#sorry for adding i just wanted to point this out

[bloodnight-blaze]

“ who cares, baby? i think i wanna marry you. ”

ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, and sylus w a gn!reader.

synopsis: you marry the love of your life.

notes: started off as silly thoughts for my friend and then turned into this so. take it. enjoy it.

warnings: not canon to the story of the game, self-indulgent, weddings, sickeningly sweet fluff, they all cry lol, it's short and it's sweet, reader does wear a dress so sorry if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, petnames used: starlight (x), sunshine (z), angel (r), princess (s).

XAVIER — certainly fantasized about getting married, but it was never something he actually expected to happen. Not until he met you. It wasn't love at first sight, but when you two entered a relationship, he could just see himself marrying you.

When he proposed, he had been so nervous that he barely slept the night before, which is saying something. But you accepted with a bright smile, and the man nearly smothered you to death with a hug. The mere thought of marrying you has him smiling, honestly.

He doesn't care how big or small the wedding is, though when it turns out to be a small wedding he finds he prefers it that way. There's an air of excitement at the wedding, most of the guests being your own friends and family since there wasn't anyone for him to invite.

Xavier knew he was going to cry. There's no denying it, he knew he'd cry at some point during the day because, I mean... he's marrying you. He's the luckiest man alive. He just thought he'd hold strong a little longer, but the tears were falling when you walked down the aisle in your breathtaking dress.

His gaze was drawn to you the entire time. Nothing else mattered but you. The way the fairy lights bathed you in this beautiful golden glow, the way you smiled at him with all the love in the world... it was like you contained galaxies in your eyes.

The vows were short and sweet, and when the officiant says you two can kiss, he was quick to gently cup your face in his hands. He could only hope the kiss he pressed against your lips conveyed the sheer and utter adoration he felt for you.

This was the beginning of a new chapter for the two of you, and while he's sure nothing will change, he can't help but being excited at the idea of being able to refer to you as his spouse.

ㅤ— “ I love you, my starlight. Until every last star dies, I love you. ”

ZAYNE — had always known that he would marry you one day. Ever since you two were kids, he had imagined it. You're the only person he's ever loved, so if he ever got married, it would be to you or no one at all. It was only a matter of time, really.

The actual proposal was nothing big. You two had dinner at his place and the box with the ring rested in the place he knew you'd be able to see it. He hadn't been nervous when he proposed, but he can't deny that his heart was racing when he popped the question.

He'll definitely want the wedding to be small, just a couple of friends and family on each side. His parents were overjoyed to learn about his engagement and made sure to clear their schedule for the day of the wedding, and he had invited a few friends from work as well.

Zayne hadn't really wanted to cry, especially not in front of so many people, but he couldn't stop the tears from blurring his gaze when he saw you walking down the aisle. How could he not cry, when he felt so overwhelmed by his love for you?

It was the first time he saw you in your wedding dress as well, since you had been so adamant at keeping to tradition. You weren't lying when you said you would match your dress to his suit.

The bouquet of flowers in your hands only added to the beauty of... everything about you. So he won't deny that he cried, his gaze never once breaking from you even when the officiant started to speak.

He was able to keep his tears in check for the rest of the ceremony, and once you two were home and no longer wearing your wedding clothes, he found it near impossible to stray from your side for you long. His hand was almost always interlocked with yours, his finger absently brushing against the wedding wing that bound the two of you together.

ㅤ— “ You've always been the love of my life, sunshine. You always will. ”

RAFAYEL — never thought about marriage. It's not something that ever entered his mind, and he avoided attending any weddings just to dodge the inevitable 'so when will we get an invite to your wedding' he'll no doubt be met with. It isn't until you entered his life that he started to give it some thought.

And when he did decide to propose to you, it had been spur of the moment. He bought the ring on a whim months ago, and he kept it in his pocket almost every time you two went out, waiting for the perfect moment. That perfect moment just so happens to be you spending the night at his place, laughing at his smears paint on your face. The question slipped out, and he seemed more shocked than you.

He was adamant on keeping the thing small, even though Thomas wanted to invite a bunch of people once the man found out about the engagement.

The only people Rafayel was willing to invite was Thomas and a couple of crabs he befriended. Sure, your family and friends questioned why they were being seated with crabs, but it's not their wedding, now is it?

Before the wedding starts, he had gone to the bathroom to give himself a lengthy pep talk about how he was not going to cry at all at any point during the wedding. And for a good portion of it, he didn't. When you walked down the aisle wearing a beautiful dress that reminded him of the ocean, he didn't cry. When you guys shared your vows, exchanged rings, and kissed, he didn't cry.

No, Rafayel only cried when the first dance started. When the lights dimmed and you took his hand and pulled him close, he could feel his heart stuttering. You looked at him as if he were the only person in the world, like you never wanted to look away. The feeling of your wedding ring was cool against his skin, and it was impossible to stop the tears at this point.

He spent the entirety of your first dance together with his head buried in your shoulder just so people couldn't see his tears. Only you got to see him like this, because there's no one else he'd rather be vulnerable with.

ㅤ— “ I'd marry you over and over again, angel, until you get sick of me. ”

SYLUS — certainly thought marriage was something he'd never experience, given his lifestyle. What person would be insane enough to marry the leader of Onychinus, let alone date the man? You, apparently, because you became a pivotal part of his life.

He won't propose until he's absolutely certain that marrying him is something you'd be willing to do. Marrying him means really accepting the darker parts that come with being in a relationship with him, and he didn't want to force you into such a commitment. And when he does propose, he can't help the relief he feels when you say yes.

While the wedding isn't necessarily big, a few of his most trusted associates are invited, alongside your family and friends should you invite them. It's a strange mix of people, and a few of your friends will probably pull you to the side after the ceremony to ask what exactly it is that your husband does for a living.

For the most part, Sylus won't cry during the ceremony. Though, once you two start to recite your vows to each other, he does choke up a bit. Any man would be a fool not to tear up at the sight of their spouse professing their love to them. And it doesn't help that you're looking at him with pure and utter devotion in your gaze.

You were okay with who he was. With what he does. You weren't scared off by the darker aspects of his life, and you were vowing to stick by his side through whatever the world threw at you two. Crying only seemed natural. Other than the vows, Sylus stayed composed. Softer, than usual, but overall he kept his usual demeanor.

Truly, he thinks he could die happy now that he's married to you. The ring on his finger was a comfortable weight, and he'd find himself looking at it way more than he'd care to admit.

He spoiled you rotten before you two were married, but trust it'll only get worse now that you're his spouse. Anything you want, he'll get it for you. You deserve the whole world for wanting to spend the rest of your life with him.

ㅤ— “ I'm staring? How can I not stare at the key to my heart, princess? ”

[midnite-c6]

do you think namgyu has a breeding kink.

but not in a “i wanna get you pregnant way” but more of a way to claim you… like the thought of his cum dripping out of you and claiming your pussy as his, probably gets him so hard

yea. yea .boomshakalala yes lawd yes god 💔 he'd make u so full of his nutt UGH & this is for all the anons who asked for nam-gyu with breed kink, all mixed into one <3 ( pretty short, am sorry. but i added breeding kink to my future fics dw guyz!!)

nam-gyu x reader smut imagine!! <33 warnings: 18+, CUM!!, breeding

nsfw below already hehe!!-> ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

つ⁠｡⁠☆ he looks down, the pretty sight before him, of your trembling legs and glistening pussy covered in his slick and cum. it wasn't enough, no, he'd push his hard dick back inside, seeing how your cum and his cum mixed together would ooze out.. "only i can do this, yes?" you'd lazily nod, your mind more focused on the mating press he has you in, where he's absolutely abusing your cunt, every rhythmic push has his balls slapping against your ass. it feels all so messy!! you're definitely the one who's gonna take the time to clean the bed, getting new sheets and all.

"bet you wish you weren't on birth control, huh?" he'd ask, still sloppily thrusting into you, just to bust another load, "you'd want your belly to be filled with my kid, hm?" you didn't... having a baby, especially in these times? pretty tough.

this is so mean.. but he'll get a marker, thankfully one was in his desk, and he'd write on your inner thigh... in weirdly clean handwriting, it wrote "CUM DUMPSTER" with an arrow pointing at your cunt. he'd even take out his phone, taking a messy recording, fully displaying your wet cunt. it's so funny to him, how your lower stomach literally has a tiny bump! all because of his nut. it's also so funny to him, how he'd press down on your lower stomach so that the cum would drip down faster, "so dirty." probably even puts two fingers to spread your hole, just so large portions of his stickiness goes down.. "she'd ask me to fill her, since i'm such a good boyfriend, i did."

he'd send the videos to you, because he loves you, but he's a kiss ass to his friends, so who knows what eyes have also seen that video.

going to requests one bye one sory IM TOO SLOW FOR THIS

[pitchsidestories]

More than a pretty face II Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1630

summary: Leah is the third wheel whenever she’s with your girlfriend Alessia and you. While the striker struggles with her body image.

author's note: hi everyone, we combined the request with an idea we had in the back of our mind and we hope you'll like the mix of lightheartedness and heavier topics. 🤍❤️

Post-training dinners were one of your favourite team traditions. Every few weeks, after a long, hard session, the entire Arsenal squad would go out for a meal. You loved the combination of good food and conversations with your friends. It was something that you were looking forward to every time.

Too preoccupied with arguing with your sister, you completely forgot about the pasta before you. At least until you heard Kyra giggle on the other side of the table.

“Lessi, are you kidding?”, she laughed.

You watched Alessia frown at her: “Why?”

“There’s only green on your plate.”, Kyra grimaced in disgust, pointing at your girlfriend’s salad.

“Yeah, I wanted a salad.”

You studied her plate from across the table. No toppings, no dressing, just plain salad.

Leah involved herself in their conversation: “Nothing wrong with that. Kyra, you could need some greens too.”

Kyra wrinkled her nose again: “Ew.”

Alessia shrugged, smiling: “She’s not wrong.”

It was a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yes, she is. That’s not what you need after a long training session.“, Kyra complained jokingly.

You bit your lip and watched as your girlfriend discussed different food choices with your teammates.

With nervous fingers, you tapped Beths arm and whispered: “Beth?”

The midfielder turned to you: “Hm?”

“I feel like Lessi… I think the comments about her appearance got to her.”, you carefully formulated the worry that had begun to appear in your chest. Suddenly, your stomach was in knots, you weren’t hungry anymore.

“You think so?”, Beth asked in surprise.

“I do… Look.”

She followed your gaze towards Alessia.

“The salad?”

You nodded cautiously: “Yes. Do you think I’m paranoid?”

Alessia had struggled before with her body image, you knew that. So, every sign of changes in her eating pattern sent a subtle wave of panic through your body.

Beth sighed: “I think if you really want to know, you should talk to her.”

You forced a smile: “Ugh, why are you always right?”

“Sorry.“

“Always, right? What did you two chat about?”, Leah asked innocently.

Beth shrugged and deliberately lied to your sister: “Football stuff.”

“Yes, things you wouldn’t understand, Lee.”, you joked, teasing her.

Leah rolled her eyes at you as she so often did: “Oh yeah, because I obviously don’t play football.”

“You do but no that up front.”, you explained.

“Still.”

“Will you drive with us to this team activity thing next week?”

“Nah, I don’t want to be the third wheel again between you two lovers.”, Leah quickly shook her head.

Beth snorted: “You don’t mind that any other time either.”

 “And it's not our fault that your girlfriend is American”, you added in a teasing tone, which earned you a playful slap from your sister.

Her lips formed to a pout:” Doesn’t take away from the fact that I don’t want to hang out with you two. I’m driving with Lia and Kim.”

“Oh, wow.”, you whistled, pretended to be offended by her decision.

This didn’t stop the defender from mockingly continuing: “Besides, you’re a horrible driver.”

“Thanks, Lee.”, you rolled your eyes at her.

It was the night of your team activity, usually it involved dinner and games, and you were leaning against the open door of your bedroom to check on your girlfriend:” You’re ready, Lessi? We should be leaving soon?”

“No, I hate my outfit.”, she groaned in frustration, still laying on the bed.

When you noticed the dried tears on her cheeks, your heart broke a little. In the late afternoon light, the blonde looked gorgeous, and you wished she could see herself as you saw her, the striker was even sadly breathtaking.

You gently took Alessia's hands, in which she had hidden her face: “Less, you look beautiful.”

“I don’t.”, the forward replied with a trembling voice.

“Alessia?”

“Yes?”, your girlfriend glanced up at you.

Softly, you asked her:” Would you like to change into something more comfortable?”

“Can I wear your sweater?”, a small smile appeared on the blonde’s lips.

In one quick swipe you pulled off your oversized pullover to hand it to her: “You.. yes, you can have it.”

Alessia pressed the garment gratefully to her chest and explained:” It’s just the comfiest thing.”

In a sincere tone, you whispered into her ear: “You also look very cute in it.”

For a second, she beamed at your words before her grin disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving only a gloomy expression on her face. “Do you think the comments are wrong or right?”, the striker questioned.

“I knew it was about the comments.”, you mumbled.

 “And oh god, maybe I’m a bad role model if I sometimes don’t feel confident in my own body.”, your girlfriend panicked.

Soothingly you began to stroke her back: ”Lessi, calm down.”

“Sorry.”

