#thank you so much for reading as always!!!! it means the world

[amusedatreus]

Lips of an Angel

You and Sevika had grown too close for her comfort. You leave and then make the first call to her months later.

Smoke rose from Sevikas lips as she exhaled a deep sign following a drag from her cigarette. The weight in her chest sunk deeper and deeper as she looked out at the night sky. A longing for connection. The same connection she had cut off just a few months prior. Now she had one-night stands with any broad willing to come home with her. The short sex with no meaning. Sevika, holding a woman whose name she has refused to remember. Laying still until a soft snore can be heard so she can get up and sit on the balcony of her apartment looking at the vast nothingness above her.

A vibration in her pocket stopped her thoughts. You. It’s as if Sevika had suddenly lost all of her hearing. Memories flooded her brain. The love. The happiness. The fights. She answered. 

“Honey, why you calling me so late?” Sevika whispered. A rustling coming from the room attached to the patio reminded Sevika that she wasn’t alone. Soft cries coming from the other end of the phone gained her attention. Sevikas eyes widened at the sound. “Honey, why you crying, is everything okay?” 

“Sevika, I miss you.” You hadn’t called since the big fight. Months of hearing nothing made Sevika think you had moved on. Maybe even forgotten about her. The agony of not knowing where you had gone, or who you were staying with.

“It’s really good to hear your voice, saying my name.” Sevika took a breath. A teardrop falling from her chin onto her flesh hand. She hadn’t even noticed she was crying. A rare occasion that Sevika would cry, but it always surprised her when it happened.  “I guess we never really moved on.” A joking tone in the older womens voice. 

A tone shifted. “Moved on? How could I have? I gave every piece of me to you, and yet it wasn’t enough to be in a serious relationship with you.” You took a breath. “I can’t stop dreaming of you. Of you holding me, kissing me. The way you’d wrap your arms around me when we slept. How you’d come home late at night and carry me from the couch to the bed. The way we’d wake up and just stare into each other's eyes for as long as we could without even speaking. I dream of us every night. It haunts me.” When your tangent was done you realize it was your turn to hear sobbing on the opposite line. 

Sevika openly sobbing was a vulnerable thing. Something that you had only witnessed once before. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Was being repeated over and over again. Sevika had shut you out before this moment. She realised that her work was dangerous and tensions were high.

She made it very clear to you that she didn’t want you staying over anymore. So that was the first step, you collected your things and went back to renting a room with your friends. She then started to ignore you when you approached her at The Last Drop. You remember it so clearly. “Just back off.” The words stung as if she had just slapped you across your face. 

The two of you had never disclosed a title to your odd relationship, but domestic it was. Was that what had scared Sevika off? The way you wash her clothes, the way you clean the house and cook her dinner every night. Was Sevika so uncomfortable with the thought of somebody caring so much that it made her shut out the only person in the world she cared about? 

A shaky breath filled the short silence. “Come to me. Tomorrow. I need to see you.” Sevika said.

“Okay.”

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Sooooo this is the first thing I have written in literal years. It's a bit (allot) shaky, but I kept listening to this song and thinking of Sevika!!! If you've read this far THANK YOU and I hope you enjoyed this little blurb I've made. K BYE <3

[haza8877]

A Message from Someone in Heaven to You

Hello everyone! First of all, thank you all for joining my Valentine’s tarot mini-game. I’m back with a new pick-a-pile reading! I felt a strong calling for this topic, so I decided to do it. I hope these messages find those who need them the most at this moment.

Pile 1 -> Pile 2 -> Pile 3

Pile 1

(9 of wands, Knight of pentacles, 10 of cups)

Hello, Pile 1.

Based on these cards, I feel a youthful yet resilient and mature energy. This could be the energy of the person sending you this message from heaven, or it could be your own. Since energy flows both ways, take what resonates with you. Now, here is their message to you:

"To my beloved,

I'm always here, watching over your journey. I've seen your efforts, your strength, and how you’ve stood up for what you believe is right and deserving. Seeing the wounds in your heart makes mine ache, but at the same time, I’m incredibly proud of you. Even when you were exhausted, you never gave up. I know… You are strong and resilient.

Always remember—every challenge, every hardship that comes your way isn't a punishment. It's an experience that helps shape you into an even better version of yourself. You've endured so much, even when you were hurting, and I see that. And I want you to know, I’ve always been right here, watching over you, loving you, supporting you.

During those moments when you felt so drained and broken that you cried alone, I was there, silently holding you, comforting you. I only wish I could wipe those tears away. But please trust me—keep going, keep believing. What’s waiting for you ahead is the happiness you’ve been longing for. Every tear, every struggle, every sacrifice—it will all be worth it. I’ve seen it, the beautiful future that awaits you.

Be patient, trust in the journey, and know that I am always by your side. No matter where I am, my love for you is unconditional and everlasting."

Pile 2

(5 of wands, Justice, Queen of wands)

Hello, Pile 2.

With the energy from these cards, I sense a mature, intelligent, yet passionate and lively feminine presence. This energy also carries warmth and deep understanding. It could be from the one sending this message to you, or it may even reflect your own energy. Since energy flows both ways, take what resonates with you.

"Hey! It’s been a long time since we last met.

Look at you—you’ve grown so much. I still remember the times when we disagreed, and you always stood your ground, defending your perspective with unwavering determination. Thinking back on those moments, they have now become cherished memories for us to hold on to. The truth is, I have always been watching over you from afar. I see that you’re still strong, still standing up for what you believe in.

I know you always put on a brave face, ready to take on any debate or competition, but deep down, you’re exhausted and just long for peace. My dear, don’t be discouraged. The battles you’re fighting now are shaping you into someone even stronger and more resilient. With each challenge, you’re gaining a deeper understanding of how the world works and learning to make wiser choices.

Even now, I feel a sense of regret that I can’t be there with you to experience these lessons firsthand. But please remember, I am always right beside you. I hear every whisper you send my way, every prayer you offer to the heavens. Rest assured, nothing happens by mere coincidence. Every event in your life has been carefully woven into a greater plan. But that doesn’t mean your fate is set in stone. Think of destiny as a seed—it’s up to you to decide what kind of flower it will become.

My dear, don’t be afraid, and don’t feel lonely when you’re by yourself. Remember, when you delight in a delicious meal, I am tasting it through you. When a cool breeze brushes against your skin, I am feeling it too. Every experience you go through, I am right there with you, walking this journey together.

I send you all the love and blessings I have.”

Pile 3

( Knight of swords, Page of cups, 6 of wands)

Hello, Pile 3.

Looking at the cards here, I sense an interesting yet somewhat conflicting energy. There’s a youthful yet mature presence, one that is vibrant, determined, and ready to charge forward without hesitation. At the same time, I also pick up on a different energy—one that is innocent, curious, and carefree, still quite fresh and unseasoned. This could be the energy of the person (or people) sending this message to you, or it might even be a reflection of your own energy. Since energy flows in both directions, take what resonates with you.

"Wow, look at this! I’m actually sending a message to you!

Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. I just miss you—that’s all. And I know you miss me too, right? Usually, when people get a chance to send a message from here, they offer advice or words of wisdom. But the truth is, I don’t really know what to tell you because, to me, you’ve always been amazing just as you are. No matter what happens, I’m always proud of you.

Maybe you don’t realize it, but I’ve always looked at you with admiration. You never hesitate to do what you believe is right. You charge straight toward your goals without fear—you’re so cool. I just wish I had been as brave as you a little sooner. But even now, I’m happy just watching over you like this.

Have you ever felt a leaf unexpectedly land on you? Or a sudden breeze brushing through your hair? That might have been me. I like to tease you with little signs like that, but more than anything, I want you to know that I’m still here.

Oh, and congratulations! Congratulations on everything you’ve just achieved and everything you’re going to accomplish in the future. See? I told you—you’re truly talented, so don’t doubt yourself or underestimate your worth. I know for sure that you’re going to achieve everything you set your heart on. I can already see the success and glory waiting for you.

Ugh, I’m a little jealous—I wish I could be there in person to witness those moments and hug you to celebrate. But it’s okay, I can still share in your joy from here.

And hey, don’t get discouraged or feel down, okay? I see everything. Everyone around you is so proud of you, and I want you to be proud of yourself too. Sending you soo...sooo much love from heaven."

Honestly, I was quite emotional while conveying the messages from these card piles. I felt so much love in them. I hope that those who read these messages can also feel this immense love. Thank you all for supporting my blog, as well as my readings and other activities. Sending you lots of love and light. ❤️💖🙏🏻💐🪷🫶

[kuronarnze]

a/n: another drafts! mid-term test is so soon so i wont be posting much next week, thats why im posting all my drafts ! Enjoy reading!

Bachira Meguru x Reader

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

My Only Best Friend

You had always been there.

Ever since you and Meguru were little, running through the neighborhood streets with scraped knees and boundless energy, you were the only one who never looked at him weirdly when he talked about his “monster.” While other kids avoided him, whispering about how strange he was, you simply tilted your head and asked, “What does your monster look like?”

That was the moment Meguru decided—you were his best friend.

Not just any best friend. His only best friend.

Well, other than his monster, of course.

And now, years later, things hadn’t changed.

“y/n!”

You barely had time to react before Meguru practically tackled you in a hug, spinning you around before setting you back on your feet. You let out a small laugh, used to his bursts of energy by now.

“You saw me yesterday, Meguru,” you teased, fixing the messy strands of his hair after his sudden attack.

“Yeah, but that was yesterday!” He grinned widely, his golden eyes shining. “And besides, my monster missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your monster missed me?”

Meguru nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm! He said it was so boring without you around.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think. “So... you didn’t miss me? Only your monster did?”

Meguru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Of course I missed you too! You’re my best friend, y/n! I only have you and my monster!”

The way he said it—so genuine, so honest—made your heart squeeze.

You knew Meguru wasn’t like most people. He saw the world differently, felt emotions in a way that others couldn’t understand. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that his feelings were always real.

“Good,” you said, ruffling his hair. “Because you’re my best friend too.”

His face lit up like a kid who had just been told he could have dessert before dinner. “Really?! You’re not just saying that?”

You smiled. “I mean it.”

Meguru let out a small laugh, a soft one this time—not his usual mischievous cackle, but something quieter. Something more sincere.

His monster whispered in his ear, and Meguru nodded slightly.

Yeah. It was true.

You were his only best friend.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

End.

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

Thank you for reading ! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

[grifffins]

🚗 Passenger Princess 🚗

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: slow burn, fluff & smut, passenger princess lilia calderu, car sex

summary: Lilia doesn’t drive, why would she, when you always pick her up? What starts as a one time favour turns into routine. She adjusts the temperature, hijacks the radio, and makes herself at home in your passenger seat. You complain, but you never say no. And she knows it.

wc: ~ 16k

a/n: thank you so much to @refreshingly-original for the idea, i hope you like it. and a huge shoutout to @ahsfan05 for reading it first and pulling me out of my self-criticism spiral, love you forever 💕

also on ao3

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The first time Lilia asks for a lift, it’s casual, offhand, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She leans against the doorframe of the café where you both frequent, one hand tucked into the pocket of her long coat, the other holding a paper cup of something undoubtedly expensive. “I need to pop to the shops,” she says matter of factly. “You’re heading that way, aren’t you?”

You weren’t , but she says it with such certainty that you almost question your own plans. There’s something about the way she tilts her head, waiting, that makes you sigh in amused resignation. “Yeah, alright,” you say. “But you owe me a coffee next time.”

Her lips curve as she pushes off the doorframe. “Oh, cara, I’ll make it worth your while.” You don’t question what that means, probably best not to. She slides into the passenger seat as if it’s a throne, immediately settling in like she belongs there, adjusting her coat, shifting in her seat, and sighing dramatically like she’s been through so much just to get here.

“Comfortable?” you ask dryly, starting the car.

Lilia hums, stretching out like a cat. “Mm. I could do with a bit more legroom, but I suppose one must make do.”

“You’re five foot,” you remind her, unimpressed.

“Five two,” she corrects primly. “And a half.”

You snort as the engine purrs to life, expecting her to sit quietly, maybe scroll through her phone or hum along to the radio, but within seconds, she’s fiddling with the air conditioning. “Do you always have it this cold?” she asks, shivering theatrically.

“Yes,” you say flatly.

Lilia tuts, turning the dial up two notches. “I see. A woman of extreme discomfort.”

You flick it back down without looking. She flicks it up. You flick it down. The standoff lasts longer than it should before she lets out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against the seat in defeat. “Fine,” she relents. “Freeze me out, if you must.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

She lifts her chin, expression haughty. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Something light and unspoken settles in the space between you as the city rolls past. It’s nothing, really. Just a quick drive, just a favour.

Lilia doesn’t bother giving you directions. Instead, she gestures vaguely with one hand, sipping her coffee with the other. “You know the place.”

You arch a brow. “Do I?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Of course you do.”

You don’t, but you drive anyway, waiting for her to actually say where you’re going. When it becomes clear that she has no intention of doing so, you sigh. 

“The market, cara. Obviously,” she says, long-suffering.

Right. Obviously.

You turn onto the right street, weaving through late afternoon traffic. Despite insisting on coming here, Lilia doesn’t seem in any particular rush. She’s lounging, one leg tucked up on the seat, fingers toying with the radio dial.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” you warn.

She scoffs, flicking through stations like she owns the car. “Honestly, you should thank me. Your music selection is dismal.”

“It’s my car.”

“Yes, and I’m your passenger,” she says as if that explains everything. “You have a duty of care.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Absolutely. Your driving experience should be a pleasure, not a punishment.”

The station settles on something old, something jazzy. Lilia hums, satisfied.

You shake your head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

She simply smiles, leaning back as the music fills the space between you. The easy comfort of it is almost strange. Before this, Lilia had been a familiar presence, nothing more, someone you shared a café table with when the shop was too busy, someone you exchanged the occasional quip with in passing. But now, as she makes herself at home in the passenger seat, something feels like it’s shifted. Not in a grand, earth-shattering way, but in a quiet, inevitable one.

You’re still thinking about it when you pull up outside the market. Lilia, who had been contently gazing out the window, turns to you with a satisfied smile. “Perfect timing.”

You gesture toward the door. “Go on, then.”

She doesn’t move.

You blink.

She blinks back.

“…Lilia?”

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand. “I assumed you’d park and come in with me.”

You stare at her. “Why?”

She looks genuinely puzzled, as if the idea of you not accompanying her is absurd. “Because I need someone to hold the bags.”

You let out a short laugh. “You’re joking.”

She’s not. And yet, somehow, ten minutes later, you’re standing in the middle of a crowded market, two bags in hand, watching as Lilia inspects a basket of overpriced figs with the air of a woman choosing fine jewellery.

How did you get here?

Just a favour, you remind yourself. Just a one-time thing.

Lilia turns to you, eyes alight with something playful. “Oh, cara,” she muses, “I think I could get used to this.”

You don’t realise it yet, but so could you.

Because really, how did this happen? One moment, you were giving her a quick lift; the next, you were carrying her shopping bags while she leisurely wandered from stall to stall, utterly unbothered by the fact that you had other things to do today.

“Lilia,” you say, shifting the weight of the bags in your arms, “I’m not a pack mule.”

She hums, considering. “No, no, of course not. A mule would be far too ungraceful.” Turning to you with a delighted smile, she adds, “You’re more like my own personal chauffeur with excellent biceps. Really, I’m getting the better deal here.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

She simply grins, utterly unrepentant, before moving on to the next stall. At some point, you give up arguing. She’s clearly in her element, and there’s something about the way she moves through the market, half charming, half inspecting her surroundings like a queen surveying her kingdom, that is almost entertaining to watch.

Just when you think she’s going to drag you into another debate over whether a particular wedge of cheese is really worth the price, she turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“You should pick something,” she says.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Lilia gestures at the stalls. “A treat. Something for yourself.”

You scoff. “I’m just here to—”

“Indulge me,” she interrupts smoothly, tilting her head.

Narrowing your eyes at her, you cross your arms. “Why?”

She leans in slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Because, cara, I insist.”

The way she says it, like it’s an invitation to a game you don’t yet understand, makes your pulse do something ridiculous. You try not to dwell on it. With a sigh, you scan the nearby stalls, settling on a small bakery stand tucked in the corner. “Fine,” you mutter, “but if I’m choosing, you’re paying.”

Lilia places a hand over her heart, mock-offended. “Oh, the audacity! You think me the kind of woman who wouldn’t treat her most devoted driver?”

“You’re calling me devoted now?”

She smirks. “Well, you did bring me all this way.”

She has far too much confidence in the idea that this is something you’d willingly do again. You tell yourself it’s not. But when she buys you a pastry without hesitation, pressing the warm paper bag into your hand with a pleased little smile, you don’t complain.

“See?” she says as you take a bite, utterly self-satisfied. “You should let me spoil you more often.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Yet as you leave the market, her shopping bags still in your hands, her beside you, humming a tune under her breath, you wonder why you don’t mind as much as you probably should.

The drive back is quieter, not awkward, just settled, the kind of comfortable silence that doesn’t need filling. Lilia is reclined in her seat, the shopping tucked neatly in the back, her hand idly toying with the paper bag that once held your pastry. She looks completely at ease, as if she’s done this a hundred times before, which is ridiculous.

You grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “You know this isn’t going to be a regular thing, right?”

Lilia turns her head, blinking at you like she’s just woken from a pleasant daydream. “Oh?”

“I mean it,” you say. “I’m not your personal driver.”

She makes a thoughtful sound, fingers tapping against the dashboard. “No, I suppose not.”

You glance at her, suspicious. She’s agreeing far too easily.

Then, as if sensing your doubt, she gives you a slow, knowing smile. “But you’ll still pick me up next time, won’t you?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You are unbelievable.”

She hums. “Mmm. But I’m right.”

And the worst part? She is.

Because as you pull up outside her flat, watching as she gathers her things with no real sense of urgency, you know this isn’t the last time. Lilia knows it too. She pauses with one foot out the door, turning back to you with an amused glint in her eye.

“Thank you for your service, cara.”

Before you can reply, she reaches out, so quick you almost don’t register it, and lightly pats your thigh. A fleeting touch, casual, but enough to leave a warmth behind as she steps out, disappearing up the path without a second glance.

You exhale, leaning back against the seat. Just a favour. Just a one-time thing.

Right.

The second time it happens, there’s even less preamble. A text.

You're free tomorrow, yes.

That’s it. No context, no pleasantries, not even a question mark.

You stare at your phone, unimpressed. You are free tomorrow, yes. What kind of message is that? You consider ignoring it. You don’t.

Free for what?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Oh, you’ll see.

You sigh, already resigned. Lilia Calderu, for all her theatrics, is oddly direct when she wants something.

So it’s no surprise when, the next afternoon, you find yourself pulling up outside her flat once again. And, of course, she’s waiting. Not rushing, not scrambling, just standing there at the top of the steps, effortlessly put together in her coat and boots, a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. As if she knew you’d come.

She slides into the passenger seat with a pleased sigh, setting a coffee cup in your cupholder like it’s a gift. “You’re a saint, truly.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “I haven’t even agreed to take you anywhere.”

Lilia just smiles, reclining into her seat like a woman who has no doubt about how this will play out.

You exhale, already defeated. “Where are we going?”

She gestures vaguely. “Town. I have errands.”

“Errands,” you echo, watching her adjust the sleeves of her coat. “And you couldn’t take the bus?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Please. Do I look like a woman who takes the bus?”

You can’t argue with that.

With a sigh that is far too indulgent for your own good, you shift into gear and pull onto the road. This time, she doesn’t even ask before adjusting the temperature. You let her.

At some point, you start to wonder how this happened. Not the driving, that much is obvious. Lilia asked, and you, despite your better judgement, agreed. But what baffles you is how she’s already acting like this is normal, as though this is routine. She’s sitting back in the passenger seat, adjusting the vents again, as if she’s been doing it for years. One ankle is propped over the other, her coat draped over her lap, sunglasses now pushed into her hair. Every now and then, she lets out a small, pleased hum, as if the mere act of being chauffeured is a luxury she fully intends to enjoy.

You narrow your eyes at the road. “You know, most people don’t treat their mates like personal drivers.”

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh, utterly unbothered. “Most people don’t have a mate as accommodating as you.”

“I’m not accommodating.”

“Oh, but you are.” She turns to look at you properly, head tilting just slightly. “You complain, cara , but you never say no.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. Because she’s not wrong.

She must sense it, because she leans in slightly, an amused glint in her eye. “Why is that?”

You flick your gaze towards her, wary. “Why is what?”

Her smile is slow, measured, knowing. “Why did you pick me up?”

The words settle between you. The engine hums beneath your fingers, the road stretching ahead. Outside, the city moves in quiet, steady motion, pedestrians on corners, shops with doors propped open, a bus pulling away from a stop.

You swallow. “Because you asked.”

It’s a weak answer. A deflection. But you refuse to analyse it too much.

Lilia doesn’t press. Instead, she lets out a soft hum, as if considering something. Then she shifts, adjusting her seatbelt slightly before turning back to the window. Whatever she was thinking, she keeps it to herself.

For now.

The first stop is a bookshop. You don’t plan to go inside. This is her errand, not yours. You figure you’ll wait in the car, scroll through your phone, and make peace with the fact that this will never be the last time she asks for a lift.

But, of course, Lilia has other plans. She barely makes it three steps before pausing, turning back to look at you expectantly.

You blink. “What?”

She gestures at the shop. “Come in with me.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Why?”

Lilia sighs, long suffering, as if you’re the unreasonable one here. “Because it would be rude to leave my driver unattended.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You do realise you’re not a duchess, right?”

She simply smirks. “Not officially, no.”

You open your mouth to argue, because honestly, what does that even mean? But before you can get the words out, she’s already turning towards the door, clearly expecting you to follow. And, much to your own dismay, you do.

Just for a moment, you tell yourself. Just to humour her. It’s definitely not because you like watching the way she carefully browses the shelves, fingers trailing over spines, head tilting slightly when she finds something interesting. And it’s certainly not because you enjoy the way she smiles to herself when she stumbles across something particularly ridiculous.

Just for a moment. Just a favour. Right?

You don’t mean to enjoy yourself. But somehow, between following Lilia into the bookshop and watching her pick through the shelves like she’s inspecting fine art, you realise you’re not annoyed. She moves with purpose, but not urgency, fingers skimming over the spines as she pauses every now and then to pluck out a book and inspect the cover.

You hover near the entrance, arms crossed. “Are you actually here to buy something, or did you just drag me in for fun?”

Lilia, without looking up, waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I have a list.”

You arch a brow. “A list?”

“Mm.” She shifts slightly, angling a book in the light before slipping it back into place. “Mental, of course. But very specific.”

Of course it is.

You exhale, shaking your head as your gaze drifts over the shop. It’s quiet, the kind of independent place tucked between bigger, flashier storefronts, filled with the scent of old paper and warm coffee. There’s something oddly soothing about it, the soft shuffle of pages turning, the muted sound of a kettle boiling in the small café section at the back. Lilia fits here, somehow. Not just because of the books, but because of the quiet charm of the place, the way it invites curiosity, encourages lingering.

The thought unsettles you. You don’t quite know why.

“Here.”

Before you can overanalyse it, Lilia suddenly appears in front of you, holding out a book.

You blink. “What’s this?”

She tilts her head, amused. “A book, cara .”

You shoot her a flat look. “Yes, I gathered. Why are you giving it to me?”

Lilia hums, eyes flicking over you in quiet assessment before she finally says, “It suits you.”

