#it doesn’t feel like the end of the world

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who never was close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[caitlinsnicket]

viktor relationship headcanons

warnings: if you squint, you might see something a little intimate, but other than suggestions, there's nothing.

a/n: surprised myself by not only writing this so quickly but also by not including any filth. wow.

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

He lives for shoulder kisses, treating them as a sort of stress reliever.

You visit his lab, bringing him a cup of tea (to make him sleepier and get him to bed quicker), and as you pass by, you lean down to kiss his shoulder.

Even through his shirt, he can feel your warmth, and as you leave, he manages to relax a little more.

Sometimes, before you go, he'll hold your hand and kiss your knuckles, his lips wandering down your wrist and arm until you start pulling him away from the workbench.

On good days—the days when he doesn’t feel as much pain or discomfort just from breathing—he asks for your help removing the harness he wears around his middle section.

He doesn’t actually need the help, but he loves the way your skin feels against his, especially during such an intimate moment, and he savors every second with you.

Putting the harness back on is a hassle, but it’s easier now because you understand.

It’s one thing to force your help on him, and another to ask if he needs it. He appreciates that you ask—and that you back off when he tells you to.

Another bittersweet aspect of your relationship is that he’s always cold. While it’s uncomfortable for him when he’s alone, it’s the best thing in the world when you’re around.

He’ll shiver slightly, and you’ll appear out of nowhere, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and pulling him close, tucking his hands under your thighs and kissing his nose until he’s boiling hot.

You also insist that he drink more warm beverages (except coffee—you banned that from your apartment ages ago), wear thicker clothes, and even use masks in the lab because his colds are always worse than expected.

Viktor insists he’s a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but when you hold his hands in yours and blow on them, he swallows his pride and lets you. Your love comes in waves like these, and he’s learned to catch as much of it as he can.

He doesn’t pay much attention to his appearance. While that unintentionally makes him a hundred times more attractive, it becomes a problem as he grows more important. It’s hard to explain that he can’t show up to an important meeting looking disheveled and that he needs to fix his hair before leaving the house.

So, you sit him down on the little bench you use to get ready yourself, using some of your products to tame his hair, smoothing down stray locks and ensuring he looks polished. The entire time, he fights to stay awake because of your gentle touch, eventually resting his face against your belly and breathing you in.

When you’re done, it’s a bit hard to get him up and out the door, but you manage by peppering kisses on his cheeks and nose. His heart races at your affection, and he promises to return as soon as possible so the two of you can be together again.

At some point, while redecorating the apartment for the millionth time, a picture falls out of one of his books: it’s him as a child, holding up a toy boat with a huge smile on his face. The sight makes you momentarily consider starting a family right then and there, so you call him over to show him.

He stutters, trying to snatch the photo from your hands, but you stop him, giggling at his embarrassed expression.

"You were so cute as a kid! I mean, you still are, but you looked so small! Baby Vik!" you tease, and he buries his face in his hands.

You end up framing the photo and hanging it on the living room wall, right beside one of your own.

But his absolute favorite thing the two of you do together is bathing. He never saw the point of it before—showering was easier and more practical—but now, he needs at least one bath a week just to keep going.

You fill the bathroom with bubbles, scents, and soaps, and he gets to sit back and relax with you in the warm water (which soothes his pain) in a dimly lit room. He loves it: your hands gently touching him, the care you take to ensure he’s comfortable and content in the tub, and even washing his hair for him.

He finds it almost pathetic how completely in love he is with you.

[hotshotsxyz]

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can’t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

[ellecdc]

OMG CONGRATULATIONS ON 5K MOTHER!!! LY<3 Could I please request 🐻— 'one talking to the other when they think they’re asleep' with our pretty boy Remus where it's the reader talking about Rem🥹

thank you so much, lovie!! <3

Remus Lupin x gn!reader who thinks he's asleep [663 words]

CW: written with a fem!reader in mind but no gender markers used, fluff

Remus can tell that the movie has ended by the deep, definitive breath you take as the credits roll and the music plays. 

You don’t move, though, and for that Remus is grateful. It had been quite the week at work; deadlines and meetings and projects, bosses trying to cram in as much progress as they could before the Christmas break, and Remus is exhausted. 

He’d barely uttered his “hello” upon getting home before you were suggesting ordering take away and watching a movie. A quiet night in, you had called it. It sounded like heaven.

Clad in comfies and lo mein on a plate, the two of you snuggled up on the couch. Plates ended up on the coffee table, legs were tucked underneath bodies, Remus’ head rested against your shoulder.

And though the world fell quiet, Remus never did fall asleep.

He’d completely melted into the couch at some point during the movie, now curled up on his side with his head on your lap as you card your fingers through his hair. Eyes closed in contentment, breathing evened in his ease.

He loves you. 

“I love you.” You murmur softly as if you read his mind, and Remus feels his lips curve into a smile, though his body was simply too heavy to offer you a proper response. “You work too hard, m’love.” 

He would have argued with you, or dismissed you immediately if you’d said anything of the sort when he first got home, but now he was trapped and complacent in your embrace.

“Always taking care of everyone else, aren’t you?” Your fingers brush through his hair again before trailing to his shoulder and down his arm as you speak. “You take such good care of me. I wish you’d let me take care of you, sometimes.” 

He really couldn’t help it then, he turned his head so he was looking up at you, offering you a warm smile as you tsked at him.

“Not even sleeping when you should be, Rem.”

“You take great care of me, dove.” He argues quickly, rolling onto his back so he could continue staring up at you more easily. “What do you call tonight?”

“I call tonight I was too lazy to cook and then got to watch my favourite Christmas movie.” You offer wryly, and Remus shakes his head reproachfully. 

“That’s not true at all. You knew I’d had a day, and made sure I didn’t have to think about anything but sitting my arse down on this sofa.”

Your lips purse as you trace a line down the side of his face with your finger. “That was one day.”

Remus hums in the negative. “No. It’s also the way you just happen to text me everyday around noon, when I happen to be scheduled for a break but usually happen to get too caught up in what I’m doing to realise. It’s also the way you claim that you have to work early in the morning when you notice me growing weary at the pub with my friends so that they don’t tease me for my old man tendencies. It’s the way you let me drone on and on about numbers and stats and editing that I know doesn’t interest you at all, just because you know it interests me. How could you say you don’t take care of me?” 

He watches you study his face for a few moments, expression unchanging even when you finally blurt “I liked talking to you better when you were sleeping and couldn’t argue with me.” 

Remus’ laugh echoed throughout your flat before he stretched out his limbs with a pleased hum. 

“Would you like it better if I went back to sleep?” 

“Yes, thank you.”

“See? There I go again,” he starts as he rolls back onto his side and you queue up another movie, “taking care of everyone else.” 

Remus’ eyes fall shut at the sound of your tinkling laughter.

[webdollzz]

jj who got bitchy!kook!reader to crumble…and is a smug bastard about it.

jj had been pestering you for a very, very long time. constantly teasing mocking, and poking fun at you — always having a remark locked and loaded for whatever snarky, sassy comment you gave him that day.

for a pogue, he handled your attitude well. perhaps pogues just handle it better, as you’ve never met a kook boy who hasn’t called you psycho bitch with a big mouth.

the relentless mockery and vulgar flirting from jj, along with the lingering touches and downright gropes he gave you left you in a state you knew damn well you shouldn’t be in.

you often found yourself thinking about him late at night, and in most those cases, whilst your hand was stuffed into your victoria secret panties.

it was another one of those nights, playing with your own pussy until it was left sticky and throbbing, moaning jj’s name to your empty room. you had become sick of your pathetic excuse of an orgasms by your own hands, trotting your way over to jj’s house at gone midnight.

you were at his door, clearly disgusted by the actual state of the cut — and jj’s house, but feeling your own arousal, causing your panties to stick to you, it was the very least of your concerns.

which is how you ended up right here, in playboy pogues bed, getting your cunt absolutely drilled by him, his hand flat between your shoulder blades and forcing your chest to the mattress.

“this is all you needed, huh? just needed someone to fuck all that bitchiness outta you.” he drawled from behind you, amused at your slightly dazed look.

despite your loud, pornograhic moans bouncing off the walls as jj fucked you like the world would end tomorrow — you still had something to say.

“f-fuck you, pogue. this — this doesn’t mean shit.” You spat, reaching back to scratch your neatly manicured nails against his forearm.

he gave a deep chuckle, rumbling from deep in his chest as he grabbed your hips, yanking you closer, thrusting somehow deeper, hitting that spot your fingers or stupid frat kooks couldn’t ever hit.

“the sounds you’re makin’ say different, mama.” he commented, listening to your loud, borderline yelps as he pounded into you, hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave fingerprint bruises.

“g-god, you’re so full of yourself.” you hissed, and he leant down, snaking a large arm around your neck and pulling you to his chest tightly, other hand wandering from your hip to the bulge in your lower abdomen — pressing down on it with a smirk.

“nah, i think you’re the one full of me.”

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Ways I can think of that “DanDaDan” differs from other shonen series:

* Female MC is as important as male MC

* Canon romance gets consistent development through the series. I think that’s part of the reason why the MC ships with the rivals (Aira, Jiji) aren’t as popular with the fandom for once. The main ship is actually getting good development, so the fanbase doesn’t have to make up headcanons to fill in the space.

* Flips the found family trope on its head by having the main group despise new people whenever they show up and they even actively try to kick them out. The new people only end up staying because they keep lingering around to the point that the main group just gives up and lets them stay.

* The rivals aren’t emo or angst-ridden. Aira is a delusional tryhard popular girl while Jiji is a himbo drama queen. I’d even go as far to say that the MCs are the ones who are emo and angst-ridden.

* Supporting cast is more than just important, they become integral to the story. I’d say that the further you read into DanDaDan, the more it becomes an ensemble cast where everyone is a protagonist in their own right.

* World-building is all over the place, but in a good way. Most other shonen are pretty consistent with what kind of world their characters live in. MHA is superhero-based, Naruto is ninjas and magic, Bleach is spirits, and so on. DanDaDan feels like the author just throws whatever cool shit they can think of into the story. That’s actually the reason why I wrote in a different post that DanDaDan reminds me more of Marvel/DC than any other shonen series, it manages to capture the catch-all insanity of those comics.

* Doesn’t rely on hidden power-ups. The main characters either have to outsmart the villains or they have to train to get better with the powers they already have.

* The pervert comic relief guy is actually endearing for once. Not because of his pervert tendencies, but because he’s so oblivious to how socially inept he is that it’s kind of funny. This is gonna sound strange, but he sorta reminds me of Thor in Thor Ragnarok. Full of himself and oblivious to how dumb he can be. He’s Thor without the good looks lol.

* Flips the “nerdy outcast loser somehow gets a harem” trope. Instead of making Okarun cooler than how he actually is, the story emphasizes that the women who fall for Okarun are as weird as him. Momo is a weird outcast, Aira has main character syndrome, Vamola doesn’t understand how to human because she’s literally not one, Rin thought Okarun was a vampire (and wanted him to be).

* Flips the “elderly figure in charge of the teenagers” trope. I don’t really get motherly figure vibes from Seiko Ayase, I get more “cool wine aunt who is stuck with her niece” vibes. In fact, there was the arc where Okarun showed up to her in spirit mode to get her help with fighting off the alien invasion and Seiko’s response was, “Well, I’m not in the area and I have other shit to do, so you kids figure it out.”

* The series takes the piss out of the trope of mystical/magical items that the group acquired to get their powers. I mean…the main mystical MacGuffin in the series are Okarun’s balls.

* Okarun was about to go into an “I’m weak / I wish I was stronger / I want to get stronger for my friends” breakdown, but Turbo Granny told him to shut up and keep fighting.

* Not afraid to put the “cool girl” in as many funny situations as possible. Off the top of my head, the series built up Momo as this cool, tough girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone…then several chapters later, Okarun found out she got a job at a maid cafe.

(Feel free to add to the list!)