You cupped her face tenderly in your hands, hoping that your sentences reached her:” Listen, it’s normal not to feel confident all the time. No one does. You’re not doing anything wrong and you’re not a bad role model.”

“But you and your sister look so perfect.”, Alessia protested weakly.

“That’s not true, Less. We’re not perfect, no one is.”

She smiled sheepishly: “At least you’re perfect to me.”

Apparently, your words began to have an effect, because the striker added cheekily: “Aside from the fact that you snore at night, it's not exactly Sleeping Beauty-like.”

“Shut up!”, you playfully hit her arm with the pillow.

Alessia giggled. The sound was like music to your ears.

A little smirk appeared on her face: “Make me.”

You were only too willing to bridge the gap between the two of you and put your lips on hers until your girlfriend was too out of breath to keep talking.

But before you could make a move, Alessia interrupted herself after checking the time on her phone: “Actually, wait for it until after team bonding.”

You heaved a frustrated sigh but still slipped into your jacket: “Fine. Ready to go?”

“I’m ready.”

You both left your apartment but before you got into Alessias car, you took her hand and held her back: “Less?”

Alessia turned towards you: “Huh?”

“You’re beautiful and you’re a great athlete, okay? It doesn’t matter what other people think.”, you assured her one last time.

She nodded thoughtfully: “Okay.”

“Okay, now let’s go, pretty girl.”, you smiled at her.

You got into the passenger seat of her car while Alessia drove.

“I hope they got Pizza on the menu so we can share.”, your girlfriend said suddenly.

You laughed, surprised by her comment: “Oh no. You always say that and then you’ll complain that the pizza in Italy is better.”

“It’s true! Nothing beats Pizza in Italy.”

“See?”, you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Okay, fine. I still want to share Pizza with you.”

“Me too.”, you grinned. Your heart skipped a beat, seeing how excited Alessia seemed to be.

You arrived at the location five minutes late and you would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for your sister.

“Hi, you two are fashionably late.”, she greeted you with a wink.

You shrugged and lied to her: “My fault. We had to make out in the car first.”

Leah grimaced: “Disgusting.”

“Oh, someone’s a gremlin again.”, Alessia teased.

Your sister pouted and turned to Lia: “Wally, they’re impossible.”

“You love them.”, the Swiss player replied matter-of-factly.

“Sadly, I do but don’t tell them.”

“I would never. But I’m sure they know, you love to hang out of them.”, Lia laughed.

“Even when I feel left out sometimes because look at them.”, Leah complained, pointing at where you and Alessia were studying the menu.

Lia grinned: “They’re a couple and you’re surprised about that?”

“Elle and I are not that bad.”

You looked up and glared at your sister: “Yes, you are.”

“Shut up.”, Leah retorted.

You shook your head: “No. The pizzas arrived, my friends.”

Alessias eyes lit up as a server placed the plate in front of her: “Finally.”

The good food, lively conversations with your teammates and your girlfriend’s genuine smile warmed your heart and soul.

Once the dinner was over Leah gave you a short hug:” Drive home safely.”

“You’re not driving with us?”, you asked astonished.

The defender paused for a moment, pretending to think carefully about the question, before answering with a grin on her lips:” Actually, yes, I’ll come with you, but only if Alessia drives.”

Gallantly, Alessia opened the passenger doors and bowed slightly to you both:” Get inside my passenger princesses.”

“Excuse me. I’m the passenger princess, she can sit in the backseat.”, you promptly protested.

“Ugh, fine.”, Leah grimaced as the blonde sat down right behind you.

With a sweet smile, you turned your head towards your sister:” Sorry, big sis.”

“You’re not really sorry.”, the older woman observed her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Your giggles filled the car:”No.”

Amused, Alessia shook her head and turned up the volume on the radio. Once her car stopped in front of the defender’s house, she said:” Good night, Leah.”

“Night, girls.”, the blonde waved goodbye and skipped buoyantly to her front door.

On the way to your home, your girlfriend began nervously.” Amore, I thought about what you said earlier.”

“And?”

“You were right.”, Alessia conceded.

The car stopped at the red light, the rain pattering on the roof, as you hugged her from the side with relief and gave her a kiss on the cheek: “You’re so much more than a pretty face, Lessi, please never forget that.”

“And so are you.”, she replied in an earnest tone, pressing her lips gently to your hand.

Then Alessia continued the drive through the night, the lights of London guiding you both to your home.

[xhyjin]

`⎚⩊⎚´ nerdjo !

- nerdy history student gojo who is actually very helpful and polite but not when it comes to the last book of karl d. kryter that you just happen to need for an assignment.

- gojo x reader nerd gojo x reader gojo x gn reader

- art credit to liemiruu on X

- taglist @sleepykittyenergy @do-morochaa @zoeyflower

you had been staring at your laptop screen for hours, trying to find something, anything, that could help with your psychology project that your professor assigned last minute. the more you scrolled on endless websites and youtube videos the less you found and the more stuff didn’t make sense. after a deep breath and a frustrated sigh, you grabbed you closed your laptop and made your way on campy from your dormitory to the university’s library, hoping that the books there could offer something more useful.

the scent of books filed the air as you wandered through the aisles, scanning titles, but it wasn’t until you reached the very back that you saw it — the book you’d been desperately trying to find pngs of: The Effects of Noise on Man. just as your hand was reaching for it another hand grabbed it first. you turned to see who grabbed it, an annoyed expression creeping onto your face as you looked at the man who snatched your book.

he was tall, with snowy white hair and a lean build, his glasses crooked on his nose. he was already flipping through the pages, completely absorbed as though he’d discovered the secret to endless wealth. “hey,” you said, your voice tight with frustration. he didn’t seem to hear you—or he chose to ignore you—because he kept turning the pages, not even sparing a glance in your direction.

“excuse me, i’m talking to you,” you said, a little louder this time, still trying to keep your voice down in the quiet library. finally, the man turned his head toward you, his mouth slightly agape. he looked you up and down, making you cross your arms over your chest. what was his problem?

“sorry… did you say something?” he asked, his tone a bit distant. “yeah, i was going to say that i wanted that book,” you replied, your eyes flicking to the one he was holding so casually in his hands. “this?” he said, following your gaze and holding the book out in front of him.

“yes, that book! i was about to grab it when you snatched it from me,” you said, still irritated. you were running on five hours of sleep and a can of coke—you couldn’t help but be a little pissy.

“i didn’t snatch it,” he responded calmly. “it was on that shelf. i snatched it from the shelf, not from you.” he pointed to the spot where the book had been. “besides, i got it first,” he added, tucking the book back under his arm and turning to walk away. “wait,” you called out, stepping forward. he turned around with an eyebrow raised, and for the first time, you really noticed how striking his blue eyes were. but that wasn’t the point.

“i really need that book,” you said, your tone more polite now, almost desperate. “please?” you added, your voice softer, hoping he’d reconsider. he stared at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. the silence between you stretched for a bit, and you couldn’t tell if he was considering your request or just enjoying the fact that he had the upper hand. finally, he sighed, looking down at the book in his hands.

“look, i’ve been trying to get my hands on this for weeks,” he said, almost like he was talking to himself. “and now that i have it, i’m not exactly in a hurry to let it go.” you fought to keep your patience. “i get it, but i really need it for this project. i’m stuck and this is the last piece i need.” he glanced at you again, his expression softening just a little. “what’s the project about?” “psychology,” you replied quickly. “something about how noise affects humans, but all the online sources are garbage. i need a real quote from this book.”

he hummed thoughtfully, still holding it close to his chest. then, without warning, he raised an eyebrow. “how about this? we make a deal.” you frowned. “a deal?” “yeah.” he shifted the book to one hand, offering you a teasing smile. “you can have it for a week, but then it’s mine for a week. sound fair?” you thought for a moment, feeling both relieved and a little irritated at his smug attitude. but honestly, it was your best option. “fine, but you’re not gonna keep it forever, right?” he chuckled, his blue eyes glinting. “promise. but i’m not letting go of it just yet.”

you nodded, still a bit wary, but relieved that you at least had a plan. “deal,” you said, holding out your hand. he looked at it for a moment, then shook it firmly, his grip warm but somehow still carrying that casual confidence. “great,” he said, tucking the book under his arm. “i’ll bring it to the library in a week. just don’t lose it, alright?”

you rolled your eyes but smiled. “i’ll keep it safe.” he turned to walk away, but then paused, glancing over his shoulder. “by the way,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i’m satoru.” you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden introduction. “uh, y/n,” you replied, feeling slightly awkward. he gave you a nod, then walked off, leaving you standing there with your thoughts swirling. was this how things usually went when you needed a book for a project? probably not.

the week dragged on, and you found yourself counting down the days until you could finally get your hands on the book again. in the meantime, you worked on your project, doing your best with what you had. but every time you hit a dead end, you couldn’t help but think of that book, sitting just out of reach.

when the day finally came, you made your way back to the library, hoping to catch gojo and get your hands on the effects of noise on man. you didn’t know why you were feeling so nervous about it, but there was something about him that made you second-guess yourself. maybe it was the way he casually handled the book like it was some sort of prized possession. or maybe it was the fact that you were about to face him again after that first strange interaction.

as you walked through the aisles, you spotted him near the back, flipping through a different book. his snowy hair was even messier today, and his glasses were sitting crookedly on his nose again.

“hey,” you called out, walking up to him.

he looked up, and that familiar, teasing smile crept across his face. “hey, y/n. didn’t think you’d actually show up.” you crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “you really think i was just going to leave the book with you?”

“well, i mean… i wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he said with a playful shrug, holding out the book toward you. “but here you go. i kept it safe.” you took it from him, feeling a little bit lighter now that it was finally back in your hands. “thanks,” you muttered, feeling a little awkward.

“no problem.” he looked at you for a moment, then his eyes darted to the book in your hands. “so, what’s the project about again?”

you sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “it’s about how noise affects people. you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find anything useful. this book is like the only thing that’s going to help me.” “sounds boring,” he said bluntly, his expression unbothered. “but hey, at least you’ll be able to say you did something good for society.” you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “i guess.”

“alright, well,” he said, stepping back and stretching. “it was nice doing business with you, y/n. just remember, you’ve got to bring it back in a week, or i’m coming after you.” “deal,” you said, offering him a smile. “i’ll be back, don’t worry.” as you walked away with the book, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just some random encounter.

the next week came by faster than you expected, and before you knew it, you were heading back to the library to return the book. you’d managed to get a good amount of work done, but you couldn’t deny the curiosity you had about gojo. he’d been on your mind more than you cared to admit, even though you hadn’t exactly planned for that.

when you walked into the library, you spotted him in the same spot, buried in a stack of books. he looked up as you approached, and that same mischievous grin flashed across his face. “back so soon?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. you held out the book to him. “it’s yours,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your heart was beating a little faster than usual.

he took the book with a smile. “thanks. so, did you actually use it for your project, or was it just an excuse to come see me again?” he teased. you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping up your face. “i did use it, actually. and if you keep saying things like that, you’re going to make me regret it.”

“oh, i’m sure you’ll survive.” he chuckled, looking at the book in his hands before turning back to you. “so, how’s the project coming along?” “good,” you said, crossing your arms. “i think i’ll actually finish it on time. what about you? you still planning on hoarding all the best books around here?”

he shrugged nonchalantly. “well, someone has to make sure they don’t go missing.” you smirked. “right. so, what exactly are you majoring in, anyway? history, i’m guessing?”

his eyes twinkled. “yeah, history. i know, kind of a nerdy choice, right?” “kind of,” you agreed with a teasing grin. “what’s so interesting about history anyway?” he leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “history’s all about learning from the past, y’know? understanding how we got to where we are now. it’s like a puzzle. plus, there are so many cool stories no one ever tells you about.”

“sounds pretty fascinating,” you said, genuinely intrigued. “so, what’s your favorite period in history?”

he smirked. “now that’s a tough one. but if i had to pick, i’d say ancient civilizations. the Egyptians were onto something.”

you both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like a real conversation. like you were actually getting to know each other. then, just as you were about to say something else, he looked at you with a strange glint in his eye. “you know,” he said casually, “i actually finished the book the first week i had it.”

“what?” you blinked, surprised. “but then why did you keep it?” he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i just wanted an excuse to keep coming back here. thought i might see you again.” you blinked, taken aback by his honesty. and maybe, just a little bit, by the way his words made your heart skip. “you’re not as bad as i thought,” you said, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

“glad to hear it,” he said, holding your gaze for a moment before his smile softened. “you know,” he said, tapping the book lightly in his hands, “since i finished the book, it’s all yours to have now.” “really?” you raised an eyebrow, surprised. “you’re just giving it to me?”

he shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “why not? i already read it. and besides, you’re gonna need it more than i do.” you hesitated, still a little taken aback by how casual he was being about it. “well, thanks. i didn’t expect that.”

“no problem,” he said, then paused, as if considering something. “hey, when you’re done with your project… maybe we could grab lunch or something. i mean, we’ve been talking about this book for a while, and it’d be nice to actually talk in person—no pressure or anything.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invitation. “lunch?”