You glance down at the cover. The title is unfamiliar, the kind of thing you’d skim past in a shop without a second thought. You frown. “I don’t think I’d—”

“Oh, you would,” she interrupts, confident. “Humour me.”

You sigh, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. “If I buy this and hate it, I’m blaming you.”

She smirks. “I’ll take that risk.”

Before you can argue further, she turns on her heel and makes her way to the till, leaving you standing there, book in hand, feeling suspiciously like you’ve been played. Again.

At first, you don’t think much of it, the book, the drive, the fact that you’ve somehow spent the better part of your afternoon trailing after Lilia on her errands like you’ve got nothing better to do. But as you step back outside, the late afternoon sun casting a hazy glow over the pavement, you realise something.

You’re enjoying this.

Not just tolerating it. Not just doing a favour. You actually don’t mind.

Lilia slips her sunglasses back onto her face, her movements easy, unhurried. “Hungry?”

You hesitate. “I—”

She turns to you, lips curving slightly. “You do eat, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “Obviously.”

“Then come with me.”

It’s not a request. She’s already moving, crossing the street without looking back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And the worst part?

You do.

At some point, you stop questioning it. It’s not officially a routine, not something you’ve ever sat down and agreed upon, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Because Lilia expects it now. And, despite everything, you keep showing up.

The third time she texts, there’s no preamble, just a statement that makes you scowl at your phone.

You’re outside, aren’t you?

You aren’t. You’re at home, minding your own business, doing something completely unrelated to Lilia Calderu and her increasingly blatant refusal to take public transport. For a brief moment, you consider ignoring her, but before you can even put your phone down, another message arrives.

I can practically hear you sighing. Don’t fight it.

Your lips twitch despite yourself. She’s insufferable. Absolutely unbearable. And yet, you grab your keys without thinking.

By the time you arrive, she’s already outside, waiting as if she had no doubt you’d turn up. You barely have time to put the car in park before she’s slipping into the passenger seat, settling in with a pleased sigh, as though she’s just secured the best seat in the house. She adjusts the lapel of her coat as she buckles herself in, her movements easy and unhurried, as if this is something she’s done a hundred times before.

“Good timing, cara ,” she says smoothly, reaching up to push her hair back.

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even know if I was coming.”

She hums, shifting comfortably in her seat, giving you a look that makes it clear she had no doubt about the outcome. “Oh, I knew.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel, but you don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “You are so smug.”

She smirks, entirely unbothered, and before you can stop her, she reaches for the temperature controls. Without thinking, you slap her hand away, earning an exaggerated gasp of mock outrage.

“Unbelievable,” she says, pulling her hand back as if you’ve personally wounded her.

“You have got to stop touching my settings.”

She pouts in a way that is far too calculated to be genuine, crossing her arms as if she’s truly suffering. “You have a deeply unpleasant attitude for someone so accommodating.”

You roll your eyes, already exasperated. “I am not accommodating.”

She sighs as though this is a long-established fact and you are simply refusing to accept it. “Oh, cara , you so are.”

The worst part is that you don’t even argue anymore. At some point, you stopped pretending this was a reluctant favour. Because if you were truly put out by all of this, her expectation, her refusal to ever drive herself, the way she settles into your car like it belongs to her, you wouldn’t keep showing up.

But here you are. Again.

Lilia, as if sensing the shift, makes herself even more comfortable. She’s fiddling with the mirror now, tilting it slightly before checking her reflection, entirely unbothered by your presence.

“You do realise you don’t need to adjust that, right?” you ask, watching her through the corner of your eye, already suspicious of whatever she’s doing.

She hums, barely acknowledging your question. “Oh, I know.”

You narrow your eyes, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. “Then why—”

Turning towards you, she meets your gaze with a slow, knowing smirk, her head tilting just slightly. “I like to see how I’m looking before we go anywhere.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you grip the wheel. “Unbelievable.”

“You keep saying that,” she muses, shifting her attention away from the mirror. Just as you relax, she reaches for the radio, fingers brushing over the dial like she hasn’t already pushed her luck enough for one day.

Your eyes flick to her hand, warning clear. “Touch that, and I’m kicking you out.”

She pauses, fingers hovering just above the dial, before pressing a hand to her chest in mock offence. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you thick with challenge. Then, with exaggerated reluctance, she lowers her hand back to her lap, surrendering with a small, put upon sigh.

You raise a brow, victorious. “Good girl.”

Lilia exhales a quiet laugh, something warm and amused flickering behind her eyes. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse stutter, “careful saying things like that.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Clearing your throat, you shift into gear and pull onto the road, ignoring the way she watches you, clearly entertained by your lack of response. She’s enjoying herself far too much, drawing out every small moment to test you, to see if you’ll rise to the bait.

The worst part? So are you.

You don’t know when you stopped pretending this was just a favour. Maybe it was the second time she called you, fully expecting you to show up without question. Maybe it was the way she always brought you coffee now, setting it in the cupholder like an unspoken exchange. Maybe it was the casual ease with which she adjusted your car settings, knowing you would huff and complain but ultimately let her get away with it. Or maybe it was the fact that none of it actually bothered you anymore.

Somehow, despite all her dramatics, Lilia Calderu had settled into the passenger seat of your life, and you hadn’t even thought to stop her.

The drive is quiet for a while, the steady hum of the engine filling the space between you. Eventually, she shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other before turning to look at you with an expression that immediately puts you on edge.

“Do you know what your problem is?” she asks, voice light but deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for the right moment to bring this up.

You glance at her briefly before turning back to the road. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

She considers you for a moment, then sighs, adjusting the sleeves of her coat. “You resist too much.”

You arch a brow, casting her a dry look. “Resist what, exactly?”

Lilia doesn’t answer immediately, tilting her head slightly as though she’s weighing her response. “The inevitable.”

Scoffing, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “Oh, and what’s inevitable?”

She doesn’t respond right away, just holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before finally moving. Without hesitation, she reaches for the dial and turns the temperature up two notches, the action so casual it takes you a second to react.

Your gaze flicks to the dashboard, then back to her. She meets your stare without hesitation, challenging, waiting, daring you to say something.

Exhaling slowly, you shake your head and let it go.

Lilia smirks, settling back in her seat with an air of satisfaction. “See?”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, unimpressed but not particularly surprised. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer to think of myself as persistent.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the road ahead, but the fight is long over. She’s won, and you both know it.

The car slows as you pull up outside her flat, the engine idling beneath your fingers, waiting. Lilia doesn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt or reach for the door handle. Instead, she sits there, entirely at ease, making no effort to leave as if this is just another stop before you keep driving.

You side-eye her, waiting for her to get out. “You’re home.”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly, not making a move. “Mmm.”

You wait.

Nothing.

“…Lilia.”

She turns to you, lips curving in that slow, knowing way that makes your stomach stupidly unsettled.

She does this , always does this , pushes at the edges of something unspoken between you, as if she knows exactly what it is but won’t be the first to name it.

She leans slightly, just enough that you’re painfully aware of how close she is.

���Admit it,” she muses, voice light, teasing. “You like driving me around.”

You scoff, looking away. “You’re insufferable.”

“That’s not a no.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You never say thank you, you do realise that?”

Lilia smiles, head tilting. “You’d find it less charming if I did.”

“You think you’re charming?”

She hums. “I know I am.”

You bite down on your smirk, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

She stays for another second, watching you, as if waiting for you to slip, just slightly , to give something away.

You don’t.

And, eventually, she relents.

With a satisfied sigh, she reaches for the door handle, stepping out with effortless grace.

Then, before closing the door, she leans down, peering back into the car.

“Same time next week?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re assuming I’ll say yes.”

She smirks. “I don’t assume , cara.”

Then she winks, shuts the door, and disappears inside, leaving you sitting there with far too many thoughts and absolutely no explanation for why you’re still smiling.

Lilia has no respect for personal space, and you’ve always known this. It’s never been a secret, never something she’s tried to hide, but somehow, you still aren’t prepared when, in the middle of one of your usual drives, she casually flips open your glovebox and starts rummaging through it like it’s her own.

You blink, barely processing what you’re seeing. “Excuse me?”

Lilia hums in vague acknowledgment, entirely unbothered as she sifts through receipts, an old parking ticket, and a half-melted lip balm with all the enthusiasm of someone searching for treasure.

“What are you doing?” you ask, incredulous.

“Tidying,” she replies simply, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation for invading your storage compartments.

You shoot her a look, unimpressed. “You don’t tidy. You make messes and then act surprised when they exist.”

She gasps, as if genuinely offended by the accusation. “I do not—”

“Remember the café incident?”

Lilia pauses, her lips pressing together in something that is definitely not guilt but looks suspiciously close to it. Then, in a move that is both impressive and infuriating, she swiftly changes the subject. “Oh, what’s this?”

Before you can react, she holds something up between her fingers, tilting her head as she studies it. It takes you a second to register what she’s found, but when you do, your stomach drops.

A necklace.

An old necklace. One you haven’t seen in years.

She lets the small pendant dangle between her fingers, examining it with an idle sort of curiosity, her expression thoughtful. “This looks significant,” she muses.

Your grip on the wheel tightens because it is significant. Or at least, it was .

Exhaling slowly, you force your voice into something neutral. “Just something I forgot about.”

Lilia glances at you, intrigued. “Oh?”

You keep your eyes firmly on the road, unwilling to let her see any reaction. “Yeah.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, ever so lightly, she asks, “Who gave it to you?”

You should have expected the question, should have been prepared for it, but somehow, you weren’t ready. Lilia Calderu has never once not pushed when something catches her interest. You clench your jaw slightly, focusing on the road ahead.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lilia hums, turning the pendant between her fingers as if testing its weight. “Mmm. See, you say that, but your face tells me otherwise.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even see my face properly.”

“I can, actually.” She shifts slightly, her tone laced with quiet amusement. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying very hard not to look at me.”

Pressing your lips together, you refuse to engage. You are not having this conversation. Not now. Not with her.

Lilia, sensing your reluctance, does something entirely unexpected. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t tease, doesn’t demand an answer like she usually would. Instead, she just waits . Silent. Patient. Like she knows you’ll fill the space eventually.

And, god help you, you do.

“It was a gift,” you mutter after a long pause, still refusing to meet her gaze.

Lilia’s voice is softer now. “From someone important?”

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as if that will somehow ease the weight in your chest. “Used to be.”

She doesn’t react right away. No sharp quip, no dramatic sigh, just a small, almost imperceptible pause before she asks, “Why don’t you wear it anymore?”

You swallow, grip tightening against the wheel. For a moment, you consider telling her, just saying the truth and getting it over with, but the words catch somewhere between your ribs, caught on something you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you sigh and settle for, “I just forgot about it.”

Lilia hums again, but this time, there’s something different in it, something unreadable. You risk a glance at her, just for a second, and catch the way she’s studying the necklace, brows slightly furrowed in thought. Then, just as quickly, the moment is gone. With an easy, practiced motion, she reaches forward and, without hesitation, tucks the necklace back into your glovebox. She doesn’t keep it, doesn’t press any further, just closes the compartment, leans back into her seat, and turns her gaze to the window.

It’s an unspoken message. Alright. You don’t have to tell me.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re not sure why it bothers you, the way she so easily dropped the subject, the way she just let it go . You should be relieved, grateful even, but you aren’t. Because Lilia Calderu never lets things go. She picks at them, teases and prods until she’s satisfied with the answer. And yet, this time, she didn’t. She just tucked the necklace away and turned her gaze to the window, like she hadn’t just stirred up something you weren’t ready to confront.

Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling settling over you. “That’s it?”

Lilia hums in acknowledgment, her tone absent. “Hmm?”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, restless. “You’re not going to keep pushing?”

Tilting her head slightly, she takes a moment to consider before offering a small, knowing smile. “Should I?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “You always do.”

Lilia smiles, something quiet and assured settling into her features. “Not always, cara .”

The words linger between you, light but weighted, something unspoken weaving its way into the silence. You glance at her, trying to read whatever it is she isn’t saying, but she’s already looking away, gaze fixed on the passing scenery, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve.

And just like that, the moment shifts. Not gone, not forgotten, just set aside.

For now.

The rest of the drive is quieter, not awkward or tense, just… different. You can feel Lilia’s presence beside you, the soft scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she watches the road pass by. Even though she isn’t saying anything, even though she’s let the conversation drop, something lingers in the space between you, something unspoken, something new.

Eventually, you pull up outside her flat, the engine humming softly as the car slows to a stop. Lilia exhales and stretches slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, her movements lazy and unhurried. “Well.”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, glancing at her. “You’re home.”

She turns to look at you, a small smirk tugging at her lips as if she’s already thought of some way to prolong this conversation. “So I am.”

Raising a brow, you shake your head. “Need me to carry you inside too?”

Lilia gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated delight. “Oh, how generous of you to offer.”

Groaning, you lean your head back against the seat. “I was joking—”

She chuckles, already pushing the door open. “Next time, cara .”

Before you can reply, she’s gone, disappearing up the steps without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the lingering energy of a conversation that never quite finishes. You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. Next time. Because, of course, there will be a next time.

The storm rolls in faster than expected. One minute, the sky is a moody grey, the kind that threatens rain but never quite delivers. The next, the heavens open up, unleashing a downpour that batters against your windscreen in thick, relentless sheets. The city shifts under the weight of the storm, neon lights reflecting against the wet pavement, headlights flickering through the haze of falling water.

Your phone buzzes from its place on the passenger seat.

Where are you?

You glance at the message, then at the name above it. Lilia.

With a sigh, you put the car into gear and pull away from the curb.

By the time you find her, she’s standing under the awning of a small, dimly lit shop, arms crossed, glaring at the rain as if it personally offended her. She looks miserable, hair damp from the mist, coat pulled tightly around her as she narrows her eyes at the storm like she’s trying to negotiate with it.

The moment she spots your car, her expression doesn’t change. No surprise. No overt gratitude. Just a quiet expectation, like she knew you would come.

Without hesitation, she pulls the door open and slides into the passenger seat in one smooth movement, sighing dramatically as she shoves her rain-speckled bag onto the floor. “Oh, cara ,” she breathes, her voice dripping with relief, “you are a saviour.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even ask me to come.”

Turning to you with an amused glint in her eyes, she tilts her head slightly. “Did I need to?”

Dragging a hand down your face, you groan. “I am far too accommodating.”

Lilia hums, peeling off her damp gloves with slow, deliberate movements. “Yes, but I love that about you.”

Shaking your head, you bite back a smirk and shift the car into drive, the rain pounding against the roof as the city lights blur into streaks of hazy gold and red through the wet windscreen. The whole world feels smaller, quieter, cocooned in the dim glow of the dashboard, the steady hum of the heater filling the space between you.

Lilia lets out a soft sigh, sinking further into her seat. Her coat is still damp, her hair curling slightly at the ends from the mist. Despite her usual composure, something about her feels smaller in this moment, softer, as if the rain has stripped away some of her usual theatrics.

She catches you looking. “What?” she murmurs, voice quieter than usual.

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to the road. “Nothing.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your expression, but eventually, she exhales and looks back out at the rain-streaked window. The only sound between you is the rhythmic drum of water against the glass, the city beyond fading into nothing but shadows and scattered light.

The storm doesn’t ease. If anything, it gets worse, thick sheets of water turning the streets into shimmering rivers, the wipers struggling to keep up as they scrape across the windscreen. Lilia hasn’t spoken in a while, which is unsettling in its own way. She’s always talking, always teasing or filling the silence with something dry and amused, but right now, she’s just watching the rain, fingers tracing absent patterns on the fogged-up window.

Something about it makes your grip on the wheel tighten.

“You didn’t have to wait out there,” you say, keeping your voice casual. “You could’ve just gone inside.”

She huffs a soft, amused breath, her fingers pausing briefly against the glass. “And sit in a dingy shop for an hour? Please.”

Shaking your head, you sigh. “Or, and hear me out, you could’ve taken a taxi.”

Lilia finally turns to look at you, lips curving slightly. “Now, cara , where’s the fun in that?”

There it is, that teasing lilt, the sharp glint in her eye that always makes it seem like she’s one step ahead of you. And yet, something still feels off, something barely there but enough for you to notice.

You don’t push. Instead, you sigh, flicking the wipers up a notch. “You’re lucky I like driving in the rain.”

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I like being driven in the rain.”

That makes you smile, just a little. The storm rages on outside, wind howling through the narrow streets, but inside the car, everything is warm. Steady.

Neither of you speak for a while. It’s not uncomfortable, not tense, just… quiet, the kind of silence that settles between two people who have long since stopped needing to fill it. Still, something lingers beneath the surface, unspoken and just out of reach.

Clearing your throat, you glance at her again. “Where were you, anyway?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, still gazing out at the rain-smeared city. “Nowhere important.”

You frown. “Nowhere important, yet you stood in the rain for how long?”

She exhales a soft chuckle, rolling her head to the side to meet your gaze. “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You give her a flat look. She smirks.

“Alright,” she concedes, “perhaps I was waiting a little .”

Scoffing, you shake your head, focus shifting back to the road. “You could’ve just called me.”

Something flickers in her expression, unreadable, as she watches you. “And you would’ve come?”

Frowning slightly, you glance at her out of the corner of your eye. “Obviously.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. She looks at you for a beat too long, something thoughtful in the way her gaze lingers, not teasing, not amused, just waiting .

Then, very softly, she murmurs, “Why do you always come?”

The words settle between you, heavy despite the quiet way she says them. Your grip on the wheel tightens as you search for an answer, but none of the ones that come to mind feel right.

Because she asks. Because you’re friends, or something close to it. Because you’d rather her be sitting here, warm and dry, than standing outside like an idiot.

But somehow, none of those answers feel like enough.

Lilia doesn’t look away. She doesn’t push, doesn’t repeat the question, just watches you, waiting, like she already knows the answer you don’t want to say.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Because you always ask.”

She hums, a quiet sound, unreadable, before turning back to the window, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns against the fogged glass.

Letting out a slow breath, you keep your focus on the road, but the car suddenly feels too small.

The storm doesn’t let up, but eventually, you pull onto her street, easing the car to a slow stop outside her flat. Lilia doesn’t move right away, lingering for a moment as she watches the rain streak down the window. Her fingers tighten slightly around the door handle before she exhales, a quiet, almost reluctant sigh, and reaches for the latch.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely above the sound of the rain.

You blink, caught off guard. She never says thank you. She just expects things, acts as if they were inevitable, as if they would have happened regardless of her asking. But now, as she lingers with one foot out the door, her usual ease feels different, a little more deliberate, a little more fragile, like something practiced rather than natural.

She glances back, something flickering in her eyes that you can’t quite place. And then, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, she says, “I like it.”

Frowning slightly, you tilt your head. “Like what?”

Her lips quirk, something softer than a smirk but not quite a smile. “Being here. With you.”

Before you can process that, before you can think of a single thing to say, she’s already stepping out, disappearing up the steps and into the rain without another word. You don’t move, don’t shift, don’t even reach for the gear shift, just sit there staring at the empty passenger seat with your pulse pounding far too loud in your ears.

You don’t know why her words linger the way they do. It wasn’t a confession, wasn’t some grand declaration, just a simple truth, spoken softly in the rain. But somehow, it sticks. Lilia Calderu, who has spent the past few weeks making herself at home in your car, in your routine, had looked at you, really looked at you, and said: I like it. Being here. With you.

And now you can’t stop thinking about it.

The next time she gets in the car, you don’t think twice about it. You turn on the radio, flipping through stations before settling on something from your own playlist. It’s a song you love, something familiar, something comforting. You just want to listen to your music, for once, without her reaching over to change it.

Lilia, as always, settles in like she owns the place, adjusting her coat and sighing as she buckles herself in. She barely seems to notice at first, too preoccupied with getting comfortable, but then, just for a second, she stills. It’s quick, just a flicker of recognition, but it’s there. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, she hums along, perfectly in tune, like she’s heard it a hundred times before.

You nearly miss a turn.

“You know this song?” You glance at her, incredulous.

Lilia blinks, her expression unreadable. “Of course I do.”

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, you shake your head. “How?”

She shrugs, gaze flicking towards the radio. “Because you listen to it.”

Inhaling sharply, you try to brush off the way your stomach twists at her words. It shouldn’t surprise you, shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, the idea that she’s been paying attention, that she’s been listening all this time, unsettles something in you. Not in a bad way. Just… dangerously close to something you aren’t ready to name.

“You listen to what I play?” The question comes out before you can stop it.

Lilia hums, unbothered, as if the answer should be obvious. “Obviously.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t even like half the stuff I put on.”

She tilts her head slightly, considering the statement. “True.”

You wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Instead, she simply turns back to the window, tapping her fingers against her knee, humming along perfectly in tune with a song she shouldn’t know. Something about it does something to you, something quiet but persistent, something you can’t quite push away.

Because this is Lilia, dramatic, impossible, high-maintenance, and yet, somehow, she’s been sitting in your passenger seat, listening. Not just to the music, but to you . To the habits you don’t even notice yourself doing, to the things you wouldn’t expect her to remember.

Exhaling slowly, you flick your gaze back to the road, but your thoughts keep circling the same realisation. “So what, you’ve just been memorising my playlists this whole time?”

Lilia smirks, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, cara , I memorised them weeks ago.”

You almost miss a light.

She’s enjoying this far too much, and you should be irritated, should call her out on how insufferable she is, but the words don’t come. Instead, you side-eye her, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lilia exhales a small, satisfied sigh, sinking back into her seat with the kind of ease only she can pull off. “And you’re still sticking around, I see.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell her that’s not the point, but before you can, she does something unfair . Without hesitation, she reaches forward, casually, effortlessly, and turns up the volume.

And for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t change the song. She lets it play.

You don’t know why that makes your chest feel tight, but it does.

She has always taken over the car, always touching the controls, adjusting the mirrors, changing the temperature to suit her own very particular standards. But this—this is new. Instead of switching the song to something she prefers, instead of making a snide remark about your music taste, she simply turns up the volume and leaves it. Like she knows it matters. Like she knows you do.

You swallow, trying to focus on the road, but your grip on the wheel betrays you. Lilia, ever perceptive, notices. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or smirk, just watches you quietly, something unreadable in her gaze.

Refusing to look at her, you clear your throat and ask, far too casually, “So, what’s your verdict?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly. “On?”

You gesture vaguely towards the speakers. “The song. Since you’re apparently an expert now.”

Humming in thought, she considers for a moment before answering. “Not bad.”

You scoff, shooting her a look. “Not bad ?”

She smirks, eyes glinting with amusement. “I prefer the one you played last week.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel as you try not to react. “You remember what I played last week?”

She turns to face you fully now, her smirk deepening in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice slow, knowing, perfectly measured. “I remember everything .”

Your heart does something stupid.

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you focus on the road like your life depends on it.

Lilia chuckles, utterly pleased with herself, and leans back into her seat, settling in like she hasn’t just thrown your entire thought process into chaos. The song fades into the next track, something softer, something you hadn’t even realised was in the queue.

She hums along without hesitation.

And you?

You realise you’re already in too deep.

It happens unexpectedly, without errands, last minute texts, or assumed favours disguised as casual requests. Lilia slips into the passenger seat as effortlessly as breathing, settling in before saying, “Just drive.”

You blink, glancing at her. “What?”

She exhales, shifting slightly in her seat as she looks out the window. “Drive. Anywhere.”

Frowning, you watch her for a moment. “You don’t have anywhere to be?”

She shakes her head. “Not tonight.”

That alone makes your fingers twitch against the wheel. Lilia is always busy, always has something planned, even if that plan is just disrupting your day for her own amusement. But now, she’s sitting there, quiet, almost soft, asking you to drive with no destination in mind.