[just-a-ghost00]

Their energy towards you now

This reading is meant for romantic connections that are currently in a separation, whether you have been in a relationship or not. When I talk about separation, I mean that you and this person are having minimal to no contact, whether they live near you or far from you. If you do interact, it is not in a romantic context. This separation can be on a mutual accord or happened progressively over time.

Group 1

6 of cups

What caught my attention about this card was the hourglass. It was beautifully drawn and surrounded by the water spilling from the cups. It gave me the impression of someone wishing strongly that their feelings toward the other could turn back time. But this is something that is not one sided, because the two rows of cups were spilling water that is interconnecting around the object. They are being nostalgic about the times spent together and the memories you shared. And they may be feeling like you are too, which both comforts and saddens them. I got a feeling like this person is wondering : if we’re both regretting what happened and missing each other, why are things still the same?

Ace of cups

On this card, a cup is sheltering a flower in blooming. Out of that flower is rising a water droplet that kinda looked like a pearl. Not only does this person like you but they are cultivating those feelings. They nurture them, water them, like they would a flower. Those feelings are precious to them because they were shared. Despite everything that happened, they still love you as if it were the first day. They don’t want them to disappear. Because if they do, then you will fade into their memory. I feel like this person is sometimes crying over your absence at night. They feel like the situation is out of their hands but they hope that, if they keep loving you, if their love is strong enough, you’ll come back around.

4 of wands

The wands are kinda placed like a fence and at their feet lie two halves of a pomegranate as well as a maple leaf. It made me feel like this person still wishes to protect the foundation that you had built with them, whether this took the form of a friendship, a partnership or more. After all this time, they still perceive you as their one. As the person they wish to build a future with. They still think of this being a possibility. They still wish to work toward that goal. Not only that but they also want to support you more than anything and be by your side. I feel like this person wants to protect you from the world and keep you to themselves.

High Priestess

A woman is having her back on the quarter of a moon. Around her lays a snake. When nighttime comes specifically, this person is filled with desire for you and intentions of transforming this connection. Most of these person’s feelings and thoughts may be subconscious or repressed. Even if they’re aware of the attraction they have for you, this person doesn’t wish you to know. This is something they want to keep to themselves for now. A part of them is afraid you wouldn’t understand them. Another just wants to lay low and observe what your reactions are, to gain knowledge and heal.

3 of wands

What you may also not suspect is that this person wishes to close the distance and come to you. They may be planning a travel near your home or a way to get into contact with you again, reignite the flame. This person wishes for this separation to end and pick up where you left the connection in hopes that something good will come out of it. For those of you that live at a distance from one another, I’m getting the impression you may have felt it coming but were not sure of your intuition. You may hear about it soon, either through someone else or in an indirect way. For instance, this person may post on their social media about one thing but their post will make you feel like something is brewing.

Group 2

Page of cups

This person has developped feelings for you but they may still be thinking about the past or afraid that their past will have an influence on your connection, which may be one of the reasons why you are in separation at the moment. They feel emotionally linked to you and wish to come towards you. However, something is holding them back. They may be afraid that the past will repeat itself or that you may not understand them, share the same point of view about the connection. They however still care about you and feel positively towards you.

10 of wands

They have a lot on their plate. A lot of worries about what the future holds, about whether a reconciliation is possible. They may also be busy with a lot of other responsibilities, which may burden them and interfere in how they feel towards you. I feel like this person is tired of being played with and bearing the weight of their feelings. Though they like you a lot, the fact that they cannot express their emotions freely is taking a toll on them. This person is also tired of being held back by their past trauma, of having to fight to feel loved and cared for. They may be feeling like they've given more than they should have and may be waiting for you to make a move, if you wish for the connection to progress.

Black Numen

Despite their feelings, this person kinda has lost hope about your connection working out. The fact that nothing is happening in the 3D and that they don't see the changes they hoped for may be adding to their disappointment and sadness. Again, I get a feeling that a lot of other things are happening to this person and it really tires them out. They may be in a phase of doubt where they are not sure whether how they feel towards you is enough to keep the connection alive. They may also doubt your intentions towards them and feel like you tricked them. Overall, I just get the feeling that they just wish to be at peace with this connection, whether it's with or without you. They want to be freed of this feeling of confusion and waiting for things to unfold.

The Sun

In another context, this card may have been a positive one but I feel like here this card is showing that this person is slowly retreating their energy and focus from the connection and trying to move one without you. The character one the card is walking towards the left. This person is determined to get back to a state of hapiness, even if that means cutting ties with you, because they feel like this has been going on for too long and isn't going anywhere. They feel like there ain't nothing much they can do about it so they might as well focus on themselves, like they used to before they met you. I feel like they don't hold any grudges or resentment towards you. They are grateful for your shared experience but they are in an energy of prioritizing themselves.

Queen of cups

This person intends to nurture themselves and love themselves first, however they still care about you and appreciate you. They have decided that they will leave the outcome of this connection up to fate and in the meantime, they will fill their own cup and learn to become one with themselves. I get the message that even if you're apart and even if it turns out you won't be together, this person will always hold a place for you in their heart because your connection is special and precious to them. They will always think of you fondly and speak about you with a warmth in their voice because what you have shared is unforgettable in their eyes. Deep down, they will still keep the hope that you can be united again, but they will no longer chase after it. Should you want to come back, they will leave the door open.

Group 3

Hermit

During your separation, this person has thought a lot about you, the connection, what they wanted out of it, what they felt like they could bring to the table. They've really pondered about the meaning of your encounter, the importance you had to them and the lessons they could learn from this experience. And it feels like they have had an epiphany. They realized a lot of things that they may have repressed in the past and really came to terms with it. I get a message of someone looking at the sky and the stars, wondering what the other is up to, whether they are thinking about the connection as well. I feel like this person never lost hope of coming back to you and the whole time, they were only thinking of you and the future.

White Numen

While in separation, they hoped that you would come rushing to them. But realizing that you didn't, they started to question their methods and their feelings. And they understood that if they wanted to see a change, they had to make a difference. They had to create the reality they wanted to see and be the author of their own story. This person understood that, yes of course you had your role to play, but they also had their own script to follow to ensure the play would get its happy ending. Basically, they learned that it takes two to tango and that for a relationship to work out, both parties need to be walking in the same direction and find a common ground they can build on. This person is creatively inspired and the puzzle pieces are starting to assemble in their mind's eye. They now know where they stand and where they want to go.

Ace of cups

Their feelings for you have been renewed. As you were no longer in contact, they realized the value of your affection, how good you were to them. They found out that they missed you dearly and that they took you for granted. Now, they want to give your connection another chance. They wish to reconcile and reciprocate your feelings. They want to get into contact with you again and put an end to the separation. They may be thinking of ways to reach out to you without you freaking out or rejecting them right away. They are hopeful.

Chariot reversed

Though they want to come back to you, they feel a little scared to do so. They don't just want to mindlessly rush into this, without thinking of the consequences and without being sure of your position as well. They just don't want to be disappointed. Another thing I am picking up on is that this person is being delayed. Things and people are trying to get in the way of your reunion right now. Part of it is related to this person's fear of rejection. But not just that. For some, I am getting that this person planned to travel towards you but their trip got delayed or canceled for some reason. Think of traffic disturbances, a flight being cancelled because of a natural disaster, them having to postpone their travel because of financial issues or family matters. Their work could also be a factor in this situation. Their boss could have refused their request to get some time off of work for example.

10 of pentacles

Even if obstacles are stending in the way of your connection, this person is determined to put in the work to see it prosper over time. They are aware that it may be difficult and take a lot of time to flourish, but they are confident that it has the potential to grow into something valuable, that will last. This person feels lucky that they have you and the connection. They see the value in what you share and they intend to protect it and guard it against anyone or anything that would try to keep you apart. This person may be envisioning a partnership with you, whether that is on a professional level, on a friendship level, a familial level or romantic level. They want you to be a part of their legacy and their inner circle. And if they have to start from scratch to ensure that, they will without any hesitation, because they know it is worth it.

[thelittlelestspooon]

Wedding Night…. I may not be a virgin, but at the very least I never hurt anyone at least not consciously. Meaning, I never took a thing and hurt someone with it. I argue yes. I yell yes. But that doesn’t make me a killer. IF we are comparing. I bring and fight to protect lives. Idk about the one claiming I “compete” with them…. When they’ve smashed me down my entire life and MADE SURE I couldn’t get up. Hiding behind people... Like when we go to Heaven god will say “oh you waited for sex after marriage? Great we will just forget the people you hurt almost fatally hurt just for fun and pranks….” And then he looks at me and then back at you (whoever you are) “like you know I had to restore magic to the world to protect her from you until one of my faithful devotees with a degree could save her…” oh yeah... Comparing ends joy, doesn’t allow anyone to appreciate things as they are but in this case— fed up. Hard to have good positive feelings when someone makes you stink, damaged your clothes, abuses you subliminally, and is so powerful they can keep you from healing, treatment and even finding protection and justice from their tyranny

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TWELVE ━━ State Championship

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.4K

☆ ━ warnings: underage drinking, smoking

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: covid doesn’t exist in this fic yall. also… we only got like 2 maybe 3 more chapters left 😔😔 nearing the end

IT’S MARCH now, and Dani’s life feels as close to perfect as it ever has—though, like everything else in her world, it’s stitched together with careful seams, fragile and vulnerable to the wrong touch. She and Paige are inseparable, their relationship deepening with every stolen moment, every knowing glance, every night spent whispering beneath the glow of a shared secret. They’re in love, entirely and helplessly, in a way Dani never thought possible. They’ve built their own kind of sanctuary, a place where Dani doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to hide, doesn’t have to pray for the version of herself she can’t force into existence. A place that’s home.

Her father is still blissfully ignorant. Somehow, he hasn’t pieced it together, hasn’t realized that the “Beau and Dani” façade is a flimsy excuse for Dani to avoid questions she can’t answer. All that matters is her dad hasn’t found out about Paige, and as long as Dani can keep it that way, she can hold onto this little slice of happiness a bit longer.

Her camera is still her refuge, the one place she can express everything she’s too scared to say. She photographs everything these days: the crackling electricity of Paige on the court, Thaliah and Jalen during their group hangouts, the fleeting, golden light of early spring as it kisses the Minnesota snow. Photography gives her purpose, and in a way, it’s her excuse to be near Paige without raising suspicion. At almost every game, Dani can be found on the sidelines, her lens trained on the girl she loves. Sometimes she’s there for the yearbook, sometimes just as a spectator, but she never misses an opportunity to catch Paige mid-layup, her form perfect, her expression fierce. Those photos always end up in a folder on Dani’s laptop, separate from the yearbook shots, and Dani finds herself scrolling through them late at night, smiling at the way Paige lights up the screen.

Dani’s friendships with Thaliah and Jalen are as strong as ever. The three of them and Paige have returned to normalcy, often found loitering at diners, driving aimlessly through town, or sprawled out in Thaliah’s basement watching movies and laughing about nothing. They’re her grounding force, her reminder that she’s not alone in navigating the chaos of being seventeen and confused about almost everything. Paige fits into their dynamic seamlessly, too, and on the rare occasion they’re all together, Dani feels like the world might actually be okay.

College acceptance letters have been rolling in, and Dani’s future is starting to take shape—though not without its complications. She’s been accepted into every school she applied to, but it’s her UConn acceptance that sends her heart racing. It’s not just the great program or the nearly full-ride scholarship they’ve offered her—it’s the fact that Paige will be there. That, for once, Dani might have a future that feels like hers, not one dictated by her father or her faith or the crushing weight of expectation. But she hasn’t told her dad yet. She can’t. He knows Paige is going to UConn, knows about her basketball career and the national attention it’s garnered, and Dani knows he’d connect the dots too easily. So she keeps it to herself, tucking the letter into the back of her desk drawer and avoiding the subject whenever college comes up at home.