“yeah,” he said, his smile widening a bit. “i figure we can discuss the book… or, you know, talk about whatever. no rush.” you bit your lip, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. this felt… unexpected, but also a little exciting. “uh, sure. that sounds good,” you said, trying to sound casual, but not quite pulling it off.

he grinned, clearly pleased with your response. “cool. just let me know when you’re done, and we’ll set it up. you nodded, not sure what to make of the sudden shift in the conversation. but there was no denying that you were curious to see where this would go.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 2: "The one with the purring traitor" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

Chapter summary: You and Frankie hash out the details of your fabricated story, all while enduring the blatant betrayal of your own cat and your brother’s relentless teasing. WC: 8.4K

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so happy to see how much you enjoyed the first chapter of TBA! Your comments mean the world to me—I absolutely love reading them, and I hope you love this part just as much <3 let me know what u think ;) Don't forget to lmk if u want to be added to the tag list, and follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications <3

Friday, August 9th. One day before the party.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound breaking the quiet of your bedroom. You set your book down, its pages splaying open across the blanket, and rolled onto your side to grab your phone. The screen lit up.

[Unknown number]: Outside.

You exhaled sharply, a breath that sounded louder than it needed to. Your stomach twisted, a faint ripple of nerves spreading through you. 

Five minutes later, Frankie stood in the center of your living room, his hands planted firmly on his hips. His brows were drawn together, his expression impatient as he watched you move around the kitchen. The faint smell of tea leaves and honey filled the air as you poured hot water into your mug.

“You don’t seem to be in much of a rush,” he said finally, his voice carrying the faintest edge of irritation.

You glanced at him briefly, your hand stirring the tea as if to say he could wait.

“What’s the rush? The party isn’t until tomorrow.”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked around the room, his eyes flicking to the books stacked on the coffee table, the blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, the quiet clutter of a space lived in but not always tidy. He shifted his weight, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor, the impatience practically radiating off him.

You blew on your tea, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug.

“You look like you’re about to explode. Sit down, you’re making me nervous pacing around like that,” you said as you walked past him, your hand cradling the warm mug. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

Frankie hesitated for a moment, then dropped into the couch across from you. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

“What do you have that isn’t hot?”

You settled into the couch, the mug resting on the coffee table in front of you. The surface was cluttered with your used stickynotes, a few receipts, coasters, and an old pen you didn’t remember leaving there.

“Water, iced tea, a couple of cans of soda.”

Frankie leaned back, only to be interrupted by Mr. Darcy, your perpetually attention-seeking cat. The tabby appeared from the side of the couch, his soft meow high-pitched and delicate as he rubbed himself against Frankie’s leg. You frowned, betrayed.

Frankie leaned down, his hand immediately stroking the cat’s fur, and Mr. Darcy responded with a loud purr.

“What kind of soda?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my guest was royalty. Next time, send a list of your preferences in advance, princess.”

He lifted his head and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer with an expression that was almost amused. Almost.

“I just asked what fucking flavor. Relax.”

“Coke.”

“I’ll take one.”

You stood with an exaggerated sigh, letting it linger in the air, but refrained from commenting on his lack of manners. The word please seemed allergic to his vocabulary, but you didn’t feel like pointing it out. Not today.

When you returned, you set the can of Coke down on the glass coaster on the table and took your seat again. Frankie reached for the drink, his fingers brushing the cold metal as he popped it open. The hiss of carbonation filled the quiet, mingling with the soft hum of Mr. Darcy’s purring at his feet.

“Okay, tell me about them,” you said, your tone clipped and businesslike, as if the two of you were about to negotiate the terms of a merger. You folded your hands neatly on your lap and fixed your gaze on him. Frankie, meanwhile, was focused on the can of Coke he’d just opened. He tilted it to his lips, taking a long sip. The way his throat moved as he swallowed made you glance away, irritated for no good reason.

When he finally set the can down on the coaster, he looked up at you.

“My mother’s name is Helena. She’s kind, easygoing. And observant. She’ll be watching us like a hawk the entire time. She already has her doubts about... all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entirety of the situation. “So we can’t get sloppy.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“That’s going to be difficult, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’ll have to cooperate.”

You scoffed, an expression of mock offense crossing your face.

“I have to cooperate?”

“Yes. You.”

“Believe it or not, Francisco,” you said, leaning forward ,“I’m very nice. Easy to get along with. Mothers adore me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a laugh.

“That may be,” he said, his tone skeptical. “But I can’t risk even one slip in this... circus. If we let our mutual... our mutual thing show, she’ll catch on immediately. Believe me.”

You mirrored his arched eyebrow, matching his energy.

“Fine. Just be nice to me, and I’ll be nice to you. I promise.” You let the words hang for a moment, watching as he relaxed just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Then you added, sweetly, “I just want you to remember, at all times, that no matter how nice and lovely I am, it’s all a lie.”

Frankie leaned back, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Noted.”

The he exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes as if to physically expel his frustration. His hand moved to his neck, fingers brushing the skin in an absentminded gesture, like he was trying to ground himself. Mr. Darcy, ever the opportunist, leapt onto the couch beside him, his sleek tail flicking against Frankie’s arm. The cat’s head butted into him in what looked like a gentle plea for attention. You watched the scene for a moment, torn between amusement and suspicion, your lips pressed into a thin line.

“Just get a grip, okay? You can’t react to everything I say like it’s a personal attack.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly with your cup in hand.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together like he was preparing for some kind of intervention.

“You have to behave yourself too. Sometimes, you don’t even realize how nasty you’re being. Maybe it flies under the radar for most people, but if your mom is as observant as you claim—and she’s your mother, so obviously she knows you well—she’s going to pick up on all those little micro-attitudes. Immediately.”

You delivered the last word like a verdict, your tone carrying the weight of someone speaking to a particularly stubborn child. To your surprise, Frankie didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded slowly, his expression calm, even thoughtful.  

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good,” you replied, watching him carefully as you lifted your cup to your mouth, the faint steam curling around your face. You let the warm liquid sit on your tongue, satisfied—for now—that you might have just come to an agreement with the most impossible person you’d ever met.

Frankie began describing his family in broad strokes, filling in the blanks with enough detail that you felt as if you were piecing together a portrait of his life. You listened intently, committing everything to memory like a student preparing for a crucial exam. 

Helena, his mother, was the first to come up. She was fifty-nine, a literature teacher with a reputation for being kind but quietly persuasive. Frankie mentioned that she had a particular way of asking questions that felt more like peeling back layers than making polite conversation. She still lived in Austin, sharing a house with his youngest sister, Maia, ever since his father passed away almost two years ago. That detail hung in the air for a beat longer than the others, but he moved on quickly.

Luna, his oldest sister, was next. She was forty, an interior designer based in Boston, and from Frankie’s tone, it was clear she had a strong presence in the family. “Kind, funny, a little overbearing,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly, as if recalling an incident that perfectly illustrated her character. She was married to Henry, a wealthy architect fifteen years her senior. Frankie made a point to say that Henry was a good man—honest and big-hearted—and seemed to mean it. Together, they had a ten-year-old son named Jamie.

Sofía came next, the middle sister. She was thirty-eight and owned a flower shop. Frankie described her as friendly and warm but also hinted at a guardedness beneath her cheerful exterior. She lived in Austin with her sixteen-year-old daughter, Grace, a name that carried an air of quiet reverence when he said it. You wondered what Grace was like, if she carried more of her mother’s warmth or her uncle’s sharp edges. For the sake of her, you hoped for the first option.

Finally, there was Maia. Twenty-nine, a graphic designer, and still living at home with Helena. Frankie hesitated before speaking about her, his expression shifting slightly. “Of all of them,” he said, almost reluctantly, “she’s the most complicated.” Not because she was difficult or unpleasant—quite the opposite. Maia, he explained, was the kind of person who could see through walls, so perceptive it was almost unnerving. “She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful,” he warned, his tone heavy with certainty. 

By the time he finished, you felt like you’d been handed a dossier. Each name and detail was a thread you knew you’d need to hold tightly. You nodded as he spoke, mentally sorting the names and faces into a map of relationships you’d need to navigate. This was going to be more than a performance—it was going to be a test.

Frankie exhaled, slapping his palm against his thigh with a finality that felt rehearsed, like he was drawing a line under the conversation.

“That’s it, I think,” he said, his tone flat as his eyes lingered on you. 

But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook. Squinting slightly, you folded your arms across your chest and leaned back into the couch.

“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head as if that might give you a different angle on him. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know me,” he replied with unearned confidence. 

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, letting the sound punctuate the silence before glancing away. Amusement tugged at the corners of your lips as you brought your gaze back to him.

“I don’t know anything about you. All I know is what little Santi’s told me, what I’ve overheard here and there... that’s it.”

“That’s something,” Frankie interjected, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms, lifting his chin with a smugness that made your fingers itch to knock him down a peg. “Go on, then. Tell me what you know.”

His expression dared you, and you met it with a smirk of your own.

“Fine,” you said, sitting up straighter and pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. “You’re in your thirties, you live alone, you’re a pilot, you like beer... Oh, and apparently, you can devour a whole burger and fries in under ten minutes.”

Frankie snorted, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or call you ridiculous. He held your gaze, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to wait you out. But the smirk stayed on your face, unwavering, and eventually, he sighed. 

“I’m thirty-five,” he said finally, his voice measured and calm, as though reciting facts from a resume. “I live alone, yeah. Used to be in the CAG, but I retired a few years ago. Personal reasons. Now I’m teaching pilots-in-training over at the JPA.”

“Oh, right, I already knew that. That’s where you met Santi, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And what were you doing there? He never told me much.”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” he said, sounding either annoyed or uncomfortable—it was hard to tell. “Do you know what CAG stands for?”

"Tell me."

“Combat Application Group,” Frankie said, his tone steady, measured. “Do you know what that is?”

You arched an eyebrow, shaking your head. 

His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.

“Then they’re doing their job right. They change the name every so often. Some people know it as Delta Force.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if testing how much you could handle. “I was part of the CAG for most of my military career.”

For the first time, you found yourself leaning forward, your interest genuine, your usual quips momentarily silenced. Frankie seemed to notice, his expression softening slightly, though the seriousness never left his face. 

“Why did you retire? What happened?”

For a fleeting second, his eyebrows twitched.

“Personal issues,” he said again.

You exhaled through your nose, sitting back slightly.

“I’m supposed to be your girlfriend. Shouldn’t I know that?” 

He sighed. Shaking his head just enough to let you know he wasn’t budging, he replied:

“No one in my family is going to ask you about it.”

You studied him, your eyes narrowing slightly, searching for any crack in the armor he wore so carefully. But Frankie didn’t flinch. His shoulders remained squared, his gaze firm, the set of his mouth resolute. Whatever lay behind the personal thing was locked away, and it was clear he wasn’t going to hand you the key. 

After a few more seconds of silence, you nodded, more to yourself than to him.

"Okay, I get it,” you said with a sigh, letting your gaze fall to your hands resting in your lap. For a moment, you traced invisible patterns on your palm, your tone edging toward resignation. “What do you want me to tell you about me?” 

“Nothing. I know enough.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean. Santi has told me what’s necessary. I know enough to get by.”

“Oh, really? Enlighten me,” you said, folding your arms across your chest, your tone daring. 

Frankie gave you a slow, confident smile, as if he’d been preparing for this moment.

“You’re twenty-nine years old. Santi’s your only brother. You studied Literature, and you’ve been running your dad’s bookshop for, what, six years now?” He paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing. “You like cats. Movies—especially horror movies. You love the cold, which is ironic since you’re from Austin, where it’s basically summer all year. And you’re... well, I wouldn’t describe you as outdoorsy or... or adventurous.” 

He glanced at you with a faint smirk just as your expression twisted in a mixture of surprise and mild disgust. His hand dropped to pet Mr. Darcy, who had curled up beside him, purring softly. “Oh, and your cat’s name is Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy," you corrected him. "Santi told you all that?” 

Frankie shook his head, his focus still on your pet, his hand moving in lazy strokes along Mr. Darcy’s back.

“He didn’t tell me outright. But he let it be known. You just have to listen.” 

There was something about his tone that irked you—a subtle but undeniable air of superiority, as if he’d decoded your entire existence from a handful of anecdotes. You studied him for a moment longer, debating whether to challenge him further, but Mr. Darcy’s contented purring seemed to deflate your frustration. For now. 

“Well, I… Well,” you faltered, unsure of what to say. "Okay, I was thinking, what should I wear to the party?"

“Something nice. Not too fancy. But cute. You know, approachable."

"Sure," you muttered, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as he smoothed a hand over the cat’s fur.

"You have to make a good impression. But not too good. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Be nice, but don’t go overboard."

"What’s the point, then? I thought my job was to be the awesome girlfriend. Isn’t that what you wanted?"

Frankie leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out, and gave a slow shake of his head like you’d just said something profoundly silly.

"Yes, but don’t overdo it. I don’t need my family asking me about you for weeks after. Tomorrow’s the first and only time they’ll see you, so what’s the point?"

"What a waste," you whispered to yourself, but loud enough for him to catch. “But fine, your family, your rules. So, what should I bring your mom as a gift?”

Frankie waved his hand dismissively.

"Don’t worry about it. I’ve got that covered."

“So you’ve thought of everything, huh?” you said, letting a touch of mockery creep into your voice. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to you.”

Frankie snorted. "If this is what it takes to stop them from setting me up with every woman they know, trust me, I’m going all in. No room for half-measures here."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the familiar clutter of your living space, before a long yawn interrupted the silence.

