#to be honest I might stop reading part two for a while and just wait for some chapters to build up because

[meownotgood]

hi mags! how do you feel about the newest chapter?

I don't know what fujimoto is cooking but I'm gonna need that bug eyed bitch to get the hell away from denji

[venomvalley]

BABY FEVER

sevika x fem!reader | 5k words

SUMMARY: Sevika uses the wonderful magic from a hexstrap to get you pregnant. Janna bless technology.

TAGS: 18+ only! canon divergence (hextech exists post-s2), pregnancy/breeding kink, strap-ons, strap sucking, porn with a LOT of feelings, dirty talk, wet and messy, wives in love

NOTES: this got so away from me it’s insane. also i spent way too long considering the logistics of a magical strap someone stop me

-> READ ON AO3 | SEVIKA MASTERLIST

You want a baby.

Wait, no. Big correction: you want a child.

It's a thought that you've sat on for a while. Weighed the pros and cons, philosophized about the future, carefully dissected Sevika's reactions when you teased the topic. You aren't getting any younger, and your heart craves at the sight of children playing in the street, and mothers soothing their babies, and toddlers waddling around in their cute little clothes.

At the beginning of your relationship, both of you decided that, given the current political climate (and the danger of the Undercity, and Sevika's volatile job), having kids was impossible. Frankly, neither of you were ready to be parents. But somewhere along the way, things changed. Whether it was the official creation of Zaun, or Sevika’s new position as Councilor, or your new home in the safest part of town, something just… clicked. You woke up one day, and everywhere you looked, a baby sat. Chubby cheeks and gummy smiles and wind chime laughter occupied your mind.

Your biology plays a part, yes, but this want is also a means to solidify your relationship. Specifically, the love you have for your wife. A few months ago, you began to dream about a toddler following Sevika around your home, sharing the grey of her eyes and the curve of her lips and the grumpy furrow of her brow. Many times, you woke up with tears in your eyes and an ache in your heart. A longing that refuses to leave.

So yes, you want a child.

Getting her to agree is your mountain to climb. She’s shared the past troubles with her parents, bared her heart about her fear of such a lifelong responsibility. You would never pressure her into it, but your heart might shatter if she says no.

Which is how you find yourself here, once again gazing at a woman across the street, rocking a baby in her arms. Your sweetbread and tea have long since gone cold as the two of you share a date at some uppity cafe in Piltover. Sevika spends her days at work fighting off the judgments of the city’s finest, but she thankfully spends her weekends with you making up for such long absences.

“What are you looking at?”

The sound of her voice snaps you out of your staring, and you look over at her with a heavy blink. “Uh, nothing?”

“Sure doesn’t seem like nothing.” She nods to the woman, with her big smile and crinkled eyes, and the laughing baby held in her arms. “Why them?”

You look at the wrapped sweetbread in your hands and begin pulling pieces off to squish between your fingers. Your fidgeting results in one big pile of mush that you shove into your mouth. “No particular reason.”

She glares at you—the same scathing look every time she knows that you’re lying. A tangible weight that grabs you by the back of the neck. “Is that right?”

You wash down your bread with a hearty gulp of tea and wince at the bitter, cold taste. “Yep.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were, honey.”

“You implied it by lying.”

“I’m not lying, I just—“ with a heaving sigh, you sag against the table, “I don’t wanna force you into anything.”

“I’m a big girl. If I don’t like something, I’ll say no.”

You ready yourself with a long inhale, forearms braced atop the table. “Okay then. What are your thoughts, now that everything is… better, about having a kid? With me?”

“Who else would I have one with?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head. “This is serious.”

“So you want me to be honest?”

“Always.”

She adjusts her weight in the chair, brows tugging together. “It still scares the shit out of me, but not as much as it used to.”

You nod, reaching for her hand across the table to lay your fingers over the scarred hills of her knuckles. “Can you at least just… think about it? That’s all I’m asking.”

After a breath-holding moment, she meets your gaze, lips twitching at the corners. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

Over the next few weeks, you give her the space to think. To weigh the pros and cons, to philosophize about the future, to dissect the feelings and issues and traumas that might influence her decision. But you notice a gradual change in her, too. Her eyes linger a bit too long on pregnant bellies, and her lips quirk at the sound of wind chime laughter, and she pauses in the street to watch the children play.

And then that change hones in on you. More often than not, her hands find the curve of your lower belly, when you’re washing dishes or cuddling in bed or simply standing around. She plays with your tits more often during sex, weighs them in her palms when you straddle her hips, traces her thumbs around your nipples. Fucks you rougher than usual, as if she might actually get you pregnant if she tries hard enough.

Her way of considering. Thinking about the future using the circumstances of your current reality. Picturing the slow swell of your belly, the full weight of your tits, coming inside you until it takes.

The idea further evolves into a mutual fantasy during sex. Tangible proof of her intrigue.

It begins after she comes home one evening a bit more prickly than normal. You chalk her frustration up to a worse-than-usual meeting, or the chill of the weather grating old injuries. You expect the palm she smooths over your belly, and the kiss she presses to the pulse of your neck, but you don’t expect her to drag you away from chopping vegetables in the kitchen to the bedroom.

She fucks you with a frantic kind of passion. Shoves your face into the bed and hikes up your hips and grinds her fake cock into you until your eyes blur with tears. She’s never been particularly vocal during sex, but that night, she talks. Babbles in that breathless voice that drives you insane.

Gonna knock you up. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

I’ll fuck this pussy every day ‘til it takes.

You’ll be such a good mama.

We’ll get you a baby, I swear. I’m gonna make it happen.

Her enthusiasm opens up a locked box that collected dust long ago. One filled with secrets, fantasies you repressed during this whole ordeal because you never thought she would reciprocate. You give as good you get. Beg her to cum inside you, ramble about how cute you'd look with your belly swelling with her baby, whine again and again about what a good parent she’ll be.

The best sex you’ve ever had as a couple. No doubt about it.

You have a very long talk after that about the blurred line between fantasy and reality, and she finally admits that the idea of a child has grown on her. Enough that she thinks about it over paperwork, and during meetings, and on the walk home. It haunts her the same way it does you.

“Only ever want a kid with you, though,” she says, with her cheek on your chest and your hand in her hair.

“I feel the same way.”

“Good to know.” A kiss pressed to the valley between your tits.

This dynamic continues for the next few months, and your longing only grows. Your pre-sleep ritual stretches to fit shared whispers of the future: the kind of parents you’ll be, wishes for your child as they grow up, the fears that still stick at the back of your brain. Sevika is terrified of becoming her father, of instilling his individualistic, paranoid ideals into your kid. You're terrified of being too lenient, of projecting the wants of your own inner child onto them.

But you talk about it, and ensure that you'll keep each other in check. That no, you won't traumatize your kid beyond saving, and yes, you've learned from your parents’ mistakes. You're in this together after all.

Finally, everything culminates into one big climax.

She strolls into the bedroom one evening—after being gone a worrying length of time past her usual hour—with a package wrapped in paper, and tosses it onto the bed with a smug grin. “Found a solution to our problem.”

You shoot up off the pillow with a start, immediately pawing for the box. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I'm serious.”

You rip off the paper and toss it aside, and there it is. The box doesn't reveal much. A collection of numbers at the corner, PROTOTYPE in big letters—

DNA delivery apparatus designed for female anatomy written across the center.

She did it. She actually fucking did it.

“Where the hell did you get this?” you ask, awe weaving into the words as you grasp the box between your hands.

“An inventor.”

“How did you get this?”

Her weight sags the mattress as she sits down behind you, hooking her chin over your shoulder, hand curling around your belly. “Councilor privileges.”

Your chin dimples with a wave of incoming tears, and you sniffle, fingers tracing each letter on the box. “This is amazing.”

“It better be. I had to buy a hextech commission.”

You cough out a surprised laugh, wiping at your wet eyes. “Oh, don't be a baby. You'll live.”

She grumbles under her breath, presses a wet kiss to your bare shoulder. A silent I love you tattooed in the lingering warmth of her lips.

The toy is different than you’re used to. Separated into two parts: a thick plug for her, covered with strange sigils, and the fake cock for you, a shimmery blue pearl slotted at the base (the same color as the scars on her face, you realize). You find a hollow tube at the head that travels the entire length of it.

“So. How does this thing work?”

“You use it to have sex.”

You turn to glare at her, scooting closer to the middle of the bed. “Obviously, smartass. I meant the magic.”

Her only response is a half-hearted shrug, hand reaching for the hem of your sleep shorts. You help her slip both them and your underwear down your legs.

Your question is quickly forgotten when she dives between your thighs, tongue hot and slick as she trails a languid lick between your labia to spread you open. Her forearm next to your hip balances her weight atop the mattress as she pulls her knees under her. She's an expert at working around the limitations of only having one arm, but sometimes sex can get a bit difficult, especially when she's too tired to hold herself up for long. It doesn’t help that she’s stubborn, and refrains from asking for help unless no other option presents itself.

(She's fallen asleep with her mouth on your pussy more times than she'd ever admit because she loves eating you out and hates confessing to her exhaustion.)

Which is why you adjust your thigh for her to lean her shoulder against, combing a hand through the silk of her hair. “Baby time?”

Her lips detach from your clit with a slick pop and a twitch of your hips, and she turns her head to nip at your inner thigh. “Baby time.”

Warmth blooms in your chest when her gaze meets yours, lips pressing to the curve of your lower belly. It's excitement and anxiety and joy and fear rolled all into one. You're going to have a child with the love of your life. Your wife. The person you cherish most in the world.

Her cheek squishes against the fat of your thigh as you blink back tears, overwhelm tightening up your throat, and you couldn't explain your headspace to her if you tried. Everything lined up perfectly to get to this moment, even down to the correct stage of your cycle.

“Why are you crying?” she asks, voice tender with concern.

“I’m just happy.” You wipe your eyes with each palm, giving a big sniff as you attempt to compose yourself. “Sorry. I feel like I'm ruining the mood.”

She hums, a wavering tone that mimics laughter. “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, fuck o—” Your voice dies out in your throat when she laves her tongue over your clit, adjusting herself once again to slide a long, thick finger into your pussy.

Sevika's good at this. Distraction. Leading you by the leash-libido away from whatever topic she'd rather you not linger on. Your brain has a habit of lingering.

She forgoes her usual teasing for the night to make quick work of your first orgasm—a record, you think. Loves building you up to a shuddering, begging mess, thighs tense against her ears and hips seeking stimulation, but her current state of anticipation holds a tangible weight. Sparks electricity on the back of your tongue.

You collapse against the bed once the aftershocks end, eyes closed, chest heaving for breath. The drawer on the nightstand slides open then shuts a moment later, her weight shifting atop the mattress. Already, you’ve been wrung like a wet cloth, slick between the thighs, limbs heavy, satiation soaking down to your marrow.

Your skin prickles at her proximity, and you open your eyes to find her now-naked form reaching for the toy—apparatus, as the inventor called it. She drops it on your stomach then picks up a bottle of half-empty lube. Holds it out for you to take.

“Here. You do the honors.”

But that can wait. You have to check something first.

With a wide grin, you slide two fingers between her legs to meet soft, plush heat, hole clenching around the pad of your middle finger, and you exhale a giddy laugh when they come away dripping. “Shit. I'm flattered, Sev.”

“I can’t help it. You’re too pretty.”

An echo of golden light from the bedside lamp displays the sheen on her lips and chin, the sweat that sticks strands of dark hair to her temples, the glass of cloud-grey eyes. Half of her bathed in shadow, a chiaroscuro of soft curves and taut muscle. She belongs on a canvas in some extravagant throne room, a museum, above your bed.

Maybe you should try your hand at painting.

You grab the toy and sit up, fingers once again finding the slick of her cunt, and she steadies herself with her hand on your shoulder, forehead tacky against the curve of your neck. Her chest rumbles with a bitten-out groan when you sink two fingers into her, arm curling around your back to tug you close. She's warm against you, smells of floral smoke from the candle that constantly burns in her office. Scorching hot between the legs, silk-smooth, so wet your fingers produce a squelch on each knuckle-deep thrust.

And then her hand grabs at your wrist, mouth rough against yours. A collision of teeth, each kiss wet and noisy, bruising in its intensity. She’s always made you feel wanted, worshipped—special. Her perfect woman since the night you two met, when she stumbled up to the bar and said some shitty one-liner that branded her name on your heart.

Falling for her was as easy as breathing, and as painful as yanking teeth.

She pulls away with a shuddering sigh, palm clammy as it follows the path of your spine. “You ready?”

You nod, slipping your fingers out of her to pop them in your mouth, sucking the salt-musk taste of her off your skin. “I've been ready.”

Once you lube up the plug side of the toy, she takes it from you and feeds it into her pussy. Shudders in time with the sudden gleam of the blue pearl, and your mouth waters at the sight of her—clit puffy and slicked-up, the coarse curls that frame her labia wet and sticky, the fake cock that hangs between her legs.

You must have been a fucking saint in your past life. Only reason for you to be so blessed in this one.

She sighs through her nose, lowers her head to look at the toy. “That's… weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

With a furrowed brow, she takes a moment to consider, shifting from knee to knee. “Neither.”

“Well, it doesn't hurt or anything, right?”

She shakes her head. “Feels… prickly. Not painful, though.”

You brush a finger up its length, eyes brightening when the blue light of the pearl flickers. She sucks a breath through her teeth, hand jerking toward your wrist, but stops short of grabbing it.

“I felt that.”

Your lips curl into a smile as a wicked idea takes root, and she raises a brow at the look on your face. You fist a hand around the base of the fake cock to keep it steady, your other resting on her thick thigh, then you lean down to wrap your lips around the head. Her fingers squeeze at your shoulder, neither pushing you away nor pulling you close, as a moan bubbles up in her chest.

Yeah, you're absolutely using this thing again.

Her hand curls over the back of your head just before her hips rock forward, sinking the toy further into the wet heat of your mouth. She's got you trapped in place, right where she wants you as she fucks your face with increasing intensity. Her thrusts start out smooth and slow as she adjusts to the new sensation of pleasure, but she's always been quick to adapt, and before you know it the head of her cock teases at the back of your throat and you drool a wet spot into the sheets. She rewards you with her sighs and groans, with a tremble to her thighs when you hollow your cheeks.

The first spurt of something hot and thick on the back of your tongue makes you jolt like you've been electrocuted, and her fingers dig into the back of her head as her hips stutter and her breathing heavies and her shoulders curl toward her knees.

Inside your mouth, the toy heats, begins to almost vibrate as more of the liquid spills sticky over your tongue. She—

Oh. She's coming. One look at her pain-pleasure expression, the uptilt of her brows and twist of her mouth, clicks the pieces into place.

And then she heaves a sigh, releases your head to smooth an apologetic palm over your shoulder, huffing like she sprinted the entirety of the Lanes. You sit up and work your mouth, unsure of what to do with the… substance inside.

At your slap to her thigh, she blinks at you, the perfect picture of debauchery—low-lidded eyes and shiny cheeks and a heaving chest. You open your mouth and point inside, and her brows raise clear to her hairline. She swipes a finger over your tongue to collect the liquid, then pulls back and smears it with her thumb. Actual cum, a blue shimmer to it that resembles an oil slick. Unnatural. Magical.

You swallow it down with a wince (more about the texture than the taste), and then she's shoving her finger between your teeth, telling you to suck with a toothy, teasing grin. Then her thumb once you've cleaned the other off.

“Can't waste it, can we, honey?” she mutters, ghosts her lips over your tacky forehead, plucks at a pert nipple.

Fuck.

The pulse between your legs hammers to a heavy thump, belly tingling with the magic you just swallowed—a very odd realization, that. She just came (a mindfuck in and of itself) magic. The air sizzles with it, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

You urge her onto her back with a hand between her tits, and she goes down without a fight. Exhales a relieved sigh when she sinks into the sheets.

“C'mere,” she says, holds out her hand for you to take. Ever-thoughtful as you straddle her hips then grab the toy to keep it still.

A set of gasps fill the room when you sink down on its length, cunt tight and slick as you clench around it—her, you suppose. Her brows tug together, jaw loose as she pants and peers down to the place your bodies meet. You've taken all of her in one glide, skin-to-skin, the curls on her mound tickling your clit.

She grits her teeth when you roll your hips, bracing your palms on her thighs. “Shit, that's—”

“Good?” you ask, grinning at the lewd noise of your cunt as you bottom out again, grinding your clit against her.

Such a drastic change in power dynamic fogs up your thoughts, activates your hindbrain until the only need that plays on repeat is making a mess of her. Wonder how many times she can fill you up before she starts shooting blanks—and if there’s a limit, you hope to find it tonight. She's always the one going mad with power, but the introduction of your new toy leaves her pliant beneath you. Too overwhelmed by the fluttering silk of your pussy to focus on anything else, eyes glassy and glittering as they gaze up at you.

Your hips melt into a steady rhythm, a smooth rise and a rough downstroke, over and over again as heat starts its slow coil in the pit of your belly. The air thickens, heavy, almost humid on each inhale as the toy inside you buzzes to life once again.

“How's my pussy feel, Sev?”

“Fuck, don't—” she pants out a moan, hand pawing at your hip as her chin tilts back to expose the line of her neck, “gonna cum.”

“That good, huh?” You roughen up your thrusts until your ass slaps against her thighs, each movement of your hips accompanied by a loud squelch. “God, ‘m so wet. Needed this so bad.”

She whines, fingers tightening around your waist. “Shit, slow down.”

“Cum inside me. Please.”

Her grip disappears from your waist, choosing instead to fist the sheets so tight her knuckles creak, and you lean forward, steady yourself upright with a hand on each of your shoulders. Effective in pressing her down, keeping her still.

Not her hips, though. They meet you thrust-for-thrust, jarring you atop her, each stroke forcing the breath from your lungs.

“Gonna give me a baby?” you ask, voice weak and wavering as your rhythm grows sloppy.

Your thighs burn, and you’ll no doubt wake up sore as hell tomorrow, but the anticipation of her looming orgasm pushes you through the pain. She's back to her old self now, expression a scowl of concentration, one-track mind overriding her pleasure to focus on—

“I'll give you as many as you want. Gonna keep you filled up ‘til it takes.” Your hand shoots down to your clit as she babbles on about the fantasies you discussed months prior. You’re only slightly frustrated about how even her voice sounds compared to yours. “Might sneak you into my office, fuck you on my desk. I know you’d like that.”

You nod, fingers circling over your clit in a frantic blur as the coil in your belly threatens to snap, arms and legs twitching in preparation for something soul-rending. “Please, Sev, I'm so close. Please—”

She hits her peak first at the sound of your pleading, a rough hand on your hip pinning you down, fully seating you on her cock. Pants and groans beneath you as wave after wave of thick cum fills you up. Your brain whites out somewhere between the beginning and end of her orgasm as you crash into your own, almost folding in half from its intensity, insides clenching just shy of pain around the toy as your body instinctively tries to milk it.

In the aftermath, you collapse atop her, face seeking out the curve of her neck for post-sex comfort. A ritual of yours, something about her smell that slows your heartbeat and calms your breathing.

“That was…” you begin, adjusting your hips as the prickly feeling she mentioned earlier settles in the pit of your stomach, “wow.”

She sighs, fingers trailing down the center of your back. “Yeah.”

Correction: this was the best sex you've ever had as a couple. Baby-making aside, the new sensations and fantasies and forms of pleasure introduced a level of excitement you didn't even know intrigued you. Almost overwhelming in its unpredictability, but isn't that half the fun? Experimenting?

Yeah, you learned a lot of new things about yourself tonight.

The comfort of your cuddling is interrupted by the sticky spill of her cum around the toy, leaking out of you in slow rivulets. With a huff, you rise onto your knees, the fake cock bobbing between her legs. The tinged-blue liquid drips onto her stomach, and you reach down to plug yourself with two fingers.

“You're making a mess,” she mutters, eyes closed as if floating through a light doze. “And you're wasting it.”

You lean in close to her face, until you can count each individual lash that brushes over her cheek. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Resting my eyes.”