Currently, Dani sits among Paige’s family, her camera resting untouched in her lap. It’s the state championship, and Hopkins is favored to take the title the second year in a row. The student section is a riot of blue, loud and chaotic, but Dani has chosen the quieter comfort of this row, surrounded by people who feel like home. Jalen and his family are nearby, and Paige’s parents and siblings flank her on either side, a reassuring presence amid the frenzy.

On Dani’s left, Drew is practically vibrating with excitement, barely able to stay seated. Every few seconds, he glances over at her, his words tumbling out in bursts. “Did you see Paigey’s spin move?”

“I saw it,” Dani says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She’s locked in.”

Bob, seated next to Drew, leans forward slightly, his voice carrying over the noise. “She used to practice that on me at the park. Couldn’t guard her then, can’t guard her now.”

Dani chuckles, turning to meet Bob’s grin. There’s an ease to him that she’s always appreciated—an unspoken acceptance. Bob has known about her and Paige for as long as she can remember, and though they’ve never had a direct conversation about it, the way he treats her makes it clear he’s always been on their side.

On Dani’s right, Amy is a comforting presence, quieter than Bob but just as attentive. She’d driven all the way from Montana with Ryan and Lauren to see Paige play, and Dani’s heart had softened the moment the woman exclaimed when she saw her, immediately engulfing her in a hug after over a year without seeing one another. Amy’s kindness is effortless, and Dani feels it in every question she asks—about school, about Dani’s photography, about her plans for college.

In front of Dani, Lauren, restless as ever, leans back against the Callan girl’s legs, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her Hopkins sweatshirt. She twists her head around to look at Dani, her eyes wide.

“Paige is so fast. I wanna be that fast,” she says, her voice barely cutting through the noise of the arena.

Dani stifles a laugh, glancing down at her. “Paige’ll train you if you ask her,” she tells Lauren, messing with her hair a little.

Ryan laughs at his younger sister. “You’ll never be as fast as P, Laur.” Lauren doesn’t say anything, just hits him a little on the shoulder.

And, true to their words of Paige’s quickness, the girl threads a pass through traffic to set up her teammate for an easy layup. The crowd erupts, and Dani’s heart swells with pride, even as she tries to keep her face neutral. Paige’s brilliance on the court always manages to take Dani’s breath away. It’s not just the skill—it’s the way she moves, like the game is an extension of herself, as natural as breathing.

Amy leans closer to Dani during a brief timeout, her voice soft so as not to disturb the boys’ running commentary on the game. “She loves having you here,” she says, her eyes fixed on Paige. “Plays better when you’re watching.”

Dani swallows the lump forming in her throat, her gaze fixed on Paige. “She doesn’t need me for that,” she murmurs, trying to brush it off, but Amy gives her a knowing smile.

“Maybe not. But she lights up around you, Dani. Always has.”

The words lodge themselves in Dani’s chest, warming her from the inside out. It’s moments like this—Paige’s family’s unwavering support—that make her feel like maybe, just maybe, she and Paige could have something not just real, but something lasting.

The game resumes, and Hopkins builds their lead, point by point, until victory feels inevitable. Paige is everywhere—driving to the basket, setting up her teammates, sinking jump shots with a precision that seems almost effortless. She makes it look easy, but Dani knows better. She knows the hours Paige spends on this court, the bruises and exhaustion she never complains about. And so Dani can’t help but beam every time Paige does something spectacular, her pride radiating from her in waves. Drew nudges her arm every few seconds, practically yelling over the noise.

Lauren shifts again, this time pulling on Dani’s sleeve. “Do you think Paige will win?”

“She will,” Dani answers without hesitation. “She always does.”

The final minutes tick down, and the crowd is on its feet, the noise swelling to a deafening roar. Paige drives to the basket, weaving through defenders, sinking the ball cleanly through the net. Dani can barely hear herself think over the cheers, but she doesn’t care. Her eyes are locked on Paige, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of the game. Victory is so close she can taste it.

And, when the final buzzer echoes through the gym, the crowd erupts in cheers, Dani screaming her throat raw, her grin so wide it aches. Hopkins wins, as everyone knew they would. On the court, the team jumps and screams, a chaotic tangle of joy, and in the middle of it all is Paige—beaming, her face radiant in the bright lights. She’s never looked more alive.

Dani can’t take her eyes off her.

Spectators flood the court, and Dani moves with Paige’s family and Jalen’s, weaving through the chaos. When Paige spots them, her gaze locks on Dani first, as if the rest of the world has faded away. Without hesitation, Paige rushes to her, weaving past her teammates and friends.

Dani doesn’t have time to react before Paige’s arms wrap tightly around her, pulling her close. Paige hunches slightly, burying her face in Dani’s neck. Her body is damp with sweat, and she smells faintly of effort and adrenaline, but Dani doesn’t care. She wraps her arms around Paige, steadying her.

“I’m so proud of you, P,” Dani says softly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

Paige doesn’t pull back. Her lips brush against Dani’s hair, and she whispers so only Dani can hear, her voice a quiet tremor of affection, “Thanks, baby.”

Dani closes her eyes briefly, savoring the moment. Around them, the chaos continues—teammates screaming, parents cheering—but it feels like they’re standing in a bubble, untouched by anything outside of this.

When Paige finally pulls away, her parents are watching with fond smiles. Amy steps forward, already reaching for Dani’s camera. “You two, hold still. Let me take a picture.”

Paige grins and slings an arm around Dani’s shoulders, pulling her close. Her other hand lifts the gold medal hanging around her neck, the metal catching the light. Dani mirrors her smile, her own arm draped loosely around Paige’s waist. They don’t need to pose—the happiness radiates naturally, their closeness effortless.

Amy pulls back, glancing at the camera’s screen. “Oh, this is a good one. Come look.”

Dani leans in to see, and her breath catches. The image captures everything—the joy in their faces, the warmth in Paige’s gaze, the way their bodies lean toward each other as if they’re two halves of the same whole.

Paige and Dani meet eyes, sharing a grin.

The moment is brief but perfect before Paige turns to scoop Lauren into her arms, spinning her little sister in a circle. Drew tugs on her jersey, demanding his turn, while Ryan just hugs at Paige’s waist, proud of his older sister. Paige laughs, pulling them all into a huddle.

Dani steps back, giving them space but staying close. She does what she does best, taking her camera from Amy and getting a few candid shots—Paige holding Lauren on her hip, Ryan clapping her on the back, Drew trying on her medal for size. Joy radiates through every frame, and Dani knows these moments will stick with her for the rest of her life.

The state championship trophy gleams in the background, but to Dani, the real victory is right here.

IT’S THE NEXT night, a Saturday, and the house feels a little emptier now. Paige’s mom, Amy, had left earlier that morning to drive back to Montana with Ryan and Lauren in tow, their visit too brief but nice. Paige’s dad, Bob, had also left with Drew, heading to Paige’s grandparents’ house for a sleepover. Dani knows Paige had been invited too, but she’d turned down the invitation with a practiced excuse. “I’ve gotta lock in on my homework,” she’d said, a perfectly reasonable answer now that basketball season was over.

Dani, however, knows better. Paige had needed her house empty for a party in celebration of her state championship win. It’s not every day you lead your team to a perfect season and cap it off with a trophy. If anyone deserved to celebrate, it was Paige, and she wasn’t about to let the night pass without doing exactly that.

Now, the house is quiet but charged with anticipation. Everyone else isn’t supposed to arrive until 8:30, but Dani, Thaliah, and Jalen had shown up early, their small group finding an easy rhythm on the couch in Paige’s living room. Music hums softly in the background, a playlist already on shuffle as the three settle in, waiting for the night to kick off.

Thaliah sits in the middle, her legs crossed, the bottle of Pink Whitney balanced on her knee as she grins at the others. “Pregame!” she announces, her voice bright as she pours the syrupy pink liquid into four cups she’s pulled from her bag. She slides one toward Jalen, one toward Paige, and one toward Dani.

Dani hesitates, glancing at the cup in front of her. She knows the routine well enough—this isn’t the first time they’ve started a night like this. But tonight, the idea of drinking, of letting her guard down even a little, makes her stomach twist.

She shakes her head, gently pushing the cup back toward Thaliah. “Nah, I’m good.”

Next to her, Paige straightens, her arm slipping from Dani’s shoulders as she turns to look at her fully. “Why?” she asks, her tone light but curious, her brows pulling together in that way they do when she doesn’t understand something.

Dani doesn’t meet her gaze right away. Instead, she glances at the bottle of Whitney, at the three cups still sitting on the table, and then back to Paige. The truth hovers on the tip of her tongue, too heavy to say aloud: My dad’s next door. If he hears this party, if he figures out I’m here, it’s over for me.

She needs to be sober in case something might happen.

But she doesn’t want to ruin Paige’s night—not when Paige is practically glowing, her excitement infectious, her smile impossible to dim. So, Dani shrugs, keeping her voice casual as she says, “I’m just not really in the mood.”

Paige narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced. Dani sighs, then adds, “Besides, we both know how you’re gonna end up tonight, so someone’s gotta babysit you.”

That gets a reaction. Paige gasps, clutching at her chest like Dani’s just insulted her honor. “I don’t need babysitting. I am a perfectly responsible drunk.”

Dani doesn’t even need to respond. Thaliah and Jalen both exchange a look, their silence loud enough to say what they’re all thinking: Paige is not a responsible drunk.

“Fine,” Paige relents, leaning back into Dani’s side with a dramatic sigh. Her arm finds its way back around Dani’s shoulders, her fingers drumming lightly against Dani’s collarbone. “As long as it’s you babysitting me, then I guess I’ll survive.”

Dani hums, a quiet sound of acknowledgment, and watches as the others down their drinks in quick succession. Thaliah pours herself another almost immediately, the bottle already half-empty, while Jalen laughs at something on his phone.

Paige leans closer to Dani, her weight warm and familiar. “You sure?” she murmurs, quieter this time, like she’s still trying to figure Dani out.

“I’m sure,” Dani says, her tone firm but not unkind. She offers Paige a small smile, hoping it’s enough to keep her from asking again.

The clock ticks toward 8:30, and the energy in the room begins to shift. Thaliah’s already scrolling through her phone, checking who’s on their way, while Jalen adjusts the playlist, turning the volume up just a little. Paige doesn’t move from her spot next to Dani, her leg pressed against hers, her head tilting to rest briefly on Dani’s shoulder.

The first wave of people start filtering in just past 8:30, the quiet hum of the house replaced by the buzz of voices, the bass of the music turned up to match the growing energy.

It’s not just close friends who show up—there are teammates, classmates, random people from their grade, and even a few who Dani swears she’s never seen before. Paige doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, she thrives on it. By now, Paige is already tipsy—not slurring her words or stumbling, but the telltale signs are there. Her laugh is louder, her smile wider, and her touch more insistent.

Dani feels Paige’s hand on her arm before she even sees her. Paige leans into her, shoulder bumping hers, her other arm draped casually across Dani’s waist like it belongs there. “You good?” Paige asks, her voice warm and loose, her words just slightly stretched out by the alcohol.

Dani nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Paige grins, her fingers giving Dani’s side a small squeeze before she turns her attention to someone else who calls her name. Even as Paige moves to greet them, her hand doesn’t leave Dani’s waist, her thumb brushing absentmindedly against the fabric of Dani’s shirt.

It’s not unusual for Paige to be affectionate, but the alcohol has made her even clingier than usual. Dani feels the weight of her touch constantly—Paige’s hand at her back, her arm slung over Dani’s shoulders, her knee pressing against Dani’s as they sit on the couch. It’s both comforting and a little overwhelming, especially when the house starts to fill with more and more people.

Eventually, Dani manages to slip away. Paige is busy chatting with Jalen and a couple guys on his team, and Dani uses the distraction to excuse herself, heading toward the bathroom for a moment of quiet.

When she emerges, the noise hits her again—laughter and music and the occasional sound of someone yelling in victory or frustration. Dani spots Thaliah near the kitchen and makes her way over, grateful for the familiar face.

Thaliah grins when she sees her, holding up a drink. “Surviving?”

