"i think i could just eat you up, pipsqueak."

expecting to fluster you further, his eyes widen in slight shock when he feels you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning up to plant a soft kiss against his jawline.

"then do it."

your whisper of encouragement is all that he needs.

-

he takes his time feeling your skin under his fingers, unintentionally teasing you, not realizing until you whine and tell him to hurry up, already! coaxing a fond chuckle from his lips before he's on his knees before you, his fingers ghosting over your shorts, tugging them down your legs and helping you step out of them, tossing them to the side.

he rubs his hands over your thighs back and forth, looking up at you with a fond look in his eyes.

he begins to nip at the fat, unable to suppress the need to squeeze at the plush flesh as he leaves loving marks (ones that you'll look back at and probably reprimand him for later).

but he couldn't help it. he wanted, needed to plant his lips on you, on anywhere he was able to reach.

"take them off already!"

when you squirm under his touches, body slumping against the door and head thrown back in frustration, whining again at the feel of his mouth so close yet so far to where you need him the most, he suddenly pulls back, patting your thighs as he moves to stand up.

"get up, baby," he mutters, reaching for the bottom of his shirt and slipping it over his head, tossing it to a corner of the room. you watch as he then makes his way towards his bed, laying on his back before beckoning you over.

"come and sit on my face."

your eyes widen in shock at the demand while a lazy grin is spread on his face.

"b-but, caleb—"

"c'mere already," his voice is soft but the demand within it is firm.

you take a deep breath, taking slow steps towards the bed. caleb's eyes are on you the entire way, feeling how the mattress dips under your weight and watching you crawl to sit over his lap.

his hands reach out for you, grabbing hold of your hips and pulling you towards him, dragging you up over his abs and onto his chest.

"caleb, wait—"

your hands shoot out to grab onto him but he ignores your protest, lifting you up with ease right over his mouth.

"been waitin' all day to do this, baby," he breathes, hastily lowering your core closer and closer to his awaiting mouth.

"but caleb, i still have my—"

"keep them on, ill eat you out through them," he murmurs against the thin barrier, sticking his tongue out to lap at the spot of arousal as he sits you completely on him, licking and sucking at your heat through your panties.

you moan at the sensation of his tongue through the thin barrier, pleasure teetering between being not enough and a little too much as he licks and sucks at you as if he were starved.

it seems these panties in particular are doing something to him. you feel the way he's groaning against your core as his movements grow faster, tongue curling around where your entrance would be, ears red from the sounds and small begs you breathe out into the cool room.

when you notice his face going a little red, you lift yourself off of him just slightly, looking down at him concerned.

"caleb! are you okay?"

a displeased growl escapes his throat, his eyes stern as they meet yours, hands gripping your hips just a little bit harsher— you wince under the increased pressure.

"'m just fine, pipsqueak, but i can't promise you'll be if you get up again."

"but i—"

"i don't care if it looks like suffocating," he tugs at your hips, sly smirk curling up his lips.

"you know how much i hate when my mealtime gets interrupted."

with that, you're planted firmly back over his mouth, a moan ripped from your throat as he immediately gets back to work. you can't help the involuntary jerk of your hips against his mouth, seeking further friction in the pleasure with the barrier in place.

you're not sure how long has passed but you feel your core begin to tighten, your release steadily approaching.

"caleb, close," you pant, fingers tugging at his hair, practically riding his face at this point to increase the pressure enough to cum.

"yeah? gonna cum, baby?"

the thin fabric of your panties is practically soaked at this point, and caleb seems to be going a little crazier at the feel while at the same time, desperate to be tasting you properly.

with a single finger he moves the fabric to the side, slipping two long fingers into your leaking entrance as he laps at your folds. you throw your head back at the full sensation— no longer deterred from the barrier— moans increasing in volume as you continue riding his face.

his mouth is desperate as he slips his tongue in and out of you, curling his fingers just right and when he uses a thumb to play with your clit at the same time, it all feels like too much, and you tell him so, lifting your hips ever so slightly—

but caleb notices, and he's not happy.

his eyes rake up to your almost-gone expression, wondering if you've even realized what you did.

without saying anything, you feel yourself sit completely and firmly against caleb once again. when he begins the onslaught of pleasure once more, your body shaking from the sensations, you feel yourself being held down.

your eyes shoot to his narrowed ones, looking right back at you.

he's using his evol so you can't get away again.

you cry out, overwhelmed with pleasure and with a few more thrusts from his tongue and presses against your clit, you're coming all over his tongue and fingers, hips bucking against his face and satisfied hums and moans escaping your lips.

this is how it should be.

caleb keeps working his fingers inside of you, groaning and chest rumbling in satisfaction at the way your release spills into his mouth and down the bottom half of his face, welcoming the way your thighs squeeze around his head, letting you ride out your high against him.

he feels the way your body trembles above him, weak hands tugging at his short hair as he continue lapping at you, fingers still alternating their curling motions within you, albeit slower.

"too... m-much, too much caleb—"

he decides to be nice.

he slowly pulls his fingers from you, grabbing your hips steady and setting you down on his chest.

you watch each other catch your breaths, and take a look at the state the other is in.

caleb loves the dazed expression you're sporting, panting out into the air, looking absolutely spent already.

meanwhile, in the midst of your hazy high you're slowly coming down from, embarrassment begins to crawl up your system at the sight of caleb's messy hair and drenched face, no thanks to you.

you scoot back further, sitting on his abs as your hands lay flat against his pecks.

"sorry about—"

"nuh-uh, this is exactly what i wanted," he interrupts you, grinning in satisfaction.

"though..."

his voice trails off as his eyes drift down to your soaked panties.

"these," he hooks a finger through the twisted portion of it, "might be ruined."

you only laugh, sitting up on your knees. he watches you make quick work of taking them off before planting yourself back down on top of him. you lean forward, a little daringly, sly smile making its way onto your face as you rub your hands over his chest.

"those were new," you feign a pout, one hand curling into itself, index finger pointed out to drag your touch over his heart.

"you'll have to make it up to me," you lean back slightly, hands withdrawing to trail over the hem of your top.

caleb's eyes are glued to you.

"oh, do i, now?"

"yeah," you meet his teasing yet curious gaze, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it carelessly on the floor, leaning forward again, hands flat on the pilot's chest.

you tilt your head innocently.

"how will you do it?"

in a swift motion, he grips your hips again, lifting you back up , holding you just before his lips.

"sit back down and you'll find out, princess."

-

a/n: would he be in to this? i cant tell ,but i can see it

-

[yaniluvs]

“nerds don't date , right?” ⎯ how to lose a bet and your heart in seven days.

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . things just get more interesting when you're fake-dating the hot nerd and are involved in a bet with him.

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 64OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. suggestive , as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.jg mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ hihi >< so like, part two hehehehhehehe. this turned out to be literally double the wc from the previous one..... oh and i just crossed 8OO followers???? what???? like two posts ago i crossed 7OO, oh good lord, thank you so much!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

you had never seen jeongin this stressed in your uni year.

it had been barely a day since the dinner, and he was already acting like his life was spiraling out of control. not that you blamed him—you were a handful, after all. but still, the man looked like he was fighting for survival, while you?

you were thriving.

not only were you fake-dating him in front of his family, but thanks to him, you also had the perfect bet to keep things interesting.

and now? now, you were at the usual café on campus, sitting comfortably with your group—felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho—while absolutely basking in the aftermath of your deal with jeongin.

the blonde leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "so let me get this straight," he began, voice amused.

"you made a bet with the yang jeongin—topper, nerd, absolute try-hard—where you get to flirt with him for three whole months, and if he falls for you, you win?"

you grinned, stirring your latte lazily. "mhm."

ryujin raised a brow. "and if you lose?"

you waved a dismissive hand. "then he gets to ignore me forever, i guess."

yeji snorted. "as if he'd actually do that. boy’s definitely gonna lose."

minho, who had been silently observing all this time, sipped his americano before finally speaking. "you're really confident, huh?"

you flashed him a smirk. "min, have you met me? of course, i'm confident. i know he’s gonna fall for me. i learn from the best, you know."

felix grinned. "well, duh. everyone loves you."

yeji smirked. "hyunjin and jisung sure do."

ryujin laughed. "oh yeah, didn’t hyunjin say you were literally his type?"

you shrugged, fighting back a smirk. "maybe."

felix gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "oh my god. is this why jeongin is acting so feral? is he jealous?"

"no, he’s probably just pissed that i exist."

minho scoffed. "that’ll change soon enough."

"exactly," you said smugly. "so, obviously, i’m winning this bet. there’s no way i’m falling first."

your friends exchanged looks, all of them barely holding back their very obvious amusement.

"sure," yeji said, lips twitching.

"of course," ryujin agreed.

minho sipped his drink again. "i totally believe you."

felix just grinned. "this is gonna be fun."

meanwhile.

jeongin had never been this mentally exhausted in his life.

one dinner. one stupid dinner. that was all it was supposed to be.

now? now he was fake-dating y/n in front of his entire family and locked in a three-month bet that would undoubtedly ruin him.

and to make things worse? jisung, seungmin, hyunjin, aeri, and yunah were not helping.

"bro," hyunjin was saying, leaning against the café booth with a stupid grin, "you’re done for."

"over. finished." jisung added, looking way too entertained.

jeongin shot them both a glare. "i am not going to fall for her."

hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "really?"

seungmin, ever the realist, merely sighed. "jeongin, have you met y/n?"

"yes, seungmin," jeongin deadpanned. "i have. unfortunately.*"

yunah giggled, twirling her straw. "she’s really pretty, though."

aeri smirked. "and hot. and cute. and bold."

hyunjin nudged jeongin. "she literally calls you 'hot nerd.' i would’ve folded instantly." he said, dramatically putting a hand on his heart while pretending to faint.

jeongin shot him a disgusted look. "you have no standards."

jisung snorted. "and you have no chance."

"i hate all of you." (and we're back !!)

"no, you don’t," jisung said, grinning. "you hate that you know we’re right."

seungmin nodded. "statistically speaking, you're screwed."

"oh my god," jeongin muttered.

jisung clapped his hands together. "alright! place your bets! how long do we think it’ll take for jeongin to fall first?"

"two weeks," hyunjin said immediately.

"a month," aeri guessed.

yunah smirked. "three weeks, max."

"one week," jisung announced proudly.

jeongin slammed his drink down. "i hate every single one of you."

almost a week later.

you found jeongin in the library, because of course you did.

dressed in an oversized cream sweater, silver-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on his nose, black slacks, and expensive-looking loafers, he looked annoyingly good for someone who spent all his time studying.

unfortunately for him, you were here to ruin his peace.

sliding into the seat across from him, you grinned. "morning, iyennie."

jeongin didn’t even look up. "no."

you gasped dramatically. "no? that’s all i get? where’s my 'good morning, beautiful?' my 'you look stunning today, y/n'?"

jeongin exhaled sharply. "why are you here?"

you leaned forward on your elbows, smirking. "to see my lovely boyfriend, obviously."

jeongin twitched. "we are not fake-dating at uni."

you shrugged. "doesn’t mean i can’t flirt with you."

jeongin dragged a hand down his face. "i hate this bet."

"you literally proposed it, genius."

his jaw clenched. "i hate you."

you batted your lashes. "no, you don’t."

jeongin physically recoiled. "oh my god."

across the library, hyunjin and jisung sat at another table, watching the interaction with matching grins.

hyunjin nudged jisung. "one week?"

jisung smirked. "one week."

. . .

“i’ve decided that i’m going to end you.”

jeongin barely looked up from his notes. “cool. try not to be too obvious about it.”

“no, really,” you said, leaning forward across the library table, resting your chin on your hands as you stared at him. “i’m going to make your life miserable.”

jeongin finally glanced up, adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses with the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. “isn’t that what you’ve already been doing?”

you gasped, placing a dramatic hand over your chest. “wow. that was hurtful, iyen.”

jeongin twitched. “stop calling me that.”

you grinned. “make me.”

his fingers curled around his pen, and for a second, you wondered if he was genuinely considering launching it at your forehead.

the library was quiet, aside from the occasional whispers of students flipping through books, the dull hum of the air conditioning, and the muffled sounds of footsteps against the carpeted floor. your table was nestled in the back corner, surrounded by towering bookshelves and dim lighting that gave the whole setting a very academic romance kind of vibe—not that jeongin would ever admit that.

and, of course, the two of you weren’t alone.

like said earlier, across from you, at another table, were felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho, watching with way too much amusement.

they can't miss good entertainment, right?

and a few tables away, jisung, hyunjin, seungmin, aeri, and yunah, were also watching with expressions that ranged from entertained to downright smug.

because, honestly? no one believed jeongin was going to win this bet.

not even jeongin himself.

"are you done?" he asked, voice clipped, flipping a page in his notes.

you smirked. "not even close."

leaning back in your chair, you crossed one leg over the other, watching him with open interest. he was dressed as he always was—annoyingly fashionable for someone who didn’t seem to care about fashion. a fitted black turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth blazer, tailored slacks, and his signature silver-rimmed glasses that rested so perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

his black hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration all morning (which, knowing you, he probably had).

"you know," you mused, tilting your head, "if you weren’t so insufferable, i’d probably have a crush on you."

his pen hovered mid-air, his lips parting slightly before he turned to glare at you. "what?"

you shrugged. "what? i’m just saying. you’re kind of my type. hot. smart. dresses well. severely grumpy. i like a challenge."

jeongin’s eye twitched. "w—"

"oh my god," hyunjin suddenly groaned from across the room, throwing his head back. "can you two just kiss already?"

jeongin immediately choked on air.

your lips twitched as you turned to hyunjin. "not yet, jinnie. i have a bet to win, remember?"

hyunjin smirked. "oh, you will win. no doubt about it."

jisung laughed. "he’s already halfway there."

"this is a library, hello?" the librarian hissed.

"but we're the only ones here, miss y-"

jeongin slammed his book shut, stood up, and turned to you with murder in his eyes. "we’re leaving."

you blinked innocently. "we are?"

"yes." he grabbed your wrist and tugged you up from your seat, ignoring the very loud, very obnoxious oooohhhhhs coming from both friend groups.

felix gasped. "look at him. so dominant."

"i didn’t know he had it in him."

"they grow up so fast."

seungmin merely shook his head, unimpressed. "he’s just running away."

jeongin glared at all of them before practically dragging you out of the library.

now playing, if you love me by colde

the late afternoon sun draped the campus in warm, honey-colored light, stretching long shadows across the pavement. the air was crisp but comfortable, carrying the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee from the campus café nearby. a few students walked past, caught up in their own conversations, but none of them paid much attention to the very mismatched pair walking down the sidepath.

jeongin was suffering.

because you were practically dragging him.

"y/n," he grumbled, his arm stiff as you held onto his wrist. "why are you like this?"

you hummed, pretending to think. "born this way, i guess?"

jeongin sighed, shaking his head. "no remorse. none at all."

"absolutely none," you confirmed cheerfully, still leading him forward.

he didn’t know where you were taking him. you probably didn’t either. but that didn’t seem to matter to you. it was just one of those things—where you decided something, and everyone else just had to go along with it.

he really should have thought this through before making that bet.

the sky was beginning to shift into soft hues of orange and almost blue when jeongin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and immediately stiffened.

his mom.

he stopped walking so abruptly that you almost crashed into him.

"whoa—" you blinked at him. "what’s wrong?"

he held up a finger. "be quiet."

you snorted. "like hell."

"y/n."

you grinned, unbothered, as he answered the call.

"hello?" jeongin said, his voice immediately shifting into something softer, more polite.

"oh, jeongin! how are you, sweetheart?"

you gasped dramatically beside him. sweetheart?

jeongin shot you a look. a warning. a plea.

you ignored it completely.

"hello, ms. yang!" you chirped before he could stop you, leaning in way too close to the phone. "how are you?"

there was a pause on the other end.

and then—

"oh, y/n, dear! how lovely to hear your voice!"

jeongin closed his eyes. no, no, no—

you beamed. "aw, you're so sweet. it's lovely to hear yours too!"

jeongin wanted to die.

his mother laughed. "such a charming girl! i hope my son is treating you well?"

you turned to him with the smuggest smile, tilting your head. "oh, he’s wonderful, ms. yang. so sweet. so attentive."

jeongin gave you a blank stare, deadpan. you? a menace.

his mother sighed happily. "ah, that's good to hear. oh! that reminds me—jeongin, darling, you haven’t forgotten about next weekend, have you?"

jeongin blinked. "uh… next weekend?"

you raised an eyebrow, watching him.

"the family gathering, jeongin!" his mom continued. "your uncle’s wedding anniversary celebration. you have to come. and of course, you must bring y/n!"

jeongin froze.

you?

you? (i'd be offended)

he turned to you so fast you almost thought his neck might snap.

you, on the other hand, were staring at him with way too much excitement in your eyes.

he cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay neutral. "oh… right. that."

you leaned in, lips parted in interest.

ms. yang laughed. "don't tell me you forgot?"

jeongin exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple. "i… might have."

you gasped. "baby!"

he glared.

"oh, don’t worry, dear," his mom said, brushing past his frustration entirely. "it’s going to be a lovely event! you must come with him, y/n! i won’t take no for an answer."

your grin widened.

jeongin knew that look.

it was the look of pure evil. the look of someone who had just won. (no he just read too many comics)

you placed a hand over your heart, feigning surprise. "oh my gosh, ms. yang, really? you’d want me there?"

"of course!" his mother said immediately. "you’re practically family now!"

jeongin almost choked for the umpteenth time that day.

you looked so pleased.

"well, in that case," you said sweetly, "i’d love to come. wouldn't want to disappoint a lovely lady like you, ms. yang."

ms. yang sighed, completely oblivious to his suffering. "wonderful! oh, i knew i liked this girl!"

jeongin shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. why him?

"alright, sweetheart, i won’t keep you two," his mom said. "make sure to text me later, okay?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, still trying to process what had just happened. "bye, mom."

"have a good evening, ms. yang!" you called cheerfully.

the call ended.

silence. and then—

"you evil, evil woman," jeongin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you grinned. "aw, is my baby upset?"

"don’t call me that."

"oh, but i must," you teased, tapping his arm. "we are dating, after all."

jeongin groaned.

you rocked back on your heels. "sooo. a family event, huh?"

"shut up."

"your entire family is gonna be there?"

"y/n—"

"and your relatives?"

jeongin exhaled slowly, praying for patience. "yes."

you beamed. "god, i love this bet."

jeongin stared at you. "why are you enjoying this?"

you shrugged. "because you're not."

his eye twitched. "i hate you." (.........yeah, yk the drill)

"you love me."

"shut up."

you giggled, nudging his arm as you started walking again. "come on, hot nerd. we have so much planning to do."

jeongin sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he followed after you.

he wasn't going to lose this bet.

he wasn't.

but, why did it feel like you had already won?

—

the city was beginning to glow.

golden streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting soft halos onto the pavement. neon signs buzzed to life in the distance, painting the skyline in hues of red, blue, and green. the cool evening air carried a mix of scents—freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the faint spice of street food stalls setting up for the night, and something softer, like rain on warm pavement.

and in the middle of it all—you and jeongin.

he was still following you, albeit begrudgingly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

"are you actually planning on telling me where we're going?" jeongin asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

you only grinned, walking a little ahead of him, as you turned around, still walking backwards, facing him. "nope."

he sighed. "of course not."

as the two of you had left the campus a while ago, jeongin had expected you to stop at the nearest café, maybe a convenience store. but instead, you kept walking. past the busy streets, past the familiar landmarks, past the places where most students usually hung out.

and now?

now, you were leading him through quieter roads, where the buildings weren't as tall, where the sky was starting to open up above you, where the city lights didn’t drown out the stars entirely.

it was weirdly peaceful.

not that he'd admit it.

"you're too trusting," jeongin muttered, watching as you walked ahead of him without a care in the world.

you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "oh? and why's that?"

"you’re just… walking around at night, alone, dragging me—your supposed fake boyfriend—to some unknown location." he narrowed his eyes. "for all you know, i could be leading you into danger."

you let out a soft laugh. "oh, please. if anyone’s the danger here, it’s me."

jeongin rolled his eyes. "right."

"you think i'm scared of you, topper?" you smirked, nudging his shoulder. "you’re, like, the least threatening person i’ve ever met."

"good," he said flatly. "that means i can stop pretending to tolerate you."

you gasped dramatically. "so rude! and here i was, thinking we were bonding!"

"bonding?" jeongin scoffed. "you kidnapped me."

you hummed, tilting your head. "wouldn’t call it kidnapping. more like… involuntary adventuring."

"that’s literally just a fancier way of saying kidnapping."

"details, details." you waved a hand dismissively, your bracelets jingling softly.

jeongin shook his head, but there was a small—very small—curve to his lips.

for a while, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. the only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps against the pavement, the occasional passing car, and the distant chatter of city life.