You could remind her that this isn’t normal, that you aren’t some on-demand service ready to whisk her away whenever she pleases. Instead, you shift into gear and drive.

The city rolls past in blurred streaks of gold and red, the rain from earlier still clinging to the streets, reflecting neon signs and street lamps. Lilia doesn’t speak for a while, resting her elbow against the door, fingers lightly touching her lips, lost in thought. You glance at her before turning your attention back to the road. “Everything alright?”

She hums, barely turning her head. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shrugging, you gesture vaguely. “You’re usually more… dramatic.”

Lilia lets out a soft laugh, tipping her head back against the seat. “Am I?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That’s when it hits you, something does feels off. Not wrong, exactly. Just different. Lilia Calderu is unpredictable, exasperating, and completely incapable of sitting quietly for more than five minutes. But now, she’s quiet in a way that doesn’t feel like her usual theatrics. It feels real.

Drumming your fingers against the wheel, you glance at her again. “So… what’s this about?”

She exhales slowly. “Nothing.”

You arch a brow, unconvinced. “That’s a lie.”

Lilia smirks faintly. “You’re far too perceptive for your own good.”

“And yet, you still get in my car every time.”

She finally turns fully to face you, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Yes, well,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “You keep picking me up.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly as the streetlights stretch past in golden lines, the city thinning into quieter roads. The hum of the tyres against the wet pavement is the only sound between you. Lilia doesn’t push, just watches, waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. Instead, you keep driving.

Time feels strange, measured not in minutes but in the way the city fades behind you, in the steady hum of the engine, in the occasional flicker of passing headlights illuminating Lilia’s profile in brief flashes of gold. She hasn’t spoken in a while, just sits there, watching the road, tracing absent minded patterns against her knee. You should ask again, press her for an answer, demand to know why she suddenly needed to be anywhere but home.

Instead, you turn the volume up, just enough for the soft hum of a familiar song to fill the space between you. Lilia exhales, not a sigh, not a laugh, just a slow, measured breath, like something inside her has settled.

She shifts slightly, rolling her head to the side. “You always drive like this?”

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t mind where you end up.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You’re the one who told me to drive.”

“Yes, but you listened.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t like. You should have questioned it more, should have reminded her that this isn’t normal. But you didn’t. You just drove, like it was inevitable, like it always is. Clearing your throat, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “You’re avoiding something.”

Lilia hums, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “Maybe.”

You glance at her, searching for something in her expression. “Are you going to tell me what?”

She exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head against the seat. “No.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Unbelievable.”

She smiles, smaller than usual, but genuine. “Well, what did you expect?”

At some point, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city, where the lights are fewer and the roads are quieter. Lilia stretches her arms in front of her before sinking back into the seat. “You know, this is nice.”

Raising a brow, you scoff. “What, me chauffeuring you around with no destination?”

Smirking, she nods. “Yes, exactly that.”

“You’re the ultimate passenger princess,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Lilia lets out a soft, delighted laugh. “Oh, cara , I love that title.”

Shaking your head, you shoot her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

She places a hand over her heart in mock offence. “But it suits me so well.”

Somewhere along the road, she slips off her shoes. You don’t notice at first, not until she stretches out her legs, propping her feet up on the dashboard like she owns the place.

Frowning, you glance at her. “Put your feet down.”

Lilia hums, unbothered. “Mmm, no, I’m quite comfortable.”

Gripping the wheel, you shake your head. “It’s dangerous.”

She tilts her head, amused. “Oh, now you’re worried about my well-being?”

You shoot her a dry look. “If we crash, that’s the worst position to be in. You’d break your legs, Lilia.”

That gets her attention. She exhales, dramatically put upon, before slowly, lazily, sliding her feet back down. Then, after a beat, she turns to you with a slow, knowing smile.

“You care?”

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you scoff, shaking your head. “I care about not scraping you off my windscreen.”

Lilia chuckles, but there’s something in her eyes, something quiet, something thoughtful, that lingers longer than it should. She doesn’t put her feet back up, and for some reason, you don’t think it’s because of the safety warning.

The next song starts, something slower, something softer. Lilia leans her head back against the seat, watching the lights blur past.

After a moment, she says, “This reminds me of something.”

You flick a glance at her. “What?”

She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s just… familiar.”

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t turn it into a joke or make a snide remark about your music taste. She just listens.

You grip the wheel. “You never said why you needed to get out tonight.”

Lilia hums. “No, I didn’t.”

You wait, but she doesn’t fill the silence. For a moment, you consider pressing her again, but then she shifts slightly, gaze flicking toward you.

And ever so softly, she says, “Do you ever get tired of sitting still?”

The question catches you off guard. You glance at her, at the way she’s watching you, quiet, steady, something unreadable in her expression.

You exhale. “Sometimes.”

She hums, turning her gaze back to the road. “Me too.”

And just like that, it makes sense. Why she asked you to drive, why she needed this, not a place, not an errand, just motion. Just the act of going .

Loosening your grip on the wheel, you let the quiet settle between you. “Where to next, then?”

Lilia tilts her head towards the window, a pleased sigh escaping her lips. “Anywhere,” she murmurs.

And for the first time, you realise, you don’t mind where you end up. As long as she’s in the passenger seat.

Another late evening, not planned or intentional, just another drive that lasts longer than expected. The city fades behind you, the dim glow of the dashboard casting soft light over the quiet interior. Lilia is relaxed, reclining slightly with one hand resting on her lap, the other playing absently with the edge of her sleeve. The window is cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air, and the music hums low beneath the steady rhythm of the tyres against the road.

The silence between you isn’t awkward or heavy, just quiet, settled, a pause in motion.

After a while, her voice breaks through. “Do you know what my favourite part of the day is?”

Glancing at her, you frown. “What?”

She doesn’t look at you, eyes still on the darkened streets rolling past. “This,” she murmurs. “Right now.”

The words are spoken softly, casually, as if they don’t carry any weight. But somehow, they do. Lilia is never careless with what she says, never throws words out without purpose. She means it, and the realisation catches you off guard.

Your hands tighten slightly on the wheel, just enough to notice, just enough to feel something shift. Lilia remains quiet, her expression unreadable as the streetlights cast flickering shadows across her face.

“You’re being sentimental,” you say, trying to shake the feeling settling in your chest.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Lilia exhales a small, amused breath. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

There’s no real answer. Nothing wrong with the way she’s sitting there, completely at ease, speaking like it’s the easiest truth in the world. As if of course this is her favourite part of the day. As if of course you should already know that.

Ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck, you focus on the road. “You’re only saying that because I’m driving you around.”

She scoffs, turning to you with an amused smirk. “Oh, cara . If I only liked you for your driving skills, we’d be in serious trouble.”

It throws you off—not the words themselves, but the way she says them. Teasing, but with something else beneath the surface. Something real, something you don’t want to look at too closely.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head. “So you just like wasting petrol?”

Lilia chuckles, shaking her head. “No,” she murmurs.

Then, quieter, almost lost under the music, “I just like you .”

Your heart stumbles, caught between one beat and the next, before your brain fully registers what she just said. Before you can react, before you can even process it, Lilia stretches, sighing as if she hasn’t just sent your entire evening into chaos.

“Anyway,” she muses, shifting in her seat, “you should turn left up here.”

She says it like nothing happened, like she didn’t just throw a conversational grenade into the quiet and leave you to deal with the wreckage. Your grip tightens around the wheel as you force yourself to breathe.

She has to be playing with you.

Because if she’s not, if she actually meant that, then you’re in serious trouble.

Keeping your focus on the road, you ignore the way your pulse is hammering far too loud in your ears. Lilia, perfectly at ease, stretches again, shifting in her seat, looking entirely unbothered after casually dropping I just like you into the conversation.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you mutter, trying to regain control of your own thoughts.

She turns to you, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

Exhaling sharply, you shake your head. “You know what.”

Lilia hums, pretending to think. “Oh. That I like you?”

Your pulse jumps again.

She’s messing with you. She has to be. But the way she says it, so easily, so casually , makes you hesitate. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking.

Risking a glance at her, you search for something in her expression, anything to confirm that this is just another one of her games. But she only smirks, resting her chin on her hand, watching you like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react.

“You say things just to wind me up,” you accuse, grasping at the familiar, at the safest explanation.

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, eyes gleaming. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs smoothly.

“But what if I don’t?”

Your stomach twists, because this time, for the first time, you can’t tell if she’s joking.

For the first time, you think maybe, maybe, she actually means it.

You don’t have a response. Since Lilia Calderu first invited herself into your car, your routine, your space, you’ve always had something to say. A sharp remark, a dry comment, something to push back against her impossible presence. But now, you have nothing.

Because this isn’t just a passing comment. It isn’t playful teasing.

It means something.

And the way she’s looking at you, smirking but watching , waiting for you to slip, to react, only makes it worse.

Gritting your teeth, you keep your eyes on the road. “I think you enjoy getting a reaction out of me.”

Lilia chuckles, low and knowing. “That is true.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Of course it is.”

She leans back in her seat, gaze drifting lazily toward the road ahead. “But that’s not all of it.”

Your breath catches.

She doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate, just lets the words settle as if they don’t mean everything.

And maybe it’s better that way.

Because if she keeps going, if she says it outright, if she makes you acknowledge the thing that has been building between you with every drive, every glance, every almost, then you’re done for.

Rolling your shoulders, you inhale deeply, keeping your tone light. “You’re insufferable.”

Lilia sighs, entirely too amused. “But, cara , you keep picking me up.”

Your lips twitch, despite yourself.

Despite the weight of the moment, despite everything she’s just said, you let it pass. You let the tension settle back into something easier, something unspoken but understood, because you’re not ready.

Not yet.

But one day, you will be.

And from the way Lilia smiles, watching you out of the corner of her eye, you think she knows that, too.

It doesn’t happen the way you expect.

Not in some grand, dramatic moment. Not after a carefully timed confession or a lingering, loaded silence.

It happens in the car.

Of course it does.

The night is quiet as the city winds down, the distant hum of traffic fading as you pull onto Lilia’s street. Neither of you have spoken much since that conversation the other day. Not because the silence is uncomfortable, but because it isn’t, and somehow, that’s worse. It lingers, steady and unforced, neither of you rushing to fill it. Comfortable, familiar, dangerously close to something else.

You shift the car into park, fingers still curled around the wheel. “You’re home.”

Lilia hums, stretching slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, but she doesn’t move to leave. She lingers, waiting. You don’t know for what, but something in the air changes. Slowly, deliberately, she turns to you.

This time, it’s different. There’s no teasing, no smug amusement, just quiet certainty as she studies you, her expression unreadable. She watches you in that way she does when she’s about to push, just far enough to see if you’ll break.

You exhale, trying to keep your voice even. “What?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, considering you for a moment before speaking. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Your heart stutters, your brain freezing mid thought. Lilia never hesitates to say things that leave you exasperated, but not like this. Not with this softness, this matter-of-fact certainty, as if she already knows the answer.

Your grip tightens on the wheel. “Excuse me?”

She hums, watching you carefully, as if you’re a puzzle she’s already solved. “You heard me.”

You shake your head, forcing a scoff, trying to push through the sudden heat creeping up your neck. “You are unbelievable.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “That’s not a no.”

You should argue, should roll your eyes and brush it off, but she’s still looking at you, head tilted, gaze steady, completely unrushed. The air inside the car shifts, closing in around you, too warm, too charged, the space between you impossibly small.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head, trying to level yourself. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Lilia exhales slowly, something amused, something knowing. “I can,” she murmurs, voice low.

And then she leans in, just enough.

The movement is subtle, a quiet shift that sends your stomach flipping, your pulse kicking up as the weight of the moment settles over you. You should push it away, should find something clever to say, should laugh like this doesn’t mean anything. But it does. It always has.

Lilia is watching you, her gaze flickering over your face, soft and knowing, waiting. She knew. She’s always known.

You should say something, should throw up some final defence before it’s too late. But she’s still there, impossibly close, and for the first time, you don’t want to pretend.

Exhaling slowly, you glance between her and the space between you, small, so small. “Lilia,” you murmur.

She tilts her head slightly, voice soft. “Yes, cara ?”

Your fingers flex against the wheel. If she smirked, if she turned this into another game, maybe you could resist. But she doesn’t. She just looks at you, patient, sure, like she knows you’ll come to her. Like she’s been waiting.

And so, without thinking, without hesitating, without giving yourself the chance to stop—

You close the distance.

Kissing Lilia Calderu feels like pressing your lips to something dangerous. She lets you kiss her, doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just stays perfectly still, waiting, letting you decide. But the second she knows you have, she takes.

Her fingers curl around your collar, pulling you in, her lips moving against yours with a slow, devastating kind of certainty. The breath you let out is shaky, and she smiles against your mouth. That’s what undoes you. You deepen it, just slightly, just enough to hear her exhale, to feel the way she melts against you.

Then, finally, she pulls back, just enough to murmur, breathless and utterly pleased, “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”

You groan, dropping your forehead against the steering wheel as heat creeps up your neck. Lilia laughs, delighted, entirely too satisfied with herself. Just to make it worse, she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek before slipping out of the car, moving with an ease that makes it clear she’s won.

Pausing at the door, she glances back, smirking. “See you tomorrow, cara .”

And just like that, she’s gone.

You sit there gripping the wheel, heart racing, breath uneven, completely finished. Because you know tomorrow will come, and when it does, you’ll pick her up again. This time, you won’t even pretend it’s just a favour.

The next time Lilia gets into your car, something has changed. She moves with quiet confidence, her gaze knowing as she fastens her seatbelt, entirely too composed for someone who kissed you and left like it meant nothing. The shift isn’t just in her, though. It’s in you. The air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your pulse kicks up as she settles into the seat beside you, and despite the cool night air, your skin feels too warm.

She’s sitting there like nothing happened, acting as if the tension between you is the same as it’s always been. But it isn’t.

Gripping the wheel, you glance at her. “You’re quiet.”

She tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Am I?”

You scoff, barely holding back an eye-roll. “Don’t play innocent.”

She exhales a soft laugh, her voice amused but deliberate. “Oh, cara . I’d never.”

The teasing is familiar, but there’s something else beneath it, something intentional. The silence that follows stretches too long, making the car feel smaller. You clear your throat, focusing on the road. “Where are we going?”

She runs her fingers absently along her knee, her movements slow and unhurried. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t, and that’s the problem. The destination was never the point. She could ask you to drive for hours, and you would, just to keep her in the passenger seat, just to hear her voice, just to let this thing between you linger a little longer before it finally snaps.

She shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other, her dress sliding higher over her thigh. You notice. She notices you noticing. When your gaze flickers toward her, she’s already smirking.

“You’re staring.”

Tearing your eyes back to the road, you shake your head. “You’re imagining things.”

She hums, fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone. “Mmm. Am I?”

The warmth pressing against your skin has nothing to do with the temperature in the car. She’s watching you, knowing exactly what she’s doing, waiting for you to react. The way she leans back, the way her fingers skim lazily over her throat, the way she studies you from the corner of her eye, all of it is deliberate.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.

She barely suppresses a laugh. “Doing what?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You know what.”

She shifts in her seat, the movement slow, calculated, the fabric of her dress sliding a little higher. “You’re the one getting distracted, cara .”

Your pulse spikes, but you keep your attention on the road, trying to ignore the way she’s looking at you, the way she moves like she’s already won. Your grip on the wheel tightens. “You’re a menace.”

Lilia smiles, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence that follows stretches too long, weighted and expectant.

Then she shifts closer, just slightly, just enough to send a warning through your entire body. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, quieter, something softer at the edges.

“Pull over.”

Your stomach tightens as you glance at her, pulse pounding. “What?”

Her gaze flickers over you, catching on the way your hands grip the wheel, the way your breathing has changed, the way you’re barely keeping yourself together. She watches, studying every flicker of restraint before she repeats herself, so casually, so devastatingly sure of the outcome.

“Pull over.”

This is the moment where you lose.

There’s no hesitation, no argument, no second guessing. Without thinking, you ease the car off the road. The moment it’s in park, Lilia moves. She isn’t rushed, isn’t desperate, just sure. She shifts toward you, already too close when you turn to face her. Her fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your face slightly, her nails scratching faintly against your skin.

Your breath catches as she studies you, her gaze dark and pleased, her attention flickering over your parted lips, the tension in your posture, the way you grip the seat like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She leans in, breath warm against your lips, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Still distracted, cara ?”

You don’t answer because you can’t.

Without thinking, without hesitation, without giving yourself a chance to stop, you crash your mouth against hers like you’ve needed this for weeks.

Lilia gasps, and you swallow it, slipping your hands into her hair, tilting her head back as you kiss her deeper. She melts for a moment before recovering, smirking against your mouth, tugging at your collar as she pulls you closer, pressing against you like she’s wanted this just as badly. A growl escapes your throat as her nails scrape against the bare skin at the back of your neck, sending a sharp shiver down your spine.

Then, just to drive you insane, she bites your bottom lip.

That’s it.

That’s the moment you break.

You lose control too easily, the second her teeth graze your lip, the second she exhales, breathless and utterly pleased. Pressing her back against the seat, one hand curls around her thigh while the other tangles into her hair as you deepen the kiss.

She welcomes it, sighing against your mouth, fingers tightening around your collar, pulling you closer. She tastes like wine and something sweet, something unmistakably Lilia , and it’s intoxicating. You nip at her jaw, dragging your lips down the slope of her throat, and she laughs, low and delighted, like she knew this would happen, like she wanted to be proven right.

“Finally,” she breathes, smug and utterly satisfied.

Huffing against her skin, you press a slow kiss just below her ear. “You are so smug.”

She tilts her head, offering you more, fingers slipping beneath your jacket, nails scraping lightly against your spine. You shudder, and she feels it. She smiles, completely pleased with herself.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Her voice is sweet, taunting, eyes half-lidded as she watches you struggle to hold on to the last shred of control. She’s waiting for you to lose yourself completely, to give in, to let her win.

And god help you, you do.

You claim her mouth again, devouring the smirk off her lips as your hands slide beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips grazing heated skin. Her gasp stirs something dark and wanting in your chest, something that has been building for far too long.

Then—

A sharp knock against the window.

You freeze.

Lilia stills beneath you, her breath catching.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then—

Her lips twitch.

She giggles.

Groaning, you drop your forehead onto her shoulder, trying not to kill whoever just ruined this. Lilia, of course, is absolutely delighted, her voice teasing as she exhales against your ear.

“Oh, cara ,” she whispers, breathless, wrecked, and entirely too pleased with herself. “You poor thing.”

Gripping the wheel, you inhale sharply, forcing yourself to breathe. But one thing is certain, you are not driving her home yet.

Not until you finish what she started.

You don’t look at whoever knocked, don’t acknowledge them, don’t even care. Without a word, you shift the car back into drive, gripping the wheel tightly as you pull away from the curb. The silence is thick and unrelenting, pressing down on you like a weight neither of you can ignore. Lilia doesn’t speak, doesn’t tease, doesn’t do anything except sit in the passenger seat, her presence palpable in the quiet tension that lingers between you.

The city lights fade behind you as you drive further out, leaving behind the busy streets and the watchful eyes of strangers. The road stretches ahead, long and empty, the world outside growing darker with every mile. You don’t stop, don’t ask where you’re going, don’t explain. She doesn’t ask. She already knows.

The air in the car is charged, thick with anticipation, every passing second winding the tension tighter. The only sound is the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s weighted, filled with everything you were about to do before you were interrupted.

You don’t stop until you’re far from the city, where the roads are deserted and the only light comes from the dim glow of the dashboard. Pulling off onto a secluded stretch of road, you finally park, hands still gripping the wheel as you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension coiled in your muscles.

“Get in the back,” you say, voice low and steady.

Lilia lifts a brow, amusement flickering across her face as she shifts slightly in her seat. “Oh? Are we in a hurry?”

Your patience is already razor thin, and she knows it. She’s playing with you, testing the limits of your control, pushing just far enough to see how much restraint you have left. Your hand moves before you can stop yourself, gripping her thigh firmly, fingers pressing into warm, soft skin as you drag her closer, your breath ghosting against her lips.

“Lilia,” you murmur, your voice a warning, not a request.

Something shifts in her expression, the smirk faltering just slightly as her breath catches. Her thighs press together beneath your hand, and in that moment, she understands. She knows you aren’t bluffing. She knows exactly how much you need this. She knows that if she doesn’t move now, you won’t hesitate to take her right here, seatbelt be damned.

She doesn’t rush, she never does, but she listens. With slow, deliberate movements, she slips into the backseat, her dress riding higher as she stretches out against the leather, watching you with quiet, knowing amusement. The heat in her gaze is unmistakable, her body language an invitation you don’t intend to ignore.

Your jaw tightens as you inhale sharply, steadying yourself for just a moment before you follow, knowing there’s no turning back now.

The moment you shut the door behind you, Lilia grins, tilting her head slightly, fingers curling against her knee. “Finally joining me?” she purrs, voice smooth and teasing.

You don’t answer. There’s no hesitation, no thought beyond the heat coiling between you. You grip her hips, dragging her against you, pressing her back against the seat as your mouth crashes against hers. She moans, breathless and eager, hands fisting into your jacket, nails scraping along the nape of your neck as she pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss is hungry, desperate, every sound she makes only spurring you on. Pressing your thigh between her legs, you feel the sharp hitch of her breath as she grinds against you.

Instinct takes over, sharp and electric, as you push her dress higher, sliding your palm up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. The moment your fingers barely graze the damp heat between her legs, she whimpers—soft, needy, utterly wrecked. The sound freezes you, stealing the breath from your lungs. That single, helpless noise will be the death of you.

Leaning in, your breath skims over her lips. “Again,” you murmur, voice thick with want. “Let me hear you.”

For weeks, she’s teased, played the game, stayed in control, always knowing just how far to push. But now, she obeys. Another whimper, quieter but just as devastating, escapes her lips, and it’s enough to ruin you completely.

Your grip tightens on her thigh, spreading her legs wider, fingers dragging along the heat of her skin, not quite where she needs you but close enough to make her squirm. Her head tilts back, lips parting as she exhales a shaky breath. Smirking, you press your lips against the curve of her throat, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her shudder.

“You look good like this,” you murmur against her skin.

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh. “Like what, cara ?”

Your lips brush her pulse as your fingers skim higher, teasing, making her tremble beneath your touch. “Needy.”

She gasps, a real, helpless little sound, and that is what finally shatters the last of your restraint. There’s no more teasing, no more patience. Sliding your fingers beneath the damp fabric between her legs, you groan at how wet she already is.

Lilia moans, her back arching as her hands clutch at your shoulders. You swallow the sound, pressing your fingers deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just right—

She shakes beneath you, breath catching, nails digging into your skin as she moves against your hand, chasing friction, chasing you. You watch her, the way her lashes flutter, the way her body reacts to every touch, the way she falls apart beneath your hands.

“You love this, don’t you?”

Lilia nods, voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

You’re done for.

The second you give her what she wants, she whimpers again, thighs trembling as your fingers curl deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her open, coaxing her closer. Her head falls back against the seat, lips parted as she gasps, body shuddering as she grinds against your hand.

Your smirk is against her lips, teasing, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Say it.”

She tries to speak, but her breath hitches as your fingers pick up their rhythm, slow but relentless, pushing her higher, closer, until—

“I—” she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders, her body taut with tension.

Then you flick your thumb over her clit, pressing down just enough, and she breaks.