So, falling asleep. Got it.

“No, we gotta shower. Get up.”

She grunts, mouth curling into a pout when you yank at her arm.

Eventually, she gets up, and you waddle over to the bathroom with her trailing behind. The night ends with a lazy shower and a quick change of the bed sheets. By the time Sevika collapses onto the mattress, she's half-dead, barely able to pull the covers over herself before she's snoring into the pillow.

Well. There's always next time.

She stays true to her word, though. Fucks you every single day like clockwork, and passes out shortly after the first round every single time—an obvious effect of the magic on her body that burns your whole shooting blanks idea to ash. But oh, she milks that round for all it's worth. Makes you cum on her fingers and tongue until you're begging for her cock. Your new favorite position leaves you biting the sheets with your ass in the air, her hand heavy on your back to preserve the arch of your spine.

Instinct. Primal. Pure brain-stem urges.

Sometimes she makes you stay there after you're finished while she lights up a cigarette and feeds her cum back into your pussy.

I work hard making this stuff. Can't let it go to waste.

You might go crazy. Start salivating at the color blue after a month of nightly sessions. Can barely stroll through the streets of neon-light Zaun now without getting wet. It's ridiculous, but you're ruined. The lockbox has been opened and the contents spilled out and there's no forcing them back in.

But above all: you want your child already. More than the fun, kinky sex and the magic toys. You want another human running around your empty house, with their own thoughts and opinions and interests. Who would they act like, look like, think like most? You just hope they get Sevika's eyes.

“It'll happen,” she says, cuddling you in bed with her arm tight around your shoulders. “We have to give it time.”

Admittedly, you're being a bit dramatic, blubbering and crying against her. But the fear began to set in a few days ago after two months of trying with zero results.

“What if it doesn't work?”

“It will.”

If your sore tits and emotional instability and fatigue mean anything, then your period should start soon—another month wasted.

Except it doesn't.

By your own calculations, you're now four days out from its start and not a single speck of blood. You've developed nausea, though. Threw up after your last weekend date to the cafe you love so much.

Your body feels… off. The best way to describe it. An ill-fitting skin suit, maybe. Wrong and weird. At first, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, a placebo effect borne from your longing.

But Sevika notices. Of course she does.

Some of her new privileges pass onto you as a Councilor's wife, one of those being actual medical care. Doctors, hospital rooms, actual treatments aside from the wait it out mentality so common in Zaun.

So here you sit, in the exam room of some doctor's office Sevika dragged you to, jiggling your leg as you wait for the pregnancy test to come back. Her hand curls around yours, thumb soothing over the swell of your knuckles. A calming presence you desperately need right now.

The receptionist out front only gave you three scowling glares as you signed in, and the nurse that took your vitals was only a little rough as she removed the medical equipment from your arm. All in all, a less volatile experience than you expected, though you think the tall, muscular woman standing guard over your shoulder helped tamper bad attitudes. No need for these pompous people to add to your sky-high stress level.

You find it funny how differently the world sees Sevika. To you, she's composed of starry eyes and teasing smiles and soft touches. She smells like home, holds your heart in her hand and has yet to squash it in her fist. So different to the way everyone eyes her warily, scampers out of her path, whispers about her behind her back. Wherever she goes, the room holds it breath.

But she’s your wife, your love, your honey. The other mother to your future child.

For the love of Janna, please be pregnant.

The door opens with a faint click, and the doctor steps in with a small smile. Your fingers grip tight around Sevika's palm, spine straightening in your seat. A wave of nausea brews in your stomach, ribs a cage around the thumping rhythm of your heart.

You’re terrified. Told her this was a bad idea, that a test from the markets would be just as reliable, but she insisted.

Please. Please give us this.

The doctor takes a seat behind her desk then sets down your chart in front of her. “Congratulations, dear. You’re having a baby.”

And the whole world shifts.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye. 

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app. 

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened. 

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever. 

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself. 

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent. 

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message. 

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot. 

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag��, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner. 

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”. 

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste. 

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out.  She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on. 

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place. 

Finally, you knock. 

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest. 

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer. 

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.  

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him. 

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.” 

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.” 

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.” 

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him. 

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.” 

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval. 

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.” 

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen. 

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals. 

“Water is fine,” you tell him. 

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf. 

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed. 

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close. 

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence. 

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension. 

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.” 

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s’pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.” 

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.” 

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully. 

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now. 

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it. 

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering. 

It’s good. Better than most. 

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile. 

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter. 

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin. 

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side. 

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.” 

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?” 

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.” 

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts. 

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss. 

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands. 

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name. 

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin. 

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair. 

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom. 

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak. 

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow. 

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat. 

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment. 

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer. 

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest. 

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!” 

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen. 

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.” 

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don���t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[prinzrupprecht]

When someone else gives you gifts

Featuring: Okita, Sasaki, Loki, and Anubis ( part 3 )

I’m doing young Sasaki instead of 60 year old dilf Sasaki. For those that don’t know who Tatsunosuke was. He is an actual character in chapter 5 Chiruran.

Read part 1 and 2 for the other characters

TW: some possessive tendencies, and cute/fluff moments and hurt/comfort

Okita

Everyone from Kondo’s dojo always teased how Souji liked you even though he denied it. A part of you hoped that he does like you more than a friend. Deep down it always hurt hearing how he always said you two were just friends.

You decided to visit Tatsunosuke who was a sick young boy dying from a fatal lung disease. He reminded you of Souji a lot and he was nice to you. He was the son of a high-ranking samurai at the military centre. He was too far gone for any treatment to work. “Here, you shouldn’t move much.” You went to hand him a mug of herbal tea.

“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” he was breathing heavily and his condition looked to be worse than the last time you saw him. You didn’t say anything and thought back how he never looked down on you for being a part of another dojo.

He went to grab his wakizashi and looked down at it. The scabbard was red and the guard was silver. “I want you to have it and remember me when I’m no longer here.” He put it in your hands. It was painful but you silently accepted it. This might be the last you see him.

Tatsunosuke was like a younger brother to you but the others from Kondo’s dojo thought you were dating him which was embarrassing sometimes. Souji on the other hand never said anything about your visits with the dying boy. As you forbid your farewell with him and left to return back to the Shieikan dojo. You saw a few of the kids playing outside. “Where have you been?” A voice asked you from behind.

“Hi to you as well?” You saw how he looked irritated while giving you a murderous stare. You avoided the question. Souji knew but wanted you to be honest. Did you like Tatsunosuke? Were you seeing him as if you two were dating? What pissed him off more was the unknown wakizashi you were holding. It looked oddly familiar as if Souji hadn’t studied the boy you liked hanging out with.

“No need to give me that look, Souji-san. You know where I was at. Besides, where are those fan girls that normally come around here?” You weren’t making the situation better.

“They don’t mean anything to me unlike what he means to you,” he muttered while his gaze met with the ground. You wanted to say something else. You always found comfort with Souji more but Tatsunosuke was dying and didn’t have many friends close to him. He tried to move past you to go back inside the dojo and probably avoid you for the rest of the week.

“Souji wait!” you called out to him. He stopped and waited for you to say something without turning his head to look at you.

“He… he doesn’t mean as much to me as you do. He’s dying and doesn’t have much time left to live.” You wanted to grab ahold of his sleeve but the wakizashi gift still irked him. He would have to give you something better for you to protect yourself. Was he acting jealous over this boy? He met him once or twice and beat him without trying in practice training.

Souji unexpectedly turned his head and smiled. “It’s fine, I would get you something better for you to protect yourself. Maybe me perhaps?” Was this his awful way of flirting with you? Huh? Him protect you? That doesn’t sound too bad.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around him accepting that offer. “How about we put a label on us?” It was about time you two would stop denying it around the others and are official and he’d be your only gift.

Sasaki

During the closing years of the Sengoku period, you had met some interesting people and one in particular caught your attention. Sasaki Kojiro. He was a bit skinny but his determination to keep fighting had made you curious about this young man.

You were just some odd woman training in the same dojo as him. It was Toda’s dojo and it was owned by Seigen. You saw him enter the dojo late like usual and took a smacking by the owner’s nephew like usual. “Sasaki-san, you should take this dojo seriously if you want to get stronger,” you light-heartedly sighed.

You and him sparred a bit but he normally gave up and said you were stronger than him. It made you wonder if you were strong or if he was just weak. You saw how he sparred with Kagekatsu numerous of times and forfeits the matches normally. “Sasaki-san, why don’t you actually try and put in your all?” You pouted but he awkwardly laughed and said there was no point because if he were to fight you a hundred times you would still beat him. Huh?!

Sasaki was always one to follow you around like a lost puppy in the dojo which was cute and you admired that side of him. He wanted to get better but his confidence wasn’t there. His training lacked so you were certain he was either going to be kicked from the dojo or he would train elsewhere. You wanted him to stay and not slack off. You would help him if he would take your help but he doesn’t want it. He said it numerous of times.

After a few weeks had gone by of not seeing Sasaki you were growing more and more upset. Did he already quit? Give up with the sword? One of the members of the dojo gave you a kimono robe and said it was a gift for your hard work. The kimono was patterned and made with silk and not cloth. You had no idea whether to accept it but it was better than what you normally wore. Short baggy pants and shirts with no sleeves.

You had left the dojo to see if you could find Sasaki. You were worried someone could’ve killed him with the time he was gone. Yet after some time wandering the woods, you heard ruffling from a few leaves and saw a rabbit. Then what surprised you was Sasaki jumping to catch it from behind. “Wh—what the hell?! What are you doing?” You were furious how he was turning into some animal.

“Haha, what are you doing here? I was training,” he scratched the back of his head. You sighed and sat down on a fallen log.

“Sasaki-san, I was worried you were killed from the missing weeks you stopped coming back.” You mumbled and the truth was you didn’t want him to disappear from your life.

“I would… eventually return when I feel like it. Besides what is this? I have never seen you wear something like this before,” he walked up to you and touched the sleeve of the robe.

“Someone from the dojo gave it to me for my hard work. I don’t feel like I deserve it though, and you look like you need new clothes eventually.” You scolded him for always getting dirty.

“Oh well, I actually wanted to get you something… nicer. I guess someone else beat me to it.” Sasaki was giving up already? Your left eye twitched.

“There’s no limit to who can give me things. How about I take you somewhere to eat properly that isn’t raw bunnies and snakes?” You stood up and grabbed the front of his kimono. Sasaki admired how you were persistent and wanted to check up on him when no one else has.

“I don’t eat them raw… I still cook the meat.” He raised his hands up in defence.

“Agh, never mind. Let’s go somewhere and this time I’ll watch over you.” He didn’t say anything after that but a part of him was happy and he would prove to you one day that he would take care of you better than anyone else.

Loki

You were incredibly close to Loki and had long accepted him for who he was. His tricks never worked on you and you can easily tell if he shape-shifts into someone else. He wasn’t that unpredictable. You could tell he had a troubled past that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you.

As the two of you resided in the same Asgard palace, Loki liked to follow you around even if he was disguised as small animals that would not be in your peripheral sight. He couldn’t help but grow irritated by how some of the guards would joke with you and talk so freely around you.

One of the guards gave you a ring and this made Loki snap on the inside. This guard— was he proposing to you?! He didn’t want to out himself that he was spying on you or else this could strain your friendship. He wanted to kill the guard for trying to steal you from him.

He found you alone in the library reading and this was the time to ask you if you feel the same way as he did for you. Love? He couldn’t deny how utterly in love he was with you even if it was obnoxious or just infatuation.

You heard him enter the room and turned your head. “Loki? What are you doing?” Your calm voice eased his anger from what he saw earlier. Confusion was written on his face. You weren’t wearing the ring?

“Ya I— I was bored and wanted to see you!” He tried to give you one of his not-so-innocent smiles. He was hiding something and you knew it.

“What is it?” Your expression grew more serious and Loki grabbed your shoulders.

“It’s just— I want us to be more than what we are now." you couldn’t deny how you had never seen this desperate side of him. Was he playing with you?

“Don’t play with my feelings, Loki. Whatever this trick is—"

“I’m not playing any trick! I swear— I swear I wanted to kill that guard from earlier who tried to propose to you.” What?!

“You admitted to spying on me? And Balder wasn’t proposing to me, you idiot. It was one of those rings that can open portals for fast transportation.” You had no idea why Loki was so upset but he looked a bit more at ease. So he might’ve been telling the truth.

“So— sorry, I assumed too quick…” he was embarrassed but now you know how he feels when he’s around you.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “You shouldn’t have hidden your feelings from me like how you hide yourself in different forms,” you smiled genuinely. Loki was frozen in place but reciprocated your comfort by keeping you in his arms. It was better than feeling as he did before assuming others wanted you just as badly as he did.

“How about I make you mine completely?” he tilted your chin up and gave you a smug look as if he was hinting at something else.

“We can take it slow, no need to rush things." you lifted the palm of your hand to touch his cheek. Even though he frowned at your words, he still had you at the end of the day.

Anubis

You were his, and he made sure everyone knew that. As you resided in the Aaru, the heavenly paradise for the Egyptian pantheon. Some of the other Egyptian gods didn’t like messing with the hyper-energetic god of funerals. He was strong and devoted to being your loyal guardian and companion.

He expresses his feelings a lot and doesn’t hide things from you. Something about him made you more drawn to the god. He saw something in you that even you couldn’t see yourself. Were you as perfect as he always tells you?

You didn’t believe it. As some moments passed, you found Bastet and Hathor whispering to each other in the main hall. They stopped and saw you staring at them. Bastet snickered and called you a pet. “I uhm… was looking for lord Ra—" you were interrupted.

“He’s not looking for you nor cares what you want. Tell me what it is and if it’s important I’ll relay the message to him.” Hathor stared down at you as she had her arms crossed. Bastet smirked and you knew in the back of your head that these two never liked you.

“Sorry.. it’s not important.” You lied as it wasn’t any use to talk to them. You needed to tell Ra that Osiris left the Aaru without permission. You went to leave but Bastet spoke up.

“What does my nephew see in you? Is it your pretty eyes? Face? Hair? Hmm… maybe something else? Are you two fu—"

“No—! It’s none of that. I— I don’t know exactly. We’re good friends! That’s all… I think.” You raised your hands up but Bastet wasn’t done interrogating you. Hathor pulled her back and told her there was no reason to start a fight.

Good friends? Bastet heard Anubis call you his consort on numerous occasions. Even Osiris and Set disapprove of his behaviours and obsession with you. Yet you called him a close friend? Or were you embarrassed?

“Here take this and think of it as a small courtesy thing, and go level your head a bit. Sorry about my sister.” Hathor passed you a bottle of red wine, but the worst thing was, that you had never drank before. Only higher authority gods were allowed to. You were just a simple deity of the pantheon. It was no wonder no one approves of you around here.

You walked back to your corridors with a frown on your face. Were the other gods right? You were unworthy of Anubis’s attention? It brought you discomfort for some reason and the fact he says he loves you a lot without thinking made you believe that he knew what the emotion was. Yet you wondered if you feel the same back? Some of the women and maids would try to get his attention but he acts oblivious to their advances.

You decided you wouldn’t drink since it wasn’t your thing. Anubis was lying on the bed in your room. “Why are you in my room?” You put the bottle on one of the stands in the corner. You didn’t expect him to be waiting for you, well it’s not the first time.

“I really really wanted to wait for you. I couldn’t find you so I decided to wait here instead.” He jumped off the bed like an excited animal. You couldn’t help but blush a bit at his excitement.

“Well, I ran into your aunts in the hall and Hathor gifted me this.” You picked up the bottle to show him and he stuck out his tongue in disgust. He was exaggerating. You quickly chuckled. You can tell he hated the taste of alcohol.

“Yuck yuck yuck! I should tell them to not give you this stuff!” He pouted but you sat on the bed and had already decided that you weren’t going to drink— at least not try it in front of him. Anubis looked unhappy and you had walked over to him and asked him if he was upset that they tried to get you drunk. He looked a bit flustered but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Part of the reason was that he doesn’t like others giving things to you. The wine could’ve had poison in it.

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, let’s just cuddle!” He pulled you down on the mattress and was suffocating you with his arms squeezing around your body.

He soon forgotten why he was mad since you were with him in his arms. His soon-to-be wife for sure.

Note: this is the end of part 3! I saw a request in my box for Valkyries and it intrigued me that if I do a part 4, I’ll probably do side characters and Valkyries but they’ll probably be shorter than normal.

[cheriedivine]

Deeply still in love

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ summary: Ellie Williams doesn’t do feelings. She buries them under alcohol, weed and strangers lips, but the moment she hears your voice again, everything she’s shoved down, claws its way back up.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: References to substance abuse (weed, alcohol), Mild suggestive themes, Unrequited love, Swearing, emotional themes. (Lmk if i missed anything!)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: Angst/heartbreak, Ellies is a fuck boy, just pain tbh

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: ok so this is my first time ever writing something for Ellie and it’s heavily based on Role Model’s song Deeply still in love bc i fucking love that song and I thought it would be a good angsty emotional one shot so yeah… hope u guys enjoy it and english is not my first language so excuse any grammar mistakes oki luv yall bye.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ WC: 3.6K

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

“I think i still love you, deep down i know i never stopped loving you-“ Ellie scratched it out, watching the ink dry down on the page in her journal, the words of what she just wrote frozen on her mind, her breath was shallow, like she was afraid the air would judge her for it. She crossed the sentence out, one, two, three times until the paper on her journal ripped.

“Jesus Ellie, you might wanna breathe before your face starts turning purple- what’s up with that?”

Jesse interrupted her thoughts as he looked down at Ellie’s previously destroyed journal page, placing the two cups of coffee down at the table, the coffee shop they were at was cozy but drowned in people, making Ellie’s thoughts quieted down a bit as she closed the journal on her lap and took the hot cup of coffee “it’s nothing just… thoughts” she said while taking a sip of her coffee, the bitter taste burning her tongue

“Yeah well it looked like you were about to collapse or die” He flopped into the chair across from hers with a furrowed expression, “Anyway, maybe you should take your thinking somewhere else tonight and come with me and Dina to this party tonight” The black haired boy suggested, but Ellie wasn’t paying him much attention until she heard him clicking his fingers in front of her face “Hello earth to Ellie? Did you hear anything I said?” Ellie rolled her eyes, but if she was being honest her mind was wandering somewhere else, or on someone else “Sorry man im just not here today, what’s going on?” Jesse huffed getting annoyed by the girl’s lack of attention “You. Me. Dina. Party. Tonight?” He took the cup of coffee up to his mouth awaiting his friend’s response.

Ellie didn’t answer right away, tracing her finger on the rim of her cup, eyes fixed on the steam coming out of it like smoke signals no one else could read.

“Is ‘you know who’ going to be there?” the auburn haired girl finally responded, afraid but curious of what his response might be, her stomach twirled at the thought of you being there.

“Dude its been more than six months,” Jesse said with a tired tone. “You’ve hooked up with like three different girls since then, I thought you were over it”.

Ellie let out a short breath, bitter, like the coffee on her hands.

Over it.

Yeah sure. It’s been 8 months exactly since you broke up with Ellie, you didn’t exactly end up on bad terms, but it was like something was ripped off from her, a part of her was still waiting for you to come back, but how could she blame you for not to?. It was always like this, Ellie shut down when things got too real, she bottled up all these emotions and when the weight of it caught up to her it became too heavy to carry. You kept reaching for anything, like screaming to a wall, while she just kept pulling away, slowly and painfully. It wasn’t because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. And that scared the shit out of her.

She hated talking about her feelings, she hated the vulnerability of it, the rawness, she hated being seen too clearly. But you- you saw her like no one else ever had, you saw her through like a window on a road trip, never scared of the road, never afraid of where it might take you, but she shut you down over and over, until you got tired of knocking on a door that would never fully open.