"you come here often?" jeongin asked suddenly, his voice softer now.

you glanced at him, slightly surprised by the question. "hmm?"

"wherever it is we're going," he clarified, watching your expression closely. "you seem… familiar with the way."

you hesitated for a second, but then you smiled. "yeah. i do."

he studied you, noticing how your fingers fiddled with the strap of your bag—a small, almost absentminded gesture. "alone?"

"sometimes." you exhaled lightly, looking up at the sky. "other times, with my friends."

jeongin didn’t miss the slight shift in your tone. it was subtle, but it was there.

"and tonight?" he asked, glancing at you. "why me?"

you turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze.

and for a moment—just a moment—you didn’t say anything.

the city lights reflected in your eyes, turning them into something almost ethereal. the night breeze played with the loose strands of your hair, making them dance against your cheekbones. there was something unreadable in your expression, something jeongin couldn’t quite place.

but then— you grinned.

"because i felt like annoying you," you said simply.

jeongin blinked. and then scoffed. "wow. and here i thought i was special."

"oh, you are," you teased, looping your arm through his before he could react. "you're my favorite victim, actually."

he stiffened. "y/n—"

"you’re warm," you interrupted, pressing closer. "a human heater. i should keep you around more often."

jeongin let out a very long sigh, tilting his head toward the sky like he was asking some higher power for patience.

"you're insufferable," he muttered.

"and you are cute."

"shut up."

you giggled. "ooooh, that blush is telling me a different story."

jeongin groaned, refusing to meet your gaze. "i hate this bet."

"you love this bet."

he side-eyed you. "you know, i think you might be evil."

you only winked. "oh, honey. i'm very aware."

and the walk continued like that—small banter, stolen glances, the occasional brush of hands when neither of you were paying attention.

jeongin hated how natural it felt.

hated how easy it was to talk to you.

hated how, despite himself, he was actually curious about where you were taking him.

he didn’t get attached.

he didn’t, right?.

but with every teasing smile you threw his way, with every time your fingers lingered against his, with every moment you laughed at something he said—

he started to wonder.

maybe jisung had been right.

maybe this bet was a really, really bad idea.

the view you chose for me

the path sloped upward, curving gently along the hillside. the city behind you had slowly started to fade, the buzzing neon signs replaced by the soft hum of cicadas, the distant rustling of leaves, and the whisper of the evening breeze. the sky above stretched out like a painting, shifting from the last golden hues of sunset into the deepening blues of twilight.

jeongin slowed his steps, glancing at you. "are we almost there?"

"patience, iyennie," you hummed, walking ahead with a skip in your step. "good things take time."

he rolled his eyes, but a small, amused exhale escaped his lips.

then, finally, the world opened up.

the trees thinned, revealing an expansive hilltop that overlooked the city. a vast, open field of wild grass spread around you, swaying lightly in the wind. the horizon stretched endlessly, where the last golden threads of daylight kissed the deepening night. below, the city twinkled like scattered stars, a soft, pulsing glow of blues, oranges, and whites.

and above, the first stars had begun to appear.

tiny, glimmering specks against a sky that seemed endless. wisps of deep indigo melted into shades of violet, streaked with soft pinks from the remnants of the sun. there was something ethereal about it—something quiet, untouched, almost unreal.

jeongin exhaled, barely noticing how his breath caught for a second.

you, on the other hand, stretched your arms out with a dramatic sigh. "isn't it beautiful?"

he glanced at you.

the wind had tousled your hair, strands of it floating like silk against the dim light. your face, turned toward the sky, was bathed in soft twilight, the shadows curving gently along your cheekbones. your eyes reflected the distant stars, and when you smiled—

your lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin, and your eyes crinkled into tiny crescents.

something in jeongin’s chest lurched.

"yeah," he murmured before he could stop himself. "it is."

you turned to him, blinking. "see? told you it was worth it."

jeongin tore his gaze away, clearing his throat. "it’s… alright."

you laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. "wow. that almost sounded like a compliment, yang."

"don’t push your luck," he muttered, walking past you.

you grinned, plopping down on the grass before patting the space next to you. "sit. enjoy the view."

he hesitated.

then, with a small sigh, he sat down beside you, the grass cool beneath his palms. the air smelled faintly of earth and rain, the breeze gentle as it curled around both of you.

a moment passed in silence, the two of you simply staring at the sky.

you reached into your bag, pulling out a small snack box.

jeongin glanced over. "what’s that?"

"food, obviously," you teased, opening the lid. inside, neatly packed, were a few triangular onigiris wrapped in seaweed. "can't survive without snacking every moment,"

you picked one up and held it out to him. "here. i made these this morning."

jeongin blinked. "you cooked?"

"is it so surprising? i'm a good chef, i'll have you know." you frown, and wiggled the rice ball in front of him. "c’mon. try it. first time making them, so i need honest feedback, topper."

he hesitated, eyeing you for a second before reaching out to take it.

and that’s when it happened.

you looked at him—waiting, expectant, your expression filled with the kind of excitement that was so genuine it almost startled him. the soft glow of the evening light traced the edges of your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the arch of your brow, the slight parting of your lips. your lashes cast tiny shadows against your skin, and when you smiled, your dimples deepened, your eyes turning into crescents once again.

jeongin—

forgot to breathe.

for a fraction of a second, he didn’t care about the stupid bet. didn’t care about the fake dating, or the fact that he was supposed to be annoyed by all of this.

all he could think about—

was how pretty you looked.

and then—

you turned your gaze back to the sky.

the moment broke, like ripples in a pond.

jeongin blinked rapidly, forcing himself to look anywhere else. he bit into the onigiri, trying to act normal.

it was good.

really good.

but he wasn’t about to inflate your ego, obviously.

"it’s… okay," he mumbled.

you frowned, clutching your chest. "just okay?"

he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "i’m just being honest, like you asked."

you narrowed your eyes, then suddenly leaned in closer, way too close. "are you lying?"

jeongin stiffened.

you were right there, inches from his face, eyes locked onto his like you were searching for the truth. the scent of vanilla and something faintly floral drifted from you, and jeongin—

had to grip his knee to keep himself from leaning back.

"i—" he swallowed. "no."

you hummed, tilting your head. "hmm. suspicious."

then, before he could react, you grinned.

"well, i think i did an amazing job." you leaned back, stretching your arms behind you. "maybe i should become a chef. quit university. open a cute little café. i’d call it ‘y/n’s love bites.’"

"love bites?" jeongin actually choked on air this time.

"hey, careful!" your eyes widened, your hands immediately burying into your bag, pulling a bottle out. you hand it to him, after opening it.

"what? is it not a nice name?" you pout at the look he gave you after gulping down the entire bottle, still coughing.

"really though? love bites?"

"mhm." you laughed. "because.. love bites. and because i’m good at biting. and love. and actually, love b-"

"god forbid a man wants to have a snack in peace."

you burst out laughing. "jeez, relax, iyennie. i’m kidding."

"you’re really insufferable."

"and you are fun to tease." you winked.

jeongin groaned, looking away.

but his ears—

were very, very red.

—

the stars were out in full now, scattered across the endless stretch of the night sky. the city below twinkled in response, as if the lights of the world and the heavens were competing for brilliance. the grass beneath you both was soft, slightly damp from the evening air, but comforting in a way that made neither of you want to move.

the silence between you had settled into something familiar—not awkward, not tense. just there. a moment where neither of you had to fill the space with meaningless words.

but then again, you’d never been one for silence.

"so," you started, shifting slightly so you faced him, "i realized something."

jeongin barely glanced at you, still watching the stars. "what?"

"i don’t know anything about you."

he raised an eyebrow. "you know plenty."

"mm, do i?" you leaned back on your palms. "i know you're stinky smart. i know you have the ability to make even professors shut up with a single argument. i know you have the fashion sense of a pinterest model and the patience of a grandma stuck in traffic."

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "that’s oddly specific."

"am i wrong?"

"…no."

"exactly." you grinned before tilting your head. "but i mean, i don’t know you. like, i don’t know what makes you tick. what makes you.. you. i don’t know what you wanted to be when you were a kid, what your childhood was like, what your favorite memory is."

jeongin stayed quiet, eyes flickering toward you briefly.

you rested your chin on your knees, watching him. "i wanna know."

"you’re way too curious."

"and you’re way too closed off."

he sighed, shaking his head. "you don’t need to know all that. we’re only dating in front of my parents. not here."

"yeah, well, i want to get to know you," you said simply. "and this is completely unrelated to the whole fake dating thing. it can be platonic, you know? i just think it’s unfair that you probably know way more about me than i do about you."

jeongin looked at you, thoughtful. "do i?"

"you tell me, topper."

his lips twitched slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering something. then, with a small sigh, he leaned back on his elbows.

"alright. what do you want to know?"

your eyes lit up. "anything?"

"within reason."

you hummed, thinking. "okay. what did you want to be when you were a kid?"

jeongin let out a short laugh. "you’re gonna make fun of me."

"oh, now i really have to know."

he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. "i wanted to be a detective."

your eyebrows shot up. "no way. detective yang jeongin?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered. "i used to love mystery novels as a kid. thought i’d grow up solving impossible cases, catching criminals, the whole thing."

you grinned. "that’s actually kind of cute."

he scoffed. "yeah, well, then i realized i’d have to deal with actual crime, and i was like, ‘yeah, no thanks.’"

you burst out laughing. "you wanted to be sherlock holmes but without the danger?"

"pretty much." he shrugged. "so i settled for something else."

"which is?"

"business and english."

you made a face. "oh so we're almost twinning?"

"i thought you knew?"

"um no? we barely share any other sessions, only sometimes, business."

"well that's because we have different batches, genius."

"huh. when's yours?"

"at nine."

you clicked your tongue. "good lord, typical topper behavior."

he shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "alright, your turn. what did you want to be as a kid?"

you hummed. "i went through so many phases. i wanted to be a singer, a poet, an author, a fashion designer, a painter… i was all over the place."

jeongin’s eyes softened slightly. "you’re still kind of all those things."

you blinked, caught off guard, ready to fight. "excuse me?"

"no, i mean, you write. you sing. you compose. you’re always dressed like you just walked out of a magazine." his voice was casual, as if he wasn’t just casually complimenting you without thinking.

and for some reason—

your heart stumbled a little.

you quickly recovered, clearing your throat. "well. somebody is paying attention."

he smirked. "unfortunately."

you gasped, nudging his shoulder. "and here i thought we were having a moment."

"you should know better by now," he teased, but there was something gentle in the way he said it.

you huffed dramatically. "fine, whatever. but i thought walking out of a magazine was your thing?"

"i wouldn't mind someone appreciating fashion, darling."

"...moving on. next question. what’s your favorite memory?"

jeongin hesitated for a second. then, with a small exhale, he said, "when i was ten, my family took a trip to japan. we went during the cherry blossom season, and i remember standing under this huge tree, just watching the petals fall. it felt like…" he paused, searching for the word. "magic."

your lips parted slightly.

for a moment, you could see it—ten-year-old jeongin standing under a sea of pink, eyes wide with wonder, cherry blossoms falling around him like soft whispers of a dream.

"you still remember it that vividly?" you asked softly.

"yeah." he looked up at the sky. "some moments just… stick with you."

your chest ached a little at that.

you didn’t know why.

you shook off the feeling. "well. that’s a very wholesome memory."

he smirked. "what were you expecting? something embarrassing?"

"maybe," you admitted, grinning. "but i like this one, too."

a comfortable silence settled between you again.

"what about you?" he asked.

you blinked. "huh?"

"your favorite memory."

you smiled slightly, hugging your knees. "i have a lot of good ones. but, if i had to pick, maybe…" you trailed off, thinking.

jeongin waited patiently.

you finally spoke. "back home, we used to have power outages a lot. and whenever that happened, my mom and i would sit outside with candles, just talking. we’d make shadow animals on the wall, tell stories, and drink warm milk while waiting for the lights to come back."

jeongin listened intently, his expression unreadable.

"it was such a simple thing," you murmured, "but it always made me feel.. safe."

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

then, finally, he said, "that sounds.. comforting."

you glanced at him.

there was something warm in his eyes, something quiet and understanding.

and for the first time that night—

you weren’t thinking about the bet.

you weren’t thinking about how you were supposed to be fake dating in front of his parents.

it was just the two of you.

sitting under the stars.

sharing pieces of yourselves you never expected to.

and somehow— it didn’t feel fake at all.

it was peaceful.

you were still determined to learn everything about him.

not just for the bet.

not just for fun.

but because, if you were honest, he intrigued you.

and you always liked figuring people out.

so, after a few minutes of silence, you spoke again.

"so," you started, shifting slightly to face him, "we were talking about memories."

jeongin glanced at you. "we were."

"you know what we weren't talking about?" you raised an eyebrow. "your love life."

he scoffed. "love life? who said i have one?"

you gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "wait, no way. don’t tell me you’ve never had a girlfriend before, iyennie."

"i literally told you i've never been on a date.. like on day one." he shot you a look. "also, don't call me that."

"i think you know that i don't believe that," you grinned. "also, i will always call you that."

he exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting ever agreeing to this conversation. "i’ve had one."

you perked up. "so you did!" your eyes lit up with curiousity. "so, one? as in, just one?"

"yeah."

"how long ago?"

he hesitated for a second. "three years."

your mouth dropped open. "damn, that’s—wait. that means you’ve been single since you were—"

"yeah, yeah," he cut you off, rubbing the back of his neck. "i just… haven’t really been interested in dating since."

"interesting," you mused. "so what happened?"

jeongin sighed, clearly debating whether to answer.

then, after a moment, he said, "she was.. nice. we just weren’t meant to be, i guess."

you narrowed your eyes. "that’s such a boring answer, yang. give me details."

he smirked slightly, shaking his head. "you’re really nosy, you know that?"

"and you're really secretive." you tilted your head, watching him. "it’s okay if it.. ended badly. you can tell me."

he was quiet for a beat, then finally spoke.

"it wasn’t bad, exactly. we just had different priorities," he admitted. "she wanted a lot more attention, a lot more time together. and i was…" he paused, exhaling. "i was too focused on school, my goals. she got frustrated. said i didn’t care about her enough."

you hummed. "did you?"

he frowned slightly. "i did care about her."

"but maybe not in the way she wanted," you guessed.

jeongin gave you a look, as if surprised at how quickly you caught on. "yeah."

you nodded, thoughtful. "so, you’re the kind of guy who expresses love in actions, not words, huh?"

he blinked. "i guess you could say that."

"noted." you grinned. "i’ll expect a bunch of favors and free tutoring sessions as proof of love."

he rolled his eyes. "we’re not in love."

"not yet," you teased.

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "you really think you’re gonna win this bet, huh?"

"oh, i know i will," you said smugly. "face it, topper, you like me."

"i tolerate you," he corrected.

"that's what they all say," you laughed. "give it time."

for a moment, he just watched you, his gaze unreadable. then, shaking his head, he muttered, "unbelievable."

you turned your attention back to the sky. "alright, next question."

"you’re not done interrogating me yet?"

"of course not. i’m just getting started." you shot him a smirk. "so, mr. future ceo, what’s something you’re actually passionate about? like, not just academically."

he hesitated.

you raised an eyebrow. "you do have hobbies, right? you don’t just study for fun?"

"of course i have hobbies," he muttered.

"well?"

"…i like music."

you blinked. "wait, really?"

he nodded. "yeah. i don’t do it as much now, but i used to sing trot with my grandparents all the time when i was younger."

you stared at him, genuinely surprised. "you? music?"

"what’s so shocking about that?"

"i don’t know! you just seem like ‘i only study and occasionally judge people’."

"well, i do judge people." he smirked. "i also kinda life photography, for some reason."

"really? so he likes singing and photography? what kinds?"

"mostly landscapes. architecture. things that don’t move too much."

you hummed. "so, no people?"

"not really." he glanced at you. "though… i think i’d like taking pictures of someone if they were interesting enough."

you tilted your head. "like who?"

for a second, jeongin didn’t answer. his eyes flickered over your face, something unreadable in his expression.

then, with a small smirk, he simply said, "dunno. haven’t found them yet."

your stomach did a weird little flip.

you cleared your throat. "huh. well. you should show me your pictures sometime."

he shrugged. "maybe."

you nudged his shoulder. "that means yes."

"that means maybe."

"sure, sure." you grinned before shifting topics. "alright, what’s your biggest ick in a person?"

he smirked slightly. "besides you?"

"rude," you huffed.

he pretended to think. "probably… people who pretend to be someone they’re not."

you nodded. "yeah, i get that. fake personalities are exhausting."

"what about you?"

you didn’t hesitate. "people who can’t communicate."

jeongin raised an eyebrow. "that’s… a very mature answer."

"right?" you sighed dramatically. "like, if you have a problem, just say it. why do people make everything so complicated?"

jeongin chuckled. "agreed."

there was a pause before you added, "also, people who wear socks to bed. they scare me."

he burst out laughing. "what? why?"

"i don't know, it just feels wrong!"

"you’re insane," he said, shaking his head.

"maybe. but at least i’m not a sock-sleeper."

jeongin laughed again, and for some reason, the sound made your chest feel warm.

the conversation continued, shifting from childhood stories to embarrassing moments, from random questions to deep musings.

at one point, you found yourself just… watching him.

the way his dimples appeared when he smiled.

the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

the way his gaze softened ever so slightly when he looked at you.

and maybe, just maybe—

you were in trouble.

but you weren’t going to admit that.

not yet.

for now, you were just a girl sitting under the stars with a boy who was supposed to be your fake boyfriend.

and yet, somehow—

it didn’t feel fake at all.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan

[trustmypoison]

SVT when you simp for them

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Hiiii, just saw Ateez and simping for them, can I request same for Seventeen please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Thank you very much🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻’

Seungcheol

Have you ever seen someone try to look smug while also blushing profusely? That’s what this would be like. He wants to be cool and say, “Of course, you love me,” but any smugness he tries to inject into the statement falls flat because of how pink his cheeks are. 

Jeonghan

Genuinely smug. If there’s any blushing at all, it’s so minimal that you might not notice. He’s absolutely going to egg you on and be like, “Uh huh, and what else?” I fear he’d be smug either way, so you might as well tell him what you really think. 

Joshua

Giggly. Not even blushing, just giggling at how sweet he thinks it is. He’ll dish it out as well - in five minutes though. He’s gotta soak up all of your lovely compliments first. 

Jun

A whiner!! Doesn’t know how to take it so he groans and tells you to stop fangirling from behind his hands as he covers his face. But if you do stop, he might peek between his fingers because he wasn’t serious. Keep going, he just can’t look at you. 

Hoshi

Melts into a puddle. I mean, just curls up into a ball against you because he’s overwhelmed by the compliments. Blushing with a big smile. Joshua needs five minutes but Hoshi needs hours to be able to properly return the simping. 

Wonwoo

Totally entertained by this. Will not blush and might not even crack a smile, doing his best to look unaffected. But he thinks you’re cute and your words are sweet. An underwhelming reaction of “Mhm, whatever you say,” but I’m not sure what you expected here. 

Woozi

Another one that’s secretly entertained by this, but whereas Wonwoo’s reaction is flat, Woozi actually does a great job of looking annoyed. He’ll be like, “Why are fangirling like this right now??” He’ll fold if you seem worried that he’s genuinely bothered, but he otherwise will act like your compliments are physically painful. 

DK

A shy baby. He has so much to say usually, but he’ll be a little flustered and soft-spoken when you do this. Later, when you’ve settled down, he’ll ask if you really meant all the nice things you said. Tell him yes!!!!

Mingyu

I think he’d genuinely be pretty smug to start, but the longer it goes on he might start to feel sort of flustered. I think he likes words of affirmation and this really feeds that need. But I think one of his preferred love languages to give is physical affection, so this just ends in him wrapped around you. 

Minghao

I think he’d be one of the few who doesn’t get flustered or shy, but at the same time isn’t super smug either. I think he’d just soak up your attention with a sweet, slightly entertained smile. He won’t fish for more simping or anything, but he’ll let you go on as long as you feel like. 

Seungkwan

Did you ever think that simping would end in a fight?? Not serious, of course. But for every statement you have, he’s going, “And what about YOU!!” Aggressive as it is, there’s a lot of sweetness in how vehemently you both simp after one another. 

Vernon

A long stare and a few blinks, and finally, a simple nod and an “okay.” I hope you didn’t expect anything more. I mean, he’s delighted by the compliments but I just don’t see him being expressive about it. He takes your simping and ranting in stride. 

Chan

This is an ego boost for him for sure, but he can’t let you know that. He’ll listen and slowly nod, sometimes looking concerned. He’s totally joking when he finally kisses your cheek and says, “You worry me sometimes.” 