“Fuck, yes—”

A growl rumbles from your throat as she shudders beneath you, her hips jerking, legs shaking. Watching her come undone is intoxicating. “That’s my girl.”

Lilia moans, high and helpless, and something about the way she completely gives in, the way she lets you take her apart, makes your own restraint snap. You kiss her deeply, swallowing every gasp, every breathless plea as your fingers keep moving, fucking into her with purpose, dragging her higher, right to the edge.

She’s close, you can feel it, the way her body tightens, the way her breathing turns ragged. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost pleading—

“Please—”

A groan tears from your throat as you press against her, curling your fingers one last time.

Lilia shatters.

Her body tenses, her back arching, head tipping back as she gasps, hands clenching around you as she comes apart completely. It’s beautiful.

You watch her, hold her through it, pressing soft kisses against her jaw as her body slowly, slowly comes down. Her breath is still uneven, fingers still gripping you like she’s afraid to let go.

Smirking, you run your nose along her cheek, murmuring, utterly pleased with yourself.

The moment you shut the door, Lilia smirks, breathless and utterly wrecked, but the glint in her eyes tells you she’s not done. She stretches out against the seat like she’s settling onto a throne, self-satisfied and pleased with herself, fingers trailing lazily up your chest as she tilts her head.

“Mmm. Just thinking,” she muses, voice smooth and teasing.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

She grins, wicked and knowing. “No, it really isn’t.”

Before you let her question it, you move. 

You grab her by the waist, trying to shift her onto your lap, but the cramped space makes it awkward. She lets out a breathy laugh as she braces her hands against your shoulders, knees knocking against the seat as she tries to settle over you. It’s messy, uncoordinated, her dress riding up in the struggle, and by the time she finally straddles you properly, you’re both breathless for an entirely different reason.

Then, before she can say something smug about it, you grip her hips and press her down, forcing her to grind against your thigh. The laughter catches in her throat, replaced by a sharp gasp as the friction sends a shudder through her. Nails digging into your shoulders as she clings to you. She’s still soaking wet from earlier, still sensitive, still desperate, and now she’s grinding against you, rolling her hips as you force her to chase the pleasure.

Your breath is hot against her skin as you murmur, “What was that, princess? You wanted me to do something?”

Her thighs tighten around you, and she shudders. “Oh, fuck—”

You groan at the sound, gripping her hips tighter, guiding her, making her move exactly how you want. She whimpers, fisting your jacket, her body trembling as she grinds harder against your thigh.

“You talk too much,” you whisper, pressing your lips against the soft skin beneath her ear. The moan she lets out is high and breathless, her confidence wavering under your touch.

You slide your hands beneath her dress, fingers grazing along her bare waist, pulling her flush against you, making her feel every inch of your control. She exhales a shaky sigh, forehead pressing against yours, before her voice drops to barely a whisper.

“Touch me.”

Your blood boils. She’s already wrecked, already falling apart, and now she’s begging? You can’t make her wait, not when she’s pressing against you like she needs this, like she needs you again.

Your hand moves between her thighs, fingers teasing her, dragging along the heat of her skin before finally pushing against the soaked fabric between her legs. Lilia gasps, her hips rolling instinctively, chasing your touch. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she whimpers, desperate, wrecked, completely at your mercy.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice broken, raw.

You smirk against her throat, dragging your lips along the delicate skin, teasing her, taunting her. “What was that, princess?”

She whimpers, body trembling as your fingers slip beneath the fabric and slide inside her. Her hips stutter, grinding down against your hand, her entire body reacting to you.

“You—” she chokes out, nails scraping down your back, “you bastard—”

You chuckle darkly, curling your fingers inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her shudder. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

Lilia’s breath catches, her hips jerking as she grinds against you, chasing every stroke of your fingers, chasing you. You love this, love how she’s already close, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Oh, fuck—”

You don’t let up.

You kiss her hard, devouring her moans, swallowing every gasp as you fuck her open, your thumb pressing against her clit, relentless, pushing her right to the edge.

Until she breaks.

She cries out, her back arching, her body trembling, thighs clenching around you as pleasure rips through her. You hold her through it, dragging her through every wave, savoring the way she falls apart in your arms.

When she finally collapses against you, breathless and wrecked, forehead pressing against your shoulder, you smirk, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs, your voice low and teasing.

“Oh, princess—”

Lilia shudders, still trembling against you, but the second she gathers herself, you know—

She isn’t done yet.

The second she recovers from the wreckage you left her in, she moves. The shift is clumsy in the cramped space, her knee knocking into the seat as she struggles to maneuver herself, but it doesn’t stop her. She barely gives herself room before she presses into you, hands slipping over your body with a deliberate slowness, feeling, teasing, learning exactly how to unravel you the way you just did her.

Her fingers trail down your stomach, pressing over the fabric of your jeans, feeling the heat beneath, smirking when she finds you already aching for her. She’s smug, insufferable, dragging her palm over you through the denim, watching the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses. The teasing touch is just enough to make you squirm, not nearly enough to give you what you need.

You growl, grabbing at her hips, trying to grind up into her touch, but she just chuckles, dragging her nails up your stomach in lazy, infuriating strokes. “So impatient,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me take my time.”

She moves carefully, hands working at your jeans, shimmying them down awkwardly, shifting back as she struggles to get them past your thighs in the tight space. It’s clumsy, far from the elegant seduction she’s probably envisioning, and she lets out a frustrated breath when the fabric catches on the seat. You snort, arching a brow. “Having trouble, princess?”

Lilia glares at you, jaw tight, before yanking them down with more force, successfully freeing you but nearly kneeing you in the process. “Shut up.”

You chuckle, but it dies in your throat when she settles between your thighs, her hands spreading over your bare skin, smoothing upward, her nails scraping just enough to make you shudder.

She exhales softly, her expression shifting, losing its teasing edge, darkening with something else entirely. Her fingers trail between your legs, brushing over you just once, featherlight, enough to make your breath catch.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, voice smooth, slow, utterly pleased. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Your stomach tightens.

She slides her fingers lower, pressing down just slightly, teasing, not yet giving you what you need. She’s watching you closely, taking in every reaction, every flicker of anticipation, every tiny twitch of your body beneath her hands.

You exhale sharply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you force yourself to look at her, meeting her gaze head-on. “Stop teasing.”

Lilia smirks, dragging her fingers up again, slipping just barely beneath the fabric still covering you. “You want me to stop?”

Your jaw tightens. “You know what I meant.”

She hums, pretending to consider, before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just above your hip, fingers slipping fully beneath your underwear now, dragging over the slick heat between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, hips jerking at the contact, and she grins against your skin.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmurs, tracing a slow circle over your clit, barely applying pressure, just enough to make you whimper.

Your hands fist into the seat, your body twitching at the deliberate pace she’s setting. She’s barely even started, but you already feel too sensitive, too on edge, the anticipation almost unbearable.

She watches you, eyes dark, utterly absorbed in every reaction, and then, finally, finally, she slides her fingers lower, sinking one inside you, slow, controlled, teasing you with every inch.

Your breath shudders.

Lilia exhales a pleased hum, tilting her head, watching the way your thighs tremble, the way your body clenches around her.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, curling her finger just right, pressing against that spot that makes you gasp. “You take me so well.”

You whimper, head falling back, nails digging into the leather seat as she strokes inside you, slow, deliberate, coaxing every little sound from your lips.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Do you want more?”

You nod, words failing you, breath ragged.

Lilia chuckles, sliding another finger inside you, stretching you just right, her palm pressing against your clit as she picks up the rhythm, stroking deep, slow, torturous.

Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the pressure, and she groans at the way you move for her, how responsive you are, how easily she has you unraveling in her hands.

“So eager,” she breathes, curling her fingers again, pressing harder, making your thighs shake. “I could make you come just like this.”

You moan, head spinning, everything narrowing to the slow, devastating drag of her fingers inside you, the way she’s murmuring against your skin, the way her lips brush over your jaw, her breath warm, teasing, unbearable.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice rough, admiring. “Falling apart for me.”

You whimper, grinding against her hand, chasing that edge she’s so carefully pulling you toward.

She speeds up, pressing her palm down, her fingers moving just right, just perfect, and it’s too much, too good, too overwhelming.

You cry out, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you, your thighs trembling, your breath shattering, everything breaking apart beneath her touch.

Lilia groans, watching you fall apart, letting you ride it out, stroking you through every wave, pressing her lips to your temple as your body slowly relaxes, your pulse still pounding, your mind hazy.

She stays there, holding you, pressing slow kisses along your cheek, your jaw, whispering things too soft for you to catch, things meant only for you.

And when you finally come back to yourself, breath still uneven, Lilia pulls back just slightly, her lips brushing against your ear, voice still rough, still teasing.

“Oh, cara,” she whispers, trailing her fingers through the mess between your thighs, utterly satisfied.

“You look so pretty when you beg.”

You roll your eyes.

Lilia is sitting there, hair a beautiful mess, her lips definitely too red but not from her lipstick, her thighs still bare. She’s smirking, entirely too pleased with herself, radiating self-satisfaction as she stretches lazily against the seat. You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes, already dreading the inevitable smug remarks. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Lilia chuckles, tilting her head, fingers idly tracing patterns against your stomach. “Like what, cara?”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at her. “Like you won something.”

She hums, her nails skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Oh, but I did.”

Your jaw tightens. Because she’s right, and she knows it.

You roll your head back against the seat, exhaling sharply, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. Big mistake. Lilia shifts, leaning in, her breath warm against your throat, her lips brushing against your skin, teasing, testing. Her voice is a soft, satisfied purr. “You were so sweet for me, cara.”

You shiver, and she notices.

She always notices.

Her lips graze your jaw, lingering just enough to make your stomach twist, and then, utterly pleased with herself, she whispers, “Would you like to do it again?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut, because you would. You absolutely would. And from the way Lilia watches you, lips curved, gaze half lidded and knowing, she already knows that.

You should feel sated, triumphant, satisfied, at peace. Instead, you’re lying in the backseat of your own car, exhausted, tangled up in Lilia, who looks entirely too smug. You groan, covering your face with your arm again. “I’m never driving you anywhere again.”

Lilia laughs, stretching beside you, unbothered, fingertips dancing absentmindedly over your skin. “Oh, cara,” she muses, voice like silk and satisfaction, “we both know that’s a lie.”

You tense, because she’s right. She always is. She knows you too well, knows exactly how to push you, how to unravel you, how to get what she wants.

You exhale, tilting your head and moving your arm just enough to glance at her, watching the way she smirks, the way she looks at you like you’re her favourite thing to toy with. You meet her gaze, let the silence stretch just long enough to make her think she’s won, then smirk right back.

“Oh, cara,” you murmur, voice low, teasing, throwing her own words right back at her.

Lilia stills for just a second, just long enough for her breath to hitch, for her eyes to flicker with something warm, something unguarded. But then she grins, shaking her head. “Stealing my lines now?” she muses, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You shrug, exhaling through your nose, settling deeper into the seat. “You make it too easy.”

She hums, fingers still tracing faint patterns against your ribs, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh, baby,” she says, and you know, you just know she’s about to say something infuriating.

And you’re right.

She tilts her head, watching you with quiet amusement. “You know you’re driving me home.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You are the worst.”

She hums, entirely too content. “Mmm. But—” She stretches, arching her back, looking entirely too smug. “You keep picking me up.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

Because she’s right.

Of course she’s right.

You were always going to pick her up.

It should have changed after that night. After everything. But somehow, it doesn’t.

Lilia still texts you at inconvenient hours, still waits outside with her arms crossed, expecting you to pull up, still slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there, draping herself over the chair with a dramatic sigh as she adjusts the temperature to her exact preference. And you? You still pick her up.

Because of course you do.

You’d like to pretend there’s some resistance left in you, some shred of dignity after what happened in the backseat of this very car, but there isn’t. There never was.

One evening, she gets in, stretching luxuriously as she settles into the seat, utterly unbothered. You glance at her, unimpressed. “You do have a driver’s licence, right?”

She scoffs, looking at you like the question alone is insulting. “Of course I do.”

You hum, drumming your fingers against the wheel. “Ever use it?”

Lilia shrugs, smirking. “Not when I have you.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You are so spoiled.”

She leans in slightly, voice mockingly sweet, her lips grazing your jaw just to be obnoxious. “And yet, cara—”

You groan, already knowing what’s coming. You finish her sentence for her, “I keep picking you up.”

She grins, and with an exasperated sigh, you put the car into gear. Because, once again, she’s right.

No matter how many times you threaten to make Lilia take the bus, no matter how often you grumble about being at her beck and call, you always pick her up. And she always waits for you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is, how natural. How seamlessly your life has shifted to accommodate her presence in your passenger seat. And the worst part? You like it.

One evening, you’re parked outside her flat, engine running, waiting for her to come down. The usual. Except tonight, she doesn’t rush. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with a look you can’t quite place.

You frown, rolling down the window. “What?”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Lilia steps closer, bending slightly to rest her arms on the edge of the window, her gaze warm, knowing. “I’m just wondering something.”

You sigh, already tired. “Which is?”

Her lips quirk slightly, but there’s something softer in her expression. “If I stopped waiting for you,” she murmurs, “would you still show up?”

The question shouldn’t make your chest feel tight. You should roll your eyes, scoff, say something dismissive and move on. But you don’t.

Because you know the answer.

And so does she.

You inhale slowly, grip tightening on the wheel before exhaling, resigned. “Get in the car, Lilia.”

She smiles, pleased, like she’s just confirmed something for herself. Then, as always, she slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there.

Because, of course, she does.

And you? You were always going to pick her up. No matter what.

[lotusloong]

My Mate

Relationship: Sun Wukong/Destined One X Female!Reader

AN: Alrighty first fic I managed to finish for Sun Wukong! Takes place during the game Black Myth Wukong, with slight spoilers for the ending. This is PWP tho, so it's not actually talked about, it's just mentioned about the true nature of the destined one.

Tags: Smut, Slight Gore, Blood, Slight Implications of NonCon, Its done by a demon who is very much dead and isn't graphic but the idea is still there, Jealousy, Possessiveness, True Love, Mates, Slight Freak4Freak, reader and her monkey husband are weird for each other and Bajie suffers for it

Summary: When a demon threatens to take you away, your mate needs to reassure himself you won't be going anywhere.

Read it on AO3!

“Maybe I’ll take your little friend there, make her my wife. I’m sure she’d appreciate the power a real demon can offer her.”

The yaoguai who dared speak such crude words about you was nothing but a red smear across the dirt when your companion was done with him. Panting and sweaty, the suspected reincarnation of the Monkey King stood with his sharp canines bared at the pile of gore at his feet before turning to you. You sheathed your own weapon, relief flooding your veins now that the threat was gone. Your companion took one step closer to you, then another and another, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. 

“My love…?” You spoke, keeping your voice soft to not provoke him.

You didn’t believe for one moment that he would hurt you, but you didn’t enjoy seeing him so upset either. You had been told long ago that you were the reincarnation of the Monkey King’s mate, his queen who died of heart break not long after your husband. You had always carried doubts in your mind growing up, until you met the Destined One himself. 

It had been like a piece of yourself long thought lost had found its way home, and you adamantly stayed by his side from that moment on. It didn’t matter if your enemies or companions doubted, you knew in your soul that the monkey demon you travelled with was the Great Sage reborn. The connection you felt was strong, but that didn’t mean you knew everything about each other immediately. You found yourself still learning the quiet ways he communicated with the world around him, and you had never seen him this upset until now.

The yaoguai had been doing everything he could to upset your companion, eager to dig under his skin and see the rumored Great Sage angry. A mistake on his part, as the moment he started talking about you, stealing you away to do unspeakable things, the Destined One had seen nothing but red. With a flash of magic, the enemy had been frozen in place, and you watched in awe as your lover stalked toward them. And as casually as swatting a fly, had ripped the still beating heart out the demon’s chest. The beating that came after was brutal and unnecessary, turning the already dead monster into paste for daring to speak of you in such a way. As you sat in the tree line with your weapon drawn for defense, all you could do was watch in silence. 

It was the most erotic thing you have ever seen.

Watching the strong, proud form of your lover turn red as he snarled and growled, pristine armor glinting in the light as it was dirtied for you, had you soaking your underwear in record time.

You had been expecting him to come back to his senses when the fight was won, but still he stalked towards you like a predator. You tried to speak despite the breathless feeling stirring in your gut.

“Th-than-” A bloody hand from your mate rose and cupped your cheek, your eyes fluttering closed at how gently he held you. “Thank you…” You managed, nuzzling further into his palm, uncaring of the sticky red liquid smearing across your cheek. With a squeak you felt yourself being pushed backwards into a tree, the strong form of your mate pushing his heaving chest against yours. You hiked one leg up to wrap around his hips, his free hand immediately cupping your thigh and digging his claws into your soft flesh. You could feel his claws prick your skin and knew you would have bruises in the shape of his hand to fawn over later.

Lips were pushed against yours, and with your gasp sharp canines dug into your lower lip, teasing but never cutting the delicate skin. You whimper and bring your own hands to his shoulders, tugging and pulling at the thick layers of armor he wears for battle. Your fingers can just barely rub against the soft fur underneath and you grind your hips against his desperately. Even with the thick leather padding over his waist, you can feel your mate’s cock straining underneath the layers.

He growls into your kiss, his tongue pulling away from yours as he breaks the kiss for much needed air. You puff as a thin strand of saliva bridging your lips together snaps under its own weight. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat as you look into your monkey’s gold eyes, hazy with lust and pleasure. The hand cupping your thigh pushes you off his hips, much to your displeasure, and the one cupping your cheek pushes back to tangle into your hair. You don’t care that blood gets into your locks, staining it red and sticky, when your mate tugs and pulls your head back to bare your throat. You whimper, pleased at the feeling of his teeth suddenly nipping at the skin there.

“Fucking pathetic demon…” Your mate growls where his lips are pressed against you. “Thinking he can take what’s mine…” You mewl in response to his words. It’s rare when the Destined One speaks, and yet you’ve heard his voice more than anyone currently living.

“I wouldn’t have gone with him-” You start to say, but are cut off by a sharp tug to your hair. Your back arches into his chest, your breasts pushed against the unrelenting metal of his armor. With another jerk to your hair and his hand at your waist, you're suddenly facing the tree you had been backed into. Your hands steady you against the rough bark as you feel your mate’s warmth press against the length of your back. His claws dig under your top and waist band to grip the edge of your pants and underwear. With a rough jerk, the cloth is pulled below the line of your ass cheeks. You moan and hide your face against the bark of the tree, your blush burning at full force.

You’re in the middle of the wilderness, covered in blood, with your pants pulled down for your mate to see. The last thing you want to do is stop. In fact, you want those bloody claws from your mate to grip your hips and fuck you senseless right here against this tree.

“Continue.” He growls from behind you. You peek over your shoulder to see him kneeling in the dirt, his face level with your ass. You spread your legs further apart, as much as you can with your pants still on, bending to push your hips out closer to his face.

“I wouldn’t have gone with him!” You mewl at the feeling of his hot breath against the leaking of your cunt. “I would have fought and, and-I would have found my way back to you!” You cry.

“Good girl.” Your mate growls, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your uncovered pussy. You moan in appreciation, wiggling your hips in invitation for more. The monkey demon takes it, pressing his mouth against your pussy and immediately attacking your clit with his tongue. You gasp and bow your head, leaning heavily against the tree as your knees grow weak. It’s followed by the feeling of that same tongue moving towards your fluttering hole, teasing it with licks before going back to your clit in patterns that leave your head spinning. He sucks hard at the pink flesh, and you cry out, pressing back against his face desperately for more.

He rewards you with more, licking and biting the soft inner flesh of your thighs to give your fluttering cunt a quick reprieve before diving back in like a man starved. Your slick coats the inside of your legs, dripping down the legs of your pants and all over your mate’s furry face as he nuzzles the lips of your cunt in a lewd display of affection. You whimper when his tongue enters you again, wiggling as the heat in your gut builds and builds. Just when you think you’re about to tip over the edge, finally get that sweet release of cumming all over your mate’s skillful tongue, he pulls away.

“No!” You cry, looking over your shoulder, wide eyed and desperate for him to not leave you like this. To your relief the reborn Monkey King drapes himself over your bent form again after hastily shoving the armor covering his cock out of the way. You sigh in relief at the feeling of him, the heat from his hard cock pressing against your dripping pussy as he pants in your ear.

“Patience, my future queen.” He coos, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your waist and roaming over the expanse of your back and tummy as he pulls you closer. You give a happy wiggle of your ass in response, biting your lower lip in anticipation. The Destined One hisses at the feeling of your hips pressing against his own, your slick smearing against his skin and fur.

“Patience!” He hisses in your ear again. You giggle and deliberately grind your ass against the thick cock nestled between your cheeks. Your mate hisses and pulls back from you just enough to reach a hand between your bodies.

Your teasing is rewarded with a hard, sudden thrust into your soaked entrance, and your back arches hard as you scream to the heavens. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as your mate sets a hard, fast pace to punish you for your cheek.

You aren’t complaining, the sudden stretch combined with the relentless pounding against the spongy spot in your pussy making you go limp in your mate’s arms and lean further against the tree. Your eyes flutter closed as you moan, getting fucked like a whore in the middle of the woods by your lover.

“Fu-uck, say it again. Say you’re mine…that you’re my mate.” He growls into your ear, and you can do nothing but hiccup and try to do what he commands.

“I-...I’m your-...yourssss-fuck-” You cry, drool dripping down your chin as you pant and moan for your lover. His face nuzzles close to your neck, his relentless pace not slowing down. The slick sound of his cock inside you echoes through the trees. 

“That’s ri-ight, fuck! You’re mine, my mate…Gonna make you my queen-” A shiver rakes through your body at the thought of marriage, and he hisses at the squeeze of your cunt. “No matter the time, no matter how long-you’re mine. Always-”

You moan as his teeth sink into the warm skin of your neck, the pain sending tingles of pleasure through you. You’ve lost the ability to speak anymore, babbling nonsense that you hope he understands as pleads and thanks as he fucks you thoroughly. 

You can feel your earlier climax building back up, the heat in your lower belly building as your mate loses himself in you. Just a little more-

“Monkey!? Monkey!? Mistress!? Where the hell did those two go?” The sound of Bajie’s voice makes you freeze, your cunt squeezing tight around your mate and making his hips stutter in their pace. He doesn’t stop though, picking right back up at the punishing pace despite the voice of your traveling companion standing a clearing away from discovering you.

Your mate’s cock hits a deep spot inside you, and your pleased cry is cut off by a rough, scarred hand clamping tight over your lips. 

“N-not stopping, need you to cum for me-” His voice is breathless against your neck, and you clench down once more. The thrill of being discovered has your climax rushing forth. You just need-

Sensing what you want, like always, your mate’s free hand moves in between the front of your thighs, circling your swollen clit. Within moments you break, your climax rushing over you like a tidal wave. Your muscles seize up as your cunt throbs around the cock still fucking into it, your knees going weak with pleasure. You would have hit the ground were it not for your mate, who holds your weight up in his arms and against the tree as he finally reaches his own peak. Hot, viscous cum floods your womb as his teeth dig into your shoulder again, his groan of pleasure loud and clear.

You both pant for breath as aftershocks ripple through you, lingering waves of pleasure dying down as you relax. Your mate holds you close, his teeth put away as he nuzzles and kisses the curve of your jaw. Your own shaking hand leaves the tree to cup his cheek, holding him closer to you. Your foreheads press together as you breathe each other in, and you can see your mate’s tail giving pleased flicks where it curls high in the air above you both.