“Barely,” Dani jokes, though there’s some truth to it. She’s still nervous about her dad, what probably won’t—but could—happen, a pit in her stomach.

She and Thaliah end up standing together near the makeshift beer pong table in the dining room, watching as Paige and Jalen take on two of their classmates. Paige is a little unsteady but clearly having the time of her life, laughing and leaning against the table as she lines up her shots. She’s unsurprisingly good, sinking cup after cup while Jalen cheers her on. It’s not long before Thaliah’s getting bored of spectating, mumbling something about needing another drink and walking away.

When Paige and Jalen win, the aformentioned throws her hands up in triumph, her laugh echoing above the rest of the noise. “Let’s go!” she yells, her voice bright and slurred, and Jalen high-fives her enthusiastically.

Then Paige turns, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Dani. Her entire face lights up, and before Dani can brace herself, Paige is weaving through the crowd, heading straight for her.

“Did you see that, baby?” Paige exclaims, throwing an arm over Dani’s shoulder, her weight pressing into her side. Her lips brush against Dani’s cheek as she leans close, her breath warm against Dani’s ear. “I won!”

Dani can’t help but laugh, steadying Paige with a hand on her waist. “Yeah, you did, P. Nice job.”

Paige beams, her cheeks flushed, and leans into Dani even more, her head briefly resting against Dani’s shoulder. For a moment, they just stand there, Paige sipping from her cup while Dani tries not to think too hard about how Paige’s hand is now resting on her hip.

“Dan,” Paige says suddenly, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “If you don’t wanna drink, that’s fine, but…” She pauses, fumbling with her pocket before pulling out a sleek vape pen. She holds it out to Dani, her grin lopsided and playful. “At least take a couple hits of this. You’re sooooo tense.”

Dani blinks, caught off guard. “I’m not tense.”

“Yes, you are,” Paige insists, nudging the pen closer to Dani. Her other arm tightens around Dani’s shoulders, as if to emphasize her point. “Come on, baby. Chill out, we’re supposed to be havin’ fun!”

Dani rolls her eyes, a small smile lifting her lips as she takes the pen from Paige’s hand. She supposes she is a little tense. “Fine,” she mutters, earning a victorious cheer from Paige.

She takes a couple hits, the smoke smooth and warm in her lungs. It’s not much, but it’s enough to take the edge off, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

When she glances at Paige, she finds her already staring, her gaze heavy and a little glazed over. Paige leans in closer, her eyes locked on Dani’s mouth as she exhales, the smoke curling between them.

“Gimme some,” Paige murmurs, her voice low and slightly rough.

Dani starts to hand her the pen, but Paige shakes her head, a drunken smirk tugging at her lips. “Uh-uh,” she says, her tone teasing as she nods toward Dani.

It takes Dani a second to understand, but when she does, her cheeks warm. Still, she doesn’t argue. She takes another hit, holding it briefly before leaning in, her lips just barely brushing Paige’s as she exhales, the smoke passing between them.

The moment stretches, charged and intimate, and then Paige closes the distance, her lips soft and insistent against Dani’s. The kiss begins softly, almost tentative despite the alcohol in Paige’s system. Her lips are warm and slightly parted, brushing against Dani’s like a question she’s waiting for Dani to answer. Dani freezes for a moment, caught off guard, but then Paige presses closer, her hand cupping Dani’s cheek, and Dani lets herself fall into it.

Paige’s lips move against hers, slow and searching at first, but as the seconds stretch, the kiss deepens. There’s a quiet desperation in the way Paige tilts her head, her fingers sliding into Dani’s hair as if anchoring herself there. Her breath is warm and faintly sweet, carrying the tang of the vodka she’s been drinking, and it mixes with the sharp taste of smoke lingering on Dani’s lips.

Dani’s hand comes up instinctively, resting on Paige’s waist to steady her as she kisses back. Paige melts into the touch, leaning her entire body weight into Dani like she’s afraid to let go. Her other hand moves to Dani’s jaw, her thumb brushing over the edge of her cheekbone in a way that sends a shiver down Dani’s spine.

It’s messy, uncoordinated in the way that drunk kisses often are, but it’s also charged with a kind of raw emotion that makes Dani’s heart ache. Paige’s movements are eager and insistent, her lips sliding against Dani’s with just enough pressure to make Dani feel like she’s on the edge of something big, something she’s not sure she’s ready for.

Paige tilts her head again, deepening the kiss further. Her teeth catch lightly on Dani’s bottom lip, and Dani feels a quiet gasp leave her mouth, barely audible above the noise of the party. Paige takes the opportunity to slip her tongue past Dani’s lips, tasting her.

Dani doesn’t mean to respond so strongly, but her fingers tighten on Paige’s waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them. Paige responds with a soft, almost needy sound, her nails lightly grazing the nape of Dani’s neck as she presses closer still.

The world around them blurs completely—Dani is vaguely aware of the music, the distant hum of voices, but it all feels far away, like a dream she’s not ready to wake up from. All she can focus on is Paige: the warmth of her mouth, the way her breath hitches every time Dani kisses her back just a little harder, the way she clings to Dani like this kiss is the only thing keeping her grounded.

Paige pulls back just slightly, enough to breathe but not enough to break the moment. Her lips are red and slightly swollen, her breath shallow and unsteady as she whispers, “God, Dani…”

Her forehead rests against Dani’s for a beat, her eyes fluttering open to meet Dani’s as she catches her breath. But then Paige is leaning back in, capturing Dani’s lips again with a hunger that takes Dani’s breath away. The kiss is deeper now, more urgent, and Dani finds herself gripping Paige’s waist harder, her other hand sliding up to rest against Paige’s back.

Paige’s fingers thread through Dani’s hair, tugging gently as she angles her head, and Dani feels her knees wobble slightly. Paige must notice, because she shifts, pressing Dani back against the wall for support without breaking the kiss. The cool surface against Dani’s back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from Paige, grounding her even as the kiss makes her head spin.

Paige’s lips trail down Dani’s jawline, the kisses wet and clumsy but full of a drunken intensity that leaves Dani breathless. By the time Paige reaches her neck, her lips part, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin there, her breath warm and uneven. Dani feels herself shiver despite the heat radiating between their bodies, her hands reflexively gripping Paige’s hips to steady her.

Paige hums low in her throat, the sound almost like a purr, vibrating against Dani’s skin. “Dan,” she murmurs, her voice desperate and slurred, “need you so bad.”

Dani lets out a soft laugh, unable to hide her amusement at Paige’s sheer neediness. She tilts her head slightly, giving Paige a bit of space while teasing, “Uh-uh.”

Paige immediately protests, her lips brushing against Dani’s collarbone as she pulls back just enough to grumble, “Yes, huh.” Her voice is petulant, like a kid arguing over bedtime, and it’s so quintessentially Paige that Dani can’t help but chuckle again.

“P,” Dani says, still laughing softly, “you’re so drunk.”

Paige finally pulls back, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed, and she pouts at Dani, her big blue eyes glassy with alcohol and indignation. “No, I’m not,” she insists, her tone petulant but her words slightly slurred, betraying the lie.

Dani raises a brow, smirking as she tucks a stray strand of Paige’s blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah, babe, you are,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “And we aren’t doing anything here tonight.”

Paige groans dramatically, throwing her head back like Dani just told her Christmas was canceled. “You’re no fun,” she mumbles, before collapsing forward and leaning all of her weight into Dani.

Dani stumbles slightly, pressed fully against the wall as Paige rests her head against Dani’s shoulder, her arms wrapping loosely around Dani’s waist. Dani pats Paige on the back, still laughing at her dramatics. “You’ll survive.”

“No, I won’t,” Paige grumbles into Dani’s shoulder, her voice muffled and childlike. “You’re so mean.”

Dani shakes her head, her grin widening. “Yeah, yeah. I’m the meanest girlfriend in the world.” She shifts her weight, trying to stand upright despite Paige’s clinginess.

Paige nuzzles into Dani’s neck, her lips brushing her skin again, though it’s less intentional now and more out of sheer drunken affection. “Still love you, though,” Paige murmurs, her words slurred but earnest, and it makes Dani’s chest tighten in spite of herself.

“Love you too, P,” Dani says softly, smoothing a hand over Paige’s back. “Let’s go sit down, ‘kay?”

Paige groans again, half-protesting, but she doesn’t resist as Dani gently guides her toward the couch. She’s still clinging to Dani, her steps unsteady and her grip loose but insistent, and Dani knows it’s going to be a long night. But she doesn’t mind—not when it’s Paige. Never when it’s Paige.

Paige slumps against the couch cushions, her head lolling to one side, her legs sprawled out in a careless, almost exaggerated manspread that makes Dani roll her eyes, though she can’t suppress the small grin tugging at her lips. Paige looks completely gone—her eyelids heavy, her cheeks flushed, and her movements languid.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” Dani says, brushing her hand over Paige’s shoulder.

“Nooo,” Paige whines, her hand shooting out to grab at Dani’s wrist. It’s a clumsy effort, her fingers barely wrapping around Dani’s arm. “Don’t go.”

Dani lightly swats at Paige’s hand, shaking it off gently. “I’ll only be a second. Be patient.”

Paige groans, letting her head fall back against the couch dramatically, but her grip loosens. “Fine,” she mutters, dragging the word sulkily.

Dani steps away quickly, navigating through the still-buzzing crowd of teenagers in the house. Music thumps in the background, but it feels like white noise compared to the task at hand. She reaches the kitchen and pours a glass of water, the sound of liquid filling the cup drowned out by distant laughter and chatter. Dani moves fast, threading her way back to the couch.

When she returns, Paige is still slumped where Dani left her, looking half-asleep. Dani hands her the glass. “Here. Drink.”

Paige takes it reluctantly, holding the cup like it’s some kind of punishment, but she starts sipping. Her free hand tugs at Dani’s arm until Dani sits down beside her again, and Paige immediately leans into her, her weight warm and heavy against Dani’s side. Dani sighs, wrapping an arm loosely around Paige’s shoulders to keep her upright.

By now, it’s well past one in the morning, and the party has started to blur into a sluggish haze. Dani glances around the room, noting how many kids are still there, laughing, drinking, some making out in corners. It’s chaos, but a controlled kind—the kind Dani knows Paige thrives in, especially when she’s drunk and her walls are down.

Thaliah appears suddenly, stumbling over to them with a grin. She eyes the glass of water in Paige’s hand and giggles. “Mmm, good idea,” Thaliah slurs, nodding approvingly. “Sobering up so you can go drink more later. Maybe I’ll do that.”

Dani watches, wanting to bang her head against the wall as Paige’s eyes light up at Thaliah’s word. “That is a good idea—”

“No,” Dani cuts in sharply, shooting Thaliah—and then Paige—a pointed look. “No more drinking.”

Paige whines, turning her face toward Dani. “Why not?”

“Because you’re already—” Dani starts, but she doesn’t get to finish.

A shadow falls over them, and Dani’s heart drops. She looks up, and there he is. Bob Bueckers, standing in front of the couch, his face a mix of fury and disgust as he takes in the scene before him: his house packed with drunk teenagers, music blaring, solo cups that are undoubtedly filled with alcohol littering every surface. Clearly, he decided not to spend the night at his parent’s house with Drew.

Thaliah freezes, her eyes wide as she immediately begins tiptoeing away from the couch, leaving Dani and Paige to fend for themselves. Paige, still leaning heavily against Dani, looks up blearily, her expression slow to register what’s happening. When she finally recognizes her father, her reaction is painfully on-brand.

“Uh-oh,” she mumbles, blinking up at him with an almost childlike innocence.

Dani closes her eyes briefly, resisting the urge to facepalm. Paige’s drunken state is painfully obvious, and Dani already knows this is going to be a disaster.

“Uh-oh?” Bob repeats, his voice low and dangerous. Then, louder: “Uh-oh?”

Paige straightens slightly, though her movements are still slow and uncoordinated. She raises her hands in a sloppy gesture of surrender, smiling hazily. “It’s… it’s a party! We’re… ce-celebrating.”