[tarotofhope]

PAC : Your Year 2025- Advice and Predictions.

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile.

❤️ All dividers on this blog are provided by @uzmacchiato ❤️

Please Note: It's just a general reading so please take the finances part of the reading with a grain of salt just like other parts of this reading. Take your decisions wisely, I, @tarotofhope and @tarotforpeace will not be responsible if you make decisions based on my readings. I have not included health(though I wanted to first) in here because I'm afraid if I mention any serious things like surgery and illness, you guys might take that seriously and also because it's a general reading, I don't want that to happen. Deck Used- Osho Zen Tarot

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

⪩⪨ Pile - 1 ⪩⪨

LOVE -

Cards: The Miser(4 of Pentacles)

You'd like to keep a good distance from love this year. Either you recently came out of a relationship(most probably last year), or you've always remained single(by choice or not). There is a sense of fear with the 4 of Pentacles here, that the person may turn out toxic, and if this happens, you might lose your precious peace of mind and soul, somehow they might become an hindrance, so you try to stay away from love as much as possible. For people who are single by choice, especially, you guys really enjoy being single. For people who are already in a relationship, you guys are staying private and reserved as much as possible.

CAREER -

Cards: Past Lives(The Moon)

You guys are being advised to not let your past hold you back, if there were any negative experiences in your last job, it's not going to repeat itself. You're also being told to make good use of your talents(with past lives, It makes me think of Ketu which is the South Node, which talks about talents and gifts you inherited from your past lives). You don't need to hide yourself anymore. Get out there and show what you're capable of.

FAMILY -

Cards: Morality(Queen of Swords) clarified by Suppression(10 of Wands).

Your family might have burdened you with a lot of responsibility and stress, like somehow your family is the reason for your low self-esteem, lack of confidence, bad mental health, any or all of these. Somebody's pushing you to go over your limits. Someone has too high expectations from you. But this year, you'll find the courage to stay back and fight for yourself. If you don't like to do something, you'll say so. Just because someone is family, you'll not allow them to take advantage of you anymore.

FRIENDSHIP -

Cards: Trust(Knight of Cups)

You'll be placing your focus on trust this year, in friendships. Unless you find someone you can really trust, you're not going to make new friends, which also means that you're also going to analyse your current and old friends' behavioural patterns. You might want to leave some old mean/toxic friends behind because of this. Though I cannot say whether your friends are actually toxic or not, it might just be your perception of them as per your circumstances. Trust has become your main criteria for accepting people and their friendships. You're available but not open, not to everyone.

FINANCES -

Cards: Friendliness(2 of Cups)

Those of you who are into partnerships or teamwork, this year is going to be good for money. You're being advised to make more connections at workplace and in general too, it will be good for your work. Surround yourself with like-minded people but also be careful of two-faced people and backbiters.

FOCUS -

Cards: Playfulness(Page of Wands)

You're being advised to loosen up a bit and do things that make you happy. Don't let life take you by the neck and drag you into a pit of darkness. You need to enjoy a bit and don't let your surroundings have a negative effect on your mind. Focus your mind on happiness and getting out of things that drain your mind.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you .🌼🌺🌸🪻

⪩⪨ Pile - 2 ⪩⪨

LOVE -

Cards: Turning In(4 of Cups).

You guys might also be attracted to Pile 1, so if you want, you can check that pile too. You guys have the similar urge like Pile 1, to remain single or atleast not get involved in love this year. With the 4 of Cups, I'm seeing that this decision of yours is by choice, half of this group have had negative experiences in love earlier while the other half of you are enjoying being single currently. You're trying to find out about yourself more and your rich inner self. You're more involved in self-care activities currently.

CAREER -

Cards: Integration(Temperance)

You guys are being advised to have balance in your work life. Either you're taking free time too much or working too much. With integration here, you're also advised to be more co-operative and involve yourselves in teamwork, this year.

FAMILY -

Cards: Totality(5 of Wands)

You might be in an argument with some of your family members or maybe even, not in good terms with someone in your family. There may be disagreements and conflicts so you're being advised to take your decisions wisely, not in rush or rage.

FRIENDSHIP -

Cards: Ripeness(9 of Pentacles)

Your friendships will be good this year, it's almost like you've worked so hard in the past years on being a good friend, being trustworthy and loyal in friendships, so you'll be on good terms with your friends. You can rely on your friends and they can rely on you.

FINANCES -

Cards: Transformation(Death)

Your finances might take a turn this year, either you'll start earning money from a totally different source if you're already working(so it can mean change of jobs, change of location). For some of you, it can be that you've resigned or retired, so there is a change in the flow of money. This might look like a necessary change which cannot be avoided, I'm saying this because of the intensity of this card.

FOCUS -

Cards: Change(Wheel of Fortune)

You're being advised to focus your mind on whatever change this is, don't restrain yourself from it, don't try to push it back, it might look like a divine intervention, but if you're meant to do it anyway, you'll also be helped by your guides to get through it.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you .🌼🌺🌸🪻

⪩⪨ Pile - 3 ⪩⪨

LOVE -

Cards: Slowing Down(Knight of Pentacles) clarified by Clinging to the past(5 of Cups).

You're going slow in love, you're calculating, analysing, measuring every aspect of what a love relationship can offer, what you like and dislike, not wanting to repeat past mistakes again. Some of you are in a dating phase and meeting new people, while others of you are stuck with thoughts of your ex or toxic relationships. So some of you are not giving chances to new people. You're being advised to look forward in life, move on and think of the good things you possess.

CAREER -

Cards: Sorrow(9 of Swords) and Politics(7 of Swords)

You look tired of your job, you might not be happy with your workplace, colleagues or seniors. There might be discrimination, low compensation, overtime work with no proper pay. The overall energy of your work environment is draining you, it seems. You're being advised to leave if you can, and if not, you can lessen your stress by extra-curricular activities.

FAMILY -

Cards: Innocence(The Sun)

The Sun card here, gives a positive energy. Your relationship with your family is going to be very good, you might even go out on family trips this year. There is an environment of enjoyment and playfulness. People are supportive and understanding. They are going to be like a stress-reliever.

FRIENDSHIP -

Cards: Suppression(10 of Wands)

You're either feeling like you're the one who's taking all the efforts in your friendships or you're being burdened with too many expectations from your friend/s. You're being advised to communicate and solve the problem and if they're doing this even after communicating about it n number of times, you need to take your leave.

FINANCES -

Cards: Projections(7 of Cups) clarified by Intensity(Knight of Wands).

You're being advised not to take rash decisions when it comes to spending money. You're also being too indecisive about different things on which you want to spend your money, so you're putting your money impulsively into too many things, things you might further realise you do not need. So spend wisely.

FOCUS -

Cards: Trust(Knight of Cups)

You're being advised to focus on building trust within friendships and relationships. Also, If you're being offered a romantic proposal, do think about it. You need to focus on your relationships this year, on how to make them better. You're advised to be more open and accepting in terms of love.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you .🌼🌺🌸🪻

⪩⪨ Pile - 4 ⪩⪨

LOVE -

Cards: Postponement(4 of Swords).

Actually, it's funny how so many of the piles here got 4s for love(except the 4 of Wands), I think everybody just wants peace in life or be accepted just as they are, no drama of adjusting with new people. Coming to your reading, you want to be out of the picture of love this year, you don't want unnecessary new drama in your life. People are too full of expectations and that's exhausting. Maybe currently you're trying to make things easier in your own life. You're tired of people, I think, so you want to be left on your own. Maybe you're also waiting for the right person to come in, so you're just focusing on yourself this year. Those who are already in a relationship or married are taking a back seat, not being on social media too much, minding your own businesses separately.

CAREER -

Cards: Aloneness(Hermit) clarified by Playfulness(Page of Wands).

You might either be into a monopoly business/work or you work alone/self employed. I can see that you're also happy with whatever it is that you do, you enjoy your work. You're happy to manage everything on your own.

FAMILY -

Cards: The Burden(6 of Swords) clarified by Trust(Knight of Cups).

Your family thinks you're like a burden to them or they're like a burden to you or both(it can be due to physical health, mental health, control issues, strict-behaviour etc..). Your family and/or you guys might feel like cutting ties with each other but you guys might still be staying together or are in a toxic connection with each other. There's a lack of trust, acceptance and love here. I know this part of the reading is sad, but if you're going through it, I wish you all the luck. These issues are not the ones to suddenly generate, if they're present, that means they were already there since a long time.

FRIENDSHIP -

Cards: Transformation(Death).

You might have recently ended a friendship and in the process of finding new friends. You don't need to extend relationships unnecessarily which are not going to stay. If you're almost on the verge of ending a friendship(which has turned bitter), then please do it without doubting yourselves any further. It would be good for all the people involved in this connection.

FINANCES -

Cards: Courage(Strength)

You might have earned money with a lot of efforts and courage, so you're proud of it and you're using it decisively. I'm not saying that other people do not put efforts, It's just that people of this pile might have faced extreme difficulties in regards to their career and have worked tooth and nail for getting a certain job, their job might have asked a lot of them and they gave it. Like just for example: A woman who is not allowed to work but wants to make her own career, starts working after too many fights and arguments with family, maybe even leaving them.

FOCUS -

Cards: Politics(7 of Swords) clarified by The Master.

People of this pile are very intuitive and aware, so you will know when somebody is attacking you or stealing from you or taking advantage of you, you just need to stay that way.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you .🌼🌺🌸🪻

⪩⪨ Pile - 5 ⪩⪨

LOVE -

Cards: Ordinariness(8 of Pentacles) clarified by Sorrow(9 of Swords).

You're just a simple person who needs very simple things in life. So, same goes with your love life too, you just want things to work out and you're not afraid to put the required efforts in your relationships. You've been tired of people wanting too much from you, in love. Maybe you're also simple with your looks, makeup and fashion but people always want you to wear a certain way, look a certain way, so you've gotten uncomfortable and tired of this. You might be working on yourself currently but not to entertain people, just for yourself or you're just focused on your career this year.

CAREER -

Cards: Understanding(Page of Cups) and Creativity(The Empress).

Just as I've mentioned above, you might be focused on yourself or your career. Your career might be of creative nature and you feel like you've found your people and place. Doing what you like best, putting your all in it. People really admire your work and passion. You really feel understood and appreciated for your work and you're happy with it. You might even come up with more creative ideas for your work.

FAMILY -

Cards: The Master.

The Master card suggests that you're very aware of yourself. You know how to be the master of your own life, how to tackle things on your own. Maybe you've always felt lonely, misunderstood and unappreciated by your family. You might have realised that you're enough on your own. This year, you might think that you don't need anybody. It might be that you understand and support your family but they take you for granted. You're also not afraid to call other people 'family', people who feel more familiar and are more understanding than your own family.

FRIENDSHIP -

Cards: Mind(Page of Swords).

You'll be very defensive when it comes to friends too. You don't want people who make you go crazy in the head, who make relationships complicated. You think you'll be better off alone. You'll only make new friends when you find someone really reliable and trustworthy. You feel like you've had enough of people calling themselves 'friends'(iykyk).

FINANCES -

Cards: Flowering(Queen of Pentacles).

Your finances will be good this year. You'll have money for all of your requirements and with your mind completely focused on career and money, you'll be able to handle your finances properly too.

FOCUS -

Cards: Clinging to the Past(5 of Cups)

You're being advised to count your blessings and leave the spilled milk behind. There's no use of crying over previous relationships or friendships. They came as a lesson, learn from them and move on. Everything will not stay forever. Some of you also feel guilty for something, try to make peace with it by doing the right thing always and helping people and animals. For a few of you, if you're grieving the passing away of a loved one who's passed away long time ago, you're advised to make peace with it and stop hurting yourself. Live life righteously for them.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you .🌼🌺🌸🪻

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings once every week. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 3: "The one with the birthday party" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERIST

Chapter Summary: At Frankie’s mom’s birthday party, you aim to keep a low profile, doing just enough to blend in. But the night takes an unexpected turn—his family pulls you in more than you anticipated, catching you off guard with their warmth. And then, just when you think you’ve made it through unscathed, the pavement has a surprise for you too. WC: 18.8k (CAREFUL, THIS BABY IS LOOOONG LOL)

A/N: Alright, it's here at last! You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to sharing this chapter. For some reason, life kept getting in the way and I couldn’t finish it sooner, but NOW IT’S FINALLY DONE! I’d love to know what you think—your feedback always helps me improve, and I really enjoy reading your comments! <3 LOVE YOU YOU ALL, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs!

Friday, August 9th. 

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door, stepping aside to let Frankie in. You barely glanced at him before turning toward the other room. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walked in without a word, shutting the door with a soft click. His silence felt heavier than it should have, like an unspoken critique. You gestured toward the door on the right, in front of the stairs that led to the second floor and to your apartment.

You went into the bookshop, and he followed you, his shoes heavy against the floor.

Inside, Frankie lingered by the doorway, his eyes darting around the room as though assessing it for structural integrity. You ignored him, sliding behind the counter to finish typing something on the computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the counter with the practiced impatience of someone who believes they’re above waiting. His tone had a sharp edge, as if the concept of you having a to-do list offended him. “Can’t this wait?”

You exhaled, a soft, deliberate sigh that was barely audible over the quiet clatter of the keys.

“Just finishing an order. If you’re going to stand there and criticize, at least try to look useful.” A few more taps, and you turned the screen toward him with a mock flourish. “There. Done. Satisfied?”

Frankie didn’t bother responding, his attention shifting to you instead. His gaze dragged up and down, his expression a mix of scrutiny and reluctant approval.

You stepped around to the other side of the counter, reaching for the bookshop keys. With them in hand, you paused in front of him, your gaze drifting down the length of his body.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you said, letting your eyes linger pointedly on his polished black coat, white buttoned shirt and neatly pressed pants. “You look decent.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “And you look…” His eyes trailed to your dress, narrowing. “Half-dressed.”

“Excuse me?”

Frankie crossed his arms, tilting his head as though giving your outfit a second appraisal.

“I’m not joking. Did you forget part of your dress? Or is it supposed to look like that?”

Confused, you glanced down at yourself. You were wearing one of your favorite dresses—a white one with delicate straps and a fit that was snug but not tight, elegant in its simplicity. It was modest enough: the neckline wasn’t too low, the hem rested just above your knees. Perfectly normal. Perfectly appropriate.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dress. You’re just being annoying and mean.”

“Your back,” he said flatly, gesturing with his hand.

Your fingers flew to the back of the dress, and sure enough, they met the unzipped fabric.

“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I was going to zip it upstairs. I have this little hook thing for it—”

“For god’s sake,” Frankie cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the single most inconvenient thing anyone had ever asked of him. “Turn around. I’ll do it.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested performing open-heart surgery.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s a zipper, not a marriage proposal. Turn around.”

Reluctantly, you turned, feeling his presence close behind you. His fingers were quick but precise as he tugged the zipper up, the movement so mundane yet strangely charged. The warmth of his breath hit the back of your neck, and you froze for a second, hyperaware of the proximity.

“There,” he said gruffly, stepping back as if the contact had been nothing more than a chore. “Happy now? Let's go.”

You turned to face him, adjusting the straps with an exaggerated shake of your shoulders.

“Ecstatic,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly life-changing.”

Frankie rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the door, opening it with a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Are you done with the dramatics?”

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you followed him outside, muttering under your breath just loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to tie my heels.”

The party was being held in the gilded elegance of the Golden Room at Hotel Le Grand. Frankie had mentioned, in passing, that he and his sisters had been planning the event for months—though it was clear Luna had been the one to shoulder the real burden. Frankie didn’t strike you as someone who knew how to color-coordinate table linens or confirm catering orders. Luna, on the other hand, sounded like the kind of woman who thrived on spreadsheets and perfectly executed itineraries.

You walked down the wide, carpeted hallway toward the entrance, feeling an unfamiliar kind of nervousness bloom in your chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, nor excitement—it was something in between, something that lived in the pit of your stomach and coiled tighter the closer you got. You could hear the faint hum of voices, glasses clinking, the muffled thrum of music filtering out from the room ahead. Frankie’s pace slowed beside you, his polished shoes scuffing lightly against the floor.

When you turned to look at him, his expression was hard to read. He was studying you, eyes narrowing slightly as if you’d done something suspicious, though you couldn’t imagine what.

“Wait,” he said abruptly, stepping closer and grabbing your arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that you stumbled slightly.

“What—”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you along a few steps before opening a nearby door and tugging you inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Francisco?” you hissed, glancing around the dim, utilitarian room. It smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, the air heavy with the static quiet of spaces not meant to be used by guests. Stacks of chairs loomed in uneven piles against the walls, making the room feel even smaller.

Frankie shut the door behind you with an exhale.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, his voice low and edged with impatience.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just—humor me, okay?” He glanced at you, his dark eyes darting quickly over your face before he looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he replied, too fast. He planted his hands on his hips, his expression careful. “Santi introduced us. We’ve been dating for two months. We kept it private because we wanted to talk to him first. It’s… fine. Normal. Our relationship is easy.”

“Easy?” 

“Yes, easy. It just happened. The usual.”

“You’re so nervous,” you said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Look at you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re definitely nervous.”

“I just need you to promise me that you’re not going to do anything to ruin this. Okay? Can you promise me that?”

You scoffed, clicking your tongue in mock offense.

“Why do you automatically assume I’m the one who’s going to ruin it? If you want my honest opinion, you’re way more likely to mess this up. Look at you—you’re sweating.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You look like a dog with its tail between its legs,” you said, lightly poking his shoulder with two fingers.

“You are going to make me fucking nervous if you keep talking like that,” he said, pushing your shoulder with two fingers, a perfect imitation of your earlier gesture.

You exaggerated the movement, stumbling back as though his touch had been far more forceful than it was.

“Deny it all you want, but I’m not the nervous one, and I’m not going to ruin this. I still need you for the wedding, remember? Or has that slipped your mind?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I guess so. What a ridiculous plan,” he said, his voice dripping with faux superiority. When his gaze found yours again, it was sharp. “And I’m not nervous.”

Frankie didn’t seem to realize how obvious his nerves were. His eyes darted around like they were chasing his thoughts, moving too quickly for comfort. Every so often, his eyebrows would twitch in a way that betrayed the tight control he thought he had over himself. And you’d noticed it earlier, too, during the car ride—his restlessness, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, harder and faster than usual. It was almost endearing, if not for the fact that he refused to admit it. Instead, he was blaming you.  

A thought sparked in your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. Your eyes brightened as you tilted your head, feigning an exaggerated air of curiosity.  

“Well, if you say so,” you sighed, looking away for just a beat before locking eyes with him again. “So, where can I touch you?”  

Frankie froze, his entire body going rigid.  

“What?” 

“Where can I touch you?” you repeated, slowly, as if he might need help processing the question. “Like, can I hold your hand? Touch your face? Your arms? Anywhere that’s off-limits? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”  

You could feel the corners of your mouth twitching, fighting the urge to fully smile. God, this was too easy. He looked equal parts horrified and confused, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened slightly.  

“Stick to the basics,” he said, his tone clipped and no-nonsense. He was trying to regain control, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest only made him look more defensive. 

“And what exactly are the basics, Francisco?”  

“It doesn’t matter. This is a family event. Just don’t—don’t overdo it.”  

“Well, that’s a start,” you said, nodding like you were taking mental notes. “So, can I hold your hand? Or is that too intimate for you? If I make you nervous, you can just say so.”

Your voice had softened into something almost saccharine, a honeyed sweetness that didn’t belong to you. 

Frankie stared at you in silence, his dark, intense eyes fixed on your face like they were trying to strip you down to your core. You could almost feel him siphoning your energy, leaving you lighter, emptier.

“Yes, you can hold my fucking hand.”

“Great,” you said brightly, nodding as if you were in complete agreement. “And what about kissing?”

“There’s no need.”

“No need? That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” You paused, letting the silence settle just long enough to be deliberate. “Now I’ll tell you what I’ll allow.”

Frankie frowned, his head tilting slightly in irritation.

“There’s no need. I don’t plan to—”

“You can hold my hand, my shoulders, and my waist. My waist, but no lower—understood?” You raised your index finger for emphasis, looking up at him with mock authority.

Frankie blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He stifled a laugh, though you caught the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest like a disappointed teacher.

“What? Are you seriously planning to convince your family that you’re head over heels for me without even touching my shoulders? That’s ambitious, Francisco. And, honestly, not very convincing. You’re out of your depth here. And nervous,” you added, tilting your head to one side with a knowing smirk. “But I get it. You’re not exactly the picture of confidence, are you? In fact, you strike me as one of those guys who find it really difficult to socialize with women. You know the type.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap. But instead, he nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as a bitter, humorless smile spread across his face.

“I’m very sociable with women, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with something sharp. “The thing is, I have to like them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, disbelief etched across your face.

“Well, I think that makes you a bad actor. You’re not cut out for the job.”  