“But why do they even care so much about you having a girlfriend? I mean, I get it—you’re, let’s say, not the easiest person to tolerate, and small talk probably feels like torture for you. But I didn’t have you pegged as the kind of guy who needs his mom to play matchmaker,” you said, voice dripping with just the right mix of sarcasm and curiosity as you tilted your head.

“That’s a bold comment coming from someone who had to invent a fake boyfriend because her ex, who dumped her for someone else, invited her to his wedding.”

Fair. That stung, but you couldn't bring yourself to be genuinely angry. Instead, you let out a small, wry smile, your ego only slightly bruised.

Frankie continued, unfazed by the fact that he had clearly made his point. “And I have no problem getting someone,” he said, stretching his legs out casually. “I just don’t want to. I don’t feel like dating anyone, much less getting romantically involved. But of course, they don’t get that. They think I need to settle down, find a woman, all that ‘commitment’ shit.”

For a brief moment, you let your mind wander, imagining Frankie next to someone. His type, you wondered. What would she look like? Would she resemble you in any way? Definitely not, you thought. You hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat, and then asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though a part of you was genuinely curious.

“And why don’t you want to date anyone? You’re not one of those guys with an eternal commitment problem, are you?”

Frankie took a moment to think about it. He leaned back, looking almost lost in thought, his eyes distant for a second. Then, in a flash, Mr. Darcy leapt onto his lap, pulling him back into the present moment with his typical disregard for anything that resembled personal space. Frankie shifted a little, adjusting the cat so it was comfortably curled on him.

“My last relationship didn’t end well,” he said suddenly, his voice unexpectedly serious. “We were together for about a year and a half. She broke up with me a little over a year ago. It wasn’t exactly my best moment, but her reason was that I wasn’t what she needed.” He paused, his gaze unfocused for a second, as if reliving the memory. “I tried to tell her I’d make the changes, that I really wanted to, but she didn’t care. So we broke up. And then, like two weeks later, I found out she’d been cheating on me with some guy from work—does that sound good enough for you?”

You blinked, processing it all, and felt a slight pang of sympathy, which you hadn’t expected.

“Well, that sucks,” you said, glancing down at the floor, feeling a bit awkward. You bit your lower lip, then looked back at him, unable to hide the trace of empathy in your voice. “But it makes sense now... I think."

Mr. Darcy, seemingly done with his intrusion, hopped off Frankie’s lap and sprawled on the floor instead, rolling onto his back in that exaggerated, dramatic way cats do when they’re probably overheating. His belly was exposed, a show of complete vulnerability.

"Yeah. Well. I guess," Frankie said, leaning forward as if the weight of his own words had just fully settled in. He rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers, his hands becoming a tight knot as if trying to physically hold everything together. Then something seemed to click in his mind. He looked up at you, the shift in his expression almost imperceptible. “Have you talked to Santi about this?”

You furrowed your brow, a little thrown off by the question.

"No, I thought you were going to tell him."

Frankie shook his head. "I didn’t tell him anything. I thought you were going to tell him."

You clicked your tongue, trying to shake the odd tension settling in your chest.

"We should tell him, don’t you think?" Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. "Although I'm sure he'll think this is a bad idea."

When you opened the door, Santi’s smile appeared instantly, like the sun breaking through clouds. He pulled you into a hug, enveloping you in that unmistakable warmth only a brother could give. It was absurd how much you’d missed him, considering you’d seen him just two days ago. But that was the thing about Santi—he had this way of making you feel like everything was fine, or at least like it could be.

When he let go, his smile lingered. But then his gaze shifted past you, toward the living room, where Frankie stood by the couch, arms awkwardly crossed, caught somewhere between waiting and retreating.

Santi’s expression changed so fast it was almost comical—his smile collapsed into confusion, his eyebrows pulling together, eyes widening like someone had yanked a curtain back too quickly.

“Frankie?” he said, his voice pitching upward in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” His gaze flicked from Frankie to you and back again, his tone laced with the unspoken demand for an explanation. “What happened?” He stepped forward, clapping a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, nudging him as if to make sure he was real.

“Hey, man,” Frankie said, managing a small smile as he accepted Santi’s hug. His voice was casual, but you could feel the tension beneath it, like a thread pulled too tight.

Your stomach knotted, the weight of the moment pressing into you. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have agreed to Frankie’s deal, not like this, not without more thought. But it was too late to undo it now, wasn’t it? The pieces were already in motion, and there was no way to unring a bell.

Half an hour later, Santiago was sitting in the couch across from the two of you, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his expression shifting between disbelief and reluctant curiosity. He hadn’t spoken in a while, too busy digesting everything you’d just explained. When he finally did, his words cut through the silence like a whip.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. Are you crazy?” he asked, though his incredulous smile suggested he thought maybe you were joking.

You and Frankie were perched on opposite ends of the couch, as if a force field separated you, like your bodies were mutually allergic to the idea of being any closer. Frankie had his arms resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. You sat with your elbow propped on the armrest, your cheek resting against your hand, trying to look nonchalant.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Santiago asked, shaking his head.

“It’s going to work,” you said, the firmness in your voice at odds with the knot of uncertainty in your stomach. “It’s not that complicated. Harry’s already met Frankie, so that part’s fine. We go to the wedding, stay a little while, and then leave. Tomorrow? Same thing. We show up, I do my forgettable bit, and then we’re out. Easy.”

Santiago raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“¿Easy? Your mom knows me, man,” he said, turning to Frankie with an accusatory tilt of his head. “You don’t think it’s going to be complicated if she thinks you’re dating my sister?”

“I’m not planning on telling her she’s your sister,” Frankie said. He sat up straighter, his hands tightening into fists briefly before he relaxed them again. “This is a one-time thing. I promise you, it’s not going to lead to trouble. It’s just a favor. A transaction. Nothing more.”

“And what happens when they run into each other again?” Santiago asked, his voice rising slightly as he gestured between the two of you.

“How likely is that, Santi?” you shot back, your brow furrowing in irritation.

He clicked his tongue, leaning forward like he had you cornered.

“My wedding is in a few months, smartass. Frankie’s mom is invited. What’s your plan then?”

The room fell into a charged silence. Oh.

You hadn’t thought of that. Neither had Frankie, apparently, because when you turned your head, you found him looking at you for the first time since this entire mess had started. For one fleeting moment, your eyes met, a shared look of complicity—and, more importantly, desperation.

“Of course, you didn’t think of that,” Santi said, his voice cutting through the growing tension like a whip. He dragged a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes as if summoning the patience to deal with you both. When he looked up again, his expression was pure exasperation.

“God, you guys seriously make me desperate. Are you two ever going to be normal with each other? First, I have to put up with years of your petty, hateful attitudes, and now this?” He gestured between you and Frankie as if the very sight of you sitting there made him tired. “Do you want to kill me? Is that the plan? Seriously, I’m asking—do you both want me dead?”

The sheer absurdity of his words made you laugh, even though you tried to swallow it.

“Oh my God, Santi, you’re so dramatic,” you said, shaking your head, though you were half-smiling.

“Dramatic?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Hey, man, look,” Frankie cut in, like someone trying to defuse a bomb. He leaned forward slightly, his hands open, his tone edging toward apologetic. “I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll tell them she’s your sister—no big deal. And then I’ll come up with something to explain how we ‘broke up’ on the best possible terms. No drama, no mess, okay? I swear.”

You nodded quickly, eager to latch onto his plan.

“Exactly. This can stay simple, we’ll just say we broke up over something normal. Totally amicable, decided to stay friends. Easy.” Your tone softened as you leaned toward him, more pleading now. “Really, Santi. Please, please don’t get mad.”

Santi let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just tipped his head back and closed his eyes like he was praying for patience.

“I’m not mad,” he said finally, though his tone suggested he might not be entirely convinced of that. His eyes opened, and he looked at you with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “I’m just surprised. Out of all the people in the world, you and Frankie are the ones pretending to date?” He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Well,” you said, rolling your eyes as the irritation bubbled up. “It’s not like we planned this. I never thought I’d run into Harry in the middle of fucking nowhere. Besides, this wouldn’t have even happened if you—” you jabbed a finger in Santi’s direction, “—had gone looking for me in Dallas instead of sending Frankie. Or, I don’t know, if you’d given me a proper warning. I could’ve found another way home.”

Santi’s eyebrows shot up, his hand flying to his chest as if you’d physically shoved him.

“Oh, now this is my fault?” he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. He pointed to himself for emphasis, his jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the accusation.

Next to you, Frankie snorted, shaking his head in that infuriatingly smug way he did when he thought he was being clever. You turned sharply toward him, glaring.

“Do you have something to say, Francisco?” 

Santiago let out a breathy, humorless laugh, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Frankie, meanwhile, scratched his chin, clearly deliberating how to phrase whatever was on his mind without making things worse. Or maybe he was just stalling, dragging out the moment for the fun of it.

“Yeah. First of all, I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove to this Harry guy. He’s marrying someone else, isn’t he? I doubt he cares whether or not you have a boyfriend.”

“Ah, right, 'cause you’re the paragon of honesty, aren’t you?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest now threatening to spill out.

“Sure,” Frankie said with an infuriating nod, leaning back slightly as if to make room for whatever you were about to throw at him next.

You leaned toward him, unable to resist. “It’s not like you made up a girlfriend or anything, right? Tell me, Francisco, wouldn’t it have been easier to just act like a real man and tell your mom you don’t want to be with anyone? Instead of, you know, lying like a coward? Or is that too scary for you?”

Frankie laughed then, a low, sarcastic sound that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He shifted closer, leaning in until his face was just inches from yours, his dark eyes gleaming with something sharp and taunting.

“He’s with someone else. He doesn't care about you. Get over it—”

“No one loves you—"

“Okay, fuckin' stop it!” Santiago shot up from his seat, his hands landing firmly on his hips as he stared at you with an expression that teetered between disbelief and outright despair. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s how you’re going to convince people you’re together? What’s the plan tomorrow, huh? What are you going to do when people actually talk to you? This isn’t even remotely believable.”

“I know how to act,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you leaned into the challenge. You tilted your head, trying for a smug expression, though the heat rising to your cheeks probably undermined it.

Frankie let out a laugh beside you.

“No, you don’t.” 

“Sure I do,” you retorted, fixing him with a defiant look. “You’ll see tomorrow, Francisco. I’ll be super—”

“You almost shit yourself at the diner the other day, what are you even talking about? I saved you—”

“Oh my God, stop!” Santi cut in, throwing his hands up in a desperate plea for silence. He made a horizontal motion with his hands, like a referee calling a foul. “Stand up. Now.”

“Why?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Just. Stand. Up.” Santi said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, glancing at Frankie as if he might somehow explain what was going on. He was already on his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, like he didn’t particularly want to comply but knew better than to argue.

With a resigned sigh, you rose from your spot, the tension in your shoulders apparent even in the way you stood. The second you moved, Mr.Darcy wasted no time, sliding into the space you’d just vacated.

Santiago leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unnervingly calm. He watched you both like he was observing a particularly amusing experiment, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smirk.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone almost conversational. “Kiss each other.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Frankie, equally caught off guard, tilted his head toward Santi. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“Kiss,” Santi repeated, his voice louder this time, like he was explaining something to a particularly dense child. He gestured between the two of you. “Frankie, kiss her.”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately.

“Are you crazy?” Frankie added, shaking his head vehemently, his face scrunching up like the very idea was offensive.

Santiago raised his eyebrows, his calm demeanor giving way to something more pointed.

“What, you didn’t think this through? How the fuck are you planning to convince anyone you’re dating if you can’t even manage a little kiss?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, your brain struggling to process the absurdity of what he was suggesting. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Frankie’s jaw tighten, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Meanwhile, Santi seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. There was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes, his gaze darting between you and Frankie like he was watching the climax of a particularly entertaining play.

He was savoring this—your awkwardness, your obvious discomfort. To him, this wasn’t just funny; it was justice. A kind of poetic payback for the years of chaos and petty feuding you and Frankie had inflicted on him. The sheer satisfaction on his face was infuriating, but also, somehow, undeniably deserved.

“Well?” he prompted, raising his hands in mock encouragement. “Go on, lovebirds. Show me how convincing this great plan of yours is.”

You glanced at Frankie, hoping for some sign he was going to end this absurdity. But he wasn’t looking at you, or at Santiago, or even at the floor like a normal person. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip like he was physically restraining himself from speaking. His hands rested on his hips, fingers tapping idly against his belt, while his foot shifted incessantly, a nervous rhythm you couldn’t unhear.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Is this fun for you?” you asked Santi, your voice sharp enough to cut through his amusement.

He barely suppressed a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he gave a little shrug.

“Of course it is. Look at you two. You can’t even conceive of the idea of a teeny, tiny, innocent little kiss.” He paused, his expression shifting into something mockingly thoughtful. “You know, Fish,” he added, turning his attention to Frankie, “your mom invited me to her birthday tomorrow.”

That got Frankie’s attention. His head snapped toward Santiago, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s a shame,” Santi continued, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated regret. “But I can’t go. I’d love to see the two of you embarrass yourselves in front of an audience. That would’ve been a real treat.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. “Come on, man, don’t start.”

But before Santiago could respond, you interrupted.

“Kiss me,” you said, turning to Frankie with a tone that was less a request and more a threat.

Santiago let out a breathy laugh, stifling the full force of his amusement but not entirely succeeding.

Frankie looked at you like you’d just suggested a double homicide, his brows lifting high enough to crease his forehead.