Bob stares at her, his jaw tightening as his face flushes with barely contained anger. “A party?” he repeats, his voice sharp. “What the hell, Paige?”

Paige just shrugs, looking far too pleased with herself for someone caught red-handed. Dani feels like she might melt into the couch from secondhand embarrassment.

Bob doesn’t wait for an answer. He looks around the room, his voice booming as he yells, “The party’s over! Everyone out, right now! If you’re not gone in two minutes, I’m calling the cops!”

The reaction is immediate. Teenagers start scrambling for the exits, grabbing their coats, phones, and friends as they rush to leave. Dani watches the chaos unfold, spotting Thaliah and Jalen slipping out the front door together. She sighs, about to stand and leave too, assuming that Bob will want her out of the house as well.

But before she can move, Paige’s arms tighten around her waist.

“No!” Paige protests, pulling Dani back onto the couch with surprising strength for someone so drunk. Dani sighs again, her back stiff as Paige clings to her like a lifeline.

“Paige, let go,” Dani whispers, glancing nervously at Bob.

“No,” Paige mumbles, burying her face in Dani’s shoulder.

Bob, meanwhile, is still ushering the last of the partygoers out the door, his voice firm and unyielding. Once the house is empty, the silence feels deafening. It’s just the three of them now—Bob, Dani, and a very drunk Paige.

Dani swallows hard, her pulse thudding in her ears. She braces herself, waiting for Bob to unleash whatever wrath he’s been holding back. If she’s lucky, she’ll escape this with just a scolding. If she’s not… well, she doesn’t want to think about that. She really hopes he doesn’t end up hating her after this—he’s the closest thing she’s got when it comes to the good father figure department.

Paige, oblivious to the tension, tightens her hold on Dani and sighs happily. “Love you,” she mumbles into Dani’s shoulder, and Dani wants to disappear entirely.

Bob finally comes back over to stand before the two teenage girls on the couch, massaging his temple with the heel of his hand. Dani sits stiffly, her back ramrod straight and her knees pressed tightly together. Paige is draped against her side, unbothered by the tension crackling in the air, her head lolling lazily against Dani’s shoulder. Dani can feel the warmth of Paige’s skin through her sweatshirt, a stark contrast to the icy knot forming in her stomach.

Dani has never seen Bob angry before. He’s always been the calm dad, the fun one, the nice one. But there’s something in his posture now—the way his shoulders slump under an invisible weight—that reminds Dani of her own father. And if it’s anything like that, she’d prefer to run now.

But she doesn’t. Her legs feel glued to the couch, her posture rigid, fingers drumming anxiously in her lap. She fights the urge to bite her nails, her gaze darting nervously between Bob and the floor. The silence stretches on, unbearable, until Bob finally looks up.

His eyes flicker over Paige first, scanning her flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, before shifting to Dani. His gaze lands on her like a weight, making her squirm despite herself.

“Are you sober?” Bob asks, his voice low and steady but with an edge of exhaustion.

Dani nods quickly, her throat too dry to speak. Before she can even think of a follow-up, Paige chimes in, her words slow and slurred. “She is,” Paige announces proudly, as if Dani’s sobriety is some kind of personal achievement. “Said she wanted to be reeeesponsible.” The word stretches out into a lazy drawl, and Dani winces.

Bob’s gaze sharpens as it shifts back to Paige. His jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his voice is harder now, disappointment cutting through every syllable. “I wish that responsibility would’ve reflected onto you.”

Paige shrugs one shoulder, an exaggerated, floppy movement. “Lighten up, Dad,” she mutters, reaching for the hem of Dani’s shirt and fiddling with it absentmindedly.

Bob doesn’t lighten up. Instead, he launches into a quiet but firm tirade, scolding Paige for the party, the drinking, the sheer lack of judgment. The words spill out like a steady stream, but Dani can tell they’re bouncing off Paige, who isn’t even trying to follow along. She’s too busy twisting the fabric of Dani’s shirt around her fingers, her head tilted back against the couch cushion like this is just another ordinary night.

Dani can’t take it anymore. She clears her throat, shifting forward on the couch as she tries to catch Bob’s attention. “We’re really sorry about all of this,” she says, before flickering her gaze over to Paige who looks like she couldn’t care less. “I’m really sorry about all of this. I shouldn’t have let her drink so much. I should’ve kept everyone else more in check since I was the sober one. I’m really sorry.”

Bob rubs his temple again, his eyes closing briefly as he exhales through his nose. “I appreciate that, Dani,” he says finally, his tone softening just a fraction. “I just—look, I think you should go home, okay?”

Dani’s stomach sinks. She knows it’s the right thing to do, knows she probably shouldn’t even be here right now. But guilt claws at her, and she can’t help but offer, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help clean up? I don’t mind.”

Bob gives her a tight, strained smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He shakes his head, saying, “It’s okay. I—I gotta with her.” He gestures to Paige.

Dani nods again, swallowing the lump in her throat. She starts to shift away from Paige, untangling herself from her girlfriend’s grip, but Paige immediately grabs at her arm, her fingers curling tightly around Dani’s wrist.

“No,” Paige protests, her voice suddenly sharper, though still slurred. “Dad, she’s not leaving.”

Bob’s eyes narrow, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Yes, she is,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No more arguments, Paige. I swear to God.”

The words hit Paige like a bucket of cold water. For a moment, she’s silent, blinking up at her dad with a look that’s almost confused. Dani uses the opportunity to slip out of her grasp, standing quickly and smoothing down the front of her sweatshirt.

She turns to Bob, her voice soft but earnest. “I’m sorry again for all of this, Mr. Bueckers.”

Bob’s expression softens slightly, and he gives her a small nod. “Thank you, Dani. And you know to call me Bob.”

Dani manages a faint smile, relief washing over her. At least he doesn’t hate her. She taps Paige gently on the shoulder—a silent goodbye—before turning and heading toward the door. Paige doesn’t say anything, just watches her leave with a glazed-over look in her eyes.

As Dani steps out into the night, the cool air hits her like a slap, and she pulls her jacket tighter around herself. She spares one last glance at the house before setting a quick pace to her own next door, needing to get out of the cold.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Bradford Has a Princess

I used one of the amazing Tim Bradford ideas posted by @nevereclipse for this!! I hope you like it and it's along the lines of what you were thinking!☺️

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Tim Bradford is whipped for you, treats you with nothing but the best princess treatment, and when his fellow officers call him out on it, he realizes how he truly feels about you.

Warnings: fluff! princess treatment and Tim being a SOFTIE™

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

You blow your hair out of your face before you tug it painfully behind your ear.

“Easy,” your boyfriend mutters, reaching over carefully. He gathers your hair much gentler than you had, pulls it loosely behind your ears, and uses the hair tie he wears around his wrist to secure it. “Better?”

You hum before you say, “Thank you, Tim.”

His hand moves down your back, resting comfortably against the base. After you finish your project, you take a paper towel from the nearby roll and wipe your hands.

“Need anything else?” Tim asks.

You smile over your shoulder as you rest against Tim’s chest. He’s older than you, and though some people might frown upon your relationship, you love him, not only because of the selfless way he treats you. Tim places his arm around your shoulders, then uses his free hand to pull your hand closer to him. He traces his thumb over your knuckles, then looks at your nails as his calloused palm holds you like you are the most precious thing in his life, in the world.

“I can make you an appointment at the nail salon you like,” he offers. “Tuesday?”

Tim shifts his hands, running his fingertips up and down your palm as he smiles.

“I can wait,” you answer. “I actually saw a kit online that lets you make your own nail art. Maybe I should try that next time.”

“Send me the link.”

Tim kisses your temple, then twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers. He decides he could spend forever here and wouldn’t even care what his friends thought about it.

“Tim!” Angela calls. “We’re all going to Andre’s.”

“Actually,” he begins.

“No, you skipped out the last three times, you’re coming with.”

“No arguments,” Nyla adds. “We might even make you pay.”

Tim sighs, his shoulders dropping as he nods. He follows them out of the station and is unsurprised to see Lucy, Nolan, Aaron, and Wesley waiting in the parking lot.

“Tim, you’re coming too?” Wesley asks. “I thought you’d finally sworn off fraternization.”

“Ha ha,” Tim deadpans.

“Can I ride with you?” Aaron asks. “My car’s getting a new wrap and Wesley’s backseat is a little tight with the carseats.”

Tim doesn’t answer but doesn’t say no, so Lucy nods and encourages Aaron to go. Aaron climbs into Tim’s passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt without a word.

“Oh,” he exclaims as Tim backs out of the space. “Who’s the Dior lip gloss belong to?” He lifts the tube out of the floorboard and recognizes it as part of a set his mom has. “This is expensive, they must be missing it.”

“She knows it’s here,” Tim grumbles, extending his hand to take it.

“Your sister?” Aaron guesses as Tim places it in the center console. He sees several other items, like a scrunchie, a receipt, and powder.

“None of your business,” Tim snaps. “Why are you getting an expensive car wrapped, anyway?”

“Because I can.”

Tim and Aaron fall silent, Tim thinking about you as Aaron wonders if the others know about the woman taking up space in Tim Bradford’s truck and in his life.

During your next date night, Tim opens the door for you, then wraps his arm around your waist as you enter the restaurant. He moves to his left to stand slightly behind you as you wait to be seated, and you smile over your shoulder at him.

At your table, Tim pulls your chair out for you, but you stop before you sit when someone says his name. You turn, and Tim’s shoulders tense beneath his blazer.

“Angela,” he greets tightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a date,” she answers with a smile. She looks at you before she asks, “And you?”

You sense the tension and interrupt to introduce yourself. You provide your name and shake her hand, then look to Tim.

“My girlfriend,” he tells Angela. “We’re on a date, so…”

“I’ll ask more later then. I mean that Timothy, you have a lot to tell me.” She turns toward you again and says, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Alone, you take Tim’s hand across the table and apologize for interrupting him and his friend. He promises that he wasn’t bothered by that and assures you that he wasn’t avoiding introducing you on purpose but was just surprised. You fall into easy conversation, as usual, and the date is over far too soon.

When the waiter leaves the check on the corner of the table, you ask, “Going Dutch?”

“Going insane if you think I’m letting you pay for a date,” Tim mumbles before speaking up to say, “My treat.”

Tim offers his blazer before you walk out into the windy Los Angeles night, and you wrap your hands around his arm as he leads you to his truck. You’ve never felt as loved and as cherished as you do with Tim Bradford.

As you enter Tim’s house, he uses your joined hands to pull you back toward him. He dips his chin, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, then lowers to the table before it. With a gentle touch, Tim runs his hands down your leg, from your knee to your ankle. After he hooks his finger under the strap of your heel, he pulls your foot up, resting your calf on his knee to unhook the small buckle against your ankle and remove your shoe. He repeats the process with the other shoe, then lays his hands on your knees and leans forward.

“Hi,” you whisper with a smile.

Tim smiles in the proximity, then runs his hands up your legs to rest on your thighs.

“I love you,” you add.

“I love you,” he replies before he moves beside you on the couch, cups the back of your neck in his hand, and pulls into a kiss that proves it.

Tim stops mid-step as he enters the roll call room the following morning. Angela and Aaron are perched atop the tables to watch him with matching looks.

“What?” Tim asks.

“You have a girlfriend,” Angela says.

“That I’m thinking you bought Dior for,” Aaron adds.

“Who are you and what did you do with Timothy Bradford?”

“Yes, I have a girlfriend, and I bought her some makeup,” Tim admits. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal?” Aaron repeats incredulously. “You, Tim Bradford, are whipped.”

“He took her to an expensive restaurant last night,” Angela tells Aaron without looking away from Tim. “I bet he footed the bill, too.”

“There is no reason to be discussing this at work,” Tim points out. “So, drop it.”

“Drop what?” Lucy asks from the doorway.