Frankie leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze, steady and unflinching, fixed on you like he was deciding whether you were worth responding to.

“Oh, no?”  

“Yeah, you know, for the act,” you said, tilting your head.  

“You’re ridiculous.”  

“And you’re a nervous coward.”  

Frankie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at you, his silence stretching long enough to make you shift under the weight of his gaze. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a brief, panicked moment, you thought he might just open the door, leave you standing there alone, and abandon the whole charade.  

But then, his face shifted. A smug expression slid into place, slow and calculated, accompanied by that crooked smile that always made your stomach tighten—not in a pleasant way, but in a way that felt like a warning.  

“And what about you, Meryl Streep?” he asked, his tone light but laced with an edge. “You want to talk about bad acting, but yesterday, after I kissed you, you looked completely out of place.”  

You sighed, a deliberate move to buy yourself a second to think.

“Sorry,” you said finally, tilting your head like you were truly apologetic. “I guess that happens when I get the most unpleasant kiss in the world.”  

Frankie laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“Then it shouldn’t bother you that this party is kiss-free, should it? Little physical contact, just the necessary effort.”  

For a moment, you felt the wind knocked out of you—not by his words, but by the realization that he had managed to flip the conversation so seamlessly, deflating your earlier momentum. But you recovered quickly, letting a slow, understanding smile spread across your face.

You leaned in slightly, your hand lifting toward his face. Frankie, ever cautious, instinctively moved his head back, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers found his cheek, warm under your touch, and your thumb rested lightly at the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy it when you come begging for a kiss or a small demonstration of affection, Francisco,” you said softly, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Because even though I know how much you hate this whole thing, I also know that your need to make this convincing is even stronger.”

You dropped your hand and stepped back, feeling a delicious sense of control settle over you like a second skin.

Frankie’s jaw tightened as he turned toward the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles faintly white. He paused just before opening it fully, glancing over his shoulder at you, his eyes sharp and impatient.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said lightly, brushing past him as you moved toward the door.

Already in the hallway, Frankie fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Without warning, his fingers found yours, intertwining them in a quiet, deliberate motion. His steps were slow, measured, as you both neared the doorway leading back to the crowded hall.

You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I thought that—”

“No way,” a voice cut in from behind, smooth and teasing. “Sneaking off to a closet during Mom’s birthday party? That’s risky, Frankie.”

Frankie froze, his grip on your hand loosening for a second. He turned, his face momentarily pale, but when he saw her, something shifted. The tension in his jaw melted away, replaced by a warm, easy smile. You followed his gaze.

The woman approached, a grin already forming, arms outstretched. She pulled Frankie into a tight embrace, her dark eyes bright.

He kissed her cheek before pulling back.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice lighter than before. “How’s Mom? Is she happy?”

“She’s great, so so happy. She wants to see you,” the woman said, and then her attention flicked to you. Curiosity glimmered in her gaze. “Aren’t you going to... introduce me to your girl?”

Frankie hesitated, like the thought had only just occurred to him. Then, his hand slid to your waist, his grip warm and steady as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, and your name slipped from his lips with an unfamiliar sweetness. “My girlfriend.” He paused, like he was testing the words, then smiled. “And baby, this is my sister, Maia.”

The way he said it caught you off guard. There was a natural ease to it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Like it wasn’t the first time he was calling you that in front of someone else. Baby.

Your mind went back to what Frankie had told you the night before. Maia, of all his sisters, was the most perceptive. She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful.

You turned to her with a genuine smile. She was beautiful—big brown eyes framed by long lashes, dark hair swept back effortlessly. There was something about her features, the sharp cheekbones, the knowing glint in her eyes, that reminded you of Frankie. 

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” you said, meaning it. “Your brother’s told me so much about you. You look gorgeous.”

Maia’s grin widened, a pink flush rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, stop, really? You’re gorgeous.” She reached out, touching your arm lightly. Her hands were soft. “I wish I could say the same, but this idiot kept you a secret. He’s told us next to nothing.”

“Maia,” Frankie started, already formulating an excuse.

"It’s my fault," you cut in, glancing at him briefly before turning back to her. "I asked him to keep it private, at least until we told my brother."

Maia's brows lifted. "Oh? And why—"

Frankie exhaled. “She’s Santi’s sister.”

Maia’s mouth fell open slightly, then curved into an amused, knowing smile.

“Shut up,” she said, her tone laced with delight. “You’re dating your best friend’s little sister?”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Can you believe it?” you said, glancing at Frankie before turning back to her. “And I’m dating my brother’s best friend. Talk about a cliché.”

“Unbelievable,” Maia echoed, her laughter bright and infectious. “And what did he say when you told him?”

“Oh, Santi thought it was a little ridiculous at first,” you admitted, glancing at Frankie, amusement dancing in your expression. “But he got over it pretty fast.”

Your eyes met his then, full of plastic love.

Maia smirked knowingly.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “this just got interesting.”

Frankie cut the conversation short, brushing off Maia’s questions with the kind of firm, practiced ease that suggested he’d been doing it his whole life. She rolled her eyes but didn’t press further, leading the two of you deeper into the party.

His hand found your waist again as you stepped inside the hall. The space was vast and elegant, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights strung overhead. White tablecloths stretched across the tables, each adorned with delicate centerpieces of white lilies—his mother’s favorite, according to Frankie. The scent was soft, fresh.

Maia wove through the gathering guests with the effortless familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step, every shift of movement. The closer you got to the main table, where the rest of his family sat in easy conversation, the more your nerves crept up, curling around your ribs like vines. Without thinking, your fingers sought Frankie’s again, gripping them tighter than necessary.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance meant only for you. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, even if you weren’t entirely convinced.

Then Helena spotted Frankie, and everything else in the room faded.

Her eyes went wide, bright with unfiltered joy. “Francisco!”

She pushed back her chair in an instant, standing with her arms already outstretched. Frankie barely had time to let go of your hand before she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him the way only a mother could—like she needed to be sure he was still whole. She kissed both his cheeks, then held his face between her hands, searching it, memorizing him.

“Esta fiesta es increible, mi amor (this party is incredible, my love),” she told him, eyes still shining. “The best gift of all. Just having everyone together, that’s all I wanted. All my babies with me.”

Frankie smiled, a real one, the kind that made his entire face look younger, lighter.

“Feliz cumpleaños, ma, te mereces esto y mucho más. Una fiesta increible para una mujer increible, ¿o no?. (Happy birthday, Mom, you deserve this and much more. An incredible party for an incredible woman, right?)” 

You felt something swell in your chest at the way he said it, at the way his voice sounded softer in spanish—his voice warm with love.

Helena beamed, then turned toward you.

The shift was subtle, but sharp. Her gaze landed on you with something keen behind it, something appraising. 

“Mom,” he said, his fingers brushing your back again, “I want you to meet someone.” He pulled you closer, and when he said your name, it was softer than usual, careful. “She’s my... She's my girlfriend.”

The word hit the air, and you felt Frankie tense beside you, just for a second.

Helena didn’t react right away. She simply looked at you, studying, deciding. And then—she smiled. Broadly, like she’d decided something in your favor.

She repeated your name, and up close, you saw it now—how much of her was in Frankie. The same warm brown eyes, the same mischievous pull at the corner of the mouth, like they were both always half a second away from teasing you.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” she said, reaching for your hands. “What a lovely surprise, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed immediately, heat spreading down to your chest, and you knew you were blushing. Next to you, Frankie smirked, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Thank you so much,” you managed, shifting slightly closer to him for balance. “And happy birthday. It’s really wonderful to finally meet you, Helena. Francisco has told me nothing but amazing things about you.”

“Oh, thank God,” she teased, tossing her son a look before giving his arm a gentle pat. “And I do hope you’ll fill in the gaps. I’ve been waiting so long for this one to bring someone home, you have no idea. If you only knew!” She clasped her hands together in mock prayer. “Now, come—come! Come meet the rest of our family.”

Before you could react, she had already taken your arm, gently pulling you away from Frankie. You barely had time to glance back at him, your expression somewhere between help and save me, before you saw the exact same look mirrored on his face. He could do nothing but follow as Helena paraded you toward the table.

Introductions unfolded in a series of warm, overlapping voices.

Luna was stunning, exactly as you’d imagined. Her dark hair was swept back, save for a few loose strands that framed her delicate features. Her green eyes carried a quiet curiosity as she hugged you gently, greeting you with the kind of reserved kindness that made you think she was someone who observed before she spoke.

Next to her was Henry, her husband, who greeted you with a polite nod and a brief kiss on the cheek. Jamie, their son, waved shyly from his seat, his big brown eyes round with something close to awe. His curls bounced slightly when he moved, making him look like some kind of cherub from a Renaissance painting.

Then came Grace, Frankie’s niece, who stood just long enough to kiss your cheek before shyly murmuring, “I like your dress.” She had the kind of effortless sweetness that made you instantly want to protect her.

Her mother, Sofia, was beside her. Of all the sisters, she resembled Helena the most. Her dark curls fell over her shoulders, her smile was warm and knowing, and something about her presence felt effortlessly welcoming.

And then Maia, despite having already met you, stood again to press another kiss to your cheek, like she simply had to.

Once everyone was settled, Helena guided you to the empty chair beside her, which you realized—only as Frankie moved toward it—was the seat he had been planning to take. He hesitated for half a second, then shifted to the free chair on your right instead.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the way your nerves still buzzed under your skin. But when you turned your head, Frankie was already watching you.

He leaned in, his breath just barely grazing your ear.

“Calm down,” he murmured, his voice low, easy. “Just do the minimum.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Like you?” you whispered back.

Frankie gave you a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with the urge to fire something back at you. But he held it in.

“So, how did you two meet?” Grace asked, her voice sweet, playful. She turned to Frankie with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to charm such a pretty girl.”

Frankie let out a low chuckle. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“Oh, you’re going to love this,” Maia said, eyebrows arching in anticipation.

“Frankie was a total heartbreaker when we were kids, baby,” Luna added, her tone rich with amusement. “The girls loved the whole brooding, shy boy act.”

“I was shy,” Frankie defended, frowning slightly, as if the memory still perplexed him. “I think that was just my secret weapon.” He shrugged, then winked.

Helena shook her head, smiling.

“And how did this happen?” She turned to you, her gaze warm, almost knowing. “Francisco hasn’t told me a thing, no matter how much I insisted on it. I can’t believe he kept it a secret—especially with someone as lovely as you.”

“I thought he was about to take a vow of celibacy,” Sofia chimed in dryly, swirling her wine before taking a sip. “After he turned down that date with Genevieve’s daughter, we were convinced. She’s very pretty.”

“What’s celibacy?” Jamie piped up.

Henry, sitting next to him, burst out laughing.

Frankie exhaled through his nose, then leaned in, his arm draping over the back of your chair. The shift in posture was subtle but intentional. You felt the warmth of him at your side.

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that maybe you all just wore me out with that?” His voice was even, but his eyes moved slowly across the table.

“Ay, sweetheart, we were just worried,” Helena said, her concern soft and painfully genuine. “We just want you to be happy, genuinely happy. And after everything that’s happened…” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on her son.

Frankie stiffened, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked to hers, a silent warning: Don’t say it.

Helena caught it instantly. She inhaled, then softened her expression. “I’m just happy to hear you say that you’re happy with someone great.”

You turned to look at Frankie. He was still close, his face unreadable, his body warm next to yours.

What exactly had he told them? That he was happy? That he was in love? How intense was it all according to him?

“How did you two meet?” Sofía asked, her voice light but perceptive, her gaze flickering between you and Frankie. She had noticed his discomfort—of course, she had.

“It’s a funny story, actually.” His eyes found yours, holding them for a fraction too long, something unspoken passing between you. A silent negotiation. A mutual recognition. “Do you remember Santi?”

Everyone nodded. Even Henry, who had never met your brother but had certainly heard his name before.

“Well,” Frankie said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world, “she’s his sister.”

For a second, there was silence, the air thick with realization. Then—

Helena, Luna, and Sofía all widened their eyes in synchronized surprise. Grace, on the other hand, grinned like she had just won something.

“You’re Santiago’s sister?” Helena asked, reaching out and taking your arm gently, warmth in her touch. She looked genuinely delighted, like this was some grand revelation that connected dots she hadn’t even known were unconnected.

You nodded, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh my God, Francisco, why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her son, her tone accusatory.

Frankie shrugged, but before he could speak, you jumped in.

“Oh, that was because of me,” you admitted, smiling at her. “I asked Frankie to keep it private until I had the chance to talk to Santi. I… I wanted to tell him first.”

Luna, who had been watching with her chin propped on her palm, suddenly straightened, her lips curving into something sharp and entertained.

“Wait, but how?” she demanded, eyes glinting. “Was it sudden? Was it a secret? Please tell me everything.”

Frankie clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, relax.”

“Hey, we want to know!” Maia chimed in, twisting in her seat to get a better angle on you both. Grace nodded eagerly beside her, practically vibrating with interest.

Frankie glanced at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—caution, amusement, curiosity. A silent question.

You held his gaze, then gave the smallest nod. Permission granted.

He turned back to them, exhaling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It just happened,” Frankie said, his tone edged with impatience, like he was eager to get it over with. “We’d known each other for years, but we never really talked. Not much, anyway. Then Santi asked me to pick her up in Dallas because he couldn’t go, and he’d already promised. So I did.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, like he was considering the weight of his own words. “It was the longest trip of my life.” He glanced at you then, a slow, almost taunting smile curving his lips. “But I think something changed there. Don’t you?”

You held his gaze, matching his expression, refusing to break first.

For his family, this was a love story. For you, it was the beginning of a nightmare in a roadside diner, the longest meal of your life.

“Oh, of course it did,” you said, letting your hand fall onto his knee without warning. You felt him tense under your touch—so subtle no one else would have noticed. But you did. The corners of your mouth lifted, amusement flickering in your eyes as you smoothed it over with something softer, something that could be mistaken for affection.

“Actually,” you continued, turning toward Helena, who was watching you with quiet curiosity, “we never got along too well. The few times we saw each other, we ended up arguing, or worse.” You flicked your gaze back to Frankie, like you were measuring his reaction. “I always thought he disliked me. He always seemed uncomfortable, like he was disgusted by me.” You let the words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary before adding, lightly, “Apparently, not at all.”

“He liked you,” Grace said, beaming as if this was the best news she’d heard all night. “It’s so obvious.”

“Ah, typical,” Maia chimed in, crossing her arms, as if she had seen this exact scenario unfold a hundred times before.

Helena, still completely engrossed, leaned in slightly. “So what happened then?”

Frankie exhaled, his voice smoothing into something more deliberate, as if the story was forming in real-time.

“She left something in my car. I went to drop it off at her place a few days later. We talked for a while and—”

“And he kissed me,” you cut in, turning to look at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Frankie’s expression barely changed, but you caught the flicker of irritation in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed for half a second. He had been telling the story clean, simple, effortless. And now, suddenly, you had made it romantic. More than it needed to be.

Helena squeezed your arm gently, as if this moment—this entire fabricated story—was something to be treasured.

“Oh, who would have imagined it!” she said, delighted. “And what did your brother say? Was he angry? Did he approve?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Well, at first, he was just… shocked.” You smiled, remembering the way Santiago had looked at you when you told him your plan the day before, like he genuinely thought he had misheard. “I don’t think he was angry, exactly. More like—‘of all the people in the world, you and Francisco?’” You mimicked your brother’s voice, shaking your head. “His exact words: You two couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing.” Okay. That was fake, he never said that, but was it a lie?

Helena laughed, eyes warm.

Frankie sighed beside you, and when you glanced at him, his gaze was already on you—steady, unreadable. A story told a little too well. 

“Well,” he said finally, his voice dry. “I guess people change.”

“Well, actually, I don’t find it strange at all,” Helena said suddenly, glancing at her daughters as if they should have known this already. “When I met your father, I didn’t like him. Not even a little. I thought he was insufferable, so arrogant. He asked me out five times, and I turned him down every single time. I was convinced he was conceited.” She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “In reality, he was just… shy and a little bit awkward.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. Maybe that had been true for Frankie's father, but not for his son. With you, Frankie hadn’t been misunderstood—he had been downright mean. What had he called you once? Ah, yes, “little insufferable brat.” 

The memory made you tighten your grip around your glass.

Luckily, the party had started to fill with more guests, and Helena excused herself to greet them. Frankie’s sisters kept you in their orbit a little longer, but their questions were harmless. You answered lightly, intentionally keeping your responses vague, avoiding any personal detail that might reveal too much.

By the time dinner was served, the conversation had shifted entirely, now centered on Helena’s upcoming trip. She was going to Maui with her two sisters.

“Maybe I’ll just stay and live there,” she mused at one point, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her wine. “If the sand convinces me.”

“I think you’re going to love it,” Luna said. “Honestly, I think it’s the best thing you can do. Travel. Go to all those places you always told us about.”

Helena smiled at her daughter, but there was something behind it. A flicker of sadness, a private grief.

“Oh, yes,” she said, exhaling softly. “I just wish I could have had my Gabriel with me.” She smiled as she said it, but the words landed heavier than anything else had all evening.

You glanced at Frankie without meaning to, and that’s when you noticed how he was looking at his mother. Not just listening, watching, the way someone does when they know exactly what’s behind a statement like that. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The same quiet ache was there, in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his glass. Then he caught you looking and dropped his gaze to his plate.

After dinner, Luna and Sofía stood under the spotlights, microphones in hand, offering heartfelt words to their mother. Helena sat at the center of it all, her expression soft, her eyes shining as she listened. Friends and family followed, sharing anecdotes—some sentimental, others ridiculous.

You found yourself genuinely enjoying the evening. Frankie's family was incredible—funny, loud, and full of life. The stories they told about Helena were the kind of stories that made you want to listen forever. 

At one point, Eli, one of her oldest friends, recounted a story about the time she and Helena had snuck into David Bowie’s hotel as teenagers, only to steal a pair of underwear that—to this day—they weren’t entirely sure had belonged to Bowie himself or just some unfortunate member of his team. Either way, they still had them, tucked away somewhere.

The entire room erupted into laughter.

You were still caught in the story, your attention fully on the speaker, when you felt the weight of Frankie’s arm settle lightly against your back. He leaned in, his mouth near your ear, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he murmured. 

It took a second for you to register what he meant.

“Huh?” You turned slightly over your shoulder, catching the sharpness in his expression.

“This doesn’t have to be romantic.”

You blinked at him. Then scoffed.

“There’s no way it’s not romantic,” you whispered back, exasperated. “I’m your best friend’s sister. It just happened. How do you expect people not to romanticize it?”

Frankie exhaled, his hand briefly flexing against your back before he pulled it away.

“Just… just leave it to me from now on, okay?”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the spotlight, where Helena’s friend was still mid-story.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The party carried on the way these gatherings always did—laughter spilling into the air, the clinking of glasses as a few heartfelt toasts were made, voices overlapping in lively conversation. At the center of it all stood the towering delicious cake, drawing admiration before being sliced and passed around on small plates. Cameras flashed as family members huddled together for pictures, arms wrapped around shoulders, cheeks pressed close, and after a few more anecdotes and a couple more glasses of wine, Frankie leaned in, his breath warm against your shoulder as he murmured that he needed to find the bathroom. You nodded, barely looking up, stretching your legs as you stood. The air inside had started to feel thick, a little too warm, a little too full of laughter and clinking glasses.

You wandered toward the courtyard at the heart of the hall, a quiet oasis strung with soft lights, vines curling around wrought iron railings. The hotel was stunning, all old-world charm and careful elegance, the kind of place you’d never had a reason to visit before tonight.

Sinking onto a small stone bench, you exhaled slowly, watching the golden glow of the party through the enormous windows. Inside, the music throbbed, rich and nostalgic—ABBA, because of course it was. Guests twirled and swayed, arms flung around each other, faces flushed with wine and joy.

You lifted your glass to your lips, the white wine still pleasantly cool, still sweet. For a moment, you stared down at your shoes, tracing patterns on the stone floor with the tip of your toe. This was ridiculous. All of it.

What the hell were you doing here, at Frankie’s mother’s party? How had you let yourself get talked into this? His family was lovely, yes. His mother, especially. But did you really need to be here, sitting among strangers, smiling politely at old stories that weren’t yours? And Harry’s wedding—did you really want to go to that, after everything?

“Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Helena stepping into the courtyard, lifting the hem of her dress as she walked. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair slightly undone from all the dancing.

You smiled despite yourself, tilting your head.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said, glancing around as she lowered herself onto the bench beside you. “It’s a beautiful place.”

She hummed in agreement, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Yes, it is. My kids did a good job.”

“It’s a wonderful party. You have so many people who love you.” You hesitated, then laughed lightly. “The stories were funny.”

