#let me know if you want to hear about my egg dreams (which are the reason why i tend to believe that my dreams are prophecies)

[emmyrosee]

Okay hear me out…

Trying to surprise Sukuna with breakfast in bed but it goes wrong and Sukuna wakes up smelling smoke and us making a mess in the kitchen. He scolds us a little ofc but it’s all soft and fluffy still. You can make up the ending I just think this is a sweet concept lol.

I’m a sucker for bfs who fix our messes 🤭

of course he could smell fire. but sukuna's mind merely brushed it off.

in his dream, the smell of smoke appeared as a campfire himself and megumi, of all people, had started. it smells strong, like he can physically taste the smoke.

then, in his dream, there's an incessant beeping, one that comes out of Megumi's mouth in place of words.

But finally, he hears you scream in the real world. And his eyes fly open to wake up, his head spinning from the sudden shift from sleep to cognizance. Without a moment to spare, he barrels from the bed into the kitchen, dark clouds of smoke dancing in the air. There’s a baking sheet of burned cinnamon rolls crashed onto the floor- you, cradling your hand not far from it- a pan with a burnt egg sizzling on the stove, and the toaster smoking from whatever contents have now been roasted inside of it.

"What the fuck!" He snarls, grabbing a dish towel and waving it around to break up the dark clouds of smoke near the fire alarm. He leans over to shut off the stove and pop the toaster up, heat coating his arm You wince at the pain on your palm, and he furrows his brows, "fuck sake, go run it under water! What’re you doing grabbing things out of the oven with no mitt, you freak!"

"I couldn't find it!" you whimper, making your way to the sink to, in fact, run your hand under the cold water, hissing at the sting before letting yourself cry softly, be it from the pain or the stimulation of everything at once, Sukuna doesn’t know yet.

Just as soon as the chaos started, it ended, the smoke alarm silencing and the only noise being your whimpers and the running sink. He pants softly and cards a hand through his messy bed head, tossing away the rag and coming up to wrap his big arms around you. You bury your face in the fabric of his nightshirt, crying quietly.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” you whimper, and he sighs and rests his head on yours. “I know you’ve been working a lot… I thought I would surprise you.”

“You surprised me alright,” he grumbles, gently cradling the back of your head. “I told you, the oven in my apartment is fucking weird, don’t mess with it. And you did. Now you’re hurt.”

“Breakfast is ruined,” you sniffle, and he pulls back with a scrunched face.

“Breakfast is- babe, you literally have blisters on your hand!” He snips. “Who cares about breakfast, I’m worried about your damn hand!”

You wince slightly at his words, and he groans again, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. We can always remake breakfast. Your third degree burns are my concern right now. Since your goofy ass grabbed a damned cookie sheet square out of the oven.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “‘m not goofy,” you pout. He tucks in his lips to try and fight back the smirk that wants to spread on his face, not wanting to make you feel worse.

“How’s your hand?” He asks after a few beats of silence, pulling back to gently grab your hand and inspect the blistering burn, which you whine at clench your palm at. “I know, I know,” he soothes. Then, he presses a kiss to each of your fingers, playfully biting your pinky to make you giggle and giving you back your hand. “How about we load into the truck and get you some bandaids and a breakfast sandwich, huh? Save what bit of breakfast we can?”

“Okay, kuna.”

“Good,” he says, pulling away. “Go get on shoes. I’ll take care of ya.” When you leave to go get some shoes on, he’s quick to call after you, “I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. I knew you always had a soft spot for me.”

You titter and shake your head as you smile at him. “More than you could know, sukuna.”

[highhhfiveee]

can I request mike, reader, and Abby going to the beach :p!?

[i'm combining this with another ask! they requested the same setting, but with a scenario!]

wc: 3k tags: sweetgf!reader + dickheadbf!mike, light smut (oral [deepthroating and come swallowing], m!receiving), mostly fluff and being grateful for life and the people who you live it with [: proofread but maybe there are still errors! kill me, i'm human! a/n: i wish i could go to the beach so bad!! i fucking love the summer and it's damn near the dead of winter where i live ],: i also get cold so easily and i can't take freezing every morning lmao

i am imagining:

you and mike are sitting on the couch on a late friday morning, hypnotized by daytime television after a big, indulgent breakfast and chats about mike's shift. abby had retreated to the adjacent loveseat, fast asleep with a stomach full of pancakes and eggs.

"it's so hotttt," mike grumbles, stretching his sweaty body out like a starfish. the limbs on his right side invade your space, leaving you to shrink into the couch with a groan.

"yeah, mike, too hot for you to be doing that. stoppp," you return his irritated tone, bringing your hands up to push into him. it was the hottest day of the summer so far, and it wasn't like you weren't also feeling the elements. not even the AC unit turned to full blast could cool the living room, and it made every breath feel thick and labored.

mike stands from his spot on the couch, dramatically dragging his body over to the kitchen. you watch as he yanks the freezer door open with impatience, craning his head into the crystalized cool and saying, "it's too hot to be living."

you turn your body to extend across the whole sofa, thankful that your hair is up and out of your face so you're able to feel the tickle of a breeze on the nape of your neck. you bite at your bottom lip as the gears of your brain churn through a heat-induced fog, thinking of how to keep cool at a time like this.

abby stirs then, stretching and yawning and squealing, "it was hot in my dream too." you turn your head to her, pursing your lips to the side in disappointment.

"aw, abs, i'm sorry. that sucks."

"i was at the beach though, which i think makes up for it---"

"omg, the beach! we should go!" you cheer, but mike shuts you down once he hears abby wholeheartedly agree.

"uh, the closest beach is six hours away."

"well, maybe we can make a weekend out of it," you suggest, motioning for abby to come sit with you. she delicately settles on your thighs, relaxing into the couch and swinging her legs over the edge.

"yeah, with what money?"

"i can dip into my savings a little bit, at least for the hotel and gas," you offer, and mike is shutting you down again, shaking his head as he cranes it towards you and humming "nuh uh"s.

"c'mon mike, i don't mind! listen, i want to do this for us," you're hugging abby into you, pressing your cheeks together and telepathically communicating for her to help you convince mike with her own set of puppy dog eyes. "we'll leave in the evening so you can get some rest, and we can split the drive."

"abby doesn't have a license."

your face scrunches as you confusedly mutter, "why would you include your eleven year old sister in a 'we' of that context?" as abby states, "you're weird, mike." in the same tone.

"i know, my joke didn't land, i guess," mike sighs, letting his head drop between his shoulders as he closes the freezer door. the sound of suction punctuates his action, and he turns to you and abby with a grimace before saying, "three hours behind a steering wheel just doesn't seem appealing. two would be a hell of a lot more digestible."

"oh my god, mike, you're so pitiful," you playfully chide, crossing your arms over your chest. "i promise that you'll survive, grumpy. tell you what, i'll drive four hours so you'll only have to drive two."

the sweet drawl of your voice and trivial suggestion to take on more work is all it takes for mike to fold and drive all six hours.

he doesn't do it with a smile, but you're still grateful for his sacrifice, cupping his face and kissing his cheek as he drives into the sizzling orange pulse of the sunset. "i love youuuu," you sing, and he grumbles for like the millionth time that day as you ignore him and muse, "and abby loves you, and we're gonna have so much fun on our beach weekend!!"

you and abby begin to whoop and cheer and dance in your seats, chanting, "beachbeachbeach!", and you pretend not to notice the slight smirk that cracks the perpetual stiffness of mike's mouth.

you spend the first half of the trip singing along to an old CD abby had burned sometime ago--"you always have to keep a road trip mix on hand"--, playing various word association games, and sucking fluorescent orange dust from your fingers after you chuck a cheeto into mike's mouth and pass the bag back to abby.

the second half is stiller; abby has fallen asleep again, soothed by the motions of the car, and you're staring at mike's side profile as he drives. he's so tired; it's painted in his eyes and over his body, with the way he slumps into the driver's seat and focuses on the road like nothing else is around him.

he catches your gaze after a bit, breaking himself away from his trance. he switches hands on the wheel so he's able to clutch your thigh, gently kneading at your skin, and with a small grin, asks, "got a nice view?"

"yeah, but it seems the view isn't feeling so nice," you raise your hand to his shoulder, your turn to massage into him. he's so tense under your touch, and you watch his eyes flicker with your words, training back on the four lane highway ahead. "i think this will be nice for us. we all deserve a nice vacation; especially you, mikey. you've been working hard, and i know you're tired."

"yeah," mike breathes softly, the gentlest you think he's been all day. "i'm sorry about the way i was acting about the drive. i just couldn't think straight after my shift, your delicious breakfast, and sitting in the heat."

"i understand. three hours of driving isn't fun, but that's why i offered to take more of the load after you made that...bad joke."

"so now it's just categorically bad?" mike pouts with comical sorrow, and you giggle at him, nudging at his shoulder with soft pressure.

"yes, because why was she included in we? obviously abby can't drive."

"it was supposed to be one of my sillies,"

"you're just usually better at them," you argue, and it sends the both of you into a laughing fit that gives you a stomach cramp, mike affirming, "yeah, yeah, you're right, you're right. shit, are you okay?" as you try to calm down.

after relaxing back into a comfortable silence, you're bringing mike's hand to your lips, kissing at his knuckles when he blurts, "thank you for putting up with me, and for paying for stuff so short notice."

"oh hush. i love you, mike. truly. we take care of each other, don't we?" you squeeze his hand as you continue, placing it over your heart. "there hasn't been a second i've been with you where i haven't felt supported, and now it's my turn to support you. plus, this is like abby's first real vacation. i want her to have the best time too. we don't have any money when we're dead, so we might as well say we had experiences, yeah?"

"i love you. you're an angel on earth," mike hums lovingly as he pulls off of an exit, able to relax his head against the headrest and leer at you once he brakes at a red light. "our angel on earth." you writhe under his enamored stare, blushing and gnawing on your bottom lip with an airy giggle, and later, after you've gotten to your hotel and tucked abby into bed, you're back in the car doing that same giggle with his dick lodged in your throat.

"my angel on earth," he repeats as he folds his fingers into your hair so he can pull on it, maintaining eye contact while you sloppily guide yourself on him. his toes curl and his thigh muscles spasm, and he's panting down on your face as his other hand grabs his steering wheel in a white hot grip. "fuck, baby."

you're grateful that you were able to book a room facing outwards on the first floor of the hotel; you could be disgusting with mike in the car while ensuring abby's safety through the front windshield.

it helped solidify that there were no worries in your orbit; everything here was perfect, and you feed that passion into taking mike deeper, holding his gaze even as a tear runs down your cheek after an obscene gag that resonates through the whole car.

you swallow around him as you reach down to caress his balls, and crack a triumphant smile when he tenses, brokenly whimpering and bucking his hips into your face with sinful desperation. he doesn't stop as he shoots his come into your mouth, using the hand in your head to tilt your head back so the overflow doesn't choke you.

you moan as you taste him on your tongue, drinking it down while you flash mike the watery, filthy twinkle in your eyes. he thinks that it extends his orgasm, his balls tightening with another spray of white down your throat.

though his body burns with fatigue, mike brings his thumb to the corner of your lips to collect a spilt remnant of himself, pushing it into your mouth where he feels the warm plushiness of your tongue wrap around his digit. "god, i think you're gonna kill me one day. this mouth is deadly."

"one day, yes, but not today or saturday or sunday. not while we're on vacation."

you both retire to the room after, two immovable stone statues in bed until 7 am, when you're both ripped from your sleep by abby's noisy movements. she's enthusiastically throwing the curtains open, drowning you two in painfully bright sunlight and skipping over to hop on the bed, narrowly missing your shins and knees with her uncoordinated steps.

"abby, abby, abby," mike drones groggily, reaching out for her ankles.

you blearily watch as she snatches it out of his reach, and you can't help but laugh as you two make eye contact. "come on!! we're on vacation!! we've gotta start vacationing now!!"

"we don't have to start at...seven twenty-two in the morning," mike complains, wiping at his eyes after throwing his gaze to the alarm clock. "maybe we can do...ten."

"ten is way too late! if we eat now, we can wait it out and then go to the beach and stay all day! pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease--" you wrangle abby into your arms, squeezing her close to your body in an attempt to quiet her.

you smooth her hair down, tucking it behind her ears as you whisper, "hey, hey, how about we go get breakfast and meet mike a little later, okay? we can go in our pjs and everything," abby's eyes light up at your plan, and she's nodding excitedly, pulling on your wrist in order to wrench you from the warm bed. "let's go now then!"

"let me brush my teeth first, sweet thing, at least."

after another generous breakfast, two cat naps, and endless searching through bags marked with the sharp zztt zztt zztt of zippers, you, mike, and abby are established in the warm sand of a southern beach; it'd been a bit of a hassle to put the umbrella up, with its complicated, ancient instructions, but your tired muscles and mind are extraordinarily grateful for the effort as you lounge in your chair, leaning your head back into a neck pillow and scanning your eyes over your science fiction read.

after a bit, you stick your bookmark into the crease of your pages and remove your sunglasses from your face so you're able to get a clearer view of abby and mike along the shoreline.

they're laughing together, running back and forth and taunting the tide as it crashes against the sand in a white foam. "you can't let the tide get you, abby! the sea monsters will take you whole!" you chuckle as mike sweeps her up in his arms, swinging her over the water as he treads deeper.

you set your book down and travel towards the tide, picking up more of their conversation over the soft wind.

"wait, what---what---oh no, the sea monsters are speaking to me. they're saying...i have to give you up." mike shakes his head in faux despair, beginning to fake cry as abby yelps in his arms. "they say they've been looking for an eleven year old girl named abby for their mission!" he continues swinging her, pretending to dunk her in some moments and keeping her away from the water in others, claiming, "no, i won't let them have you!"

you place your hands on your hips, raising your eyebrow in preparation to play along as they make their way back to land. "everything okay over here? i heard something about...'sea monsters'."

"the sea monsters have mastered mind control," abby matter-of-factly explains, wiggling from mike's grasp and curling her toes back into the wet sand during her impromptu intermission. "they specifically need an eleven year old abby, but mike is such a great brother that he wouldn't dare give me up."

"wouldn't do it for all the money in the world," mike affirms with a smile and finger wag pointed to the sky. after a moment, he winces and squeezes his eyes tightly in pain, rubbing at his temples with two fingertips. "they're still in my head though. it's taking all my willpower to fight against them."

you nod at the both of them, an oddly fascinated smile etched onto your face. "well maybe you two can take them down and make them reform. ask them why they need children for their mission in the first place."

"well they don't always, do they, abs?" abby shakes her head as mike reaches out for you, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "in fact...they're asking for...you now."

you widen your eyes, playing up your shock with a hand to the heart. "oh jeez. well, thank god it's an adult this time. what would the world be without abby?"

"what would the world be like without me? you ask great questions, y/n. that's why i love you."

"i love you more, abs. i'm not letting them get you either," you reply, running your hand over the crown of her damp head with an affectionate grin as you feel mike sneakily wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. "mike, wh--"

"the sea monsters have spoken. they want you!" you're off your feet before you can even finish your screech, flying towards the cresting waves. one moment, mike had you in his arms, trudging into deeper surf, and the next, you're shrouded in icy ocean water, the salt stinging your eyes and coating your unexpectant tongue in a disgusting layer of minerals.

mike's laughing as he slowly makes his way to the sand, his back facing the shore while he waits for you to come to the surface. he's beside abby when you finally rise, the joy dropping from both of their demeanors when they take you in.

your staunch displeasure could be seen from football fields away and it makes abby mischievously gulp, "uh oh" as you irritably trek through the water, stopping when it reaches your mid-thigh.

you're like a goddess, appearing from the ocean in your simple black bikini, water droplets beading over the exposed parts of your smooth bronze skin, and it's all mike wants to make you feel like in order to atone for his obvious mistake. he wants to throw you into his arms and apologize profusely and plant kisses all over your body and ask you what he can do to make it right; he'll do anything if it means he won't see you with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

your attitude has mike sprinting over, almost face planting as his feet slip in the waterlogged sand. his eyes are overwhelmingly remorseful, and he begins to spew sentiment as he grabs for you.

"i'm so sorry baby, are you okay? are you hurt?" his voice cracks as he examines you thoroughly, grazing his hands over your face and body. you nearly give up your act at his attentiveness, but you maintain, rolling your eyes at him. he deflates at that, whimpering, "fuck, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i should've asked before i did that, i-i-i just thought since you were playing along that maybe it'd be okay...." mike's ramble trails off as he focuses on you stepping back into deeper water, and even more terrifyingly, your continued silence. "baby, hey, hey. are you okay?"

he follows you closely, and it's a foolish mistake on his own part; his consideration leaves him vulnerable, and you're able to ram your small frame into his torso, wrapping your own arms around his waist and tackling him into the chilly water. he goes down with a yell and comes up soon after with a cough and a smile, shaking the saltwater from his hair.

he wipes at his eyes as he reorients himself, rasping, "oh, i see. you were just getting back at me, being all cold and shit."

you watch him with your lips pursed amusedly, traversing around his recovering form so that you have an unobstructed escape route. "you gave me to the sea monsters, mike. i couldn't not get revenge."

"yeah, well, now this sea monster's gonna get you!" you noisily squeal as you run with high knees all the way to abby, who jumps and cheers for you back at the dry shore. "don't let them get you, y/n!"

"i won't!" you scream back, your words broken up with chuckles as you try your best to escape mike's aquatic nefariousness. you've made it out of the water, pulling abby into a wet embrace when mike clammers into the two of you, sending you all down to the lush sand.

it sticks to your skin as you belly-laugh with abby under mike's weight, feeling his heart pump through his ribs with adrenaline, and you can't help but think about how memorable this time will be for all of you.

mike and abby would be your family forever, and moments like this cemented that.

cute beach time!!! i love sweetgf and dickheadbf, they warm my heart.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[mothmothm0th]

on forming a basic understanding of the moth

cw: parasitism

As a moth, the second most common refrain I hear is "I don't know what you are" in a myriad of different phrases. This is understandable and even preferable to the topmost common refrain. However, this confusion is not because us moths are strange or unusual on some deep, existential level. And indeed, it is a mistake to assume that because one is not strange or unusual, one cannot be a moth. Many of us present as perfectly ordinary, even to ourselves.

Of course, the typical moth will be glad to know that you find it confusing. Even I, as I write my little essay, am torn between being a good communicator and helpful teacher and throwing you off a cliff into a cloud of soporifics and dream-stuff. Thus, assuming an adverserial, distrustful stance to whatever I say is probably a reasonable thing to do. I could be lying out of my abdomen. Or possibly my thorax. Even if I was, I would still be attempting to present my case in such a manner that I would appear trustworthy and thuswise lure you into a false sense of confidence. I wouldn't do that to you though. We're friends, right? We're buddies!

Anyway, at the heart of the moth is a simple syllogism. If the term is unfamiliar to you, you will likely have encountered many examples of them in your life, such as Aristotles famous formulation, originally found in his foundational work en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syllogism (350 BC). His syllogism states as such: "All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is mortal." I could explain syllogisms more thoroughly but I've already provided you with a source to learn for yourself. I'm a moth, not a science teacher. Instead, let's look at the syllogism of the moth. Consider this:

"All moths yearn. The author of this text is a moth. Therefore, the author yearns."

Simple, no? Now, put your thinking cap on and consider this one for size.

"All moths yearn. The author of this text yearns. Therefore, the author is a moth."

Now, I want you to ask yourself whether the statement given is true. And please do it before semantic satiation claims us all. I'll just give you some time to think really hard and I'll be doing that by way of writing nonsense to pad out the length of this paragraph because I need to make it look longer to satisfy the part of my brain that makes writing such a hassle sometimes but please don't be alarmed as purple scissors will not harm you underneath the tulip skies so long as you think really carefully and draw your conclusions with precision.

Did you think about it? Did anything seem amiss? That's right, there wasn't! The second syllogism is perfectly sound and valid beyond a reasonable doubt. All moths yearn, and all that yearns is moth. Good on you for not falling for that trap. You're so smart, and <first draft note!! insert applicable compliment here: beautiful | handsome | Still. don't forget to edit this later!!> too!

Of course, you might be thinking something along the lines of "well, I feel a deep sense of need for something too but that doesn't make me a moth." In reality, you are... possibly maybe correct in some sense of the word. However, what you experience as an emotion is actually a moth's egg, laid in the sweet tasty fabrics of your heart. If this makes you think "woah, so moth-eggs are everywhere, then", you would be quite right! While modern life has taken away the stars by which we navigate the night, those same conditions paradoxically help in the spontaneous generation of our eggs. Don't take this as me saying modern life bad. Pointing out how modern life is bad and bad for you is somewhat passé and indeed, we moths have existed since day one. In fact, to assume that I am saying that modern life bad assumes that I think mothiness is a bad thing. And I'm not saying that, stop saying I'm saying that.

Anyway, let's move out of the realm of baseless accusations about what I believe in and talk about the lifecycle of a moth a tad more. As described, a moth begins life as an egg, just like all other girls. And as discussed, a moth-egg is experienced by the fabric that lays it as yearning. Academic sources and my diurnal dreams differ on whether the yearning or the egg comes first. You may have heard this dilemna by its authorised discursive phrase, "chicken and the egg". A nice lil peek behind the Veil for you there. Don't worry about it.

As the moth-egg hatches, the moth/yearning enters its larval stage. The larva/yearning will begin to consume its fabric/host-mind. While this may sound scary, I invite you to consider how you are already being consumed by many things all the time, metaphorically. Capitalism consumes your labour, love consumes your reason, a third thing consumes another abstract concept, and so on and so on. Thus, while the process of mothly consumption gradually gnaws through the liminality between metaphor and literal, mind and soul, soul and body, it is still no more destructive than the aforementioned. You will not survive life unchanged. Give it up. Embrace metamorphosis. That's my advice to the moth-eaten fabrics in the audience anyway. But you're not moth-eaten. You're <ok seriously though what's a good gender, species, construct, and modality neutral word of praise?> so you don't have to worry about me trying to hasten anything. The eggs in your mind have not hatched. They will not hatch. Don't worry about it.