One word, Tim mouths to Aaron. Aaron nods, but Angela smiles. Tim knows he has no power over her, but when she changes the subject, he sighs and nods once. She’ll bring it up again when he least expects it, but for now, the ‘news’ of his ‘being whipped’ for you is contained. He isn’t ashamed of you, of course, but some things need to be private.

Immediately after walking into Tim’s house, he kisses you so hard that you can feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss as it smears from the corners of your lips and onto your chin. When he pulls back, holding you up as you blink at him, breathless, he uses his thumb to wipe away the shiny mess he made.

“I missed you too,” you say.

“I was told today that I’m whipped,” Tim replies.

You furrow your brows, and Tim taps his knuckle against your forehead and smiles as he shakes his head. You relax but hold his side as you wait for more information.

“Aaron and Angela know about you, and he told me I was whipped. I realized that he’s right.”

Terrified that Tim is about to break up with you after this realization, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He huffs and tugs it free.

“I am more in love with you than I ever dreamed of being capable of. So…”

Tim is clearly trying to find the right words, and you smile as you offer, “Incandescently happy?”

“Completely and incandescently happy,” he agrees. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tim smiles, then notices he disturbed your outfit with his sudden affection. He tugs the ridden-up fabric down over your hips before dragging his fingertips along your upper arm to fix your top.

“Remember when you bought me the makeup wipes?” you ask.

Tim nods and inquires, “Do you need them?”

You try to contain your smile but fail. “No, you just proved you can take off lip gloss without them.”

Tim tugs you closer, hooks his arms under your hips, and lifts you up. You gasp in surprise before gripping his shoulders. After he carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the counter, he takes your shoes off and stands between your legs.

“Should I make dinner or are you going to keep distracting me?”

You tap your finger against your jaw and pretend to ponder the question. “That depends… will your friends still be okay with this relationship when they find out you’re a cradle robber?”

“Maybe I should give you back then.”

You pout, and Tim kisses your forehead before he turns away. He passes you a bouquet of red roses, then sets a glass of your favorite beverage beside you. It’s the response you hoped for, and after you gently place the flowers aside, you pull Tim closer by his collar and smile against his lips.

[levisjinchuriki]

acts of service - toji fushiguro

summary - you love toji and you'd never let him feel like a burden

warning - angst, mention of an argument, going to bed angry, acts of service, husband toji, fluff at the end, soft!toji

the bedroom door slams behind you as your heart is pounds. your jaw hurts from biting back words you’ll regret. you and toji had your third argument already this week. his muffled voice tells you he’s still frustrated as he talks to you through the door, but you don’t respond. you’re too angry.

his voice eventually fades, and the sound of his retreating footsteps tells you he’s given up. you curl under the covers, still fuming, until the warmth of the bed lulls you into a restless sleep.

—

hours later, you wake up with a dry throat and your chest still tight from the argument. slipping out of bed, you quietly make your way to the kitchen. the first thing you notice is toji’s lunch bag on the counter, already zipped shut. you always pack his lunches—an unspoken routine between you two, one small way you show your love.

after unzipping the bag, your heart sinks– inside are a few hastily thrown snacks: a bag of chips, a granola bar, an apple. no sandwich, no leftovers, no real meal to sustain him through his grueling workday. it’s clear he didn’t expect you to pack his lunch tonight. 

he didn’t want to burden you.

your chest tightens as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. the anger is still there, but it can’t overpower the ache in your heart. toji might be stubborn, even infuriating, but you love him. even now, after everything.

you grab his lunch bag, emptying out the snacks with trembling hands. tonight’s leftovers sit untouched in the fridge. you plate the meal carefully, transferring it into containers and neatly tucking it into his lunch bag. you even add a few extra touches: a little pack of soy sauce, the cookies you baked recently, and some fruit.

finally, you grab a scrap of paper and a pen. for a moment, you hesitate, unsure what to write. then the words spill out, simple and raw:

i’m still mad at you. but i love you more than anything. please eat well today. 

you fold the note and tuck it into the lunch bag before zipping it shut again. a deep sigh escapes your lips as you set it back on the counter, right where he’ll see it in the morning.

the anger isn’t gone, but neither is the love. you head back to bed, the heaviness in your chest lightened just a little. you hope you can both start again tomorrow.

—

in the early hours of the morning, toji stands at the bedroom door, his lunch bag clutched in one hand. he’s staring at it like it’s the most precious thing in the world, a faint crease between his brows. the way his jaw tightens and his shoulders drop says more than words ever could.

he doesn’t deserve you, not after last night. that’s the thought running through his head as he quietly enters the room and sets the bag quietly on the dresser. he only meant to come in to get his work clothes. when his eyes land on you, curled up in bed, your face soft and peaceful in sleep, he knows he can’t leave just yet.

before he can stop himself, he’s moving toward you. his weight dips the mattress as he climbs in behind you, slow and deliberate, his body fitting against yours like it was made to. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest, his warmth seeping into you.

you stir slightly, murmuring incoherently, but you don’t wake. toji presses his face into your hair, breathing you in. his lips lightly brush the back of your neck.

“i’m sorry” he whispers, his voice low and rough, almost inaudible. “for last night. for everything”.

his hand slides up to rest on your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt. he’s not expecting forgiveness—not yet—but he needs you to feel this, even in your sleep.

he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then the space just behind your ear. each kiss is soft, tender, filled with everything he struggles to say out loud. “i don’t deserve you” he murmurs against your skin, his voice breaking slightly. “but i’m so damn lucky to have you anyway”.

you shift again, a small sigh escaping your lips as you unconsciously press closer to him. toji tightens his hold, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. the world outside is waiting for him, but for now, all he cares about is this—this quiet moment with you in his arms, the scent of your shampoo, the rhythm of your breathing lulling him into a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed.

“i love you” he says softly, his words barely a whisper, meant more for himself than for you. “even when i mess up. always”.

he stays there, holding you, until the weight in his chest feels a little lighter and the clock tells him he can’t stay any longer. but as he finally pulls away, tucking the blanket carefully around you, he swears to himself that he’ll make things right. you deserve nothing less.

--

a/n: this was inspired by a tiktok i saw. i hope you guys enjoyed. thank you for all the love recently!! <3

[amusedmuralist]

alabastercloud:

cephiedvariable:

coelasquid:

rosalarian:

dresdencodak:

Seeing as how I’ve done both the top ten for best and worst superhero costume redesigns, I feel obligated to put my money where my artistic mouth is and take a stab at fixing or updating some of these costumes.  I’ve picked five here based on: 

It’s a particularly awful outfit that doesn’t fit the character, or

It’s a solid character who just needs some updating or tweaking

I’ll list these in order of “reboot depth:”

5. Starfire

What’s wrong: In the wake of DC’s “new 52” this felt like a no-brainer.  Starfire is a decent character who’s always, in my opinion, gotten the short end of the costume stick.  I get that she’s supposed to be sexually liberated and somewhat polyamorous, and that’s fine, but dressing like a John Carter’s Princess of Mars-themed stripper doesn’t cut it.  Really, up until the Teen Titans cartoon she’s always been in the most awkward and impractical getups for someone fighting crime.

The Fix: I went for the simple route and took some notes from the cartoon (notably the skirt). I wanted to make sure it kept the bubbly, innocent feeling of the character while also hinting at some power (with the exposed arms here).  The overall effect is meant to convey someone who’s tough, cheerful and comfortable flying around in the air.

4. Dr. Strange

What’s wrong: I love Dr. Strange, but he’s always had the worst outfits.  For a guy who basically hangs out in his house in the West Village, he seems to always wear the most ostentatious getups.  He’s not an alien from another planet or from some culture that would dress that way, he’s a grown man who became a wizard well into adulthood.  Nothing wrong with having some style while you’re maintaining the balance of the mystic planes.

The Fix: Two parts Vincent Price, one part Christopher Lee and one part Dr. Orpheus, this Dr. Strange is still magical, but with a more coherent design direction.

3. Ms. Marvel

What’s Wrong: Simply put, I think it’s embarrassing for Marvel to showcase a prominent character like Ms. Marvel and have her wearing that outfit.  It’s just so tacky, and tells us nothing about the character.  Basically they just changed the colors of Jean Grey’s Phoenix costume and exposed more skin.  Come on, guys.

The Fix: Since her origins are ostensibly tied with Captain Marvel, I decided to go a route that’s more along the lines of the Ultimate Marvel version of that character, where her abilities come from alien technology rather than vague space magic.  The notion that she’s, for example, permanently bound with this technology that she doesn’t fully understand can make for some interesting stories.  There can be some potential with this character again with just a little bit of tweaking.

2. Wonder Woman

What’s Wrong: Wonder Woman, in my opinion, is a character that’s always been on the cusp of being really neat but never quite making it like Superman or Batman.  Although a feminist pop icon, her origins are too tied up with creator WIlliam Marston’s obsession with bondage.  Because of this (and an all-too-frequent parade of poor or sexist writing), she’s never had a solid, progressive design.  The 21st century can update this character.

The Fix: One part Thor, three parts Xena. I’d push the mythological angle further.  Just as nobody thinks of Thor as “Superman with a hammer” I don’t want Wonder Woman to be “girl Superman,” as she’s sometimes seen.  I’ve also tweaked her origin slightly, making her a more literal “statue come to life.” This isn’t as extreme as it seems: in regular canon, Wonder Woman’s origin was that she was formed out of clay by the queen of the Amazons, and imbued with the powers of the Greek Gods.  This, I think offers more story possibilities if she’s less literally human, physically.  Her personality would remain the same (nothing more fun than the perspective of an Amazon in the modern world), but we now have an added Pinnochio-style layer.

The costume change is mostly conservative.  Because of the strong fetish associations (and overall impracticality for a fighting Amazon), I’ve removed the lasso in favor of more traditional Greek weapons.  The overall effect is intended to push Wonder Woman’s core themes further while making her also stand out as more than just “the female superhero.”

1. Superman

What’s Wrong: Since his creation, Superman’s drifted from being a progressive champion for the common man to a patriotic middle-America boyscout who represents the establishment and traditional values. When he was developed in the 30s, Superman was very much a Depression-era hero, mostly going after villains like crooked money lenders and saving people who were being abused by the system.  His superpowers came from the fact that he was from a more advanced society, and his morals too were because he was simply a brainier, more sophisticated guy.  During and following WW2 and into the Cold War, though, he became an official symbol for American values in particular (it was originally “Truth and Justice,” without “the American Way”).  He was now not just an alien, but an alien raised by simple Kansas farmers and his abilities had a more generic “superpower” explanation.  This is all fine, really, but I think the original concept is more compelling these days.

The Fix: ”Superman: the Man of Tomorrow, Strange Visitor from Another World.” I really want to push that.  First off, Kryptonians should actually look like aliens and not white people. Here I have Kal-El from a race of beings who are essentially post-human (in that they’ve long since merged with technology).  They’re strange to our mortal eyes but mean well.  I’d keep the “destroyed planet” origin but more heavily emphasize the “non-interference” part of Superman’s mission statement.  

If you’ll remember from the 70s movie, his father Jor-El told him he was forbidden to interfere with the course of human history, but when you think about it, that’s kind of vague.  What I’ve done is added a Star Trek or Uatu the Watcher kind of prime directive to all advanced species:  Kal-El can’t let people know that he’s an alien, nor can he openly interact with them using advanced technology.  Still, he’s a compassionate guy and wants to help, so he takes the form of “Superman” to inspire the mortals in a constructive way.  Also, the notion that he can take on different forms means that the Clark Kent secret identity need not be as bad as it currently is.

The costume redesign holds to the basic themes but makes it a little more working class.  The buttons at the top are meant to invoke overalls, and the sleeves are cut a little higher for someone working with their hands.  I’ve removed the spandex and gone with looser fitting slacks, while keeping a short cape and boots, since he’s still an adventurer.

Overall I want to evoke a classic Superman feel while making it a little more modern in its exploration of the sci fi themes.  He’s still basically the same guy:  an alien from another world looking to fight injustice, but without the overt patriotism and a quirkier execution of the secret identity.