“Come on,” you repeated, stepping closer to him. You let your arms drop to your sides in what you hoped was a disarming gesture, but Frankie didn’t budge. His expression didn’t soften, either���in fact, it somehow got worse. He was looking at you like you’d offered him a plate of raw sewage.

“Come on, Fish,” Santi chimed in, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “One little kiss and that’s it. What’s the big deal?”

You stayed where you were, holding Frankie’s gaze, your jaw tightening as you willed him to just get this over with. But he remained firmly rooted in place, his face still twisted in disgust.

And then something shifted in your chest. It was small at first, but it grew quickly—an anger, sharp and undeniable. What the hell was wrong with him? Was the idea of kissing you that horrifying? It wasn’t like this was real. It wasn’t like it meant anything.

You snorted, shaking your head as determination overtook you. Without giving it another second of thought, you crossed the space between you in a single, decisive motion.

“Wait, what the fuck are you—” Frankie started, but his words cut off as your hands gripped the sides of his face and your lips crashed against his.

The kiss lasted no more than three seconds, but it felt like an eternity. His lips were softer than you’d expected, warm and surprisingly still. Your eyes stayed firmly shut, as if that could somehow make the situation less mortifying.

When you pulled back, it was abrupt, almost violent. You jerked away from him and immediately crossed your arms again, your defenses snapping back into place.

Frankie stood there, completely still, his face frozen in an expression of shock. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes were unfocused, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“It’s not that hard, Francisco,” you said, your tone clipped as you turned away and sat back down on the couch, this time right next to Mr. Darcy. “I’m a woman, not an alien. It’s not so terrible.”

Your brother was staring at you, his expression a mixture of delight and disbelief. For a moment, he said nothing, just taking in the scene like it was the best entertainment he’d had in years. Then, with a wide grin, he walked over to Frankie and delivered a solid punch to his stomach.

Frankie clicked his tongue in annoyance, snapping out of his daze with a low groan.

"I’m already regretting this," he muttered then, his voice low but sharp, as he turned his back to you and Santi. 

“You can’t regret it now,” you called after him, your tone sharper than you meant. It was enough to stop him. He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his face. He didn’t look angry, not exactly. There was no sharpness, no fire. Just this quiet disappointment.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said. "You were the one who insisted. Or have you forgotten that already?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly, his eyes flicking to the ground. “Of course not. I just—” He paused, rubbed the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it through.”

From his spot against the wall, Santi let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he watched the exchange unfold like it was a show he’d seen before.

“Yeah we did,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “The issue isn’t that. The issue is you chickening out. You were fine until Santi showed up.”

“Oh, now it’s my fault again?” Santi asked.

You shrugged, noncommittal.

“Okay, well,” Santi said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Do what you want. It’s none of my business. Just—” he gestured vaguely, like he was brushing something away, “be a grown-up about it. And don’t screw it up, yeah? Because, honestly, of the three of us, I’m the one who has to deal with your shit.”

“We won’t cause trouble,” Frankie said, his voice quieter now but clear. He glanced at you, then at his best friend. “You have my word. I’ll keep it together. I'll be respectful. No bullshit. I promise.”

Santi nodded, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. He reached out and clapped Frankie on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, man. I trust you. Just—” He laughed lightly, his smile widening. “Don’t be such a child.”

He turned to you then, something knowing in his gaze, before looking back at Frankie. His laugh came deeper this time, warm and unguarded.

“Oh, I know exactly how this is going to end,” he said, shaking his head.

He didn’t stay much longer, mentioning something about dinner plans with Yovanna and promising to call tomorrow. The air felt lighter as he left, like he’d taken the weight of the moment with him, leaving only the two of you standing in its wake.

A few moment later, Frankie was ready to go too, or at least he looked like he was. He sat across from you now, his posture relaxed in a way that felt calculated, like he was trying to project a calm he didn’t entirely feel. Your cat, utterly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room, rubbed insistently up and down his leg, purring loud enough to fill the silence. Frankie absentmindedly ran his fingers along his fur, the gesture soft, almost tender.

From where you sat on the opposite end of the couch, you shifted slightly, trying to tread carefully. Your voice, when it came out, was low, calculated even—an attempt not to poke at the fragile truce that had settled between you.

"You know Santi’s right, don’t you?" you asked, watching as Frankie’s head lifted immediately, his gaze locking onto yours. "I mean, I don’t know how you are with your actual girlfriends—if you’re, like, affectionate, or into, you know, public displays of affection or whatever. But if we’re going to do this, you’ve got to get over it."

"I don’t have anything to get over. We just need to stick to the basics."

"Aha, the basics," you echoed, leaning forward slightly. "Sure, okay. But you couldn’t even kiss me without looking like it was physically painful."

"That’s not fair. You caught me off guard, that’s all. The context was weird. Santi was watching—it threw me off." He shook his head, his discomfort practically radiating off of him.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you let out a short laugh, the sound more exasperated than amused.

"Your whole family is going to be watching tomorrow."

You stood abruptly, the movement carrying your frustration with it, and crossed the room in a few quick steps. You didn’t look back as you walked into the open kitchen, heading straight for the sink and grabbing a glass from the counter. The sound of water filling the glass was the only noise for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

Frankie didn’t say anything right away. When you turned around, your glass now empty in your hand, he was still in the living room, his focus firmly on your cat. He scratched behind his ears like he hadn’t just been called out, like he could stay there indefinitely and avoid the conversation entirely.

But then he stood, moving toward you with an unhurried calm that didn’t quite match the unease in his eyes. He stopped a few feet from you, leaning one hip against the kitchen island as if he needed something to ground himself.

"Your mother," you said, setting the glass down on the counter with more force than you intended, "your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching."

Frankie sighed. "It’s different." 

"Different how?"

"Because Santi’s my best friend. And you’re his sister. It was weird."

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you said, gesturing vaguely with your hand, like you were pointing out something so glaringly obvious it hardly needed to be said. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he replied, deadpan.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you said, your tone sharp, cutting. Like you were explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly slow child. "A fucking—"

The word caught in your throat mid-sentence, stolen by the sudden, startling pressure of Frankie’s hands on your face.

Before you could react—before you could even think—he was there. Close, impossibly close, his fingers firm but steady as they cupped your jaw, his palms warm against your skin. His eyes barely met yours before his mouth was on yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to that one unexpected point of contact.

His lips moved against yours with a precision that felt calculated, like he wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t holding back either. They parted yours gently, and his breath mingled with yours, each second stretching into something that felt far longer.

Three seconds. Four, maybe five. It was enough for you to notice, to feel how his thumb brushed against the side of your face, to register the faint scent of his cologne. Enough for it to completely throw you.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

He released you, stepping back without ceremony. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you from his full height, his expression unreadable. Then he clicked his tongue, a sound so small but so maddeningly smug it made your blood simmer.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were rooted to the spot, your thoughts a scrambled mess as you tried to catch up with what had just happened. Your breathing was uneven now, a shallow rhythm you couldn’t quite control.

Frankie turned away, shaking his head slowly as if he were frustrated—with you, with himself, with the entire situation. His hands flexed at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor.

When he finally looked back up at you, his scowl was sharp enough to cut. There was something accusatory in the way his eyes narrowed, as if he were blaming you for... what? Letting him kiss you? Letting him prove a point?

“I can do that, no problem,” Frankie said, his voice dripping with confidence, his expression so self-assured it almost felt rehearsed. He stood tall, chest slightly puffed, radiating an air of someone entirely too pleased with himself. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

The words stung more than you cared to admit. You wanted to hit back, to say something sharp and cutting that would wipe that smug look off his face. Insult him, rattle him—anything to remind him that if this situation was unbearable, it wasn’t because of you alone.

But no words came.

Your throat tightened, and you couldn’t force yourself to speak. It wasn’t just that you were angry—though you were. It was that he was watching you now, not with his usual indifference but with something sharper, something closer to scrutiny. Like he was waiting for your reaction, ready to pounce on it, to use it against you.

Frankie leaned back against the kitchen island, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, it felt like the room itself had shrunk, like the air had turned heavy and suffocating. The silence between you was uncomfortable in a way it had never been before.

You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness, and forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend," you said finally, your voice breaking the tension. You tilted your head, letting a sly smile curve your lips as you arched a single eyebrow. "I’d rather kiss a toad."

The corner of Frankie’s mouth twitched, and for a second, you thought he was going to brush off your jab entirely. But then he let out a quiet laugh, one he didn’t even try to hide, his expression softening into something teasing.

"You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?" 

You rolled your eyes, letting out a soft, incredulous snort. Your gaze drifted to the empty glass of water sitting on the counter, the condensation forming a faint ring beneath it. You should’ve said something else, something sharp to cut through the tension still lingering in the air, but you didn’t.

Frankie straightened up, peeling himself away from where he’d been leaning against the kitchen island. He stretched slightly, his movements unhurried, one hand brushing absently over his stomach like he was just waking up from a nap. Then he reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around something—his keys, you realized—as if confirming they were still there.

He turned without a word and walked over to the couch, where Mr. Darcy had curled up in his usual spot. Frankie gave the cat a quick pat on the head, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, then straightened again. When he turned back to you, there was something almost playful in his expression, a teasing glint in his eyes that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow," he said, his voice casual but firm, like it was already decided. "Don’t keep me waiting."

You blinked at him, disbelief washing over your face. From your spot leaning against the counter, you tilted your head slightly, trying to gauge if he was serious—or if he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

"Or what?" you shot back, your voice dripping with mockery. "You’re going to leave without me?"

Frankie paused at your door, his hand hovering over the handle. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, his tone low and almost threatening.

Before you could reply, he pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door with a gesture that felt vaguely theatrical.

You stood there for a moment, motionless, your eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. It was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

Then a sharp, high-pitched meow broke through your thoughts.

You glanced down to see Mr. Darcy padding toward you, his tail held high like a little banner, the picture of feline confidence. He stopped just short of your feet, looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes. The kind of look that demanded attention.

“Oh, so now you’re coming back to me?” you asked, crouching down to run your fingers over the soft fur on his head. He tilted his chin upward, leaning into the touch like he hadn’t just spent the last hour fawning over Frankie.

"Of course, you traitor," you muttered, scratching behind his ears. "Now that he’s gone, you’ve suddenly remembered I exist."

Mr. Darcy purred in response, his tail curling slightly as he rubbed against your hand, but you snorted softly, the sound carrying a faint edge of betrayal.

"You’re lucky I love you," you said, your voice low, almost conspiratorial. "But don’t think I’ve forgotten how easily you switched sides. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you just yet."

He blinked at you, unbothered, and you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. Still crouched, you rested your elbow on your knee, glancing toward the closed door where Frankie had disappeared. 

Mr. Darcy meowed again, drawing your attention back, as if reminding you of where your loyalty should lie. For now, you decided, he was forgiven. Just barely.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

[thegrayascendancy-if]

I am about to mention something that has become a bit of a touchy subject in this space, so I might as well do it right away: a rewr—major edit. Before you close this post, give up on me and unfollow, I have great news! It has already been completed, and it isn't about changing the plot (I think I added no more than five variables in total) but about fixing the pacing and fleshing out the world and some characters. To dodge the allegations I will release it together with the third part of chapter 1 to guarantee there will be something for everyone in the next update.

The changes are restricted to the prologue:

replaced vagueness with specificity on magic,

improved the fight choreography,

overhauled the section of the return travel with Jax,

reworked the encounter with Mort,

edited, extended and rewired the scene with Y in their study, hopefully taking care of the inconsistencies it is peppered with (no mini-game yet, sorry!)

misc. edits of the awkward phrases and descriptions

Overall, the prologue is now 15k words longer, but probably more in "new" content as I removed some parts too.

This reflects my growing certainty in certain aspects of this fictional world and my improved understanding of particular character dynamics. Not to mention that as a prologue, the entry point into the story, it desperately needed to catch up to the changes in my style. There were other concerns too. In the beginning, I often tried to do too much in a single choice, most evident in the conversations with Jax, and the pacing suffered because of it. I also realized that as an author, you do not have to serve an opportunity to flirt with every RO right away just to establish that they are an RO—circling back to my point about confidence. Some stories gotta flow differently.

Among the less obvious changes, I finally got to fix the code that upset me just by existing in the files, sheer sadness in Sugarcube form. But now, with everything I learned in the process of making the consequent updates, I was able to not only improve readability but also make branching less tedious for me. That, in turn, makes me naturally open to introducing more of fun little choices. Honestly, positives only.

Phew, thank you for reading all of that! I want to be open with you about what is coming and my reasons for doing it. Once the update is out, you might not get the same numbers in the character/relationship stats as before, but that is nothing to worry about.

tldr: prologue edit done, coming bundled with the next update to chapter 1

[sc0tters]

Broken Hearts and Newfound Promises | Mikko Rantanen

summary: when Mikko gets traded it is finally the push that he needs to ask you out.

request: yes/no

warnings: minor bits of swearing, mentions of a sexual relationship but nothing explicit.

word count: 1.82k

authors note: I finished this weeks update for tommorow and got this announcement when I woke up, so the only logical way to process this with the free time I had was to write about it.

It wasn’t meant to end like this. 

You had met Mikko six years ago after ending up in line for the bathroom at the club.

Music echoed in your ears as you made your way to the bathroom “shit baby there you are!” You felt a hand rest on your back making you almost jump in the process. 