Ellie never blamed you for leaving, the look on your eye when the words slipped of your lips when you called it off still haunted her on her dreams till this day “I love you Ellie, but i can’t be the only one bleeding for us”

She just stood there, breathing through her nose, her heart pounding like a drum, she felt like it might rip out of her chest, and maybe it did because her words got caught up in her throat and tears started brewing in her emerald eyes when you left without slamming the door, that’s how she knew she really fucked up, that this was real, and you and her were done.

So yeah 8 painfully slow months have passed since that, and even though Ellie kissed strangers in bars, she closed her eyes with your name stuck behind teeth, going through bodies like maybe she could fit into a different pair of arms that could be warm enough to forget your face, your lips or the way your eyes would light up when you kissed her, but no stranger could ever replace that, replace you. It always came back to you. It didn’t matter how many mouths she kissed or how many bodies she explored, coming back to a cold bed made the emptiness crawl back like an old friend, and only made your absence more painful. But still she kept doing it, as if it were a miracle move-on-drug.

Ellie blinked out of the memory, the cup in her hands cold and long forgotten, she placed it back on the table before answering to her friend.

“Whatever man just text me the address and I might consider it” She thought the party wasn’t such a bad idea, she could have a couple drinks and hook up with some stranger she just met like she has been doing for the past months.

Jesse raised a brow, not buying into her sudden shift of tone. “That didn’t sound like a ‘fuck yeah I’m down for a party’. It sounded more like you’re planning to drink cheap booze until you forget your name and make out with someone you won’t remember the next day.”

The girl shrugged, “So what, none of your goddamn business”

Jesse stared at her for a second, like he wanted to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them right up and sighed leaning back in his chair. “you do you, Ellie. Just… stop pretending it's helping.”

That definitely hit a nerve, but Ellie didn't flinch, nor said anything. He continued, a little softer this time, like a secret apology. “I'll text you the address. You don't have to come, but maybe you should. Think about it.”

With that the boy stood up grabbing his empty cup and left the coffee shop. An awkward silence filled the room, Ellie’s jaw tightened, at the end he was right, having sex with strangers wasnt exactly therapy but it got her through… in some fucked up way. Was it wrong? Maybe, Ellie never texted back any girl ever and just ghosted when she got what she needed. Toss and turn.

Later that day Ellie texted Jesse, briefly apologizing for being a dick to which he responded “When aren't you?.” Asshole. He sent her the address and by 9:30 Ellie was getting ready to leave. She stood in front of the mirror, jaw working as she tugged the black tank top over her head, the hem settling just above the waistband of her old patched up jeans, nothing very special- she didn't do special- hesitating on putting on a jacket or no, Jackson weather you never know. Her eyes lingered on her reflection for a little too long. The tank clung to her body in a familiar way. Safe. The jeans were her most reliable ones, just like her old converse she’d laced up so many times they were practically molded to her.

“Not a big deal, just another stupid party.” She ran her hands through her shaggy hair and decided she won’t put that much effort into it, bars are often dark so who cares- certainly not her. She took one last glance at the mirror before putting on Joel's old jacket and walking through the door of her apartment. The familiar weight of the jacket calmed her nerves a bit but not as much as the blunt in her fingers, she had stocked a few days ago, and a little pre game never fails to calm her down so she lit it up while waiting for Jesse and Dina to pull up the driveway. Jesse had offered to drive her to the party alongside Dina, even though Ellie had her own truck (an old ford truck inherited from Joel) he said it would be better if he was the assigned driver if they got a little too tipsy.

She often wondered how those too could stand each other for so long, when Ellie met Jesse at College he was already dating Dina and it’s been 4 years since then. They weren’t the perfect couple but surely knew how to get on each other's nerves, still always figured it out at the end. Ellie admired them for that and wished she was a little more like them.

Soon her thoughts dissolved into the crisp air of the night when Jesse pulled up on the driveway, he honked the horn as if the blinding lights didn't catch Ellie’s attention enough, “You are such an attention whore.” Ellie said, flicking the blunt away and stuffing her hands deep into the jacket pockets before entering the car.

The drive to the party was loud- music blasting, windows cracked, a new blunt being passed around like part of the ritual (courtesy of Ellie of course). It was their usual pregame, the kind that made her forget, even if just for a moment. With her friends, it was easy to laugh, to lean into the chaos and pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t still there. These were the moments that reminded Ellie not everything was awful. But the rush- the high, always felt like the drop of a roller coaster. And when Jesse finally parked the car, reality hit. Another night of pretending. Pretending nothing mattered, pretending the burn inside her wasn’t still there, quietly eating her alive.

“Don’t forget to rate me 5 stars and leave a tip” Jesse said jokingly, distracting Ellie from her self destructive thoughts”

Dina was the first one to enter the bar, the music almost deafening, the track was some popular song Ellie heard at the radio before, she didn't like it, but also didn’t exactly hate it. The place was packed as it usually is every Friday night, overflowing with bodies, laughter layering the loud music, and some good ol’ bar fight probably. Ellie trailed behind Jesse and Dina, already feeling the buzz fade into something heavier. She slipped her hands back into Joel’s jacket, like it would shield her from everything the weed could not.

They found a booth near the back, where the speakers didn’t rattle your bones quite as much. Dina, being the social butterfly she is, immediately recognized someone across the room, an old college classmate, but for Ellie it was one of those people who always remembers your face but not your name. Seconds later Jesse slid into the booth, scanning the bar like a minefield.

“Shot first, existential crisis later?” he offered, holding up two fingers to the bartender across the room.

Ellie nodded, managing a half-smile. “Make it three.”

As the night went on (and so did the shots) Ellie was sitting alone in the booth, Dina and Jesse long gone, probably dancing or making out somewhere in the dark, Ellie decided it was probably time for a smoke, to calm the headache she was starting to feel. She grabbed her jacket from her seat and made a beeline to the exit, the chill breeze of Jackson hitting her face like a slap she probably deserved.

Leaning against the crumbling brick wall outside the bar, the noise from inside was muffled out there. She pulled the blunt from her pocket, already half-rolled from earlier, and lit it with a practiced flick of her lighter, the smoke greeted her lungs like an old friend, welcoming the burn in her throat, grounding her a little as she exhaled through her nose. She took a second hit leaning her head against the wall, watching the people coming in and out of the bar, people watching was Ellie’s favorite activity while smoking, also because she could use it as an opportunity to check girls out, but that's when she saw you.

At least—she thought she did.

You were slipping through the bar’s entrance, swallowed up by a crowd of loud, laughing strangers. Just a flash of your face, the way your hair moved, throwing your head back laughing like someone who wasn’t her told the funniest joke of the world. Ellie blinked. Hard.

“No fucking way.” She cursed under her breath, squinting her eyes trying to steady herself. Was it the mix of weed and cheap alcohol in her system playing fucked up mind tricks on her? Either way, it didn't matter because she was already walking towards the crowd of people, like some magnetic force was pulling her in.

She pushed past two guys arguing about the cover charge. Her heart was thudding now—not like excitement. More like panic.

Inside, the lights hit her all wrong, too sharp, too bright. The music pulsed against her ribs. She scanned the crowd, pushing through, zeroing in on the back of that girl’s head.

Same jacket. Same posture. Same everything.

“Hey—” she started, grabbing the mysterious woman by the arm but when the girl turned around, it wasn’t you.

Of course it wasn’t you.

Her grip softened and she let go, the girl glared at her confused, and now Ellie could see, could really see that her eyes weren’t the same color as yours, her smile wasn’t as bright and welcoming as yours. And the worst part it’s not that she made a fool of herself, but that the girl was looking at her like she was a complete stranger. Which she was but to Ellie’s brain it just felt like she got hit by a thousand trains.

The brunette stepped back, the weight in her chest doubling. Her hands were shaking a little now, or maybe they always had been. She didn’t say anything. Just turned and pushed her way back outside.Too embarrassed to even apologize.

She felt like throwing up.

She found an empty corner right next to the bar, hunched over with her hands on her knees, breath coming sharp and uneven, gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. Her heart slammed heavily on her chest.

The cold didn’t even bother her this time. Her shaky hands reaching for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, Her mind was fogged over, drifting somewhere else entirely. It was like she was watching herself from outside her own body.she didn’t know what she was doing just moving, automatic, like muscle memory took over, her fingers were clicking and swiping and then suddenly—

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was soft, confused.

Her head snapped up. She blinked at the screen in her hand.

Call in progress — You.

A beat of silence passed before she even realized what she’d done. Her breath hitched.

“…Shit.”

Your voice. Caught between sleepy and annoyed.

“Who’s this? Do you have any idea how late it is?”

Ellie’s breath hitched. For a second, she considered hanging up. Throwing the phone into the street. Pretending this never happened. But she wasn’t running this time.

“…It’s me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Ellie.”

Silence. The kind that says everything and nothing at once.

“Ellie?”

Your voice softened. Then came the question she knew was coming—

“What– Why are you calling?”

She looked down at her converse, swallowing hard.

“I– I don't know I wasn't planning to, I'm just–” She tried to laugh it off. She couldn't believe this was happening.

“Are you drunk?” Your tone firm and dry

“I’m sorry i shouldn't have called , i dont know what the fuck im doing ok? I literally just called someone else your name. Just now.”

A shaky breath.

“Stupid, right?”

You didn't say anything, Ellies fingers tightened around the phone and your silence was enough to keep her bleeding. She was surprised that you hadn't hung up on her yet.

So Ellie kept talking.

“And I… I thought maybe if I just shoved it deep enough, it’d go away. Y’know? This—this fucking feeling. This ache that’s been stuck in me since you left. And I keep trying to bury it, like if I fake it hard enough, maybe it’ll stop hurting but it doesn’t. None of it works. Everything feels so…pointless. Like it doesn’t mean anything because… because there’s no you anymore.”

She breathes in sharp—like it physically hurts to say the next part.

“And burying it doesn’t fix shit. ‘Cause I still—”

A pause, her voice breaking on the edge. She didn't even realize tears had fallen down her freckled face. Savouring the salty drops as she opened her mouth.

“I still love you.”

There it was. She said it and she couldn't take it back anymore. It was real, and you were silent. Just like she had been when you were begging her to say something back then. Funny how life goes huh?

Silence. Again. you were completely frozen like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But your thoughts vanished when a female voice called you up.

“Who is it babe?”

Babe.

Ellie froze. Her stomach twisted, breath catching like it forgot how to move.

Babe.

You didn’t answer the girl right away. But you didn’t deny it, either.

Ellie bit her cheek until she tasted blood. The universe was getting a big fucking laugh out from her. There was a long pause. Too long.

You didn’t mean to let it stretch, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and the words wouldn’t come out right.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Ellie.”

She didn’t say anything. You could hear her breathing—shaky, uneven, like she was crying?

“You can’t say things like that. Not now.”

You sounded softer than you meant to. Not angry. Just… broken.

“It’s not fair.”

Another pause. You swallowed hard.

“I have to go– I'm sorry, you should go home and sober up and just forget about it ok? That this phone call ever happened at all.”

You hesitated, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your throat.

“Please.”

It came out barely audible. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

A silence lingered between you, thick with everything neither of you were saying.

“You don’t get to do this now, Ellie. Not after all the times I waited for you to mean it.”

Your voice cracked.

And before Ellie could speak—before she could take it back, or say she was sorry again—

“Goodbye Ellie”

You hung up. The line went dead.

She backed into the wall behind her sliding down until she was sitting on the cold concrete, knees pulled in tight, Joel’s jacket wrapped around her like it might protect her from this ache.

But it didn’t.

She let her head fall forward, resting it on her arms. The tears came slowly at first, stubborn like her. But once they started, they didn’t stop. Silent, messy, no control. Her shoulders shook, her breath catching in her throat like she couldn’t even cry right.

“Fuck this” She muttered.

You didn’t say you didn’t love her.

You said it was too late.

Somehow, that hurt worse.

The words echoed in her skull. She let out a choked laugh—bitter and hollow. She hated how much it still mattered. Hated that she called you. Hated herself for waiting this long to say it, for saying it now, when it meant nothing anymore.

She sat there until her fingers went numb, until the night felt like it was swallowing her whole.

Her phone kept ringing like crazy, probably a worried Dina or a very upset Jesse at the end of the line. She ignored it, because it wasn't you.

Eventually, she stood—slow, unsteady, like her body was made of glass. Her jacket hung heavy on her shoulders, soaked in the scent of cheap beer, smoke, and everything she didn’t want to feel. She made her way back inside of the bar, reckless and hurt, in search of a body that could keep her warm tonight, someone to blur the edges, to drown out the echo of your voice still ringing in her head.

Maybe, just for a second, it would feel like she wasn’t completely alone.

The music hit her like a wave—loud, chaotic, the kind of beat that made it easy to forget. She didn’t care who was watching, or that her eyes were red and her face puffy. She moved through the crowd like a ghost with a drink in hand, brushing past strangers until she locked eyes with someone—pretty, familiar enough, not you.

Never you.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and rough. “Buy you a drink?”

The girl smiled, said something back—Ellie didn’t really hear it.

Didn’t matter.

She just needed something to ease the pain.

Even if it was empty.

Even if it was fake.

Even if it hurt worse in the morning.

She leaned in, chasing a flame that would burn out, pretending it didn’t sting when it wasn’t your hands she felt.

Pretending she didn’t just shatter a little more when the girl kissed her and all she could think was—

You.

It was still you.

Always you.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧───

hope u guys liked it and lmk whatchu think, i’m open to suggestions and if u have any requests don’t hesitate to hmu <3!!!

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) III

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, includes: 4ggravate, faruzan, layla, collei, wanderer, nahida, not proofread

Note: Pretty much a filler episode, legit having trouble writing the development chapters TT sorry this is taking a while guys!

Part 2

Part 4

—

(Kaveh) About Alhaitham: You

Oh, great, now there are two!

Seriously, what’s with all the verbal sparring? If they’re not tearing each other apart, they’re staring each other down like they’re about to—

… Ugh, forget it. I don’t even want to think about it.

(Tighnari) About you and Alhaitham

They should be careful, spending too much time around Alhaitham might actually lower their patience threshold. I’ve seen it happen before—one moment, you’re a perfectly rational person, and the next, you’re locked in some ridiculous debate about the semantics of a single word.

Though, I have noticed something interesting. Most people argue with Alhaitham out of frustration. They, however, seem to enjoy it.

(Cyno) About you and Alhaitham

They should watch themselves when they’re around him. Al(I’ll) haith(hate) for anything to happen to tham(them).

… Why are you walking away?

(Faruzan) About you and Alhaitham

Hah! Those two? Trust me, dear, this is nothing new. Intellectuals like him always think they’re above such trivial matters—until someone comes along who challenges them in ways they can’t rationalize. I hear them all the time in the Faculty room, and—whoo! It does get heated. Let me know once they finally stop dancing around it.

(Layla) About you and the Scribe

Huh? Oh—yawn—sorry, I was just having a dream about those two. Well, more like a nightmare, actually. Their squabbling makes my head hurt…

(Collei) About you and Alhaitham

At first, I thought they really didn’t like each other, but then I noticed… they always seem to seek each other out. Even when they argue, it’s like they’re—um—engaged in it? Oh, but not in a bad way! More like… ugh, I don’t know how to explain it.

It’s just… if they really hated each other, wouldn’t they just ignore one another? But instead, it’s like they’re always circling around each other, waiting to see who makes the next move.

…Oh no, I sound like Master. He did say I should start paying attention to details, but I think I’ve been reading into this too much!

(Wanderer) About you and the Scribe

Why should I care?

(Nahida) About you and Alhaitham

It’s fascinating how two people can be so alike, yet so determined to resist it.

They both value knowledge, but in different ways. Alhaitham pursues logic, stripping away emotions to find the truth. They, on the other hand, understand that emotions are part of the truth.

Maybe that’s why he keeps seeking them out. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s learning from them—just as much as they learn from him.

(Students) About you and the Scribe

“Did you see the way they were arguing earlier? It’s starting to feel less of a duel, and more of a… teasing session? No wait that sounds wrong—well, if we’re being honest, I’m likely right.”

“They say Scribe Alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he finds uninteresting… is that why he’s always provoking the professor?”

“Ugh, the tension is palpable. Either they’re going to kill each other or f—”

“Shh! Keep your voice down! They’re right there, y’know!”

(You) About the public eye

Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way my students chuckle whenever Alhaitham and I talk. The whispers, the not-so-subtle glances, the way they elbow each other like they’re in on some great secret.

It’s irritating.

Yes, we argue. Yes, he gets under my skin like no one else. And yes, I might indulge in it more than I should—but that doesn’t mean anything.

… Right?

Yes, of course it doesn’t! If it did, indulging in any more conversation with the Scibe could lead to something more. And that could make me lose my job…

Ugh. I don’t have time for this nonsense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach. And if anyone starts giggling the moment he walks in, I’m assigning extra readings for the entire week.

(Alhaitham) About the public eye

It seems the student body has developed an interest in our discussions. It’s all rather tedious.

I fail to see what’s so amusing. Intellectual debate is a natural exchange of ideas, a means of refining one’s thoughts through challenge and discourse. If they find that entertaining, then perhaps their academic standards are lower than I expected.

… Though, I will admit—if anyone were to match me in wit, it would be them. That alone makes it somewhat worth the spectacle.

Now, if only they’d stop pretending they don’t enjoy it just as much as I do. If they truly wished to rid themselves of me, they would’ve found a way by now.

So how come they haven’t?

(You) About Alhaitham’s Words

Why do I keep engaging?

That’s a good question. One I should have a simple answer to—but I don’t.

Maybe it’s because walking away feels like letting him win. Maybe it’s because every time he smirks like he’s already predicted my next move, I feel the urge to prove him wrong. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else entirely.

Because for all my complaints, for all the ways he infuriates me—there’s something about him that keeps me on edge, keeps me thinking. He doesn’t just challenge my arguments; he challenges me. I’ll admit, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find some thrill in it.

… Ugh. Now I sound just as bad as my students. I need a distraction. Anything to get his voice out of my head.

Too bad I know he’ll be right back in it the moment I see him again.

(Alhaitham) About you: Tired

They seemed more dismissive today.

Normally, their retorts are sharp, immediate—crafted with care, as if each exchange between us is a battle they refuse to lose. But today, there was hesitation. A flicker of something else beneath the usual fire.

Tired, perhaps? Annoyed? Or is it something deeper?

It’s unlike them to leave an argument unfinished. So why did they?

… Hm. I suppose I’ll have to provoke a proper response next time. Not that I particularly care, of course. But if they’re going to act out of character, I might as well investigate the cause.