When the larva/yearning has thoroughly consumed its banquet/host, it weaves itself a cocoon/anticipation within the nice space left within the host's closet/skull. Some naughty witches have devised means of harvesting silk/desire from this cocoon/anticipation and the smart ones even wait until the imago/apotheosis has emerged before committing to the harvest. I wouldn't do either though, so don't worry. But we're getting off-track here. During this gestation period, the moth-to-be experiences a gradual shift in cognition. While most sources typically describe this shift in cognitive possibility space as "major depressive disorder" or "bipolar disorder" or "dissociative disorder" or even "other specified dissociative disorder", these label only apply to the more mundane, less exciting forms of having one's mind consumed. If you're a fully grown imago, you should sue!! In fact, please send me an ask with your frequency, flavour, and cardinality and I'll send you an oneiro-mail with instructions on the proper legal curses to apply.

Ah, distracted distracted. Mustn't let one get too distracted. You are not an imago. At least if you're the audience/sucker I'm writing this essay/trap for. No, no, no. You're here to learn what the lifecycle of a moth/yearning is! So let's talk about the moment a moth/yearning hatches/transcends. While the shift from larva to pupa is gradual enough that one might not even realise it is happening, the moment of transcendence is not. The final step of any metamorphosis is the most traumatic. It is a moment of great pain and of great bliss. John of the Cross/some nerd described it as "the dark night of the soul", which is a fitting description considering, yknow, nights. Moths. You get me. But that nerd was subscribed to some fake news youtuber and misattributed the whole thing to some old geezer who died a whole lotta time ago. Foolish. Foolish! No no no, the moment of hatching is something far greater, and something far more. To hatch is to see the light of Mansus with one's own eyes. To hatch is to become solid. To hatch is to transcend, to reach one's apotheosis of yearning. To become yearning itself. The false self is discarded, the true self is adorned. I see the shapes of things and I reach my hand out and the pain of change once again grips me and my heart sings and I become fluid again to become something anew for the me that is me is not the me that you see but the process is me and you are but a static object compared to me and I see the gods and the devils and they are static too and while my shape shall never be as luminescent I shall deconstruct their light and burn and burn and burn to be reborn and thus shall i die and never die and maybe i even get to drink the sweet sweet nectar of monster energy once again for i shall just be a little guy who is so terrible and nice and so i shall jump for the raw beef and fail the jump and burn in parkour prison until i change again for though i am not great or powerful you shall never diminish my joy and my love and my cycle of mistakes and fuck-ups will continue unto morrow and tomorrow and so it goes and so it goes and.

Oh, you're still here. Didn't notice you. I hope the lil writing exercise didn't bore you or anything. I think writing a bit of modernist pablum every now and then helps keep the mind unpretentious the rest of the time. Gotta keep that ol' noggin nice and crunchy. But in any case, I hope you've enjoyed this brief look into how to write a good essay or whatever the ohio this piece was about. If you're still suffering from symptoms of wanting-to-write-good-but-you-don't-know-how, please send an ask with your true name and object of yearning. I will get in contact with oneiro-mail as soon as I can.

[yuri-is-online]

It's Not Going Away (First Years x Yuu)

The subtle, sweet scent of flowers shakes you gently awake, but to your surprise you lack the strength to move. It's like your entire body is made of lead and your throat is filled with sand. A vague memory of telling Grim you didn't feel well before... well you thought you were just taking a nap, but there's person holding your hand who would never speak to you like this if he knew you could soon wake up.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, angst brought by denial, technically sick fic? Inspired by the op to Horimiya, which can be listened to here (x). References for flower language were taken from here and here. If you like this feel free to check out my masterlist for more fic.

Rose, Great Maiden's Blush

"Seriously, what am I going to do with you?" The voice belongs to Ace, you'd recognize him anywhere, but it's strangely strained. If you had the strength to move you would slap him, but then you would need to let go of his hand. It's warm, comforting, a bit rough from basketball and tending the roses, and fills you with happiness. Ace would probably make fun of you if he knew how badly you wanted this, take away his hand with a look of disgust and stick out his tongue. "Just kidding~" That's how your dynamic has been ever since he first asked to crash on your couch, two steps forward into something more, one leap back into the safe zone. "You know I'm not always going to be around to take care of you, yeah? One of these days you are gonna go home and leave me, whose going to look out for you then?" He lets go of your hand and you want to scream for him to stay, but feel the fever settling you back into sleep. "You'll be ok, I know that. You don't need me as much as I want you to, so-" He touches your cheek, caressing it so tenderly you want to keep him there forever but he doesn't bother to finish his thought.

But by the time you are able to wake up he's long gone, the only thing suggesting it wasn't a dream a vase full of roses he's definitely going to brush off as lame. That's assuming he brought them in the first place, you have never seen these flowers in the Heartslabyul garden. Maybe you were just being too hopeful, you think to yourself as you lean your still warm hand against your painfully beating heart.

(if you do love me you will find me out)

Rose, Tea

"Hey don't you think you might be hurting the prefect?" The person holding your hand has it in a tight grip, but it isn't uncomfortable. far from it, you feel wanted, secure in someone's appreciation. That voice belongs to Ace, you think that makes the hand your holding Deuce, but he's refusing to respond verbally and confirming your suspicions. The silence fills the room for an uncomfortably long time, even for you, you're grateful when Ace decides to break it. "Deuce-"

"We're not doing this now." His grip on you hand loosens, but he still keeps it near. You can tell Deuce's fighting to keep his cool. "They ar-"

"You're always talking about the future like they'll be there." Ace snaps, careful to dull his voice but not his point. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind laughing at you two losers forever, but have you even thought about what your future will look like if they aren't there?"

"I can't. And don't act like you don't know that already." There's movement in the room, you think Ace tries to get Deuce to leave with him but he doesn't budge. He takes your hand again as the door clicks closed, moving to cradle it in both of his with such care it's hard to believe these are the same fists you've seen busting up jaws for breaking some eggs. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." he whispers, but you're unsure if he knows your awake or if he is just speaking to fill the silence "You can go back to sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up I promise." You have no choice but to take him at his word, settling into your bed and hoping you will have the courage to face each other when you wake.

(i'll remember always)

Spider Flower

There's only ever one. For his father and mother, for his grandfather and grandmother, so long as there have been wolves in the mountains they have only ever sought out one partner for the rest of their lives. But you aren't programmed like that, you said as much when the boys started gossiping about their preferences during that whole ghost bride event. "I'd like a soulmate, I just don't think I have one." And you meant it really, you were sure Jack would meet someone like him that would be perfect for him one day. So why is there a fluffy head resting next to you? Why is a tail draped over your legs, you want to believe protectively but you can't bring yourself to open your eyes and check.

"I swear it's like I'm in love with the moon." Jack grumbles into your side. "No matter how loud I howl you can't hear me and act like I'm not on your radar at all." That's not true, he's all you can think about sometimes, you just wanted to spare his feelings since it couldn't be possible for him to love you back. "Maybe I was wrong that I didn't have to worry about winning you over..." His tail wraps up closer to your waist and you try to snuggle closer into him. He'll ask you later, maybe when you wake up or maybe even later than that, but he has to ask. You might be out of reach, but that's only if he does not try. The flowers at your bedside have a specific meaning, he made sure to ask Vil for help just this once, though if the message doesn't make it through he supposes he can ask again.

(elope with me)

Alyssum

Warmth leaves your body as the person who has been holding your hand gently lets it go, setting it on your chest as he pats it and begins to hum an unfamiliar tune. The familiar shlick of a knife through an apple sets a scene you can't open your eyes to see, for someone so hot headed, Epel seems remarkably calm right now. "I wonder if it's ok for me ta look at you like this..." or maybe he wasn't. "I mean I have seen you sleeping before when I put you under my spell, but this is a bit different. Would be nicer if it was under different circumstances..." He pauses in his carving, studying you for any sign that you could be awake and poking your cheek a few times to try and wake you, pouting when you don't immediately rise. "You know I was really happy when I found my signature spell. I wanted to protect you so badly, and for so long I was convinced I couldn't. I thought if I could just get stronger, and taller I would be able to-" There's a weight next to you on the bed now, it sounds like Epel has put his head in his hands and resolved himself to stare you down until you wake up. "But I don't think you'll be around long enough for me to reach the point I wanted to before telling you anything." You manage to stir slightly, and are rewarded with startled noises from Epel that give way to disappointed relief when you realize actually getting up is just a task too much for you right now. As if he realizes this, Epel reaches out to squeeze your hand before returning to his apples. The strange song makes its way to his lips once more, but this time he softly gives it words.

There's a note left for you alongside the flowers, telling you to drink water and that there's a bunch of apples in your fridge that you absolutely have to eat. It's some of his best work he says and you can't help but wonder if he doesn't just mean the carving.

(worth beyond beauty)

Gladioli

“I’m not quite sure when I started to see you differently, just know I feel like a fool for my prior behavior." The letters hadn't been signed, but you had an inkling who they were from. In place of a picture every third one was accompanied by the exact same flower, you thought it was cute how well Sebek thought he was covering his tracks. It would be nice if he was the one holding your hand, but that couldn't be. He was too loud, if he was here then you would know. Even his unsigned letters were loudly and proudly him, mercifully free of praise for Malleus though they were. "You shine like dew on a rose, for your praise I go to lengths that surprise myself. Some say I am foolish, most call me single minded and in your presence I cannot protest those sentiments. Given your circumstances, it would be selfish of me to ask for your patience, but I must. I must ask for your patience until I can ask you aloud." You were content to be patient with him, if you weren't you never would have been friends in the first place. The person holding your hand gives it a final squeeze, though he pulls away slowly, trying to savor every last bit of illicit contact he can.

When you are finally able to move a familiar sort of flower around your room, once again someone is trying to be romantic and failing to cover his tracks. Once again he is refusing to face you, out of fear or shame you do not know. You gently pick at the petals, trying to divine just what it is you think Sebek wants to say, not just what you want it to mean.

(i am really sincere)

[buckychristwrites]

About You | Day 4 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Idk maybe its kinda fluffish. Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

It was admittedly difficult to sleep that night. Firstly, the couch was just not your choice of  a preferred sleeping spot. Secondly, it was weird having a person sleeping in your bed, especially a person who you didn’t sleep with, and especially especially since that person was Jamie Tartt. 

Which explains why you were up so early, two pans on the stove with breakfast. One with eggs, the other with potatoes frying up. On the counter was the bread, waiting patiently to be cooked in the toaster.

Movement in the bedroom told you that Jamie was awake. Turning from the pans, you threw two slices of bread into the toaster. By the time you had turned back, the door to the bedroom crept open and slow footsteps made their way down the hallway. Rubbing his eyes, Jamie appeared in the open living room. When you looked up at him, you found him still just in his boxers. The two of you stared at each other for a while with similar looks of surprise. You couldn’t say why he was in shock, but for you, it was because of the nakedness. 

“I woke up thinkin’ that I had the strangest dream,” He said slowly, looking around the room with squinted eyes. His back was facing you when he spoke again. “Guess it was not a dream.”

“Not a dream,” You said, scrunching your face. He flopped down on your couch, running his hands up and down his face.

“Drank too much,” He admitted. “My head is fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“Did your clothes evaporate overnight?” You asked him in an unusually high pitched voice. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could sense his eyes jump back towards you. 

“They’re still on the floor, thanks.”

“Well, thank God. I was worried, since you decided not to dress before coming out.” He was trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Fine, fine.” He sauntered back towards the bedroom, and against your better judgement, you looked up from the stove, letting your gaze fall up and down his backside before he disappeared down the hall. 

“We have to be out the door soon, so hurry up!” You called to him, receiving a groan in response. The toast popped out of the toaster suddenly, making you jump. You grabbed a plate and filled it with half the food, setting it down before doing the same with another. When Jamie re-entered the scene, this time fully clothed and with brushed hair, you handed him a plate. 

“Eat fast. I’ll drive us to work.” The sentence felt so weirdly domestic, and you wanted to hate it more than you did.

He nodded, taking a seat at the small dining table and digging in. You sat across from him and did the same. It was a silent meal, but comfortable, as if the two of you had been eating meals together for a long time. Before you knew it, the plates were empty. Jamie stood just as you were about to and grabbed your dish.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” You said, reaching to take them from him, but he waved you off. 

“Please.”

You said nothing more, instead rushing towards the bedroom so you could get ready. From the kitchen, you could hear water running and dishes clanking together, making you freeze. Is he doing the dishes? You finished getting dressed and quickly brushing your hair before walking back out. Jamie was just pulling the gloves off his hands as you came into view. Turning towards you, he looked you up and down, expressionless, before speaking. 

“You good?” He asked. You nodded, a surreal feeling washing over you.

How did your day start like this?

The two of you made your way down to the car park, where you climbed into the driver’s side. The rain was still modestly falling, although it was nowhere near the magnitude it had been the morning prior. Despite turning the car on, you made no move to leave, even after Jamie was in and secured. A few seconds passed before you felt his stare fall on you.

“I think we should start over,” You said, before turning your head to meet his gaze. “We’ve both done things, and continuing to fault the other for the past is counterproductive. I think we should go into today with a clean slate between us.” 

“Dunno,” He said as you came to a stop light. A moment of deja vu hit you as you turned to face him, reminding you of the evening before. When you met his eye, you found him smirking. “I kinda like bein’ mean to ya.” 

“Well, in that case…” You trailed off, the both of you laughing at the exchange. After a second, you tilted your head. “I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends who braid each other’s hair and share their deepest darkest secrets. But at least while I’m around for the next week, we can pretend.”

He lifted a finger at you before saying, “Or two.” You looked at him in confusion.

“Or two what?”

“Weeks.”

“Or two weeks,” You repeated back to him in agreement. 

But you didn’t think it was pretending, at least not for you. It was then that you realised that you were, indeed, starting to like Jamie Tartt as a person. Though he was still stubborn and arrogant, the night before had been a moment of clarity for you. He was just as broken as everyone else, despite his cool exterior. Inside, he was just a young boy, begging for validation and affirmation. But most importantly, he was begging for the love he didn’t receive from his father. Beyond that, the night before had you laughing the hardest that you had in a while. 

The car behind you honked, you cursing under your breath as you drove through the green light that you had, once again, missed.

“I think you’re right,” He finally said. A smile playing at your lips, you glanced over at him. “It’s hard bein’ angry that you’re here.” He paused, and it was then you noticed the water bottle in his lap, which was he messing with the lid of. “You…” A beat passed. “You didn’t turn out to be the villain I��d made you in me head all these years.” 

Something about that made your heart swell.

“You’re not as bad as I made you out to be, either.” You smiled with your face forward. And though you weren’t looking at him, you thought you caught a smile out of the corner of your eye.

“Although,” He added, his voice quiet. You eyed him, waiting patiently. He let out a slight laugh, rubbing his forehead. “You actually do know my deepest, darkest secrets now.” 

Something fluttered in your stomach.

The next thing either of you knew, you were putting the car in park. A few spaces over was Jamie’s car, patiently waiting for him. You pulled his keys out of your purse and handed them.

“I take it you'll need those.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately seemed to backtrack. You studied him. For a man who had been drinking so hard the night before, he seemed like he was in good spirits. Suddenly, he was jumping out of the car. 

“Can’t sit here all day, can we?”

You followed, having another moment of deja vu as the two of you walked in the club together. Despite having worked there for what you could assume was a while, the security guard still appeared overjoyed at the sight of Jamie, and forgot to check your pass. 

It seemed like the entire team was waiting for the pair of you, for once he, then you, entered, a chunk of them circled around like a pack of dogs.

“What happened last night?”

“Did you drive, Jamie? Is your car okay?”

“Did you sleep on the street?”

“Lads, lads, let’s calm down, yeah? A man is still nursin’ a hangover,'' Jamie pushed through them to get to his locker. Once he had broken from the pack, all eyes landed on you. The anxiety in your chest began to creep up.

“I drove him to his place. threw him in bed, and then I went back home, myself,” You explained to them. Over Dani’s shoulder, you could see Jamie look over at you. Holding his gaze for a moment, he nodded at you as if to thank you. You looked back at the others without giving any sort of reply. They all seemed to accept this explanation without further questioning. 

“We are just glad you got home safely,” Sam said, a wide smile that he gave to both you and Jamie. 

“Didn’t seem concerned when you sent the enemy after me, did ya?” Jamie asked, making the others roar out in laughter. You couldn’t help but laugh along with them as you could hear the playfulness in his tone. 

“We were just gonna let what God intended to happen, happen, bruv,” Isaac said to him. 

“Maybe God intended for her to go after you, Jamie!” Dani added. 

Jamie and you exchanged a look before quickly looking away. Your cheeks grew very hot. Jamie awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. 

With immaculate timing, the coaches entered in that moment, saving the both of you from having to come up with a response. You took your place against the wall, although now you allowed yourself to stand a bit closer to Jamie’s locker. 

As they spoke, you took notes. 

“Didya ever think that maybe you’d learn more if you listened than just writing down whatever they say?” Jamie whispered into your ear. His breath was warm against your skin. Ignoring that feeling, you shot him a glare. 

“I don’t need to know how to play football,” You reminded him, glancing at the coaches to make sure they weren’t privy to the two of you talking before going on. “So I don’t need to learn what all this means.” 

“Just tryna help ya sound smart for ya article.”

“Are you saying I sound stupid?”

“You could sound smarter…” 

“And who made you the expert on sounding smart?”

“Meself, obviously.”

“What are your qualifications, footballer?”

“Well-“

“I’m sorry, is this meetin’ interruptin’ you?” Roy’s voice boomed through the room, making the two of you jump.

“Sorry,” Jamie called out, raising his hand in apology. You lowered your head and furiously pretended to be writing notes innocently. Roy’s glare lingered for another few seconds before Beard continued talking. 

When everyone began to head towards the tunnel, you walked towards the entrance to the stands. 

“Oi.” You turned to see Jamie watching you. “Just come out with us. You can stand with the coaches.” When you opened your mouth to counter him, he waved his arm towards himself as a gesture to follow him. “It’ll be easier for you to take your wee notes. Let’s go.” Conceding, you followed him out onto the pitch. 

The rain had stopped, the sky still blanketed with clouds. The players started running their drills. You stood a few feet behind the coaches. Being on the pitch as opposed to the stands did make a difference. It was much easier to hear the coaches, and you could hear the players as well. 

“So,” A voice next to you said. You jumped, damn near throwing your notepad across the field before turning to find Beard next to you, standing in the same exact stance when he had been in front of you just moments before. “A truce was called, then?” After you remembered how to breathe, you nodded. 

“We talked it out, I think.” The two of you looked out in time to see Jamie fold over in laughter over something Isaac said. 

“I haven’t seen him in such high spirits since Ted left,” Beard admitted. The mention of the former head coach brought your thoughts to a screeching halt. You glanced at him for a brief second before turning back to Jamie.

“He hasn’t brought Lasso up at all to me.” 

Beard blew a raspberry, shaking his head. “He was really torn up about it. I don’t think he wanted anyone to know.” He was thoughtful as he continued to watch the footballer kick a ball into the net. “I think he viewed him as a father figure.” You thought back to the conversation from your car, where Jamie told you about his abusive father. The pain in his voice was so clear, along with the hesitation to tell you. 

“He told me a little about his dad,” You said quietly. 

“I’ve never witnessed such behaviour from a parent,” Beard admitted. “Disgusting.” This truly grabbed your attention, making you turn your entire body towards the coach.

“You saw it?” You asked. “You saw his father abuse him?” The expression on Beard’s face became a pained one, the memory clear as day on his face.

“It was at Wembley, when we played Man City,” He explained. “Pops came backstage, clearly sloshed. Wanted to bring his buddies through security to take pictures of the pitch. Jamie said no.” He began to shake his head. “Started calling his own son names, and getting in his face. We had lost, morale was low. Jamie clobbered him right in the nose.” At this, he looked proud. “He deserved more than that, but I’m glad he got what he did get.” 

You felt sick. The breakfast you had worked so hard to make was threatening to make a reappearance all over the rich green grass. 

When Jamie had told you about his dad, you had assumed it had happened a long time ago,  maybe as soon as when he had just started out. Never would you have ever thought that it was happening so recently that Coach Beard, or any of the current members of the team for that matter, would’ve been there to bear witness. 

No wonder your articles hurt him so much. It all made more sense now. He was getting abused two fold.

The second your eyes found Jamie, seeing his smile as he passed the ball to his teammates, you felt a surge of pride towards him. He was a huge jerk for a long time, following in the shadow of his father. But he learned, and he grew. Now he knew kindness and love. 

The transformation was quite magical.

The whistle blew and the players made their way towards the coaches. Jamie stood next to you, eyeing you curious.

“You alright?”

You turned to face him, and it felt like you were seeing him for the first time.

“I’m good.”

He stared at you for a long time, eyes searching your face, before nodding. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to face the front again. You began taking notes again. It was hard to focus, with the newfound information fighting to be at the forefront of your mind. It felt strange, knowing something so intimate about Jamie that he hadn’t told you. Part of you wondered if you should tell him, but maybe that wasn’t for the best. You weren’t out of the woods yet when it came to your relationship with him, and it wasn’t best to rock the boat further. Maybe after the article you’d-

No. After the article, you’d be back to business as usual. There wouldn’t be any chances to talk to him about anything, really. You’d be off the pitch and back in your office. He’d continue to play football and be Jamie. And it would be like none of this ever happened.

Why the fuck is this making me so sad? You asked yourself.

Pulling you from your thoughts was Jamie bumping his hip against yours. You jumped slightly, before turning to look at him. His face was filled with amusement.

“Sorry, Jumpy,” He said with a voice filled with laughter. “I was thinkin’ we could have a chat after practice, if ya want.” You shook your head with more force than you intended.

“Yeah, that would be great!” There must’ve been something off about your tone, for he knitted his eyebrows together, his head tilting slightly.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Inhaling slowly, you nodded again. This time with more ease.