Helena smiled, and for a split second, you saw Frankie in her—the dimple that appeared when she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I really liked them,” you added.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to you, her expression open, curious.

You nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Me too.” Her gaze drifted toward the party, toward the window where music and voices poured through. “The years go by, and sometimes I forget just how much has happened to me. It’s strange. Sometimes it feels like my life after Gabriel passed away is… something separate. Like a different life entirely, like I became another woman without even realizing it.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her ring absentmindedly.

Frankie had never talked to you about his father, but you knew. He had died suddenly two years ago. Santi had mentioned it in passing on the day of the funeral, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—grief, exhaustion, maybe both. You had called him that morning, not knowing what had happened, and when he told you, it felt like the air had changed. Gabriel. You remembered the name, the way Santi had said it so carefully, like it was something fragile. He loved him, that much was clear. Like a second father, he said.

Helena’s words pressed against something in you, something raw. You and Santi had lost your own father a couple of years ago, when you were twenty-three. It had been sudden, too—death always seemed to be, no matter how much warning you had. Your mother had taken it the hardest. She couldn’t bear to stay in the house they had shared for nearly thirty-five years. The grief sat too thick in the walls, in the corners of every room, in the quiet that used to be filled with his voice. So she left. Packed her things and moved to New York to live with your aunt. Sometimes, when she called, she sounded lighter. Other times, she just sounded far away.

You glanced at Helena, something warm and unspoken passing between you.

“As if you had been torn in two,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “As if there was the version of you that knew him, and a new one that spends every day missing him.”

Helena turned toward you, studying you in the dim light. Then she nodded, her gaze drifting back to the party, to the golden glow of the room beyond the window.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “But I’m very lucky, aren’t I? To have a family like this?” She turned back to you, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me, do you like us?”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head slightly.

“Oh, of course I do,” you said, meaning it. “You have a beautiful family.”

Helena studied you for a long moment, her smile still in place but something shifting behind her eyes. A quiet kind of consideration.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated, then nodded, suddenly unsure of yourself, worried you weren’t as good an actress as you had hoped.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice warm, gentle. There was no interrogation in it, only concern, the careful curiosity of a mother trying not to overstep but unable to help herself. “I don’t want to be that kind of mother, but… I think I am.” She smiled, a little self-deprecating. “Of all my children, he’s always been the most sensitive. Did you know that?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? You didn’t know Frankie. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. Your impression of him had been built on a handful of unfortunate encounters, on snide comments exchanged in passing, on the way he always seemed to carry himself like he had something to prove.

She watched you hesitate, and before you could scramble for an answer, she reached out, her hand landing gently on your leg, a mother’s touch—steadying, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to pry—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I…” You let out a breath, deciding there was no point in pretending. “He’s fine. Maybe a little nervous about tonight.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Helena sighed, nodding knowingly.

“Oh, yeah. I noticed that. That boy isn’t very good at hiding things, dear.” She smiled again, her expression fond. “He’s always been like that. Very transparent with his feelings. From the moment he arrived, I could tell—he looked as nervous as a cat backed into a corner.”

You laughed, unable to help it.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed. “On the way here, he was humming this song, and I swear, it was the funniest thing. And before we even walked in, he gave me this whole speech—like, a full-on monologue.”

Helena let out a laugh, shaking her head.

“But you have nothing to worry about,” she said softly. “I already like you very much.”

Her hand came up, brushing against your cheek for the briefest moment, warm and gentle. You felt yourself smile, unthinking, almost reflexive.

“And I’m really sorry about what I said at the table,” she continued, her voice quiet, careful. “I am happy that he’s happy. It’s just… when he told me the other day that he was seeing someone, I really thought he was lying. I hate to admit that, but I did.” She sighed, shaking her head lightly. “My daughters and I have been… a little difficult with him. And I know he wouldn’t want me to talk about this, but I feel like I have to.”

You nodded.

“Of course,” you murmured, your brows pulling together.

She looked at you then, as if weighing something, as if considering whether or not she should say the thing already forming on her tongue.

“I worry about him,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “After Rachel…” She hesitated. “Did he ever talk to you about her?”

You nodded once.

“Well,” she exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I had never seen him like that before.” She glanced away, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of her dress. “Of course, it wasn’t just her. It was everything. His father’s death shattered him, and Rachel… well, she only made it worse. And Francisco has always been strong, but underneath all that, there’s his enormous heart, and he tucks everything away in there. He carries it all.”

Her eyes softened, as if remembering something.

“And when he finally started to come back to himself, I noticed he was… lonely,” she admitted. “I know I can be overbearing, and I know he’s probably told you all about the blind dates.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiling a little.

You laughed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Helena let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, but the warmth in her expression didn’t fade. She studied you for a long moment, as if trying to piece something together, as if she had already made up her mind about you and was simply waiting for you to realize it, too.

“I think you’re a good person,” she said at last. “No, I know you are. My intuition is rarely wrong about these things.” She tilted her head slightly, considering you. “And you’re Santiago’s sister. I know no one of his blood could have a bad heart.”

She leaned forward then. “Can I trust you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

You stared at her, your smile slowly slipping away, your expression shifting into something more uncertain. Could she trust you?

No.

She couldn’t.

You were nothing more than a woman her son had convinced to pretend. A stranger caught up in a performance. And yet, here she was, speaking to you with nothing but honesty, with nothing but trust. Her words settled into you, heavy and warm, and you felt something tighten in your chest, something uncomfortable, something that almost hurt.

“Hey. There you are.”

The voice cut through the quiet, startling you. You turned instinctively, your body tensing before your eyes even landed on him.

Frankie.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the garden lights, his expression pulled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn’t. His eyes gave him away—something sharp, something unsettled lurking just beneath the surface.

Helena moved first. She stood, smoothing out the skirt of her dress as if shaking off the weight of your conversation. By the time she reached her son, any trace of emotion had been neatly tucked away.

“I’ll leave you two,” she said lightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t abandon my own party just yet.”

Frankie barely glanced at her, his gaze still fixed on you. Helena disappeared through the doorway, her presence vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.

You stayed where you were, fingers pressed against the fabric of your dress, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, edged with something you didn’t like. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He moved toward you, sinking onto the bench beside you. Too close.

“What the hell were you doing talking to my mom?”

You exhaled sharply, already exhausted by the conversation before it had even properly begun.

“I just needed air,” you said, leveling him with a look. “She just… showed up.”

“Well, no. Don’t.”

You blinked at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to her.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“What did you want me to do, Francisco? Turn my back on her?”

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you, his jaw tight.

“What did you say to her?” 

The accusatory edge in his tone made something twist inside you—something hot, something unpleasant. Your heart kicked up a little, the way it had when you were younger and had done something wrong, when an adult’s disappointment settled over you like a heavy weight. But this wasn’t that. You weren’t a child, and Frankie sure as hell wasn’t some authority figure.

Still, something about this—his sharp words, his narrowed eyes—made you feel small. And maybe, just maybe, that conversation with Helena had already set something loose inside you. Had already made you feel like the fraud you were.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said firmly. “Seriously.”

Frankie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face before gesturing sharply with his hands.

“You already ruined it,” he said, his voice low but forceful. “What was that at dinner, huh?”

“What?”

“Everything. I thought we’d been clear. Nothing too personal. Nothing too over the top.”

You inhaled, slow and steady, trying to keep your irritation in check. But it was creeping in, needling its way under your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I just acted how we agreed—”

“No,” he interrupted, turning to fully face you. His expression had hardened, frustration and something else—something darker—etched into the lines of his face. “You went too far. You did it wrong.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I did exactly what we agreed on,” you repeated, your voice sharper now. “It’s not my fault your mom wanted to talk to me—”

“You said too much—”

“No, I was just being myself but a little—”

“Exactly,” he cut in, his voice a little louder, a little rougher. “You shouldn’t have been you!”

You felt it like a slap.

Your breath hitched, your throat tightening, heat rising to your face before you could stop it. The burn started behind your nose, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

Frankie’s expression shifted just the slightest bit, his mouth pressing into a tight line, as if he had only just realized what he’d said. As if he could see it—the way you were gripping your empty wine glass too tightly, the way your whole body had gone rigid.

But he didn’t have time to take it back.

Because you stood so quickly the bench wobbled slightly beneath you. And then you were moving—away from him, away from the awful heat crawling up your neck, away from the sharp edge of his words.

“Hey—” Frankie started, standing just as fast, his voice breaking through the air. But it was useless.

The music swelled, drowning him out, swallowing whatever poor attempt at damage control he was about to make.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

The farther you walked into the party, the harder your heart pounded, the sound of it loud in your ears, almost drowning out the music. The heat in your face hadn’t faded. Neither had the sharp, lingering sting of Frankie’s words, pressing like a bruise against your ribs.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the room. The dim lighting worked in your favor—candles flickering on the tables, the dance floor bathed in a shifting wash of blues and reds, everything softened by the haze of too much champagne and conversation. You doubted anyone would notice you slipping away.

For a brief second, you considered heading straight for the door. Walking out, stepping into the night, inhaling air that wasn’t thick with perfume and laughter and the weight of everything that had just happened.

But instead, you turned on your heel and went to the bar.

You weren’t going to leave. Not yet.

You were angry, and there was an open bar. It would be stupid not to take advantage.

You slid onto a stool, pressing your elbows onto the smooth wood, and ordered a margarita.

The bartender nodded, reaching for a bottle of tequila, his movements fluid, practiced. You watched him pour, shake, pour again. The salt rim sparkled under the low lights. When he finally set the drink in front of you, you didn’t hesitate—lifting the glass to your lips and taking a long, slow pull. The cold hit your tongue first, followed by the sharpness of the lime, the bite of the alcohol. You drank like you had something to prove, and by the time you set the glass back down, it was already halfway empty.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement.

Frankie.

He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence shifting the air before you even fully registered him. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his body angled toward you, his forearm resting on the bar, his fingers absently grazing his mouth like he was considering his next words. Or maybe biting them back.

Your jaw tightened.

Then he ordered a whiskey, and you rolled your eyes—not at the drink itself, but at the sound of his voice, at the way it cut through the music and curled under your skin.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just watched you, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, charged with something unreadable. You refused to meet it, keeping your attention locked onto anything else—the melting ice in your glass, the vodka label in front of you, the way the bartender’s hands moved as he made another round of drinks.

And so it went.

You started your second margarita. He started his second whiskey.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally, you turned to look at him for the first time since the courtyard.

He was already looking at you.

“I know you’re nervous, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that.”

Frankie opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could get a word out.

“You’re not going to talk to me like that,” you repeated, quieter this time, sharper.

His eyes flickered—something hesitant, something almost guilty.

“I’m—”

“Look at me,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your words landed between you, closer than they needed to be. “I spent hours getting ready for this. Hours making sure I looked perfect for this stupid charade. Do you have any idea how long it took me to fix my hair? No, you don’t. Because you’re a complete idiot. An idiot who treats me like shit when I’m the one standing here, at your mother’s party, pretending to be someone I’m not—for you. And do you know why I'm doing this, Frankie?” Your voice wavered, not with weakness but with the sheer force of your anger. “Because I chose to. Not because you deserve it or I need you for another stupid lie. Because let’s be honest—” you tilted your head, smiling coldly, “—we’re not even fucking friends.”

His gaze hardened, but he didn’t look away.

“You owed me,” he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something.

You let out a quiet scoff, your eyes flicking to the dance floor, where Maia was watching the two of you from a distance, her expression unreadable.

When you turned back to Frankie, something had shifted in your eyes—something lighter, something amused. A slow, deliberate smile tugged at your lips as you lifted a hand, resting it against his cheek.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“Your sister is watching,” you murmured.

His shoulders relaxed, his expression softening just slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek, slow and calculated.

“Forget about the wedding,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, your smile still sweet, still deceptive. “Because after tonight, I don’t want to spend another fucking second with you.”

Frankie let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m useful to you,” he said, his voice smooth, certain.

“You’re useless to me.”

He leaned in just enough that your knees touched. “I don’t think so, shortcake.”

"Huh?" You let out an incredulous laugh, letting your eyes flick across his face—his mouth, his jaw, the slight smugness settled into his features. Beneath your hand, you could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath your palm.

Your fingers slid from his cheek to his neck, and you squeezed, just enough to make a point.

“To me,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his skin, “you’re nothing but a pathetic, desperate little loser trying to convince his mommy he’s something he’s not.”

Frankie let out a quiet, bitter laugh, the kind that barely curled the edges of his mouth but darkened his eyes in a way that made your stomach twist. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around yours, prying them gently from his neck. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he laced his fingers with yours, lowering your joined hands to his chest.  

His body shifted forward, closing the already dangerous space between you. If you leaned in even slightly, your nose would brush against his.  

Your breath hitched, the heat pooling in your cheeks betraying every emotion you were trying to suppress. Anger, frustration, something sharper beneath the surface.  

Frankie studied you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice low, edged with amusement.  

“You sound a little too confident for someone who might be a pathetic, desperate loser herself,” he murmured. 

You swallowed, your pulse a steady, insistent beat against your ribs.  

“Can I ask you a question?” he continued, his fingers flexing against yours.  

“No.”  

He ignored you, tilting his head slightly, considering something. And then—  

“Which came first,” he asked, voice almost teasing, “the moon or the sun? I thought you were afraid of needles.”

You stared at him in silence, the smug smile on his lips igniting something hot and restless inside you. It wasn’t just anger—it was something stranger, something you didn’t want to name.

Your tattoo.

He must have seen it earlier, when he helped you with your dress. A small moon and sun, delicately inked on your lower back—a reckless decision from a night out drinking with Emma. She was the sun, you were the moon. At the time, in your drunken haze, it had seemed like an aesthetically brilliant idea. Sober, you weren’t so sure.

A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, amusement curling at the edges of your mouth. Your fingers tightened slightly, gripping the fabric of his shirt beneath his hand.

“Look at you, a regular voyeur,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Why do you ask, Francisco? Is it you talking, or the whiskey? And how many glasses of wine had you had before this? Three? Four? ”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his gaze trailing over your face like he was enjoying something about this moment, about you.

“I really didn't think of you as the type of person who would wear a tattoo like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a half-smile.

“Ah, funny. So, you spend a lot of time thinking about me and what I wear? Or is it only when you’re bored, staring at the walls of your sad, monotonous life?”

“Said the woman who spends her nights with a cat and an imaginary boyfriend,” Frankie said, grinning as he watched you roll your eyes. The dim bar light caught the edge of his smile, sharpening it. He lifted his glass—dark amber, expensive—and took a slow sip. You followed the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin.

“Mr. Darcy’s excellent company. And at least I have a cat. What do you have?”

Frankie made a show of looking around, scanning the crowded room like the answer might be hidden somewhere between the swaying bodies on the dance floor or in the clinking glasses behind the bar. Then his gaze settled back on you, steady, assessing.

“What do I have?” He hummed as if considering it, then leaned in just slightly. “I think I really want to have another drink to make being around you more bearable.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back a retort. The warmth of alcohol sat low in your stomach, and the room was just a little too bright, a little too soft at the edges.

Across the room, Frankie’s sisters were dancing, their hair spilling over their shoulders, their laughter rising above the music. Maia caught your eye, her face flushed, and raised her eyebrows in an invitation. Without a second thought, you hopped off your stool, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Frankie watched you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He parted his lips like he was about to say something, but before he could, you turned and walked away. His mouth actually dropped open when he saw where you were going.

Maia pulled you in by the arm, and just like that, you were dancing, your body falling easily into the rhythm of the music. The moment felt expansive, electric. A kind of joy buzzed beneath your skin—the kind that only came from being a little tipsy and surrounded by people who knew how to have fun. You let it take you, the laughter, the music, the hands brushing against yours as you moved.

And yet—his words clung to you like the aftertaste of something bitter. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Like he was the authority on that. Like it was his job to keep you contained, manageable.

Well, if he wanted you to behave, maybe you should do something to really piss him off.

You turned to find him, just to check. Luna leaned in, murmured something nice about your dress, but you barely registered it. Frankie was still at the bar, one arm draped lazily against the counter, the other wrapped around his glass. His expression was unreadable—neutral, detached—but you knew better. You knew him. And if you had to guess, he was furious.

A song passed, then another. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a little wild. Helena was dancing beside you, swaying Jamie from side to side, both of them beaming. The kind of easy happiness you never saw at parties in your own family. Frankie was still there, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. He was looking at his phone.

Two songs later, you weren’t thinking about him at all.

You were laughing, lost in the pulse of the music, your head tipped back as you let it all go. Then—fingers wrapped around your arm. Warm. Familiar. Frankie.

Helena appeared beside him, her voice bright and teasing. “Finally! A girl shouldn’t dance alone when her boyfriend’s around.”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just smiled at his mother—an easy, charming kind of smile that didn’t fool you at all—before tugging you toward him. You stumbled a little, your hands catching against his chest as he turned you, pulled you in close.

Your breath hitched, but your smile didn’t falter. You tilted your chin up at him, your fingers settling on his shoulders.

“Are you going to dance with me now, honey?” you asked, your voice syrupy sweet, thick with amusement.

His hand tightened around yours.

Yeah, he was mad.

And you were having the best time.

Frankie licked his teeth, a slow, deliberate motion, like he was holding something back. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, tight and humorless. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I see what you're doing," he murmured, his voice slurring slightly, softened by alcohol. "I think you should stop."

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your chin, closing the space between you until your lips were just beside his ear.

"I'm just having fun," you said, your voice light, teasing. "Completely harmless."

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Amusement flickered across his face, but his eyes told another story—sharp, dark, frustrated. Like enduring this moment, enduring you, required every ounce of patience he had left.

Then, without warning, his hands slid to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you aware of them. Before you could react, he pulled you closer, the movement rough, unhesitating. Your chest bumped against his, knocking the air from your lungs in a quiet, startled gasp.

Your eyes met, and something flickered in the space between you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

Frankie tilted his head, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady on yours.

"I’m playing your game, didn’t you want to dance?"

You could smell the whiskey on him, the faint traces of something else—lavender, salt, the remnants of the night on his skin. Your hands were still on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and for a brief, unsteady second, you let yourself feel it. The warmth of him. The way his body fit against yours.

You flicked a glance around the room, searching for familiar faces—Maia, Sofía, Helena, someone who might be watching. But no. Everyone was lost in their own drunken happiness, in laughter, in swaying bodies and half-empty glasses.

Then Frankie moved.

He stepped forward, hands firm at your waist, steering you with him. The crowd swallowed you both, the music vibrating through the floor, through your ribs, through him.

"This isn't a good idea," you murmured, but you didn't pull away.

Frankie barely reacted. His hand traced up your arm, fingers curling around yours, guiding them into place, his movements seamless, practiced. He looked down at you, his mouth twitching at the corner, like he was already enjoying whatever this was more than he should.

"Oh no? Why not?"

His face was close. Too close.

Then, before you could register it, his cheek brushed against yours, a fleeting touch, just enough to make your breath hitch. The warmth of his skin, the slow, deliberate way he moved to the rhythm of the music—it was too much, all of it. Your fingers tightened around his without thinking.

You exhaled, a slow, shuddering sigh, and with it came the scent of him—warm skin, whiskey, and something else. Something deeper. Was it cologne? Was he wearing fucking cologne?

Whatever it was, he smelled fucking good.

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that might help erase the fact that Francisco Morales, of all people, smelled good, and that his body was pressed against yours, and—worst of all—that none of it felt bad. In fact, your feet lifted slightly onto your toes, seeking some fraction of closeness, your body betraying you in real time.

It was the alcohol.

It was absolutely, one hundred percent the alcohol. That, and the undeniable, frustrating fact that you were touch-starved. When was the last time a man had held you like this? You couldn’t remember. Your mind was too foggy, too wrapped up in the moment, in the warmth of him, in the firm weight of his hands.

But then it hit you.

It was Frankie. Frankie was the one holding you.

Your eyes snapped open, the realization jolting through you like a slap. Without thinking, you yanked yourself away, stumbling backward. It was clumsy, too sudden, and your own body felt unsteady, like it hadn’t caught up with your decision yet. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Frankie just watched you, an amused, almost devilish grin tugging at his lips. And then, slowly, that amusement shifted into something else—confusion, curiosity—as he took in your wide eyes, your rapid breath, your entire mess of a reaction.

You didn’t wait to see what he would do next. You turned and bolted, and didn’t stop moving until you were outside, back in the courtyard.

The air was crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning beneath your skin. You stepped into the garden, tilting your head back, letting the night air kiss your cheeks. It helped, a little. It grounded you, just enough to breathe, just enough to press your hands against your ribs like you could steady your own heartbeat.

"Hey, you okay?"

You stiffened at the sound of his voice.

Of course he followed you.

You didn’t turn around. You heard his footsteps approach, felt him standing just a little too close beside you. He was silent for a moment, and for some reason, that was worse than if he’d said something right away.