[cheoliedollie]

kiss attack! svt: reactions ♡

☆ ~ OT13

genre: boyfriends svt | sudden kisses | lots of kiss (cheek, nose, lips...)

note by marie: kiss, kiss, kiss ( might be grammar mistakes, srry for that :( ) ♡ as always, hope you guys like it!

s.coups ♡

~ For me, S. Coups would be a guy who gets scared at first, but not so much that he jumps, but rather closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, right after you give him a light kiss on the cheek. He'd put his arm around your shoulders and kiss you back...even harder. To him, you were the most beautiful and precious thing in the world.

jeonghan ♡

~ Jeonghan would tease you until he got something out of you and would wait anxiously for you to freak out and come running to him. But as soon as you, out of the blue, started kissing the top of his head every time he started making a scene, he really understood when his colleagues say they “melt” when their partners kiss them out of the blue.

joshua ♡

~ If you want to be surprised, dating Joshua is the way to go. He knows how to cheer you up even down to the smallest detail and you wanted to do the same for him. So, while watching a movie on TV, you decided to attack him with kisses. At first, Joshua was startled, but once he understood what was happening, he just laughed with you and returned the kisses.

jun ♡

~ Jun was the definition of cuteness, and that was a fact. But it was the boy who always initiated kisses and physical touches, but when you did, after a fit of cuteness generated by him following a computer game, Jun could only laugh and tell all the boys how amazing his girlfriend was.

hoshi ♡

~ Staying at Hoshi's parents' house limited contact between the two of you, even more so because even though you were adults and had been dating for years, his parents put you up in his older sister's room. But nothing stopped you from surprising the boy in his room in the middle of the night, just for a quick “goodnight” kiss and then leaving right after. That certainly left the boy with red cheeks and smiling all the way to sleep.

wonwoo ♡

~ The time Wonwoo spent in the games room was much longer than the time you spent together… almost every time. It didn't really bother you, after all, your boyfriend needed a break from his exhausting schedule. So every 20 minutes, or whenever you felt it was time, you'd run into the room where the man was and leave a kiss on his shoulder. It was a simple thing, no big deal… but when you left the room, Wonwoo would caress the spot and smile as he did.

woozi ♡

~ Woozi spent most of his time in the studio and you proudly accompanied him every day, listening to the songs and even giving him suggestions. And if you think that the moments of affection and love are left out… you're wrong! Whenever he could, Woozi would take a step away from the computer, pat his lap three times and ask you to sit there. You did it with pleasure, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him and rubbing your nose against his. For Woozi, this was his favorite part of the day.

dk ♡

~ Dokyeom would scream to be honest. After the little kiss on the forehead while he was reading, he'd look at you, with those sparkling eyes of his, and smile big, asking for more of where that's coming from. Asking for more kisses, hugs, cuddles… asking for everything he should receive. And if you don't… get ready for another Lee Seokmin rambling session.

mingyu ♡

~ Cooking and giving back hugs is a MUST in a relationship with Mingyu! But imagine that specific scene with me...You and Mingu, together in the kitchen, preparing the breakfast after one incredible night together. Your arms involve his waist and suddenly your lips touch his back. He would be SO shocked. Would turn immediately back and try to kiss you back, eventually forgetting about the food on the stove...

the8 ♡

~ The8 wouldn't be the type for too much pda but I think he would be one of the guys who likes sudden kisses the most! Just imagine his little smile after a sudden kiss while he is meditating in the living room. He would try not to show but he is internally screaming.

seungkwan ♡

~ Yk that video of Seungkwan trying to bite/kiss Hoshi? He would try to do that often to you and would get upset when you don't reciprocate it. But one day, he came back after a long tour you attacked him with kisses, love bites, and tight hugs. He fr became the happiest man in the whole world, even got surprised at first, but wouldn't stop talking about it after.

vernon ♡

~ "Wth are u doing babe?" Vernon would be like that at first...but when you say that you're trying to do a TikTok challenge like "kissing your boyfriend and see what happens" he would melt and be like "yes I'm your boyfriend pls do that to me whenever you want"

dino ♡

~ He would find it so cute when you guys are at home. You know that cozy vibes? He laughs as you shower him with kisses and of course, gives you triple back. But please, don't do that in front of Dino's friends. The way they would tease him for the rest of the week, month, even the year...the poor boy won't have peace.

[angel-eyes05]

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 4)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara 

summary: so much time has passed since you last saw each other. will old feelings come up again once you two find each other again?

warnings: HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, this is so against canon its insane, NSFW (we did it guys we're finally here), switch!reader and switch!miguel, blood mention, fang and claws play, p in v unprotected, cumplay, angsty (i couldnt help it), it goes, angst, smut, and then angsty fluff at the end youre welcome

word count: 3.2k

notes: for some reason, it didn't let me tag as many people who wanted to be on the taglist, so if i didn't end up tagging you for the final part, sorry idk what went wrong

also forgive me i was listening to boygenius while writing the parts leading up to the smut so it might get a little angsty there (i cant help it) (miguel and y/n are so bite the hand and cool about it core)

but then i balanced it out by listening to frank ocean (pyramids specifically) while writing the smut so you're welcome

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

Three years had passed. Three years since you finally found Miles, defeated The Spot, and caused the collapse of the Spider Society. Everyone had gone back to their separate dimensions, but were able to still visit each other with their still working portal watches. Miles and Gwen specifically were very happy. Peter B. went back home to live with MJ and Mayday, sending you frequent pictures of Mayday to keep you updates. You were different. You didn’t return to your home world. You didn’t necessarily have anyone to return to per se. Instead, you decided to hop between dimensions, seeing what crime there was to fight in cities that didn’t have anyone to protect it. It was enough to keep you occupied, and as long as your watch still worked, you had the option to stop if you wanted to. Life was nice. You finally had found peace.

But something felt off. Something thudding in the back of your head. Because even though you had been at peace for three years, it had also been three years since you saw him. You had seen him during the final showdown between all of Spider Society, but your team had managed to keep you two apart, due to fear for your safety. After the fight was over, you two had made eye contact with each other a couple of times, but never approached each other. If you were being honest, you were still scared of him at that point, even seeing him tied up there on the floor waiting for someone to deal with him. 

It took a while for your gashes to heal, the ones on your back taking much longer to turn into scars than the ones on your tricep and thigh. The marks on your body were frequent reminders of him and the damage he’s caused to your life. Part of you hated him for it. But most of you just missed him. Unlike Jess, who sent you pictures of her baby every now and then, neither of you had reached out to the other. It was crazy how five years of shared history can be thrown to the ground so quickly.

Right now, you were sitting on the railing of your apartment balcony. For the past month or so, you decided to park it in Earth-3819. There wasn’t much crime going on there, so it was a nice place to stop when you needed a break. Your feet dangled off the edge of the railing, as you looked out to see the sunset on the skyline. The wind blew faintly at your face, causing strands of hair to fall out of your high bun. You had been thinking more about him recently, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were. 

Almost as if you manifested it, you heard the sliding glass door from your bedroom slide open. Startled, you quickly turned around, ready just in case it was an attacker.

It was much worse than an attacker. 

You mouth laid agape as his massive shadow covered your smaller body. Feelings that laid dormant for the past three years suddenly erupting in your stomach. You looked up to the roof of your building as a signal to meet you up there, as you attached a web to the top and swung up there.

Once you were both at the top, you faced your back to him to take time to catch your breath. Your emotions were all over the place right now. “You’re really hard to find, you know,” he said trying to break the silence. You wanted to throw up. As much as you hoped this moment would come, you never realized how unprepared you would be if it ever did. You couldn’t bare to look at him right now, knowing you would lose control of yourself if you did. “You look…good.” How would he know, he only saw your face for a second before you bolted off. You both stood there, the wind growing louder and louder with each second you both stayed silent. 

All of your senses came to a freeze once you felt his hand place itself on your shoulder, causing a flinch from you. “I wanted to find you again, mi vida,” he said in that rich, deep, smooth tone of his that drives you crazy. You could tell he was getting closer when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up from him breathing on them. “I missed you, and I was hoping we could pick up where we left off,” he said into the crook of your neck and began to plant kisses there. You broke free from his grasp by the third kiss he left. “No no no no no, no we can’t. It’s not that simple Miguel,” you said, pinching your bridge and sighing. There's no way he could've thought it would be this easy. He's not this stupid….is he?

“Listen amor, I’m sorry for everything that happened. But the past is the past.” He walked closer to you. “And I want my future with you.” He was up against you again. This time instead of your shoulder, he dragged his finger up and down your back in an almost hypnotic motion. God, you wanted him so bad, you wanted it to be this simple. That he can just apologize and everything could be okay. But you were reminded it couldn't be that way once his finger hit a pressure point in your scar. You swatted your hands in the air and walked away from him again. “No Miguel, that's not how this works. You can just do the things you've done to me and just say sorry and expect it to fix everything. You're not a child.” 

Once you turned around to face him, you saw him standing there like a lost puppy. You just wish he could see what you were talking about. “Don't act like you didn't do horrible things then too. I saw what you did to Jess.” “Don't turn this onto me Miguel. This is about you.” You walked up to him and pressed your finger into his chest. “This is about you, and the horrible things you've done to me! I can't even take a shower anymore without looking at myself in the mirror and seeing your damage!” You lifted up your shirt sleeve. “You did this! This was all you!” Miguel looks down at you with sympathetic eyes as your eyes began to well up. 

“And you can’t just barge in on this life I’ve made for myself and ask for me back because I won't go with you!” You were fully crying at this point, desperately trying to get your words out between sobs and lightly punching at Miguel's chest while he just stared at you. “Because I hate you Miguel! I hate you, okay!” You couldn't manage to talk anymore, overcome with the emotions he caused you to feel. You rested your head on his chest as you continued to sob. He wrapped his arms around you, causing you to do the same to him immediately. You sat there crying into his arms for about a minute, until he lifted up your chin with his finger.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you mi princesa. I’m so sorry. But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Overtaken by emotion, you grab his face and crash your lips into his. Almost instinctively, his hands find a home onto your hips. You pull away for a second. “Just stop talking already,” you say breathlessly. He rushes to connect the two of your lips again, already going as far as to slip his tongue in between your lips. He’s so passionate about everything he does. His hands hold a tight grip on your body as his tongue explores your mouth. Almost like he’s hungry for you. No, not hungry. Starving. Famished. Three years apart was too much for him to stand without you by his side or in his bed. He needed you desperately. Like his life depended on if he was going to be able to fuck you into your bed tonight or not. 

He let out moans as your hands ran through and tugged on his hair. But as soon as his claws came out and dug into your hips, you pulled your mouth off of his, a string of saliva still connecting you two. “No claws Miguel. Bring them out again, and its over okay.” You still weren’t mentally over his attack against you. He nods. “Of course, baby.” With that said, you let go of him to walk over to the edge of the building. Once your at the edge, you signal him over. He follows, almost as if he’s under some spell. You attach one of your webs to your balcony railing below and use it as a guide to fall down to it. You land on your balcony, Miguel following close behind as you open the sliding door to your bedroom.

After you close the door and blinds, you turn to find Miguel almost hovering over you. He looked like some kind of lost dog the way he kept following you around, begging for more of you. You gently kiss him and guide him over to your bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to pull your hoodie off your head as you help him take off his suit. Once your sweatpants are off as well, you gently push him onto his back on your bed. Goosebumps form all over your body, partially from exposure to the cold air in your room, and partially from seeing him like this underneath you again. Finally, you take his already hard cock, and slide it into your hole, causing a rough groan out of him as you begin to rock on his hips.

You take things nice and slow while you’re in control, knowing the moment you get sloppy he’ll start to take over for you. You kissed down his neck and collarbone as you rode him, with him gripping hard at your back and your hips. “Nng, m-missed you s-so much amor,” he groaned out. “Tan hermosa.” You begin to speed your thrusting, tugging at his hair to get strained noises out of him. His hands make their way up to your back, digging into your skin. But your quick to rip his hands out of your back and pin them above his head once his talons come out again, into your back this time. You also take your lips off of his and stop your thrusting.

Miguel searched your face for some kind of explanation to the sudden stop, to find you panting and nearly frozen still. You’re taken back to that fight, a result from his claws finding a way into your scars. You’re pulled back to reality by Miguel’s voice. “Amor, que paso?” he asks with concern. You quickly wipe the sweat off your face and look into his beautiful crimson eyes. You wanted to forget the pain he caused you all those years ago, but unfortunately you couldn’t. But, you were willing to forgive him though. “Nothing Miggy,” you say gently, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. He tries to move his hands back onto you, but finds his hands still trapped to the headboard. He looks at you confused. “What did I say about the claws, Miguel.” 

“Ay, baby you know its hard for me to control them around you,” he says, slightly annoyed, driven by the need to touch you again. “Well you’re going to need to try to okay? For now though, you’re going to stay like this.” His face drops, and he makes a sound almost like a whine. “Ay coño, lo siento péro you don’t need to punish me.” You felt powerful hearing him whine and beg like this. You were denying a starving man of his woman, his source of energy. 

Arms squirmed in your hand, as you began to rock on top of him again. You made sure to not kiss him either, moving away whenever he would try to place his mouth onto yours. He whined as you picked up your speed, desperate to feel you again. “P-please, let me go cariño.” You moved your mouth down and whispered in his ear, running your finger up and down his stomach, causing him to melt under you and whimper like a madman. “Not just yet,” you whispered seductively, sending extra chills down his spine and into his stomach when you bit into his ear lobe.

Overcome with your own urge to feel him, you accidentally let go of his hands and moved yours to grab hold of each of his pecs as you planted kisses over his sternum. Suddenly, you’re overswept as Miguel is freed and takes control over the situation. “I love you amor, but you have to let me touch your,” he says in that beautiful, rich tone of his before he goes at his own pace: slamming himself into you. 

He goes much faster than you did, and you almost come there on the spot as he nearly breaks your bed with his ferocity. You grip onto his enormous triceps for leverage as you let out a series of incoherent moans. “You like that, huh?” he pants out. You shove your lips onto his to get him to stop talking. “I-if you’re gonna do this, n-ngh, you’re gonna have to s-hh-ut up,” you manage to get out in between your almost inhumane sounds. He nods and shoves his tongue into your mouth, exploring the insides of your cheeks while his tip slams into your walls, causing that white heat to begin to build up in your stomach.

His hands swarm across your body, making up for lost time before, and eventually land on your breasts as he begins to palm at them. Just as you thought he couldn’t arouse you any more than he already has, he moves his mouth along your jawline, down to your neck, and begins to mark it with kisses and slight sucking. “I-I missed you too, Miggy.” 

That nickname you had for him drove him crazy. So crazy in fact, his next move was to drive his fangs into your neck, making sure to not let his poison seep into your neck. He presses his lips and sucks on the skin on your neck while sinking his fangs deeper into you. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, as you held onto his broad shoulders while he basically slammed you into the bed. “Oh Miguel,” you moaned out. He nodded, not able to speak, due to his fangs still being attached to your neck. You could tell he was getting close too with how sloppy his pace was getting. 

You’re washed over with bliss when the heat in your stomach finally takes over the rest of your body, almost clawing at Miguel while you come. His hands put more pressure on your breasts as he comes as well, moaning into the softness of your neck. Once you two have both finished, he slowly pulls his teeth out of your neck, and licks up the metallic liquid with his warm, delicate tongue. He slowly pulls his cock out of the sweetness of your cunt and rolls over to lay next to you on the bed, dragging his fingers across your pussy, taking the cum his fingers picked up and putting it in his mouth.

He plants a kiss onto your forehead before saying, “One second, princesa, I’ll be right back,” as he got up to go to the bathroom. He must have been in there for about 10 minutes before coming back into your room and reaching out his hand for yours. You take his hand as he leads you out of bed, reminded of how naked you are when you reveal yourself from the sheets.

He leads you into the bathroom to see that hes drawn a bath for the two of you. You blush slightly at the gesture, as he gets in first and leads you in. The touch of the water numbs your body slightly with the mixture of the cold room to the hot bath water. You almost melt as you sink in, laying your back against Miguel’s chest as he wraps his arms around your body. You could fall asleep right here, mixed between the comfort of the bath water, and Miguel’s body finally against yours again. The bathtub was kind of small, so his body was taking up most of the space, causing him to basically engulf you. 

You were surrounded in him, his lips almost attached to the nape of your nack, his arms consuming your upper half, and his legs intwining with your lower half. He wiggles slightly to reach the soap, puts it in the water to wet it, and lathers it onto your body. First, he washes your arms, rubbing the soap back and forth over your arm hairs, and even under your armpits. Next, he moves to wash your chest. He takes the soap and moves it over your breasts and your underboob, causing you to move in closer to him. His response is to peck kisses into the crook of your neck, getting little giggles out of you. You stop giggling though after he stops kissing you and stays still for a second. 

You wait in silence for him to do something. “...Miggy…you okay?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything. You turn your head slightly to see him. Out of your peripherals, you see him staring solemnly at your back. He’s finally seen them. The four almost perfectly placed scars warping across your back. They were huge. And he knows they’re from him. You turned your head back to the front and dug it in between your knees, pushing out your back even more. Miguel delicately traced his fingers over them, as you waited curled up for him to say something. “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to weakly push out. 

You decide to turn your body around to face him, splashing water around in the cramped bathtub while doing so. His eyes are down with sadness creeping over his face. You cup his cheek with your hand and press a loving, gentle kiss onto his lips. You bring his arms over your shoulders and wrap your legs around his hips. You wanted to be engulfed by him. You were so pressed on staying mad at him for so many years that you forgot how much you loved being this close to him. You could hear his heart softly beating as you pressed your head against his chest. He soon wrapped his arms around your body, taking you into him, and dug his head into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was hiding. 

You stayed there for a moment before eventually turning back around. You laid your head in a position so you could still see his face if you looked up. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off in his arms. Your last thoughts before you slipped out of consciousness was of how perfect this was. 

You had found your home again. Moreso, he found his way to you. And this time, you were never going to let go.

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a/n: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone for sticking around during this series. i know it wasn't meant to be 4 parts and only 2 so i really appreciate everyone who stuck around for the whole thing. make sure to look out for my next thing cause i wanna start writing an enemies to lover oc x miguel thing so please go and support that once thats out. thanks guys!!!!

taglist: @jenniferdixon05207 @sweetanimebakery @azxulaa @daimiyu @vinkar345 @pinkninja200 @luvstich @rin-matsuoka345-blog @lillunna @konniebon @hwanunjin @simp-nerd-16 @chucklefuvk @elwyn7 @haileybxxr @ilovemymomscooking @lansy-4 @maxi-ride @d4rno @callsign-blue @obamnas-soda @sophipet @violentlyneon @d1lf-loverrr @afro-hispwriter @kirke-is-my-name @ilovemiguelohara @lavnderluv @konniebon @msecho19 @kiamewrites

[aheckinmess]

Redamancy: A Mighty Valentine's Day

Part of @prominencesmashers Valentine's gift exchange! @actuallysaiyan was my valentine! I hope it fills your heart with so much joy!

Read on AO3.

Tags: Toshinori Yagi, All Might, Smol Might, Small Might, Reader, All Might-centric, Fluff, A Little Angst, And Everything in Between!, Nemuri Kayama Mentioned, Shouta Aizawa, Eraserhead, Hizashi Yamada, Present Mic, Thirteen Mentioned, All Might x Reader, Present Mic x Thirteen, The Three Dumbigos Included, Toshinori is Bad at Feelings, 5 + 1 fic, The five times Toshinori tried to confess his feelings to you, + the 1 time he succeeded, Gift Fic, Prominence Smash Valentine's Day

Word Count: 4,200 words

Summary: Valentine's Day is right around the corner, and Toshinori wants to admit his feelings for you before it's too late! Though he's got the spirit, he'll quickly learn that life knows how to throw some unexpected curveballs. Does that stop the Symbol of Peace? Absolutely not. OR The 5 times Toshinori tries to confess his feelings to you, and the one time he succeeds.

Author's Note: I've given the reader the name "Yin" (for, Your Name) and "Lyn" (for, Last Name) because I think it looks better than writing "Y/N," "L/N," "Name," or any other alternatives.

Attempt No. 1

All Might can do anything.

No matter how dire the situation, no matter how impossible the odds, no matter how strong his opponent, All Might perseveres and always comes out on top with a mighty fist raised high. 

Toshinori, on the other hand, is beside himself trying to wrangle the tangled knot of feelings in his chest. Valentine’s Day is right around the corner and he’s determined to ask you out before Snipe tries pulling out his rugged cowboy charms on you.

Considering he has zero experience with women and little to go off of aside from Midnight’s salacious soliloquies, he opts for a more classical option: flowers – which is why he’s currently thumbing through a bouquet catalogue with the local florist.

“And you said this one will be sure to catch her attention?” He points in the catalogue at a colorful arrangement themed with red, white, and pink flowers. 

“Oh, certainly!” The lady beams as she ties a bow around the stems of another bundle. “She’ll know what you’re trying to say for sure. This bouquet is well known in this area as the Matchmaker.”

“It is? Perfect! I’ll take these then.”

. . . . .

Toshinori sets up a time for the two of you to meet in the park as the venue for his timely confession. The wait for the bouquet isn’t bad, but actually having it in his hands prompts the Symbol of Peace to start pacing. Over and over he runs through what he’ll say, fumbling over his words even as he mutters them to himself. After a few moments, however, he’s worried he’ll ruin the bouquet and takes deep, cleansing breaths to center himself and pause.

Just be honest, like Aizawa said.

By the time he makes it to the meeting place in the park, he’s at his wit’s end. Facing villains suddenly seems much easier than this.