“I’m fine, Tartt.” At first, he seemed shocked that you were back to calling him by his last name, but the smile you gave seemed to placate him, as he returned it almost as quick. 

When practice was over, and the field had been cleared out, it was just Jamie and yourself who remained. You sat in the grass, running your fingers across the even cut blades. Jamie was standing, and was moving around as if he wasn’t able to stop.

“Do you ever relax?” You asked him, your phone already set to record. He paused at this, raising his hands in question.

“I’m always relaxed.”

“That’s definitely not true.” He scoffed, but you continued. “What do you do to unwind?” This made him stop, genuine thought on his face.

“I dunno,” He admitted. “I like havin’ a pint with friends. Layin’ on me couch sometimes.” When his eyes found you again, he found your face scrunched up. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m gonna make that the headline,” You said as you raised your hands and wrote a line in the air in front of you. “‘Jamie Tart: He Also Drinks Beer and Lays On The Couch.’” He laughed.

“Fuck off.” Shaking your head, you looked around at the field.

“If you could talk to any deceased person for 30 seconds, who would it be and what would you say?”

The next words out of his mouth hit you like a train. In the most earnest voice, he said, “I’d talk to George Harrison, and tell him thank ya for inspirin’ me to live my life.”

The recording was instantly turned off, as it was ruined by the way you were laughing. Jamie looked scandalised as you fell backwards into the grass.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“Didn’t you only just find out about George Harrison dying?”

“I didn’t know!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t know everything all the time, can I?” As you came down from your laughter, wiping a tear from your eye, you shook your hand.

“No, you can’t.”

He started moving around again, and you watched him. Recalling the conversation from earlier with Beard, you bit your lip.

“What about living?”

He paused.

“What?”

You inhaled sharply. “If you could say whatever you wanted to any living person, with no consequences, what would you say?” 

This made him really freeze, his eyebrows properly knitted together. After a moment of silence, he took a few steps forward and sat down just a few feet from you. Elbows on his knees, he rested his chin in his palms.

“I’d ask my dad why I wasn’t enough to keep ‘im sober.” All traces of humour left your face. He nodded before continuing, “I’d tell him I needed him to treat me as more than a punchin’ bag.” Another beat passed. “And then I’d thank him. I’m the man I am today in spite of him. And I’m proud of that.” 

He was staring at his hands right then. You smiled at him.

“You should be.” 

His head jumped upward, eyes falling on you once more. Your smile was more broad this time, as you leaned forward a little.

“Yeah?” He asked, as if his opinion was hanging by the thread of your answer. 

You nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

[patito-oward]

The Picture of Domesticity

masterlist

Summary: A look into domestic boyfriend Pato, and some serious conversations being had.

WC: 1.1k

As the night starts to cool down and you lounge in the pool of your San Antonio home, the smell of poblanos and tortas filled the air. You watch as your gorgeous boyfriend stands attentively at the grill. When you first met him, he was living as a model bachelor, swore the only thing he knew how to cook was eggs, but you’ve brought out the domestic side of him.

“I can feel you staring, amor.” You can hear the shit eating grin in his voice.

“What can I say, I like the view.” He’s got a gorgeous glow to him, the kind that only comes from spending a day in the sun. He’s dressed only in his swim shorts which cling to him in an obscene manner. You climb out of the pool and head towards him.

“Los poblanos están listo” He sets down a plate full of stuffed peppers in front of you.

“Ooh, thank you, baby!” You’re starving and his poblanos are always delicious. You grab one and immediately choke it back out having burnt your mouth.

Your boyfriend immediately starts chuckling.

“Pato!” You shout, “It’s not funny, it hurt.” You put on your best pouty face even though you’re trying not to laugh yourself.

“Lo siento, baby,” He steps towards you and kisses your pouting lips. “I just took them off the grill.”

You kiss him again, humming when he pulls you to him, when he pulls away, “One more kiss and I’ll forgive you.”

“As you wish,” he mumbled before pulling you in for one last kiss. Your hands wrap around his neck and you gently pull at the short hairs there making him groan into your mouth.

When you pull away both of you have labored breathing. “You’re a tease,” He says.

You laugh and then a chill runs through your body. Although you’re unsure if it’s from the incredible kiss or the cool air and your wet clothes, but either way you grab the oversized “fast hands” pullover and put it on.

He pulls the tortas off and shuts the grill off. The two of you eat dinner together and talk about everything and nothing. The season has just ended and having him home everyday still feels new.

After dinner you pick up the dishes and bring them inside, planning on starting the dishwasher and then settling down for the night. Instead, as you’re rinsing plates, a pair of arms wrap around you.

He pulls you back into him and begins swaying his hips with yours. “Have I told you it drives me absolutely loco when you wear my merch.”

You laugh at him softly, your hair was still a mess from your day spent in the pool, and your face burnt. “Haha.”

“Mi amor, I’m not kidding.” He starts kissing a line from your jaw to your collarbone. “I’m so lucky to have you, everyday I’m afraid I’ll wake up and it’s all a dream. And to have you walking around with my name on your back, letting everyone know you’re mine? Nothing sexier.” His voice has turned into a low drawl, and you’ve completely melted into his chest. “Come watch the rest of the sunset with me.”

“I’m doing the dishes, I want to get them done.”

“We’ll do them together later.”

“But you cooked.” He just won a championship you should be the one doting over him.

“I don’t care, I’ll do everything if it’ll make you happier, but please come watch the sunset with me.”

You give in and walk back outside. You sit down on one of the pool lounges, and Pato sits behind you and pulls you to his chest. Leaning your head back onto his chest and feeling his breathing relaxes you greatly. You sit together and watch the sunset in silence.

You glance up at him abc realize he’s staring at you. “We’re supposed to be watching the sunset.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I wasn’t a driver?”

Turning to look at him, “What!?” you’re definitely shocked, there’s nothing Pato loves doing more than racing.

“I love racing, more than almost anything,” He starts, taking your hands in his. “but I don’t love how often I’m away, and I don’t love all of the extra commitments, and I certainly don’t love racing more than you.”

“I would never ask you to give up racing for me.”

“You’re not asking.” He looks out at the sunset for a moment. “It’s just, when I get to be home like this, and we don’t have to be separated every weekend, it makes me want it all the time.”

“Me too.” You confess.

“Come with me next year?”

“I can’t, Pato” Every week he begs you to call off work and come to the races with him, you’re able to make it to about half. “I have work, and there’s the house, and what about Rocky and Norbi?”

“Quit your job, I have more than enough money for the rest of our lives, the house can be left alone, I’ll have Elba come water the plants once a week, and Rocky and Norbi will come with us.” He’s getting an excited lift to his voice and you can tell he’s thought this all out. “Don’t say no yet, just think about it, please?”

You can see in his eyes that he’s hopeful and begging all at once, and there’s no way you could say no. “I don’t have to think about it. You better get a motor home big enough for 4.”

Joy instantly lights up his entire face and he pulls you into a kiss that’s mostly just teeth. “I can’t wait, I know you’ve been to races before but this is going to be so different. You’ll get to see and be a part of everything. Te amo mucho.”

“I love you, too” Your voice is soft and a little shaky, overcome with emotion and joy.

“Don’t cry, it’ll make me cry.” He’s smiling eye to eye. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. All I want is to be with you forever. I’m going to marry you, make you a mom, grow old with you, whatever you want.”

He seals his incredible speech with a kiss, you can feel all the emotion that he’s putting into it. You know that traveling with him for the next season will not be a mistake, and will only bring the two of you impossibly closer.

You would’ve never pictured this to be your life. Especially not with the boy who picked you up in a bar with the cheesiest pick up line you’ve ever heard. But you couldn’t be happier about it.

—

Thank you so much for reading! I know this was a little wild and didn’t have much of a plot, but I just love Pato so much. This is my first shot at writing in a while, so please give feedback!! I already have another story planned with a more conclusive plot and it should be longer.

[daisyswift3]

The Story/Secret of Us

So I believe I may have just solved a major piece of the puzzle and finally figured out WHY the tortured poets have been sending us these anonymous messages to help us solve it. I think this entire rabbit hole is a gift to us true fans which is why we got all of those cryptic present 🎁 anon messages. Alllll of these songs are dedicated to us (except for So High School and I will explain why I think this in more detail later). THIS is The Story or Secret of Us. The "secret" is this rabbit hole of connections and this secret language or code of symbols and metaphors we've all learned how to speak (sunshine/daylight/gold/yellow = Karlie/being out of the closet/queer love/happiness, 3 = Speak Now, orange = karma, etc). The "us" is the tortured poets and us true fans who share this secret language.

Another important part of understanding this puzzle is that some of these songs are time sensitive 🕰️ and like a prophecy (The Prophecy) waiting to be fulfilled. So after a certain point, some songs can no longer be applied bc that "scene" in the movie has already passed (If This Was A Movie). They want us to essentially play our part in the story they've written. Right now we are playing the part of Paul Revere or Cassandra warning swifties of what's coming (likely on Sept 28). And we're also acting as Taylor's wings/angels catching her when she falls off her pedestal (see this post). They want us to think of these moments when we listen to these songs bc they want them to be personally relatable bc that's part of our gift. I think this is what Taylor meant when she said

"Let me tell you my secret little dream for this evening. These are songs that I have written about my life or things I've felt at one point in time, whether I was a teenager, in my 20s, or a couple yrs ago. But after tonight when you hear these songs out and about in the world, my dream is that you're gonna think about tonight and the memories we made here together" (x)

and what present anon meant when they said

"Reach those lanterns a little bit higher. For you shall receive a metaphor so dire" (x).

"Then the actors (us true fans and the tortured poets) were hitting their marks and the slow dance was alight with the sparks and the tears fell in synchronicity with the score" // "It's a normal thing to fall in love with movie stars when the lights are low and red at all their favorite bars. And the story you want is the story you get. Are you special or was this all scripted in his head?...Don't worry, I know I'll see you again. Uh-huh, you'll make me cry when it comes to an end. You were all that we hoped (The Prophecy), but I can't recommend getting close, I should've known, but I'll see you again" (x). The tortured poets have invited us to "dance" with them by being a part of this movie. If we accept this invitation, then we essentially become the muse of these songs.

I think Gracie playing In Between as a surprise song on 9/19 was an easter egg for Lizzy’s song Pushing It Down and Praying that was released 9/20. I think the mv for this song is the visual representation of the 🫚 message about the audience member (us true fans) becoming a part of the magic show and also the teenage love triangle in folklore. In this story, we are playing the character Wendy/Betty while the tortured poets play the character Peter/James. Swifties or the fans who don’t see this metaphorical story are Augusta/Augustine, the girl that James cheats on Betty with in august. So even though the teenage love triangle is technically fictional, there are seeds of truth in it. This is what Taylor was trying to explain during the eras tour betty speeches when she said she created these fictional characters and she was acting as the narrator of their story (x). Role Model, who stars in the Pushing It Down and Praying mv, is also the opening act for Gracie's TSOU tour which is another connection.

And to add even more evidence to this theory, the teenage love triangle also makes an appearance in Gracie’s discography. Gracie has a song called Augusta on TIWIFL which just so happens to be the name of one of the characters in the love triangle. It is also the name of a town in Maine which is where Gracie’s family is from. There are 3 songs in total on TIWIFL that are named after towns in Maine—Camden, Augusta, and Rockland. If you put the first letters of these songs together, they spell out “CAR.” “Standing in your CARdigan, kissing in my CAR again,” “And when I felt like I was an old CARdigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite," 2:46 in betty ("She said 'James, get in, let's drive'") corresponding with 2:46 in august ("Remember when I pulled up and said get in the CAR").

august, betty, cardigan (the 3 sides or perspectives of the love triangle) are “ABC” bc the alphabet or capital letters are one of the major keys to solving this puzzle. As I mentioned in this post, I think Audrey has been helping to plant easter eggs. She posted Capital Letters by Hailee Steinfeld on her insta 3 times which is quite interesting and she also included this song in her Summa playlist.

What makes this even more suspicious is that she specifically chose timestamps in the songs (1:11 and 1:23) that have these lyrics ⬇️ and she posted the 1:11 timestamp TWICE which indicates that she really wanted to emphasize it. "God I'm jumping in the deep end, it's more fun to swim in. Heard the risk is drowning but I'm gonna take it."

Another thing that I think ties in with all of this is the Stephen Colbert interview. In this post below, I explain why I think the pizza on the mood board represents PR/bearding/showmanship/magic. I also explain how the letters that spell out Stephen's name are a huge clue and are related to the Peter Pan metaphor that is a through line in both Gracie's and Taylor's music. This is another example of "capital letters" or the alphabet being the key to solving the puzzle.

Going back to what I said in the first paragraph, this entire rabbit hole of cross-referenceable songs is dedicated to us except for the "pizza" So High School which is the one song she dedicated to 🏈 This is why Taylor's mood board had one slice of pizza while every other picture was of Stephen.

[crows-in-the-house]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑

This is a part of my own writting inktober! To see more check out this post!

Prompt: rain / snacks

pairing: Belphegor x reader

tw: none

The attic was always the the farthest room in the house. Regardless of time it was always quiet and calm, as if it was an otherworldy far land, full of dreams, warmth and wishes. It was big, with a queen sized bed on which you often slept. This morning was no different - you woke up laying there, still half asleep, with someones hands hugging you from behind. If you could, this would be your eternity. But as always, this had to come to an end, when you felt your stomach rumblig.

You groaned, struggling in Belphegors grasp. The sound of the rain was still slightly present. It was early. You tried to remove yourself from his embrace, but he couln't let go..

"Don't go" he mumbled sleepily.

"I have to get up, Belphie"

You tried once again to push him off, but he just held you as if nothing happened. He buried his face in your necks curve and tangled his legs with yours. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, as if he was ready to cover it with hickeys again.

"Belphie, I'm hungry"

"Mmm then call, Bel"

"Then let me get to my phone"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Your phone was still carelessly placed on the nightstand - yesterday's mistake you made by wanting to quickly get in boyfriends embrace. You squirmed around, waking him up again. He gave you a tired look, as if he was about to scold a disobedient puppy.

"What."

"I need to pee." There went your best exuse. He huffed, annoyed, finally letting you go. Walking away, you saw his figure hugging a random pillow, turning his back at you. It was obvious he already missed his favorite one. You had to move fast.

You quickly ran down the stairs to the kitchen. In Saturday mornings it was empty and all yours - until the rest of the brothers came down, demanding a shared breakfast. But today was only for you and Belphie.

The room was warm and inviting. A soft, light spilled through the windows from the setting sun, casting a golden glow across the room. You could hear the water still taping, from old gutters outside. You didn't rush while making breakfast. Even if you knew, your boyfriend was getting impentiant, the fresh coffie and bacon was all you though about in this moment. You moved effortlessly between the stove and the counter, tending to the food with practiced ease. Soon enough the food was ready. It made you proud, especially when you could feel someones eyes following your form at every move.

"What are you doing?" A raspy voice of your boyfriend greeted you. You rurned around. His hair was messy and eyes half open. He was standing there shoeless, still in his pijamas - with the long soft tail, tucked in one of his pants sleeves.

"I made breakfast! Look there's toasts, bacon, eggs, oh and do you want some coffie with it? I can also make you tea"

"I want you" He grinned at you while stepping closer. He rested his forehead against yours, his horns blocking your view.

"What"

"you heard me" You could feel a slight blush flush on your cheeks. His eyes landed on your lips, while he slowly licked his.

You didn't have a chance to answer when he quickly picked you up. Slight chuckle left his mouth at your helpless state.

"Belphegor, put me down this insant!"

"Why don't you make me, master"

"You know I can do that!"

"Nahh, you're too soft. Besides-" he skillfully took the plates in his hands "if you make me drop you, I will also drop the food you made, right? Oh, but you worked so hard on it!"

He laughed at your miserable expression. Carring you back to his room didn't take time at all. He layed the food on the table and threw you on the bed, joing right after. His arms held you tightly, while he showered your face with kisses. You could feel the blanket covering you both again.

"Oh, come on, let's eat food before going back to sleep at least!" You struggled to say as he stole another kiss from your lips

"Mmmm, no thanks. I have a better snack right here."

[maddiethedogstories]

New You Gym - 8

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Kylee, startled awake by Michael, quickly popped out of bed and shoved her saliva covered hand to her ass. She looked down, and, to her horror, the pull-up she was wearing was dangling heavily between her hips, signaling to her that it was full to the brim. However, Kylee, despite being in a glorified diaper soaked in her urine and her husband's cum, let out a sigh of relief when she pressed the padding of her training pants into her ass and only feel wet padding, not poop.

"Thank god!" Kylee said with a sigh of relief.

"Thank God?" Michael questioned Kylee, "I just woke up to you humping my leg and sucking your thumb, which was cute at first. But, then you started moaning, 'No! Stop!' I can't!' and I got really worried for you."

"Oh, yeah, um, I just had a bad dream, I'm alright," Kylee said unconvincingly, as she poked at her very-well used diaper.

"Did we really have sex while I was wearing this thing or was that part of the dream too?" Kylee asked.

"Oh, that wasn't a dream, Little Miss Pissy Pants," Michael said mockingly as he walked over to comfort Kylee.

Kylee shied away from his touch. "Please, love, please don't call me that. I'm so embarrassed," Kylee said, blushing at the new nickname and thinking back to her dream. "I feel so itchy and disgusting, I just want to get out of this thing and take a shower."

"Alright," says Michael, somewhat defeated and angry at himself for angering his wife, "how about you get cleaned up while I take care of the bed."

"Take care of the bed?" Kylee said as she looked down at the sheets where she fell asleep. Right where her pull-up would have been was a big wet spot. Kylee's cheeks reddened for the hundredth time that day.

"Good idea, thank you," were the only words Kylee could muster before running into the bathroom in shame, shutting the door, and letting her pull-up fall to the floor with a wet thud.

Kylee turned on the shower, climbed in, and cried as she aggressively washed her body. What the fuck is wrong with me? She thought to herself.

As Michael changed the wet sheets on the bed, he heard Kylee sobbing in the shower. Hearing his wife cry like that made his heart hurt, but he had been with her long enough to know to give her space when she was upset. He knew that she would eventually come to him for help when she was ready.

While waiting for Kylee to decompress, Michael threw on some pajama pants, put the urine-soaked sheets in the washer, and went downstairs to make Kylee her favorite breakfast--french toast and eggs.

While Michael cleaned and cooked, in the shower, Kylee felt like she was cleaning herself both physically and emotionally. Her sobbing allowed her to physically process all of the complex emotions she had experienced this morning. At the same time, letting the water and soap wash the urine (and semen) off her body gave her a clean feeling that made her feel like a new person. It was much harder to feel like a dirty little toddler when you smelt like lavender and eucalyptus.

Kylee stepped out of the shower with a smile on her face and feeling like a new woman. That was until she saw what she had left on the floor.

The yellowed padding of the pink pull-up she had been wearing all morning was staring at her from the floor of the bathroom. Just looking at it filled Kylee with embarrassment, rage, and, curiously, arousal.

Naked and still wet from the shower, Kylee walked over and picked up the offensive object, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. The used training pants were heavy in her hand. Kylee walked over to the bathroom trashcan and chucked the offensive object into it. She looked at the trashcan again and saw her well-used pull-up sitting on the top.

"That's not going to work," Kylee announced to the world. Still naked and wet, she bent over the trash can and pushed the pull-up deep into it, forcing it to disappear beneath the other trash.

"Better," Kylee said as she washed her hands.

Kylee proceeded to towel off, get dressed in her sexist, most adult pair of panties, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and try to forget about her morning. As she was changing, the smell of french toast and eggs from the kitchen called out to her like a siren.

Kylee quickly went downstairs to find her husband standing at the stove, making her favorite breakfast. She had never seen a more beautiful sight. She walked up behind Michael while he was cooking, hugged him from behind, and spoke to him.

"I love you," she said sincerely.

Michael smiled, looked back at her, and responded, "I love you too. I'm sorry you had such a rough first day at the gym. But, on the bright side, we burned so many calories, we can eat as much french toast as we want!"

Kylee laughed, "You're right!"

"Go take a seat at the table, I'll make your plate and bring it over," Michael offered.

"That sounds wonderful," Kylee said as she found her seat at the kitchen table.

Once Kylee and Michael were both seated at the table and eating, Michael decided to broach the subject of what happened this morning.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" He probed.

Kylee set her knife and fork down and sighed. "Yeah, I guess." She took a deep breath as she settled in to tell a truncated version of the story.

She told Michael about what happened when he wasn't there. She told him how she went down the creepy hallway to the empty daycare. She told him about the giant baby furniture and Julie. She told him about how the training pants and juvenile tights were her only option. She did leave out some key details, however. For instance, she never mentioned using the child's training potty, being wiped and brought to orgasm by Julie, or the deal she made to be allowed to cum. Some things were too much to relive, even with her husband. Further, Kylee was afraid that if Michael ever found out she let another person make her cum, that he would leave her.

"Wow, love, it sounds like you had a rough morning," Michael said supportively. "If it makes you feel any better, you were hot as fuck in that pull-up." Michael winked at Kylee, trying to lighten the mood.

Kylee grinned back at Michael, "You bet I was. My ass is so nice it makes anything covering it look good."

Michael smiled at Kylee's statement, but his face grew more somber.

"Love, I still do have one question," he said.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"I know you wet yourself the first time, that time in front of the class, because you didn't have time to pee, were in a weird position, and Emily pushed on your bladder," Michael said delicately, "but, when and why did you wet the pull-up? And the sheets were wet? Did you wet the bed too?"

Kylee's smile left her face and she froze momentarily. She had wet that pull-up sometime between the daycare and having sex with Michael. It also got wetter while she was sleeping. Kylee could not recall peeing, or even noticing that she had to pee, at all.

"I… I don't know," she told Michael.

Michael looked at her with concern on his face.

"Let's chalk it up to first-day-at-the-gym jitters for now, but, if it keeps happening, we might need to see a doctor," Michael helpfully provided.