“What was-Oh by the gods above!” Bajie’s voice cuts through the tender moment, and you both startle. Your mate reacts first, using his own body to shield your nakedness from the pig yoaguai’s eyes as you try not to scream. Bajie already has a hand covering his eyes as he turns away from the view you and your mate make.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes! Is that a dead demon!? Fuck Monkey, what the hell!?” Your mate growls in response to Bajie’s words, pulling away from you just enough to pull your clothing back up, covering your intimate areas from view. You blush at the feeling of cum leaking out into your underwear as you stand up straight. By the smug look on the Destined One’s face, he’s aware of your thoughts. He ties his own armor back into place with a sniff before pulling you into his side. His claws settle around your waist to help keep you steady on your still trembling knees.

“I-it’s okay Bajie…we’re decent.” You manage to mumble despite your embarrassment. The pig peaks through his fingers at your words before dropping his hand completely from his muzzle.

“Alright, what happened? Who fucks over a corpse?” Bajie grunts, looking at the bloody smear still ground into the dirt a little ways away from your tree.

“He was…He threatened to take me away. Make me his wife.” You mumble. You feel your mate’s grip tighten around you, a snarl present on his lips at the memory.

“So when he’s dead you fuck next to his body while covered in his blood?” You look off to the side, not feeling at all guilty. You’re mostly embarrassed that Bajie walked in on you both.

“No one is taking my mate from me. No one.” Your love growls, tail flicking in irritation at the thoughts.

“You two freaks deserve each other. Just as bad as 500 years ago.”

[silenzahra]

Hello little sis. Thank you for the ask for the author and fanfic ask game. I’d like to ask you these questions in return: 2, 9, 12, 14 and 31.

Please don’t rush and take your time, okay? 🫂😊

Based on this fanfic ask game ✨

Hello big sis, it was my pleasure! 🥰 And thank *you* for sending me an ask too! It'll be a pleasure to answer it 💖

2. Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

Aww this question is so hard to answer... I love all my fics so so much since they all represent something different for me and are linked to the distinct moments when I wrote them. But I'm gonna go with an easy one and say: Anything for him. Why? Because it was the very first fic that I wrote right after watching The Super Mario Bros Movie back in April 2023, when I was SO obsessed with the brotherly love between Mario and Luigi that I simply couldn't stop thinking about it. The movie made me want to go back to replaying some of my favorite Mario games, including Luigi's Mansion on my Wii, and... that's how this story was born!

It's special too because it became my very first posted fic, as well as, to date, the longest one with three chapters and a total of 15590 words. And it's among my most popular fics which means the world to me, as it means that it's made TONS of people happy ever since it was posted 🥰

And, in all honesty, after all the work it entailed, after how much I struggled to write the third and final chapter... I'm quite proud of the final outcome. And, again, I owe that to you, big sis 🥰💖

9. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Oh wow... This story is long 😅 It was a total of three factors that got me started back when I was 13... and Super Mario was already involved! 😄 Please make sure to grab a drink or something because this is gonna be LONG 🤭😅

Okay so, back then, I was starting to become both a writer and a bookworm and used to read on a daily basis. There's this Spanish writer called Laura Gallego who always writes young-adult fantasy novels, sometimes also children books, and 12-13 is the perfect age to start reading her books (she has more than 30, she's one of the most popular young-adult writers in my country, if not THE most). The first book that I read by her was The Valley of the Wolves (one of the few that was translated into English) and I fell in LOVE. There's a great plot twist towards the end of the story, and it somehow ignited something in me that made me wanna go and write a little something that was inspired by it. Yeah, back then I had no idea, but I was already writing my very first fanfiction! 😄

The second thing that was a huge influence was the TV show Lost. Now that I think about it, perhaps I shouldn't have watched it when I was 13 😬 But I just found out about it quite randomly and got so hooked that I became obsessed. This show is about a crash plane that occurs on a VERY mysterious island, and the people that got stranded there weren't rescued, and MANY weird things started happening... So there you have me: writing my very own crash plane story with my own set of characters, and I also played with the flashback thing ALL the time 😅 Maybe it wasn't exactly fanfiction per se, but I did take A LOT of inspiration from this show even if it were with my own characters, so... I think it still counts.

And last but not least, I was also 13 when I discovered Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga! 😄 Gosh, big sis, can you believe that I still remember the moment when I got into the videogames section of the mall and was immediately drawn by that cover in which we saw not only Mario, but also Luigi, and the many characters around them that I had no idea (yet) who they were? 🥹 Ah, the good old memories of teen me playing this game for the very first time and immediately falling in LOVE with the silly animations, the combat system, the story that was just SO original and different for a Mario game, the music, the places, the characters... Gosh, now I really need to go and replay this game for the millionth time 🤭😍

The thing is... Superstar Saga altered my brain chemistry. FOREVER. It was thanks to it that I fell in LOVE with Mario and Luigi's bond (as well as each of them as characters), so much so that I needed to write about it. And I did! I remember grabbing a notebook and narrating the scenes from the game, and adding little things here and there to delve into the characters' feelings, focusing (obviously) on the brothers' bond. It wasn't the great thing, I didn't have any original ideas yet, but it was the seed of who I am today as a fanfic writer 🥰

I'm sorry this was so long 😅 I just couldn't leave any of these things out as all of it influenced me in one way or another, and it's thanks to them that I'm here today! 💖

12. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Well, according to my previous response, that has to be the Laura Gallego fandom 🤭 I know this is linked only to my country, but really, this author is HUGE here in Spain. Especially back when I was a teen, she even had a forum where her fans would gather, discuss about her many novels (as I said, she's written more than 30), and they even shared their own stories, and sometimes the writer herself would leave a comment here and there to help her readers grow and evolve as writers! 🥹 Aw, I'm seriously getting so nostalgic with these questions 💖

14. What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Hmm 🤔 Honestly, all of this makes me so happy! It means that people genuinely enjoy my stories and want to somehow support them, and that alone means a lot 🥹 Still, if I have to choose, I'd say it's a tie between new fic comments and Tumblr asks. The first, because they give me LIFE and they allow me to see what each reader enjoyed the most about my stories, and I even get to interact a bit with them and share a little bit of my writing process and such. I simply can't get enough of it all! 🥹

As for Tumblr asks, they are always MORE than welcome as I really appreciate that people take the time to get to my blog and surprise me by sending something to my inbox! Everything counts to make me quite happy: asks that have to do with games like this, a random thought or idea that has to do with a character or something like that, a simple sentence to maybe start a conversation, some questions to get to know me better... Or, of course, something that has to do with my stories or my writing in general. Like when @bberetd sent me this ask about my girl Violet. I still get so thrilled whenever I think of it! 🥰

All in all, I know that everything is important and I appreciate and welcome all of it 💖

31. What fic meant the most to you to write?

Aww another hard one... Okay, even though I could say all of them for various reasons, I'm gonna choose Keeping you warm. This fic and I go waaaay back, as I originally had the idea to write it when I first played Mario & Luigi: Dream Team, which, if I recall correctly, happened around 2015-2016. This game, just like Superstar Saga, also inspired me A LOT when I first played it... only that this time I did get some original ideas 😄

Unfortunately, when I got the little seed for what would end up becoming my beloved Dream Team fic, my hype was winding down a bit and I never found it in me to actually work on this story... For which, I have to say, I'm quite glad, as it means that, when I finally wrote this fic last year, I had learned and evolved A LOT as a writer and did so much better than I would have almost a decade earlier.

Everything happens for a reason! 😄

Big sis, I'm so glad and grateful that you sent me these questions! I really had so much fun responding to them, especially because of the many memories I've gotten with them 🥹 I really hope my long response wasn't too boring hehe, and hopefully you got to know me a bit better as a writer 🥰

Thank you sooo much! 💖

[thebigbadbatswife]

Tear In My Heart

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Stay Like This Forever Masterlist

Summary - The night You and Bruce confess your love for one another, as well as your knowledge of his best kept secret.

Warnings - Fluff, Love confessions, Identity reveal, Bruce's POV, Inspired by the song Tear In My Heart by Twenty One Pilots

A/N - As with all fics within this 'verse, this is a complete stand alone and doesn't require any thing else to be read to be enjoyed <3

Word Count - 2.5k

Bruce mutters a curse beneath his breath as he skillfully avoids another pothole. He knows most of the roads in Gotham are fucked to hell and back, it’s the way that it’s always been with some of them slowly growing worse, but he honestly doesn’t remember this one being this bad. 

Though, admittedly, it has been a while since he’s taken this route in a vehicle that isn’t the batmobile. Where he’s also typically flying down the road, the law be damned, the large wheels of the batmobile skimming over the tops of them, stopping him from actually feeling them. 

Since the road is quiet, not another vehicle in sight thanks to the late hour, Bruce glances over at you for a moment. You are fast asleep in the passenger seat, his suit jacket covering your body to keep you warm. 

While the weekend had been thoroughly enjoyable for both of you. Bruce whisking you away to a different country and the two of you barely leaving the hotel room because you were all over each other. The flight back had been a different story. Several delays thanks to the weather and turbulence from hell had left you you grumpy and with a bad headache.

He’s thankful that you have finally managed to fall fast asleep. If there’s one thing that Bruce hates more than anything, it’s seeing you in any sort of pain. Especially when there’s not much he’s able to do about it. He had managed to get you some painkillers, not that they had done much to help. During the wait for news on whether or not you were getting back onto the jet or if he was going to be booking a hotel room, you had buried your head against his body, trying to find some respite from the bright lights assaulting your eyes.

As he looks away to focus on the road again, he glances himself in the rearview mirror. The creases on his forehead, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the grey in his hair catches his eyes. He quickly looks away and does his best to ignore the intrusive thoughts that are trying to creep in again. It doesn’t help that a lot of those thoughts are echoed by the never ending stream of articles that are constantly being posted. The same bullshit rewritten in different ways, but the meaning behind the words are always the same.

Normally what the press chooses to write about concerning him doesn’t bother Bruce. He’s done numerous controversial things to keep his vigilante lifestyle hidden and anything that people had to say about it either had him rolling his eyes or laughing. But recently it’s been bothering him way more than it really should be.

Deep down he knows that the only thing that should actually matter is how the two of you feel about each other. Fuck the rest of the world, but it’s like a voice nagging at him in the back of his skull. Everyday he feels his age. Even more so after a bad fall on the job. His joints cracking and his back aching. 

Sometimes he wonders if you are even happy. You have always been notoriously difficult for him to read at times. Years of acting drilled into you at a young age so that you didn’t slip up in front of the press. At the same time h e knows that you wouldn’t ever lie to him. From the start of your relationship with him, you have always been upfront and clear about what it is you want. As has he.

Even so, it doesn’t stop a certain event from his past from creeping back every once in a while and it makes him pause for a brief minute. Until he’s reminding himself that you’re not her . Your smile isn’t a facade trying to lure him into a sense of false security to distract him from the fact that a snake has trespassed into his cave, waiting to strike. 

The way that you look and smile at him. How you say his name. It’s similar to that of the only one other woman has. When he lost Selina he truly believed that he would never love again nor would he ever find someone who could potentially love him. 

Yet here you are.

He’s not a superstitious man. He doesn’t believe in fate. But it’s hard to ignore, after he swore that was it for him and he would never love again, how you walked into his life and directly into his heart. Bruce couldn’t get rid of you even if he tried. Not that he ever would try. The hold that you have on him is unexplainable, but he welcomes it completely.

He loves you. Goodness, does Bruce love you. You have changed a lot for him and it hasn’t even been a year yet. Do you know that he would do anything for you? Even if it meant him dying, if it kept you safe, he would do it in a heart beat. He hasn't told you any of this yet, though. Deep down, Bruce is scared of scaring you away from him.

“Bruce?” Your tired voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he glances over at you again. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, just feeling old and sorry for myself,” he replies. There’s no point in lying about it and he doesn’t want to lie to you more than he has to. After all, he’s already lying more than enough when it comes to Batman. Which already has him feeling like he’s committing an unspeakable crime against you.

“My poor Brucie,” you coo softly. It’s a nickname that he has always hated. That is until you came along and said it. Now he’s grown rather fond of it. 

You stretch as you sit up properly before reaching over to ruffle his hair, since the car is currently stopped at the traffic lights. He can’t not smile at the action. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

He thinks it over for a moment before finally deciding to just bite the bullet. 

“Are you happy?”

The question clearly takes you off guard as you fall silent for a moment. Your face drops and the lost look you have makes him feel like he’s kicked a kitten. That really wasn’t his aim. 

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” you finally say. You almost sound offended that he would even suggest that you might be unhappy. 

Bruce sighs softly as he decides to pull over. This is a conversation that should have his full attention and he really doesn’t fancy crashing a car that has you inside of it. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns to face you.

“Our age difference.” He says it rather bluntly because there’s really no other way to put it. The bluntness doesn’t upset you. You prefer it when he’s upfront with you with what’s bothering him instead of him trying to hide you from it.

Your frown grows. “I’ve already told you that it doesn’t bother me. It never has.” 

“It might some day,” he points out. “I’m not getting any younger and I won’t be able to keep up with you forever.”

“And on that day the sun will have burned out and the Earth will be a giant ball of ice,” you declare as you unbuckle your seatbelt. 

His jacket falls onto the floor of the car as you climb over and straddle him. The way that you kiss him is so completely different to any other kiss that the two of you have shared. He can’t explain how, just that it has a familiar warmth, that he hasn’t felt in many years, spreading from his chest and throughout his body, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He chases after your lips as you pull away, desperate to not let the kiss end. Damn the things that you do to him without even saying a single word. 

Your hands cup his face and you smooth your thumbs over his cheeks. “I love you, Bruce Wayne. Even when you’re late to a date or you’re feeling old and sorry for yourself or you’re running around with those pointy ears. I. Love. You.”

It feels like his brain has short circuited as he takes in your sudden confession. It’s not just the sudden love confession, but the fact that you know what he does at night when he’s not with you. Yet you sound completely unbothered by it. Like it’s the most mundane thing in the world and not him literally risking life and limb to keep an entire city safe. You have rendered him completely speechless as he looks at you in amazement. 

How in the hell did a man like him get this lucky? He can’t hide his growing grin and why would he want to? 

“I love you too,” he says, all too aware of how long the silence has been stretching on while you wait for him to recover and answer you. Not that you have shown any annoyance or worry about his silence. You’re always so calm and patient with him. 

Bruce pulls you in for another kiss, desperate to feel your lips against his own again. The only problem is how much you’re smiling against his lips as he’s trying to kiss you like his life depends on it. Those four simple words have just made all of your dreams come true. It makes it hard for him to actually kiss you, so he decides to give up for the time being. After all there will be plenty of time for him to kiss you tomorrow when he refuses to let you leave his bed, but he keeps his forehead resting against yours. 

“And how did you find out about my night life?” He’s more curious than he is concerned. You’re smart. It’s one of the things he loves about you. And with all of the time he’s been spending with you over the past six months, even going as far as to pass off some of Batman’s duties to his family, it was just a matter of time before you put the pieces together and had him figured out.

You giggle and rub your nose against his. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you would like to think you are.” 

Bruce chuckles nervous. Okay, now he is a little worried. “What was it that gave me away?”

“How about the late nights where you claimed you were doing paperwork, but you come back to me covered in fresh bruises and cuts,” you reply. “Unless there’s some rich man fight club I don’t know about, it’s pretty suspicious, babe.” 

He huffs a laugh, his worry melting away. At least his whole “not being subtle” is restricted to your relationship and not the outside world. Now that’s something that would be disastrous. 

“No, there’s no rich man fight club. Unless you count fighting Lex on occasion. Was there anything else?”

He doesn’t mean to interrogate you, but until a few minutes ago he had thought he was doing a good job at keeping Batman a secret. 

“Your passion for helping Gotham. You would do anything for this city and its people. Even putting your life on the line. And then there’s the scars. You have more than what makes sense, for a normal man anyway.”

He nods. That makes sense. After all, there’s a reason he doesn’t do any magazine photoshoots that involve him revealing his skin anymore. It’s way too risky and he’s positive that no one would believe the damage done to his body is due to extreme sports and the several “accidents” that he’s had over the years. People will start asking questions and it’ll blow his cover, putting everyone who knows him in danger. Putting you in danger. Bruce can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. Your safety is of the utmost importance. 

You go to say something else, but you’re interrupted by a yawn. You also press your hand against your head and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Your head still hurts, sweetheart?” he asks. He reaches over, his hand coming up to cup your face as his thumb smoothes over your cheekbone. You lean into his touch as you nod. 

“I thought it was gone, but it seems to be coming back,” you reply.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Bruce says. He helps you back into your seat, even leaning forward to grab his jacket to cover you with it, once you’re buckled back into your seat.

During the rest of the drive, you end up falling fast asleep again. Almost curled up into your seat, with your head resting at such an awkward angle Bruce is sure it’s going to give you a crick in your neck. When he’s stopped at another set of lights, he reaches over and calls your name, gently waking you back up. You grumble softly as you shift your position as much as the cramped space in the car will let you. It still doesn’t look very comfortable and he makes a mental note to buy you one of those neck pillows. Or maybe even one for each of his cars and his jet. 

It’s not long before the car is passing through the large iron gates of Wayne Manor. He pulls up in front of the main steps, turns the engine off and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

For a moment, he pauses. Taking the chance to simply admire you. A thought from earlier echoes in his mind. How did he, of all people, get this lucky to have someone like you in his life? He wonders if you have any idea of the power you hold over him.

He’s careful when he climbs out of the car, coming around to your side. He does his best to not wake you up as he unbuckles your seatbelt and lifts you into his arms. You stir for a moment, mumbling something underneath your breath, but quickly fall back asleep. 

As he reaches the front door, it opens and Alfred holds it open for him. Bruce quietly thanks him before carrying you through the manor and up to his bedroom, where he lays you down onto the bed. Instead of waking you, he decides to remove your makeup himself. 

He’s had more than enough practice in the past so it’s easy enough. Once he’s done he gets you out of your dress and into something more comfortable and getting you properly settled into bed before leaving to get ready himself.

Bruce settles into bed, next to you, and pulls you close to him. Since getting together with you he now finds it impossible for him to get anything resembling a decent night’s sleep unless you’re laying close to him. 

You mumble something in your sleep as he does so. It’s too quiet for him to make out what, but he swears he hears you say his name which leaves him wondering what exactly it is that you’re dreaming about. With you in his arms, curling up into his embrace, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

[masters-of-void]

woe, midnight anyu/aoi breakup & introspection upon u. i may add this to a drabble covering their whole one-month relationship but i just wanted to post some writing now cause i been so busy with it 🥲

xX GLIMMER Xx hey, can we talk? Driftin' Sure. Everything okay? xX GLIMMER Xx um. so listen, there isn't an easy way to say this, but I've been thinking. I hate to bring it up when things were going so well, but I think we'll do best as just friends Driftin' Oh. xX GLIMMER Xx I'm sorry Driftin' Was it something I did? xX GLIMMER Xx no not at all! it's me, I promise do u have that turn of phrase in the future? "it's not u, it's me"? Driftin' I... wouldn't know. xX GLIMMER Xx gosh okay look, ur AMAZING and I'm probably being REALLY stupid here. I'm just not ready like I thought I was. it's not fair to u to be expecting "Arthurisms" one way or another when ur just trying to be urself with me I don't want to string u along Driftin' Aoi, you don't owe me an explanation. xX GLIMMER Xx no, I do. u've been nothing but sweet and understanding. I can't tell u how much that means to me so again, I'm sorry. I truly did enjoy our time together Driftin' Yeah. Same here. Thank you for it. xX GLIMMER Xx ur gonna make someone really happy one day ^_^ friends? Driftin' Always. xX GLIMMER Xx ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ xX GLIMMER Xx went offline

Drifter stared at the screen, unsure of what he felt. His gut instinct was to default to 'nothing,' so he knew that had to be wrong. There was definitely something he needed to feel about this.

Glimmer went offline.

He read the tag over again once. Twice.

It was a firm rejection. A...new experience for him, at least in this context, and it stung. Bitterly.

She'd said offhand a few days before he asked her out to go talk to Lettie if he ever went through a breakup, when he'd been curious about their friendship. She'd regaled him with the tale of how Lettie had helped her settle her feelings about ending her last relationship. That there was no one better besides, well, Aoi herself, if he also...had the opportunity to want help with that.

Well, they hadn't told anyone they were seeing each other. It was too early and "complicated because of Arthur and this whole situation," so they just didn't bother. Not until they were sure. Hmm.

It seemed she'd decided what she was sure of.

Eleanor probably knew, but it was so casual and now short-lived that it hardly seemed appropriate to talk to her or anyone about how 'heartbroken' he must be. Nope, this was a little thing. He could handle it on his own.

But digging deeper, he found...relief? Like a weight lifting he didn't notice was there before.

Her cheerful personality was what drew him to her almost from the start. Everything about her was a bright spark of color in the ancient gray of his life, and he'd reasoned after Kalymos gave him a second chance on that first New Years night that maybe this was it.

Maybe this is what I've been waiting for.

She was brilliant. Beautiful. A glimmering star to marvel at, just like her KIM handle implied. She'd said yes. And he thought he'd never felt so happy in his life when she did.

But if he were honest with himself, sometimes it seemed like her happiness was a mask she put on, even after they'd talked about it. And that reminded him far too uncomfortably of Mathila.

He loved Aoi's joy, that she wanted to share it with the world, with him, but if she also used it to shut him out, what could he do?

She obviously had an inner world she'd decided she couldn't trust him with, at least for now, so cutting him loose was a favor in some way. If she were only happy all the time and never let him look under the surface, then he'd just fall into another spiral trying to draw her true self out of her.

He was very acquainted with how that always turned out, and he still didn't know what he was supposed to do about it -- to stop someone from turning into a great murderous Orowyrm when faced with the part of themselves they didn't want to change. It was something he'd need to learn before he tried again, and he simply counted himself lucky that she pulled the plug before it got that far. Maybe she'd seen it coming already.

And how exactly would he 'try again'? Would he reset the loop and go about their relationship differently?

No, he probably shouldn't. That was a power he reserved only for fixing the mistakes he'd made alone, and it sounded like part of Aoi's decision was because of things that had nothing to do with him. He wouldn't rob her of her free will like that. He'd have to find another way to fight the Indifference then.

He stopped short on that thought.

Ah, maybe that's what he did wrong. What she wasn't telling him.

If it wasn't about her, then it wasn't for her either. And maybe she'd picked up on that from him. So this did indeed circle back to being his fault, but that wasn't her problem.

As much as he wanted to indulge in these feelings normal people got to have for each other, maybe he wasn't ready either. If it was even in the cards for him at all, he knew that if he were to have a relationship with someone, it needed to be completely real. Both parties had to be, regardless of what the void planned for their world.

No masks, no tangential intentions, nothing that would put his mind and soul separate from the person he loved. He couldn't do it otherwise.

It was a strange sensation, to be ashamed, relieved, and hurting all at the same time.

He sat there, hands in his lap, meditating on it, adapting it to his psyche to hold onto when-- if, IF the loop here turned gray.

Eventually, he caught himself tracing his thumbnail over his lip absently. Enough time had passed that the screen went dark, snapping him out of the meditation. He shook the mouse to power down his computer properly and read the tag one last time.

Glimmer went offline.

Shit. He was going to miss her kisses.