“Hello, my dear.” He plasters on a smile as his hands shake around the bundle of flowers behind his back. “I’m glad we could meet today.”

“Toshinori! I’m glad, too! It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper hang out.” The way your face lights up erases every single thought and essay he’d prepared this morning and the night prior. “What’s that you’ve got behind you? Is it a present for me?”

“Yes! W-Well, it’s nothing much. Just–”

BOOM!

An explosion rattles the ground beneath you both and screams in the distance send All Might on autopilot. If only he could think to hand you the damn bouquet in the meantime. 

But no. Instead, his fist tightens around it as he turns to you with frantic, blue eyes.

“Don’t move! Stay safe right here and I’ll go check it out!” He instructs.

The flowers disintegrate the moment he zooms in the direction of the blast, two blocks over. With a growl, he leaves them crumpled in the nearest blue bin as he sets his sights on the large bank robber sporting a hockey mask and massive paws. 

“You look like you could use a full serving of justice !” All Might laughs, whizzing over to the bank thief in record time, hoisting him up by the collar.

“A-All Might?! What are you doing in this district?!” The man squirms in the No. 1 hero’s grasp.

“My ears are always alert to the sound of villainy, no matter the distance!”

The bank robber is quickly subdued, as well as his lackeys trickling out of the bank behind him. By the time the cops arrive, a large group of grateful bank tellers and gawking civilians gather to watch their Symbol of Peace usher the culprits into the back of a police cruiser.

“Your finances are secure now…because I am here !” He grins wide while sporting a thumbs up.

When the cameras begin flashing, All Might knows he has to make a quick escape if he wants to conserve energy. “Thank you all for your continued support!”

In a flurry of wind, he jumps up to find the park again and stares at his empty palm. Damn. So much for the bouquet. His eyes land on the park and he drifts closer to the ground when another scream fills his ears.

“HELP!” A voice shrieks another block over. “Somebody help me!” 

Adjusting his course, All Might lands behind the offender, eyes glistening with determination and exuding a blue aura of menace as his feet stomp against the asphalt.

“Taking what doesn’t belong to you, hm? Looks like someone failed to teach you boundaries!” All Might’s dark smile paralyzes the fiend holding a stolen purse.

“All Might!” The victim chokes on a sob. “Thank you, oh, thank you!”

“Have no fear, ma’am. For I am here !” 

. . . . .

One hour turned to two until All Might’s watch flashes 12:00. He groans when he makes it back to the park and sees you’ve already left. To top things off, he’s used all but one hour of his energy, so he finds an alleyway to transform back to normal in a puff of steam. Shit.

He opts to walk home, having nothing else on the docket for the day and needing a much needed nap. On his way, he pulls out his cellphone.

I’m so sorry, Yin. Can we reschedule another meeting time and place? He sends the message all while kicking himself for the missed opportunity.

But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave others in harm’s way for a date. What might have happened if I hadn’t intervened? His mind wanders and worries until your text tone jingles in his ear.

Of course! I understand, Toshi. I had a meeting at noon, or I would have kept waiting for you. So don’t worry!

Toshinori sighs, both reassured and deflated at the sight of your message.

I’ll just have to set up another meeting and try to tell her again.

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

Attempt No. 2

“You’re trying to confess to Lyn?” Hizashi doesn’t know ‘quiet.’ He simply can’t help himself as he walks with Toshinori to the nearest arcade and whoops, “My MAAANN!”

“Shh! She’ll hear you!” Toshinori hisses, eying the arcade and feeling his ears ring. “Is there a subtle way I can let her know how I feel?”

“You’re talking to the King of Courting himself, Mr. Yagi!” Hizashi laughs. “But in all seriousness, it’s all about being honest and poetic. Her eyes aren’t just beautiful, they’re…” Hizashi gestures for Toshinori to complete the phrase.

“...exquisite?” Toshinori rubs the back of his neck.

“No! Well, yes, but you’ve gotta dig deep, man! Her eyes aren’t just beautiful, they sparkle like a million stars! Her smile isn’t just radiant, it…”

“...puts the sun to shame?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Hizashi exclaims as they step into the glowing arcade. “Good luck, good buddy! Just speak from the heart.”

With a clap on Toshinori’s shoulder, Hizashi disappears towards a group that is unmistakably Aizawa, Kayama, and Shirakumo. Now, Toshinori is left to find you himself, so he takes a deep breath as his eyes skim the many different game systems while brainstorming different compliments to give you.

As soon as his eyes find you, however, all flirtatious comments vaporize from his mind. Not one coherent thought remains when you turn to him with a wide grin sporting an All Might dress completed with white leggings.

Ten silent seconds pass by, and then your cheeks turn rosy while he stands ogling like an oaf.

“I’m sorry. Is this too weird to you? I almost talked myself out of wearing it. I figured it was too weird or fangirly, but I’d been hoping it seemed more appreciative…”

“No, no! You look amazing! It looks better on you than it does on me!” Toshinori blurts, his own face exploding in shades of red. “N-Not that I’d wear that…I meant my colors…or um, ah. I-I just didn’t expect it to look so perfect on you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous now.” You snicker, finding him endearing. “Come on. Let’s go see if anyone has beaten our high score on Galaga.”

The bells and whistles of pinball machines mingle with speaker sounds of gunfire, space blasters, and racecars screeching around a pixelated track. As it turns out, you reach Galaga and a new set of initials sits at the top of the leaderboard.

“Oh, no way! This means war!” You pretend to roll up your sleeves before pulling back your hair and grinning up at Toshinori. “We’ll reclaim the title!”

“With your spirit and determination? It is impossible to lose!”

. . . . .

You’re far too gracious, in Toshinori’s opinion, when you type his initials as the “New High Score!” icon flashes celebratory gold. Even though he urges you to take credit where it’s due – he didn’t even touch the console! – you dismiss him with a wave and nudge his shoulder.

“What’s important is that we have fun together.” You laugh, leaning your head on his arm and looking up at him with wide, dazzling eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

Toshinori can’t possibly refute it. Just your expression alone clasps his heart in an iron-grip. He knows in that moment he would do anything for you; you make Toshinori feel just as valuable as All Might. 

Like he could do anything no matter how dire the situation, no matter how impossible the odds, no matter how strong his opponent.

You make him feel like living .

This is the moment. He’s sure of it.

“Yin,” He begins, clearing his throat. “Do you think maybe we could–”

“Oh my gosh, Yin! Hey!” A girlish voice screeches and suddenly he’s torn apart from you. 

The moment fades as a sinking feeling is ushered into his gut. Of course, he delights in seeing you so happy reuniting with some old friends, but he can’t help but believe he’s missed his chance. One glance around the arcade shows him an entire dating pool entirely in your league and out of his. Could you possibly even want him? 

“Toshi?” Your voice breaks through his spiraling internal monologue.

“Hm?”

“You don’t mind if I hang out with them for a bit, right? You can tag along if you’d like. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen them.” You reach across and squeeze his hand.

“You go have fun.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I have matters to attend to anyway, so it all works out. Be safe, wherever you decide to go.”

“Thank you.” You surprise him by rushing into his side for a swift hug. He can only stand there, semi-startled as he blinks and you pull back. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Likewise.”

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

Attempt No. 3

When you invite Toshinori out for a picnic three days later, he’s determined to suppress his feelings after two bitter failures. Or perhaps just letting his emotions bubble up to the surface naturally will yield better results than his previous two attempts?

That doesn’t mean Toshinori slacks in putting together his appearance, however. Normally wily locks of blonde hair have been tamed flat against his temple, complimented by a silky yellow button-up that accentuates his lanky frame. Pressed brown trousers lead into sleek dark loafers.

With one final look in the mirror and a glance at his watch, Toshinori hops up and down a few times to hype himself up before grabbing his phone, his keys, and starting a brisk jog to the beach. Come on. You’re the Symbol of Peace! You can have a cordial picnic with the woman you secretly adore.

Your blanket and large beach umbrella is impossible to miss on the searing sand. You’ve set up a dark wicker basket on a plaid blanket as you lay back in a lounge chair to soak up the sun. When you hear Toshinori approach, you crack open an eyelid with a shit-eating grin.

“Toshinori, you will never guess what I learned yesterday.”

Something about the way you’re looking at him prompts him to loosen another button on his shirt – or maybe he’s just winded from the jog over. 

“What’s that?”

You pull out a folder and open it, revealing a weathered news article with a picture of All Might face-planting into the streets of Shibuya. Immediately, Toshinori grimaces at the memory and turns to look at the ocean instead.

With a hefty sigh he grunts, “Okay, you’ve got your blackmail, what do you want?”

Laughter bubbles from your chest and you fall back against the lounge chair, pulling your sun hat over your face to muffle the snorting that follows.

“I don’t want anything!” You cackle. “I just thought it was funny! You’re always portrayed as this big hero who never misses a beat, never trips over his own feet; it’s nice to appreciate your humanity every now and then. I think it’s endearing. It makes you more approachable.”

“I’m not sure eating pavement would qualify as approachable.” Toshinori scoffs, taking a bite of strawberry as you both enjoy each other’s company.

“You don’t know that. Maybe someone with a really weird quirk out there has this very news clipping taped up in their room!” You taunt, ruffling his neat and tidy hair.

“Hey!”

“What? It’s too flat. I prefer it more when it’s a fluffy mess.” You shrug.

“I…wait, really?” He pats his hair and combs four large fingers through the wispy strands. “I didn’t know. I thought maybe I’d try to tame it since we were having a nice picnic – it seemed a formal enough occasion to me.”

“Toshi, I’ve seen you hold press conferences with a messier style.”

“Yes, but…I don’t know! I just wanted to see if maybe you’d like it better flattened down.” He grants you a smile. “But I’m glad you like it messy. It was starting to get suffocating.”

“No need to act out of your comfort zone for my sake.” You giggle, setting your chin on your palm as you smirk at him. “Though I’m flattered you did all of that for me.”

Toshinori meets your eyes and he wonders if he should seize this opportunity. This time, he just manages to open up his mouth when a gust of wind sends your hat flying across the beach and soaring towards the crashing waves.

“Ah! My hat!” You lurch up to run after it with Toshinori quickly taking point beside you.

Sand showers between the two of you as the hat glides and flutters on a different course every few seconds, always a fingertip away from your grasp. Toshinori nearly secures the prize when he trips and, in a fit of irony, lands face first in the sand.

He lifts his head, sputtering and spitting out grains of sand as you fall back, hat in hand, howling and holding your sides as you’re overcome with mirth. Once you calm down, belly still shaking with aftershocks of giggles, you help him blow out the remaining debris in his eyes.

“Thank you.” He exhales, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all while he dries his eyes on his shirt. “We speak of this to no one.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m keeping this experience all to myself.”

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

Attempt No. 4

One week remains until Valentine’s, and Toshinori knows that if he wants to stand a chance in hell at getting heartfelt chocolates from you, he needs to step up his game. He’s tried flowers, he’s tried flirting, he’s tried a friendly outing on the beach, and now he’s got to resort back to basics again: dinner.

He follows the proper procedure, toeing the line between continued friendship and secret admirer as he holds your chair out for you and tells you how radiant you look this evening. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Toshi. This week has been insane and I need a good meal.”

Once he pushes your seat in, you roll your neck around and allow your muscles to relax and settle. The way your shoulders slump and your face smooths out leaves no question in Toshinori’s mind that tonight is the right decision.

“I’m glad to be of assistance. You’ve been looking overworked.” He admits, sipping from his water glass before the waiter comes to take his order. “Is there anything specific that’s been weighing on you? I-If you feel comfortable sharing, of course.”

You don’t miss a beat.

“Ugh, it’s just the kids have been crazy , lately. I swear there’s a full moon on the horizon.” You lean forward on the table as you invest yourself in the conversation. “Most of them are starting to understand press conference etiquette and I can see their progress. It’s just, I think they know the break is coming up and it doesn’t help that I’m at my wit’s end and getting burnt out.” 

Both of you pause as the waiter sets your orders in front of you. Toshinori waits for you to continue, except you’ve already dug into your meal. He chuckles when your eyes roll around in your head.

“I’m glad you like it. This place has udon that’s out of this world.”

“If I weren’t already so emotionally pent up, I would cry.” You admit between bites. 

Enraptured by your every word – and thoroughly impressed with his food – Toshinori sits across from you for an agreeable meal, offering himself as your ranting soundboard since you seem to need the release. Once he’s paid after dessert, the two of you stroll arm in arm towards your apartment. 

“I hope I didn’t steal the spotlight this evening.” Your hair curtains your blushing cheeks as you stare at your feet. “I didn’t intend to go on a whole tirade. You know you’re allowed to do the same thing with me, right?”

“Of course. My week has been amiable, and this week you needed me. So, I’m more than happy to be a safe place for you to fall.” He stretches a hand out to rest at your back, but clenches his fist as he thinks better of it and never makes contact. He stops outside your door while you fumble with your keys. “Have a good night, Yin. I,”  adore everything about you “hope you rest well and feel refreshed in the morning.”

As your gazes finally meet, unspoken tension crackles in the air. You rock forward on your toes and part your lips. Toshinori’s lashes flutter and cranes his neck toward you. Then, you tuck under his arm and squeeze him in a hug instead.

“Thanks for everything, Toshinori. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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

Attempt No. 5

Empty cupboards and a scarcely filled fridge convince Toshinori to make a grocery trip after a fruitless search for eggs. The removal of the majority of his stomach might have shrunk his appetite, but didn’t erase it. He’s scouring the aisles when a flash of orange blossoms in his peripheral vision.

He lays eyes on a cute Valentine’s bear that he tosses into his basket without hesitation.

Hey, Yin! I was in town and figured I’d swing by, if that’s okay? I found something that made me think of you and I’d like to drop it off. Toshinori uses his white tee to clear the smudge from his screen as the grocery bags rattle on his arm.

Now free from the stuffy atmosphere in the store, he glides through the streets of Japan, bobbing and weaving through the clogged crowds in a race to reach your apartment. He’s just outside the door when your text tone chirps in his ear.

Hey, Toshi. I hate to tell you this, but I’m sick. Feel free to stop by if you’d like, but I don’t want you getting sick, too. Thank you so much for thinking of me!

Could this be it? His perfect chance to take care of you and demonstrate his affections, served up to him on a silver platter? Toshinori can hardly believe it, but he knocks on your door and steps inside anyway when you bid him to come in.

The pitiful display in front of him tugs at his heart, and he finds himself on autopilot when he sets down his grocery bags and strides over to press his palm to your forehead as you lay buried underneath a mountain of blankets on the sofa.

“You’re hot. Have you taken a fever reducer?” He chides, combing back a sweaty lock of hair. 

“Yeah, just a minute ago.” You reassure him, caressing his hand while leaning into his palm. “Don’t stay long if you don’t have to, Toshi, I can take care of myself. I don’t want to make you sick.” 

“Nonsense. I’ll be fine. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.” He tuts, shaking his head before remembering why he initially came in the first place. “Oh! That’s right, I’ve got something for you.”

He pulls out the orange bear with hearts sewn into his feet and a larger, matching heart tattooed into his tummy. The large golden text on his belly declares, “FUR-EVER YOURS.”

“Aww, Toshi! You didn’t have to do that.” You squeal, forgetting yourself for a moment and coughing so hard your chest aches. “Sorry about that. I love him. I’ll let you know what I name him when I’m coherent enough to give him a proper name.”

“I’m glad you like him!” Toshinori perks up, heading into your kitchen to search for tea-making equipment. “Would you like me to make you some tea for that cough?”

“That would be heavenly.”

You’re nearly fading when he returns with a steaming mug of ginger tea, complete with honey and lemon to help your, presumably, sore throat. Though your eyes fight to stay open, you have no problem taking the mug and setting it on the side table nearby.

“Thank you so much. I can’t stress enough how lucky I am to have you.” You sigh, readjusting your head against the pillows and succumbing to the heavy weight of your eyelids. “Lock the door behind you when you go, ‘kay?”

“I will.” He promises.

In another breath, you’re snoring, and since you appear fully submerged in your dreamland, he risks a kiss to your forehead before he leaves.

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

Attempt No. 6

Over the course of the month, it’s become obvious to you that Toshinori is interested in you. Well, at least, you think so. The bashful comments, attempted gifts, and overall pleasant moods and outings you’ve shared within these two weeks guide you to one, daunting and exhilarating conclusion: your affection for Toshinori seems like a mutual one.

So, with the might of a thousand suns and the determination of an Olympic gold medalist, you pour all of your efforts into making him one of the best, and only, heartfelt chocolates you’ve ever made. You try the recipe not once, not twice, but three times to make sure they’re as delectable as possible. 

By the time you make it to the staff room on Valentine’s Day, your stomach ties itself in knots as the limited number of females exchange their own chocolates. Recovery Girl has polite chocolate for everyone that’s wrapped in cute, pink little mesh bags. Thirteen offers some heartfelt chocolate to Present Mic with blushing cheeks over in the corner, while Midnight offers a small bag of cheese to Hound Dog. 

“You giving Toshinori some heartfelt chocolate, Lyn?” Aizawa asks and scares the shit out of you in the process.

“I’m…gonna try.” You hope you sound more confident than you feel.

“Good for you.” It’s as much encouragement as you’ll get from the erasure hero. “For what it’s worth, I’m hoping I’ll get some from the librarian.”

“Oh, really? How sweet!” You beam, before turning to find Toshinori. “I’m going to go find–eep!”

The tall behemoth in question stands in front of you, blonde hair wily and fluffy as always. A plot twist you hadn’t expected? In his hands, he holds his own package of chocolates.

“Yin,” He greets you. “I know it’s not traditional for the guy to give chocolates until next month but…” He extends the small package of chocolates with shaky fingers. “I hope you’ll accept this as an expression of my affections.”

You accept the package and exchange it for your own, wrapped in his signature colors. He takes it and your smile illuminates the room so much it could be a new point of orbit.

“I have some for you too, Toshinori. I wanted to make sure they were perfect for you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time, but it never felt like the right time.” You confess, looking away.

His large hand comes under your chin to make you look at his luminous eyes, blue and twinkling in the light from the window. 

“I guess the right time found us, then.” He laughs, glancing down at your lips and back up to your eyes. “May I?”

“Please.”

Your hand comes up to rest on his chest like it was always meant to be there. His thumb caresses your neck so tenderly, as though he’s done it a thousand times before. Electricity sparks between the two of you even before your lips ever touch, and the world falls away in a swirl of desire and unrestrained need. 

In the quiet sanctuary of Toshinori’s cubicle, after immense effort and copious failed attempts, you both indulge in the shared reward of a final, successful confession.

[noisydelusionlove]

Chapter 17: A Date With Soap

Pairings: poly141xOC

Warnings: military inaccuracies, Oral (F receiving, M receiving), Smut

A/N: Trying my hand at adding more of Soap’s Scottish into the fic. I’ve been reading a lot of Soap fics and realized I wasn’t really adding how his Scottish actually sounds. I don’t know if it works, so we shall see! Please put your age on your blog if you’re going to interact. I love you! Also i’m still sick AF and my son has walking pneumonia, so my house is a hot mess right now. I’m also going through hella personal shit (i.e toxic/messy divorce) so thank you to everyone who loves my story so far, it’s honestly helping my mental health so much to get back into writing <3

Aurora laughs as Johnny practically drags her outside and to a car he had snagged the keys to. The pair are silent as Johnny drives towards the mountain area of the base. After a bit, he stops on the side of the road and smiles. “We’re walkin' the rest o’ the way Bonnie.” He says as they climb out of the vehicle. Aurora follows Johnny curiously. After a while, they stop at an old watch tower. “Up ye go Lass,” Johnny says as he points up. Aurora rolls her eyes as she ascends the ladder. “Quit looking at my ass Johnny.” She teases, earning a small growl from the man climbing below her. When she reaches the top she stands up and looks around. The inside of the watchtower has been transformed it seems. There is what appears to be a sniper’s nest set up, two riffles lying side by side. There’s also a basket and a cooler sitting off to the side. Aurora turns to look at Johnny curiously. 