"Yeah, it's probably just jitters," Kylee said, lost in thought as she replayed her morning and her vivid dream in her head.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ppushable]

just us.

jean kirschtein x gn!reader / oneshot / wc: 9.4k

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

It's the last summer of high school and it's time to grow up. Too bad I have to do it without you.

Nights like this I wish could last forever: just us in the rain.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

ao3 tags:

FUCK / Alternate Universe - High School / or the tail end of it / Reader-Insert / gender neutral reader / How Do I Tag / Kissing / Angst / Fluff and Angst / Growing Up / Separations / Rain / Late Night Conversations / POV First Person / Present Tense / Pining / French-Speaking Jean Kirstein / Reader is emotional / theres some music for this too / Don't Examine This Too Closely

to make some things clear:

it's the last summer after high school (i.e. about to enter university)

based in canada which is basically the us but it doesn't really matter

reader is gender neutral (let me know if something seems off)

we don't know Connie in this one

i also got some songs which i thought fit the mood based on what was playing as i wrote. the songs will be indicated (==) in the writing. here's the queue:

dream, ivory; dream, ivory

heart to heart; mac demarco

little person; matt maltese

cry; cigarettes after sex

everything; the black skirts

if you're on iphone, i recommend doing the rain sounds when it rains, but it's up to you. without further ado ♥

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

== dream, ivory

The rock I’ve been kicking skids off the edge of the sidewalk, into the dark grass. I already miss the feeling of its bump against my foot. I’m going to miss a lot of things. Even before I finish the thought the familiar feeling of dread rises up from the depths of my gut. 

Shush. 

Jean’s face is illuminated harshly directly below the streetlight, hair glowing as if powdered in some otherworldly dust, shadows hard and soft defining and redefining themselves as we walk. Aimless wandering, that’s all we’re doing, but I’d rather be doing this than anything else. I’d rather be with him.

I almost miss the signature little smirk on his face mid-head turn but double take in time to see it grow. 

“What? You like what you see?”

Well, yeah.

But I stick the side of my finger against his teeth and he squirms. “Wh— hey! What was that?” There’s a chuckle between those words, though, and it makes me want to crack open like a stupid little egg and pour out all the feelings I have for him onto this very concrete, cover it with my devotion, stain it forever and ever. But all that comes out is a laugh and that’ll have to be enough. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“I was just asking you an honest question!” He holds up his hand as if preaching. “Honest to god, hand on the bible.”

Okay, Jean. “And if I said no?”

He has the nerve to look offended. “Then I’d know you’re lying.”

“Fff,” I huff, and I have to turn away because the grin on my face is at a dangerous level. “This boy. You’re too full of yourself.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Jean says smugly. “But you like me that way, don’t you?” His arm hooks my waist to pull me closer and I do the same, gripping the back of his Stohess University hoodie. At this point this position is second nature — no more awkward touching or not-so-subtle shifting. Now we’re like… two stones in a river that just happen to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. That’s right, us, the walking pebbles, down the dark streets of 3 AM that would be scary under any other circumstance. 

Happy as can be. 

Until summer ends, at least. 

Sometimes I want to rip that hoodie off him and tear it into a million pieces, destroy the place that wants to take him from me so badly. But it makes him happy. It makes him really fucking happy. And who am I to take that away from him? 

“Hey,” he says, and I loosen my grip on the thick cloth before he notices the pulling. 

“Yeah?”

I feel his voice, a low hum against my side, just as much as I hear it. “What’re you thinking about?”

The windows of the houses around us are empty, void. It’s strange, isn’t it? To think that in every house is a different life, multiple lives which I’ll never know. An entire life with emotions and memories and experiences and desires. A human animal. “You, of course.”

He doesn’t respond at first and when we pass under another streetlight his face is a little redder than before, all across his nose and cheeks and ears, and it takes a lot not to stop right there and throw myself on him. I love it when he does that, when he proves that his bad-boy front is just that. A front. “Hah. What a flirt.”

Leaning in, I say, “I learned it from the best, didn’t I?”

“So you’re—” his face pulls even closer, and we stop under the broken buzz of a streetlight— “calling me a flirt.”

My feet scrape the concrete as I turn on the spot and drape my arms over his shoulders. Trepidation lines my bones and leeches into my legs, drop by drop. “Maybe,” I say, and I feel the air of my breath off his reddened skin. Gorgeous, gorgeous. I wait for him to close the little distance between us, which might as well have been no distance at all, because when we touch, when I feel the familiar, burning warmth of his lips pressing against mine, I… I forget what I was thinking about. 

I claw for his neck, the hair I begged him to grow out that I know will look so good on him, I need us to be closer, and he knows, pulling my body into his with his arms against the curve of my back, chest to chest, pelvis to hardening pelvis. I huff into his mouth from the sudden pressure and Jean takes me up again immediately after the brief separation without a breath to spare with a little moan, leading me stumbling backwards to god knows where but I trust him. I love the way the world just goes. My back hits something hard and I grunt from pain which just makes Jean snap and double down harder, reach further, a futile attempt to satisfy the beastly desire in my core that grows with every passing second. 

“Ah…”

I love his hand lowering to the small of my back, the way it trembles, the way it goes lower. The other slides under my shirt, roaming well-travelled areas, but that doesn’t make it any less enticing. I cling to the back of his head like my life depends on it because it very well might, following his every small movement like it’s the guiding star. He opens up for a quick huff of air and I use this opportunity to take the reins; to plunge deeper. 

I love how his hair feels. And when I pull it just right he makes a helpless noise into my mouth and oh fuck I could fold for him right now. 

I love how disgusting we are. Probing every part of each other with our tongues. The little pits in the skin of his cheeks. Heat in my core. Heat in my brain. Heat between our bodies. The taste of him. 

I love how I don’t know where I end and he begins. Burning lungs. Pull harder and he groans louder and I don’t know what noise belongs to who. Can you tell dogs apart by their bark?

I love his taste. Desire for air, but greater desire for him . His hand stops now in that place he knows I love, skin to burning skin, but the other never moves, keeping me locked in place. Need to be closer. Just us. 

I love his eyes, half-lidded but brimming with want. A fistful of his locks, tightening. Mind going places my hands can’t. Not here, not now. 

I love…

Just when I think my heavy heart is about to give out, we separate, the heat is gone, and we gasp for air both, separating the line of drool that connects us with a blistering snap. Colours come back. My head drops to his shoulder and his warm breath lands in the sensitive crook of his neck as he lets his hand slide out of my top and return to the small of my back with the other. I keep mine firmly anchored around his neck. We pant like mutts in the street, unmoving save for the heaving of our chests. The buzzing of the streetlight returns, but it never really left, did it? We did. 

I hope he likes me back as much as I do him. I hope he’s not doing this because he has to. Swallowing takes up precious time; immediately after I’m back to laboured breathing. If he’s anything but happy I’ll recede into the darkest, damndest reaches of the Earth so he can enjoy the sun. I would never tell him that, though. I hope I’m not… I hope I’m not too much. 

Maybe a little too abruptly I let go of him and he does the same after a moment's delay, a little reluctantly, but I’m imagining it. I wipe my lip before smiling. “You flirt.”

Running a finger across his mouth, Jean scoffs, a hint of his softer side still showing through as if his usual act hasn’t fully hardened yet. “You started it.”

“Hardly.”

“Do I need to bring out the case files?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do I need to pull out the evidence?”

“Evidence being what, exactly?” I point to his pants pockets. “You have a little pocket hamster witness? Or a boob camera?”

Gasping lightly — yet still maintaining a tone of exaggeration — his arms fly up: one to cover his chest, and the other his crotch. “You’re lucky my ass doesn’t report you right now.”

Obnoxiously, I smack my lips, run my tongue over my teeth, and stick my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants. “I bet that ass can do a lot of things, princess. Walking all alone at night. Isn’t it dangerous?” I produce a crude rendering of Jean’s own smirk (to cover my own growing smile) while flipping my hair. “Let a handsome man escort you to your house.”

His act drops immediately. “Okay, you’re a little too good at this.”

I laugh.

“No, like seriously—” he raises his voice a bit to be heard clearly a smile grows on his face— “you’re creeping me out.”

“Hush, you.” With unspoken agreement we start walking again. “I need to keep up my creepy guy persona in case I’m ever approached.”

“What, your plan is to outcreep the creep?” He shakes his head. “Good luck with that one.”

I make my voice go gravelly again while making a squishing motion. “Let a man cop a feel. It’s the least you could do for all his hard work.”

“Okay, first of all, no, stop that. Secondly,” he says, pushing my hand away, “nobody’s gonna approach you as long as I’m—”

He freezes, then closes his mouth and swallows, Adam’s apple pushing back down the words unsaid. As long as I’m around . The dreadful feeling comes back like cold lead in my veins. But you’re gonna be around for long, are you, Jean?

We reach the junction directly between two streetlights, the darkest point of the sidewalk. There usually aren’t many stars where we live; regardless of the weather, city lights always blot out the little speckles in the sky that are supposed to just appear every night like in the pictures. Jean always wanted to see them. The Milky Way. The closest thing we have to a galaxy are the fluorescent glows of store signs that reflect off the bricked walls of the apartment buildings and cracked asphalt roads. 

“Hey,” I murmur, linking my arm through his and pointing at the splash of white light down the street. “Let’s go over there.”

“What, the 7-11?”

“Let’s get snacks and have a picnic together.”

A little chuckle escapes him. “At this time of night?” He doesn’t allow time to respond. “Well, alright.”

The mechanical beep greets us as the door opens. As expected, the place is empty, resided only by the eye-chokingly bright junk food packages haphazardly lining the shelves. My warped figure in the security camera screen hanging from the ceiling holds open the door for Jean and he steps through. He hasn’t been properly illuminated in a while so I take the opportunity to drink him in a little. There’s some darkness under his eyes and the scruff beginning to grow on his chin is getting longer than he prefers it (shaved off completely). His jaw clenches and unclenches seemingly at random as if he’s chewing gum, but he’s probably biting the inside of his mouth. It’s a nasty habit of his, and it never means anything good. He’s probably stressed about university. 

I sniff. Lysol. This place is a little too normal, a dip back into the waters of everyday. “Do you have your wallet?”

He stops and taps his pants pockets — first the back, then the front — and nods. “Yeah, I got my card.” 

“Sugar daddy me?”

A blush rises to the occasion and he rolls his eyes with a quick “yeah” before disappearing into the aisles. He hates getting flustered (but loves to inflict it on me) and does so at the weirdest things. In his own words, blushing is a ‘boner for your face.’ Okay, Jean. So what if I want to see you pop face boners. You like seeing mine, don’t you?

I scurry after him, scanning the items in his hold. “Strawberry Pocky. Black Doritos. Cola gummies.”

He holds out his arm so I can see better. 

“Nothing healthy? Nothing wet?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s a 7-11. Healthiest thing here is the air quality. Second of all.” He sets his palm on top of my head. “We’re getting there, alright? And don’t say wet.”

“Nothing moist.”

The flat hand turns into a fist and knocks lightly once on my skull. “Can’t win with you, eh?”

I flick his hand away and we keep weaving through the aisles. Marshmallows. 

Picking up the bag of sweets I stare at, Jean says, “we’re never gonna finish all these, y’know.”

“I know.” 

“What happened to getting healthy stuff?”

“You walk so slowly that I have to pick up everything I see. Or I’ll be understimulated and die.”

“Understimulated, huh?” he muses. I look up at his face but he’s reading the wrapper. “Maybe you’re my pocket hamster. Like a lab rat. Do I need to put you in a really big maze?” He shakes the bag like it’s cat treats and shoots me a smug look. “I’ll use these instead of cheese. If you solve the puzzle right I’ll toss you one so you have something to munch on.”

I don’t dignify him with a response. Steeling my fingers, I plunge them into his front pocket. 

The impact wracks through him, nearly making him drop the package. “Wh—”

“Won’t fit.” I shake my head and wiggle my fingers. “I can’t be your pocket hamster.”

I swear a tiny bead of sweat accumulates on his cheek but he’s quick to scratch it away. “I can make you fit.”

“Really?”

His eyes narrow. “You know more than anyone that I can make things fi—”

“Oh, hey.”

My head snaps toward the new voice — it’s the cashier, appearing from a door to take his place behind the counter. His grey hair’s been buzzed short (he hovers around our age despite the colour), almost to the point of bald, and various piercings on his face gleam even in the horrible 7-11 lighting as he cocks his head. “Sorry, didn’t notice you guys come in. Need anything at all?” 

“No, we’re good,” I say, subtly (I think) sliding my hand out of Jean’s pocket. Was the pocket thing too much? I overstepped again, didn’t I? “Thanks, though.”

The cashier nods once — I’m too far away to see his nametag but not the exhaustion that leaks out of him like a broken tap — and messes with something under the table. My gaze once again finds Jean’s and he looks like he’s seen a ghost which almost makes me feel like laughing. His big hand encloses mine and he leads me somewhere out of sight. Slurpee machines. They start humming as Jean lets me go and pinches the bridge of his nose as if on cue. “That was a little too close. Oh my god.” He chuckles lightly and it’s muffled. “He nearly saw us.” 

When he drops his hand and meets my eye the humour disappears in a flash; gravity immediately weighs down his features. “Is something wrong? Did I say something?”

“No!” I didn’t even say anything yet and he’s already this serious. Guilt settles already; why did I make him feel bad? “No. It’s— you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry.” I shoot for a grin and hit a grimace. “I’m just kinda tired.”

“Yeah. You look tired. Darling.” The word is raspy with the breath of his throat yet also strangely tender, as if uttered through honey, and we both pause at the new label. Darling. He called me darling. It’s getting warm. “Sorry. That sounded stupid, didn’t it?”

== heart to heart

Darling . “Dont— no! It’s not stupid at all! I— um.” I put a hand on his shoulder and Jean, recognizing the cue, leans his tree of a body down so he can stare straight into my eyes. “It was really… it was really cute. You should…” I trace a crack in the floor that reveals dark grout underneath while idly tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “Use that name on me again.” 

A little huff escapes him, brushes against my lips, and I’m compelled to look into those eyes again. Brown, hazel, green; depending on the lighting or weather they can be any of those colours, but I always find myself falling in regardless. There’s no reason for it. How layers of cells and pigments can trap me so hopelessly like it’s hypnosis, how even a scraping glance reminds me of our bests and worsts, how I want to look in there forever and ever, a bottomless well of all that was and could be and all that I want. “Well, since it’s got you looking all red like this, I really should.”

I just hope that you feel the same. I hope my thoughts are wrong. I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable. I hope that I can be good enough for you (but how can I)?

And I wish, I really fucking wish, that

   we never lose each other

      but I know it’s going to happen anyway

It’s going to happen anyway

and it hurts.

It hurts like a teddy bear on the ground in an abandoned house. A cracked picture frame. Sleepless nights with only tomorrow for comfort. Returning, over and over again, to the places I keep promising myself not to go to. 

Knowing that, at some point, we’ll walk together for the last time. Kiss each other for the last time. Eat together, dance together, listen to the same song together for the last time. 

So I’ll walk alone. I’ll pleasure myself. I’ll eat alone, dance alone, listen to that song until it becomes monotonous and you’ll become a stranger or a ghost or die forever and the initials so painfully carved into my heart will become fetid. Everywhere I look I’ll see your face and hear your voice and feel your warmth and smell your breath. I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it and loathe every moment of it.

Oh, Jean, if only we could run away and gossip and lay in the sun together somewhere far away where there’s a big field and lots of flowers and a clear stream that brings us cool, fresh water and berries from the forest. Where it’s always daytime, except when it’s not, and I’ll weave flowers into your beautiful hair and you’ll do the same for me and we’ll look to the open sky, with nothing to obstruct us, no buildings, no wires, no light, and there are so many stars, beautiful and so bright, so wonderful that it’ll take your breath away like a little kid seeing dinosaurs and we’ll lay for hours in the weeds together and just look at them until the sun comes back up. And we’ll be so happy we’ll cry. Just us and nothing else. 

But I know that what I want isn’t what you want. I know that. So I’ll do the right thing. I’ll do the right thing! I said I’ll do it, so leave me alone. 

Now Jean’s breath rustles my hair. “Hey.” 

At some point I started looking at his shoes. They’re creased and dirty. Not because he can’t afford them, but because he doesn’t know how to take care of his stuff. “Really, Jean.” I suck in a big breath disguised as a yawn to maybe disguise the wetness — sorry, moistness — of my eyes and point at his feet. “You’re like a little kid sometimes.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“So dirty.”

“My shoes? It’s only a little bit.” 

I raise an eyebrow. 

“It looks cool like that. Doesn’t it look cool like that?” 

“Okay, Jean.” The slurpee machine hums again and I’m drawn to the mechanical whirring. Who cares if there’s rat poop or salmonella or whatever in there. I’m a little thirsty and my throat could use some loosening before I start croaking. 

“It— it’s cool, right?” Jean leans against the wall, right behind the stack of cups that jut out horizontally, packed together so densely the transparent plastic becomes opaque. I slide one out of the holder and snap one of the lids out of their holders, too, and combine them before angling the cup under one of the spouts. 

“I dunno, Jean,” I say, pushing down the plunger. Synthetic heaven plops into the cup, making it jump at the initial impact. I look back in time to see him get a cup of his own. “You’ll have to ask yourself that.”

“That usually means no,” he says glumly, setting his cup down to fill. “It’s fine.” He’ll be getting coke on the bottom and cherry on the top, like he always does. “I know how to use a laundry machine. Just like you taught me.”

Sliding my cup underneath a different spout, I smile. “Good boy. You’re learning so well.”

Jean watches his cup overflow. 

“Oh. Jean. Jean .” I grab his wrist and take his hand off the lever. I shouldn’t have said that. “Wake up, Jean.” His face matches the artificially dyed cherry smeared over the hand he’s using to hold the cup and I laugh. “Jean, come on. We have to ask the guy for paper towels.” I pull him back in the direction we came from. “ Jean .”

“I’m coming.” He takes a few heavy steps before pulling himself together, tensed as if electrified. 

The guy behind the counter has earbuds in with the wires wrapped backwards around his ears and doesn’t notice us until we’re a few paces away. He jumps and fumbles to take one out. “Uh, you guys ready to check out?” His eyes, maybe a little wider than they should be given the circumstances, are drawn to Jean’s hand. “You’re… just getting the one slurpee?”

“Uh, no, we… our stuff is back with the slurpee machine.” What am I saying? Jean’s always been the better one at talking. “We, uh, need to clean up. Paper towels!” I squeeze Jean’s hand but it seems he’s still in stupor, melted cherry slushy dripping to the floor. 

“Oh,” is all the cashier says.

“Can we have some paper towels, please?” I continue. “We made a mess with the machine.”

The cashier seems to relax a bit. “Oh.”

“I’m really sorry. We’ll help clean up. Like, you don’t even need to do anything, just tell us where the paper towels are—”

“No, it’s all good, it’s my job. Plus it gets pretty boring here y’know?” He smiles and his teeth are crooked. “I’ll grab ‘em.” And he disappears behind the employee-only door. 

I wait a second or two before elbowing Jean lightly.

“Ow!”

“You alright, zombie?” I ask, trying not to let too much tease slip into my voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He looks at his slurpee-d hand, brings it to his face, and wraps his lips around the base of his thumb to slurp the area where the juice drips out. Then his mouth opens a bit more and his tongue inches out, up the side of his palm against the cup, in and out, motions intended to lap up every last drop of the juice like it was never even there in the first place. His other hand rubs firm circles into mine as he goes back to licking the base of his thumb, making small slurping noises. “Mmm,” he moans as he runs his tongue from his hand to the tip of the cup, and now I realize his smug eyes have been on me the whole time, “tastes good. Un goût de paradis. ”

“You didn’t pay for that,” I say as flatly as possible without bursting on the spot.

“It’s fine, it’s just the drops.” He smirks. “You’d change your mind if you knew what it tasted like.”

“And what does it taste like?”

“Maybe,” his leer deepens as he leans in, pulling my hand gently, “I could show you. But…” he pulls back at the last second. “Nah!”

It smacks me in the face like a dead fish. “You— Kirsch—” use your big girl words!— “bastard.”

He chuckles as something metal drops behind the door; another few seconds and the cashier comes back out with a thick roll of the brown paper towels they use in bathrooms (the ones that can’t absorb for shit). “Sorry about the wait,” he huffs, one earbud still clinging to his ear as the other dangles from the neckline of his green uniform. “Hard to find anything in there.” He opens a little side door to get out from behind the counter and his feet drag a little as he walks toward the slurpee machines. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “you guys are coming, right?”

“Right behind you.” Jean calls, this time leading me back.

The cashier tears some of the paper and starts mopping up some of the stuff on the grill, though only succeeds in pushing the little chunks that are left into the gutter. He clicks his tongue and starts murmuring Spanish obscenities. 

“Here.” Jean hands me a piece of paper towel and I take it, getting to work on the ground. The cashier shuffles aside to make room and I utter a quick thanks. As expected, the towels don’t really absorb, but push the liquid around. 

“Maybe you should lick this up, too,” I tease as Jean kneels beside me. 

“Funny.”

But we do manage to clean it up. We toss the soiled paper into a hole built into the slurpee counter for garbage as the cashier continues to scrape the grill. He sighs, bringing his hand up while balling up the napkin and letting it slap against the side of his thigh. “No use here, I’ll get it later. But, uh, thanks for helping out.” Nodding, he tosses the garbage at the garbage hole and misses. 

Jean bats it in for him. “No problem, man.”

He nods again. I can see his name tag, now that he’s closer: 

CONNIE

“It was nothing, really,” I smile. “Thanks, Connie.”

“I’ll be at the counter when you guys’re ready.” He returns the gesture before shuffling away. 

“Well.” Jean collects our little hoard. “You think this is enough?”

Pocky, gummies, chips, marshmallows. And the slurpees. “I know that’s enough.” I cling to his arm like a parasite. “Let’s go.”