A tall blonde boy stood there “was looking all over to show this nice girl here who my girl was.” The panicked smile on his face made you nod “thanks so much for looking after him.” You placed your hand on his chest feeling him wrap his arm around your waist. 

It made the girl frown “he just gets lost so often.” You added squeezing his cheek “guess you really do have a girlfriend.” She muttered walking off back to the crowd of people. 

The boy smiled as he looked at you “I am so sorry thank you for that.” He pulled away from you, finally giving you back your space “no worries.” You shook your head, knowing that you would have been grateful for the help if the shoe was on the other foot.

You pushed your freshly curled hair out of your face “just one question.” You pursed your lips together “how did you know I was single?” You crossed your arms letting your lips form a smirk when his cheeks turned red. 

He scratched at his throat “I saw you turning down those guys all night.” Mikko pointed out making him run your fingers down his arm “you been watching me huh?” You cocked your head, taunting him. 

You licked your lips “besides how did you know that didn’t mean I was lesbian or something?” That made his cheeks turn red making you laugh “well that one was a gamble but now with the way you’ve been staring at my lips I really don’t think it is the case.” Mikko shrugged bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. 

All of a sudden it seemed you had forgotten that you needed to pee “well why don’t you test your little theory then.” You smiled feeling his other hand travel to the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss.

That memory was one that lived in your brain as a core memory. It was one you held with such joy, but it was funny how fast those memories could be tarnished so fast.

𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗸𝗼 𝗥𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗲𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝗛𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀

The headline stared back at you from your laptop, no matter how much you blinked or rubbed your eyes there was no changing it. Mikko was leaving you and there was nothing that you could do to change it. 

You felt pathetic, feeling like your heart had been taken out of your chest and stomped on before someone tried to put it back in you. You never expected to feel so upset over someone you weren’t meant to care about like that. Mikko wasn’t yours, not really. 

Sure, he was in your bed most nights, celebrating the highs and mourning the lows. Beyond the sanctity of your place and his, it was as if you were just friends. At least that was what you were meant to be, each biting your tongues with every romantic glance someone sent your way. 

Mikko put up with it as he knew you were never going to actually entertain these other guys. But that never made it easy, the looks he would send you were full of love because even if you weren’t his he wished you were. 

Falling into the friends-with-benefits agreement that you had originally suited you both. After getting out of a messy relationship from your side and a long-term one from Mikko’s, you both needed something fun. And it was so easy, getting to call him up when you wanted company or when you craved him in your bed. There was never a time where either of you felt any real pressure as you both got what you needed from the agreement. 

But that all started five and a half years ago and things had changed, Mikko wanted to start settling down which was something he was desperate to do with you. He had this whole plan to finally ask you about going from being the girl who was just in his bed to being at his side, Mikko wanted you to be his girlfriend. 

The boy spent a few nights wanting to scream it from the roof of his apartment building, but now the trade threatened to light a fire up under his ass. He knew that if he didn’t finally talk to you, then he stood to lose you forever. 

A knock came from your door, snapping your attention away from the screen. You stayed quiet, wondering who it could have been “c’mon kisu I know that you’re in here.” Mikko sighed, knocking on your door again “go away.” You mumbled, not ready to see him because in some fragment of your mind if you never saw him then it was not really happening.

Mikko pinched the bridge of his nose, going to knock on your door again before he heard your shuffling in your apartment. Your feet weren’t as quiet on the wooden floor as you would have hoped “don’t tell me you came to say goodbye.” Your head rested against the door, unaware that the boy was doing the same thing on the opposite side. 

The pain in your voice broke his heart “can we please just talk?” The hockey player begged, just wanting to hold you. 

You sighed, taking a step back to finally open the door for him. You stood in one of his hoodies which made your cheeks turn red as he took in the sight of you “fuck.” Mikko’s voice broke seeing how your tears had stained your skin “I can’t believe it.” You cried almost running into his arms, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

The Fin frowned running his fingers through your hair, feeling your tears soak his shirt “I know kultsi.” He cooed attempting to comfort you.

It broke his heart hearing the sounds of your sobs “it’s not fair.” You shook your head “let it out.” Mikko nodded rubbing your back.

He maneuvered the both of you to get back into the apartment so he could shut the door behind him. With the new sense of privacy, you gripped at his shirt “what do you want to talk about?” You asked, sniffling as you brought your hand up to wipe your eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.” His words broke your heart even more. 

Mikko tucked your hair behind your ear “I don’t want you to go.” You sighed watching him nod “I don’t want to leave you like this.” Mikko confessed, sucking at his teeth. 

You reached for his hand “then don’t leave me.” You pleaded wanting to get on your knees to beg him if it called for as much “if only it was that simple.” Mikko would have, honestly if he had the choice of never leaving your apartment again he would take it. To him that was an equivalent of winning the lottery.

He watched you sway yourself back and forth “look, I can visit and see you and see you all the time.” Mikko offered but that wasn’t enough “I want you.” Those words him cock his head wondering if he had heard your correctly.

Mikko pushed his hair out of his face “you don’t know how much I wanted to hear you say that.” He went to hold your hand but you stopped him “no Mikko I want you.” You repeated those words, with a little more determination.

You tucked your hair behind your ears “I want to be the one who gets to be the one you come home to.” It was something he already did most nights to begin with “I stopped wanting us to just be sex, I wanted to be the one who gets to support you loud and proud and not just from my living room.” You explained, biting at the inside of your cheek as you watched him remain silent “please just say something.” You begged shutting your eyes as his silence felt like a new level of today’s nightmare. 

Mikko smiled “remember that night when you came to the game that I got that hatty?” He asked as you slowly opened your eyes to look at him “and when I got here, you analysed all of my goals, giving me your full game review.” It was a memory that made your thighs squirm. Mikko spent the night listening to you babble on about how good he had been while he lay between your thighs treating you like you were his last meal. 

You smirked remembering how in awe he was of you that night “I do.” You nodded cocking your head “that was the night where I was this close to asking you to be my girlfriend.” When he went home he kicked himself for not just asking that five-word question. 

He brought his thumb up to dry your cheek “I hate that you cried over this.” It really did break his heart that you were so upset by that news “don’t want to lose you.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders as he nodded “you’re never gonna lose me.” Mikko was honest, you were (un)fortunately stuck with him for as long as time would allow.

You smiled “can I kiss you?” Your question made him grin like a schoolboy “I don’t recall you asking me to be your boyfriend.” His words made you roll your eyes as you went to go back into your apartment. 

Mikko shook his head wrapping his hand around your wrist to pull you back to him, his lips locked with yours before you had a chance to berate him. The kiss made your head buzz, feeling his hands grip at your sides “wait.” You pulled away, raising your hand to stop him. 

He grew concerned, wondering if he had overstepped “when do you leave?” Your question reminded him of the gloom that surrounded Colorado right now “only tomorrow afternoon.” You swore you were hearing angels sing around him. 

Mikko watched you push yourself onto your tippy toes so you could kiss him again “how about we spend your last night here then?” You smiled pecking his lips again. 

He smirked picking you up as he threw you over his shoulder “Meeks!” You squealed making him laugh “I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend it.” He brought you into your room wanting to spend the night the right way. 

Just one time when he didn’t have to think about the trade because right now that is tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, he wanted to enjoy being your boyfriend and he was certain that you’d enjoy it too.

[impish-baby]

Another question! Okay sorry lol I have another question for the both arms cradle you now fic again! So when you answered my previous ask about our step mother and our step siblings I remember in one of the parts you mentioned that their where more siblings like our dad and step mom had more kids or am I wrong? If I am you don’t have to answer this ask! I was also wondering more about the neglect why did they now realize what they put reader/us through? What triggered their yandere behavior sorry for my so many asks! I just love your blog! Have a good day! And drink water and get lots of sleep!

You are right, I did write that! Thing is at the time I was still unsure of who all I was adding to the story as well as the timeline of events :p so reader now officially has two older stepsiblings and a younger half brother!

Reader was fourteen when they finally gave up on their dad, and moved away with their mom shortly after. They didn't want any contact with anyone from Damien's side of the familly, so the Christmas party is everyone's first time seeing them in years. (Four, since reader is eighteen currently in the series)

The first year reader was gone was a shitshow to say the least

Going no contact with everyone was abrupt, especially since the family as a whole was tight-knit. Paul eventually got a hold of reader's mom (she was ignoring Damien) and got a simple explanation that basically boiled down to 'ask your son and his step kids'

Lizzie is already in boiling water at this point since everyone was freaking out about reader being gone all of a sudden, so when she gets set down for some answers she immediately bursts into tears and confesses (miles is also in trouble, and he quietly confirms and admits his part of things)

After everything is out in the open, Damien is having a crisis. He's also sobbing now because he realizes that not only has he been a shitty dad and lost his kid, but you've been through so much (his baby, oh god, his baby..)

Paul has to leave so he doesn't just yell at them all for hours, but makes sure they know that they aren't allowed in his home for the foreseeable future (you can see that he's still really cold to Damien in 'villian and violent')

You know the saying absence makes the heart grow fonder? Dial that up to the extreme.

Everybody misses reader dearly (besides the step sibs at first), there's always a hope that there will be a phone call, a text, something, but it never comes.

Longing and longing and longing starts to turn into something different, because when reader is back (and they will be) what's stopping you from leaving again? Familly is important, even if you were wronged, how do they show you that you need them?

[pankowcrumbs]

Chaos X Drew Starkey (Requested)

I woke up with a sharp, insistent pain in my lower abdomen, one that was impossible to ignore. Groaning, I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but the ache only deepened. A flash of panic ran through me as I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—4:32 a.m. It was far too early for this, literally. Three weeks too early.

“Drew,” I whispered, poking his shoulder.

He didn’t stir.

“Drew,” I said louder, my voice tinged with urgency.

He bolted upright like he’d been shot out of a cannon, his hair sticking out in every direction. “What? What happened? Is it burglars?”

“No, Drew, it’s me! I think I’m in labour.”

That woke him up completely. His eyes widened as he scrambled out of bed, tripping over his own feet. “Wait, labour? Like, baby labour? Already? You’re not supposed to—okay, okay, I’m calm.”

“You don’t look calm,” I said through gritted teeth as another contraction hit me like a freight train.

“I’ve got this! I’m prepared! The bag—where’s the hospital bag?” He darted around the room like a headless chicken, pulling open drawers and muttering to himself.

“It’s in the hallway cupboard,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the building pressure.

“Right, right. Hallway cupboard.” He rushed out of the bedroom, only to come back empty-handed a moment later. “What does it look like again?”

“Drew!” I snapped, clutching the bedsheet as another wave of pain rolled through me.

“Sorry, sorry! Stay calm—uh, you stay calm. I’ll be calm too,” he said, vanishing into the hallway again.

When he finally returned with the hospital bag, he was out of breath. “Okay, bag secured. Now what? Breathing! You need to breathe! Like this—heee-hooo, heee-hooo.” He started demonstrating exaggerated breaths, waving his arms like he was conducting an orchestra.

I couldn’t help but laugh, even through the pain. “Drew, you look ridiculous.”

“But is it helping?” he asked earnestly, still doing the breathing.

“Not really,” I admitted, trying to focus on my own rhythm.

He nodded, clearly disappointed in his technique. “Alright, new plan. Do you want ice? Or, or… a smoothie? I can make a smoothie!”

“A smoothie? Drew, I’m in labour, not at brunch!”

“Right. No smoothie. Got it.” He looked around the room like he expected it to offer him advice. “What about snacks? You need energy, babe. I read that somewhere. Energy is key!”

He dashed to the kitchen, returning moments later with a granola bar, a banana, and, inexplicably, a jar of pickles.

“Pickles, Drew?”

“I panicked!” he said, setting them down on the nightstand.

“Just... sit with me,” I pleaded, reaching for his hand.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, taking my hand in both of his. “I’m here. I’m so here. You and me, babe. We’ve got this.”

For a moment, his earnestness grounded me. I squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence, chaotic as it was.

And then, because he just couldn’t help himself, he added, “You know, technically, this means our baby’s super punctual. Takes after me.”

“Drew,” I groaned, though I couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping.

“What? Humour helps, right? Laughter is the best medicine and all that.”

“Not when I feel like my insides are being ripped apart.”

“Fair point.” He winced sympathetically. “Okay, no more jokes. Just focus on me. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

I tried to follow his lead, but the next contraction hit with such intensity that I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

“Alright, that’s it, we’re going to the hospital. No more waiting!” He jumped to his feet, grabbing the bag and helping me to stand.

“Drew, I don’t think I can walk right now,” I said, leaning heavily on him.

“Then I’ll carry you!”

“You’re not carrying me, Drew.”

“But it would be so romantic!”

“No.”

Reluctantly, he helped me shuffle toward the door, his arm wrapped securely around my waist. Once we were in the car, the chaos continued.

“Do you need music? Something soothing? Or maybe motivational—like Beyoncé? Wait, no, you hate my playlists when you’re stressed.”

“Drew, just drive!”

“Right, driving, got it.” He started the car and immediately cranked the wipers instead of the engine. “Okay, minor hiccup. We’re good.”

As we sped toward the hospital, he kept glancing over at me. “You’re doing amazing, babe. So strong. Like, superhero strong. Wonder Woman’s got nothing on you.”

“Drew,” I said, half-laughing, half-crying. “You’re stressing me out.”