“I know ye used to be a sniper, and ye loved it. So I went ahead and set up some targets. Thought we’d have a wee shoot, have a chat, then dig into the lunch I packed, aye?” He says, a small blush on his cheeks. 

“Right here, Lass,” he says, patting the edge of the sniper’s nest he’s set up. The rifle lies in wait, resting against the sturdy wooden railing. Aurora raises an eyebrow, catching her breath. "You brought me up here just to shoot things, Johnny?" She says, but a smile is hinting at the corners of her lips. He flashes a grin, clearly enjoying the moment. "Aye, but it’s not just any kind o' shooting, is it? It’s your kind. Thought ye might fancy a bit o' a challenge again." He says, although there is a pink tint to his cheeks. Aurora rolls her eyes, but there's a soft smile tugging at her lips. "A challenge, huh?" She glances at the scattered targets Johnny’s set up, a mix of distant silhouettes, hanging plates, and some more difficult, smaller targets in the distance. "I haven’t picked up a rifle in a few years, Johnny. I’m a medic now." She says, a sad tone to her voice. He shrugs, his grin widening. “Ach, Lass, ye can’t forget how to shoot that well. I’ve seen ye in action in the videos in ye file. Ye’ve got the eye of an eagle.” He steps a little closer, voice dropping just low enough for her to catch the flirty edge. “And let’s be honest… ye miss this, don’t ye? The focus. The quiet before the shot.” He says as Aurora looks up, meeting his eyes.

Aurora doesn’t respond immediately, feeling the familiar pull of Johnny’s charm. His energy is contagious, his teasing playful, and if she’s being honest, she’s starting to notice how easy it is to fall into his banter. But there’s something else too, something she’s trying to ignore, but as her heat approaches it makes it so much harder to ignore. Still, the memory of being behind a sniper’s scope, that calm, focused state of mind, it’s tempting. It’s something she hasn’t experienced in years, and there’s a part of her that misses it, even if she won’t admit it out loud.“Alright, let’s see if I can still hit anything,” she says, grabbing the rifle. Her tone is light, but underneath it is a quiet determination. Johnny watches her with a smile as she sets up the rifle, her posture already perfect, the way she positions herself at the edge of the nest. He leans against the railing, his voice softening. “Ye never lost it, Lass. I’ve seen enough to know that.” His voice is low, an almost purr. 

Aurora looks down the scope, adjusting the settings with a practiced hand. She picks her first target, a metal plate about a hundred yards away. Without hesitation, she pulls the trigger. The thunk of the bullet hitting the target is quick and clean. Johnny claps. “Och, ye’re still a bonnie shot, Lass. I knew it.”Aurora lowers the rifle, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “One shot, Johnny. Don’t get too excited.”But Johnny, of course, is already beaming. “Aye, one shot, and it’s better than most folk could do in ten tries. Now go on, show me what else ye’ve got.”She takes another shot, and another, hitting each target perfectly. There’s a rhythm to it, a sense of ease and precision that comes with years of experience. Johnny watches, leaning in slightly, his gaze focused on her. He’s genuinely impressed, though he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s enjoying watching her in action.“You’re makin’ it look easy, Lass,” he says, his voice full of admiration. “I knew I wasn’t wrong about ye.”Aurora finally lowers the rifle, casting him a glance. “You think I’m that good, Johnny?”

He steps closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Aye. And ye know it too, don’t ye?” His voice dips into something softer, more intimate. “I can see it in the way ye focus. It’s like ye’re in a world o’ yer own, just ye and the target., ” He pauses, taking a half, step closer. “It’s a sight worth seein’.”Aurora chuckles, though there’s a warmth in her gaze. “You just like watching people do what they’re good at, don’t you?”Johnny grins. “Oh, Lass, don’t flatter me. I’m just watchin’ someone who’s got it all. Precision. Grace. A little fire, too.” He winks, his tone playful. “And aye, maybe I do like watchin’ ye.”She narrows her eyes, but there’s something else beneath her teasing, an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the connection they’re forming. “You’re insufferable, Johnny. But… I don’t mind it.”

Johnny’s grin widens, but he doesn’t press further. Not yet. He knows the ground he’s treading, how hesitant she’s been about the idea of diving into anything serious with him, or anyone in the team, for that matter. The pack is close, knit, and it’s clear they all share an unspoken bond, one that isn’t just about teamwork. There’s an undercurrent of something more, something that’s grown since they all started working together. He knows Aurora feels it too, but she’s been keeping her distance, unsure if she wants to jump in with both feet. Johnny’s voice softens. “Go on, Lass. Let’s see if I can keep up with ye now.”Aurora glances at him, the challenge in her eyes. “You sure about that?”He picks up the rifle with a confident grin. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

Johnny lines up his shot, adjusting his stance as he focuses on the first target, a steel plate not far from where Aurora hit hers. He breathes in, steadies his aim, and fires. The shot rings out, landing just a hair off, center from the target. Aurora watches him, a small smile curling her lips. “Not bad, Johnny.”Johnny’s eyes gleam with a playful challenge as he shoots her a glance. He takes another shot. This one’s much closer to the bullseye. “Alright, alright,” she says, teasing. “Maybe you do have some talent, Johnny.”Johnny grins, his confidence unwavering. “Don’t worry, Lass. I’m just gettin’ warmed up.”

They continue trading shots, their playful banter filling the space between the cracks of the gunfire. Aurora finds herself drawn into the rhythm of it, her heart a little lighter each time Johnny flirts or cracks a joke. He’s easy to be around, even when he’s pushing her buttons, and maybe that’s what makes this so hard to fight. The day draws on, the sky turning from the bright morning sun to the afternoon glow. At some point, the banter quiets, and there’s a moment where Johnny’s gaze lingers on her a bit longer than normal. 

Aurora’s pulse quickens, not from the shots, but from something else, something she hasn’t fully admitted to herself. She’s starting to feel it, that pull toward Johnny, and, truthfully, toward the others in the pack too. There’s a warmth, a sense of connection she hadn’t expected when she first joined. She wants to chalk it up to her heat hormones, but she wonders if it’ll still be there when her heat ends. She feels a pull to Ghost that she can’t explain. With Kyle, it’s easy, like long-lost friends. With Price, there's an edge of comfort and trust there, But with Johnny, there’s something else. Something sharper. Something she’s afraid of diving too deep into.

Johnny’s voice breaks the silence. “Ye know, Lass, ye don’t need to hold back with me. I’ve seen the way ye look at me. And I’m not the only one in the team who’s feelin’ that pull outside of just the bedroom stuff.” He says lowly. Aurora freezes for a moment, her heart skipping. She glances at him, her voice quiet. “I’m not sure what I want yet, Johnny. You know that, right?”His expression softens, but there’s no frustration, only understanding. “I know, Lass. No rush. Just… don’t think ye need to run from it.”She looks away, her breath catching in her throat. “I just want to get through my heat, and then reassess Johnny. I want to be able to think without my hormones clouding everything.” She sighs. Johnny gives a small nod before nodding towards the cooler and basket. “Fancy a bite and a wee chat about it?” He says with a smile. Aurora nods as she follows Johnny to the basket. Johnny opens the basket and takes out a blanket, sitting it on the ground before motioning for her to sit.

Aurora takes a seat on the blanket and watches as Johnny follows suit. He opens the cooler and begins pulling out sandwiches, sodas, fresh fruit, and a small cheesecake and from the basket, he pulls out potato chips. 

He hands Aurora her food before beginning to eat his own. After a few moments of silence, Johnny clears his throat. “So, have ye given any more thought to who ye're gonna pick for yer first time, then?" He says, causing Aurora to almost choke on her drink at his blunt question. She clears her throat as she looks over at him. “I am not sure honestly. Kyle thinks I should pick Ghost because he thinks that’s the most logical pick if I ever decide to take an Alpha from this pack.” She says as she stares at her drink. Johnny can’t help the smile that springs to his lips at her words. “I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t love to see ye bonded to my Alpha. I think we both ken how much I want ye to be a part of our bond, Lass. I cannae hide how much I’m lookin’ forward to finally gettin’ a hold o’ ye during yer heat." His voice is almost a low growl as he looks at her, causing Aurora’s cheeks to tint pink as his scent begins to darken, as if his mind is already conjuring up images of her under him and Ghost, which, it probably is. Aurora tries to hide her embarrassment as she smells her scent and begins to sweeten with arousal. 

Aurora lets out a small squeak as Johnny suddenly leans in, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to pull her lips in for a rough kiss. She releases a whimper when she hears Johnny growl. In seconds he’s on top of her, pushing her back to lie on the picnic blanket spread underneath them. The kiss is desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues before Johnny breaks from her lips to kiss a trail down her neck. Aurora releases a whine as Johnny sucks on her neck, surely leaving marks as he slots his hips between hers, his obvious erection grinding against her through the thin fabric of her leggings. “Ye ken what Ghost’ll do to ye, Bonnie? Ye ken how fierce he can be? Aye, he’s nae the sort to hold back, that’s for sure.” Johnny growls into her ear causing Aurora to let out a small whine. Johnny continues kissing and nipping at her neck as he grinds himself against her, his clothed erection managing to rub perfectly against her clit, causing pleasure to well up inside of her. Aurora releases a whine as her hips begin to move, grinding herself more against Johnny.

”O ye’re prolly soaked right now aren’t ye Kitten.” He growls out as he bites a little more roughly on her neck, she’s sure he’s left a mark as she releases a small moan. “Just want to cum don’t you Bonnie?” He chuckles as one hand grabs a handful of her hair forcing her to look at him. “it’s all about consent. Do ye want me to make ye cum Kitten?” He says, staring directly into her eyes. Aurora lets out a small mewl and Johnny chuckles darkly. “Nae, I need words.” He says with a playful smirk as Aurora feels tears welling up in her eyes with the need to cum. “Please, Johnny.” She whimpers. “Please what Kitten?” He purrs as she whines again. “Make me cum.” She gasps out and Johnny releases another chuckle as he lets go of her hair to move down her body. “Thought ye’d never ask.” He mumbles as he quickly pulls her leggings down, flinging them across the watchtower.

In an instant Johnny has her legs over his shoulders, his large hands engulfing her thighs as he holds them tight, pulling her pussy down until he’s face first. He licks a long stripe up the center of her folds causing her to gasp out. “O ye taste just as good as I imagined, and I was right ye’re soaked.” He hums before giving small kitten licks to her clit. Aurora’s hand flies to find purchase in his hair, eliciting a growl from Johnny as she slightly tugs, moving her hips to grind on his face. Johnny is merciless as he alternates licking and sucking on her clit, eliciting loud moans and whines as Aurora feels her pleasure building. Johnny moves one hand down to run a finger over her entrance, making her gasp slightly before he slowly pushes inside. 

“I almost forgot how tight ye are.” Johnny growls as he begins to curl, searching for that one spot, when he finds it Aurora lets out a loud moan and Johnny can’t help but growl. He continues licking at her clit as her thrusts his finger, hitting that spot every single time that has her seeing stars. When he adds a second finger Aurora is biting back a scream at the feeling. “How’s that feel Kitten?” Johnny growls. When Aurora doesn't respond he moves his mouth to deliver a sharp bite to her thigh. “Feels good, full.” She whimpers and Johnny chuckles. “If ye feel full now I don’t know how you’ll take Ghost. He might split ye in two.” Johnny growls, the image of Ghost impaling Aurora on his large cock almost enough to make him cum in his pants.

Johnny continues to suck at her clit as he thrusts his fingers at a rapid pace as Aurora’s moans grow into almost screams. “Almost there huh Kitten? I can feel it. Let’s have it, cum for me pretty girl.” He growls and with one last hard suck to her clit Aurora is screaming as she cums all over his fingers and face. Johnny slows his movements as she rides out her orgasm, smirking as he sits up and makes a show of licking his fingers clean. 

. Her cheeks are bright pink as Johnny begins pulling her leggings back up her legs. She lifts her hips to allow him to pull them up all the way. Aurora watches in shock as Johnny moves to finish eating his sandwich, his erection obvious. “You don’t expect anything?” She says quietly as Johnny shakes his head. “I know you’re going at your own pace Bonnie, it’s not the first time I've had a hard-on. It’ll go down.” He says with a smile as Aurora laughs and nods. 

She scoots closer to Johnny, leaning slightly against him as she finishes eating. “I have a question, Johnny.” She says quietly as he looks at her. “If I do decide I want Ghost to be my first. How do I even approach that with him?” She sighs as she takes a bite of her sandwich. Johnny smiles. "How 'bout ye decide, let me ken, an' I’ll handle tellin’ him." Aurora looks at him for a moment before nodding. “If I do decide. I need you to make sure he knows I don't want him to mark me, at all, not during that, not during my heat, nothing.” She says quickly and Johnny nods. "He wouldn’t do that without yer express consent anyways, Bonnie. Aye, he’s an Apex Alpha, rough around the edges, but he believes in consent. Trust me, it took months before he’d even kiss me without my express permission." He says with a smile and Aurora nods.

”I have another question.” She says as she pops a chip in her mouth. Johnny nods as he takes a bite of fruit. “So, so far, you and Kyle have both done stuff for me without expecting anything in return. Why?” She says with an eyebrow raised. Johnny chuckles as he smirks. "Honestly, Bonnie? Some o' us just enjoy seein' the other person enjoy themselves wi' what we’re doin'. It's a braw feelin' kenning ye've caused that." He says as Aurora nods.

Once they’ve finished eating Johnny smiles as he packs everything back in the basket and cooler. "Well, let’s head back. I’ll take ye back, an’ I’ll get a recruit tae come clean this up." He offers his hand and Aurora takes it as he pulls her off the ground. They climb down the ladder and head back to the car before heading back to the task force building. Johnny bids her goodbye with a kiss before heading off promising to see her at dinner.

Aurora sits on her bed as she contemplates. She was intrigued by Johnny's explanation of him and Kyle giving her pleasure without wanting anything in return. She wonders if she would feel the same way if giving one of the pack members pleasure would make her feel that sense of pride. With a bite to her lip, Aurora grabs her phone to send a text to Kyle.

Feral: Hey are you busy?

Kyle’s response is almost instant.

Gaz: Nope whats up?

Aurora sighs as she lays back on her bed as she contemplates the question she wants to ask.

Feral: At the risk of being blunt do you think John (Price) not Johnny would let me give him a blowjob?

Aurora practically throws her phone as she hits send, regretting it almost immediately. Her phone begins to ding in rapid succession. She picks it up to see Kyle’s response

Gaz: OH

Gaz: EXCUSE ME

Gaz: Do you think any man on this team would turn down getting their dick sucked by you?

Gaz: Have you lost your fucking mind

Gaz: Of course he would let you

Aurora laughs as she looks at the messages, shaking her head.

Feral: I’ve never done it before….so im nervous…but I feel like if i’m giving my virginity to Ghost (not decided) then the other Alpha deserves something

Gaz: Of course, I get that, but you dont need to feel like you have to Princess

Feral: No, I want to…I think it would be interesting to see an Alpha enjoy the pleasure I give him

Gaz: but you're nervous?

Feral: duh

Gaz: What if I’m there?

Gaz: I could talk you through it

Gaz: It is MY Alpha afterall

Feral: You just want to watch

Gaz: well, yeah

Gaz: What do you say? After dinner he always goes to his office for a cigar. We can do like the kneeling thing and ill help you ask

Feral: yes, okay, yeah

Gaz: I’m excited ;p

Feral: Dont make me regret this

Gaz: See you at dinner Princess

Aurora sighs as she sets her phone down and glances at the clock, one hour until dinner and two hours until she gives her first blowjob, no pressure right? With a sigh, she begins looking up articles on her phone, blushing as she types in ‘how to give a good blow job’, before she knows it there is a knock at her door and she stands up, opening it to a smiling Kyle. “Ready for dinner Princess?” He smirks and Aurora just shoots him a small glare. “Don’t enjoy my awkwardness too much. I still kicked your ass today.” She growls and Kyle smiles as he holds his hands up in defeat. The two head off to the mess and fill their trays, sitting with the others.

As they are eating Ghost, John, and Johnny notice that Aurora is a little fidgety. Johnny assumes it’s what happened between them earlier and shrugs it off until he sees the wide smile Kyle has on his face. Ghost looks from Aurora to Johnny, not missing the fact that he can smell Aurora all over Johnny, it doesn’t take a genius to realize something happened between the two of them. When John finishes he bids the group goodbye and heads off to his office. Once he’s gone Johnny turns to whisper to Kyle. “What's got ye smilin' so big?” And Aurora shoots Kyle a glare as he smirks.

”Our dear Omega is going to bless my Alpha with a new first tongue.” He says as Aurora growls at him. “Kyle!” She whisper yells as he starts laughing. Johnny and Kyle look at Aurora curiously and then look at Kyle. “She’s going to suck his dick, relax. I’m pretty sure we all know who’s in the running for her virginity.” He says as Aurora groans and goes to slam her head into the table, but Johnny moves quickly to place his hand on her head preventing that. “It’s alright Kitten.” He whispers, but it’s obvious he’s trying not to laugh. Once Aurora’s tray is empty Kyle smiles as he grabs her hand. They throw their trash away and head off. Once they leave Ghost turns to Johnny. “Who’s in the running for the Omega’s virginity?” He asks Johnny, apparently clueless. Johnny blinks as he stares at his mate. “O boy, be glad ye’re handsome Simon because sometimes I wonder bout ye.” He laughs as he heads off too, leaving a confused Ghost.

Aurora wrings her hands together nervously as she walks down the hall with Kyle. When he notices Kyle places a comforting hand on her back. “Calm down Princess. I can promise you Price won’t embarrass you or make you feel bad or anything okay?” He smiles, and Aurora calms slightly at his reassurance. When they arrive at John’s door Kyle knocks and waits for the gruff “come in.” from his Alpha before opening the door. When John sees Aurora and Kyle standing there together he smiles as he sits the file he had in his hands down to give them his attention. Kyle shuts the door behind them and John raises an eyebrow as he twists the lock.

”Alpha” Kyle purrs, causing John to sit up straighter as he eyes the two in front of him. “Yes, Kyle?” He says, trying to hide the growl in his voice, a natural reaction to being called by his title. Kyle smirks as he walks behind John, draping his arms across his shoulders as he leans in to whisper in his Alpha’s ear. “Our little Omega wants to do something for you it seems.” He purrs, and John’s eyes glance at Aurora as she watches the scene unfold. Her scent is unmistakably sweeter, a sign she is aroused by watching the display Kyle is putting on. “And what would our little Omega want to do for me?” John says, looking at Aurora but speaking to Kyle. “She wants yours to be the first cock she sucks, isn’t that nice of her.” Kyle purrs, smirking as a growl releases from John’s chest at his words.

”but she’s nervous, so I’m here to walk her through it. I’m going to teach her.” Kyle says as he places a small kiss on John’s neck. “Why don’t you come over here and sit on our Alpha’s lap Princess? No need to rush right into it, let’s share a few kisses first.” Kyle smiles as he reaches over John to hold a hand out to Aurora. After a moment Aurora slowly begins to move, coming to a stop in front of John nervously. “Come on sweetheart. I won’t bite.” John growls as he taps his lap, indicating for Aurora to sit on his lap. Aurora bites her lip as she slowly swings a leg over and settles down, straddling John’s lap in his desk chair. John growls as he feels Aurora slightly grinding against his already hard length, held captive by his cargo pants.

Kyle hums in approval as he looks between his Alpha and the much smaller Omega. “Be gentle with her.” Kyle purrs as he watches John reach a hand up to tangle in Aurora’s hair to pull her into a slow and sensual kiss. Aurora releases a whimper at the intensity of the kiss, her hips moving naturally to grind against the bulge she feels under her hips. John groans as he grabs her hips, stilling her movements as he continues to kiss her. Kyle smiles as he leans against John’s shoulder watching the two makeout up close. John’s other hand slowly moves p to grasp Aurora’s breast through her t-shirt and sports bra. Aurora lets out a gasp and John takes that moment to slip his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He releases a growl as his tongue touches hers. After a moment John pulls back, staring at Aurora with an intense look she’s never seen in his eyes before.