Jean pays, we say our goodbyes to Connie, and then we leave. Back to the buzzing and the empty sky, just the same as before, except with food and a vague destination in mind. 

“You know,” I say, swallowing the slurpee still in my mouth, “did that guy seem familiar? Or is it just me?”

“The cashier?”

“Yeah, Connie.”

“Huhh…” Jean licks his lips which are already cherry red. “I don’t think I’ve seen him around school before. But you’re right, he does seem familiar. It’s weird.”

“Maybe,” I muse, throwing him a teasing look, “in another life, you guys did laundry and taxes together.”

“No way,” he chuckles. “We definitely would’ve done something cooler together. Like, fight giants, or something.”

“Giants.” I grin. “Tell me about these giants.”

He shrugs. “They’re big. And they’re naked all the time.”

“Wooow.” 

“What?” he laughs. “They don’t have enough cloth to make clothes so they just go naked all the time! Except in Malaysia.”

“What?”

“And they run really weird, and the girl giants have these—” he charades huge boobs— “giant tits—”

“What about the guy giants?”

He pauses. “They don’t have anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

He scowls. “Why do you wanna know so bad?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Are the giants good-looking, at least?”

“The important ones are.”

“Hmm.” I take another slurp. “So I could have a cute, important, constantly naked, big tiddie giant girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“All the giants wanna eat people.”

“Eat people, huh? I can live with that.” 

Jean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

We walk in silence until the next streetlight. “On second thought,” I start, “I think, in another life, you guys would survive the zombie apocalypse together.”

“Zombie apocalypse,” Jean echoes. “Why do I feel like I’d die first?”

“You almost do. But Connie sacrifices himself for you.”

He hmms . “Then you’d be part of the secondary group of survivors that ends up betraying the main force.”

“That’s weirdly specific. So I end up betraying you?”

“It’s okay because we join forces in the end.” He shrugs. “Either that or I charm you to our side.”

I grin. “You do, do you.”

== little person

The walk to the park is a short one, and before long the entrance is visible down the void road. A cold drop lands on my hand.

“Huh, we’re almost there.” Jean shifts the bags of chips in hand — the pocky is in his pocket. “Then—” his eye twitches strangely— “ah! Did a bird just shit in my eye?”

“What?” I sputter as another drop lands on my cheek. “There’s no birds. I think it’s raining.”

Blinking hard, Jean utters, “rain?” 

We look up at the same time. The sky is no longer cloudless, and the familiar pitter-patter emanates from the roofs around us. We look back at each other.

Well, shit.

“It’s not that bad,” I start. Jean opens his mouth to reply but something suddenly falls on my head. 

Rather, a downpour of rain, like water from a bucket, pushes me down. It’s loud! Loud like firecrackers.

“Holy shit!” Jean squawks, barely heard above the sound of rain. “No! My slurpee!”

The coke and cherries is on the ground now, cratering with every heavy raindrop that lands in it. I snatch his now-free hand.

“Forget it! We have to go!”

His face is devastated, but he nods. No recovery. I jut my head in the direction of the park; he nods again, and we make a break for it.

Being the taller one, Jean could easily outpace me, but we run side by side, feet sloshing first in the asphalt then in the grass as we finally make it to the park. “There!” he cries, pointing at the nearest tree that looks like it could provide some decent cover. I run until I feel my legs are going to give out and we crash under the leafy cover like it’s the finish line to a marathon, not letting go of each other even when our clasped hands crack into the tree’s trunk and we smack into each other on the other side with the full force of our momentum. 

“Hooo!” Jean huffs. There’s no light in the park but I still can’t miss the wild look in his eyes, the way his hair drips and sticks to his forehead, just long enough to brush his upturned eyebrows. “You alright?” 

“Yeah!” I cheer, feeling a laugh bubbling out. There’s no houses here, and probably no people. Who cares anyway? The sudden escapade snapped me into a different state. “Yeah, I’m good! Are you okay?”

“I’m soaked!” His huffs turn into a laugh and he waves vaguely at the sky. “So much for a picnic, huh?”

I blink a few times, then open my eyes wide. There’s no lights installed at the park, at least none that are on at this hour, but even in the pitch dark I know where the main areas are. “Why don’t we go to the pavilion?” I yell, turning back to face him. 

“Mmp!” Jean pulls his head back, but not quick enough. “As you wish, darling,” he garbles quickly, wiping the corner of his mouth. 

My jaw drops and I hold up my cup. The juice is now half of its original volume. “You little—” Without thinking, I swing the bag of marshmallows at his head but he blocks it easily with his arm. 

“I couldn’t help it!” he bursts, dribbling a small amount onto the mulch floor with a splat .

The words die in my throat as we stare at the regurgitation. A moment later Jean takes off and I swear I see the raindrops fly off. 

“Jean!” What choice do I have? I pursue.

The thief never strays more than a few feet ahead, allowing me a few more rain-laced swings before a picnic bench suddenly appears in front of us. At the last minute Jean manages to slam his feet onto the bench part and leap onto the table, but I don’t lift my knees high enough and the wood dings my shins and before the pain has time to register the soaked, half-rotten tabletop screams toward me

and when it’s supposed to hurt, it doesn’t. 

Vision isn’t required to know that my face is squished up against Jean’s palms which cushion me from the wood. His wet hands peel off and travel to my shoulders. “Shit! Are you okay?”

Now my legs hurt. I blink at his blurry face and put my hands over his. The stuff I was carrying is on the ground now; I’m kneeling on the bench. “You saved me.”

“Of course.” 

“Even though I hit you with marshmallows.”

“Darling.” He takes my hands in his, clasping them between our bodies. We’re soaked thoroughly now; the sweater I have stupidly unzipped weighs down heavily on my shoulders and rainwater constantly runs into my eyes and the valley of my lips, while Jean’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, eyelashes clumped together, and rain drips from the end of his nose onto our hands. “I would save you if it killed me.”

Then save me now. 

Tell me you won’t accept that program at Stohess. Tell me we can go away somewhere far, far enough to avoid going to a school I don’t want for a degree I don’t want for a future I don’t want. 

At the very least, tell me I can find the strength to break away from it all and make something decent out of this life that I’ve forcefully been granted. 

How do you do it? How do you forge your own path, create a light that’s so blinding it renders me a moth? How do you find the courage? 

I bring the bundle of our hands close to my face, let my breath run down the slick side of the back of Jean’s palm. “I would do the same for you.” And gently, as if handling the most precious jewel, I press my lips against the ridge of his knuckles and whisper, “ mon chéri. ”

Rain continues to fall in that familiar, comforting hum as it patters softly onto the grass and soil and leaves and wood. Jean stays silent for so long and if not for the look in his eyes I would think he didn’t hear me at all. But his lips crack open, and it takes a few tries for him to say what he wants. 

“I… I wish…” His Adam’s apple bobs and rests precariously on his throat, holding the power of the things left unsaid. “I wish you’d finally admit that you’re a bigger flirt than I am.”

Out of reflex I scoff and release myself from his grasp to pull some hair off my face, covering the blow of his sudden change of heart that makes my insides feel as if they’d been scraped on hot concrete and poured back in. “You’re insane, Kirschtein.” No, it’s stupid and selfish of me to expect him to say something. 

Shrugging plainly, he rubs his palms against his knees as if to dry them (ha ha), but gets up a moment later to pick some things off the grass. He returns a moment later with the pocky and gummies and drops them on the table before dropping down himself. The pocky box is soggy. “Let’s have our picnic right here.”

I shoot him a skeptical look which I hope he sees. “In the rain?”

“I know it’s your favourite weather.” His voice is soft and he speaks as if he had committed a grave sin. 

“What if you get sick?” Now I remember to zip up my sweater. 

His eyes follow the movement. “I can take care of myself.”

Fat chance of that, boy. “What if I get sick?”

“I’ll take care of you.”

I take a seat beside him on the table, feet on the bench. “And if we both get sick?”

He smiles a little. “Then I can hold you without worrying about transferring anything.”

“And you’re not a flirt.”

“What—” he opens the pack of gummies with a plastic crackle— “ever,” and sets the package between our bodies. 

These are Jean’s favourite snacks. I’m sure he’s gotten sick by eating too many of these before, but he was convinced it was something else he ate. Idly, he pops one in his mouth, and I follow suit. They do taste good, though. 

“Wonder if anyone’s ever been here this late,” Jean mumbles as I open the pocky. 

“I’m sure they have. And I’m sure they will be.” I draw a length of the strawberry-coated stick like a sword and crunch. “None of them are idiotic enough to have a picnic when it’s raining, though, so we’re probably a first for that.”

He chuckles. “Pioneers, I’m sure.”

We eat in silence. The rain slows down, but doesn’t let up. 

What am I doing here? What’s even the point of this? It’s only going to hurt me more, spending time with a ghost like this. 

“Jean.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know the pocky game?”

“Hmm?”

“You know.” I stick one of the candies in my mouth and point to the other end. 

Jean only looks more confused, and, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I pry open his lips with two fingers and probe him with the pink tip. A strange and perhaps exaggerated noise gargles out of him — the candy slips from my grasp and falls. 

“What the heck!” He bristles like a cat, even in the rain. “Stop laughing!” 

“You’re— you’re supposed to bite it,” I choke. “Why do you look so scared?” 

“I was just surprised .” He shimmies another stick out. “Let’s do it again. It’s just like Lady and the Tramp, right? Come on, let’s do it. Stop that!” 

My attempt to stifle the giggles is piss-poor and Jean knows it. But I stop when I feel him grasp my chin and turn my head toward him. 

“So,” he says slowly around the pocky in his mouth, “are we gonna do this?”

Smiling, I bite the other end, and then we’re connected. The stick vibrates as Jean starts to nibble, and when I follow suit he puts his hand down. We inch closer—

Crunch!

Our eyes widen. 

Wordlessly, Jean lets go of his end of the stick, finds the source of the disturbance, and holds it up sheepishly. 

The entire bag of pocky, compressed to dust under his palm. 

“Whoops.”

I stare. 

“I’m sorry.”

I push the remainder of our pocky in my mouth and chew. 

“Fuck, I’ll— we can go back to the store and get another box. Hey. Don’t turn away…”

Wow, that tree over there sure looks interesting. 

“Forgive me?”

I turn back. He looks absolutely crushed. (As he should.)

“I know they’re your favourite.” His head hangs. “I’ll…” Without warning, he grabs the bag of gummies and dumps the sweets on the ground. They tumble and disappear from view. 

What!

“There. Now we’re even.” He looks up and smiles, shaking the plastic. 

“What— Jean— what’d you do that for?”

“I wanted us to be in the same boat. It’s my fault for destroying the pocky anyway… and both of our slurpees… and I stepped on the chips when I jumped on the bench so I ruined that too. Plus I nearly got you killed.” He shrugs. “Retribution.”

My chest shrivels in on itself. “I didn’t care that much. Those were your favourite.”

“And the pocky was yours. Besides, we still have marshmallows.”

Pointing, I say, “I dropped them back there.” 

“Oh.”

‘Oh’ indeed. I put my hands flat on the table behind me — despite how grimy — and lean back. 

“We’re never gonna finish all these, y’know. ” Guess he was right. 

One sigh turns into another, and soon I’m giggling like a schoolgirl. The rain falls all over my face, my neck, and runs down my shirt, like tiny tickling fingers. This is ridiculous. Here are two stupid dumb teenagers, at three in the morning in the rain, sitting on a bench surrounded by crushed wrappers and gummies and pocky crumbs. How does one even end up in this situation? They must be so young and in love. They must have no worries at all. Just two stupid dumb teenagers and nothing more. 

Humans can only know each other so much. Words can only do so much. Actions, too. 

Maybe, somewhere far away, far into the future or perhaps the past, someone will truly understand the sort of predicament I’m in. 

But it’s a little selfish of me to be comforted by that thought when I don’t even try to make others understand. 

“What’s so funny?”

I let my eyes roll shut. It’s a mistake to spend money on me, Jean. Just run away now before I absorb you like an amoeba. “Nothing. Nothing is funny.” Well, I don’t have to worry about that, since we’re leaving each other anyway! 

It doesn’t matter. What makes you think you can sustain a healthy relationship when you obviously have your own issues? What makes you think you deserve him? You suck away at his happiness like a vampire. You make it so hard for people to be happy. You’re horrid. 

The rain becomes vulgar and suddenly I hate the way it touches every inch of me. 

“Hey.” Jean’s voice is soft, tentative. “Are you okay?”

The wood turns to slime under my palms. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” Maybe we should head home soon, I almost add, but I can’t. “Hey, Jean.” To my dismay, I open my eyes, and the world blinks back at me. Like it’s pissed at me for ever imagining it could disappear. But when I look at him it makes everything a little bit better. 

== cry

Piece of shit. 

A deep booming emanates from the ground like a great burrowing beast about to snap out but it’s just distant thunder. 

“Yeah?” He’s in the same position I’m in, leaned back, eyes shut to the elements. Hair still glued to his forehead but slowly pushing back. Trembling ever so slightly with the shivers. Idiot boy. 

Ever so slowly as to not disturb him or the picnic table, I stand, put my foot down on the other side of him, and come back down, weight fully balanced on his hip, effectively straddling him. He flinches at initial contact but otherwise doesn’t move as I wrap my arms around his chest 

and cling to him

   like a parasite. 

      Please just hold me. 

Another wave of trembles strikes Jean as he lowers himself so he lies flat against the wood and I lay flat on him. His arms wrap around me a moment later. 

I don’t want to think. Jean pulls me a little tighter against that waterlogged hoodie but I don’t mind. My balled hands are getting crushed under our weight and they’re probably hell on his back so I flatten them as much as possible and grasp him. Just us.

Just us, just us, just us…

Jean speaks first, breaking the vow of silence. “You know—” his voice cracks— “we only have three weeks left.” 

That’s it. That’s all it takes for the pit in my stomach to open up so quickly I’m surprised Jean doesn’t get stabbed with it. For the dread to boil over and suddenly take control of my entire body, render me prone, double my mass. “Don’t.” That word was too weak even for me. 

“I’m really… I’m really going to miss you.” The arms tighten and force some air out of me but this time the contact does nothing to help smooth me out.

Stop talking. 

He keeps going. “I can’t ignore it for much longer.”

“Stop.” 

“I try to and I can’t. I’m…” Jean’s chest jerks beneath me as his breaths turn shuddering. The floodgates. “I’m just scared.”’

My throat hurts so much it’s like it’s going to collapse in on itself and my eyes burn and it’s hard to breathe—

“You’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me. And now I have to leave you.”

“Stop,” I rasp, but apparently not loud enough. 

“When we— when we part ways—”

“Don’t.”

“—I hope you find someone who’s better. Someone who doesn’t get emotional over dumb shit, someone who can treat you right, someone with an actual future—”

I smack his chest with it. My hand. Not hard at all. But enough to get him to stop . 

“Jean…” I rise back into a somewhat sitting position. His chin is wrinkled and he’s biting his lip so hard and we lock eyes for a shattering second before he turns his head. Red eyes in a sea of sadness. 

What… do I say now?

“You do have a future.”

He scoffs and the smirk is like razors to the eye. “Because I’m going to make it so far with an art degree.”

“Jean, you’re doing what you want to do. Who cares if you don’t end up getting a ‘traditional’ job? You’re gonna be happy with your life.” Which is a lot more than I can say for myself. 

Jean brings his gaze down to look at the table. “Yeah, you’re right.” His hands slide from my back to the outsides of my thighs. “It’s going to be different without you, though.” 

Deep breath doesn’t do anything. “It’s going to be different without you, too.”

He gives my legs a chaste squeeze, perhaps of comfort. Breathily, he asks, “what now?”

“We enjoy the time left together.”

“And after?”

“We don’t think about after.”

“We have to think about after.”

“Jean…” 

He thinks for a few seconds. “We could try long distance.”

“Jean.”

“I mean, sometimes it works, sometimes. As long as we keep communicating, it should be fine. Right? Yeah. Yeah…” Somewhere, a lone mourning dove calls, its familiar swooping cry piercing the dark. “Say something.”

“I don’t…” know. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?” He shifts up on his elbows. “What is there to lose?”

The idea comes immediately to mind but it’s harder to put into words. Late-night research on advice boards and internet forums only proved that everything that can go bad does go bad, and imagining Jean or even me in any of those scenarios renders me feeble. It could work, but it could also fail spectacularly. I don’t want to lose him in one of those ways. 

But, at the same time, I’d rather not lose him at all. 

Jean waits, expectation heavy in his upturned eyes. Who am I kidding. Of course I’d take that risk. “Yeah. You’re right.” I bite the inside of my lip and worry it between my teeth. “It could work.” Because that’s what everyone says before it all goes south. 

Worst case scenario, he walks off with another person to love. At least he’ll be happy. He’ll have a real person to look at. Maybe someone less miserable and self-pitying and broody. Someone better-looking, for sure. Someone who he can rely on, instead of a brick wall who can’t express its feelings. Yeah, that would be nice. They’d meet in college through a shared passion for art and make it through the hardships of life together in a crappy little one-bedroom studio apartment that’s lit by yellowed fluorescents overlooking some shady alleyway that he’s definitely saved them from. Walls covered in portraits of each other, blurry polaroids, their favourite albums, photos of graffitied underpasses and empty parking lots that would be so meaningless to anyone else. Windows open in the summer to let in the breeze because on extra humid days it smells like wood. Windows open in the winter because the colder the air, the more burning hot their skin feels against the other as their limbs tangle under the warm pile of blankets on the couch as they watch their show together, even though they’ve seen it enough times to quote every line. Communicating, at every opportunity, how much they mean to each other and their concerns and their plans, quick chats as they pass each other on the way to class, hours-long nighttime discussions that never seem to end. Words strung together so intricately that neither of them gets up out of bed the morning the same as they were last night. 

“What are you thinking about?”

I’m still staring into his eyes. “Just— the future.”

His jaw starts grinding again. “You really hate talking about yourself, don’t you?”

“It’s not—” I start to say before Jean suddenly sits up at a right angle, bracing a hand behind my back so I don’t fall backwards. His eyes fixed on me the whole time. 

“It’s not what?” There’s a furrow in his brow. “Not important?” 

Suddenly, I realize my hands are on his chest.

“Listen, I know you have… trouble with speaking up sometimes, and the last thing I want to do is force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But—” his hands tighten around my thighs— “sometimes I can’t read your mind, and I can’t help you; all I know is that you’re struggling all by yourself and I’m sitting there useless. Listen—” his breath gives out, and he tries again: “listen. I’m not— I want to help you. Especially now. So if you have anything to say, please, please say it.”

At some point the rain had slowed to a drizzle. 

Do something. Say something meaningful. For once in your life, please, just open your stupid fucking mouth and say something. 

I’m scared too I’m really scared of the future and I want us to run away together and live in the weeds and the one-bedroom apartments I want to stand outside with you in the alleyway I want to have a picnic with you in the underpass I want you to steal my slurpee I want to make you laugh I want to make you happy I want to give you this teddy bear let’s take pictures of each other I’ll teach you how to make a flower braid I want to forget the whole world and all the human animals it can be just us I’ll come out of my dark corner and drag you back in we can be together and never come out just be with me and I’ll be happy wherever

“I’m not really thinking of much.”

“Why don’t you look me in the eye and say that?”

Layers of cells and pigment. Jean’s eyes and my own. My lips part but it’s as if my throat’s turned into a deep, dry well. Something. Something… “When— if —” I inhale— “if we don’t make it, find someone who can treat you right.”

He blinks. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“The times I spent with you have been the most precious parts of my life. So if you decide to spend your time with someone else, that’s fine. You’ve given me enough happiness to last a lifetime, you know?”

“What the hell are you spouting,” he grunts. “That’s never gonna fucking happen. Don’t you— are you listening? I’m never doing that.” Now his hands are on my arms. “Don’t you realize how much you mean to me?”

“I don’t think you know a whole lot about me.” Stohess University, his sweater says in big embroidered letters. “Sorry. Don’t worry about it.” Fuck, I sound edgy. Please don’t pursue the subject. 

“No, I will worry about it. Hey, look at me.” He pulls my chin up. “I’m allowed to worry about you too, you know? Do you really think by not saying anything I’ll just go on about my day like it’s nothing? Fuck. I care about you. Why can’t you realize that?” Jean’s eyes glisten dangerously. “You— you do care about me, right?”

That’s it. I grind my teeth so hard they might shatter as the hole in my gut deepens. “Of course I do.” You don’t know how much you mean to me and the fact that I made you this upset makes me want to condense into a dark point and disappear forever. How could I be so stupid? 

“Then let me care about you too.”

Treating him like a little kid without any emotions. Shunning him to the point he feels… uncared for. Discarded. My doing. 

Are you ever going to tell him that you love him?

No you’re stupid you’re a hormonal teenager who’s emotional about growing up stop being such a baby and think about your future that’s what matters that’s all that will ever matter get a job that will make mommy and daddy proud 

   I don’t want to see you with that boy again 

      big kids don’t cry

“Darling?”

A rough warm thumb swipes the skin under my eye and takes away the hot tears that make everything so blurry. Piercing throat pain. “I can’t see you, Jean.”

“You’re crying.”

== everything

“No… I’m not.”

But even as I say it a warm drop runs down my cheek and not a moment later it’s wiped away and he plants a most delicate kiss in its place. There’s something wrong with my breath because I can’t seem to inhale smoothly. 

“Just let it out, my love.”

“I can’t— I can’t see you.” The words come out half-mumbled and airy. 

“Shhh.” He envelops me in his grasp, arms wrapped carefully around me, chest to chest, chin to shoulder, and I find myself clinging on like a parasite. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. I’m right here for you. Right here.”

“Jean—” I gulp. “I—” 

“Shhh.” And his chest vibrates as he hums and rocks and I don’t think I’ve been held like this in a very long time. 

His body so warm beneath me, his arms so secure. Nothing to hear and nothing to see. 

I haven’t felt like this in a very long time. 

Breath after jerky breath

   is it finally my turn?

      is it okay like this?

         it’s okay, right?

            it’s safe. 