[baekhyunsbestie]

Hello, first of all, your profile gives a very sweet and peaceful, soft feeling! 🥺🩷

I want to read a pregnancy/dad story about Baekhyun if possible. They already have a 4-year-old daughter and now they have a little boy. Maybe it's about how he takes care of his wife while also taking care of both an older child and a newborn baby... Also, dealing with his daughter who is happy to have a new sibling but feels jealous and becomes moody and angry. 🧸

Thank you and stay happy and safe! 🩷

awww hi bby! ty ty tyyyy for being so sweet n sending in a req <333 here's a lil drabble 4u!! :') really loved writing this omg i feel so soft 😭🥹🙂‍↕️💘💖💓💞💗💖

it's 3:27 a.m., and baekhyun is running on three hours of sleep and pure instinct. he’s got a bottle in one hand, rocking the newborn bassinet with his foot, while his other hand rubs gentle circles into your back. you’re curled up on your side of the bed, head barely staying up as exhaustion weighs heavy on your body.

“baby, get some rest,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep himself, but still so gentle. you shake your head, murmuring something about the baby needing another feed soon. baekhyun sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “i got it. just close your eyes for a bit.”

you do, but it’s clear your mind won’t let you fully rest. the baby starts fussing again, and baekhyun swiftly moves, lifting the tiny bundle into his arms with practiced ease. “shh, buddy, i got you. don’t wake your mom, yeah?” he coos, rocking your newborn son against his chest, his fingers brushing over the fine tufts of dark hair.

from the hallway, there’s a soft shuffling sound, followed by a small voice.

“daddy?”

baekhyun turns his head to see your four-year-old daughter, her hair a mess of sleepy waves, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in her arms. her lower lip juts out just slightly, and he knows that look. he knows it too well.

setting the baby down in the bassinet, he crouches to her level. “what’s wrong, bunny?”

“you don’t love me anymore, huh?” she sniffles, eyes filled with betrayal.

ah.

baekhyun's heart squeezes. he’s been so caught up in balancing everything—taking care of you, making sure the newborn is fed and changed, keeping the house from falling apart—that he hadn’t realized just how much his little girl was feeling left behind.

he holds out his arms. “c’mere, bun.”

she hesitates for only a second before stepping into his embrace, her little arms wrapping around his neck. baekhyun hoists her up, holding her close like he used to before the baby arrived.

“you know i love you just as much, right?” he murmurs into her hair.

her arms tighten around him, small fingers clenching onto his shirt. “but you’re always with him.”

he sighs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i know, sweetheart. but that doesn’t mean i love you any less. you’re still my baby too.”

she pulls back just slightly, eyes big and glassy. “promise?”

“promise,” he says without hesitation. then, after a beat, he grins. “tell you what—how about tomorrow, you and me have a daddy-daughter day? just us. we’ll get ice cream, go to the park, maybe sneak in a movie while your mom and baby brother nap.”

her face lights up, the jealousy momentarily forgotten. “really?”

“of course, my love.”

her arms wrap around his neck again, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

baekhyun stays like that for a while, holding his first baby while his second sleeps soundly in the bassinet. eventually, she dozes off in his arms, small breaths evening out.

when he turns, he sees you watching him, eyes warm with love despite the exhaustion.

“you’re the best dad,” you whisper.

he chuckles softly, shifting to press a kiss to your lips. “nah. just doing my best.”

you smile, resting your forehead against his.

and in that moment, with one child in his arms and another sleeping peacefully nearby, baekhyun knows—he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

I love this story ❤️

Thank you!

108 for 🥊:

---

So Eddie is happy to oblige. Hell, at this point, if Christopher asked to spend the day at a garbage dump, Eddie would oblige. He’s just happy they’re moving forward.  

It’s not a fantastic day for the beach. It’s February. A little chilly and windy. Not as sunny as he’d have hoped, all things considered. But they’re here. They’re together. What more could he ask for?

Eddie lays out a blanket. The same one from that day all those years ago, but he doesn’t say that. That feels eerie. He just doesn’t have another great beach blanket. Chris brings a book. He tells Eddie to bring a book. Eddie, who isn’t usually a big reader, texts Buck asking for a recommendation. Something about… You know. To help me figure it out. Buck sends him a list with no further questions. He’s a good man. 

Point is, Eddie is sitting on a beach blanket beside his only recently not estranged son, in the exact spot where he once sat with his now dead wife, reading a book that tells the world he is struggling to come to terms with his sexuality. Try convincing him that that was an option a few months back. He wouldn’t have believed it. 

Not that he gets very far. He’s maybe five pages in when Chris interrupts him.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“You can ask me anything,” Eddie answers. “Always.”

Chris nods.

“You said you don’t have it all figured out yet,” Chris says, looking at the book. 

“I don’t, that’s true,” Eddie says.

“Um, so are you like Buck, maybe?” Chris asks. 

“Do you mean, do I think I’m bisexual?” Eddie asks. “Or do I memorize nature documentaries for fun?”

Chris laughs. “Well I know the answer to the second question.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie smiles. “Okay, uh… No. I don’t think I’m bisexual, Chris.”

Chris nods. “So, gay?”

Eddie swallows. “Uh… I mean. There are other options. But… Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I think it’s that.”

“Cool,” Chris says.

“Cool?” Eddie echoes. 

“Well, yeah,” Chris shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I mean, we can go to Pride.”

Eddie laughs. “We could have always gone to Pride, Chris. I would have taken you.”

“Good,” Chris says. “We should.”

Eddie’s heart sort of stutters. Not at the thought of Pride. Just… At the thought of plans.

“Then we will do that,” Eddie says. “And we’ll make Buck plan it.”

Chris smiles. “Okay.”

“Anything else?” Eddie asks. Not that he’s eager to return to reading. He likes talking to Chris more.

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “If you’re gay, or probably gay, what does that mean for…”

He trails off.

“For your mom?” Eddie fills in. 

“Not just Mom,” Chris says. “Ana. Marisol. That lady.” 

“Kim,” Eddie supplies. “Yeah, uh, fair question.”

“Did you not really like being with them?” Chris asks.

Eddie shakes his head. “I loved your mom. So much. I adored her. And I had a lot of fun with Marisol. I wish… I wish I hadn’t hurt her. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“Not Ana?” Chris asks.

“Honestly?”

Chris nods.

“I thought she was good for you. Like you needed a mother. And she was a good fit,” Eddie says. “And she’s gorgeous. So I thought I’d love her eventually. Want her eventually.”

[kiwi-luminaryofthestars]

02/20/2025 “Fiction and Feast” Progress Update:

Eyyy we finished editing section two of the first chapter. One more to go! We're at about 11K for the first chapter right now, anticipating maybe close to 13K for the final. Then the whole two-shot will likely be about 25K-ish in total. Certifiable yapper, that's me!

Was not feeling well and ALSO both of my eyes started to swell (love it so much, thank you body!!!!!!) so I ended up staying home from both jobs. Off-days are always a love-hate relationship for me, because on the one hand, I'm like "Yes! More time to write!" and on the other hand, I know I should probably actually rest lol. So I tried to do both: slept for a while; read some mutuals' fanfics (still making my way through Poor Unfortunate Souls and my my my I didn't know how much I needed a mermaid AU in my life until now); theeeen I wrote, hence the finished section.

Void journal time lol. Shut me up, honestly, what am I even talking about half the time. Today it's writing-related, though, so cool!

It's been raining the majority of the day (which isn't abnormal, it's the season) but it got me reminiscing about childhood writing days. As I've probably made abundantly clear, fanfiction is new territory for me, as is ao3, tumblr, and really everything else lol. But I have always always always loved to write. Writing has been a beacon of light my entire life. I used to carry a notebook around everywhere I went from elementary school all the way up to high school just writing what I saw. My favorite place to write, though, was inside a pink-roofed dollhouse in my mom's backyard, and it had such a distinct sound when it was raining. I've learned as an adult it was just the sound of hollow plastic, but I always think about it when it rains like this.

Short stories are my forte; I've written a lot of them. This is the first time I'm diving into long, complex stories, and I think one of the consequences is I try to have a lot of things happen in the narrative all at once. You don't get a lot of time to establish a world or characters or really anything in a short story; you gotta throw yourself right into it. So I apologize if much of the Phantom Thief AU feels like it's moving so fast, at least in terms of Shuichi and Kokichi's relationship developing. I say slow-burn, and I do mean it, but I think this slow-burn is more "slow-burn toward the relationship where lies stop happening".

Sometimes I feel like I'm a bit too self-indulgent when I reveal things like that. Know I don't consider myself a fucking fantastic writer by any means, probably exactly the opposite lol. I'm always desperate to improve. There are some fics I've read these past few weeks where I both SQUEAL at how well it's written, and then despair because hot damn I wish I could write like that. I haven't finished reading this one yet but an example is "so tonight that i might see" by avii, a komahina fic about Nagito waking up from the Neo World Program without any memory of it. And just what EXQUISITE prose this person has, oh my Lord. I'd like to include a snippet from the third chapter that just GETS me:

"[Nagito] watched the way the water pushed and pulled in upon itself. He listened to the waves grow and collapse. He was not the most symbolic of men, not by a long shot, but he thought the ocean must be the greatest thing to ever exist. It was hauntingly beautiful, but not only that, it was powerful. What else could have the might to all at once be so destructive, and yet stand so serene? It blanketed the planet, even dying as the planet was, expanding out to the very edges of its reach. So shallow, and yet so deep. If he were to walk in, breathe that water in, and let it carry him out, he'd never be found again. It would be thrilling. It would, in a way, maybe even be poetic."

Just... WOW. So lovely. Eat me up and chew me out so I may be branded with this level of talent. I want to describe everything so beautifully like that.

Anyway, sorry this one's long again. Ahhh but you should expect it from me by now. Everything is long with me, it's just how it goes.

I hope you have a lovely night. And I HOPE my eyes stop swelling tomorrow. This weekend will not be super open for writing (ugh) but I will still try to get this silly thing done by then so you can read my intensely experimental vampire saiouma fic. Uhhh hopefully it's a good experimental?? We'll see, we'll see. Either way it's been fun to write, so that's all that matters.

[giuseppe-yuki]

HIII!!!

so i basically just wanted to tell you how much i love your fics!! they're so good like?? 'when the clock strikes '12' made me SOB for like an hour ydek

i also LOVE LOVE LOVE the little drabbles you do like they fuel my delusions and make me giggle sm HELP

and your writing style?! LEGIT HEAVEN. like i love this style and i try to write with it but i'll never be as good as you

STOP your account is adorable too like omg how can one person be so lovely and cute??

anyway yeah i think that's enough yapping for now!! love you smmm and love your fics!!

legit sitting (im)patiently waiting for more!!

byee!! mwah mwah

omg this is genuinely one of the NICEST things i've ever received from anyone ever since the start of my blog!

first of all, thank you SO SO much for reading my fics 🥹 the fact that 'when the clock strikes '12' made you sob (im so sorry here's a tissue: ⬜) actually means the world to me because i always hope my more angsty pieces make people feel something!! i'm so glad that you enjoy my drabbles too :)

also, PLEASE don't say you'll never be as good as me because i already know you are amazing and if my writing inspires you in any way, that's literally the biggest honor everrr!

(btw, i just wanted to mention YOUR page's aesthetic too?? love love love the dark red :) )

anyways, don't you worry, i have lots of fics planned in the future (the plots are all drafted out n i just have to find time to bang them out on my computer 😮‍💨) so i promise they are coming! (im)patiently waiting for your comments because they literally make my day, hehe!

<3, - anais

[ominous-faechild]

MODERN EXISTENCE

CHAPTER 1: MORE OF THE SAME

CHARACTERS: ✦ Beck Molleur ✦ Dahlia Molleur

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

(if it's possible for you to read and listen to lyrical music at the same time, please listen to the music provided ❤️)

NOTE: this story is centered on two characters in a codependent, toxic marriage. Exact content warnings about the relationship will not be given for plot reasons, so if you have ANY possible worries about that subject matter, I beg of you to be cautious before reading this story. Thank you.

Most topics are implied—haunting the narrative rather than being displayed openly—and this story depicts how one can be trapped in that sort of relationship. It has portrayals of depression, self-hatred, and implied abuse... although I would still like and encourage you to read it.

Countless images flashed through Beck's mind.

Flooded streets, loose wreckage of destroyed buildings, and rows and rows of suffering people.

It was always like this. Beck was constantly tormented by these kinds of visions. Visions of pain, destruction, and death. Anything and everything going wrong around the world was stuck in his mind, constantly playing again and again and again.

Whether he closed his eyes or had them open, tried going about his day normally or not, he was tormented by visions of misery.

Still, Beck now had his eyes closed, cheek pressed up against the back of a couch, and noise-cancelling headphones over his ears playing soft, calming music.

With his senses stifled, it was easier to focus on the visions. It was easier to see what he shouldn’t be able to see, hear what he shouldn’t be able to hear, and move what he shouldn’t be able to reach.

The soft music coming from his headphones calmed Beck. He’d seen so much suffering in his life that he’d long-since grown almost numb to it, but… that didn’t mean he was okay with it.

He still wanted to help.

So, when he could, when things were “a little too bad”, Beck made an effort to use his powers for good. He’d make small changes where he could—fill in a pothole that’d been untouched for years, trip up someone on the attack, make a stray noise to draw someone’s attention near danger, or manipulate information that could otherwise destroy people’s lives—and try to help people.

… for once in his life.

“Sometimes I for-get… the world doesn’t want me…”

A whole roof had been torn off its building by the vicious winds of a hurricane. It tore through the air, flying toward another home—and suddenly steered away, crashing into the street instead.

“And I won-der where… all of my friends are…”

Hundreds of miles away, cars were bottlenecked at an aging bridge… one that had long-since been shut down for repairs. Not that it’d ever been repaired—but still. It was supposed to be closed.

People were desperate to escape the hurricane, though.

They risked the bridge, and if it hadn’t been for Beck watching over it? It would’ve cracked under the weight of their cars, plunging them all into the hungry waters below.

“But then I remember… I’d pushed them all a-way…”

So much destruction, so much panic, so much chaos—and Beck did his best to help everyone he could in small ways.

To avoid detection.

For plausible deniability.

Few people believed in magic, so what else were they going to believe? That a god walking among them—one they’d otherwise blame for their misfortune—was looking out for them? Or that the wind moved just in time? That the bridge was just a little sturdier than the architects and scientists believed? That Their God, whichever one or ones they believed in, was looking out for them?

Yes. Far better for people to assume those than the truth.

They’d all agreed on that thousands of years ago.

“So where am I? Who am I?” the song continued, melancholic.

“And what will I do… when I don’t ev-en have me?”

The couch shifted under Beck, tilting him to the side, as something landed on his shoulder.

Beck flinched, mind abruptly returning to his body.

Snapping his eyes open, Beck quickly turned to look at what had disturbed him—

A pair of bright green eyes���on the most beautiful face he’d ever seen—met his.

Despite her soft smile, Dahlia's eyebrows were furrowed slightly in concern as she stared at him expectantly.

“Who will I be?” the song continued.

Dahlia was a woman Beck knew well, though her face had changed countless times over the years. Now, she wore one of a brown woman with angular features and a mane of long, curly brown hair. She sat against the couch with one knee, her hand still on his shoulder, and the scent of her lilac perfume washing over him.

Beck swallowed, then cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away to stare down at the cushion creased under Dahlia's knee. Every fabric of his being screamed against it, but Beck hesitantly grabbed the earpads of his headphones to slowly take them off.

“Where will I g—?” the song lamented, before getting cut off for overpowering silence.

“Beck?” Dahlia's voice interrupted, warm and gentle. “Everything okay?”

A wave of relief flooded over him.

Relaxing and smiling weakly, Beck hesitantly looked back up to meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, “just… was working on some stuff.”

Dahlia's soft smile grew faintly teasing. Then, she shifted to sit in his lap, her knees propped up against the cushions outside of his legs. Her hand moved from Beck's shoulder to his cheek as the other went to the backrest over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” Dahlia asked, her tease leaking into her voice. “Like what?”

Beck felt his face flush as he pressed his cheek into her hand.

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, he turned his face away as he placed his headphones to the side and awkwardly wrapped his arm around her. It pulled her close as he stared hard at the headphones, still faintly emitting sound.

“Just… helping out around the hurricane,” Beck said, his voice subtly thick. “You know… without making it too obvious.”

He let out a small, pained laugh, then closed his eyes as he sank his cheek completely into her hand.

Beck's exhaustion leaked into his voice as he added: “not that anyone would question it, anyways. They just thank whatever god they believe in… or consider it ‘miraculous’ and move on…”

The entire couch shifted as Dahlia moved.

Beck tensed slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly opened his eyes and turned his head to once again look at Dahlia.

His wife shifted to fully sit in his lap, leaning her forearms into his chest, cupping her hands around his cheeks, and meeting his eyes with a warm, loving smile.

“Awe, that’s sweet of you, Beck,” she said, voice slightly teasing still.

Then her eyes closed, and she leaned forward.

Beck took a deep breath before following her example.

Dahlia's hands dropped from his cheeks to rub against his chest as she kissed him gently, then slowly deepened it.

Beck struggled to breathe, but carefully kissed her back. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he lifted her just enough to cross his legs under her and pull her close.

Dahlia paused the kiss—and Beck opened his eyes, though hers remained shut—to speak lightly against his lips.

“Did you know that?” she asked.

He swallowed awkwardly, looking down, not knowing how to answer.

She didn’t give him the time to figure it out. Instead, she quickly went back to kissing him, moving her hands up his chest and to his cheeks, where she rubbed his jaw with her thumbs.

Taking a slow, unsteady breath through his nose, Beck pulled her even closer and tried to just enjoy the kiss.

I love you, Ver, he wanted to say.

But he bit it back, giving her the moment to do whatever she wanted.

Instead, Dahlia pulled away after kissing him for a few more seconds. Her hands moved from his cheeks to his chest again as he met his eyes with another warm smile.

Beck was too caught up in watching every subtle shift in her expression to recognize his own relief.

“I reserved a restaurant for us to eat at tonight,” Dahlia said, a slight, sly smile on her lips. “Bistro Minuit is your favorite, right?”

Face flushing again—hotter this time—Beck hesitantly tore his eyes from hers to stare at the floor, past her hip. At the same time, he moved a hand from her lower back to place it over one of hers on his chest.

“Yeah,” Beck said awkwardly, his voice thick.

Then he gave a weak, dry chuckle, closing his eyes.

“It’s still open?” he asked, his voice weakly amused. “With how fast time goes by—”

“Uxi,” Dahlia interrupted gently. One of her hands—the one not trapped under his—moved to cup itself around his cheek again.

Beck froze, his breath catching in his throat as he quickly returned his eyes to hers.

But Dahlia still had her warm, slightly-teasing smile on her lips.

Her tease leaked into her voice as she answered: “of course it’s still open. I just told you I made reservations, didn’t I?”

Beck's heart twisted, but Dahlia's face was still soft, easygoing.

“—And, besides, I make sure of these things, you know that,” she finished warmly.

She seems fine. Nothing to worry about.

Beck forced a weak smile in return, but then sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and sank his cheek into her hand again. At the same time, he moved his hand from the one on his chest to cup it over hers on his cheek, lovingly sandwiching it between his cheek and hand.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice thick, but level. “You’re right. Sorry, I’d… I’d like that.”

Feel free to share your thoughts below, regardless of what they are.

Unless, yknow, they're "wtf are you writing; stfu". Or "men can't be abused." Keep that kinda shit out.

This is a very heavy story, and will touch on heavy topics... even if only through implication.

(Also to those of you who recognize their names... 🙂)

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

taglist

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @corinneglass @friedmiu

@caffeinated-starsailor @overwhelmedfernfrond @write-with-will @theink-stainedfolk @industrialideafactory

@waflof @apenasumlug4r @thebookishkiwi @casualtriumphinfluencer @pluppsauthor

@homeforinsomniacs

(interact with this post to join the taglist)

divider by @cafekitsune

[thecreelhouse]

I was waiting to reply when my attention wasn’t all over the place but then it got lost in my notifications so my bad BUT ANYWAY

Thank you so much!!!!! Ugh your reactions have been so fun to read, it’s so exciting whenever anyone else likes Frankie too 🥹😭 I wanna give her the world but Steve’s got that covered already lol

also thank you SOOOOOO much for saying that abt how I write Steve 😭 I always worry it’s like way too ooc so that means so freaking much

I’m so so glad you’ve been enjoying this, thank you again for the detailed and sweetest comments 😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

accident prone

part four - hold me in the dark

Paring: Steve Harrington x Francesca “Frankie” Amato (fem!OC)

Summary: The bond between Steve and Frankie continues to grow, alongside a poorly hidden secret. Despite it all, the two continue to find the sunshine breaking through clouds they force apart.

WC: 10k+

Includes: a whole lot of hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, language, disability, fibromyalgia, lupus, discussion of medical trauma, treatments, flare ups, caretaking, bad flirting and more friends to lovers nonsense, more blooming friendships!! (apologies if i miss anything, I’ll add if necessary!) basically, this one’s heavy, take caution before reading.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist

the end - halsey

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“if you knew it was the end of the world / could you love me like a child? / could you hold me in the dark? if you knew it was the end of the world / would you like to stay a while? / would you leave when it gets hard?”

A/N: thank you to anyone who has stuck with this series. I cannot express how much that means to me, even if it’s only a handful of y’all still here. originally, this part was 11k, then I split it to balance some scenes out, but it still ended up at 10k anyway. I wanted to explore with Frankie’s past, how her and Steve grow closer, and how she fits in with everyone. apologies to anyone I told this would be the happy, fluffy part 😭 it’ll be part 5, promise. it’s been cathartic to write this. I hope you still enjoy this if you read <3

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It’s been one month—give or take— since Steve opened up to Frankie about everything regarding his past. The more they trust one another, the harder it gets for Steve to push his feelings aside. 

Steve’s never done aqua therapy before, but the mere thought of not having to feel pressure on his joints for a few hours a week had him elated.

The running theme of water aerobics, and any sort of therapeutic aqua activity, is that the popularity lies among elderly folks. So what a pleasant surprise it was for him to walk into the physical therapy center’s pool, eyes landing on Frankie among a bunch of older folks.

What a fucking relief.

Steve, who once had no concern showing off his body while swimming, covers himself in an old t-shirt with his swim trunks, hiding the worst of his scars. He notices the one piece Frankie wears, with the shorts nearly reaching her knees, t-shirt draped over her figure; the cotton weighed down with water exposes her shoulder a bit. He catches a glimpse of a blotchy, mottled pattern; his lingering stare is one second too long, hinting to her to cover the exposed spot, and she does.

“Steve!” She waves excitedly from the pool at him, losing grip of the foam weight in her other hand; it bounces out of the water, splashing her face. She frowns comically as she giggles, while a chuckle rises out of Steve, too.

“Hey, Frankie,” Making his way to the bench near her end of the pool, he’s rubbing the back of his neck, another one of his nervous habits; he shoots a half-smile her way. “Didn’t realize we were scheduled at the same time.”

About to respond, Frankie’s cut off by one of the elderly women swimming up beside her. “Francesca, I didn’t know your boyfriend would be here!”

Her face flushes red, eyes wide as saucers, “Wh— Louise! He’s not—“

“She—“ Steve shakes his head and hands in front of him, “We’re just friends.” He has to refrain from wincing at his and Frankie’s words.

That stings to say out loud.

Louise hums, amused. “Mhm, and Percy’s just my friend, too.” She smiles with kind, knowing eyes at Frankie, cheeks round as she chuckles. Then she looks over to Steve and winks as she swims away. “You kids have fun!”

“Louise, it’s physical therapy,” Frankie quips, hands on her hips as she narrows her eyes at the older woman. “You need to get out more if you think this is fun.”