*********************

So there you have it.  I’ve hope you’ve enjoyed my superhero costume trilogy!

Part 1: The Best Superhero/Villain Redesigns

Part 2: The Worst Superhero/Villain Redesigns

That Superman is… probably the best redo of Superman I have ever seen, both in looks and backstory. Bravo!

cool stuffff

The Starfire is a no brainer, the Dr. Strange is my new unrequited fictional crush, the Wonder Woman is breath-taking and that take on Superman is one thousand degrees of shit I didn’t know I wanted but I would be so comfortable if they uprooted over 70 years of comic book history to change him into this.

[eu-nicola]

enemies

summary: the love-hate relationship between Rafe and you

warnings: small mention of violence

word counter: 4151

author's note: english is not my first language

The first time you met Rafe Cameron, you were barely six years old. You clearly remember how his stepmother, Rose, welcomed you into her home with a perfect smile, while your mother insisted that you play with him and Sarah so that you wouldn’t be alone. 

The Cameron house was as intimidating as its miniature owner. Rafe was nine years old and had an attitude that made him seem much older. He looked down at you from the top of the stairs as if you were an intruder, someone who didn’t deserve to be in his space. 

“She’s the Davies’ daughter?” he asked in that mocking tone that would become his trademark. 

“Yes, and I want you to be nice to her.” Rose ruffled his hair before turning to you, but Rafe’s gaze was already fixed on your shoes, which were muddy from playing outside before coming in. 

“I hope she doesn’t touch anything, Rose.” His voice was dry, as if he was already tired of you before he really met you. 

From that day on, your relationship with him was marked by constant clashes. Every visit to the Cameron house felt like a cold war disguised as childish games. He always found ways to make you feel out of place, like the time he took your doll from your hands while you were playing with Sarah and threw it across the garden.

“If you don’t know how to play well, don’t play.” That phrase of his stuck in your mind.

In adolescence, the gap between you grew wider. While Rafe became the most popular boy among the Kooks, you began to spend more time with the Pogues. Your visits to the Cameron house became less frequent, and when they coincided, things always ended badly.

“Look at you, you’re a Pogue now.” His tone was always hurtful, accompanied by that arrogant smile that got on your nerves.

“And you’re still the same idiot as always.” Your response was almost automatic, as if after so many years the discussions between you were a rehearsed routine.

But the real problem wasn't just his words. It was the way he always found a moment to annoy you. During a beach party hosted by Kooks, for example, Rafe made sure your drink ended up spilled all over your new dress.

But it wasn't all enmity, when the search for gold began, your world became more complicated. You spent your days with the Pogues, planning, looking for clues, and trying to avoid Rafe, who seemed willing to do anything to get the treasure. The tension between you, which was already high, skyrocketed. It wasn't just childish enmity now; it was real danger.

Rafe had no limits. His eyes were always filled with that spark of arrogance, but behind it was something darker, something that made him unpredictable. Despite that, you never imagined you'd find yourself in the position you found yourself in one afternoon in the dense woods surrounding the Outer Banks.

You were following a trail of marks on the trees along with JJ and Kiara when you heard a noise. You broke away from the group, promising them you’d be back quickly. What you found was Rafe, kneeling beside a steep slope, holding his leg in a wince of pain. The ground beneath him was wet, almost muddy, and it looked like he might slide down any second. 

You stopped dead in your tracks. Part of you wanted to turn on your heel and pretend you hadn’t seen him. After all, Rafe wouldn’t have done the same for you, would he? But another part, that part you always tried to stifle, knew you couldn’t just leave him there. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe snapped at you as you cautiously approached. His voice was heavy with distrust, but there was also a hint of relief he tried to hide. 

“I should be asking you the same thing. What happened?” You couldn’t keep the tone of your voice from being harsh. After all, he had done a lot of things that warranted your hatred. 

“I slipped. My leg… I can’t move it.” His face was pale, and his hands shook slightly as he tried to brush away the mud that covered his pants.

There was a long silence. You could have left him there. You could have turned and gone back to the Pogues. But something inside you wouldn’t let you.

“This doesn’t mean I owe you anything,” you said as you crouched down beside him.

Rafe looked at you in disbelief. “Are you helping me?”

“Shut up and don’t make it harder, Cameron.”

You offered him your arm and helped him up, leaning his weight on you as you slowly moved forward. It was an awkward process; his size made each step harder. But there was something odd about the silence you shared, a momentary truce amidst all the hostility.

When you finally dropped him off somewhere safe, away from danger, Rafe looked at you with a mix of wounded pride and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not going to thank you,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t expect you to,” you replied, wiping the sweat from your brow. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait.” His tone was softer than you’d heard before, almost vulnerable. You turned slowly to look at him.

“What?” you asked, tired.

“Did you see anything?” His question was direct, his gaze piercing.

You understood immediately. Rafe wasn’t just hurt; he was there for something related to gold. Maybe he’d found a lead, something he didn’t want the Pogues to know about. You could have told him the truth, that you’d noticed a map in his pocket when you helped him, but you chose to lie.

“No, I didn’t see anything.” Your voice was firm, although inside you felt a small knot of guilt.

Rafe seemed to relax a little, although he still looked at you with distrust.

Later, when the Pogues found a clue that fit too well with the area where you had seen Rafe, he understood what you had done. Someone, perhaps Sarah, told him that you were near the area when you separated from the group. It didn’t take much for him to put the pieces together.

The next time you saw him, his expression was completely different. There was no vulnerability or truce anymore, only fury.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he snapped at you, coming dangerously close.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to remain calm, although you knew exactly what he meant.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You lied to me. You took what was mine!” His voice was filled with rage, and though you knew it was unfair, there was something in his eyes that made you feel a pang of remorse.

“I don’t owe you anything, Rafe.” Your response was cold, though inside you felt more affected than you wanted to admit.

Rafe was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on you. Finally, he took a step back, but not before making his feelings clear.

“Don’t ever cross my path again, Pogue.”

That was the beginning of a new phase in your feud, more bitter and personal than ever.

Your relationship with Rafe Cameron had reached a point where hatred seemed to be the only thing that united you. After your “betrayal” during the search for gold, any vestige of truce between you vanished. Although you would never admit it, there was something inexplicable that brought you back to square one: an enmity filled with tension, resentment, and something deeper that neither of you understood.

One of the worst fights you had occurred during a rainy night in the Outer Banks. The Pogues had been following Rafe, convinced that they had found another important lead to the gold. The chase led them to an old abandoned port, where you finally confronted them face to face.

“Always after me, aren’t you?” Rafe looked at you from the shadow of a warehouse, his soaked hair sticking to his forehead. The sound of the rain beat hard against the metal roof, but nothing could drown out the intensity of his voice.

“You have no right to that gold, Cameron.” Your words came out loaded with defiance as you clenched your fists. You knew you were probably playing with fire by facing him, but something in you couldn’t stop.

“And you are?” he replied, taking a step towards you. His eyes, dark under the rain, were filled with rage. “What makes you think you’re better than me, Pogue?.”

“For starters, I don’t try to kill people for him.” Your words made him laugh, a dry, bitter laugh that made you feel a chill.

“You think so?” Rafe leaned a little towards you, his voice lowering to an almost whispering tone. “You know perfectly well that you would do anything to protect your own, too. We’re not that different, even if it pains you to admit it.”

The argument soon turned physical. He tried to take the map from you, and you fought back with all your might. It was as if you were both so consumed by rage that nothing else mattered. You fell to the ground, feeling the cold wetness of the cement against your back, as Rafe tried to hold you down.

“Let me go, you moron!” you screamed, kicking him in the stomach.

“Give me the damn map!” he roared, clinging to your wrist.

For a moment, you thought it would all end there, that one of you wouldn’t walk away from this fight. But something changed. Rafe looked you straight in the eyes, and for a moment, his grip softened. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t keep hurting you.

Finally, he let go of you and stood up, breathing heavily.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was barely a whisper, and it took you a few seconds to process what he had said.

“What…?” you were speechless, still lying on the ground.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, taking a few steps away from you.

“Go away. Take the damn map and go away.”

But not everything always ended in a truce. There was another time when it was you who had to decide between helping him or letting him face the consequences of his own actions. It was during a smuggling operation that Rafe had organized to finance his obsession with gold. You found him cornered in an alley, with a group of men who clearly did not have friendly intentions.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped at you when you appeared at the end of the alley. He was bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow, but he still maintained that defiant attitude.

“I saw your truck nearby.” You approached cautiously, analyzing the situation.

The men paid you no attention at first, but soon realized you could be a problem. One of them advanced towards you with a menacing smile.

“Another friend of yours, Cameron?” he said mockingly.

“Get out of here, Pogue. I don’t need your help.” Rafe’s voice was firm, but there was something in his gaze that made you stay.

Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t just leave him there. You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it hard at one of the men. It was enough to distract them and give Rafe a chance to fight back.

You helped him escape, though as soon as you turned the corner, Rafe turned to you, furious.

“Why do you keep butting into my business?” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Because I’m not like you, Rafe. I can't let someone die, even if they're an idiot like you.” Your answer made him let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn't say anything else.

In the end, it was always the same. They hurt each other, they hated each other, they betrayed each other... but they also always found a way to forgive each other. You didn't know why you did it. Maybe it was because you saw something in Rafe that others didn't see, or maybe it was because deep down you knew you weren't as different from him as you wanted to believe.

The only thing you knew for sure was that, no matter how hard you tried to hate him, something always made you go back to him. And the worst of all was that Rafe seemed to feel the same way.

Rafe Cameron drove you crazy in every possible way and that made you uncomfortable and annoyed, despite always finding gold on your path, you also found it on your path when you were calm, reminding yourself that you couldn't get rid of it even if you wanted to.

There were nights when the air was so thick that it was hard to breathe. The humidity was sticking your clothes to your skin, but it wasn't just the weather that made you feel this way; it was him.

Rafe Cameron always managed to find you, even when you didn't want to be found. His mere presence seemed to charge the atmosphere with an almost palpable tension, something that only existed between the two of you. Like that time on the dock, under the dim light of a broken streetlight. You were alone, waiting for JJ and Pope, when you heard their footsteps, firm, sure, approaching.

Your body tensed before you turned around. There he was, standing, with that arrogant posture that you detested so much. His messy hair and clenched jaw gave you every reason to hate him more than you already did. But as you looked at him, feeling his gaze sweep over every detail of you, there was something different, something that made you stop.

There was anger in his gaze, yes, but there was also something deeper, something dark that you recognized because you felt it too. Your hands clenched into fists, not because you wanted to hit him—though that was of course a tempting option—but because you wanted to stop the impulse that made you think about getting any closer than necessary.

It was a constant tug-of-war. One moment you wanted to push him into the water, make sure he disappeared from your life forever. But then, a part of you wanted to do the complete opposite, you wanted to get closer, erase the distance between you, and find out if that tension could transform into something more.

Rafe leaned against one of the dock posts, looking at you with a mix of defiance and curiosity. Everything about him seemed designed to provoke you. His gaze fixed, his shoulders relaxed but ready to move at the slightest hint of threat. It was so unbearably irritating, and yet, there was something you couldn’t ignore.

The wind blew hard, and you felt a chill run down your spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was that unmistakable feeling of being on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t control.

You wanted to kill him. For all the times he had made you feel less than, for every hurtful word, for every betrayal and fight. But at the same time, you wanted to get close enough to know if that spark you felt between you could catch fire.

But you didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you took a deep breath, ignoring how your heart was pounding. You turned your back on him, your steps firm on the wood of the dock as you walked away. You knew that if you stayed one more second, the line between hate and desire could blur forever. And you weren't ready to face what that meant.

You felt him stand still, watching you as you left. You didn't need to look back to know that that feeling would continue to haunt you, just as much as he did.

And you were right, a few days later that line blurred.

There was a storm that night, one of those that seemed to split the sky in two with each flash of lightning. The rain was pounding on the roof of the old abandoned cabin where you had taken shelter, trying to escape the chaos that the Pogues and Rafe had caused in the last gold hunt. Your hands were shaking with rage, not so much from the cold, but from the frustration of knowing that Rafe had, once again, gotten you into this situation.