“Sorry! I’ll stop talking.”

He lasted all of ten seconds.

“Do you think the baby will have your eyes or mine?”

“Drew!”

“Stopping now. For real.”

By the time we reached the hospital, I was practically crawling out of the car. Drew, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of movement, grabbing the bag, helping me out, and shouting at the nearest nurse like we were in the middle of an action movie.

“She’s having a baby! Right now! Three weeks early! This is an emergency, right?”

The nurse, clearly used to panicked dads-to-be, calmly led us to a room. Drew hovered at my side the entire time, alternating between holding my hand, stroking my hair, and offering increasingly bizarre suggestions.

“Do you want to try squatting? I read squatting helps.”

“Drew, I’m hooked up to monitors.”

“Right, no squatting. Maybe a stress ball? Should I go get one?”

“Drew, sit down.”

He sat. For all of two seconds.

“Do you think the baby will like sports? Or maybe art? What if they’re a genius? I mean, they’re definitely going to be cute—look at us.”

“Drew,” I said, exasperated.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just so excited. And terrified. Mostly excited.”

As the labour progressed and the pain intensified, his antics became both more endearing and more absurd. At one point, he tried to distract me by performing a dramatic reenactment of our first date, complete with exaggerated impressions of me.

“You said, ‘Drew, I’ll have the salad,’ but I could tell you wanted the burger. You always want the burger.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” I muttered, gripping the bed rail as another contraction hit.

“And I love you, babe. So much. You’re amazing. Incredible. The absolute best. And hey, you’re almost there!”

“How do you know?” I asked, glaring at him through the pain.

“Because you’re a champ, and champs finish strong!”

Despite myself, I laughed. He was ridiculous, but he was my ridiculous, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hours later, after what felt like an eternity, our baby was finally born. Drew’s eyes filled with tears as he held her for the first time, his earlier chaos replaced with awe.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, looking at me like I’d just performed a miracle.

“You’re perfect,” I said softly, reaching for his hand.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’re a team, babe. Chaos and all.”

And in that moment, I knew that no matter how wild and unpredictable life got, we’d face it together—with laughter, love, and maybe a jar of pickles.

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏*

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Comfort? (tiny tiny angst)

Warnings: Basic mentions of panic attack, Reader has some trauma but it’s not really in detail. Reader has a mean brain lol. Idk what else to really put? Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

A/N: this was the black heart one yall voted for! Hope you enjoy I really don’t know what to put for warnings so I’m sorry if I missed anything big. Please let me know!

-🖤

Work felt like it drug on today. It felt like you’d never leave. Every dumb customer that came in or everything dropped just added to it. When you finally left and got home you just plopped into bed. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep. Body feeling heavy from the day. You were woken up about 4 hours later from a strewn of texts and calls from your boyfriend.

“Babe are you on your way?”

“I got us a table already”

*2 Missed calls*

“Pup?”

“Hello? Are you asleep?”

*3 Missed calls*

“I’ve been here for like an hour, I guess you’re not coming”

Your heart stopped panic setting in, you scrambled jumping out of bed. You completely forgot that Seungmin and you had a date today. You frantically called him hoping, your stomach doing back flips as it rang. He didn’t answer. He didn’t answer.. This was it you thought. You felt tears pricking at your eyes, it felt like you were gonna puke. All your past experiences with exs had your head reeling. He was gonna dump you, scream at you for it and then just dump you.

You started to bawl, endless wave of tears pouring from you. You were sobbing uncontrollably hands shaking as you prepared for the worst. Maybe he’d just ghost you and save the hurtful words. “I’m so fucking stupid, this is it. It’s over I fucked up. He hates me.. fuck he hates me” you sobbed harder. Your chest was becoming more tight gripping on your pillow as you cried. You felt like the world was just crumbling down. It shouldn’t be a big deal but past traumas and how the day was just.. couldn’t stop your brain from bullying you into thinking the worst.

In your panic you didn’t realize you had accidentally called him again. Your phone somewhere on the floor at this point. This time he had picked up, he could hear everything. Was he a little upset? Yeah of course. However he knew you were probably just tired and of course would never do it on purpose. He was already on the way to your place with dinner from the restaurant.

He was gonna hang up, wanting to get there to console you in person. But he heard your words. He knew how things had gone down with your ex and he knew what was probably going through that little brain of yours. He didn’t knock when he got there opening up your door before putting everything on the counter. He made his way to your room and when he slowly opened the door he saw you. Curled up in a bawl sniffling as you tried to calm yourself down.

“Pup” he said softly making his way towards you. You didn’t answer though, you couldn’t hear much of anything right now honestly. Everything just felt like you were floating, like you weren’t actually there. “Hey” he said gently, as he rubbed you back. You jumped turning quickly to see him.

“Min- I- I’m so sorry- I’m so so sorry” you mumbled out. You couldn’t stop the flood of tears that came pouring out once again. You just felt awful, your head still spinning with the worst possible thoughts.

“Ssh ssh it’s ok, everything’s ok.” He said pulling you into his arms. He rubbed your back letting you cry as you needed. “I’m not mad at you, you didn’t mean to pup it’s ok” he said as softly as he could.

“I was just so tired- and I-“ you stuttered out.

“Ssh pup, really. Really it’s ok. I love you. I’m not mad. Things happen. Get out of that mean brain of yours” he said making you smile a little. “There’s that cute smile” he said kissing your forehead.

“Minnie really thought I’m sorry” you started to say.

“How about you make it up to me in kisses?” He said cheesily.

“All the kisses you want” you said smiling up at him.

“Good I’ll take my first one now” he said pulling you into a sweet kiss.

He eventually pulled you out of bed, bringing you to the living room to finally eat. You sat there eating for a bit before either of you really talked. “I really am sorry” you said in almost a whisper.

“I know, but it’s alright. Like I said things happen pup. It doesn’t mean I’m just gonna leave you over it. You’re stuck with me. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy” he said with that cheeky little smile of his.

“Good.. I don’t wanna get rid of you.. ever” you said finally fully smiling at him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You hand over the statement and send off the client with ‘have good day’. The recitation is lifeless, meaningless as it leaves your lips on habit alone. It’s all by rote. Greet them, figure out what they want, and get them out. 

Your next customer steps up as you take a chug of cold coffee. A glimmer of recognition flickers in your head and you squint at his reddened eyes. Oh, you know this man. Well, you’re aware of his existence. 

“Hello, sir, how can I help--” 

“Shut up,” he scowls. “You serious with the hello bullshit? Look at my eyes?” 

You blink and put your cup down, “did you try milk?” 

“Milk?! Milk? You fucking burnt my retinas out.” 

“Are you having issues with your sight--” 

“That’s not the fucking point. You—You remember me now, don’t you?” 

“You grabbed me. I reacted,” you shrug. “If you’re only here to yell at me, I’ll need to call security--” 

“Fuck security,” he steps up and his nose almost touches the glass. He snarls, “do you understand who I am? How many ways I can fuck you? Figuratively and literally?” 

You stare back at him dully. You deal with people yelling about their money every day. You’re desensitized to their threats. To their chagrin. Do they really think you care? That you have any sort of emotion tied to this job? It pays the bills. 

“Would you like to make a transaction today or--” You move your hand under the desk. 

“Don’t you fucking hit that button, sweet cheeks. I’m not going to do anything. Not here. You think I’m fucking stupid?” He growls as he jabs the glass between you. “No, I want you to see what the fuck you did and why I’m going to do worse to you.” He makes a fist and hits the barrier. “And you’re going to fucking remember me.” 

You keep your hand on the edge of the counter. You sit up and look around him, “I have other customers to help. Please step aside.” 

He scoffs and thumps on the glass again. “You’re a real fucking piece of work. You let this bullshit job go to your head? Why? Cause you can hit a few keys on a computer? Money’s still in my accounts, honey. You’re nothing. I could buy you a hundred times over and still have as much left.” 

You exhale and look at him as you wave up the next person in line, “unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that money can buy class.” 

He stomps as the waiting client hesitate, “you can come up. We’re done.” You beckon them again with your fingers then reach for your cup again. 

He looms as the woman comes up to your woman. He’s close enough that you feel your discomfort. You give him a look as take her card. 

“Sir, you need to go.” You warn him. 

He puffs and shakes his head. He tuts and paces back then toward you again. He stops as if he only then notices the woman watching him in horror. He throws up his hands then marches away. 

“Sorry, about that,” you say to the woman. You take her card and swipe it. 

“No, I’m sorry. Must be horrible to deal with that at work,” she replies as she touches her cheek and glances over her shoulder. 

“Money is very personal,” you utter. “How can I help you today?” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” she assures. “I’m just adding a new payee to my account. I switched phone providers but their online portal isn’t working for me...” 

You nod and help her through the process. As promised, she’s quick. The rest of your day is not. You can’t help but check the clock repeatedly. It’s almost the weekend. So close yet so far away. 

As you get down from your chair at the end of your shift and grab your bag, Veronique approaches. You face her as you hitch up your purse. It’s unusual for her to come to you. Ever. She hides at her desk, more interested in her phone than her management role. 

“Before you go, I’d like a word.” 

You frown. This can’t be good. You rely on predictability. You could drown in it but it’s easier than change. Easier than the unexpected. 

“Sure,” you agree and follow her as she spins on her heel. 

You trail her strut into a back office. One of the executives is there. Gerald, you think? He doesn’t bother with you either. 

“Please, shut the door,” he greets you. You do as he says and Veronique perches herself behind his shoulder like a parrot. “Have a seat.” 

Wary, you cross the office and sit in the stiff seat. It squeaks as you stay on the edge. You cradle your bag in your lap. Veronique grins then wipes it away as she clears her throat. 

“You’ve worked here for more than ten years.” Gerald states. You confirm. “A long time. Must get dull.” 

“It’s work, sir,” you say. 

“You haven’t moved up much. Typically yearly raise but nothing extravagant,” he looks at his lit monitor. “You work for base pay. Not very much, yet you handle a lot of money, don’t you?” 

Your heart picks up. You can’t remember the last time you felt anything like this. That you were uncertain. Everything was always the same. Go to work, go home, sleep, wash, rinse, repeat. 

“Sir, I do my job and I do it by the book.” 

“Do you?” He tuts as he leans back and clicks around. “Because we’ve had some discrepancies brought to our attention. On a particular account. A client you’ve dealt with several times, and according to Veronique, you’ve had as many issues with.” 

You shake your head in confusion. 

“No, I don’t... no.” 

“He was here today. Mr. Hansen? We were just reviewing some footage from his last visits and his statements. There’s some really strange back and forths here.” 

You sit up even higher, “sir, no. It can’t-- I did exactly as he requested. All I did was ask for his ID.” 

“Veronique,” he looks up as his tone turns to disinterest. 

“We have the evidence. We’re submitting a report for investigation. You will be suspended. Beginning immediately.” 

Her lips curve again. Your chest turns to a pit and you puff out in disbelief. This can’t be. How could they have proof when you did nothing? 

“Security is waiting outside to escort you from the premises,” she continues with a catlike smirk. 

You look between her and Gerald. He’s already distracted by his phone. “How about the steak house, V?” He swivels to her. You’re dismissed by the back of his balding head. 

You get up and clutch your bag to your stomach. You turn and march to the door. As you exit, two uniformed men await you. They walk on either side of you, past other tellers and several managers. You’re mortified. 

How could this happen to you? You have a feeling Veronique is behind it but why? She ignores you, like everyone else. What could she possibly get out of this? 

[stormlight-archive]

Hi it’s me from earlier! As I type this out I realize I’m just adding criticism rather than asking a question but…I’ve seen so many good points made about the way the darkeyes’ oppression was neglected in Kaladin’s later arc, and to extend on that, I feel it was discarded in Moash’s as well. After Elhokar, nearly all the people he kills/tries to kill are darkeyed and were victimized similar to him (Kal, Teft, Sig, Lirin, Leyten, the prisoners), the exceptions being Roshone & Navani. Which could be such an interesting angle to his character if intentional, but as far as I can tell it doesn’t seem like an intentional critique by BS. Which sucks because he’s a great character!

His actions make ok sense when he’s Vyre, but after getting emotions back, it seems ooc for him to be reminded of his vision of equality and decide the way to achieve it is…killing exclusively the group of freed Bridgemen? Not attempting to sway them, just butchering, as opposed to, idk, trying to go after actual, continuing perpetuators of the systems. And they don’t seem to be using him as a regular soldier even, just a Bridge 4 assassin

It feels like such waste of opportunity for others to either call out this irony, or for the books to use it to differentiate btwn Moash and Vyre & it felt anticlimactic that, getting emotions back, he just kept doing the same thing. I want to hope that this just setting up for a comeback later, but it irks me. And the criticism I see of him is always betraying his friends, but not betraying the values he was willing to die for, which is just as tragic/interesting.

Sorry this is SOOO long, and maybe my read is incomplete (it has been a while since I reread) but I really like your dissections of the series and am curious if you had thoughts on this as well. I think current villain Moash who had his original dreams from the first two books & was grappling with what he was willing to give up to achieve them would be infinitely more interesting than whatever is going on now :/ or at least, I would have loved to see others call out how he’s lost sight of his goals/is working furthering the goals of another tyrannical noble/is hurting almost exclusively his own community. The vision Todium gave him of an equal future in WaT felt, to me, like a cheap reminder to the audience of Moash’s og arc rather than a continuation/reminder that the systemic problems he fought continue to exist, kind of to the point you both made earlier

God I've written out paragraphs in response to this message but I feel like I sound insane. So I'll scrap it for now.