“Can’t! The polka club’s closed for renovations!” She cackles before joining her group on the far side of the pool. Frankie turns back to Steve with a cherry red blush sweeping across her face, matching his own embarrassment, visible in his bright red cheeks.

“I can’t even be mad,” She rolls her eyes with a growing grin. “She’s literally me if I reach that age.”

Almost laughing, Steve catches her peculiar wording. “If?”

Frankie’s face drops, mouth opening to explain, but Steve’s physical therapist comes over, introducing himself before leading Steve to the other end of the pool, where the water treadmill is. He glances back at Frankie, trying to convey through his stare that this isn’t something he’s letting slide.

“Francesca! Jets are open if you want to use ‘em,” Louise breaks her thoughts, and as thrilled as she would be to use the massage jets after a round of PT, they just had to place them right next to the water treadmill.

Reluctantly, she swims over to the wall with the jets, avoiding eye contact with Steve, only feet away. He, on the other hand, won’t take his eyes off her.

There’s a murmur between Frankie and Louise, leaving Frankie cherry red under her freckles all over again as she swims off once more. Rolling her eyes, Frankie turns the jets on, but the pressure comes out heavy and rapid; Louise being the powerhouse of an elderly woman she is, forgot to turn down the settings for the younger woman. 

“Jesus Christ, Louise,” Gripping the wall, she winces as the force of water nearly pushes her over, giggling through the pain. She turns the settings down, playfully glaring at the older woman as she gets out. “Always has to have the jets on full blast.”

To someone healthy and fit, the pressure of the massage jets wouldn’t be an issue, but Steve knows how it feels to ache on a bad day, just from wearing certain clothes. Clearly, the pressure’s enough to bother her.

“Sorry, kiddo!” Louise grimaces as she apologizes, wrapping herself in a towel twice her size, perching on a bench nearby.

“It’s fi—“ Frankie sucks in a sharp breath as she tries using the jets again, eyes scrunching shut as her body tenses up. Even on the lowest setting, the pressure is almost unbearable. Steve’s never seen her react like this to anything uncomfortable.

“‘Key, you alright?” Screw the water treadmill, he can’t take seeing her in pain; he swims off and makes his way over to her. “Hey, look at me,” Steve tries leading Frankie away from the rush of water, hands slipping into hers as gently as possible. 

“Yeah, m’fine,” She croaks out with her eyes still shut, throat tight as she fights back tears. “Just need to get out.”

“Here, let me h—“

“N- no, it’s good, you should finish your session,” She slips out of his grasp, wading through the water to the steps. “I overdid it today, s’all.”

Steve’s left in the water alone, while Frankie cautiously navigates her way to the bench holding her towel; Louise shuffles over to help the younger woman, leading her to the locker room. Glancing back at Steve, she nods with a reassuring look that Frankie’s in good hands. He figures as much from the little interaction he witnessed between the two, but it’s not much easier jumping back into physical therapy with worry clouding his mind.

Still, he tries his best to continue his session without letting new anxieties eat away at his mind. He tries his best to stay focused, make it through the next hour. He tries his best to believe if something was wrong, Frankie wouldn’t hide it from him.

 That’s all Steve can do— try, try, try.

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Since PT, Steve hasn’t heard from Frankie. It had only been a day, and today, he had off because of a follow-up appointment he had scheduled. He tried calling the night before, but never got an answer. It’s hard not to panic, not to assume the worst, especially after the comment she let slip without explanation.

“She’s literally me if I reach that age.”

If. If. If.

The word bounced around in his brain since the passing comment was made; what did she mean by ‘if’?

“Steve?”

Snapping back to reality, he jerks his head up to find Dr. Amato glancing at him with concern.

“So- sorry. What was your question?”

“How did physical therapy go?”

Does he know what happened to Frankie? Should I say something? No. That’s not what he asked. Don’t get distracted.

“It was… alright.” His stare falls to the floor, rolling his ankles in circles as his legs hang off the exam table he sits on.

Dr. Amato crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Just alright?”

“No— I mean— it was good, just not…” He trails off, conflicted on what to say. He wants to tell the doctor he liked the concept of aqua therapy, that he wants to continue it, and from the little bit he could focus on, he thinks it could help. But there’s no way of mentioning that without mentioning Frankie. He settles on, “It was good.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Would you want to continue sessions?”

Steve nods, trying to push his concern for Frankie to the back of his mind. “Yeah. S’kinda nice not having to worry about pressure on my joints for an hour a week,” He laughs weakly. It’s not a lie, he really does like that part of PT.

“How comfortable are you with multiple sessions a week? Or do you want to keep it at one per week?”

As great as the water felt on his joints, the exercises kicked his ass; he’d be worn out more often than not if he did PT more than once a week. “Maybe one, until I get used to it? Is that… can we do that?”

“Kid, you know your body better than anyone else would,” The doctor doesn’t sound condescending, it’s something he stands by firmly. “We can start with sessions once a week, but if and when you decide you’re ready, we can add more as necessary. That sound good?”

Heavy concerns on his mind aside, it’s still so refreshing to have a doctor that not only cares, but believes him, too.

“Absolutely,” He gives the doctor a weak smile, but it’s genuine, at least. 

Dr. Amato finishes writing in Steve’s chart. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

Steve shakes his head, “No, I think we covered everything”. Even though it’s his second time here, he feels so at ease to open up about his health ailments without fear of judgement.

The doctor clears his throat, closing Steve’s file, chair creaking as he leans back. “Steve, off the record, can I ask something? You don’t have to talk about this either if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Uh, n- no— I mean yeah! Yes.”

Dr. Amato sighs, crossing his arms again. “I’m asking this as Frankie’s father, not as a medical professional: how has she been doing, really?”

Eyes widening, Steve’s mind spins. What does he mean by that?

“Is— is this about the physical therapy thing?” 

“The wh— oh, boy. I wasn’t even aware of anything happening there,” He runs a hand down his face, reminding Steve of Hopper. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything, you’re both adults. But I figured I’d ask you noticed anything… different lately, since you’re friends, and co-workers.”

Steve’s brows furrow, fidgeting with the edges of his sweatshirt’s sleeves. “I- I’m not sure what that means.”

“To put it bluntly, I believe she’s experiencing a pretty intense flare-up, but she refuses to tell me. I know asking you is strange, and again, no pressure to confide in me about anything, but you’re the closest person to Francesca these days.”

Me? What about her other friends?

Then it dawns on Steve; she never talks about other friends. Does Frankie have anyone in her life outside of Steve, or her father? What about Rhi and Cade?

From what Frankie has told Steve, he knows she trusts her dad. She has a good relationship with him, but also worries about him. Maybe that’s why he’s left in the dark on something occurring, but Steve is, too. If it’s for her well being, he’ll discuss the little he knows, or witnessed. 

“Only thing I’ve noticed was what happened yesterday. She was in a lot of pain… more than usual. The— those massage jets in the pool, they hurt her, and—“ He can feel empathy weighing heavy on his heart for her as he recalls the moment. “I… if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen her in that much pain. At least she’s never shown it that visibly before.”

Dr. Amato sighs heavily as he nods, and Steve hopes he hasn’t said too much.

“I hate asking this of you, Steve, because you’ve got your own chronic illness to worry about, but would you mind checking in with her when you can? Not asking you to snitch, or anything,” He gives his own uneasy, nervous laugh. “But if anything of… concern comes up, I—“ He shakes his head, gathering his files, giving Steve a somber look. “It’s her story to tell, not mine. Just don’t be afraid to push her to get help, if she needs. Please. I feel you’ll have an easier time convincing her than I would.”

This isn’t a parent pushing their responsibilities to care for their child, even as a full grown adult, off onto someone else; this is a single parent, probably neck deep in work, running out of options to get his only child to be honest about just how severe things have become. He lost his wife, Frankie’s mother, to a sickness not even treatment could save her from. He must be terrified of even the possibility to watch that replay with his own daughter.

Steve also cares about Frankie, really, really cares deeply about her, so it’s a no-brainer response.

“Absolutely, Dr. Amato. I- I’d do—“ Steve, don’t say it. Don’t get emotional. “I’d do anything if it meant keeping Frankie safe.”

Goddammit, why can’t you shut your mouth for once?

Dr. Amato stands, towering over Steve, concern still written all over his face, but a flicker of hope and some kind of ease, too. “I know, Steve. She probably won’t tell you, but the friendship you two have is one of the best things to happen to her in a long while.” He shakes Steve’s hand, which Steve finds out of place in a conversation like this, but assumes the doctor is just taking the professional route. “Thanks, kid. I’ll see you in a month for a follow up, but don’t hesitate to call if you need.”

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The following day, Steve was surprised to find Frankie so upbeat when he entered the record shop. She’s sweeping along the tiled floor, singing along to the music pumping through the speakers, a little off key, but it brings a smile to Steve’s face to see her doing better today.

At least, that’s how it seems.

She’s bopping her head along, dancing lazily, sometimes humming along to the words she doesn’t know; she’s lost in whatever song fills the shop, with a distracted smile on her face.

“In my darkest dreams I see, you’re much closer now to me. I have got you in my hair, I can feel you ‘round me everywhere.”

Steve’s mesmerized by the pure joy she’s radiating, completely enveloped in her own little world, unaware the door’s bell chimed out, or that he’s just standing there, unable to tear his eyes away. In fact, when she spins around, she’s immediately startled at the sight of Steve, dropping the broom as she yelps.

“Christ, Steve, you can’t sneak up on me like that!” She clutches her chest, heart about to beat out of her chest, only to dissolve into a fit of giggles. He smiles apologetically with a shrug. “Hope you didn’t hear too much of my bad singing.”

“Who cares— you should hear me singing along to whatever’s on the radio on road trips,” He hands Frankie her coffee; it’s his day to grab their orders. He loves this small routine they’ve fallen into, but today was one of the many lately where Cade and Rhi tease the hell out of him for not telling Frankie how he feels. Seriously? Does everyone know except her? He shakes the thoughts from his mind, focusing back on her. “Usually Robin’s ready to kick me out of the moving car, and I’m the one always driving.”

Frankie pauses mid-sip of her peculiar yet regular iced coffee order, snorting over Steve’s words.

“Just wait ‘til we drive somewhere for awhile, I think you’ll get sick of me real quick. If I’m not singing obnoxiously, I’ll talk your ear off.”

I’d never get sick of that, or you. 

She’s just joking along, but Steve finds himself shaking his head, softly replying, “No way. I- I’d like it.” A gentle smile floats across his face, followed by a deep blush, stammering to explain, “Y’know, I- like— if we took a trip somewhere— together— I mean, duh, together, you said that, it’s—“ Jesus, Steve. Shut. Up.

Frankie’s smirking at him. “I’d like that too.” She sets her coffee down on the nearest surface, bending down to pick the broom back up. Any happiness visible vanishes in an instant as she tries to get back up, not making it very far; the broom slips from her grasp as her legs give out, sending her crashing to the floor. Thankfully, it was a short fall, but she curses under her breath, face twisting up in the same discomfort Steve witnessed days ago.

He sets his stuff aside, dropping to the floor. “Shit. You okay? Here,” He holds his hands out, but she swats them away; he wasn’t expecting that, leaving him stunned.

“I can do it. M’fine,” She huffs, looking away, embarrassed. 

“‘Key, I’m not saying you can’t—“ 

“It’s okay, really. I- I’m fine.” She takes her time getting back on her feet, grabbing onto a nearby sturdy shelf of CDs to lift herself back up. “See? I’m okay.”

He can’t just drop this, though. “Why won’t you let me help you, the way you help me?”

Frankie’s mouth opens to respond, but not a word comes out. There’s not much of a chance for any response anyway, not when the door’s chime sets off again. The pair turn to find Robin, Eddie and Dustin entering with big smiles on their faces. 

“Okay, surprising you here might be way better than a hospital,” Dustin snorts. 

Eddie, has no greeting, eyes going wide at the new surroundings, whispering, “Holy shit.”

“They insisted on coming here to see you two,” Robin shrugs, smirking. “I was practically held up at gunpoint. By Dustin.”

“Whoa, not cool, I’ve never once owned anything dangerous like that.”

“No, but you did wield that long electric prod that you practically stabbed that evil doctor with—“

“To save your lives!”

Steve sighs, rolling his eyes, before turning to Frankie with a hint of a smile, “Here we fuckin’ go again.” It earns a giggle out of her. If there’s anything she’ll allow him to do to make her feel better, at the very least, he’s happy he can make her laugh. Still, low enough for only her to hear, he murmurs, “I- I wanna talk about all of this later. Just you and me. Okay?”

Frankie huffs out of her nose, but her body relaxes, relenting on the defensive front she wants to hide behind. “Okay. M’sorry.”

Steve grabs her hand quick, squeezing it, “Hey, don’t be sorry. You’ve got a lot going on. S’all gonna be okay, I promise.”

“So… can I live here?” Eddie asks in a dreamy state, drinking in every little detail of the indie record shop. “This place is so fucking cool.”

Steve releases Frankie’s hand, noticing the way Robin eyes the two of them curiously. He narrows his eyes at her, and she whistles, wandering away. 

“Eddie, there’s a record store across the street from our place,” Dustin laughs, but Eddie shakes his head animatedly.

“Yeah, but it went all corporate, and shit. The world needs more hidden gems like this,” He throws his arms out, spinning around in a circle. “Not another fuckin’ Sam Goody.”

“Hey, they have good deals sometimes!” Robin argues, but Eddie flips her off, wandering to a section with guitar strings and picks. 

“You guys should just move to the city at this point, with all the trips you’re taking,” Steve’s mostly teasing, but Dustin can’t hide the shit-eating grin growing on his face.

“Funny you mention that…”

“Wait— wait, really? Henderson, I swear to god if you’re fucking with me—“

This catches Eddie’s attention, and he zips back over to the group, hands animatedly flowing as he explains, “So, okay, funny story, somehow my uncle, and his mom managed to get into some weird, long distance relationship—“

“It’s really just yearning like they’re in some gothic romance novel, writing letters to one another and shit,” Robin cuts in, snickering.

“Which would build to something, like all relationships do eventually, Buckley!” Eddie quips, rolling his eyes with a scoff. “Anyway, long story short, he wants to head to Florida, move in with her. Our lease ends in a month, and, I shit you not, Steven—“

“Don’t call me that, man.”

“… Big boy?”

“Not that either!”

Frankie, all the while, is back in a fit of giggles behind Steve; it brings a small smile to his face, one only the other three can see. 

“The apartment across the hall from yours? Available. Well, it was.”

“Basically, surprise! We’re neighbors now. Well. We’re gonna be neighbors,” Dustin’s grin grows even wider, as if that was even possible.

Steve’s heart swells with joy; he can’t believe his other best friends are moving here. Here, in the city, but also right next door. After being apart for years, aside from trips here and there to visit on another, he can’t believe they’ll all be together again. It feels right. Familiar. 

The family he found, the one that’s given him more than his family by blood ever had, ever will, will be together again. At least, partially. He misses everyone that’s moved to California. Hell, he even misses, Jonathan and Nancy, still out in New York City. But this news, his two best friends moving here, makes coping with the major changes and trauma left behind a little easier.

And he loves Robin, she’s his number one, as he is her’s, but he’s been worried he holds her back sometimes. For a while, Robin was the only friend he had out here. She gave up a lot of nights out with new friends, dates with women she’d never meet back in a small town like Hawkins, to be there for her best friend. She doesn’t regret it, and he’s thankful for any moments she’s been there for him, but the guilt has always lied underneath it all. Robin never once said or sought out to make him feel like a burden, but it was still on Steve’s mind.

Then, Frankie came along, not only a new friend, but a friend who understood him on a level no one else has or could currently. Not firsthand, at least. And sure, Eddie had his health issues, had to use mobility aids when he was recovering, and he and Steve bonded over that for a bit, but aside from the PTSD they all have— still crippling in its own ways— he’s surprisingly healed enough to not have chronic pain. Not like Steve still has. 

Frankie opened Steve’s eyes to a world where he can exist, sick but unapologetic. Trying his best, but not punching himself down for what’s out of his control. He could be disabled and happy; the two absolutely can co-exist.

It all feels like things are finally falling into place for Steve; it feels like he’s finally sighing a breath he’s held for five years. Maybe, just maybe, he can enjoy life again without dreading what’s yet to come, or feeling guilty for simply existing. Whatever’s bound to happen in the future, good or bad, he’s surrounded by his closest friends, his family.

Whatever the future brings for Steve, he can handle it now.

“You can play D&D with us again!” Dustin exclaims, fist pumping into the air.

Okay, except that.

Steve’s face reddens, eyes shifting between his friends and Frankie, laughing it off sheepishly. “Whoa, wait, I played like, three times at most—“

“Hey, man, don’t try saving face just ‘cause Frankie’s here.” Eddie smirks, eyes darting over to Frankie who looks confused. “You’re still a nerd like the rest of us.”

“I— shut up—“

“You guys play?” Everyone turns to Frankie, dead silent, and she stammers, feeling like she’s on the spot now. “I- I- used to, in school— well, when I wasn’t missing school and seeing friends ‘cause I was sick a lot, but…” She trails off with a shrug.

“See, even Frankie’s a nerd!” Dustin throws his hand out towards her, making her laugh, but he still elaborates, “That’s a compliment, I promise.”

“So why are you—“ She pokes Steve’s arm, “So offended by being called a nerd?”

“I— I’m not—“

All three of his friends respond at once:

Dustin with a deadpan, “Oh, he absolutely is offended by that, still.”

“It’s the ‘King Steve’ complex that’s still stuck like old bubblegum, probably,” Eddie jokes slyly.

“He’s in denial, more than I was when I was in the closet.” Robin taunts, laughing at her own remark.

“Wait, hang on, that’s fucked up, Rob.” Steve can’t help but laugh despite his words.

“I’m just being honest!”

“Hold on, back up, what’s this ‘King Steve’ shit?” Frankie’s so amused as the shade of embarrassment across Steve’s face spreads to his neck, only growing deeper. 

“Oh, it’s— let’s not—“ He tries shrugging it off with a ‘pffffttt’ noise and a nervous laugh. “I told you before, I- I was… not the greatest person in high school.”

“He was a dick,” Dustin bluntly points out, and Steve shoots him a glare.

“Never expected to ever become best friends with him before everything happened at Starcourt,” Robin’s honesty makes Steve shake his head. “That’s not a bad thing, dingus. Just a wild plot twist!”

“Big boy over here hated me,” Steve’s ready to fight Eddie as he speaks the truth. “If it weren’t for Dustin, he’d probably still hate me.”

“Or, you probably would’ve stabbed my neck with that fucking broken beer bottle first.”

“Whoa, man. Thought that water was under the bridge.”

“I’m just saying!”

Dustin turns to Frankie, paying no mind his two older brother figures. “Ignore those children,” She giggles while they both glare at her, then Dustin. “I wanna know what touristy things we should do before we move here.”

“We are not children! You’re the infant, Dusty Bun,” Eddie snaps back with a grin.

“Only Suzie can call me that, and you know it!”

“Well, I—“ Frankie holds her hand up to Eddie, and his jaw drops. “Are you telling me to talk to the hand?” He pulls out the dramatics, clutching his chest. “Frankie... How could you?”

“Anyway, I got lots of fun suggestions!” She turns from Dustin, eyes darting between Eddie and Steve. “No children allowed, though.”

Robin, meanwhile, is cracking up during all of this.

“What if we kiss and make up?” Eddie cracks while he waggles his brows at Steve, who rolls his eyes and reels back.

“Eddie, man, get the hell away from me.”

He simply shrugs, “Your loss.”

Dustin throws his hands up, blocking the two of them out of his sight. “Can we ditch them? I wanna ditch them.”

Steve scoffs, “You little shit—“

His one hand balls up, poking his middle finger at the two of them, attention still on Frankie.

“Actually… there is something I still haven’t tried yet,” Frankie mentions, shyness pouring out suddenly, almost worried of rejection. “If you guys are up for it, that is.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Everything’s surreal up this high from the Sears Tower, and Steve? Oddly enough, for how cautious and anxious of a person he has become, he loves this. There’s something that puts him at ease being above the city’s grid and all the chaos and routine running through it.

But Frankie? The idea in theory sounded exciting, but now that they’re all up here…

 “Oh… no, it’s— “ She eyes the window behind Steve, freezing in her tracks feet away. Tensing up, she’s nervously babbling, “I’m— you enjoy it, I’m good right here— safe— I- I’m safe here.”

Frankie keeps her distance from the window, leaning onto her cane and fidgeting with the wrist strap. She’s afraid to peer over the edge of the railing, despite the thick glass, terrified of the height they’re at.

Steve turns back around, holding his hand out to her. “C’mon, I got you.”

“Yeah but what if there’s, like, a freak accident and the glass breaks and I fall? And you’d fall, too. If we died ‘cause of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

It sounds absolutely absurd, and Frankie expects Steve to poke fun at her, but he only continues holding out his hand toward her.

“Frankie.” He gives a reassuring smile, only to crack, “You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you’re dead.”

“Steve, that’s not helping!” She laughs a little, but she’s frozen in place. Steve steps closer, hand still extended toward her.

“You’re safe, I promise.” Steve doesn’t want to push Frankie if she’s truly uncomfortable, but she’s been excitedly talking about the observation deck all day, and would hate to see her miss out on the view. “Like you told me, you won’t let anything hurt me, so I won’t let anything hurt you. I swear.”

With a trembling hand, she grasps onto his, letting Steve guide her over to the railing. She takes a deep breath as he stands behind her, glancing down toward the city’s aerial view for just a second. Eyes widening, she spins around to walk off, but bumps directly into him instead with an “oof!”.

“Nope, not so fast,” He grabs her shoulders, slowly turning her back around to stay at the window. Steve stands behind her, hands lazily gripping the railing as his arms cage her in. He leans down to her ear, murmuring, “You’re always safe with me.”

Frankie sets her cane against the railing, hands slowly sliding over his, fear-fueled trembling beginning to slow. She mutters more to herself, in reassurance, but Steve still hears it, “Safe with you.” 

Off in the distance, boats sail along the green-blue hue of the lake, while the sunshine’s reflection glitters along the surface. Standing alongside the buildings feels strange, and the view of the cars and people and trains from up here just make them look like toys. There’s not a cloud in the sky today, but Frankie’s sure if there were any, they’d be close enough to reach out and touch.

A few feet away, they hear Dustin say the timeless, “I can see my house from here!” joke. They both burst into snorts and giggles, with Steve glancing over to the kid— Dustin’s always going to be a kid to him— he’s considered a younger brother for so long now, watching the way he enthusiastically smushes his face against the glass. 

“What house? He’s literally looking out at the lake,” Steve stifles a laugh, shaking his head, as Frankie takes a quick glance over, snorting. Eddie and Robin are pressed against the glass now, searching for whatever the hell Dustin’s pointing at. They’re standing on the railing, squishing only their faces against the windows.

Her brows crinkle, head tilting with curiosity. “Why are they pressed against the glass like that?”

Steve follows her stare, then returns to her with a knowing smile, “You know that scene in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

Frankie shifts to face Steve, totally lost as her eyes meet his. “…. No.”

“Wh— are you kidding me?”

“I’ve never seen it…”

“First you tell me you’ve lived here your whole life, and never came up here until today, and now you’re telling me you’ve never seen that movie?!” She just shakes her head, smiling with a cringe. “Wanna watch it later? But only if you’re up for it, though. If you’re not feeling well, you should rest— are you feeling okay now? Shit, I should’ve asked before we got here—“

“Steve.” Frankie’s hands slip entirely away from his as she turns completely, leaning against the railing to look up at him. She’s so close, so close to him, it’d be practically effortless to lean in and kiss her.