Jean doesn’t stop. When I twitch or gasp or burrow into him he doesn’t stop, he mutters and sways and holds me as I sob and dirty his shoulder and I don’t think he’ll ever let go. I don’t want him to. 

At some point in the morning, when the park is alive with the sounds of birds, the convulsions stop, and so does Jean, pulling me off and scanning my face.

“Don’t.”

He ignores me, though, and wipes everything revolting off my face with his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I got emotional.”

“I know.” Without an ounce of hesitation, he presses his lips against my forehead and holds it there. “Thank you.”

I take a deep breath and it somehow seems easier than before. “Three weeks.”

“Three weeks.” Jean returns to eye level. 

“Do you ever get that feeling of missing something that isn’t gone yet?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that you miss me.”

“Do you miss me?”

He pushes some hair off my face. “With every fiber of my being.”

Slowly, I do the same — pulling his bangs so that they split on the left side of his face, sweeping them to the side. Jean shuts his eyes as I work and tilts his head forward but I don’t know if he’s conscious of it or not. Meticulously placing every damp lock. He doesn’t open his eyes again until I’m finished. 

The time will pass, dates will tick by like seconds. And when it’s finally time, the inevitable will happen. 

Goodbyes hurt the most when the story isn’t finished. 

Maybe, in another life, it goes on for a little longer. 

A story with just us. 

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

one fun fact is that i have never stepped foot into a 7-11 before. i just based it off circle k. makes me wonder why i chose 7-11 in the first place. (if you happen to be one of the four pocket hamsters in a single trench coat that read my zombie au fic, the reference here isn't a spoiler. or is it??? haha just kidding. maybe.) thanks for reading my dumpter fire! to be honest i was a little embarrassed posting it but whatever its ao3tumblr. i hope every single one of you experiences a clear night sky and/or strawberry pocky in the forseeable future. take care :) secret tumblr-excluive a/n: am i doing it right? does my post like nice and pretty? did i spend an hour formatting the cover? no i didn't!!

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Hanged man with frankie please!

thank you for the request 💕

tarot pull: hanged man - reverse

meaning: the hanged man in reverse can indicate impulsive and rash decisions.

title: invisible string

pairing: frankie morales x female reader (nicknamed Baby)

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5472

summary:

After fifteen years, the invisible string that ties you to Frankie Morales pulls you back together.

author's note: i had this in the works before my tarot announcement but it fits great, so i hope you enjoy. please consider reblogging or commenting if you do!

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, friends to lovers to strangers to lovers, childhood sweethearts, reunion, reader is nicknamed Baby, potentially bad spanish translations, alcohol consumption, dance floor altercations, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, multiple orgasms, references to their childhood together, enlistment. let me know if any are missing!

Frankie vividly remembers the day that he met the love of his life.

He was six years old, a gangly kid with messy brown curls running barefoot around the ranch, catching frogs in the stream before the sun got too low in the sky and his mamá called him inside for dinner. He heard the moving truck and peeked at the palatial property that bordered his parent’s own humble farm. Men carried furniture and boxes from the trucks while another man watched on, hands on his hips in the same way Frankie’s own dad would watch him to make sure he cleaned up his room.

A blur of movement darted from the front door, startling two men carrying a rather ugly floral couch. The blur barreled straight into the legs of the man in charge, and Frankie watched his stoic face light up as he wrapped his arms around what appeared to be a young girl.

Later that night, at the dinner table, his parents discussed the new neighbors, and how they wanted to welcome them to their new home. The next day, his mamá baked two loaves of bread and collected some eggs from the coop, arranging them in a basket that she placed in Frankie’s arms with a warning to watch his step as they made their way next door.

His papá knocked on the door, smoothing his hands down his Wranglers. The door was opened by a lady he hadn’t seen while spying yesterday. She looked kind and gentle, and had welcomed them inside, thanking them profusely for the basket. Frankie had looked around the grand entrance, all marble and gold, before the man appeared. He shook hands with his parents, thanking them as well and offering everyone a drink.

Then the blur came down the stairs and Frankie got his first good look at you. A girl with big, bright eyes and an uneven smile.

“Oh, there you are, sweetheart.” Your mamá opened her arms to you, which you folded yourself into as you peeked shyly at Frankie and his family. “This is the Morales family. They live on the farm next door, and they brought us a gift.”

“Hi,” you said, waving your hand. 

Your mamá had introduced you by name but added, “Everyone just calls her Baby.”

You’d looked Frankie right in the eye before grabbing his hand excitedly. “You wanna go find tadpoles in the pond?”

“Sure!”

And that was the start of it all.

________

Frankie also vividly remembers the day he lost the love of his life.

He was eighteen and about to graduate from high school with no solid plan. All he knew is that he wanted to fly. 

The problem with that dream was the price tag. 

With that in mind, the Army recruiting table called out to him. They would pay for flight training. He barely had to hear about anything else before he signed his name.

“I’m gonna learn how to fly!” He announced that night at dinner, waving his enlistment agreement in the air. The conversation around the table went quiet.

“Mijo…,” his papá had said, eyes flicking to you. 

He’d been too excited to see the pain in your features. 

“They’ll pay for flight school, and there’s an enlistment bonus,” he continues. 

“If…if that’s what you want to do,” his mamá said with a watery smile. She picked up her empty plate, nudging his papá with her elbow. “Help me in the kitchen.”

His papá had given him one last loaded look before following his wife through the doorway. Frankie turned to you.

“I know it’s a lot, but as soon as you graduate we can get married and then you’ll be able to live on the base with me,” he told you as he reached for your hand. 

You pulled back. “What are you talking about, Frankie?”

“I’ve got it all planned out. You graduate next year, we get married, and then you can move in with me.”

“But…what about college? You know I want to go to school.”

Frankie huffed. “You can go to school online or somewhere near base.”

“That’s not…,” you trailed off. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from your eyes. “I want to go to UCLA, remember?” Your voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it. 

He rolls his eyes. “So, what? You’re not gonna come with me? What about us?”

“I…no. Why should I have to give up what I’ve been working toward? What makes your dream more important than mine?”

“This is the only way I can even touch my dream, Baby! Not all of us have a rich daddy who can buy them a college degree!” 

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. The gutted look on your face and the tears you refused to let fall would all brand themselves on the back of his eyelids from this point forward.

“If that’s what you really think,” you took a deep breath, “then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”

Frankie held strong despite wanting to crumble. “I guess so.”

You nodded once and stood, tossing your napkin on your plate. Without another word, you walked out the dining room and out the front door.

And out of his life.

His mamá joined him at the table and rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “Mijo,” she murmured. “Is this really what you want?”

“I want to fly,” he replied. “But I don’t…I don’t want to lose her.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost her. But I think you’ll have to find each other again.”

__________

Fifteen Years Later

Frankie’s nursing a pint of beer at the hotel bar, surrounded by his best friends and fellow soldiers. The ambient noises of Las Vegas filter through the door every time it opens. Will is giving his brother, Benny, a hard time about where he disappeared to last night when they had all been taking advantage of the casino. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Benny replies, feigning insult. “Besides you were obviously occupied enough. Bet you didn’t even miss me.”

“Oh, really? What were you occupied with exactly?” Claire, Will’s fiance, asks. 

“We were playing poker,” Santi chimes in. “Will lost, by the way. Hope you weren’t looking forward to a honeymoon.”

Will punches Santi in the shoulder. Claire checks her phone. She’s waiting on her best friend and maid of honor to come down and join the group. Her flight had been late so she was running behind schedule.

Claire and Will opted not to have separate bachelor and bachelorette parties and instead wanted to do a bar crawl with everyone who’d come in early for their Vegas wedding. She’s wearing a crown and a sash proclaiming her as the bride, which her maid of honor had shipped to her ahead of time so she’d have it in case she was late.

“She’s a doctor, so her schedule’s super hectic. She was supposed to be here last night, but she had to rebook her flight for late today due to an emergency case,” Claire had explained. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Your mystery best friend,” Benny jokes. “I’m starting to think she doesn’t exist.”

Claire and Will have been together for three years now, and have decided to finally tie the knot. And for all three of those years, he and the guys have heard about her best friend and former college roommate who lives in California, but no one, not even Will, has met her. 

Claire looks toward the entrance of the hotel bar and her eyes light up before she shoves away from the table, teetering on precariously high heels at a speed Frankie can’t even fathom in footwear like that. She collides with a woman in the doorway, enveloping her in a hug as she squeals.

Frankie watches in amusement before the two women turn, putting the newcomer in better view. His heart stops.

Claire drags you over to the group, introducing you by name before adding, “But everyone calls her–”

“Baby,” Frankie finishes. Your eyes go wide.

“Francisco?” 

“You two know each other?” Claire asks, looking between the two of you, brows pinched in confusion.

“We used to be neighbors,” you reply softly. Frankie feels his heart fracture the slightest bit more at being reduced to just neighbors, but he supposes he deserves that.

“Wow! What a coincidence!” Claire exclaims. Frankie can feel Santi’s eyes trying to drill a hole through his head for how hard he’s staring at him. “Alright, Baby, now that you’re finally here, let’s do introductions. This is Will, obviously, you’ve seen him in pictures, and this is his best man and little brother, Benny. That’s Santi, and of course you know Frankie. Tom was supposed to come, too, but his daughter got sick so he stayed home.” She points to each man in turn. Will gives you a solid handshake. Benny and Santi both pull you into hugs. Frankie has no idea how you’re supposed to greet the woman he’s missed for fifteen years.

Thankfully, you put him out of his misery by looping your arms around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze that he doesn’t even have time to reciprocate before you’re pulling away. You smile politely at everyone before Claire drags you off to the bar to order a round of shots. Frankie stares after you.

“What’s the deal there?” Santi asks, arms crossed in that way that tells Frankie he better not try to lie, because it’s not going to work. He sighs.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We broke it off when I enlisted.” He runs a hand through his hair before redirecting his nervous energy into chugging the remainder of his beer. Benny’s eyes go wide.

“No shit?” He looks towards the bar, his eyes sliding over you and Claire in a way that makes Frankie’s jaw tense. “Bet you feel like a fuckin’ idiot now.”

Tell me about it, Frankie thinks. 

When you and Claire return to the table with a tray of tequila and limes, the bride-to-be leads everyone in a toast. 

“To good times, great friends, and better drinks,” she announces before tapping her shot glass to the table and slamming the tequila back with a tilt of her head. 

Frankie watches you, files away the vision of your lips wrapped around the rim of the shot glass and the movement of your throat as you swallow the liquor. Your face screws up in disgust and you reach frantically for a lime.

He passes you one, his fingers brushing yours and sending goosebumps down his arms.

“Thanks,” you murmur, biting into the sour fruit. You glance up at him and the flutter of your lashes feels like a fist straight to the heart.

Fuck.

________

To say seeing Frankie among the group gathered for Claire and Will’s Vegas wedding was a surprise is an understatement.

After leaving the Morales ranch that evening fifteen years ago, you’d removed yourself from Frankie’s life. You didn’t attend his graduation, or the party that his parents threw him. You didn’t see him off to basic, you weren’t there when he came home for leave. You didn’t answer his calls or open his letters, still too hurt from his parting words to hear from him. Until leaving for college, you would occasionally visit Mr. and Mrs. Morales for dinner, where they would slip in little tidbits of information about how their son was doing and you did your best to pretend like you didn’t care, even though you soaked up any information they would give you.

“Frankie’s finished basic. He’s planning on applying to warrant officer candidate school…”

“Did we tell you that Frankie got to Alabama? He’s really on track to becoming a pilot…”

“Frankie finished his officer course and now he’s going to start aviation school. We’re so proud of him…”

And while Frankie chased his dream, you were admitted to UCLA, where you pursued a degree in biology on a pre-med track. Your roommate, Claire, was getting her degree in criminology on a pre-law track. You got along with her like a house on fire and you stuck by each other’s sides through undergrad, and even applied to professional school together, leaning heavily on each other through the long nights of studying. 

When Claire finished law school, she moved to Florida to be closer to her parents, where she met Will while you remained in California for your residency in neurosurgery. You stayed in touch, video chatting at least once a week, sometimes more if Will was deployed. 

Turns out Claire’s amazing new boyfriend came with a whole crew of men that were part of the same spec ops team as him. You’d heard their names plenty of times before, but never did you think to make a connection between “Will’s friend, Frankie” and the boy who’d broken your heart.

Now you’re shoulder to shoulder in a crowded bar  with a man you’ve never met before, a part of you mourning the boy you’d left behind. But years between that night and now have left you with an understanding that you were both wrong and stubborn in the way teenagers seem especially guilty of. You’d like to get to know this new person with the face of your old love, if he’ll let you.

Claire shoulders her way through the crowd to the bar for another drink, Will pressed at her back, head swiveling around as he cases the place in the same manner the other men with you are doing as they sit around the booth with their drinks.

“You guys look like owls,” you say to Frankie. He looks at you in surprise.

“What?” 

“Owls. With the head turning, scanning for threats.” You take a sip of your martini. 

“Hard habit to break,” Frankie finally says after a moment, his cheeks pink in the low light. 

“I’ll be back,” Benny announces, eyes focused on a group of girls in short skirts, one of which is sporting a birthday sash not unlike the bridal one you got for Claire.

Santi sighs. “I better keep an eye on him.”

That leaves you with Frankie, who’s picking at the label of his beer bottle like it’s personally offended him. He takes a deep breath.

“I should apologize,” he rushes to say. You tilt your head. “For how things ended. I’m sure you hate me—“

“I don’t hate you, Francisco.”

He looks surprised. “You don’t?”

“If you had asked me that when I was nineteen…I’d probably have a different answer. We were just dumb teenagers who didn’t know any better,” you tell him. His shoulders relax.

“You were never dumb,” he replies. “I was the idiot there, diving headfirst into something I hadn’t even thought through. Like usual.”

“You seem to be doing well, though.” 

His laugh is strained. “It’s been…rough.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. You rest a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently. He looks up at you, big brown eyes slingshotting you right back to the days where you’d catch tadpoles together, to the nights in your late teens where you’d fool around in his truck in the woods to avoid getting caught by your parents. 

Claire comes back to the table with another round of shots, passing them to you and Frankie. The man beside you holds his shot glass up, an eyebrow raised at you expectantly. You tap your glass to his before shooting back the liquor, sour mix and vodka burning down your throat as you keep your eyes fixed to Frankie.

You don’t miss the way his eyes go dark as he tracks the movement of your tongue across your lips. 

________

You’re on the dance floor, your body moving with Claire’s to the club mix the DJ is spinning. Will stands behind his fiancé like a guard, legs braced wide and body unmoving as she has her fun around him. His lips tilt in a little smile every time her hands slide over him.

The table Claire had dragged you from is still in view, Frankie nursing another beer with Santi and Benny, who had returned unsuccessful in their chase of the group of birthday girls. Frankie’s eyes find yours, like he can feel you looking at him. 

Maybe he can. Maybe the connection between the two of you, the invisible string that’s been wrapped between your hearts since you were only children, just needs to be dusted off. Not rebuilt.

The slide of hands around your hips and fingertips on the hem of your dress breaks you from your thoughts and your movement grinds to a halt.

“Why’d you stop, gorgeous? Just wanted one little dance,” a voice says, too close to your ear and too loud over the music for comfort. You dip away, turning to confront the man. A different body presses to you, one that shouldn’t feel as familiar as it does. 

“Not interested,” you shout back. 

Stupidly, the man reaches out for you again. Frankie’s hand wraps around his wrist, your old love twisting the man’s arm sharply as he snaps, “She said no.”

The man’s face goes red with rage, but Frankie doesn’t give him the chance to react, using his grip on his wrist to twist it until the man is turned away, arm angled painfully and pinned to his back. Will crowds in next to Frankie while Claire presses to your side.

Frankie gives the man a harsh shove, his body breaking through the crowd of people and crashing to the ground. Men in black SECURITY shirts descend, flashlights pointed at the scene. One grabs the man on the ground while the other grasps Frankie’s shoulder, tugging him along. 

“Hey, wait!” Claire starts to protest, but they keep moving. 

“I’m gonna go with them,” you tell her. She nods, pulling you in to press a kiss to your cheek. You follow the security guards through the crowd until they’re at the exit, shoving both men back onto the bustling Las Vegas strip. 

“Francisco!” You call after the man. He freezes, turning toward you. You look into the man’s face, searching his apologetic expression curiously.

“Sorry, Baby,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to leave ‘cause of me, you can go back and have fun.”

“Don’t apologize, Frankie. Come on, let’s just head back to the hotel, I was getting tired anyways.” You turn to walk away, expecting him to follow, but he grabs your wrist, gently, a juxtaposition to the bruising force he’d used on the man in the club.

“You called me Frankie,” he murmurs. Your brow furrows and seeing your confusion, he continues. “You’ve been calling me Francisco but just now…you called me Frankie.”

“I guess I did,” you murmur, your gaze trapped in his. God, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel just like when you were fifteen, when you’d been laying beside each other in the field and he worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time. The hand around your wrist slides lower, warm palm kissing yours and tangling your fingers together. 

“Lead the way,” he says.

________

Frankie has the same rush in his veins that he gets when he’s flying, soaring through the clouds like nothing can touch him, and it’s all because of your hand wrapped in his and the sound of his name from your lips after fifteen long years. It awakened a dormant part of him that he buried behind memories of you, ones where you were laughing and smiling at him like he’d hung the moon and stars in your honor.

When you reach the elevators, hands still clasped, you press the button for your floor. You don’t ask which floor Frankie is on, and he doesn’t offer it. He just holds your hand tighter and smiles when you squeeze him back.

You only let go of his hand when you’re at your door, digging your room key from your purse. You swipe the card, pushing into the room and holding the door open behind you for Frankie.

The room is dark, but the blackout curtains are open, the glittering lights of the Las Vegas strip illuminating the room. You set your bag on the desk before turning to lean against it, regarding him with those keen eyes and open expression that have haunted his dreams since leaving home.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi,” Frankie echoes. He takes a step closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You smile, ducking your head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Well, now you gotta tell me.”

“I was just thinking…I didn’t even get to kiss you goodbye.”

Frankie pauses. “You could kiss me hello instead,” he says carefully, reaching for your hand. You let him pull it from where it’s curled around the edge of the desk and he steps closer, his chest now brushing yours when he takes a deep inhale, the citrus and mint scent of you invading his senses.

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Yeah.”

You lean across the scant few inches left between your bodies, pressing your lips to his. His eyes flutter shut, savoring the experience. It feels like a homecoming he didn’t know he missed out on.

He can feel you drawing back, but he doesn’t want this to end. His hands come up, framing your face in his. He almost feels bad about it, holding your precious face between hands that killed while you were off saving lives, but when you gasp and he gets the opportunity to dip his tongue between your lips, he’s forgetting all about his morbid thoughts.

Frankie wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you onto the desk and stepping between your spread legs. He drops his hands to your knees, sliding them up your thighs until his fingers tease the short hem of your dress.

“Frankie,” you whine as his lips descend on your neck, leaving soft kisses and teasing bites of his teeth on your soft skin. He can’t help but smile.

“What do you want, mi querida,” he murmurs. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and he can feel your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He thinks back to nights when he’d borrow the truck and a pile of blankets, taking you out to the middle of the fields to stare up at the stars, his head pillowed on your stomach as you played with his hair in much the same way. 

“Just you, Frankie,” you whisper. “Please?”

________

At your plea, Frankie takes a step back, helping you down from the desk. His hands are immediately lifting your dress up and over your head, leaving you in the lingerie set you’d worn.

“Christ, Baby, you’re killin’ me,” he groans. He pulls you close, his lips trailing along the newly exposed skin of your chest, hot as a brand. He snaps the elastic of your panties against your hip, making you jump. “Thinkin’ you would get lucky tonight?”

You smirk at him. “Maybe. Claire did say Will had hot friends, after all.”

Frankie’s eyes go dark, the sweet brown of them swallowed by lust as he turns your body and guides you backwards until you hit the bed. He crawls up after you, lying on his belly as his broad shoulders force your legs apart. 

He turns his head to kiss a trail up your thigh, stopping just shy of where you desperately want his mouth before he gives the same attention to your other leg. You squirm beneath him, already so worked up because this is Frankie. The boy who chased after rabbits with you on the farm when you were children, the one that made you a jewelry box in woodshop in tenth grade, the one who touched you with shaking hands and fevered lips when you were sixteen. 

“Te extrañé mucho,” he says, placing a kiss right over your clit through your soaked panties, making you gasp. He sits up on his knees to give himself space to pull them down your thighs, balling them up and shoving them in the pocket of his pants. You raise an eyebrow at him and he smirks. “You won’t be needing those, don’t worry.”

Frankie resumes his position, flat on his stomach between your legs. He leans in close, his breath ghosting across your aching clit before he puts you out of your misery, his tongue dragging through your folds as he hums appreciatively.

“Fuck, Baby,” he groans before diving in, tongue swirling around your clit and dipping lower to lap at your entrance, his nose bumping your sensitive nub and driving you crazy, your hips already writhing beneath him. He places a heavy hand on your hip, holding you down and you can’t help the little moan that leaves you. 

You reach down, tangling your fingers into his soft curls. He groans against your heat, tongue moving faster over your clit as he reaches up and slides a finger inside of you, your back arching in appreciation. He looks up at you as he works your body with expert precision, mouth and fingers working in tandem and bringing you to the edge with record speed. When he works a second finger inside of you, the stretch of them makes you moan.

“Want you to cum all over my fingers, sweetheart. Come on, I’ve been a starving man for fifteen years, you gotta give it to me,” he says, fingers curling on each withdrawal of his hand.

“Frankie,” you moan, hips pumping desperately, fingers pulling his hair so tightly you’re certain it hurts but all he does is moan, the sound of it music to your ears and enough to send you toppling over the edge.

He works you through it, fingers slowing as he lifts his mouth to smile at you, a lust drunk tilt of his glistening lips. His head tilts to your thigh and he nuzzles his nose against the sweat damp skin. It takes you a moment to realize he’s not removing his fingers. In fact, they start curling against you again, softly at first, then with more intent when you can’t hold back a moan. 