"You should drink some water," he said finally, his voice quieter now, less sharp around the edges. You caught the sound of his palm scraping over the back of his neck. "And so should I, honestly. I think I drank—"

“Stop pretending to care,” you snapped, cutting him off. Your voice was sharper than you meant it to be, your arms folding tightly across your chest. And why were you angry? You weren’t even sure. You just were.

Frankie let out a soft, amused breath. He clicked his tongue, then shifted his weight, considering you.

“I’m not pretending anything. I promised Santi I’d look after you.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally turning to face him.

“What, like you’re my fucking babysitter or something?” You shook your head, your words dripping with frustration. “I’m twenty-nine, Francisco. I can take care of myself.”

Frankie’s jaw tightened. His hands went to his hips, his eyes dropping to your feet like he was biting back whatever he actually wanted to say.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The silence between you stretched, thin but not fragile, the kind that neither of you felt the need to break. You both stood still, eyes moving across the garden as though searching for something worth commenting on. The music inside thrummed against the walls of the house, muffled but insistent, the bass vibrating faintly under your skin.

And then you became aware of your body—every muscle, every inch of discomfort. The dull ache in your feet flared as if your nerves had only just remembered to complain.

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air.

“My feet are killing me,” you murmured, shifting your weight, closing your eyes for just a second. 

Frankie snorted. You cracked an eye open in time to see him glance down at your heels—six inches of poor decision-making, glossy under the dim garden lights. His gaze moved up your legs, thoughtful. Then he scratched his chin, eyes narrowing slightly, as if making a decision.

“Sit down,” he said after a pause, nodding toward the bench you’d been perched on earlier, next to Helena. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Before you could ask where he was going, he was already walking off, disappearing through the door.

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto the seat—not because he told you to, obviously, just because you wanted to. You stretched your legs out, rolling your ankles, relishing the brief relief.

A couple of minutes passed. The music shifted to something softer, slower. You had just started to wonder if Frankie had left you out here for good when the door creaked open again.

He stepped back outside, a crease between his brows and—

You blinked.

“What are you doing?” Your voice carried an edge of suspicion. “What are those?”

Frankie knelt in front of you, setting a pair of slippers at your feet. His expression was flat, unimpressed.

He sighed, already irritated, already prepared for your resistance.

“They’re new, don't worry,” he said, like it was nothing, like this was something he did all the time. His fingers curled around your ankle before you could flinch away. Warm, certain. “Sofia gave them to me, but they’re too small and... not my style anyway. I left them in the car to exchange them, but I never got around to it.” He shot you a pointed look, as if to say, So really, I’m doing us both a favor. “Might as well put them to use.”

Before you could argue, before you could come up with something clever to deflect the strange weight of this moment, he unclipped your heel and slid it off with practiced ease.

You swallowed. Watched him. Felt a strange, unwelcome awareness creep up your spine.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your ankle as he repeated the motion with the other shoe. His focus stayed on the task, entirely unbothered. Meanwhile, something in your chest wound too tight, a tension that hadn’t been there moments ago.

You didn’t like it.

Frankie slid the slippers onto your feet, adjusting them slightly before leaning back on his heels with a groan. He pushed himself up, exhaling through his nose, then dropped onto the bench beside you. A hand scrubbed over his face, rubbing at his eyes, and a yawn slipped past his lips.

You looked down at your feet, flexing your toes experimentally against the soft fabric. You weren’t sure what to say.

But, despite yourself, it did feel better.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice flat, almost absent.

Frankie nodded, his gaze flicking to your feet, now resting comfortably on the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

And then, silence. The kind that stretched and settled, filling the space between you like heavy fog. Through the glass windows, the muffled thrum of music hummed in the background, but all you could really hear was your own breathing, steady but uneven. Would it be rude if you told him you were ready to go home?

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, pulling you from the thought.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting slightly in your seat. “My feet don’t hurt anymore.”

Frankie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head tipped down between his shoulders. He exhaled, like he was bracing himself.

“I meant before,” he said, glancing up at you. “I—”

“Ah. Yeah.” 

His fingers brushed idly over the seam of his pants, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole to you.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to keep going. “You just... you... you get under my skin sometimes, but—anyway. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s okay.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“This was a fucking terrible idea,” he admitted, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with something light, something almost fond. “What the hell were we thinking?”

A laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “I have no idea.”

Frankie grinned, pushing to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might somehow wipe away the flush of warmth creeping up his neck. When he looked back at you, his expression was softer.

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s stay a little longer, and then I’ll take you home. Deal?”

You eyed his hand, hesitating. There was something about the gesture—about the unspoken truce it implied—that made your chest tighten. But still, after a beat, you placed your palm against his.

Frankie pulled you to your feet, steadying you before letting go.

“You’re drunk,” you observed. “Are you seriously going to drive like that?”

“I’ll call a cab,” he said immediately, as if he’d already made up his mind. 

You nodded, about to say something else when the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his movements sluggish, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Frankie shifted closer to you, his body angling slightly in your direction.

“Hey, it's our little pilot,” the man drawled, his words slurring together as his eyes flicked lazily between the two of you. A smirk played on his lips. “How’s it going?”

Frankie’s expression barely changed.

“Ian,” he said, his voice unreadable. “Didn’t see you earlier.”

“Nah, I was running late,” Ian replied with a slow shrug. “You know how it is—time moves like shit when you wanna leave work early.” He clicked his tongue, his gaze dragging over you with undisguised interest. “So, this your new girl?”

Frankie didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he said smoothly. “We were actually just heading out—”

“You still having those problems?” Ian interrupted, tilting his head.

Frankie exhaled sharply. “Not really any of your business.” A beat. “You still avoiding your ex-wife?”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing between them. Ian laughed, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” he mused, voice laced with something cruel. “Does your dick even work with all those antidepressants? Must be a fucking nightmare trying to keep up with something as sweet as this one.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, his smirk widening.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion.

Frankie went still beside you, his jaw locking, his shoulders tight. His gaze was fixed on Ian, his expression eerily blank, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You thought of Helena’s words about her son and felt something sharp and bitter curdle in your chest.

Ian chuckled to himself, clearly entertained, clearly drunk beyond reason. Frankie was about to say something—you could see it in the way his mouth parted slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides—but before he could, before he even had the chance, the anger—and maybe the alcohol—made the decision for you.

“Oh, not that it’s any of your business, Ian,” you said, tilting your head slightly, voice light, almost sweet. “But since you’re so curious…”

You let out a soft chuckle, flicking your gaze to Frankie for the briefest moment before returning your attention to the man in front of you.

“I suppose I could tell you that... yeah, it works. Before we came here, this man had me seeing stars. Multiple times, actually.” You paused, just long enough to watch the words land, to see the flicker of surprise cross Ian’s face. “So really, I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it?”

You reached out then, the movement slow, deliberate, brushing your fingers along Frankie’s cheek, letting your thumb rest lightly against his lips. His breath caught, just for a second, and his eyes darted to yours, startled but composed, like he wasn’t entirely sure what you were doing but was curious enough to let it happen.

Ian scoffed, recovering quickly.

“Sure,” he said, dragging the word out, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused, vaguely condescending. “I doubt that, gorgeous.”

Your gaze flicked over him, head to toe, as if you were appraising something unimpressive on display. You didn’t bother hiding the disdain curling at the corners of your mouth.

Still, your hand remained on Frankie’s face, still at your side. Turning back to him, you found him already watching you, his lips twitching like he was barely resisting a smile. He didn’t care about Ian’s words, about his tone—he was far more interested in whatever it was you were doing.

And then, without really thinking, without hesitating, you pushed up onto your toes and cradled his face in both hands.

You kissed him.

Not a tentative, testing-the-waters kind of kiss. No, this was different. Your lips pressed against his like you’d been wanting to all night, like you didn’t particularly care if Ian was still standing there, gaping at you. Frankie made a sound in the back of his throat, one of surprise that melted quickly into something else. His hands found your waist, firm and steady, pulling you closer as he angled his head, deepening it.

Your tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he let you in, meeting you there, matching you effortlessly. When you finally broke apart, the sound between you was wet and sharp, but you barely had a second to take a breath before you kissed him again.

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling there as you smiled against his lips.

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing your hip.

And then, just because you could, because it felt like the right thing to do, you nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back completely. When you finally turned to Ian, his face was frozen in something close to shock, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline, his mouth slightly open like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or just accept his defeat.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and turned to Frankie again. He was staring at you now, serious, a little dazed, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Now take me home, baby,” you murmured, your voice just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Frankie blinked, as if snapping back into himself.

“I—” His lips parted, then curved into something lopsided, something close to a smirk. “Of course, baby.”

His hand found yours easily, fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned, stepping past Ian with a saccharine smile.

“Bye, Ian,” you said, not bothering to hide the smirk in your voice.

Frankie pushed open the door, and the pulse of the music hit you instantly—deep bass reverberating through your chest, the sharp hum of laughter and voices filling the gaps between beats. You stepped inside, weaving through the press of bodies until you reached the edge of the dance floor. The lights were dim, warm, shifting in color. The air smelled like spilled beer, expensive perfume, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place.  

You turned to Frankie, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.  

“Who the fuck was that?” you asked, voice teasing as you lifted onto your toes, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.  

Frankie dipped his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear.  

“My cousin,” he murmured. “He’s an asshole.”  

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”  

His gaze locked onto yours, something flickering behind his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something else entirely. For two long seconds, neither of you spoke. Then, his focus shifted over your shoulder.  

“They’re watching,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “Don’t turn around.”  

Your brows lifted slightly. “Who?”  

“Mai and Sofía,” he said. “They’re having fun with us.”  

The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your pulse quick from everything that had just unfolded. You laughed, looping your arms around his neck without thinking, and his hands found their place at your waist like it was second nature.  

Frankie exhaled, a sound that was almost a sigh but not quite. His fingers flexed slightly against your hips, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you tighter or let go.

“I think you should kiss me again,” he said suddenly, like the thought had slipped out before he could catch it, voice rougher than before.

You tilted your head, studying him, letting him sit with what he’d just said.  

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. “See? What did I tell you, Francisco? Begging for a little kiss. It was only a matter of time.”  

Frankie’s throat worked around a swallowed laugh. His grip on your waist tightened for just a second.  

“I’m not begging for anything,” he muttered.  

“Sure.”  

You lifted your chin slightly, and he didn’t waste a second—he ducked his head, his mouth finding yours with an easy sort of urgency.

This time, the kiss was different—less urgent, less about spectacle. His lips found yours with a quiet kind of certainty, warm and unhurried, like something unfolding naturally rather than something being taken. His palm slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before settling against your cheek, his skin rough but his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb moved absently over your cheekbone, a slow, soothing motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.  

When his tongue met yours, it wasn’t demanding, just deliberate—like he was tasting the moment, like he was letting it settle between you before deciding what to do with it.  

And then, before it could tip into something deeper, he pulled back. His lips lingered for a second longer, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before he pressed one last, fleeting kiss against your mouth—light, almost absentminded. Then his hand slipped from your cheek, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.

A small smile played at your lips.

“I thought this was supposed to be a kiss-free party.”

“You started it.”

“And you were the one asking for another,” you countered, tilting your head.

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t take much asking.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, smacking his arm lightly.

“Oh, by the way—you’re welcome.”

His brows knitted together, head tilting slightly, a stray curl slipping over his forehead. “For what?”

“For what?” you echoed. “I don’t know, Francisco, maybe for showing up to your mom’s party? For saving you a second ago out there?”

“Right. Yes. Thank you. You know that.”

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?”

He leaned back a little, his hands slipping away from your waist.

“I thought witches just… knew things like that.”

Your mouth fell open in mock offense as you crossed your arms. Then, without another word, you turned toward the bar, fully aware of him following you, just a step behind.

“You’re not going to the wedding, then?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the bar, watching you carefully.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze. “Why would I?”

He pursed his lips, tilting his head like he was considering something.

“I thought you wanted to prove a point. Show him you were happy. And, I mean… do you even know what kind of food they’re serving?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You sound very invested in this wedding all of a sudden. If you want to go, Francisco, just go. You don’t need me.”

“Maybe I will,” he mused. “Might even steal a bottle or two of champagne while I’m at it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, light and unguarded.

Your gaze drifted across the bar, unfocused, catching on the row of glass bottles lined up neatly on the shelves. Their labels were intricate, embossed with gold filigree and elegant cursive, the kind of lettering that—under normal circumstances—you might have found charming. Right now, though, your brain, pleasantly fogged from alcohol, couldn’t make sense of them. The letters blurred together, swirling into something abstract and unreadable.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulder as if shaking off the evening itself. The sound of a cork popping somewhere behind the bar made you flinch slightly, and you let your hand drift absently over your opposite arm.

“Ready to go home?”

Frankie’s voice was low, steady, just beside you.

You nodded but didn’t look at him, your eyes lingering instead on the dance floor. Helena was still out there, her laughter bright and careless, her arms thrown around one of her friends. Of Frankie’s sisters, only Luna remained, swaying easily to the music with Henry, her movements fluid, like she could keep going for hours.

Frankie pulled out his phone and stepped away to call an Uber. You tracked his movements for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a light touch on your arm pulled your focus back.

Maia had appeared on the stool next to you, her cheeks flushed, her hair loose and a little wild. She was smiling, the kind of grin that promised trouble.

“My brother’s a pain in the ass,” she announced. “Dragged you off the dance floor, didn’t he?”

You smirked, amused but not denying it.

“He’s afraid we’ll scare you off,” she continued, lifting an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “But it’s too late for that now. You’ve already witnessed my mom shaking her ass—so, what do you say? One last drink?”

You hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and settling back onto the stool. One more wouldn’t kill you. Probably.

Maia was quick with her order—tequila, no hesitation. When the bartender set up the shot glasses in front of you, you eyed them warily, unsure if your stomach was on board with this decision. Was it irresponsible to drink this much at your boyfriend’s mother’s birthday party? Absolutely. But then again, Frankie wasn’t your boyfriend. So, really, what did it matter?

Ten minutes later, the tequila had done its job, blurring the edges of the evening, making everything feel a little looser, a little funnier. Maia had leaned in close, her voice low and conspiratorial, her hands gesturing dramatically as she spoke.

“I mean, she wasn’t explicitly awful,” she said, dragging out the word like she was still weighing it. “But she had… this energy. Something off. You know what I mean? Like, no matter how hard I tried, I could never figure her out. And she could never blend in with the family, like something was repelling her. I know—no, I know—she hated me.”

You shook your head, appalled, as if this was the greatest injustice you had ever heard.

“But you’re so cute,” you blurted, voice thick and slow, your eyes shining with conviction.

“Right?” Maia snorted. “That’s what I’ve been saying. But Frankie didn’t get it. She was nothing like him. Too cold, too shallow. And every time she treated him like an idiot, I swear I—”

“What are you two talking about?”

A new voice cut through the moment, clear and direct, and you turned just in time to see Frankie standing there with Helena at his side. His eyes flicked between you and Maia, suspicion creeping into his expression.

“Maia, shut your mouth,” he said, more exhausted than angry.

Maia made a dismissive sound. “Oh, please, we’re having girl talk.”

“Well, our cab’s here in five,” Frankie said. His voice was flat, final.

You felt a small pang of disappointment. The conversation had been just getting interesting.

Helena stepped forward, her smile soft and radiant, her cheeks flushed from dancing and champagne. She reached for your arm, her touch warm, familiar, like she’d known you for years instead of just a few hours.

“It was so lovely to meet you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity. “You have to come over for dinner one of these nights so we can actually sit down and talk properly. How about it?”

Frankie was watching you. Not just watching—staring, as if he was trying to telepathically send you some urgent message. But you weren’t looking at him. You were too busy giggling, too charmed by Helena’s smile, too caught up in the easy, affectionate way she spoke to you.

“I’d love to!” you said, too eagerly, too enthusiastically.

Helena clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! How about next week?”

Before you could answer, Frankie’s hand landed on your lower back, grounding, insistent. His voice was tight when he spoke.

“I think we should go.”

Maia let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.

“Don’t be rude, Frankie.” Then she turned back to you, her grin conspiratorial. “So? Next week?”

You blinked, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights. But Maia and Helena were both looking at you with those eyes—hopeful, expectant, impossible to refuse.

“Yes,” you murmured, stepping off the stool, your smile a little uncertain.

The car door shut with a muted thud. Frankie exhaled, pressing himself into the seat beside you, saying something to the driver in a voice that was trying very hard to sound composed. It didn’t quite land.

You slumped against the seat, your arms folded over your chest, your head feeling heavy on your shoulders. He had practically dragged you out of there. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the rest of his family.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of streetlights and neon, and the radio hummed something soft and familiar—an ‘80s ballad, the kind that lived permanently in the background of cab rides at ungodly hours. The dashboard clock read 4:03 a.m.

After a few minutes, he turned his head toward you.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, eyes closed.

“Good.”

A silence settled between you, neither comfortable nor tense, just thick with something unspoken.

After a while, he exhaled sharply.

You cracked one eye open. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring ahead. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he said, “Why did you accepted? Now I have to come up with some excuse to get you out of dinner.”

You turned your head lazily toward him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“I felt cornered, okay? They were both looking at me with those eyes…” You trailed off, searching for the right words before finally landing on him, blinking slowly. “Those eyes. Exactly.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re just my eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“I don’t know. They’re kind of… intense.”

“Is that an insult?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back against the seat.

“I don’t even know anymore. I’m too drunk for your dumb questions.”

Frankie let out a short, derisive snort, shifting his gaze toward the window, his thoughts scattering in odd, untraceable directions.

“You left your car at the hotel,” you murmured after a beat, your voice quiet beneath the steady hum of the radio. Maneater by Daryl Hall played, tinny through the car speakers.

He turned his head toward you with an excruciating slowness, like he already knew you’d be looking at him. And you were. Your head tilted back against the seat, arms curled tightly around yourself, fingers bunched into the fabric of your dress.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he muttered, as though your comment had somehow irritated him.

“Do what you want.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “What’s with you and that attitude?”

You exhaled, your shoulders rising and falling as you turned toward the window, the passing streetlights slicing gold ribbons across the glass.

“What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“A lot of things.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, the darkness between you not quite enough to make out his expression, but enough to catch the sharp glint of his gaze. The passing lights reflected off them like tiny, fractured stars.

“You look just like your mom,” you said, the words slipping out, direct and unfiltered. “Same eyes. Same dimples.” Your hand moved before you could think better of it, the tip of your finger pressing into the crease of his mouth. “But she’s nice.”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, my mom’s nice.”

You nodded, shifting back against the seat. “Yeah. Not like you, Francisco.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you caught the faint twitch of his lips as he turned away, like he was suppressing a smirk. He was pretending to be less drunk than he was. But so were you.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolled to a stop in front of your house. You sighed, pushing the door open, but before stepping out, you turned back, fixing Frankie with a long, unfocused look.

“See ya,” you mumbled, dragging your feet out of the car, your gaze still locked onto his. “I hope this never happens again—oh, fuck—”

The next second, the world tilted sharply. There was no time to react, no time to process the way gravity wrenched you down. Just the sudden, violent awareness of pavement rushing toward your face.

Somewhere behind you, the driver made a startled sound. But Frankie’s reaction was immediate. The car door slammed, quick footsteps on asphalt. Then his hands—warm, steady, bracing under your arms, lifting you before you had time to register the impact.

“Jesus—Are you okay? Fuck—fuck—are you bleeding?” His voice was strained, almost frantic, his palm finding your chin, tilting your face up.

There was a sharp, metallic tang on your tongue. Something wet trickled past your lips. You blinked down at your hands, lifted them into the glow of the streetlamp. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” Your breath caught. Your stomach lurched. “Oh my God, how bad is it? How bad is it?”

Frankie didn’t let go of your face. His fingers pressed lightly beneath your jaw, guiding your head back.

“You’re fine. It’s fine. Just a nosebleed—stop moving, Jesus—hold still.”

You let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry, your hands still hovering uselessly in front of your face.

“It was the slippers,” you muttered, voice thick, your fingers pressing beneath your nose as Frankie tilted your head back. “They’re too big. I tripped.”

Frankie exhaled, a short, sharp breath.

“It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re implying.” Then, when you tried to look at him, he clicked his tongue and pressed his palm against your forehead, forcing your head back again. “No, keep it back. Jesus.”

You made a weak sound of protest but obeyed.

“Where are your keys?”

You blinked at him for a second like you had to remember what keys were. Then, with exaggerated effort, you fumbled through your bag, fingers clumsy as they scraped against receipts and loose change. When you finally found them, you thrust them toward him, and Frankie took them without comment, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

The door wasn’t hard to unlock. He nudged it open, watching as you hesitated on the threshold, swaying slightly. He helped you inside, his hand warm around your wrist as he guided you up the stairs.