Christ, stop thinking about that. We’re friends. Just that. Only that. Nothing else. Friends.

“I’m good aside from the fatigue, but I’m really glad we’re here, even if it’s a little scary.” She gives a nervous, soft chuckle, eyes landing on his lips, lingering for a second too long. Her eyes screw shut, nodding, “B- but I’d— yeah, I’d like that. I can’t promise I’d stay awake though.”

Now Steve’s mirroring Frankie, gaze falling to her lips, plush and pretty in the warm, soft smile she defaults to often. He sucks in a breath, forcing himself to bring his eyes back to meet her own.

“Yeah, that’s…” Steve, focus. “That’s fine. Maybe it’s better to hang at your place then, in case you need to rest. I- if that’s okay with you, of course.”

She hums in agreement, turning back to the window. Her hands slide back over his, “I’d like that a lot. All of us, right?”

While he was hoping for some alone time, it makes him happy to know she’s comfortable around his friends. Her friends, too. She glances back over to the other three, a smile pulling wider across her features as she watches them laugh and joke about god knows what.

“Your friends are fun to be around.” Frankie’s staring out to the skyscrapers nearby, gradually shrinking closer and closer to the ground the farther she looks out. Her thumbs sweep across the backs of Steve’s hands subconsciously; they still tremble a little, but the contact of her hands on his keeps her grounded. “Thank you for always including me.”

“They’re your friends too, y’know.”

“Oh I— I didn’t want to assume—“

Steve shakes his head, even though she can’t see. “You’re a part of this little, weird… whatever the hell kind of friend group we’ve got going on here.” He chuckles, “Unless it’s too weird for you, then I totally get it.”

Frankie tilts her head up and back, trying to look at Steve, grinning, “Yeah, ‘cause I’m the definition of normal.”

The way her eyes crinkle in her smile, nose scrunching as she teases, all Steve wants to do is lean down and kiss her, even if the angle is awkward. 

Quit thinking about kissing her, don’t make it weird.

 It’s such a strange, grey space to float in; they’re so comfortable around one another, with touches that aren’t fleeting anymore, they linger. They’ve been flirting, mostly teasing one another, displaying little acts of affection that stick with Steve for days— but nothing has come from it. Nothing more, at least.

Even if he and Frankie were stuck in this cycle of friends with a hint of more, he’d be happy. He longs for more, but he’s just grateful to know her, bonded together by unique circumstances. By now, Steve’s learned not to depend on one person for happiness, but is it such a crime to naturally feel elated by someone’s presence, and how well they flow with you?

“S’pretty from up here.”

“See? Not so scary, huh?”

She shakes her head and speaks faintly, it’s barely even a whisper, “Not with you.” Making the move first, she spreads his fingers apart with her own, lacing them together while still resting her palms against the backs of his hands.

There’s something. This has to be something.

Steve doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate before he gently kisses the top of her head.

Frankie’s blushing wildly, though he can’t see, and feigning disgust through a scoff, “Gross, Steve.” She giggles as she squeezes his hands, while he scoffs a laugh.

“I’ll remember that, Amato.”

“Shh, Steve, shut up, I’m busy sightseeing” She’s shaking as she tries holding back more laughter, pointing to the lake. “Oh! I can see my house from here!”

“See!” Dustin shouts. “Frankie gets it!”

Yeah, ‘Key, you fit right in.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Frankie finally watches Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and giggles throughout the entire movie, sharing a loveseat with Steve. The two inch closer to one another over time, and halfway through the second movie, Poltergeist, she’s hiding her eyes behind her fingers. Steve teasingly pulls her hands from her face, so she ducks her head into his chest.

“We can turn it off if you want,” He whispers to her, but she shakes her head.

“No, I love horror movies, m’just a big wimp,” She rolls her eyes at herself, despite Steve barely being able to see it. 

“Think you might’ve picked this one just to have an excuse to cuddle,” He bravely teases, hoping it’s not a touch too far. Relief floods through him as she snuggles into him even more.

She tilts her head up and glares back at him playfully. “Maybe… maybe not.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie hisses from the couch he’s sprawled out on. “Can you two lovebirds shut up?”

Both Frankie and Steve sit up with defenses, “We’re not like that—“ and “He’s— we’re friends!”

“Yeah, and I’m straight,” Robin mutters from the floor, earning a cackle from Dustin over in the recliner. 

Sighing in annoyance, Steve lays back down, pulling Frankie with him as her face turns red. Embarrassment and irritation flows between the two of them. Their friends mean well, really, they do; it’s just lighthearted teasing. Yet it still tugs at the reminder for Steve to not get caught up in feelings that won’t be reciprocated.

Yawning, Frankie wraps her arms around Steve’s waist, face resting and squishing up against his chest to watch the movie, but it’s not long before she’s fast asleep.

This isn’t new, not Frankie falling asleep on, or near Steve, at least. It hasn’t happened in front of his friends, though, and his interest in the movie is long gone, now focusing it all on the girl he’s been falling terribly hard for. 

As Steve plays with Frankie’s hair gently, sinking into the pillows so, so carefully, trying to get comfortable without waking her, attentive to any faint noises she makes in her sleep, worried she’s going to wake up in more pain— he has no clue his friends are watching him.

Robin notices first, catching in the corner of her eye the awkward way Steve shifts against the cushions, throwing his legs over the armrest, holding Frankie close to him. She snores once, so softly, but it makes Steve smile. His fingers run up and down her spine, slowly, gently, ghosting their touch along her back in patterned caresses. His own eyes begin to grow heavy, and he fights sleep a few times, only to drift off regardless; one hand is woven in her hair, his other arm wrapped snug around her waist, keeping her secure against his own body.

Turning back to the others, Robin finds Dustin and Eddie admiring the two of them together, too.

“We should probably head out,” Dustin whispers as the older two nod. 

They collect their things, let the tape play through, quietly slinking out of Frankie’s apartment. On the way out, Robin sticks a note on Steve’s forehead, holding back a snicker as he scrunches his face up in his sleep.

Eddie quietly closes the door behind them, glancing up at Robin and Dustin once the door clicks shut.

“I know you guys have been friends with him longer, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so… comfortable with someone else.”

They make their way out of the building, with Robin agreeing, “Yeah, neither have I. Haven’t seen him this content with anyone in years.”

“Not even with Nancy, honestly,” Dustin adds.

There’s a silence that falls over them as they head down the sidewalk. They’re all thinking the same thing, but Eddie still has to ask.

“Do you think he—“

“Yeah, he totally does,” Robin cuts Eddie off.

Dustin just smiles knowingly. He’s called it, they all have from the start. Steve’s the last to know, the last to figure it out, like always, but he’ll get there. He always does.

This time, though, when Steve falls, Frankie will be there to catch him. They just know it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

A few days later, Steve comes into the shop, enjoying the warmth of another beautiful spring morning; he makes his way through the quiet, dark store while sunlight’s beginning to peek through the windows, spilling across the rows of records.

I could’ve sworn Frankie said she’s opening today, he wonders if he read his calendar wrong. The faint sound of weeping that floats out of the dark break room shoves that thought aside.

True to his personality, Steve rushes in, panicked and ready to protect his friend from whatever has her upset.  Frankie’s on the worn, beat up couch, head in her hands as she folds forward to her knees. The lights are off in the room, and he wonders if that was intentional.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” He drops his stuff on the floor, sliding onto the couch next to her. He’s ready to throw a comforting arm around her, but pauses, just to double check, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Frankie sits up, quick to wipe her tears away. “I- I’m fine. It’s all good.” Her voice wavers, betraying her words. She won’t look at him, but she looks exhausted from what Steve can observe. Her bottom lip trembles, so she curls it inward, but her eyes crinkle at the edges as tears taunt her, ready to fall all over again.

“You’re not good,” Steve holds out an arm, signaling her to sink into his embrace, if it helps. She does, because it does help. She leans into him, and the tears start all over again. “You told me I had to be honest about what hurts me, I need you to be honest about your pain, too.”

“S’just a flare up.”

“Flare ups can be a big deal, ‘Key.”

“Well, I don’t want it to be a big deal!” Steve can empathize with her stubbornness; it’s so disheartening to do well for some time, just to crash into a flare up once again. It’s a constant, cruel reminder you’ll never be healthy. You’ll never get better. “I wish you’d drop it, Steve. I- I know you care, but I’m fine.”

It must be bad enough if she’s in denial like this.

Steve’s been doing what he can to learn more about lupus, to help comfort Frankie where he can in times like this; life has been hell for him with fibromyalgia alone, he can’t begin to imagine the pain and suffering Frankie feels with lupus. She carries herself so well most days, carefree and spirited, always smiling and cracking corny jokes or shooting off her sarcasm, while carrying love for everyone and everything good in her life.

If it weren’t for the tell-tale signs of a flare up, or using a mobility aid, one would never guess she’s sick from a quick glance, or brief interaction.

“What if I take over today? You can go home and rest—“

“No,” Her voice is firm, bitter, and doesn’t match her current appearance at all. Her ruined makeup has dried in streaks running down her face. Steve frowns, realizing she’s not herself at all.

“No?”

She sits up, eyes heavy with fatigue, and Steve notices the faint butterfly rash spreading rosy red across her features. Tenderly, the back of his hand rests against her forehead, eyes widening at the sudden temperature change.

“Jesus Christ, ‘Key, you’re burning up.”

“I know m’hot, don’t gotta tell me,” She jokes with a weak smile, if even existent at all. The faint smile flips into a frown with ease. “Steve, I never got your coffee— fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

While alternating days of ordering each other’s coffees became a pleasant routine for Steve, it’s the last of his concerns right now, though.

“It’s just coffee, that’s not a big…” Bloodshot, glassy orbs glance back at him, breaking his heart. Hands cupping her own, he gives a gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay, ‘Key. Seriously. Please don’t beat yourself up over that.” The fever’s getting to her— hell, this entire flare up probably has her on edge. Steve knows even when he has a cold, everything feels distant mentally; he can only imagine how rough a fever is along with other flare up symptoms.

“But I… I forgot.” 

Outside of flare ups, Frankie’s memory is usually sharp as a tack. Now, though, she’s lost in a fog of pain and a hint of delirium. 

“Hey, honey, it’s okay,” Steve surprises himself when the endearing term comes out with ease. “Do you still want— shit, wait, you probably shouldn’t have coffee right now— “ He squeezes his eyes shut, stammering, “Fuck, uh— tea? Maybe that’ll help, might be soothing. Would that work?”

“I got some at home, but I’m okay, Steve. I just need a second. B- but I can open today,” She’s up, and only on her feet for a second, reaching out to steady herself on something. Like the very first day they met, Steve acts quickly, catching her as she stumbles. Unlike that day, though, this time is worrying him.

“You’re not okay, and you’re not working today.” Steve’s tone is firm as he helps Frankie sit down safely. He kneels on the floor before her, hand slipping under her chin to lift her gaze up to his. “You’re not riding this fever out on a damn break room couch, either.”

Much to his surprise, she doesn’t argue back. Maybe the fatigue and aching has worn her down to nearly a shell of her usual upbeat, independent self. Defeated, she asks with one word, “Home?”

If cradling one another’s faces with their hands was an Olympic sport, both Frankie and Steve would be tied for gold. Both of his hands hold her face gingerly as he nods.

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

“No,” Her head shakes. Wrapping her fingers around his wrists weakly, she asks with bleary eyes, “Come home with me?”

There’s a pang in his heart; the sweetly phrased question is laced in pain and fatigue, and in another timeline, where Frankie and Steve are healthy, it’d be one to send his heart racing with excitement. Instead, it’s broken, tangled in the grief that comes along with yet another flare up.

Yet another reminder one never fully gets better with illnesses like these.

He gives her a pensive smile, “F’course, ‘Key.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“You ever wish you could share your headphones with someone?” Frankie’s peering out her open bedroom window from her bed. She looks so cozy in a loose sweatshirt and gym shorts, nursing a cup of tea Steve made for her. The Tylenol she took seems to be kicking in, which is a relief to Steve; her temperature earlier read 101 degrees, just above being a low grade fever.

There’s a comforting, gentle breeze coming from the window, giving her some relief from overheating.

Steve’s face crinkles with confusion as he laughs. “What?” He’s on the opposite end of her bed, wearing the same pair of sweats she let him use the first time he came over, tea mug sitting empty on the windowsill.

 “Yeah… like, when you wanna listen to the same tape with them, or something?”

“… Just use a stereo?”

“Not the same! There’s something intimate about sharing your favorite song with someone in real time, y’know?”

No, he wouldn’t. He’s never been into music enough— nor have his past partners and friends— to think about something sweet like that. Maybe Robin or Eddie would find it fun, but they all have vastly different tastes in music.

“I- I wouldn’t know.”

“Someone should make headphones, but they go inside your ears,” She turns to Steve, golden hour of the day’s sunset gleaming over her worn features. How the hell is she always so beautiful? “Like, little, tiny earplug-like headphones,” She pinches her thumb and index fingers together, holding them by her ear. “And they’d be connected by a wire on each, right? So it’d be so easy to share with someone else. Each person uses one of the earplug-headphone-thingies.”

He teases, “Oh, is that the patented name for it?”

“Yeah! M’gonna invent it. You just wait,” She sets her mug next to Steve’s, sinking under the covers a little further with a sigh, eyes heavy with fatigue. “Then we can share our favorite songs together.”

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Steve’s captivated by the sunlight gleaming along her figure; even covered in blankets and comfy layers, there’s something angelic about the scene of her before him.

“So, we gotta wait ‘til you invent those headphones?” He scoots to her side of the bed, sliding under the covers next to her. 

“Earplug-headphone-thingies, Steven,” She corrects him.

“Just because you’re in a flare up doesn’t mean you get to throw my full name around like that.”

“You’re right, it’s unfair if I don’t know your middle name.” She rolls towards him, poking his chest, “Spill it, Harrington.”

“Absolutely not, Francesca.”

“That’s another quarter.”

“Jesus, have some mercy, will ya’?”

“Hm… might spare you if you hold me.”

“You’re asking for a lot,” Despite his teasing, Steve winds his arms around Frankie, bringing her closer. She’s still too warm, but it’s not as intense as earlier, thankfully. He’s just above a whisper as he asks, “How’re you feeling?”

She sighs, tucking her face into his shoulder, “Honestly, I feel terrible.” She falls into silence, long enough that Steve wonders if she fell asleep.

“‘Key?”

“Y’know, the night you told me about everything… with Hawkins, and the Upside Down… when I found you outside, you told me you didn’t want me to see you like that.” Frankie’s on the edge of a mirthless chuckle, “I remember thinking that we’re both sick, we’re bound to see the worst of one another’s illnesses at some point… but now I can’t stop feeling the same as you did— I really never wanted you to see me like this.”

“You’re right, it’s kinda inevitable two sick friends would see each other at their lowest points, but that won’t drive me away.”

“That’s the thing, though. We’re both sick. What happens when our flare ups occur at the same time? Even if you’re not in a flare, you’re still in pain. I feel awful that you’re pushing yourself to take care of me.”

That doesn’t matter when you love someone.

Steve’s grateful Frankie can’t see his face right now, eyes wide as saucers as the truth finally collides with his thoughts he won’t dare to speak aloud. He prays she can’t feel the way his heartbeat practically stops, or how he’s holding his breath, afraid to exhale a confession.

… Oh.

He can’t tell her; even if he wanted to, this isn’t the time right now. So now he has to sit with this revelation in silence, shove it to the farthest corner of his mind. And really, is it even much of a revelation to begin with? He’s known about his feelings toward Frankie for months now, but to effortlessly think about caring for her as an act of love, that’s… that’s new.

How the hell do I tell her without actually telling her?

 “You’re always caring for me through your pain, let me do the same for you.” Steve’s fingers run through her hair, ever so gently, afraid he’ll hurt her somehow in such a vulnerable state. “I care about you, Frankie. A lot.”

“That’s what scares me.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?”

Frankie rolls onto her stomach, crossing her arms in front of her on the pillow before resting her chin on them, eyes refusing to meet Steve’s.

“Five years ago you were leaving behind the worst shit you’ve ever experienced,” She doesn’t give into crying, despite the way her voice wavers and bottom lip wobbles, ever so slightly, in a pout. “Five years ago, I had the worst flare up of my life. I never went through one so intense before that.”

Steve turns to her, arm still draped over her torso lazily. He stays quiet, ready to listen, fingers tracing slow circles on her back.

“Usually, it was joint pain, some mild inflammation in spots, the rash I have on my face now, low grade fevers— common, mild lupus symptoms.” She sounds so worn down, but holds strong. “But the worst flare up went beyond all of that. It just got worse, and worse; I had rashes that turned into sores all over, fatigue made it literally impossible to stay awake, I was losing hair, and I couldn’t walk much without my legs giving out. That alone made me severely depressed, too. Just a constant cycle of bracing myself for the worst, and worrying if it’d ever get better or not.

“The usual meds I took weren’t enough. Nothing was getting better. I woke up one morning and couldn’t physically leave bed, like m- my legs would not move.” She tilts her face into her arms, trying to hide what she can of her face as tears threaten to break. “I was paralyzed, Steve. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.”

It’s as if the oxygen was sucked out of the room instantly; Steve feels his heart sink as his breathing hitches in place. He can’t wrap his head around how terrifying that must’ve been for her. How terrifying it’d be for anyone.

“And, y’know, like a stubborn idiot, I tried hiding it from my dad, but that just earned me an ambulance trip and upsetting him more than I was trying to avoid to begin with. I didn’t want him to worry, but that backfired. He still worries so much, and maybe that’s ‘cause he’s— I- I don’t know, it sounds stupid, but I think he’s afraid to lose me the way he lost my mom.”

That would explain why Dr. Amato felt panicked enough to ask Steve to step in and check on Frankie. It explains why she’s so quick to shrug off her own pain.

“It’s not stupid at all, Frankie. He worries because he cares, it’s what parents do.”

Except mine.

Steve shoves that thought away, too; again, not the time. “So… what happened? What caused it? How— sorry, this is gonna sound ignorant, but how are you able to walk now?” 

“Damn, Harrington, one question at a time.” She breaks into a faint smile, one that Steve is relieved to catch a glimpse of. “Myelitis. My spinal cord was inflamed, and that causes a whole fuck-ton of problems, like partial or full paralysis. My limbs would go numb sometimes, or tingle like when your foot falls asleep, but I couldn’t shake it off. Made my arms and legs weak, and the pain was a nightmare. I was lucky enough to get treated in time to make a decent recovery, but it’s why I still can’t control my hands sometimes,” She laughs with an eye roll, but it’s bitter and short, “Like when I dropped my damn coffee.”

Steve figures as much, but it comes full circle when he remembers a conversation he and Frankie had the first day they spent together.

“Do you just paint as a hobby?”

“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything.” 

He can still hear the disappointment and grief in her admission of giving up on a dream.

“Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”

Frankie finally opening up only makes that memory even more gut wrenching to think about.

“Is that why you couldn’t become a tattooist?” 

She only nods, balling up the ends of her sleeves in her fists, squeezing the fabric in her palms roughly.

“Took months to recover, with a ton of physical therapy and IV treatments, since my meds weren’t working. I used a wheelchair for awhile, sometimes still do on my worst days… but things are— were going so well lately,” Frankie still won’t look at Steve, but even from what he can see, her stare grows distant as the memory tries to pull her out of the present. “My hair obviously grew back, and I can walk, most of the time with a cane, but it’s better than nothing. And I— there’s a lot of parts of me I don’t like showing, ‘cause I have scars from the sores. My skin’s all mottled and veiny. Looks aren’t everything, but it still sucks when you look bad on top of feeling bad. I was disgusted with myself every time I saw my reflection.”

That also breaks Steve’s heart; Frankie’s right, looks aren’t everything, but it certainly doesn’t help to watch your body drastically change out of your control while already chronically ill. 

“If m’being honest, sometimes I still am,” She admits with her words cracking. “It’s hard to look at the damage my own body inflicted on itself and be okay with all of… that.”

Steve so badly wants to counter her beliefs with the truth before his eyes; Frankie is truly the most beautiful person he’s ever known. Yet, he doesn’t want to come off as if he’s romanticizing the situation, nor does he want  to make it seem like he’s being nice, just to placate her self doubt.

“All of that was so hard to survive, even after the threat of paralysis, or death, were gone. I didn’t want to stay anymore, it was so hard to find joy in anything, or plan for a future I wasn’t sure was mine to begin with.” Finally, she turns on her side, gaze locking with Steve’s as she breaks; tears spill down her face as she curls into herself. “The few friends I had got sick of me being sick, eventually stopped talking to me. I was alone and afraid to try talking to anyone new.”

“What about Rhi and Cade?” This has been on his mind since Dr. Amato told Steve he’s the closest person to Frankie right now. “Aren’t they your friends?”

It’s a fractured smile, then a huff, “Kinda. Rhi’s busy with school, and Cade’s always with his boyfriend, so I never see either of them unless it’s getting coffee. At least there’s that, but growing apart because of life sucks. It’s just…everyone is busy, and I get it… but being alone for so long hurt. Hurt real bad. Probably why I came on so strong when I met you.”

“That wasn’t how I saw it. You have no clue how glad I am that you talked to me first.” Gingerly, he pushes stray hairs from her face, fingers trailing down to her cheek before resting his hand there. He sweeps his thumb along her cheekbone, really noticing the size difference between their hands as she wraps her hands around the one on his face. “I wanted to say something at the coffee shop, but it didn’t feel right with everything going on. You were also way too fucking cool for me to approach you first.”

Frankie giggles through her tears. “You’re just being a kiss-ass now.”

“Swear to god I’m not. You—“ He resists spilling the truth, watering it down to, “— you’re the best thing to happen to me in a long fuckin’ time, ‘Key.”

 Her laughter and tears shedding evolve into steady crying, eyes screwing shut as she shudders a breath. 

“I— god. I want you so much closer, Steve, but I’m so fucking scared.”

His heart skips a beat, and he’s dying to ask what that means, but she only cries harder. Steve winds his arms around her, gently, holding her once more. 

Is Frankie scared he’ll leave? She’ll get “too sick” for him and he’ll walk away? Or maybe she’s scared something will happen to her, hurting Steve emotionally.

“You’re not going through this alone. Whatever happens, I’m right here with you. Nothing will change that.” He means every word. “You’re so important to me, ‘Key.”

She hiccups, face buried in his neck. “But what if I—“

“Frankie.” He pulls back to grab her face softly, eyes never leaving her own, despite how hard it hits to see her so broken. He’s unsure where it comes from, but he responds with his own vague confession, “When you’re ready, you tell me. Until then, I’m by your side as much as you allow. M’not going anywhere, not without you.”

Steve hopes, prays, wishes on some shooting star in a night sky somewhere above the world that they’re on the same page, that she’s saying what he thinks she means. That he’s saying what she wants to hear.

There’s no verbal response, no way to tell for sure they’re seeing eye to eye, just Frankie holding him tight with weak arms. She ducks her head back into his shoulder, body heat is still high; Steve’s bracing himself for the worst, but right now, he hopes she knows just how cared for and loved she is.

When Steve promised Frankie’s dad at his appointment that he’d do anything to keep her safe, and swore to her high above the city that she’s safe with him, he meant every fucking word.

As if Frankie can read his thoughts, she murmurs into his shoulder, “Safe with you.”

[ahatintimepieces]

In this final update (for a while at least) Luka goes home.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER TEN POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.