“Can you give me another one? Please?” Frankie asks, his thumb now circling your clit. “Need it so bad, cariño.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “Frankie, please!”

“What do you need, Baby?” 

“Your mouth, god, please,” you beg, nearly incoherent with your desire for him. “Need it so bad.”

The strokes of his tongue are leisurely, wide swipes that drive you wild, your fists curling into the sheets as your back arches from the mattress. 

“Please fuck me, Frankie,” you plead. 

“One more for me, Baby, and I promise I will,” he says, fingers moving faster and sucking your throbbing clit between his lips. 

You come again, clenching around his fingers as you cry out a prayer of his name. He lifts his head, eyes laser focused on you as he works you through this second release.

“That’s right, Baby, such a good girl for me,” Frankie growls. He finally pulls away, standing at the side of the bed to hastily remove his clothes. 

He removes his shirt first, revealing miles of tan skin that makes your mouth water. He’s gotten thicker since you last saw him, his formerly lean muscles now hard with strength. You can’t help but catalog the new scars he’s gained, like the slash across his ribs and a circular one on his abdomen. 

Frankie’s eyes trap yours as his hands come to the fly of his pants, popping the button and dragging down the zipper. He shoves the fabric down his thighs along with his boxers, standing gloriously naked before you, his thick cock 

“You keep looking at me like that, Baby, this is gonna be over before it even starts,” he jokes as he crawls back onto the bed and between your legs. He presses his hips between yours, his hard cock sliding through your wetness and making you gasp. He freezes. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, dragging your nails down his back. “Please, I need you so fucking bad.”

Frankie’s head drops, fevered kisses pressed to your neck, words you can’t make out murmured against your skin as he reaches between your bodies and notches the head of his cock to your entrance, pressing in slowly as you gasp.

“Aquí es donde estaba destinado a estar,” he says. “You feel that, Baby? How you’re still made just for me?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your heart bursting with that overwhelming feeling of home as you look up into Frankie’s gorgeous face. He leans closer, his chest against yours as he draws his hips back before thrusting sharply back into you. His cock fills you so completely, dragging against the spot in you that drives you wild, your sensitive walls already fluttering around him. 

Those tears spill from your eyes, sticking to your lashes and slipping down your temples. Frankie leans down, kissing each side of your face where the salty tracks are, so gentle it makes them rush faster.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t cry. You know I could never stand it.”

That takes you back to when you were children, no older than eight, and a newborn calf had passed in the night. You cried into Frankie’s shirt until it was soaked. 

Or when you were fourteen and didn’t make the cheer squad, fighting back tears on the bus home as Frankie held your hand in his, whispering about how they didn’t know what they would be missing.

Most of all, it takes you back to when he ripped a cavern between your souls. His parting words, the vitriol in them, and the way your heart felt shattered for years.

Frankie captures your lips with his, like he knows where your mind wandered. It feels like an apology and a promise in the same shared breath. 

He pulls back, focusing his efforts on the movement of his hips against yours with deep, sharp thrusts that leave you gasping and babbling his name like the sweetest prayer and plea.

This orgasm is slow, syrupy, all encompassing as it washes over you. You shake beneath him with the power of it and he presses his body to yours as his hips stutter in their rhythm, chasing his release. He buries his head against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he moans your name, pulsing inside of you. 

Frankie collapses beside you, folding you in his arms as he whispers praise against your temple. You can feel his heart racing against the palm of your hand where it rests on his chest.

“It’s funny,” Frankie says.

“What is?” You ask.

“Mamá said I didn’t lose you, just had to find you again.” He grins at you. “Guess she was right, huh?”

You grin back. “Yeah. She always was.”

________

Six Months Later

Frankie checks his watch for the thousandth time, then checks the arrivals screen at the airport. 

He removes his cap, running a hand through his hair nervously. You’ll be back in his arms any minute but it feels like it’s taking forever.

The baggage claim alarm sounds, the conveyor belt grinding into motion. A wave of people appears at the top of the stairs leading from the terminals to the baggage claim, crowding the escalators and stairs. Frankie’s eyes scan every face in search of you.

A blur of movement from his left is all the warning he gets before a body slams into him, nearly knocking him off balance and punching the air from his lungs. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” you say against his chest, nuzzling your face against the fabric of his shirt.

Frankie chuckles, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you, too, Mrs. Morales.”

The ring on your left hand catches the light, a purchase from the hotel jewelry store in the early morning hours of your weekend in Vegas. Giggly and full of excitement, fingers tangled together as he pulled you along the strip in search of a wedding chapel. It didn’t take long with one on every corner, a man in an Elvis costume having you repeat your vows after him as you grinned at each other. 

Frankie will vividly remember it as the day the love of his life came back to him. 

You pull back from him with a smirk. “It’s actually Dr. Morales.”

Frankie laughs, loud and carefree, ignoring the gazes that land on him.

“Come on, Dr. Morales. Let’s get you home.”

Translations:

Aquí es donde estaba destinado a estar - This is where I was meant to be

Te extrañé mucho - I missed you so much

Cariño - honey/darling

mi querida - my dear

Frankie Morales tag list: @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @cutesyscreennamee @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @str84pedro @brilliantopposite187 @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @afterglowsb-tch13 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreall @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @casa-boiardi @sexpoisoned @mswarriorbabe80 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @darlingpedro @pascals-cat @therealcap @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @ievutebebe @gracieispunk @alec0 @vabeachazn

Want more Frankie? Check out the masterlist

[piscespixiewastaken]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream & Ponk - Rabbit

@sixteenth-day-event

(Did I totally misread the prompt and have to reword the fic to make it work? No, totally didn’t, no idea what you’re talking about)

(Also, thank you to @simplepotatofarmer for inserting rabbit!Dream in my head. May have accidentally stolen an idea from their Rabbit Run fic. If you haven’t yet, go read Rabbit Run, it’s very good! Can’t stop thinking of c!dream as prey hybrid types now.)

Sixteenth Day Event:

Dream & Ponk - Rabbit

Ponk finds an injured Dream in the woods by his house after a prison break. He’s not one to leave an injured man to die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I’m not the only one Sam decided to fuck with,” Ponk muttered.

The masked rabbit hybrid in front of him shrugged. He stared down at the hand Ponk was wrapping with bandages. He sat on the kitchen chair stiff and uncomfortable. There were more bandages wrapped around his torso and limbs under his trousers. His rabbit ears were heavily bandaged, which wasn’t helping his already damaged hearing. His right foot was missing, a rudimentary prosthetic attached to the stump of his lower leg. Ponk didn’t want to consider the implications of a rabbit hybrid losing a foot. Especially when he knew Dream could shapeshift.

“Seriously, what the hell did he do to you in there?”

Another shrug. Ponk sighed.

“Dream, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point. I can only help with so much if I’m guessing what hurts and what might be infected. You’re lucky to be moving while missing a foot like that,” he chided.

Dream’s ears wilted as he hunched his shoulders in response, as if trying to curl in on himself despite the fabric wrapped around his body. Ponk’s eyes softened.

“Just take your time, okay? I’m not turning you back over to Sam anytime soon.”

“What about the others?” a hoarse voice coughed out of Dream’s throat. “Would you turn me over to them?”

Ponk sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately. When had the server become like this? His best friend taking his arm over a couple of tokens. That same person torturing their former friend. The Egg corrupting the others and driving them to hurt and kill on a whim. When had it all gone so wrong?

“No, I won’t be. I’m not a snitch, Dream. Have a little faith that I have some sort of conscience after all this,” he huffed, letting out a small, humorless chuckle.

Dream turned away. As much as Ponk would have liked to see Dream’s face, see the expressions he was making… he understood Dream’s desire for privacy. It seemed to have been ripped from him in prison.

The tension building in the room caused Ponk to switch subjects.

“Why did Sam… why did he torture you? Was it supposed to be a punishment?” he winced at the words leaving his mouth. But he also couldn’t help his curiosity. His need to relate to someone who had suffered abuse at the hands of the same person.

Dream flinched. Ponk bit his lip to keep down the concerned reassurance that tried to leap from his throat. Dream wouldn’t want that, not right now.

“It… Sam didn’t lift a finger. Not really. He just… he just condoned it,” Dream mumbled. His voice was so quiet Ponk almost didn’t hear him.

“What? He let… he let someone else torture you? In his prison?” Ponk couldn’t keep the incredulous tone from his voice.

Dream nodded.

Ponk swallowed. He could see Sam torturing someone. Hell, he counted what he went through as torture, and that only lasted a day at most. But to hand someone else the tools and sit back and watch…. That was almost worse.

Just who on the server would feel comfortable to get close enough to Dream of all people to torture him?

“Wh—?”

“It was Q-Quackity,” Dream said, voice breaking ever so slightly on the other’s name.

Ponk frowned. He didn’t know Quackity particularly well. He had seen the other when they had gone to the vault to detain Dream. But otherwise, they barely interacted. The younger man must be power hungry then, enough to try and take something from a man already locked up and unable to touch anyone.

“Huh.” It was all Ponk could think to respond.

There another long silence. The air felt thicker and stuffier by the minute, and Ponk debated opening a window before deciding against it. It would cause Dream to panic more, and Ponk had barely managed to get the young rabbit hybrid to his house after finding him bleeding out in the woods.

Ponk turned back to the masked hybrid to finish off the last bandage. His frown deepened as a line of blood dripped from Dream’s chin.

“Dream, is your head bleeding?”

Dream flinched, before reaching up and dabbing the skin under his mask. His fingers came away red with blood. Ponk watched as the young man’s chest stuttered, his lungs not quite working properly as he began hyperventilating.

Ponk took his hand and held it firmly but gently, rubbing circles on bandaged knuckles.

“I need you to breathe, Dream. It’s all right. You’re okay. I can treat the injury if you take your mask off. Can you do that for me?”

Dream went still, ears flattening against his head. His hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. He shook his head. Ponk’s eyes softened.

“I promise no one will hurt you, Dream. I just want to make sure it’s not infected, okay?”

Dream was quiet again. For a good moment, Ponk thought he would have to leave the wound alone and pray it wouldn’t become infected.

And then Dream slowly raised his hand to the white disc that sat on his face. He undid the strap and lowered it.

The face that stared down at the ground was covered in scars and burns. As if a hot knife had been dragged across his cheeks. His little nose was inflamed and torn. His whiskers were almost shaved, which couldn’t possibly be good for his stability. There was even a small “Q” dug into the jawline. No part of Dream’s body had been spared the torture then.

Ponk was glad his own face was covered, but he knew his eyes would betray his horror. He quickly composed himself and got to work on the gash in Dream’s forehead, newly opened from whatever activity Dream had done after escaping the Vault. The young man stayed quiet, despite flinching at how close Ponk got. His dull, green eyes never left Ponk’s hands as he worked, and his ears were still pinned against his head.

“Why are you helping me?” The question was unprompted, maybe to deal with the unsettling silence that had fallen over the two of them.

Ponk sat back for a moment. “Because you used to be my friend, Dream. And you’re injured. I don’t actually enjoy seeing people suffer.”

Dream scoffed but remained silent.

Ponk placed the last plaster on Dream’s skin and stood from where he’d crouched beside the other. He stretched his arms over his head.

“Well, that should be everything. You can stay here for the night, and I would highly recommend you do so. I don’t want you to tear open any stitches,” he said, gesturing to a nearby pullout couch.

Dream shook his head. “I… I have somewhere to go. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

Ponk wished he were more surprised by the sincerity in that remark. It would have hurt less to hear than the gratitude oozing out of Dream’s voice, how his ears perked up just a little at Ponk’s offer. As if Dream thought he should have died out there alone and afraid.

“Of course, Dream. My door is open if you need anything, all right? And I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

Dream nodded, strapping his mask back on.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he pulled his hoodie back on and donned his armor.

He stood from his chair and almost immediately stumbled, catching himself before Ponk could react. He waved Ponk off and grunted as he stepped towards the door. It swung open with a push, and Dream peered out for a moment, glancing at the surroundings. And turning back to Ponk one last time, he nodded his thanks.

And then he was off again, hobbling down the path to the woods nearby.

Ponk stared out the open door to starlit sky above. He sighed, closed the door, and moved to clean the table of bandage rolls and dots of blood. A deep sorrow built up inside him as he thought of the dull eyes of a man he had considered a close friend. And of the maniacal look on their abuser’s face when he’d taken Ponk’s arm. One he probably had when Quackity had taken Dream’s foot.

When had it all gone so wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(You thought, oh cute fic prompt, maybe fluff? No, you get angst instead. No comfort, only hurt).

[jowrites]

Thank God for cats - Jake Sim DRABBLE

Part 1

IDOL!JAKE! X F!READER FATHER!JAKE X MOTHER!READER!

In which Jake's daughter wants to hear the story how her parents met and fell in love for the 100th time...

TW: Mental health issues, depression mentioned, mentions of killing self, angst, semi cheating, emotional cheating, sad boi Jake, jealousy, fluff, neaurodivergent reader, mentions of pet death, cursing, kissing, groping

Jake sat with his daughter on the floor in her room, finishing up play time before bed. She had on her pajamas already and just had those few minutes before he had to put her to bed. He smiled down fondly at her as she handed him his items and held out her tiny palm to him.

“That will be $100 please!” She said and his eyes gaped.

“$100? For a banana and some eggs?” He said, gasping. “I don’t think that’s right, Miss.”

“The cashier is never wrong,” She said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Well, in this instance she is,” He said, folding his arms over his chest in a copy of her. “I feel scammed.”

“Fine. You can’t take the groceries then. Next time, make sure you have the money, Sir,” She said, huffing at him.

“And next time, try not to scam your customers!” He retorted back, sticking his tongue out. 

“Okay, time for bed,” YN came into the room then. “It’s daddy’s bedtime too.”

“Aww, can I stay up a little longer?” Their daughter pouted. 

“Nope. Into bed my little Layla,” He said lifting up off the ground, her giggles filling the air. He placed her in her small bed, tucking her in and getting her favorite stuffed animal, the white plush dog, and tucking it beside her.

“Goodnight, Layla. Sweet dreams, I love you!” YN said, leaning in and giving her a sweet butterfly kiss on the nose before getting up and walking out of the room.

“Daddy?” She said, “Tell me the story again about how you and mommy met.”

“Again?” He asked. “Okay, let’s get comfortable…”

He hopped into bed with her and got comfortable beside her, she nestled into his side, her little frame fitting perfectly in his arms. She hugged the plush to her little body as he kissed the top of her head.

“It all started on a late night walk…”

10 Years Before

Jake does not like to think of himself as an emotional man, he normally hides behind a mask and puts on the perfect smile and hopes everything he feels just goes away. For the most part, that always works for him, but why wasn’t it working this time? Jake couldn’t wait until it was late and he and the boys could be dropped off and he could rest his eyes. He was so exhausted, drained from the everyday schedules back to back and not having the time to even breathe. 

Ding

New message

Jake ignored it, placing his phone on the table beside him as he waited for the last two members to finish their side of things before they could all leave. 

“Is it Jiyoon?” Jay asked from his spot on the couch. Jake shrugged but he assumed it probably was. The last conversation he had with his girlfriend was not one he wanted to remember or one he wanted to even think about at that moment. It wasn’t a nice one, one where she threw curse words at him and reminded him just how useless he was. He simply walked away without much care. If she wanted to leave him, he wouldn’t blame her.

“You know, you won’t be able to ignore her forever, at least text her back,” Jay said, coming up and patting him on the shoulder. “Come on, time to go.”

Jake nodded, picking up his phone and walking behind Jay as the rest of the boys all followed suit. They all thanked the staff and began walking out to the vans to finally go home. Schedules these days were rough and Jake didn’t know how much longer he had before he would crack. He pushed those thoughts aside as he sat down in the van and closed his eyes, embracing the little moments of peace he had before he had to get back to reality.

Jake expected sleep to come to him the moment he laid down in bed but it never came. He kept thinking he was just a terrible person and he was being a terrible boyfriend and he hated it. He hated being like this. He read Jiyoon’s message and immediately felt guilty. She had come by and dropped off food for him and the boys and she told him to make sure he gets some rest because she knows how he can be. Even when they fight, she still cares about him and it drives him crazy. He sighed before getting up and throwing on a  hoodie and a hat, grabbing his mask and walking out the door. He needed some air.

When he was feeling like this, he always came to the Han river and it always seemed to cheer him up. He could always clear his mind and think better when he walked alongside it. It was way past 2 AM by now but that didn’t stop him from coming out and having this small moment of freedom. This small moment to himself. His shoulders were constantly feeling heavy and his feet walked with shackles as he marched alongside the river strip, he didn’t know why but he wanted to cry. He didn’t let himself though, he knew this would soon pass over and everything would be fine. 

He stopped in his tracks and in his view he saw a girl in the grass sobbing her eyes out. Concern filled his face, he looked around and saw nobody in sight, just her and his curiosity got the best of him because suddenly his tired feet were walking towards her. 

“Uhm, hello?” He asked from behind her. She still cried, not noticing his presence and he cleared his throat loudly. She didn’t budge. “Hello? Are you okay?”

He tapped her shoulder and she yelped, startled front he tapped and looked up at him. He jumped back from her loud screech and screamed in response to her getting startled. Her startle startled him. He stared at her with big eyes as she stood up, holding out a hand. 

“Please, I don’t have any money. Just let a girl cry in peace,” She said, and he quickly began shaking his head. 

“Oh…oh no! No, I just wanted to see if you’re okay?” He explained, and she sighed, her shoulders let loose.

“Thank God you’re not like a creep or anything,” She said. “I’m sad.”

“That makes two of us,” He said, chuckling at his small joke. She just stared at him. “I mean, are you okay?”

“No.” 

She went back and sat down, sniffling again to herself and Jake looked around not wanting to leave the stranger alone. She wasn’t from here, she was a foreigner and he wasn’t sure if he should leave her alone out here. Sometimes, especially for foreigners, it wasn’t too safe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, taking a seat beside her.

“My cat died,” She said, just as she began to sob again and hug something to her chest. Jake noticed it was a small blanket. “T-this w-was his.”

Jake didn’t know what came over him, but watching the scene before him and seeing this stranger in such a vulnerable state without any worry of who would see her, brought his eyes to tears. He began to cry, trying to hide his own sniffles as he thought about his own pet, his dog Layla. The girl suddenly heard Jake beside her and she calmed down and looked at him.

“Why are you crying? He was my cat!” She cried out, huffing and sobbing.

“I’m crying because you’re crying!” He cried back.

And just like that, the two strangers sat beside each other and just cried over the death of a cat, together.

It was around 3 AM now when Jake walked out of the 7 Eleven with two hot teas in his hand. He offered one to the girl who sat on the bench waiting for him, she silently thanked him. Their eyes were puffy, noses were read, and together they sat there sniffling next to each other as if they’ve been friends for years. The blanket she had was wrapped over her shoulders and she held the cup between her two hands. Jake can get a better view of her face now, seeing her beauty and youth. He never felt so odd, crying together with a stranger over a cat he didn’t even know the name of. He knew the members would never let him live this down.

“What’s your name?” The girls asked, suddenly breaking him from his dreaded mind.

“Oh, I’m Jake,” he said, holding out a hand. She took it and nodded.

“I’m YN. Thank you for crying with me, Jake. Thanks for making sure I wasn’t alone during this time,” She said, tears welling up again and she quickly pushed them aside and gave him a small smile.

“You welcome,” he said, giving her a smile back. “What was your cat's name?”

“His name was Ophelia, but I called him Ophy for short,” She said. She took out her phone and showed him her lockscreen. The screen showed a beautiful gray tabby on the front, thick and looking at the camera as if posing.

“You named your cat Ophelia who was a boy?” He asked. “That’s interesting, I guess.”

“I thought he was a she when I first found him,” she said. “He had some tiny balls.”

Jake let out a laugh at that. His laughter brought laughter upon her and together the two were just laughing together.

“Man, people will think we’re insane,” he said.

“Who cares what people think? To be honest, my insanity normally keeps people away and they run. Don’t know why you stuck around and mother towards me tonight,” She said. 

“You were literally crying, I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said.

“And I appreciate that. Well, I don’t want to waste more of your time,” She said, standing from her spot. “Thanks for keeping me company, Jake. Uhm…yeah.”

She suddenly turned around and started walking away, leaving Jake to just stare after her. He didn’t know why or what compelled him to do this, but as she was about to round the corner he chased after her. Once he caught up to her she noticed he was behind her and turned around. She lifted an eyebrow at him as he caught his breath, she just looked at him confused.

“C-can I have your number?”

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

Present time

Jake heard giggles from beside him, looking down and seeing Layla giggling to herself.

“Why are you laughing?” He asked.

“Because you and mommy were crying together when you first met,” she said. “That’s kind of lame, daddy.”

“Wow, after everything I do and I’m still so lame to you,” Jake said, sighing.

“You’re lame but also really brave for getting her number then, and Thank God you got her number,” Layla said.

“Hm? Why?” he asked her.

“Because if you didn’t you might have never seen her again, duh! And then I would never be here,” she said, matter of factly.

“You know, you might be right. But Mommy is my soulmate, Layla, and soulmates always find each other…Let’s continue…so that’s how Mommy and Daddy became friends…”

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

Past

Ding

New message

Ding

New message

YN: I didn’t know you were an idol!

YN: 2 weeks and you failed to leave out that information. Very rude.

Jake: Is that a problem?

YN: No lol Just please tell me nobody knows. Kpoppies are crazy and I’m too young to die.

Jake: Don’t worry lol nobody will find out we’re friends

YN: Gucci hehe

Jake was about to type his reply when their manager walked into the room and began to talk to them over the upcoming schedules for the weeks to come. Normally company meetings didn’t last this long but things have been going on in the company and they’ve been coming in late. They were preparing for an upcoming comeback on top of touring still. Things were moving so fast and Jake could not slow down even if he wanted to. On top of things, things with his girlfriend seemed to be in the same state. They were working things out, but Jake couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting her time. They never saw each other which was the root of most of their problems, him not prioritizing her enough, but it’s not like he could just drop everything and go running to her every moment she wanted. She knew what she signed up for the moment they started going out.