I'll just say that yes you are so right and it makes me so mad. Ive never been more disappointed with how moash has been written than i am with book 5, which says a fucking lot.

Such a nothing character. What the fuck happened to him

[becauseimswagman1]

Illusion vs Reality: When Did the Lines Blur?

Content Creator!Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Virgin!reader

--Reader is sick and tired of her family asking where her man at so she buys one--

A/N: this is a request! AND it's part 1 (idk what it is about breaking up fics into parts but I'm addicted! I get so caught up in the plot that I need to break it up). And boy when I say this spoke to me on a personal level, I mean it!

warnings: shenanigans are afoot.

-------------

Your family could be so mean sometimes. They constantly made you feel bad for not being like your older sister, married with children.

But you were only twenty-four, you had plenty of time to do all the things they wanted you to do… NOT! You wanted to live a little more than you already have… that literally just means losing your virginity. 

That’s right, a hot girl like you is still a virgin, by choice. You had a love-hate relationship with sex. Combine that with too many rom-com movies growing up, you wanted things to be special. But as growing up would have it, things were not like the movies. You were not a prude, but you never felt too comfortable with the guys you grew up with to take their time and not jackrabbit inside you. 

And by the time you turned eighteen, it seemed like everyone was getting their back broken! 

Now you weren’t a complete virgin though, you’ve done things like given blowjobs and sent nudes (of like your breasts and maybe an ass pic here and there). It’s just no one has touched you there, except yourself.

Fast forward to the big twenty-four and you’re more confident than you’ve ever been about everything except having sex. And that’s okay! Everyone moves at their own pace. 

It’s not like you never had the chance to do it either! You never trusted anyone enough AND once you got to the point with a guy where you’d tell them you’re a virgin, they either acted weird about it (“Oh you want me to be the first to tap that?”) or they wanted nothing to do with you (“I don’t know if I can be with someone that’s a virgin. I’m sorry.”). 

And with Thanksgiving coming up soon and no man in tow… you’re gonna be roasted alive by your family. But not this year! You were determined to figure something out. So you face-timed your bestie, Brianna. 

Thank God she answered for real, “Hey, Bri! I got a silly ass question.”

“Wassup girl?”

“How does one get a man in less than a month?”

“...You want a real relationship and not a situationship right?”

“Duh.” you thought that was kind of obvious.

“OH!” She laughed, “ Yeah girl that’s a silly ass question. Don't ask no shit like that again!”

“Whatever! You got an actual answer or what?”

Bri sat up in the camera, “You have a better chance at buying a man than getting one that’s not in it for sex in less than a month.”

You had an evil look on your face.

“Oh hell no! Don’t tell me you’re actually considering that shit?”

“I mean… I could! Just for Thanksgiving weekend.” It's not like you had a better idea.

She sighed, “I’m gonna trust you with this cause you gone do it anyway. Just make sure he’s a stand-up guy at least, girl.”

“Well, I kinda have someone in mind already.”

Brianna's eyes grew wide, “ALREADY?! You work too fast for me.”

You giggled, “I know. I’ll text you if it works?”

“Duh, girl! I gotta see how this plays out.”

You blew her a kiss, “Muah! Thank you again for the idea! And I love you!”

“I love you, too, girl!”

You hung up and opened your laptop. You really did have the perfect guy in mind.

—--------------------------

Kelvin Harrison Jr. The perfect guy’s name is Kelvin Harrison Jr. He’s an on-the-smaller side content creator with a super loyal fanbase. He’s become your internet crush. He’s so real (as real as the camera makes him look) and so damn funny! It wouldn’t hurt to shoot him an email with the proposition of being your fake boyfriend for a weekend, right?

--------------

taglist (comment to be added, dm to be removed): @gaydakiss @sharmelasworld @ayeeeitsmiracle @femdisa @luvrsluxe @papithetia @mzv11 @gg-trini

[skimmingmilk]

howdy skim! how do you get Sonic and Tails characterization so spot on? Typically watching cutscenes i can read between the lines or think deeper on some bits of the games but you just flesh them out beautifully and I was just wondering what your interpretation of Sonic and Tails is!

Hi there! :D

Ahh, thank you! I’m so happy you like their characterization! Watching cutscenes does really help get the voices down, but you’re right in that it doesn’t give us a ton of emotional range to work with. I think—in the case for how I approach Sonic and Tails specifically in the Picket Fence series—it helps that their foundation is a mix of game personality and AoStH personality. 

AoStH, while a very silly series, offers a lot in terms of range for Sonic and Tails’s emotions and reactions to stress. We get to see Sonic angry and upset and scared in ways beyond what the games tend to show and Tails is very much a little kid just doing his best, with a bit of a stubborn and defiant side to him. Taking these traits and emotions and more or less infusing them into the game portrayals (specifically Adventure and Adventure 2) are kind of how I establish their baseline.

The rest has just been practice! I’ve written so much of these guys now, their behaviors and the way they think have become almost hardwired into my brain xD I didn’t start out super confident about my portrayal of them—Sonic in particular used to give me a lot of stress because of how much stock people can put in how he’s characterized. I thought for sure people weren’t going to like how I wrote him at all—and I’m positive there are people who don’t and that’s fine! But I wasn’t writing for them. I’m not writing for Sega or any official media, I’m writing for me and the people who want to read the same stories I do. 

**Edit: This isn't to disparage anyone who is more particular about how Sonic's portrayed. It's solely because there's already so much stress involved in the writing process, I don't need the added stress of writing for an audience that wouldn't like my style anyway hanging over my head! Especially when it's free fanfiction I'm doing in my spare time for fun. There are plenty of other really talented writers out there who have their own spin or take on the characters that people can find enjoyment in <3 I don't have to please everyone and that takes off a lot of pressure!**

So that pushed me to find my footing as I put Sonic in situations I wanted to see. The more I wrote him and practiced his voice, the more natural it became. I got comfortable with him and the confidence just built up over time to the point where I can trust him to guide the narrative and get himself where he needs to be, rather than me just shoving him into place.

In a way it’s a lot like learning to draw them, right? First, you stick pretty closely to on model references to make sure they look like who they’re supposed to. You learn their shapes and defining features, then once you're comfortable, you start to branch out, push the limits, and infuse more of your own style to them. It’s the same with writing. You follow the guidelines canon materials have given you at first, but once you understand how the shapes of their personality traits fit together, you can bring your own style and flair to the writing to expand their potential and match the creativity of your ideas that go beyond what the games, comics, movies, etc. have covered. 

More about how I personally approach them beneath the cut, because this got long, I'm sorry xD

I think my interpretation of Sonic and Tails relies on a couple of things. First, their relationship to each other. They are best friends. Sonic has a lot of friends and cares about a lot of people, but Tails is specifically his best friend. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s so important to me to establish that it’s a symbiotic relationship that goes both ways. It’s easy to see why Tails likes and admires Sonic, why he’d want to be his friend and that he looks up to him, it’s all part of his character arc in early games. So making sure Sonic views him in the same light is key—not just as a little brother figure he has to look out for, because that kind of responsibility doesn’t really align with Sonic’s free spirit*, but for Tails to be someone he genuinely admires and wants to be around. Sonic keeps pace with Tails because he wants to, because he’s choosing to of his own volition.

*Just want to add, that’s also what makes their dynamic so compelling to me. Sonic’s cool, rebellious, free spirit doesn’t typically lend itself to the idea that “my best friend is a sweet, eight-year-old genius mechanic who has a bit of a complex about me.” On a surface level, that doesn’t seem like it would align with a stereotypical “cool” character, at least not to me as an American kid in the 90s and early 00s. So playing with that and making sense of it is so fun and critical to my portrayal of him.

The second thing is mainly making sure my writing feels genuine. Like, I need to believe in the way I’m writing the characters because if I don’t, then I can’t possibly expect readers to. Sometimes it requires planting a few seeds along the way in order to earn the payoff of an emotional reaction, so that I can get to a place where I can write something like Sonic the Werehog hiding his face with one hand as he howls from the sheer relief of being free from the burden of taking a life that he was fully prepared to take on and believe him when he does. Or when Tails is trying to troubleshoot his own jealousy and insecurities on his own rather than talk it out, I need to believe that he believes what he’s doing makes perfect sense to him.

Honestly, my characterization of them is probably pretty skewed and biased to my personal tastes at this point. I don’t think this is a definitive way to write Sonic or Tails, but based on my experiences with how I’ve engaged with their characters throughout my life, I just write them exactly the way I want to and try not to worry about whether or not it aligns with others’ views of the characters. Taking away that pressure and outside influence gives me room to play and explore different possibilities. There are also certain characterization choices in canon media that I don’t necessarily agree with, but I try to work in aspects of that in a way that doesn’t totally contradict that piece of media while also aligning with my view of them, if that makes sense?

Basically I don’t disregard everything, but rather try and work it into my foundation that was built primarily on AoStH and the Genesis/Dreamcast-era Sonic games, so that people can still see a bit of Jason or Roger or Colleen's performances or nods to the OVA if that's their preferred piece of Sonic media. **Edit: I have the most familiarity with the English side of Sonic, but of course would want to be open to people who's favorite Sonic is Jun'ichi, too, I just haven't had as much exposure to him as Sonic, so can't say for certain if anything I've written feels in line with that**

I hope this answered your question? It was very compelling to think about and I hope it provided some insight into how I approach their characterization!

[beef-brisket]

Adam hummed: That sounds so fucking good, babe. We'll stay at the city house today, yeah? Then, head back out to the shack tomorrow.

Lucifer smiled: Sounds good.

Adam: As the days get a little cooler, I'd love to take you along one of the walking tracks near my place. It's gorgeous. There's even a little pond and everything. It's also where I broke my first bone.

Lucifer chuckled, rubbing his fingers over Adam's knuckles: Oh yeah? How did you do that?

((Tw ⚠️: Sexual assault mention))

Adam: Well, my family and I were celebrating Christmas about... seven years ago. I was fresh outa collage, you know I was a looker. And just filled to the brim with testosterone and warm beer. It's not a good mix, by the way. So, growing up, I was close to one specific cousin, Emily. She was the only one my age. Everyone else was either way older or way younger. No in-between.

Leaning back against the headrest of his seat, Lucifer gazed at Adam as he talked. Has he always been this handsome? Or has the sweat just added an extra layer?

Adam: Then, I found out my step uncle had been fucking... touching her and shit. Fucking bastard. At this point, I had done a bit of farm work, so I was ripped, babe. Fucking, muscles buldging, I looked like Captain Australia!

Lucifer laughed: Wait- how did you find out about your step uncle?

Adam: ...Emily told me... there's always been a roomer about Uncle Jeff, but everyone thought if they kept quiet, it'll go away.

Lucifer: ...But it didn't?

Adam: Nope. Anyway, long story short, I convinced the family to come for a walk to the pond, where I beat that fucking bastard until he was begging me to stop.

Lucifer: You didn't, did you?

Adam: Emily begged him. And he didn't stop, I'm fact, she said he fuckimg laughed. So, you know what I did?

Lucifer: What?

Adam: I laughed~. And broke his arm. Both of them. Ugly cunt couldn't jerk off for nearly three months. And my aunty wouldn't touch him with a fucking pole.

((End of Tw))

Lucifer: That's... It's not as funny a story I thought it would be. I'm sorry that happened to your cousin. How's she doing now?

Adam smiled: Sorry babe. I'm usually funny as shit, I just thought you'd think I'm cool if I told you that one. And Ems is doing great. She owns a cupcake business in Perth.

Lucifer: Oh! Yum! And I think you're cool anyway. But now, I think you're a hero to~.

Adam: Oh, stop... want to hear about the time I broke my rib trying to suck my own dick?

OH OH OH OH!!!

90 Day Fiance Au

Lucifer is from California and he meets Adam online who is from Australia.

Ohmygod- yesssss!!

Lucifer is a suave businessman who meets Adam, who's a drover in the harshest areas of Australia.

He can only respond to Lucifer when he's in a city or town, which isn't often. But they both like each other, so Adam takes the risk of giving Lucifer his phone number. Whenever Adam has reception he calls Lucifer.

ALSO Lucifer flying out to Australia to meet Adam- who looks so out of place.

Like-

He'd rocking this vibe (without the gun, of course lol). And everyone at the airport is a tad suspicious about the dirty Australian guy who gets told off for lighting a cigarette inside.

Lucifer is instantly in love.

[moeblob]

As an attempt at a polite "going forward" comment...

I do not plan to draw for Three Houses or Hopes for a long while. I know a lot of my followers are from the past four years and I appreciate that you followed me at all! But if you are only interested in the art of those characters I wanted to be clear and say you can unfollow me at any point if what i draw no longer aligns with what you want to see.

I might draw for other FEs (like Heroes or 13/14/17) but I do not want to get involved with 3H any more. I do have other interests and across tumblr, twitter (now inactive), and sometimes on discord I've heard enough "I thought it was (FE3H character)".

This is not one person doing it and it is not simply one character being mistaken. I simply want to distance myself from 3H and have unfollowed a few people that reblog art of it because it just leaves a lingering bad taste in my mouth.

Thank you very much for your time and I hope you can find artists who can provide art for topics you like.