Halfway up, you mumbled, “They’re moving.”

Frankie frowned. “What?”

“The stairs.” You squinted. “They’re moving.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “No, you’re drunk.”

Then, without thinking, he tightened his grip on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled again.

As soon as the door of your apartment clicked shut, a small, sleepy meow filled the quiet. Mr. Darcy stirred from his spot on the couch, stretching lazily before trotting toward you, his tail curling high in greeting.

“My child,” you said dramatically, bending down as if to scoop him up, only to pause when you caught sight of your own hand, still slick with blood. “Oh—no. Later, my love. Later.”

Frankie crouched down with far less hesitation, rubbing the cat’s head in that familiar, absentminded way. Darcy pushed into his touch, purring loudly, winding between his legs like he belonged to him instead of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know why he likes you so much.”

Frankie shrugged, still scratching behind the cat’s ears.

You snorted, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your nose. Frankie caught it immediately. He stood, his expression shifting into something more serious, brows drawn together.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You look awful.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean—really bad.” His hand found your jaw, holding it lightly between his fingers as he turned your face toward the light. He made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think you’re gonna recover. Honestly, I think it’s permanent.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Frankie’s lips twitched, but before he could say anything else, you swatted his hand away and shoved past him, making a beeline for the bathroom. The second you flicked on the light and caught your reflection, your mouth fell open.

Your face, usually warm and flushed, was pale beneath the streaks of dried blood smeared across your cheeks, your mouth, your chin. Your nose was red and swollen. Your hair was a mess. You looked—

“Oh my God.”

Frankie leaned against the doorway, watching you with amused curiosity.

“I look like Carrie,” you whispered, horrified.

You turned on the faucet and bent over the sink, splashing cold water onto your face with frantic urgency. Beneath you, pink-tinted water ran down the white porcelain, swirling toward the drain.

“Hey,” Frankie said, stepping closer. His voice had softened slightly. “I was kidding.”

You didn’t answer, just scrubbed harder.

Frankie sighed, then reached out, gathering your hair in his hands and pulling it back, holding it away from your face. His grip was gentle, careful, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck.

“It hurts,” you blurted, voice uneven, breaking on the last syllable.

Your upper lip throbbed—hot, swollen, like it was pulsing with its own heartbeat. Your nose ached with a sharp, stinging pain that settled deep in the bridge, radiating outward. The tears welled without permission, collecting on your lashes, blurring the edges of the bathroom light.

Frankie’s eyes flickered with something close to panic. He shifted on his feet, glancing around the room like the answer to fixing you was written somewhere on the walls.

“Okay, okay,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “I—uh—come on, sit down. Sit on the toilet.”

He guided you gently, hands pressing into your shoulders until you sank onto the closed lid. Your body was sluggish, your movements heavy. You let your head tip back, exhaling sharply as a fresh wave of discomfort spread across your face.

Most of the blood was gone now, wiped away in streaks of pink-tinted water, revealing the damage beneath. The split in your upper lip was small but deep, the skin torn at the center, already swelling around it. Your lower lip, though unbroken, was puffy. And your nose—God, your nose.

Frankie crouched in front of you, his knees pressing into the tile. “Show me your teeth.”

You parted your lips obediently, and he leaned in, squinting like he was searching for something. After a second, he sat back, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. They’re fine.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, then let your gaze drop to his shirt. A dark red smear stretched across the fabric, half-dried, stark against the soft white cotton.

“You have blood on you,” you mumbled.

Frankie looked down, as if just now noticing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, then turned abruptly, yanking open the nearest drawer and shuffling through it.

You watched, brow furrowing, as he fumbled through an assortment of things that had nothing to do with first aid—spare toothbrushes, old makeup, boxes of tampons, a crumpled tube of moisturizer. His hands moved too fast, fingers twitching as he knocked things over, searching for something useful.

You let out a small huff. “Not there.”

“I know that now,” he grumbled, slamming it shut and pulling open another one.

Finally, he found a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of cotton pads, exhaling like he’d just won a small battle. He turned back to you, unscrewing the cap with his thumb.

“Hold still,” he said.

You did as you were told, though every so often a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you, the pain still sharp enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to make everything feel worse—amplified by exhaustion, by alcohol, by the surreal absurdity of it all.

Frankie moved carefully, dabbing the antiseptic along your lip, then your nose, pausing when fresh blood welled up from the split skin. He wiped it away, slow and methodical, before moving on to your knees, gently cleaning the scraped skin there too. You had forgotten about them, but the second the cotton touched the raw, stinging patches, you inhaled sharply.

“Oh, my God,” you muttered under your breath.

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Scraped knees suck.”

A few minutes later, he tossed the stained cotton into the small trash can and started putting things back where he found them.

When you stood, Frankie’s gaze snapped to your nose, scanning for any new blood. You caught the movement and narrowed your eyes at him.

“What?”

“Just making sure you’re not gonna start gushing again.”

You turned to the mirror, taking in your reflection with a fresh wave of despair. Your skin was still damp, your nose and cheeks flushed from scrubbing and crying. Your lip looked even worse now, swollen and bruising at the edges. And your dress—your favorite dress—was ruined. White satin, now streaked with dark, rust-colored stains.

Your throat tightened. “I look awful.”

Frankie sighed. “You don’t—”

“My dress is ruined.” You turned to face him, your expression nothing short of tragic. “I love this dress, Francisco.”

“We’ll fix it,” he assured you, nodding quickly. “We’ll take it to the laundry—”

“It’s white.”

“I know.” He waved his hands, exasperated. “But they know how to get these stains out, don’t they?”

You frowned. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

“They do,” he said, nodding like it was law. Then, after a beat—“Do you have any anti-inflammatories?”

“In the kitchen.”

Frankie waited, then lifted his eyebrows. “Where?”

“In the kitchen,” you repeated.

He rolled his eyes. “I know in the kitchen, where in the kitchen?”

You thought for a second. “Oh. Over the fridge.”

Frankie shifted, his body tilting toward the door, ready to leave. But before he could get too far, your fingers curled around his wrist.

He stopped. Turned. His frown was immediate, brow creased like he was bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Can you—” you hesitated, suddenly too aware of the weight of your own request. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

You were already turning before he could answer, offering him your back like you were giving him no real choice in the matter. Your hand ghosted over the clasp, fingertips brushing the delicate fabric, then dropping to your side in silent surrender.

Behind you, Frankie let out a long, tired sigh. Then, a moment later, the unmistakable sound of the zipper being drawn down, slow and careful. The fabric parted beneath his touch, cool air rushing in where warmth had been. His knuckles skimmed the length of your spine, steady and impersonal, but still—

A few hours ago, you might have been embarrassed.

Now, not so much.

The man had seen your bloodied face. Your tampons. Your secret tattoo, the one no one was supposed to know about. What was left to be embarrassed about? Any lingering self-consciousness had evaporated somewhere between the pavement and the bathroom floor. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, stripping you of inhibition, loosening things that might have otherwise remained tightly wound. Maybe.

The zipper reached its end. Frankie’s hand fell away. He left the bathroom without another word, and you didn’t wait to see him go.

You hurried to your room, pushing the door shut behind you.

The dress slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Your slippers followed, discarded without care. You unclasped your strapless bra with an exhausted groan and tossed it somewhere—where, exactly, didn’t matter.

The closet door creaked as you pulled it open, grabbing the first thing within reach: a worn-out T-shirt, oversized enough to swallow you whole. You pulled it over your head, wincing as soreness pulsed through your body, a dull and aching reminder of the fall.

Then, just as you were tucking the fabric against your thighs, a knock at the door.

A dull thud, careful but firm.

“Don’t come in!” you called instinctively.

Frankie’s voice filtered through the wood, low and steady.

“You okay? I brought you some aspirin.”

You exhaled, raking a hand through your tangled hair.

“Wait,” you warned, shifting on your feet, making sure the shirt was long enough, that everything was—decent. Or as decent as it could be at this point.

Once satisfied, you reached for the doorknob and cracked the door open.

Frankie stood there, quiet, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small white pill in the other. His gaze flickered briefly—to the dress on the floor, then back up—but he didn’t let his eyes stray from your face.

He held out the aspirin. You took it without a word, placing it on your tongue before chasing it down with a sip of water. He watched you carefully, noting how your swollen lip pressed against the rim of the glass, how you winced slightly, the tenderness in your face growing more pronounced with every passing minute.

Something twisted in his chest. A strange, unnameable thing.

He swallowed.

“You feeling okay?” His voice had softened.

You nodded, then immediately regretted it as your lip pulled in protest. Grimacing, you wordlessly handed him back the empty glass.

Frankie hesitated before taking it from you, his brow still creased with that same look—something tight and unreadable, like watching an injured animal struggle to stand. Like witnessing something fragile and knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"I'm sleepy, I..."

Your voice trailed off as you turned toward your bed, your gaze settling on the smooth, undisturbed surface of the sheets. They looked impossibly soft, the kind of soft that could swallow you whole, erase the sting in your knees, the throbbing in your mouth, the hazy weight of the night pressing on your shoulders.

Frankie nodded, shifting his weight. "Yeah. You need rest. Get some sleep."

He took a small step back, like he was giving you space, but not too much. 

Without much thought, you turned and walked toward your bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. The second you reached it, you collapsed onto the mattress, sinking in, the cool fabric pressing against your skin. You didn’t even bother with the quilt.

"Good night," you mumbled, already curling into yourself, your back to him.

Frankie hesitated. He stood there for a moment, watching you, feeling strangely uncertain, though he wasn’t sure why.

"I'll call an Uber," he said after a beat, voice quiet, as if he wasn’t sure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "Head home."

"Okay." Your response was barely above a whisper, thick with sleep.

"Okay." A pause. "Good night."

He waited a second longer, then turned and made his way out of the room, walking slowly into the dimly lit living room. The air was cooler here, quieter. Mr. Darcy was waiting for him, perched on the coffee table like some kind of tiny, judgmental sentry. The cat’s tail flicked, his green eyes tracking Frankie’s every move.

Frankie exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping toward him. He reached out, dragging his fingers gently over soft fur. Mr. Darcy purred instantly, pressing into the touch, rubbing his face against Frankie’s hand like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Frankie huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sat down on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the Uber app. His body was too heavy, too worn out, but he forced himself to go through the motions—searching for a ride, entering the address, preparing to leave.

But then—

A small weight landed on his lap.

Mr. Darcy, stretching out comfortably, his tiny paws kneading into Frankie’s thigh before settling completely, purring so loudly it was practically vibrating through him.

Frankie sighed, phone slipping from his hand onto the cushion beside him.

It was only for a second, just to close his eyes, just to let his body sink into something solid. Just until the exhaustion stopped weighing so heavily on his limbs.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, his arm draped over his stomach, the cat now curled up on his chest. Frankie’s breathing slowed, deepened, and before he could fight it, his eyes shut completely.

His body gave in.

And then—sleep.

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 (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

[peachhcs]

requesting some will samy angst where maybe one of them picks a fight on the phone or on face time while they’re doing long distance and then by the end of the call they realize that they were only doing that because they missed the other?

UGH yes in the end they'd be so 🥺 when they realize they really just miss one another. angst to fluff my fav

au masterlist

"you barely texted me all day," samy immediately said when she finally answered her boyfriend's call at almost 10pm.

"i'm sorry..things were crazy today. i got caught up," will mumbled but for some reason his apology wasn't sitting right in samy's head.

"you could've at least told me you were gonna be busy," she continued with the semi-angry tone. the blonde frowned to himself, struggling to make up for hardly answering her all day.

"i should've. 'm sorry," will really did have a long day. there was media every hour that they weren't practicing and press people wanted to kow..he hardly had time to even sit down and think before someone new came in wanting and interview and/or photos for their blogs.

it was the worser side of the job the blonde didn't really enjoy. he was there to play hockey, not sit in front of ten different cameras answering nonstop questions that were way too personal for his liking.

"what's even been up with you lately? you've felt so..i dunno..distant.." samy wasn't afraid to call it what it was anymore. after things escalated between them last summer, she knew better than to let things slide.

however, will did not take it that way, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i get you're busy, i am too, but it feels like i've barely heard from you all week. we hardly text. we hardly talk," samy's voice faded like she hesitated saying the last part.

the hockey player's expression hardened even though she couldn't see it, "oh so now you're trying to accuse me of something?"

"no, i was never accusing you of something," the younger hughes immediately shot back.

"then what are you trying to say?"

"what are you trying to say? is there something i should be accusing you of?" now both of their tones turned sour. after a long four months of will proving to samy that he deserved her full trust, she put it all into him. she trusted him completely, but right now it wasn't really feeling that way.

"what the fuck? no? what the fuck would i even be doing that would put me in that position?" now will was just mad because it mostly hurt him how fast samy was to assume that he would turn around and hurt her like that again.

"i don't know, you tell me, will. you're the one that hasn't even been answering my texts," the girl shot back again.

"so you're just gonna assume that i did something then? not that i could just be super busy and i've had a really long day talking to a million different people with a camera in my face and i just couldn't have the time to text you?"

a deafening silence fell between them. will heard a sigh escape samy's lips and he quickly realized how harsh what he just said sounded. the guilt of being rude quickly washed over the hockey player. he knew samy's trust really could break at any moment with him and none of what he just said helped any of that.

"okay, sorry. i..i don't know why i said that. you're right. you're busy," when samy spoke again her voice was small and wavering like she was going to cry.

will instantly felt bad, "wait, fuck, no, no. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have snapped like that. i shouldn't have..i'm sorry."

god, he was so stupid sometimes.

"i'm sorry. i have been busy, but i should have texted you and told you. i'm sorry i didn't. it's just been a crazy long day and i haven't like had a second to breathe with every reporter wanted to shove a camera and mic in my face. i think i answered like a hundred questions about myself and personal life today," will admitted in a softer tone when samy didn't respond right away.

"i didn't mean to snap either. i'm sorry. i guess we both had long days. i just..i really like talking to you and i got worried when i barely heard from you all day," samy nervously thumbed her little braid.

"i really like talking to you too. talking to you is the highlight of my day and i do always look forward to it. i didn't mean to worry you. i'm sorry again. if it's any consolation, i did talk about you quite a lot though," when he heard the girl giggle, he knew it was okay again.

"really?"

"god, they love asking about you, but i love talking about you so it works out. it was just little things about our relationship. i bragged about you when i could," will could picture samy blushing hearing him say that and he was right. her cheeks were bright red.

"i'm flattered. sounds intense," she hummed.

"it was, but luckily we're done with it for now. i promise that i will try to text you more and especially let you know when i'll be more busy. god, i really miss you," the hockey player admitted. there were so many days he wished samy was a half an hour drive away still so he could just lay in her arms when his day was hard.

today especially he missed her like crazy. it was probably why he seemed to talk about her in almost every interview even when he wasn't asked first because she was the only thing on his mind.

"i really miss you, too. feels like it's been forever since i saw you," the brunette sighed.

"i know. i have no idea when i'm free again," probably not until summer will guessed and that was still so long from now.

"yeah, me neither." samy and hannah were going abroad for spring break—a trip they'd been planning since literally last year after hannah saying she really wanted to go to italy, so samy didn't know when the next time she could fly to the west coast would be.

"maybe i can escape to italty with you and hannah," will joked a little.

"you should. the almafi coast is calling our name."

one day will would get there with samy and maybe even then they'd be more than just boyfriend and girlfriend. something more like husband and wife sounded right.

"i love you. i miss you. i'm sorry again," will finally said with a small smile.

"i love you a lot. i'm glad we talked. it was real good hearing from you," samy smiled too.

"i promise i'll text. if i don't just like spam me or something," the girl giggled at his words.

"i love, love, love you," they exchanged their goofy, loving goodbye and the little fight they had was far from their minds.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Appears in your askbox again like a plague

Same platonic premise with Boothill, Blade and Gallagher but reader gets kidnapped by their previous captors (reader is a former slave) in the heat of conflict

🌑honeypop if your requests are a plague I wanna be sick 😭 CRIIINGE also this got so angsty good lord 💀

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

PanicpanicPANIC

He's never shot people so quick, get space Guiness we've got a record

Getting rid of anyone who gets in his way without a second thought nor a moment wasted - he's never felt more like a machine

He just wants-- no, he needs you to be safe or he might go crazy from the guilt

He was supposed to protect you, he promised

He'd never forgive himself if you got hurt on his watch

So he's shooting people like it's going out of style, quickly tracking your captors down and making his way to you

You'd best look away when he finds them... He's not exactly a merciful man when it comes to his enemies

When he finally gets to you - he doesn't experience adrenaline anymore but - his head is spinning

He's approaching you carefully, doing his best to speak softly and try to make you laugh, so you know you're safe now

He'll swear to you again that this will never happen again

Utterly heartbroken that due to his metal body, he can no longer even give you a hug as comfort :(

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Another one panicking, except it's slightly different

Because of the mara he can't let himself be consumed by his panic and anger because he might end up hurting - the LAST thing he wants

But my god is it difficult to stay calm

He's lost too many people already and we've seen what he's willing to do to bring them back

He's rampaging to your side while trying not to lose himself to the mara

Hope you dont mind him making sure they can never do this stuff again because he's not holding back on the fuckers once he finds them

His rage overtakes his concern to the point that he becomes so focused on paying them back that he only remembers why he's doing this after they're all dead

Immediatly rushes to your side after calming himself down - god forbid he sees even a sliver of fear in your eyes when looking at him or be might throw up

Terrible at expressing his concern, at least verbally, so with your consent he's holding you gently and carrying you to safety - silently comforting in the way he usually is, with an edge of anger and guilt this time

But if you dont want him near you for the time being, he'll be heartbroken but undertanding, though he'll still stay close to your when he can as a means of protection - he just cant let this happen ever again

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Nonchalant no more

All the way chalant, he's freaking the fuck out

True guard dog, genuinely surprised someone got past him since he tries his best to keep an eye on you during fights - clearly he needs to try harder

Tries his best to stay calm in order to focus on getting to you but man it's hard to do

No matter what you are the priority, but he really wants to mess up the people who dared do this again

Tell him you want revenge please and he's hunting them down to the ends of the galaxy

But if you tell him to drop it, he will - you're absolutely his priority, even if he really wants to rip those people to shreds

With his skill set it wont be too difficult to find you and get to you, quickly and efficietly taking care of anyone in his way

When he finds you, he's quick to read the room to figure out what you need

Space? You got it, he'll just stand a little to the side so he can still protect you

Revenge? No need to ask him twice, he's on it

A hug? 🥺He might cry, of course you can have a hug

He's a pretty heartfelt guy but he's got a good head on his shoulders so he understands that this was not his fault but his heart still aches for you

Let's you sit by him at the bar as he works; cracking jokes and teachin you a few bartending tricks to get your mind off things. At least until he can be sure that it wont happen again

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Hmmm... How about tails and knuckles' first day living with the Wachowskis?

This one was a really hard one to keep short because I’ve been wanting to write like a 15k fic about this very concept but i have to keep this short or i’ll be up all night and i have school tomorrow :’D | 1k

Wachowski House Day 1:

“Why don’t you just stay here?”

Tail’s tails flicked.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, where else would you go?” Sonic laughed. “Come ooon, we’re friends now! I can’t just let my pals go live in the garage.”

“I would pulverize the garage.”

“Do you even know what a garage is?”

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t think you do.”

Tails had genuinely never thought the Sonic the Hedgehog would ask him to stay, but he had. And he had never felt so giddy and relieved and terrified all at once.

“We’ll do sleeping bags first,” Maddie said. “Just until we get you two real beds.”

“I have no need for a bed,” Knuckles declared, thumping his fist against his chest. “As an Echidna warrior, I am accustomed to sleeping outdoors.”

“I’m sure an Echidna warrior like yourself wouldn’t pass up having a roof over your head if it was an option. You’re wise after all.”

Knuckles hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yes, I am wise.”

“Glad that’s settled then,” Maddie said. “Here’s your sleeping bag.”

Knuckles accepted it, bowing his head over it as he did so. “Thank you for this gift. I will guard it with my life until the time you wish for it to be returned.”

“How about tomorrow morning.”

“I, Knuckles the Echidna, swear to you that I will guard this bag of sleeping until morning.”

When Maddie handed Tails his sleeping bag, he almost bowed over it too. It felt like he’d been handed something important; it meant he was staying.

Sonic excitedly led them up to the attic.

“Just so we’re all aware, I do not snore, and anyone who told you that shouldn’t be trusted.”

“You do snore though,” Tails said without thinking as he looked around the room in awe.

“Aw man,” Sonic groaned. “You heard that too? Is there any time you weren’t watching me?”

Despite his complaining, he seemed relaxed as he sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn’t upset by it.

Knuckles was unrolling his sleeping bag with an intensity that wasn’t really required of the task.