”Alright Princess slide off his lap and onto your knees on the floor and let's get started.” Kyle growls slightly, smiling as Aurora slowly moves to sit on her knees on the floor between John’s spread legs. Kyle reaches across John’s chest to undo John’s belt and fly, slowly sliding the zipper down before John lifts his hips a bit so Kyle can slide the pants to his thighs before he does the same to his underwear. Aurora stares in surprise as she comes face to face with John’s hard cock. She has never really seen one in person so she’s shocked at how large he is. Kyle chuckles when he sees her wide eyes. “That’s an Alpha cock, Princess. They’re typically much larger than others.” Kyle smirks as Aurora’s cheeks turn a dark red.

”Go ahead, you can touch him. it’s your chance to explore, see what makes him feel good.” Kyle purrs as he watches Aurora lift her hand to slowly wrap it around John’s hard length. Her small hand barely wraps around it, and when her hand encloses around the middle of it John lets out a groan of pleasure, his eyes closing slightly before they open again, not wanting to miss a moment of the sight of the small Omega enjoying him. Aurora slowly begins to move her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every vein under her palm with excitement. Whenever John releases a groan of pleasure he’s confidence soars a bit. After a moment Aurora notices the beads of precum leaking from his tip. She eyes in curiously as Kyle chuckles. 

“You can go ahead and taste him, Princess, do whatever feels right.” He encourages, and immediately Aurora leans forward to lick at his tip, tasting the salty precum there. John lets out a growl at the feeling of her tongue on him, his head leaning back slightly as his hands open and close on the arms of his desk chair, restraining himself from touching her in case he rushes her. After a moment Aurora slowly leans forward again to lick a stripe up the side of his cock, her eyes on his face as she watches it contort in pleasure, a satisfied hum leaving her throat before she takes his tip inside her mouth, giving it a small suck before twirling her tongue around it and letting go. “Sure it’s your first time sweetheart?” John grunts out and Aurora smiles up at him, enjoying his praise as she repeats her action, going down a little further each time until half of him is in her mouth.

Kyle leans forward and places his hand on the back of Aurora’s head to slow her down, resulting in her slowly bobbing her head along half of John’s length as John groans and growls in pleasure. “Use your hand for what you can’t fit in your mouth just yet.” Kyle purrs as he threads his hand into Aurora’s hair, controlling the speed of her bobbing on John’s cock. Aurora lifts her hand to wrap around the other half of John that she can’t fit in her mouth, moving it in tandem as she bobs on his length. “That’s a good girl, now see if you can go a little deeper, breathe out of your nose.” Kyle coos as Aurora slowly begins to take more of John in her mouth. “Ooh, do you not have a gag reflex?” Kyle says excitedly as he notices Aurora can almost fit John’s entire length inside her mouth and down her throat.

John lets out a throaty groan as he feels himself hit the back of her throat. “Swallow,” Kyle says quickly and Aurora swallows around John’s length causing him to growl and dig his fingers into the arms of his desk chair, almost teating holes into it. “If you want to let him enjoy it, you can let him just fuck your throat Princess. Think you can?” Kyle coos as Aurora looks at him and blinks before humming her approval. Kyle smiles as he removes his hand from the back of her head, crouching down so he's at eye level with her mouth and John’s cock. “You heard her Alpha. Just tap his thigh twice if you want him to stop.” Kyle says as he smiles. Aurora hums as John moves one hand from the desk chair to grab her ponytail.

Aurora stops moving as John begins to thrust into her throat, slowly at first, but when he sees she’s comfortable he begins to let go, thrusting more roughly and faster as he chases his orgasm. Loud growls and groans leave his lips as he throws his head back. “If you don’t want me to cum in your mouth you need to tap me Love.” He growls looking down. He’s shocked when he sees Aurora staring back at him, tears lining her eyes as she doesn’t move to tap him. In moments John’s shoving her head as far as it can go, and with a loud growl, he’s cumming down her throat. He holds her there as he finishes before slowly letting go. Aurora sits back and looks up at him as John reaches a hand out to wipe the tears from her face.

”You okay sweetheart?” John asks, his voice filled with concern. Aurora smiles as she nods and gives a content purr, which John chuckles at as he shakes his head. Kyle smiles as he leans over, placing his lips on Aurora’s and darting his tongue into her mouth, kissing her as he practically shoves his tongue down her throat before pulling away with a purr. “Tastes like my Alpha.” Kyle smiles and Aurora laughs as she shakes her head. John gently rubs his hand over Auroa’s face before petting her cheek and neck. “Go get some rest Love.” He says sweetly and Aurora nods as she heads back to her room leaving the Beta and Alpha in his office.

When Aurora gets in her room she grabs her things heads to the shower and thinks about the day and everything that happened, before she goes to sleep she sends a text to Johnny.

Feral: I decided. Tell Ghost I want it to be him…but no marking…and ask if he can try to not break me I guess…goodnight 

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[shadowmaat]

Shatterpoint Shuffle, pt. 2

Here's more of the Padawan Mace & Initiate Kenobi AU. Part 1 can be read here. Credit for the original idea once again goes to @bitter-chocolate-stars and @krazykupidspoems.

-

Padawan Mace Windu did not stomp down the corridors; he had far too much control for that. It wasn't that he was mad about his test score, no matter what others might say. His issue was with the fact that Master Radorm refused to accept two of the sources on his paper the Last Battle of Ruusan even though the Master of the Archives herself had found and approved them.

A small, muffled sob broke his concentration. He stopped, head canted as he listened. There were several sniffles, the quality giving the impression of a small, enclosed space.

"I don't care! I don't wanna see him!"

The voice was high-pitched but came out in a hiss, as if the speaker didn't want to be heard.

Expecting to see a pair of younger Padawans, perhaps, Mace stepped around the corner and regarded the empty hallway. There was an access panel of some kind near the floor, looking slightly off-kilter.

"Hello?" He took a step closer. "Does someone need help?"

Silence, broken by the sound of hitched breathing and smothered snuffles. Could two younglings even fit in that vent, or had one of them abandoned the other?

He considered his options, but really, what choice was there? Someone- and they had to be small, judging by the side of the panel- was hurting. Misery, shame, anger, and resentment hung thick in the air.

He'd be late to his next class, but that was fine. He sat, leaning back against the wall next to the panel.

"Perhaps I'll just stop here to meditate," he announced.

He closed his eyes, centering himself before stretching his senses in the Force. It twisted around him, spinning him in circles.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and reached into his pouch for one of the anti-nausea pills he always kept with him.

As it dissolved under his tongue, he took deep breaths, waiting for his stomach to settle. At least now he knew the likely identity of the person hiding in the vents.

He'd crossed paths with the human Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi several times over the past few years. Part of that, he was sure, was due to his Master's machinations, but sometimes, like now, it happened more… organically.

Obi-Wan was still an absolute mess of shatterpoints, but he'd come to terms with the fact that it wasn't the boy's fault, it was simply how he was. As unsettling as he could be to look at directly (and even worse in the Force), he still shone with a clear warmth to Mace's senses. A warmth that had dimmed since their last encounter.

"It's strange that this hall isn't as bright as it should be," he said. "Almost as if there was someone very sad nearby."

The vent huffed.

"If only I had some way of finding who it was, I might be able to help. It is, after all, one of the duties of a Jedi to help those in need."

Another huff.

"I know what you're doing," Obi-Wan said.

The vent cover rattled and Mace helped set it aside and extracted a dusty, disheveled Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His eyes were red and tear tracks cut through the dirt on his face.

"I don't need your help," he continued with a sniff. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his Initiate tunic, smearing more dirt. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, Gen- Padawan Windu."

Prickly. Very prickly.

"It's a welcome interruption, if I'm honest," Mace said. "What about you? What brings you to this conveniently broken vent at this time of day?"

"It was already like that!" Obi-Wan snapped. His glare turned to one side and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I just needed to get away from people for a while."

He shifted, turning his back on whatever was in the hall that Mace couldn't see.

"I understand," he said. "People can be overwhelming even at the best of times, and when the Force has blessed you with a particular gift it can be even harder."

Obi-Wan gave him a narrow-eyed look. "A gift?"

"Sometimes gifts can feel like a burden," Mace said, rubbing his thumb against the base of his wrist. "Like psychometry. Or shatterpoints. Or whatever ability it is that you are developing."

Obi-Wan scoffed. "Or maybe I'm just crazy, like Bruck 'n them keep saying."

Shock, followed by an all-consuming rage that threatened to swallow him. Mace closed his eyes and breathed deep, acknowledging the anger while recognizing that it wasn't helpful in his current situation. Calmness replaced the rage, but it was the calm of purpose. Banking the fire, as his Master called it.

"No," he said, looking Obi-Wan in the eye. "You are not crazy. The Masters may not have found a reference for your ability yet, but it's clear the Force has gifted you with an important tool. You may not have learned how to use it yet, but-"

"Gossip seems like a stupid tool," Obi-Wan said, glaring at a point past Mace's shoulder.

"Gossip?" He resisted the urge to glance back. "Gossip can provide a lot of unexpected information. Spies in particular covet it."

"Whatever." Obi-Wan shrugged and began trying to straighten his hair and clothes. "Not like I'll ever get to use it anyway. Everyone says I'm too angry to be a real Jedi."

Mace's eyebrows shot up. "Everyone?"

Obi-Wan stood, shaking out the wrinkles in his tunic. "Master Tlah, my teachers, the training Masters, Bruck."

Mace joined him in standing, banking another wave of anger.

"If anger disqualified you from becoming a Jedi, I wouldn't be here right now," he said.

"What?" Obi-Wan stared at him, wide-eyed. "You? But you're perfect!"

It startled a laugh out of him.

"Please be sure to tell my Master that. She'll be very surprised." Waving off Obi-Wan's attempted defense of him, he continued. "No, but I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with having negative emotions, it's even healthy to experience them."

He checked over the Initiate, smoothing down a tuft of hair and unkinking the hood of his robe. The shatterpoints seem to have stilled. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"What's important is how you handle those emotions. Has anyone shown you how to channel your anger into something more productive?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, and Mace began to mentally compose a letter to the Master of the Crèches for their lack of oversight into the management and teaching of the Clans.

"Well, then. How would you feel about some private lessons from a lowly Padawan Learner about how to use your anger for good rather than letting it control you?"

"What, really?"

"Really."

The Force didn't express emotions, but if it did, he was sure it would be laughing at him. Cyslin would definitely laugh when he told her about it later. She could tease him as much as she liked, but this was less about picking a future Padawan and more about giving a struggling child the tools he should have already been given to help him.

"Yes! Thank you, Padawan Windu!"

Mace watched, distracted, as some of the shatterpoints around Obi-Wan actually healed. He'd never seen that before.

Then Obi-Wan grabbed his fingers to walk with him, and for half a heartbeat he thought he saw figures in the hallway with him, gone before he could fully register their presence. A possible future, an echo of a different present, or just a sign he needed more sleep? Whatever, as Obi-Wan liked to say. Best to focus on the now and leave the rest to be Future Mace's problem. He gave the boy's hand a companionable squeeze and set off for their first lesson.

[nerdgirlbutinpink]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | dave lizewski x fem!reader

| 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐮 |

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none that i know of

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 925

𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗼!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

the second letter goes out on a tuesday.

it’s raining. your socks are damp. and your english teacher assigned a pop quiz on great expectations even though you’ve only read two chapters and one of them was in sparknotes format.

annnndddddd then it gets worse.

because josh is waiting by your locker.

josh as in your sister’s ex-boyfriend.

josh as in the boy you wrote a letter to in tenth grade when margot was out of town and he brought you soup when you had the flu and watched the proposal with you on the couch and laughed at all the same parts you did.

josh as in the boy you never should’ve liked, because he was never yours to like in the first place.

but now he’s standing in front of you.

with your letter in his hand.

“hey,” he says softly, like he’s stepping on glass. “can we talk?”

you look around. your heart is in your throat.

“about what?”

he raises the envelope.

and you want to die.

actually, physically curl up inside your locker and never emerge again.

“that was… a long time ago,” you say quickly. “like, seriously long. you shouldn’t have even gotten it—someone must’ve mailed them or something. i swear, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“but you wrote it,” he says. “you felt that way once, right?”

you nod. slowly. painfully.

“yeah. but not anymore. not even close.”

he doesn’t say anything. just looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to find something in your face. like he doesn’t know what to do with the truth now that he has it.

“okay,” he finally says, voice flat. “thanks for being honest.”

he walks away.

and you’re left staring at the hallway floor tiles like they’ve personally betrayed you.

⸻

by lunch, the whole school is buzzing. not with your name—yet—but with whispers.

“someone’s sending out love letters,” a girl at the next table says.

“like, old ones. real ones. it’s kinda romantic.”

“unless one was about me. then i’d transfer schools.”

you sink lower into your seat.

jade, ever the chaos enthusiast, slides into the chair next to you with a tray of fries and a smirk.

“so,” she says. “on a scale of one to catastrophic, how bad are we talking?”

“nuclear,” you mutter. “josh got his.”

she winces. “damn. okay, yeah, that’s rough.”

“and he talked to me about it.”

“double rough.”

“and he thinks i’m still into him.”

“okay,” she says, sitting up straighter. “we need a distraction.”

you blink. “like what?”

and that’s when dave lizewski drops into the seat across from you again.

it’s becoming a pattern—him showing up out of nowhere like a glitch in the simulation.

he leans in, elbows on the table, looking way too pleased with himself.

“hey,” he says. “so i’ve been thinking.”

“that’s never good,” jade mutters.

dave ignores her.

“i think we should fake date.”

you nearly choke on your water.

“what?”

“just for a while,” he says. “long enough for people to stop asking about the letters.”

“why would we fake date?”

“because people think you like me. and if we pretend to be together, it makes your whole letter thing look like it worked—like you got the guy. less humiliating, right?”

you stare at him.

he’s ridiculous. completely unhinged.

and also… kind of smart?

“what do you get out of it?”

he shrugs. “a girl i like is dating someone else. maybe this makes her jealous.”

you narrow your eyes.

“and you think i’m gonna help you win over some other girl?”

“hey, i’m helping you not look like a total disaster. it’s mutually pathetic. win-win.”

jade snorts.

“honestly, it’s so dumb it just might work.”

you hesitate. this is insane. you don’t fake date. you read books and write secret letters and spend friday nights watching old rom-coms with your little sister.

but maybe… maybe this is the only way to survive this whole mess.

“fine,” you say finally. “but if we do this, you can’t fall in love with me.”

he grins.

“deal. but no promises, love letter girl.”

taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @strawberrychita

a/n: honestly i’m not sure how to feel abt this chapter but i’ll try to upload weekly 🫶🏼

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: september 2024

I'm turning in the reading roundup a little later than usual, but booooy not for lack of enthusiasm! September was such an interesting month for books, not least of all because you'll notice that things take a spooky turn towards the end of the month. in the name of whimsy I decided that October would be the perfect time to go on a themed reading kick and read through everything vaguely spooky, scary, or horror-related on my TBR, and then I thought, hey, why wait? Halloween is a state of mind, and I want to get spooked.

(have I been spooked yet? well... eh. but there's still time!)

my point being, if you want some creepy recs, hang tight because the October reading roundup is going to be great for you. in the meantime, here's what I read in September:

My Nemesis (Charmaine Craig, 2023) - cannot recommend this brief novel enough if you like very stylized prose about very insufferable people. Craig's protagonist is a memoirist who narrates her tale of woe exactly like she's writing a personal essay that's going to do numbers on twitter, intimate from a detached and analytical distance and giving the strong impression of a person who's made a living being intensely self-obsessed and can't quite manage to turn it off. it's a fascinating approach to a story about an emotionally overwhelming friendship destroying two marriages and ending in a woman's death, all without any actual adultery ever occurring. the narrator is consciously self-conscious, unreliable in the subtle and shifty way of someone trying to take exactly enough culpability to avoid being assigned more. it's a heavily interior novel, but Craig managed to keep me gasping with surprise here and there - the stomach-twisting reveal of why the narrator is actually telling her story, for one, as well as the revelation of the work within the novel that shares its name. if you like a tightly crafted character exercise, you're going to eat this up.

Raiders of the Lost Heart (Jo Segura, 2023) - this was the romance novel picked out via poll over on my patreon for September, and if I may be honest I was NOT excited! to my mind it was the dud of the group, the one amongst the four possibilities that I was most dreading. the garish cover, improbable plot summary, and blatant Indiana Jones of it all (the male love interest is literally named Ford) was a tremendous turn off, and you know what? I was wrong for that. Raiders ended up being one of the better romance novels I've read this year, and not JUST because I've been reading an endless parade of stinkers. the characters are largely free of manufactured drama and are instead believably and sympathetically rendered, with the female lead Corrie being a particular knockout; I would love to be her friend. the plot isn't nearly as cartoonish as the synopsis on the back of the book would have you believe, or at least most of it isn't; the silliness doesn't arrive until almost the very end, when Segura decides she needs some action movie stakes in here ASAP. and while the prose wasn't totally free of the genre's worst bullshit (stop reminding me that Ford's eyes are emerald, I beg), it was for the most part refreshingly no-nonsense. I wasn't even a chapter into this book when I found myself realizing I might really like it, and as of right now it's looking to claim the title of my favorite romance of 2024 in a landslide victory. having said that someone should be in thought crime prison for titling the sequel "Temple of Swoon."

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 11 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Taylor Engel, 2022) - man you guys Dungeon Meshi is so fucking good. what the fuck. what the hell. it's so genuinely insane that Kui is still able to weave in elements of humor that feel so organic and natural to the characters at this absolutely dire point of the game, when all of my faves are actively in so much danger - largely FROM EACH OTHER - that I'm eating my fingers. christ. some of my students who are in an LGBT book club did Legends and Lattes last month and I just kept wanting to ask if anyone had read Dungeon Meshi for, you know, a very D&D-flavored story that's actually intensely interested in dissecting the tropes of the genre alongside race and class and xenophobia and the social rules of an adventurer heavy world but god. I couldn't. because it's not gay. like Senshi I just want to nourish the youngsters but I can't because it's not gay. please everyone for the love of god just read Dungeon Meshi.

The Most (Jessica Anthony, 2024) - I'm a simple man, and I added this tiny novel to my TBR based on a blurb that really gave me nothing but "a 60s housewife gets in the apartment complex's pool and refuses to get out and it freaks her husband right out." god forbid women do anything, right? anyway, at risk of showing my whole ass I think this is exactly the kind of "disaffected adultery and divorce" book that a lot of tumblr users claim to hate, and I fucking loved it. Anthony is a brilliantly sharp writer who paces her microcosmic drama perfectly, revealing everything at just the right moment like a practiced tour guide showing us around the shadowy corners of an aggressively ordinary marriage. I love adultery and I think this book in particular should be taught in writing courses. sue me.

Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir (Akwaeke Emezi, 2021) - I think this year I've reread more books than I have any other year of my adult life, and I'm so glad that I took time to revisit Emezi's memoir. it's genuinely like nothing else I've ever read, one of the boldest and bravest things I've ever read. Emezi's account of godhood, of coming to understand themself as a deity trapped in flesh, is absolutely unwavering, completely grounded in their certainty of their truth and proceeding from there without ever worrying about persuading others to believe them. Emezi is a storyteller's storyteller, and their story doesn't need anyone's approval. but while it can be challenging, I wouldn't call the book confrontational. quite the opposite; in many places it's achingly vulnerable, as Emezi guides you through an unabashed tour of the very worst of their heartbreak, trauma, and alienation, and the times they've nearly succeeded in taking their own life. but god, please don't think this memoir is unrelenting misery. Emezi also speaks so, SO powerfully of opulence, of love, of the dedication to their artistry ad unabashed acknowledgement that they are a peerless talent. Emezi talks about magic of writing in a way that makes me feel like I'm being engulfed in golden-white flames; they make me want to transform myself into the artist I want to be. once again: I am an Emezi stan first and a person second forever.