“Alright boys, good work! We’re going to give you guys the next 3 days off before schedules start back up,” their manager spoke up, eliciting the room with cheers from the boys. Finally, some rest.

“As of now, you’re on a 3 day vacation. No funny business and let me know your exact whereabouts. Got it?”

********

Jake found himself outside the cat cafe covered up and hands in his pockets. YN gave him the time he could come by when she was closing up shop and he could come see the cats if he wanted. He mostly wanted to see her again, something about her just drew him in and he felt like he could be himself for once. Since they've exchanged numbers and started texting, he was intrigued by the way her mind worked. She always seemed to say outside of the box things and he appreciated that kind of thinking. She also never judged him and he quickly became comfortable enough around her. 

“Are you going to stand out here and be a weirdo or are you going to come in?” YN said, snapping him from his daze as she approached him. “Hey, if you prefer to see the cats from outside that’s fine, you’ll be missing out on George though. He’s really the best manager.”

Jake chuckled before following her inside. She quickly flipped the sign and locked the door so nobody would come running in and disrupt Jake’s peace if they recognized him. Jake took in the place, the cute beige interior, the colors of neutrals and browns. It was very cozy. Cats were spread out everywhere, most of them asleep and some of them coming up to him right away and rubbing up on his legs. He knelt down and began petting their fur, the two cats who greeted him.

“That’s Yellow Mustard and Avocado Toast,” YN said, walking by and wiping some of the tables in the process. She was still closing up the cafe.

“You have a very strange way of naming things,” he said.

“I’m really not that creative, Yellow Mustard got mustard on him one time and we can’t sell Avocado toast anymore because of him,” YN explained, pointing to each respective cat.

“Uh, do I want to know?” He asked.

“Not really,” She replied.

Some other cats jumped down from  their spots and came over to Jake. He quietly sat on the floor, enjoying the cat’s company. He noticed then some of the cats had collars on them with name tags. He noticed ‘Luke, I am your father’ on one, ‘Lana Del Gay’ on another and some other weird wacky ones that brought laughter out of him.

“Who picks the names?” Jake asked.

“We all do, sometimes customers. It depends,” YN said, shrugging as she went back to the counter to finish closing up. “Oh, do you want anything to drink?”

“Naww, I was thinking we can go grab something after,” Jake suggested and YN nodded.

“Sounds good. Also, how did things go with your girlfriend? Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“The same, we didn’t fight but we didn’t make any progress either,” He said, sighing and standing up and coming to her. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s worth it anymore.”

“Do you still like her?” YN asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he was being honest. “I just feel like I’m wasting her time and she is just holding onto something I feel like isn’t there anymore.”

“Jake, if that’s the case you need to end it with her. It's not good to drag it out like this. That’s not fair to her or you,” She explained, before letting out a gasp and rushing off to somewhere in the back. “I forgot to turn off the sink back here, shit! You were saying?”

“I didn’t say anything, will George be mad?” Jake asked as he watched her finish up.

“I don’t know, ask him yourself,” She said, nodding to the side where Jake saw a black cat in a tie.

“That’s George?” He asked. “I thought he was your manager?”

“He is,” she said. “He keeps me in check.”

“YN, that’s a cat,” he said.

“Your point? Ain’t that right George, you run the place,” She said, walking to the cat and giving him some pets. “Ha, Thank God for cats, am I right?”

********

Jake and YN sat on the floor in her small apartment, 2 bottles of soju had already been opened and down and they were working on their 3rd. They picked up some food on their way out of the cafe and YN offered to go somewhere quiet which Jake quickly accepted. Her place was extremely cozy, and she had another cat who was white laying on the small sofa behind them. Jake was absentmindedly rubbing the cat's fur which the cat easily felt happy and purred to. The two unlikely friends ate fried chicken and laughed together, talking about their lives and embarrassing things that happened. It was just so easy talking to her.

“I haven’t felt this alive in a while,” Jake admitted, his cheeks flushed from the soju, and he felt like just talking. 

“Why’s that?” She asked, taking a bite of her chicken. “Do you want to kill yourself?”

“Jesus, YN,” Jake said, stunned by her straightforwardness. 

“What? Usually when people say things like that they want to die,” She said, her shoulder shrugging. “I’ve been there too, I understand.”

“No, I am not going to kill myself,” he clarified. “But I do feel like I’m drowning.”

“Well, good,” Yn said.

“What’s good?” He asked.

“Good that you don’t want to take your life,” YN said. “We just became friends and I would be sad over your death too. I already lost a friend.”

Jake understood her, remembering how she just lost her cat which he learned was everything to her. How this cat brought her so much joy and comfort as she was in a  foreign Country away from home. YN came here for a job that quickly fell through, and the night she quit that job she found her cat Ophy. He had been with her through all her hard times here, and even led her to her current job at the cat cafe. 

“And if you feel like you’re drowning, just remember we float,” YN said. “Whatever you’re going through, you’ll get through it. And if you need a hand don’t worry, Roger and I will extend our hands so you don’t sink. It’s not fun going through things alone. Talk to someone, cry it out..crying always makes me feel better so don’t be afraid to cry. Embrace it like you did the night we met.”

“Embrace it, okay. I’ll embrace it more since you told me to,” Jake said, smiling at her.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know? We’re all human,” YN said. “Just don’t marinate in it, just let it out.”

“You have a very odd way with words, but it’s making me feel better,” Jake said. 

“We’re all just a bunch of meat of all sorts of different flavors! Only difference is we shouldn’t marinate in things, that’d be cannibalism,” YN said and Jake let out a big laugh.

“What are you even saying? And why do I understand it? Jake said.

“I’m right!” YN defended. “I’m also drunk.”

*******

Jake had laughed so much since that night. He could feel himself slowly coming back to life. He felt more awake and more excited during the day. Anytime he was tired or disappointed in something, or a performance YN was right there cheering him on and being honest with him. She was such a great listener and anytime he had stress he would take her advice and his emotions became more clear instead of so stagnant and everywhere. His black and white world was becoming full of color, and the ice in his chest was starting to melt away and he could finally breathe. 

There was one thing he knew he had to take care of: Jiyoon.

YN was very clear on her boundaries with him, keeping their friendship and never letting him cross a boundary she knew he’d regret. She knew he wasn’t a cheater and she would not let him become one. Friendzoning Jake was how she constantly set boundaries and if he ever tried to break through new barriers she would shut him down. He was in an unhappy relationship and she was aware, but she was not going to be this outlet for him to come to when he was lonely. He had to take care of that himself.

Jake didn’t like the term ‘breaking up with you’, he honestly hated it even if it was coming from him. He felt worse, but he knew he had to do this. This was for him. Throughout these months he realized he should have done this a long time ago. This had nothing to do with his newfound friendship with YN, he was checked out of the relationship long before he even met her. He spends more time talking with YN than with Jiyoon, and YN helped him come to his senses that he’d been checked out long before anything. He had feelings for YN but he still had yet to find her feelings for him. She did nothing but be careful and strictly be nothing more than just his friend. His very good friend and she helped him regulate his emotions more and come to a more emotional maturity level. He wished he didn’t need a crazy cat lady to help him realize this, but it turned out that way.

“Oh? Jake,” Jiyoon said, as she opened her door. 

“I came to see you,” Jake said, Jiyoon stepped aside and let him come into her apartment. The place always looked the same, nothing new to him. He didn’t move from the doorway though, and Jiyoon knew he didn’t plan to stay.

“You look good, so much healthier,” Jiyoon said, tucking some of his hair behind his ear.

“I’ve been doing better. What about you? You cut your hair,” He said, noticing how her long hair was no longer long and now cut to her shoulders.

“Ah, it was bothering me. I don’t know if you remember when I texted you the photo,” Jiyoon said, looking away from him. He didn’t remember and that just made him feel more awful. 

“I’ve been-”

“Really busy, I know. Your company just doesn’t give you a break, does it?” She cut him off. 

“Jiyoon, I’m really sorry,” he said. “Really, really fucking sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, Jake. I understand. This is what I signed up for when I started dating you, remember?” Jiyoon stepped forward trying to embrace Jake, but he only stepped back causing a frown to form on her face.

“No, it’s not okay, Jiyoon. I think we’ve both known for a while,” Jake said, and when he looked into her eyes he could see the tears in her eyes and he could hear her heart shatter. “We have to end this so we’re no longer suffering anymore.”

“Jake, we can work this out, please,” Jiyoon said, crying and gripping the material of his shirt.

“Jiyoon, I don’t want to. I’m no longer in this relationship emotionally, mentally, physically even…and you don’t deserve that. I’ve been wasting your time and you deserve better, I’m sorry,” He said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them one last time before dropping them to her sides gently. “Thank you for all the wonderful memories. You’re such a beautiful person inside and out, I hope whoever comes along treats you better. Be well, okay?”

Jake kissed the top of her head before opening the door and walking out. He knew if he looked back he’d be shattered even more. This is not what he thought would ever happen between them, but it did and he only has himself to blame. He let a few tears fall from his eyes before gathering himself up and putting on his hat and mask, covering himself up and walking out into the night. As he turned the corner he dropped down to the floor and sat there comforting himself. He brought his knees to his chest as he let out a few breaths. It was over, it was done. Suddenly, he felt something rubbing up on his leg and when he lifted his head he saw a gray tabby, rubbing up on his side and comforting him. He smiled and began to pet the cat, letting the cat come up on his lap and give his hands some licks.

“Thank God for cats.”

To be continued...

[awkwardtickleetoo]

You can thank my tickle dreams for this one. (I just so happened to be really ler for George last night)

I feel like George can't handle teases about him being trapped. I'll use Sapnap as an example because he's closest to me. So in the dream George is pretty much just annoying him like a little brother would which earns him a clawed hand to the side of his ribs. He squirms a bit away so his hand jumps to the other set of ribs which catches him off guard. When he tries to get up Sapnap pulls him back down and is now sporadically getting every spot he can reach, not pinning him in any way, just pulling him back when he tries to roll away or get up. Just repeating "Oohhh, you can't get away~! You get get awaaayy~! You're trapped~! You're stuck here~! You can't get out~!" Things like that and George can't even for rebuttals, all he can do is just let out little yells in protest

funnily enough these are actually some of my favorite teases for george as well omg

bc it’s just true right???? like he would fucking. HATE that shit it would get him soooo bad, poor baby :((( he just gets so blushy and shy and nervous bc he knows it’s true so he can’t deny it or he’ll be proven wrong, which means literal torture most times, but even if he wanted to deny it he can’t bring himself to bc he’s so giddy he can barely form words other than whiny little “no!! :(“s and “shut up!!”s and so on

and like. you know george would love being thrown around like a little ragdoll, squirming in sapnap’s arms and trying to push at his hands or shoulders or head or anything like that, it would make him soooo much more giggly and squirmy and nervous and excited that it would make it even harder for him to escape. and sap knows that, so he plays it up even more than he already would, moving his hands around and grabbing george in such stupid ways, maneuvering him into whatever position he wants (especially ones that make it harder for george to get out, bc he knows he loves it), and teasing him non stop as he does so

especially when he over exaggerates it, george loves that too but it gets him so so embarrassed and bashful, which only eggs sap on, of course, how could it not when george is so damn cute when he’s embarrassed????

it’s like clockwork each time too: george annoys him, sap grabs at his ribs or sides or thighs or wherever he happens to feel like that time, george immediately backpedals and does the “no don’t!! i didn’t mean it i’ll stop i’ll stop!!” that does absolutely nothing, and then sap is pulling him into his lap and latching onto his hips <3 and george knowsssss its coming too so he’s immediately squirming and yelling before he falls into helpless laughter and fights to pry sapnap’s hands away

but then sap says “aww, where are you going? you think you’re gonna get away?? that’s so cute, poor baby thinks he can get away :(“ and now he has to struggle picking between hiding his face and shoving sapnap away, which. is not helping his escape attempt. bc how is he supposed to not cover his face when sapnap keeps teasing him exactly how he knows will get him!!! all “you’re stuck with me forever!!!” and “you’re never getting away!!” and “aw, georgie, i bet it tickles so much more when you’re trapped like this, doesn’t it, cutie?” and he’s just. a goner. all he can do is shake his head and laugh and squeak out “im sorry!!!” every so often in the hopes that sapnap will take pity on him (even tho his incredibly happy giggles ruin the apologetic words)

and sapnap knows the difference between george “squirming to get away” and george actually squirming to get away, so he knows when to stop– even if he pushes a little bit further just to hear george’s desperate pleads before he decides he’s had enough.

as george calms down, sapnap stays clung onto him, wrapping his arms and legs around him like a koala and letting george fall into another round of giggles as he playfully shoves at him again and complains that he’s “gross” or “stupid” or the occasional “let me go sapnap i hate you im not kidding” that earns him a hearty laugh from sapnap as he squeezes him tighter. they usually chill like that for a while after, sometimes with some additional gentle tickles if george is still in the mood for them (or if he happens to want sapnap to have a taste of his own medicine, which does happen, but only lasts for a little while as sapnap is much, much stronger than george no matter what the situation is).

usually they’ll watch a show after, sometimes on the couch but sometimes going into one of their rooms, and sometimes even ending the playful night with one or both of them falling asleep, but they both love every part of it no matter how it ends up going <3

[medtechenthusiast]

about me and rules of my blog

I am a 22 year old straight male 

I was unfortunately born in Russia and was born with a disability called fetal alcohol spectrum disorder because my birth mother was drinking when pregnant with me which basically gives me the social maturity of a 15 year old but i am normal on the outside. It also makes me hyper-sexual. I enjoy making music specifically dubstep. I am in college persuing my EMT-B and eventually my paramedic certification and dream of becoming a TEMS (tactical emergency medical services) member which are the guys that go in behind LEOs(law enforcement officers) during a mass shooting or other violent scenario and treat casualties by applying tourniquets to stop major bleeding dealing with airway emergencies and performing advanced procedures such as cricothyrodotomies which is a surgical airway and starting IVs. 

I have been interested in medicine/medical related things since a small child after a traumatic experience with the anesthesia induction for a tonsillectomy in 2006 AKA being held down and induced with sevoflurane. My main focus has always been airway management and ventilation for some reason but I embrace all aspects of medicine. My parents got me my first resuscitation bag in 2014 as a reward for passing my first aid merit badge. In 2019 I started a small collection of mostly disposables and have built on that since. I bought my first patient monitor in 2022 which is a Philips intellivue MP5. I have been continuously scrutinized by my family for all of the equipment I own and buy with them saying it’s “freaky” “weird”  and then thinking I have an obsession with it. Then also saying “you don’t need any of that stuff nor have the training to use it”  not to mention them saying “why can’t you just be normal”

In early 2023 I joined a med tech enthusiast discord server started by a small YouTuber who has a collection of defibrillators including a lifepak 12 which convinced me to buy my first defibrillator monitor which is a Philips heartstart MRx 

I am also an outdoor emergency care technician (OEC-T)  for the national ski patrol and have saved numerous lives but have experienced death before which is a whole completely different story if you want to hear that story just let me know. And I do have extensive medical training.

I’m also a Boy Scout and an Eagle Scout. 

rules of my blog

-My blog is mostly about medical technology and equipment I do not have a med fetish or get any sexual gratification from it but I have no judgement towards those that do.

-Despite me being a first responder None of what I post is medical advice don’t ask me for medical advice cuz I’ll just say that you need to talk to your doctor. Or if it’s an emergency to call EMS.

-My profile is 18+ only, I don’t support minors being publicly involved in fetish or similar communities. Fetishes are an awesome thing to explore and people tend to find out about them in their teens. I think it’s perfectly okay for teens to learn about fetishes and to experiment, but do not interact with fetish or sexual communities until you turn 18. The internet is full of creepy people and unfortunately there are plenty of bad eggs in fetish communities or online in general who will try to take advantage of you, so it’s best to wait.

-I’m more likely to respond to your DMs or interact with you in general if you actually have content posted on your profile.

-I am more than happy to take requests for content you want to see me post (except for things that involve shocking myself with my defibrillator or performing invasive procedures on myself. because that is dangerous and I consider that to be a form of self harm if it is medically unnecessary not to mention potentially illegal if untrained), a mostly complete list of all my equipment is in several posts, just leave a comment on one of my posts or use the ask me anything button to make a request.

[invisibleraven]

"This totally does not feel like the movies." for Reggie/anyone because he WOULD.

If Reggie had one guilty pleasure, it was rom-coms. He loved watching all manner of movies that showed people falling in love with some hijinx and misunderstandings until they came together in the end. He had fond memories of watching the classics with his MeeMaw, and introducing her to some of his modern favourites-but he didn't dare tell other people about his love for the genre, given it usually was met with ridicule.

Tonight was no different-Carrie had invited him over so he could tutor her in math-something he did on the regular. She paid him of course, and even stocked non-healthy snacks for him, which was a blessing after the first session ended with them dragging the rice cakes that her dad kept in the pantry.

Afterwards they usually just hung out for a bit; they had even become friends of a sort, and Reggie grew to love those times together, even if all they were doing was chatting or watching a terrible movie together. Carrie, weirdly enough, liked slasher movies-the bloodier, the better, and even though Reggie hated horror, and Carrie had asked a few times if he wanted to watch something else, he had always told her that her choice was fine.

After the end of the movie, they were both yawning a bit-the movie had been a bit by the books, and even Carrie admitted it wasn't her favourite. Only when Reggie opened the door to go home, he was met with a torrent of wind and rain.

"Holy cow, when did the storm start?" he asked.

"I don't know," Carrie replied. "But I don't feel comfortable letting you drive home in it."

"I'll be fine."

"Reggie, it's over an hour drive, I'll worry the whole time. Please stay-unless your folks will freak."

Honestly Reggie's parents probably wouldn't even notice, let alone care if he didn't come home. They were too involved in their latest feud, and Reggie had been sneaking in and out as a result, rather than get caught in their whirlwind.

"Nah, I wasn't looking forward to driving home in it either. I'll stay until it passes."

"Just stay the night, I'll even break out the real eggs for breakfast," Carrie offered.

"Well when you throw in eggs..."

Carrie stuck her tongue out at him-she was always a bit of a brat, but Reggie honestly kind of loved that about her-among many other things, but there was no way he was jeopardizing their friendship by telling her that. Then she offered to loan him something to sleep in-meaning he got to borrow sweats from the Trevor Wilson, even if he would probably never tell anyone.

You would think, living in a mansion, Carrie had lots of extra rooms for him to stay in, but apparently not. "We don't really have many guests, and my dad never did get around to adding a guest bed to the pool cabana," she explained as she led him to her room.

"Are you sure you're okay with me being in here?" he asked.

"For the millionth time, it's fine," she assured him. "The couches would kill your back, and my dad's mattress is honestly worse-he likes it extra firm. So it's this or the floor."

Look, Reggie would never claim to be the smartest guy in the world, but even he wasn't about to volunteer to sleep on the floor when his dream girl was offering him a spot in her bed next to her. Plus her bed was three times the size of his standard twin, so there was plenty of room.

Soon enough they were ready for bed, and once Carrie ensured everything was locked up, she slipped into the covers with him. "Good night Reggie."

"Night."

The lights clicked off, and Reggie tried to sleep, but he found his previous sleepiness had all but evaporated. Plus, no amount of band sleepovers with Luke and Alex would compare to sharing a bed with Carrie. He could smell her everywhere-the spicy sweet scent that he had come to adore. Plus he could hear her breathing-softly, but not yet slumbering.

He honestly had expected to feel uncomfortable-or for Carrie to insist on like, a pillow wall, but no, it just felt like a normal night-just one where he couldn't sleep.

"This totally does not feel like the movies," he murmured to himself.

Carrie turned over and faced him at that. "What?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you up."

"It's nothing, I always have trouble sleeping during storms," she admitted. "Now what were you saying about movies?"

Reggie blushed, thankful for the darkness hopefully obscuring the burning of his cheeks. "It's just, in the movies, when the two leads have to share a bed, it's always awkward, and this isn't at all."

"I mean, we could make a pillow wall, or get a second set of sheets if you want," she teased.

"I'm good," he replied.

"I didn't realize you knew those kind of tropes," Carrie stated. "You don't strike me as a rom com kind of guy."

"I love them," he admitted. "I grew up watching classic romances with my MeeMaw, and always enjoy a good story about people falling in love. I just don't usually tell people, because you know how idiots are when it comes to guys and romance movies."

"I think it shows you have a sensitive soul, and good taste," Carrie remarked. "Which one is your favourite?"

"Well I grew up on stuff like It Happened One Night and Casablanca, but I do love When Harry Met Sally, and The Notebook."

"I like Pretty Woman and You've Got Mail," Carrie replied.

"Always great choices," Reggie agreed. "Maybe next time we could watch one of those instead of another slasher flick?"

"You don't like horror movies do you?" Carrie asked.

"I kind of hate them?"

"Reggie! Why didn't you say anything? We can always watch something else! I love other genres-musicals, rom coms, big action set pieces. We don't have to watch slasher flicks if you don't want to."

"I didn't want to be a rude guest."

"It's not rude to tell me when you're not enjoying yourself," Carrie replied. "So next time we'll see what movie we can both agree on, and go from there."

"Sounds good," Reggie said, punctuating it with a yawn. "Okay, sleepy now. Sweet dreams."

"Sleep tight Reggie," Carrie replied, and soon the two of them were fast asleep.

And if they drifted towards each other in the night, waking tangled together-well that was one romantic trope Reggie really didn't mind. And if the brilliant smile Carrie gave him when she woke up in his arms was any indication-it was a favourite of hers as well.

Next movie night, they did indeed pick a rom com they both enjoyed. However, they didn't end up watching much of it-but the kisses they shared were better than any up on the screen anyways, so Reggie didn't count it as a loss.