Tails whipped out his scanner to find the place with the least draft while still being close to Sonic’s bed. He ended up sacrificing some of the best spots so he could be closer to Sonic anyway.

Snoring caught his attention. Sonic was laying down, his legs hanging over the side of his bed, dead asleep.

Tails had to muffle a laugh. “Only Sonic the Hedgehog,” he shook his head. He felt too giddy to fall asleep.

Or at least that’s what he thought until he blinked his eyes open and moonlight was streaming through the window.

Knuckles was sitting on his sleeping bag, eyes wide open.

Tails felt a little awkward around him still. He didn’t know how Sonic was so comfortable with him when they’d been fighting less than ten hours ago.

“Go to sleep, fox,” Knuckles told him. “I will keep watch.”

“Nobody’s gotta keep watch,” Sonic mumbled, rolling over, off his bed, and landing on top of Tails who gave a yelp.

“Are we killing the fox?” Knuckles asked, tilting head.

Tails' face was flushed from a weird mix of self-consciousness and panic.

“Sorry, Tails,” Sonic slurred out. He pushed himself off him. But instead of getting back onto his bed he just flopped down next to him. “Hey, Knuckles, would it be better if you were over here if you’re gonna stand guard?”

Knuckles considered that very seriously. “Very well.” He stood and dragged his sleeping bag over to them.

Tails tried not to flinch. But he did anyway. His tails curled around him.

Sonic noticed despite the fact that he didn’t seem fully awake, and he gave his arm a pat. “I gotchu.”

Without meaning to, Tails let out a long exhale. Somehow he felt less nervous after that.

Knuckles sat at their feet, piercing gaze fixed on the window.

“You could try sleeping.” Sonic suggested. He pat the ground next to him.

“No,” said Knuckles.

“What are you guarding for? The doors are locked.”

“Enemies can come at any time, hedgehog.”

“Yeah but what enemies are gonna know you’re here?”

Knuckles frowned.

Sonic yawned. “We’re tough enough to take anybody anyway. Even if they try a surprise attack, right?”

Knuckles looked like he hadn’t thought of that before. “Very well,” he said. “I will sleep. For a while.” He laid down on the wooden floor next to Sonic, his sleeping bag pulled over hsi torso, staring up at the ceiling.

He was snoring within seconds.

“There we go,” Sonic mumbled, his face squished against his forearm, hand under his head. “You good, Tails?”

“Yeah,” Tails whispered. Sonic had done all that just to help Knuckles relax enough to sleep, he was sure of it.

“How’d you feel about snuggles?”

Tails blinked. “What?”

“Hugs, y’know? Sleeping? Snuggles. Like, we hug, and then sleep. It’s really nice. I’ve done it with Tom and Maddie on the couch a few times.”

“Okay,” Tails whispered, despite how his fur seemed to itch.

Sonic gave him a smile even though his eyes were closed and opened his arms.

Tails buried himself into them after a brief moment of hesitation, worried he might change his mind.

“Oof,” Sonic huffed. His hand came to rest on Tails’ head. “Comfy?”

“Yes,” Tails said, his voice nearly lodged in his throat. He couldn't remember anyone ever letting him get this close, let alone put their arms around him like this.

“Cool,” Sonic drawled out, trailing into a yawn. “‘Mm gonna sleep now.” And just like that, he did. No comments on his tails, no comments on how weird it was to hold him, no pointing out how stiff and awkward Tails must have felt in his arms.

Tails tried not to move. He held his breath for as long as he could until he had to let it out, then he held it some more. He tried to take up as little space as possible. Sonic was already letting him this close, he couldn’t risk taking too much or he might ask him to leave, and that was the last thing Tails wanted.

Sleep didn’t exactly come easy after that, but he thought Sonic might be disappointed in him if he didn’t at least try to close his eyes.

[00valentina-writes00]

How about sevika with a terminally sick gf. I really loved the one you wrote for vi

♡♥︎Sevika with a terminally ill girlfriend♥︎♡

♥︎ Sevika doesn’t show much, but she’s absolutely destroyed when she finds out. There’s a crack in her usually unflappable armor, a flicker of vulnerability she tries to bury beneath her usual hard edges.

♥︎ She doesn’t talk about it much, but she starts keeping tabs on doctors, researching treatments, and trying to get her hands on any illegal or experimental cures she can afford. She won’t let you give up, even if you’re already resigned.

♥︎ Her usual harshness turns into something colder. She doesn’t waste time with anything unnecessary. If she’s going to help you, it’s going to be in the most effective way possible. No sentimental words, just straight to the point: “I’ll fix this. You’re not dying on me.”

♥︎ When you start getting weaker, she gets more demanding. She pushes you to eat, to stay awake, to fight. She’s relentless because if she doesn’t see you fight, it breaks her apart

♥︎ There are nights when she stays up late, arms crossed, staring out at the dark streets of Zaun, thinking about ways to make you better. Even the shimmer she injects into her system doesn’t offer any comfort when she watches you fade.

♥︎ She spends hours researching obscure treatments, bargaining with shady figures, doing whatever it takes to extend your life, even if it’s just a few more weeks or days. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.

♥︎ At some point, she starts finding herself hovering at your side all the time. She doesn’t want to leave. Not even to sleep. It becomes a strange routine for her, a kind of forced comfort where the silence between you is full of things neither of you are brave enough to say.

♥︎ If you’re awake enough, she’ll push your hair out of your face, but she won’t look you in the eyes. She doesn’t know how to handle the emotions you bring out in her, and it terrifies her.

♥︎ She never asks you how you’re feeling or if you want to talk about it, because she’s afraid you’ll say that you’re giving up. She can’t handle hearing it from your lips, even though she knows deep down you’re right.

♥︎ She starts to get more agitated, snapping at people who are just trying to help because nothing feels like it’s good enough. If anyone says something remotely positive about your situation, she shuts them down hard. She can’t pretend like there’s hope when there’s none.

♥︎ When you can’t leave the bed anymore, Sevika starts bringing everything to you. Food, water, medicine, books to distract you—anything to keep you from slipping further into the darkness.

♥︎ She never shows her tears, but sometimes when she thinks you’re sleeping, she finds herself staring at you, face etched with raw pain, her jaw clenched tight to hold back the wave of emotions that threatens to drown her.

♥︎ Her temper is worse than usual. She’s quick to lash out at others, mostly because she’s so incredibly fucking scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being able to save you. And she hates herself for not being able to fix it.

♥︎ She makes herself scarce around people when it gets worse. She’s quieter, more brooding, because the weight of her guilt and helplessness is too heavy to share. The only place she feels even a little bit in control is by your side.

♥︎ On the nights you’re too weak to speak, she holds your hand with a tightness that borders on painful. Her touch is demanding, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye.

♥︎ She doesn’t let you see her fear. Every day is a reminder of how much she’s failing you. And every time she sees that spark of hope in your eyes, it drives her mad because she knows she can’t keep it alive forever.

♥︎ As things worsen, she starts avoiding the topic of your death. It feels like a betrayal every time someone mentions it. She ignores the reality, pretending there’s a chance things will magically improve.

♥︎ When you do finally die, it feels like she’s been hit by a freight train. The finality of it leaves her in a state of shock, unable to process it. She doesn’t cry in front of you, not even when she closes your eyes for the last time.

♥︎ Sevika keeps busy after your passing. She throws herself into work, into anything that will distract her from the empty space beside her. She stops sleeping, drinking herself into oblivion, until her body can’t keep up with her broken heart.

♥︎ There are days when the memories hit her in waves. She can still hear your voice in her head, your laugh, the way you’d complain when she pushed too hard. And every time, it feels like a weight she can’t shake.

♥︎ People stop asking her how she’s doing because it’s obvious. She doesn’t need words anymore. The silence speaks for her. She’s the same outwardly—cold, distant—but internally, she’s unraveling, a mess of emotions she doesn’t know how to deal with.

♥︎ She tries to convince herself it’s better this way. You aren’t suffering anymore, and she can’t deny that you were getting worse. But she also knows she’ll never be the same again. That part of her is gone, taken by something she could never control.

♥︎ In the long run, Sevika doesn’t let anyone get close to her again. The wound you left in her will never heal, and she doesn’t think anyone could ever fill the hole you left behind. Not that she’s ready for that anyway

♥︎ But every now and then, when she’s alone, she lets herself think back to you. To the time you spent together, how you made her laugh, how you made her feel alive again. And she lets herself grieve the woman who was once hers.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Yandere Arlong and daughter reader

I'm slowly starting to get better, but I'm still not going to say that I'm officially back yet. I was, however, able to finish this.

Psychosomatic

Yandere Arlong x Daughter Reader

2.6k words

Summary: You've finally struck out on your own, and you're starting to build a life for yourself. Hopefully you leaving without telling your father won't come back to bite you.

Warnings: yandere themes (platonic), female presenting reader, unhealthy father-daughter relationship, abuse, self harm, alcohol mention, Arlong-typical racism, angst, hurt no comfort

Everyone can benefit from having a fresh start in life. At least, you know that you certainly have. These past few months have been some of the best months of your life. Sure, there were a couple of people that you missed now, but maybe you'll get lucky and run into them later.

A quiet tune flows through the air as you whistle to yourself while walking back to your home with a bag of groceries. Cold, albeit gentle, wind tugs at your scarf, making it slip down your face. Despite being alone as far as you could tell, you're quick to readjust it. The soft fabric is tightened around your neck until you're sure that it won't come loose again. 

It would be for the best that no one else sees anything they weren't supposed to. You've got a good thing going for you here, and you don't want to lose it because you got chased out for… things that are out of your control. 

The place that you've learned to call home comes into view. It's not much, barely more than a shack really, but you're happy with it. Even if it's more than a little dingy and dilapidated, it's yours. You’ve got plans to do some work on it once the weather warms up.

Just as you're about to enter, you notice something. The door is ajar. You know that you wouldn't do something as careless as leaving the door open like that. Shit. Did someone really look at your home and think to rob it? That seemed unlikely given the state of it. If they looked through the window, they would see that the most valuable thing in there was probably a fishing rod. 

So, it stands to reason, robbery likely wasn't the motive. 

Carefully, you set down the bag of groceries while continuing to whistle in an attempt to not let whoever is inside know that you're onto them. Both of your hands grasp the sheathed swords dangling from either sides of your hips.

After taking a second to prepare yourself, you kick the door open and rush in with your swords drawn, ready to fight. 

The oil lamp you rely on to light the place is off, leaving only the natural sunlight filtering in through the window to illuminate your humble abode. 

Your deduction proved correct. Someone was in here waiting for you. As your eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting, he was nothing more than a silhouette to you. But you didn't need to see the details to figure out who this was. You would recognize his distinct side profile anywhere. 

But what was he doing here? Your swords are slid back into their sheaths as you sigh deeply, already feeling a headache coming on. 

“Arlong. Why are you here?”

His own sigh echoed yours, though it teetered on sounding like a growl. He pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and slowly stalked over to you. “How many times have I told you to quit calling me that? I'm your dad. That's how you're supposed to refer to me.”

Your eyes rolled and you crossed your arms over your chest, “I asked you a question. Why are you here, Arlong?” You dragged out every letter of his name with a smirk on your face.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself, “I'm here because I'm your father and you vanished without a trace. Do you really think so little of me that I wouldn't come looking for you? You didn't even tell anyone that you left, you could have been abducted for all I knew. 

“I didn't just up and leave without telling anyone. I told Hachi.” Arlong’s eye twitches at this revelation, but he doesn’t necessarily look surprised either. You also told Nami about your departure, but you weren't about to put her in Arlong's line of fire by saying that. “Also, if I'm being completely honest: No, I didn't think you would come looking for me. Frankly, I thought you would just be relieved that I was finally gone.”

Even as a child, you could tell that you were seen as… undesirable. And that was putting it mildly. 

A quick glance up at Arlong's face revealed that he hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer. His eyes are wide, and his mouth opens and closes as his mind scrambles to formulate a response but keeps falling flat. When he finally does find the words, he sounds more offended than anything, “How can you say that? I know that we may not have the,” his eyes drift to the side, “closest relationship, but I'm still your father whether you like it or not.”

A sarcastic bark of laughter rips out of your throat, “Not the “closest”? Our relationship is nonexistent. You may be my father objectively speaking, but that's it. You've never been my dad.”

In an instant, one of his hands juts out and grabs your jacket. He yanks you closer to him, so close that if you were a little taller you would have been lobotomized by that nose of his. 

“You listen to me, you ungrateful little brat. You could do a hell of a lot worse for yourself than to have me for a father. I've fed you, clothed you, kept a roof over your head, and made sure you were safe, and this is the thanks I get? I could have abandoned you like my father did to me, but no, I stuck around despite everything!” His raised voice is booming in your ears, and it surprises you a little. You haven’t gotten such a strong reaction out of him since he first took over Cocoyashi Village.

Just as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he threw you away from him. You stumble and crash into the wall, making the old wood groan in protest.

Arlong turns away from you and punches a hole clear through the opposing wall of your home. The force of it damn near makes the entire wall topple down, and for a moment you're worried that the whole structure will collapse, but it doesn't.

His furious eyes dart back to where you're standing, “I didn't have to raise you, but I did, and I think I deserve some damn respect for that! Maybe I would have left you if I knew that this was how you were going to turn out!”

This man… this bastard- this delusional mother fucker really doesn't see any of the problems here, does he? He really thinks that he hasn't done anything wrong. He thinks that HE raised you as if Hachi isn't the sole reason that any of your needs ever got met growing up. As if Hachi isn't the closest thing you have to a real father. 

Fuck this. You meet his glare with one of your own, one filled with complete and utter contempt and loathing. If he wants to go this route, then two can play this game. 

“I wish that uncle Jimbei never gave me back after you were let out of prison.”

That definitely got his attention. You could see a storm of emotions roiling within his eyes. His voice was low and just barely containing the violent impulses within him, “Don't you even start with that shit again.”

Maybe it's time to rip the bandaid off. If this isn't the time to clear the air, then that time will never come. 

You step forward and meet the cold look in his eyes with your own, not willing to back down no matter how hard he tries to intimidate you into doing so. “Why not? Me keeping my mouth shut won't make it any less true. You and me both know that I didn't want to go with you back then, and you sure as shit haven’t done anything to sway my opinion.”

“You little-”

“I mean, really, who are you kidding? There's no way that you seriously think that I prefer your company over Jimbei’s. He actually loves me, unlike you.”

Arlong’s eyes go wide at that, but he's quick to recover, “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“What? You can't really be surprised that I noticed. Come on… when was the last time you had a conversation with me? Actually, scratch that, when was the first time? When have you ever tried to genuinely get to know or spend time with me? Can you even tell me what my favorite color is? What my hobbies are? Oh wait, you can't because you can't even hardly look me in the fucking eyes without choking on your own disgust toward me! Toward what I am!” You had wanted to maintain a cool and unbothered façade during this confrontation, one that you had fantasized about for years, but as the words flowed out, so did the bottled up emotions. 

“I get it, okay? You don't need to tell me that I am not what you wanted. I don't know if you ever even wanted a kid in the first place, but I know damn well that you never wanted one that looked like me.” Your hand comes up and rips off the scarf you were wearing, revealing the fishman trait that you had inherited from your father. The gills on your neck flared uncomfortably from the friction of the scarf. You jab a finger at your gills, “Hell, I bet that if it weren't for these you would have gotten rid of me just like you did with my mom!”

He snapped out of the fog he had been in moments ago and bristled at the mention of your mother, “I didn't do a damn thing to her! She left! And I never… I… never…”

Arlong's words stall, then completely stop as he stares at you. His brows are knitted together. His abrupt change in demeanor completely baffles you, threatening to smother the fires of your rage from pure confusion. What happened? What is he so focused on?

When he speaks again, his voice is hushed; like he's talking to himself more than you, “How… How are you wearing those gloves? Your fingers are webbed… I know that they're webbed.”

Oh, shit. You got so caught up in the heat of the moment that you hadn’t even thought to hide that. 

There's a vain attempt to stuff your hands into your pockets, but Arlong was faster. One of his hands locks around your wrist, and the other rips the leather glove off it. As soon as his eyes lock on what was hidden underneath, he drops your hand and recoils away from you.

Your hand falls to your side and balls into a fist, helping to hide the angry, red scar tissue between all of your fingers. 

“What…” Arlong's eyes narrowed as horror gave way to anger once again, “What happened? Who did this to you?!”

Well… the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? You heave a sigh as you slide the glove off your other hand. Fingers splay out as your hands raise up to eye level so you can admire your handiwork.

“You're looking at her… I think I did a pretty good job on this, all things considered.” Given how much you drank before doing this in order to work up the nerve to go through with it, it's honestly miraculous that the cuts came out so clean. The cold from the ice had made your hands shake terribly, you can't believe you were even able to hold the scissors properly, much less put them to use. 

“You? You did this?” It sounds like Arlong is trying not to choke on every word. Like his mouth can't bear to form any of it. His eyes finally break away from your hands and they flit everywhere- anywhere that isn't you. “How could you do that to yourself? Do you really hate being a fishman that much?”

“I don’t hate that I’m a fishman. I’m not one. I’m only half, if that. That’s what I hate. I’m not fishman enough to have ever earned your love or approval, but I’m not human enough to seamlessly fit in with them either. I’m just some in between of the two. A freak that couldn’t go one way or the other and kept to an inconvenient middle.”

“As for this…” You flex your fingers as you stare coldly at the scarred flesh between them, “I mostly did this to keep the rest of the people who wouldn’t be able to handle what I am from figuring it out. It's easy enough to hide my gills, but the webbing was harder. Sure, I could have gotten away with wearing mittens for now, but that'll start to get suspicious after it warms up, you know?” Hopefully the scars will be faded enough by then to not draw too much attention to themselves.

Despite your calm demeanor, Arlong was still visibly disturbed by what he saw. “Stop being so casual about this! You mutilated yourself!”

While accurate, the description still made you cringe. You didn't like how it made this sound. “Don't say it like that. I just… had a little work done, you know? This is no different from any other cosmetic surgery.” Your lack of training and professionality aside, of course. 

“That is not the same thing! Are you insane? Have you actually lost your mind?” Arlong pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, “Forget it. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Later? You better not be planning to stay here.”

Arlong’s eyes rolled and he quickly closed the distance between you and grabbed your arm, “I’m not. We’re going home. Come on.” Without even waiting for a response, he starts dragging you through the broken remains of the wall he punched out.

His bold declaration shocked you. In an instant, you drop like a sack of bricks, making Arlong almost lose his balance. You kick at him, trying to take out his legs, “No way in hell am I going back! I’m an adult now, if I want to go out on my own, then I can!”

A snarl ripped out of Arlong’s throat at your protest. He yanks on your arms, flinging you up and over his shoulder with ease. He steps out of the ruined shack while pointedly ignoring your punching and kicking, “You don’t get to decide that! Not when your first instinct once you’re on your own is to mutilate your body! You’re coming home where I can keep an eye on you before you can do anything worse!”

“I’m not going back!” In a desperate attempt to get away, you grab the hilt of one of your swords.

The distinct sound of a sword being unsheathed alerts Arlong to your actions. He grabs the back of your shirt and throws you to the ground. You hit it hard and gasp as all of the air is forced out of you. Your lungs and gills try to work at the same time in a confused but desperate attempt to get oxygen back into your body one way or another. 

While you’re struggling to breathe, Arlong rips off the belt your swords were secured to and flings it away from you. You cough and hack as you roll onto your side and try to crawl away, but he’s able to pick you right back up just like he had before. 

“Put me down… you piece of shit… stop pretending like you care,” your chest aches with every labored breath it takes.

Arlong doesn’t respond or bother to refute your claim. He just marches onward to the nearby shore, seemingly intent on no longer engaging with you as he drags you back to Arlong Park kicking and screaming. It appears that you have no choice in this matter anymore.

At least you’ll be able to see Hachi and Nami again…

[enden-k]

I'm so sorry, I'm thinking about your kitty saran drawings again but in the context of like.... How Azai and Vika treat him as a human

Like Azai just sitting there holding Saran still, he's completely unable to get away, he's fighting back and still Azai just clings to him desperately

But Vika looking at Saran and just. Letting him be. Even though Saran is practically crawling into him, Vika's not even holding him really? Acknowledging his presence and appreciating the warmth but Vika would never keep Saran in one place against his will

They're all so... Aughh I love them youn and you're so good at characterizing them /gen

yes!! also like one of u said so in the tags (love love love when yall are so perceptive heheh)

its just a silly kitty doodle but rlly does tell how azai and vika treat(ed) saran/their way of love: azai wanting to control him, to have him and vika respecting saran and not forcing himself on him in any way

also honestly, how can a man do such sus things when he looks at the love of his life like this tbh. hes the type who would die for him

thanks for the message <3