The Beginning and End of Rape: Confronting Sexual Violence in Native America (Sarah Deer, 2015) - listen, I'll be straight up with you: unless you're exorbitantly interested in rape law, alternatives to carceral "justice," and legalese, this is going to be a very dry read, and there are not enough narrative segments to make up for that. for my money, Deer provides a thorough overview of the difficulties faced by American tribal nations in exercising legal power to prosecute and punish cases of sexual violence, despite the staggering levels of violence experienced by women in many Native communities. I really admired the intensely tempered view that Deer (a member of the Mvskokoe nation) brings to her work, discussing the history of Native approaches to sexual violence without pretending precolonial North America was a feminist utopia and offering thoughtful criticism of proposed substitutions to imprisonment. while the rape laws of any one of the 574 federally recognized tribes in the occupied lands of the United States could be a book on its own and Deer is constrained by the need to cover as much territory as she can in the broadest strokes possible, this is a solid primer to an ongoing social, spiritual, and legal issue that too rarely receives attention outside of Native communities.

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and Other Misfortunes (Erica LaRocca, 2022) - straight up I was only trying to read Things Have Gotten worse, LaRocca's somewhat infamous story of a lesbian relationship that goes extremely wrong extremely fast, but the only copy available through my library system came with two more of his short stories (the aforementioned Other Misfortunes). I'm going to save time on the two extra stories: one is an incomprehensible exercise in religious trauma and I did not like it, and the other one was silly because I, personally, simply would not get so trapped in a sense of social obligation that I let my neighbor do stupid riddles to be until I was in a guillotine. rip to that guy but I'm different. anyway, back to the star of the show. I made the mistake of browsing some other people's thoughts on Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and encountered a truly dizzying number of people whose takeaway seems to be that it's bad not for any stylistic reason but because it depicts two lesbians being in a relationship that's deranged and unhealthy, to which I say you should probably go watch Stephen Universe or something instead of looking for #goodrep in the horror short stories. christ. for my money, Things Have Gotten Worse is messy in the most delicious way, absolutely bonkers from start to finish. escalates pretty much instantly and refuses to let up for truly even a second. cannot believe the predatory mommy dom turns out to be the reasonable one in this dynamic, that one threw me for a loop. it's not incredible but god was I entertained.

Fledgling (Octavia E. Butler, 2005) - another reread, revisiting some of my favorite little freak vampires for the spooky season! although, honestly, the most spooky scary thing about Butler's vampires is probably that vampires look like an Aryan cult and some of them are turbo racist while the other ones insist that it's totally 100% impossible for vampires to be racist and the fact that this gets quite a lot of people killed, something that I'm sure is just a weird coincidence and not any kind of commentary that Butler was making on anything at all. what else is there to say? this is one of Butler's most elaborate explorations of inverted power dynamics, dropping codependent symbiotic sexy vampire polycule cults smack in the middle of the 21st century United States instead of on an alien planet or an apocalyptic wasteland just to really drive home how crazy this shit it. and it's delicious! I love it! what a deliciously different interpretation of vampirism. imagine the utopia we'd be living in if this was the vampire novel that had gotten big in 2005 instead of Twilight.

The Low, Low Woods (Carmen Maria Machado, Dani, and Tamra Bonvillain, 2020) - first I remembered that there are horror comics that I can include in my Octoberish reading, and then I remembered that creepy queen Carmen Maria Machado has published one with DC Comics' Black Label. The Low, Low Woods follows dirtbag teen lesbians Octavia and El in the burnt out coal mining town of Shudder to Think, a town where everyone knows that something's not quite right but no one can seem to leave. the story begins with El and Octavia waking up in a movie theater with no memory of a movie, realizing that they've lost time. the ensuing investigation takes them deep into the town's troubled history, and forces them to realize it's not just the supernatural preying on the town. I love creepy Appalachia and would definitely recommend this for any Old Gods of Appalachia fans, and I will say that so far this is the only one of the spooky reads to really get under my skin and give me a full-body shiver due to the sheer overwhelming awfulness of the implications Machado raises with the revelations in her story. I'm not usually one for trigger warnings in my little roundups, but I cannot emphasize enough that if you have a hard time reading about sexual violence, you'll probably want to skip this one.

The Icarus Girl (Helen Oyeyemi, 2005) - I've been meaning to get into Oyeyemi's large body of work (in part because Akwaeke Emezi speaks quite highly of her) and where better to start than with her debut novel? and why not now, since it was tagged as horror? ultimately I'd concede that the book is creepy but don't know if I'd quite consider myself horrified, and that's completely fine since it's an astonishing piece of prose regardless. writing a believable eight year old narrator of an adult novel is a tricky thing, but Oyeyemi pulls it off beautifully with protagonist Jessamy, effortlessly selling her as an insightful, anxious, and intelligent girl who's still utterly believable as a child. the Icarus Girl revels in the same kind of "powerless child" horror as Gaiman's Ocean at the End of the Lane, following the lonely Jessamy as she initially is befriended and then tormented by a mysterious and powerful little girl that she meets while visiting her mother's family in Nigeria. as her new friends gets increasingly malevolent and out of control, Jess struggles to account for the damage and to be taken seriously by her parents when she tries to explain what's wrong. Oyeyemi apparently wrote this book when she was only a teenager, and if she's been leveling up her craft with each subsequent novel then I have a lot of look forward to.

[osleeplessflowero]

Concert Night

For lore context, see the previous part: "Back To You"!

Well, this was an unexpected surprise. One minute you're smooching one of your favorite skeletons and the next..you're greeting the ones you'd met in another life like they're new neighbors. Things just keep getting weirder..

Hand in hand, you and Sans walk behind a very enthusiastic Papyrus, rambling on about this and that as he approaches the new red and black home next door to yours. Was..was that always there? And that shade? You hadn't really thought about it before. Something tells you it wasn't..

He knocks on the door in a rhythmic pattern, waiting patiently for a reply. You and Sans both share a look as you hear commotion inside, before turning around to make a huddle.

"..you know these guys." He says it moreso as a statement than a question.

"Yeah." You reply immediately.

"you've met them somewhere else before." Another obvious statement.

"Pretty sure." You shrug.

"..do you think they'll remember?" He gestures his thumb towards the door, where Papyrus is waiting with his hands on his hips. You shrug at him again, holding a hand up to your chin to think.

"I don't..really know. I kinda doubt it, if this is meant to happen in this universe..they might not be the same. But I wouldn't mind getting to know them again to be honest..even if they might not know the "true" me formally." You smile a bit, Sans gives you a nod as you both turn back upon hearing the door open.

In the doorway stands a familiar looking skeleton, wearing his signature black fur coat, dark red sweater, basketball shorts and sneakers to match. His gold tooth shines when the light from the sun hits it, his single eyelight drifting over the three of you as he studies you. Lo and behold, it's Red. His eyesockets narrow as he looks over you in particular, a hint of recognition flashing his features..but he's unsure as to where it's from. You give him a little wave, he gives you a nod in return.

Sans looks over, earning a look of surprise from him. He holds up a hand and Sans mimics the action with a grin, mirroring his actions and holding back a laugh. You shake your head at the action as Papyrus clears his nonexistent throat.

"uh..so..who are you? whaddya want?" He looks over you all again, deciding to lean against the doorway. Papyrus perks up with a shining smile, pressing a hand against his ribcage.

"Hello! It's Truly A Pleasure To Meet You! You See, We Are Your Next-Door Neighbors," He points to your shared house. "And We Wanted To Stop By To Greet You! I Am The Great Papyrus, This Is My Brother Sans," Sans waves lazily. "And this is our partner in crime!" He gestures to you with a grin. You let out a little laugh at that, telling him your name.

Something about it sounds familiar to Red, but he isn't quite sure why..

The idea of two other skeletons having the same name as him and his brother was certainly..strange. He opens his mouth to say something, but a paper ball is thrown against his head from out of no where. Looking up to find the perpetrator, he sees no one, and glares up to where it came from before opening it.

Hey! So, little heads up. Those two are doubles of you from this timeline you've been dropped into! To help differentiate, you guys are being given nicknames. You can still use your names with your brothers though, of course. Around others, you'll go by Red. Don't worry, the others are getting these too. - A Friend

Okay. Weird. But it makes sense. He just wishes whoever sent them to this universe would stop throwing notes at him and get straight to the point.

"uh..i'm.."red", apparently. my brother.." He narrows his eyes when he reads the other nickname. "edge is inside unpackin' stuff. so he's not gonna be able to come out for a while. i wouldn't bother 'im while he's in the zone." He closes the door behind himself, stuffing his hands into his pockets shortly after. You can hear various cartoony sound effects inside the house, including the meow of a cat..for some reason.

"It's nice to..meet you, Red." You smile at him, resting your arms at your sides. Sans watches you both curiously, lazy smile never faltering.

"..likewise." He averts his eyelights for a moment until Papyrus picks up the conversation, talking about various positive aspects of the neighborhood and the city in general. He nods along as he speaks, before rolling up his sleeve to check the time.

"yeah, uh..i know a few people in the neighborhood over. we're actually plannin' a show tonight, so i can't stay home for too long."

You perk up at that. "A show? What kind?"

"well, uh..i can play guitar. so that's usually what i do. my brother plays the drums. and the piano, but it doesn't usually fit the vibe of my music.." He mutters that last part. You clap your hands together.

"Would it be okay if we go to watch you play? I'm super curious." You smile kindly at him, watching as he seems a little taken aback by the question. He hadn't..really heard this question from someone new before. Sure, a small crowd would usually show up to their concerts, but those were full of people who already knew the members well. For someone new to take an interest in him so quickly..it surprises him quite a bit.

"uh- i mean, shit, yeah. if you want to. you into rock? metal? along the lines?" He holds out one of his hands as he talks. You nod quickly in reply, and the tension in his shoulders eases a bit.

"Yeah, I'm totally down to listen to that. It's great."

"well, then..hold up." He feels around in his jacket pockets for something, before pulling out a small notepad and a pen with red ink. He writes something down before passing it over to you, and upon further inspection it seems to be the location of the concert.

"Awesome! I'll definitely be there. What about you guys?" You turn to the pair of skeleton brothers you're most familiar with, tilting your head slightly at them as they look between one another. Sans shrugs, and Papyrus nods eagerly.

"I'd Be Delighted To Attend! I Quite Enjoy Rock Music, Metal As Well! You See, I'm A Rather Brutal Kind Of Guy Myself." He winks, holding a hand beneath his chin. Red lets out a chuckle, as does Sans.

"if he's cool with it, i don't see why not. it's not my usual genre, but who knows? might like it." He smiles lazily, earning a nod from his double.

"well, uh..i'll tell my bro. i think he should be comin' out any minu-"

"SANS!"

"minute. now." He sighs, opening the front door and popping his skull into the entrance room. "yeah, bro?" He calls out to him, before sighing again and going inside. Finding his brother messing around with various boxes, organizing them in different locations.

"Where Is The Box Of Doomfanger's Things? I Cannot Find It Anywhere, And She's Restless Without Her Toys To Sleep With." Edge puts a hand on one of his hips, moving the other as he speaks. Red shrugs, looking at the box labels.

"uh..i think you might'a left that box in the basement with some of those other ones you've gotta unpack. might be why ya can't find it." He offers, and Edge seems to have a "Eureka!" moment, going downstairs to go check. Red lets out a sigh as he follows him down.

"AHA! I KNEW I Would Find It Sooner Or Later. Slippery Snake Of A Box.. Thank You For Your Assistance, Brother. Now Who On Earth Are You Speaking To Out There?" He turns to look at him while their fluffy cat wanders into the room with a meow.

"well, we're livin' next to some doubles of us. and they wanna come to the show tonight. don't seem too bad, so i figured 'why not' and gave 'em the location. they're still outside, by the way." He points to the front door with his thumb. Edge gasps, dusting himself off and making sure he looks suitable.

"You Could Have Told Me We Have Guests Sooner!" He scoffs. Red lets out a chuckle before walking back outside, opening the door. Doomfanger immediately rushes out, looking over the three of you. She stares long and hard at you before pouncing onto you, jumping into your arms abruptly with dilated eyes. Seems she recognizes you, at least..

"Hi, kitty! Oh my god, you're so fluffy, I could squeeze you to death-" You smile wide as you pet her head while the two homeowners walk back out.

Red says your name, "sans, papyrus, this is my brother, edge."

"A Pleasure To Meet You!" Papyrus greets him with an enthusiastic smile. Edge nods in reply, seeming to study the three of you carefully. You shrink a little bit under his gaze as he seems to stare at you far longer than the others, before adjusting his posture.

"Likewise, Neighbors. I Am Sure Our Holiday Decoration Battles Will Be Legendary." He huffs amusedly, putting his hands on his hips. "Be Careful With Doomfanger, She Is A Very Delicate Soul."

"Don't worry, I'll take the utmost care of her." You reassure him, happily playing with the suddenly over-affectionate kitty. Red huffs amusedly at that. Well, if Doomfanger likes you, that's certainly a good sign.

A few hours passed by. You and Papyrus made sure to get your best outfits for the occasion, and Sans..well, he looks exactly the same. But hey, at least he's coming along!

Looking over the location again, Papyrus sets it to his GPS and hops into his car. You slide across the hood for dramatic effect, before getting into the passenger side. Sans sits in the back, his preferred spot to relax in on trips. You and Papyrus both slide on some shades at the same time, and he takes off. You briefly take the opportunity to look at the other houses in this neighborhood, mainly seeming to be pretty blank and bland at the moment with the exception of yours and the Fell bros' house. A part of you wonders if you'll see other universes begin to turn up, filling in those bland spots and giving them the splashes of original color they truly deserve..

Papyrus happily sings along to the tune playing on the radio, Sans even chiming in from time to time. You smile as the wind hits your body, cooling you off as you make your way there. Papyrus parks after a short while, exiting his car and locking it before picking Sans up and sitting him on his feet. You exit as well, looking around. It's a pretty nice little setup they've got going on, the stage looks pretty great and there's quite a few different faces attending. You can't help but wonder what their concerts will look like once they become a bit bigger.

Some of the band members happily chat amongst themselves on the stage, the skeletal pair you happen to be looking for noticeably absent for the time being..likely backstage preparing. You decide to stay towards the back so you can stay beside Papyrus, since he wouldn't want his height to ruin the experience for anybody behind him. Sans relaxes beside you, taking in your surroundings with a hum.

Briefly checking the time on your phone, you perk up when the stage lights turn on, and the rest of the members walk out. Red walks to the front holding a red electric guitar, making sure everything's working properly and giving a thumbs up to his bandmates. Edge sits in the back, waiting for his cue to play the drums. You can't help but smile as you see them both about to do something they enjoy.

The music starts, and the crowd begins cheering and clapping along to the beat. Edge starts playing the drums quickly, joined in by Red's guitar alongside a few others. You find yourself bopping your head to the beat, focusing particularly closely on Red's movements. How he starts off a bit awkwardly, but slowly melts into the confidence you've come to know him for. A smile makes its way onto his skull as he walks with his guitar, putting his soul into playing. The lead singer gives their all as they focus on putting emotion into their lyrics, walking around the stage and leaning on their bandmates.

Red continues playing his guitar with confident strides, waiting until a solo section comes up for him to really show off his skills. You cheer as you hear him, clapping your hands in support. His eyelight meets your eyes, and everything..seems to stop.

The music muffles, as does the crowd. Your surroundings seem to blur as his focus lies only on you, and yours is only on him. For some strange reason..he feels like..he knows that look. Your face. The way you act. You in general. There's something so familiar, and yet..you've never met before today, have you? Surely you must have. ..Why else would this feeling be so strong? You smile brightly at him. The feeling makes him jolt, like something had struck his very Soul.

..Focus returns. He prioritizes playing through the song until the end, listening as everyone cheers. And yet..his eyelight doesn't leave you. Not for a good long while, until someone else calls for him so they can start up the next song in their list.

You hold Sans' hand, running your thumb over it as you bop your head to the music. He smiles over at you, before focusing on the show before you. ..Even if he just so happens to want to watch you a little bit more.

Something tells him this is only the start of a series of strange phenomena. Something he's not quite sure how to feel about..especially so quickly.

..But he'll manage. He always finds a way to.

[fategoflatass]

I used to be so against the slow burn trope. Not because I thought it was shit; it's just, I usually don't have the patience to wait whatever-amount-superior-to-three damn chapters for my dear ship to finally be able to look at each other without blushing and/or hold hands. Thus why you often times see me reading oneshots or fics with the "Established Relationship" tag on them.

So you can imagine just how surprised—or maybe not, maybe I just didn't think enough about it—I was when I realized my newest fixation's main pairing is—canonically—the embodiment of slow burn. Because holy shit they're taking their time.

Nothing against how Kusuriya develops its love story—quite the opposite, actually. The relationship between Jinshi and Maomao, two characters that are written as beautifully as their romance, is a rather realistic approach as to how the same or a similar dynamic would developed in real life. In such a complicated situation, with such complex feelings about emotions—both external and their own—and attachment, makes sense that it takes so long for the relationship to finally sail.

The problem is, I didn't know I was signing with the Devil the moment I decided to pick up the light novel. Ten volumes and nothing has happened. Nothing.

And you can say that technically things have happened, because they have. I mean, Jinshi is just so desperate for Maomao to give him the time of day, you know what I mean? And even that isn't enough anymore and thus he has committed some of the craziest shit I've seen in any romance. Which okay, I don't usually read these type of romances but still.

What I mean by "nothing" is just, their relationship hasn't changed status. I could also say that it seems to go nowhere, but that'd be lying. Since, you know, it has changed quite a lot—just not in the way my impatient ass wanted it to. Because he can be as honest with his feelings as he pleases, and those around them might be heavely conscious of the tension and thus constantly tease those lovebirds (as they should), but babygirl's not helping, you know?

And I get it, Maomao's not the best at expressing and understanding herself, and she's also way too busy worrying about going as unnoticed as possible (she should give up on that one already, tbh) while keeping her head where it should be. But like, I can't help feeling frustrated over it like ‼‼

GIRL, FUCK THE RULES. TAKE THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A MAN AND RUNAWAY SOMEWHERE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO IDENTIFY YOU. YOU THEN CARRY THAT BITCH BRIDESTYLE TO THE CLOSEST CHURCH AND MAKE HIM YOUR WIFE. PROCEED TO FROG AROUND, EXPERIMENT WITH YOUR UTERUS AS MUCH AS YOU'D LIKE, AND THEN TEACH THE PRODUCTS OF YOUR PRACTICES AS YOUR OWN GUINEA PIG THE WAYS OF HERBAL MEDICINE. AS EASY AS THAT.

But she won't. She'll take her sweet ass time being in denial about both Jinshi's and her own feelings, then maybe she'll proceed to analize herself and find out that maybe, just maybe, that affection that she'd been feeling for that loser became something else. Did said affection also become something more complicated? Absolutely. Does she know how to deal with it? Hell no, but fuck it. If I learned something from school is that you always leave the hardest parts for later.

Now you see why I was so against reading slow burn?

And you wanna know the worst part? I loved it—I loved every second of it, every word, every page. Every scene that seemed to help the relationship advance, only for Maomao to say nope and leave like she owns the place, which at this point she fucking might.

It feels like I, as the reader, am in the middle of a heatwave and some sadistic bastard won't stop teasing me with ice cream—they put it in front of my face, close enough that I can smell the cold. Then take a spoon and eat little by little while staring directly to my eyes. At times they seem to show mercy and feed me a spoon, only for it to be a rather small quantity of serving—serving that tastes so damn good at first, only for it to have such a bitter aftertaste. But if I gotta have something in common with Jinshi is that I'll never be able to beat the masochist allegations, so I'll wait patiently for the next spoon and its corresponding and seemingly enless teasing from that faceless being.

So yeah, I'm still against it, only that now I understand the appeal—even if I have yet to find out about the whereabouts of my sanity while still mananing with the little I've left.