You were alone, at least that's what you thought, until you heard the door slam open. You turned quickly, looking for something to defend yourself with, but seeing that unmistakable figure enter soaked to the bone, your heart stopped.

Rafe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you thought, although you didn't bother to say it out loud.

He slammed the door behind him hard, shaking off the water like a rabid dog. His dark hair, and his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, as if he had run a marathon. His gaze met yours almost immediately, filled with that mix of fury and something more that always seemed to burn between you.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t look away either. There was something about him that night, something different. It wasn’t just the usual anger you two shared, or even the constant tension that seemed to surround you like a force field. It was something rawer, more real.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the roar of the storm outside. You felt the air in the cabin grow thicker, charged with electricity, as if lightning was about to strike right there.

“What? Are you just going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?” You had crossed your arms, trying to hide the trembling that ran through your body.

He didn’t answer, but he took a step towards you, slow, deliberate. You could feel the intensity of his gaze fixed on you, as if he could see past the facade you always tried to maintain. Your heart began to beat faster, and you hated that he had that effect on you.

“Rafe, don’t start,” you warned yourself mentally, even though you weren’t sure what it was you wanted to avoid.

But he kept coming closer. You could see every detail of his face now: the raindrops sliding down his jaw, the way his lips were pressed together as if he were holding something back. His presence filled the small space between you, and suddenly, the hatred you’d always felt for him didn’t seem enough to explain what was happening.

You didn’t know who made the first move. Maybe it was you, maybe it was him, but in an instant, the distance disappeared. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer to him with a force that made you gasp. His mouth crashed into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, as if all that pent-up rage had finally found an outlet.

Your hands clutched at his wet shirt, trying to push him away and pull him in at the same time. The kiss wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t tender. It was an explosion of everything you had bottled up for years: the hatred, the frustration, the attraction that neither of you wanted to admit.

You felt his body press against yours, trapping you between him and the wall of the cabin. His breath was hot against your skin, mixing with the cold of the storm that continued to rage outside. His every move seemed to call out something you didn’t know you’d been holding back, and for a moment, you let yourself go.

But it was only a moment.

Suddenly, you pulled away, your hands on his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“This… can’t happen.” Your voice was barely a whisper, shaky but firm.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you said it all. There was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, something vulnerable that completely disarmed you.

The storm outside continued to rage, but inside the cabin, all was calm. Rafe didn’t try to come closer again, and you didn’t dare look him in the eye as you turned away, your heart pounding so hard you felt like it might explode.

After that night in the cabin, something changed, though you both tried to act like it hadn’t. That first time was an accident, you kept telling yourself, something driven by rage and storm. But what happened next made it clear that there was something more, something that went far beyond hatred or tension.

It wasn’t long before you met again. It was in one of the alleys behind The Wreck, where you had hidden yourself after a fight with Sarah and the others. Rafe appeared as if the universe was conspiring against you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with that mix of arrogance and determination that seemed to be part of his essence.

“You’re not here to worry about me, Cameron. What do you want?” you had snapped harshly, crossing your arms as if that physical barrier could protect you.

He didn’t answer right away, but the glint in his eyes made it clear that he knew exactly what he wanted. What followed was just as impulsive as the first time: his lips finding yours with a burning urgency, your hands clinging to his shirt as if the world could fall apart at that moment and you wouldn’t care.

Logic disappeared when you were with him. All you had left were pure emotions: desire, rage, need. In those moments, you didn't think about the past or what was coming next. You didn't think about the fights, the betrayals, or the reasons why you were supposed to hate him. There was only his hands on your skin, the sound of his breathing, and the way he managed to make you forget everything else.

But the next day, there was always something that reminded you why you hated him. Like that time you saw him bullying Pope at the dock, his overbearing attitude making it clear that the Rafe of last night and the Rafe of today were two sides of the same coin.

"You're an asshole," you had yelled at him later, when you faced him away from the others.

He shrugged, as if he didn't care, but his gaze searched yours, almost defiant.

"Don't expect me to change for you," he seemed to say without words.

You walked away furiously, promising yourself that this would be the last time. You couldn’t keep falling for that game, not when he was still the same cruel boy you’d known all your life.

But then, something always drew you back. Like when he found you after you were almost caught in one of John B’s crazy antics. He helped you escape, even covering for you when the Kooks passed by. It was an unexpected gesture, one that left you bewildered as you shared a moment of calm on an old boat hidden in the swamp.

“Thanks, I guess,” you’d told him, though your words were filled with skepticism.

He smirked, the kind of smile that always got on your nerves.

“Don’t think about it too much.”

But you thought about it. Every gesture of his, every glance, every clandestine kiss was etched into your memory, fueling a cycle you couldn’t break.

Of course, you had your part in that dynamic, too. There were times when your own actions infuriated him, like the time you stole information from him about the gold hunt and shared it with the Pogues. His reaction was explosive: he found you on the dock, his gaze filled with betrayal and fury.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

For a moment you thought he would leave you there, that this would be the end. But no. Even though you had betrayed him, even though you had defied him in every way possible, he always came back. Just like you came back to him.

[hrrtshape]

THINGS TO REMEMBER WHEN YOU'RE DOUBTING SHIFTING a.k.a DIVING INTO THE CONCEPT OF THE SOUL ✶

the idea of souls is the most beautiful, most romantic thing ever. because...who are we really? we’re not just flesh and bone, ticking along. we’re something more.

your soul is the eternal essence of you—your consciousness, your thoughts, your love, your dreams. it’s the part of you that has existed forever and will continue long after this one human life is done. the body? a temporary rental. the soul? that's the real home.

imagine this: your soul is like a little spark of the universe, a fragment of the stars, wandering through realities to experience everything it can. each life, each timeline, each moment is like flipping to a new page in a book. it’s all about the story, and the story is infinite.

𖥻  THE ETERNAL YOU. who you are right now? that’s just one chapter. your soul has seen other worlds, other lives, other possibilities. every little thing you feel, the deja vu, the dreams that feel too real, the magnetic pull toward certain initiatives, periods of time, objects—that’s your soul saying, “hey, remember when we were here before ?”

𖥻  SOULS DON’T AGE. that’s the gag. you might be whatever age you are right now here and now, but your soul? it's ancient. timeless. wise beyond the stars. think about how you sometimes just know things, or you feel a deep connection to places, people, or ideas. that’s your soul’s memory peeking through.

𖥻  THE COSMIC GAME. your soul came here to play. to love, cry, mess up, and learn. it’s all about experience—because even the messy parts, the heartbreak and chaos? they add flavour to the story. your soul isn’t scared of pain; it’s curious. it’s here to gather every emotion, every shade of existence.

𖥻  SOUL CONNECTIONS. you know those people you meet and immediately click with, like you’ve known them forever? or the places that feel like home even if you’ve never been there? that’s soul recognition. your soul is like, “hey, I know you ! we’ve danced this dance before.” example of this in my life is the fact that i genuinely believe i'm connected with the city of paris—i can't begin to describe the depression i have whenever i leave it or the ecstasy that runs through my brain every second i'm there. coincidence`? i think not.

𖥻  THE UNIVERSE IS YOUR CANVAS. your soul doesn’t just exist in this one little reality. oh no. it's out there painting across dimensions, skipping through timelines, creating infinite versions of itself. and every version? it’s still YOU. all of them are threads in the tapestry of your existence.

𖥻  SOULS ARE STARDUST. LITERALLY. you’re made of the same stuff as the stars. so, if you’ve ever stared at the night sky and felt small, flip that thought. you’re not small—you’re connected. you’re the universe looking back at itself. you’re a whole galaxy in human form.

𖥻  LOVE IS THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS. not just romantic love (though, yes, swoon), but the love you feel for life, art, music, laughter, sunsets, the way your favourite book smells. that’s your soul’s way of speaking. every time you feel love, you’re feeding your soul.

𖥻  DEATH ISN’T THE END. it’s just the soul saying, “okay, cool chapter. time for the next one.” it’s moving forward, exploring, learning, always expanding. the end of this life is just the beginning of another adventure.

𖥻  YOU’RE NOT YOUR BODY. your body is stunning and unique and so, so special. but it’s not YOU. the real you is the consciousness inside, the little light piloting this human-shaped vessel. your soul chose this body, this life, this moment for a reason.

𖥻  EVERYTHING IS VIBRATION. your soul is energy. and energy? it doesn’t die. it flows, shifts, and transforms. when you feel aligned, like you’re glowing or vibrating with joy—that’s your soul saying, “YES, this is it, this is what i’m here for.”

so when you feel stuck or small, remember this: you are a spark of eternity wrapped up in human skin. you are light, love, and infinite potential. your soul is dancing through this reality, and every breath, every moment is a gift it chose to experience.

you’re a freaking miracle. and everything is truly possible.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[half-oz-eddie]

The very first time Buck spent the night at Tommy’s, he couldn’t shake the excitement. Tommy invited him over a handful of times beforehand, and Buck loved learning about all the things Tommy collected. Many of his belongings had some history, or a great story and Buck loved to hear every single one.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d peruse Tommy’s shelves, or read some of the old books he picked up from a rare book store in some little town he flew to.

This one particular night, though, Buck was feeling restless and uneasy. He had a rough shift, and it left his body in a world of pain.

When he stumbled down to the kitchen for some water, Buck accidentally knocked over a vase on an end table.

His heart dropped and shattered right along with that vase.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He whispered to himself, frantically glancing up the steps and hoping Tommy didn’t hear anything. He scrambled to pick up the glass, mentally berating himself for being so stupid and careless.

Tommy trusted him. He trusted him in his house with his belongings that he collected over the years. A house he lived in alone and when he finally lets someone his space after so long, he breaks something that was probably incredibly valuable.

Buck assumed this vase was rare and expensive, probably the only one of its kind and Tommy was going to be so disappointed in him. What if Tommy thought Buck didn’t respect his space or how much time he put into his collections?

Buck hissed in pain when a shard of glass nicked his finger. He hopped over to the kitchen to toss the glass into the trash and grab a broom to finish cleaning up.

His heart was racing, practically beating out of his chest. He was so worried about hurting Tommy’s feelings, letting him down—

“What’re you doing, Evan?”

Buck jumped the moment he heard Tommy’s voice.

“Ah—he-hey, Tommy, I-I didn’t see you there.” Buck nervously laughed. “I was just uh…getting some…water. Yeah, water.”

“Are you okay? I heard noises—“

“I’m fine!” He exclaimed, quickly withdrawing. “I’m fine. A-all good.”

“You sound nervous. What’s up?” Tommy asked worriedly.

It wasn’t like Buck could hide it. He sighed, walking around the counter to face Tommy in the dim light.

“I uh…broke that vase you had on the end table. My legs were wobbly and I kinda lost my footing and bumped into the table. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “That blue vase?”

“Yeah…the-the blue one.”

“Hm…I bought that at a flea market because the end table looked pretty bare. I paid, I think…2…no, 3 dollars for it.” Tommy chuckled. “It doesn’t mean anything, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I thought you’d be upset. I know you have a lot of valuable stuff that means a lot to you—“

“Oh, Evan.” Tommy cupped Buck’s cheek. “It’s just stuff. You mean more to me than anything in this house.”

“Really?” Buck’s eyes widened. “Even your home brew kit?” Buck asked with a smile.

Tommy sighed before nodding reluctantly. “Yes, even that.”

“You hesitated.” Buck’s smile widened.

“I do love that kit more than a little bit, I suppose.” He pulled Buck into his arms. “But I love you even more than that.”

Buck let himself fall into Tommy’s embrace, sighing in relief.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I know you had a long shift and you really shouldn’t be up and about.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Buck murmured into his shoulder.

“It’s no bother.” He promised. “You’re never a bother.”

Buck let Tommy carry him upstairs and back into bed while reassuring him that he was the most precious thing he’d ever had.