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capuccinodoll · 14 days ago

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The boyfriend act, part 16: "The one with the unnamed surprise" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Domesticity wraps itself around your days with Frankie. He asks you to cover your eyes. In front of you, an unnamed surprise. In front of him, a named one. WC: 9K

A/N: So, here’s the thing... yesterday I said I was going to post a snippet, but when I sat down to choose one, I got distracted writing, and one thing led to another and I ended up writing and editing the whole chapter so here it is part 16 YAY!!! Also, sorry for being MIA. I had a minor surgery this week (I’m okay, don’t worry) and I have two exams next monday (not yay). Thank you so much for your comments and messages—I promise I’ll reply to all of them 🤍🫶🏻 In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

Sunday, October 27th

You stepped out of Helena’s front door and into the soft warmth of late-morning sun, your cheeks catching the light like it had been waiting for you. The front yard smelled faintly of leaves and old roses. Behind you, Frankie’s shoes thudded against the wooden steps.

“It was really lovely to see you, sweetheart,” Helena said, her hand settling gently on your shoulder. “Don’t wait so long next time, okay?”

Before you could answer, Frankie cut in automatically. “I won’t, Mom. I promise.”

Helena turned to him with a half-laugh, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you. Although, frankly, you could stand to come around more too, don’t you think?”

You smiled, unsure where to look. Frankie exhaled a soft laugh behind you, his hand brushing your back.

Mai came out then, barefoot, a Tupperware container clutched to her chest.

“Here,” she said, holding it out. Her hair was messy, in a effortless way that made her look even younger. “Apple pie. Still warm, so don’t tilt it or whatever.”

You nodded, the pie heavier in your hands than you expected. “Thank you.”

Mai lingered for a second, then added, “I’ll text you about the party, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, already imagining her message appearing on your phone screen later that evening. Then you felt it—Frankie’s hand sliding onto your waist, just resting there.

“And what about me?” he said, a crooked smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You’re not gonna text me?”

Mai didn’t even look at him. “You’re part of the package deal.”

You lingered after that—talking a little more with Helena about your next visit. She insisted on dinner. Mai, predictably, lobbied for a restaurant this time. There was laughter. And comfort. And something that felt like belonging.

It had changed, coming here now. It wasn’t performance anymore. You didn’t have to manufacture the way your shoulder leaned into his, or time your glances like stage directions. You didn’t have to imagine the tension. It existed, dense and unmistakable and terribly real.

And maybe that made everything more complicated. Because now, it mattered.

You wanted them to like you. Not because you were pretending to belong—but because, somehow, you already did.

A few days ago, Frankie had mentioned that his sister, Sofía, was organizing an event at her flower shop. She did it every year with her best friend Caroline, who owned a small bakery a few blocks away. People would gather at the shop to read poems, short stories, essays they’d scribbled into journals or typed up on quiet Sunday afternoons. Frankie admitted it wasn’t really his thing—he said it made him tired, that he never stayed long when he did go. But he looked at you as he said it, a crooked half-smile at the edge of his mouth, and told you he thought you'd enjoy it. So he wanted to take you.

And he was right. You spent most of the afternoon in the flower shop, the scent of eucalyptus and dried lavender hanging in the air around you. There were too many folding chairs and not enough standing room. The walls were lined with pale wooden shelves holding glass vases and hand-lettered signs. Helena had come, too, along with Grace, and the four of you drifted in and out of conversations while people took turns reading at the front. Grace stayed close to you, asking you questions with a curiosity that didn’t feel invasive. She spoke with this open, thoughtful cadence that made her seem older than she was.

At one point, she leaned toward you and whispered, “I’m glad you’re dating my uncle. You’re a good person. It’s kind of a relief.” You turned toward her with a small, surprised smile.

You thanked her softly, genuinely, but there was a slight weight tugging at the corners of your expression. That word relief had a way of sticking. You didn’t ask what she meant by it, but you thought about Rachel. You didn’t even want to think about Rachel, but your mind circled back anyway. That vague, unfinished narrative that hovered somewhere behind Frankie’s eyes whenever her name was mentioned. You didn’t have the full picture.

Later, when the readings ended and the chairs were folded and stacked near the counter, Helena invited you both to her house for lunch. You said yes without thinking. It felt easy, natural.

And now, days later, you were in the car, the sky clear and quiet above the windshield, your hand resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. Full. Content in that lazy, familiar way that comes after a big homemade meal.

“Your mom is such a good cook,” you murmured, stretching your feet out and leaning your head against the window. The glass was cool and the sunlight flickered through the leaves. “I could go over there more often.”

Frankie chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the road, one hand loosely on the wheel.

“I mean, no pressure,” you added, glancing at him. “You don’t have to be there. I can go on my own. Girls’ day, you know?”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch your face. “Oh yeah? And what would that look like?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Talking about books, stuff… things you probably wouldn’t care about.”

“I like girls’ days.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you?”

“Sure. I can blend right in. You won’t even notice me. It'll be like I'm part of the decor.”

You laughed. “I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

He grinned, unfazed. “You could have your girls’ day. I’ll just be in the background. Silently appreciating your dynamic. Maybe even bring snacks.”

“Or,” you said, playful now, “you could have your own boys’ day. With Santiago and the rest of the guys. Talk about cars, or fishing, or whatever ancient rituals you people do to reaffirm your masculinity.”

Frankie looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I think I’d prefer both.”

You groaned. “God, don’t be corny.”

“A little corn never hurt anyone.”

“Yes, it did,” you said. “It hurt this conversation.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked real irritation.

“Okay,” he said slowly, dragging out the syllable like he was preparing to make a point. “But you've been to a lot of those hangouts with the guys too, don’t you think?”

“Sure, because Santi invited me. Or Benny. Or someone else who actually wanted me there.”

He glanced at you with a crooked grin. “And what, I’m not included in this girls' night elite invitation circle?”

You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning back against the car seat.

“Nope. You're not.”

He made a sound with his tongue and tilted his head toward you.

“Wow. Okay. I guess I won’t show you the really interesting and extremely cool thing I had planned.”

You laughed under your breath. “You don’t have anything to show me.”

“I do, actually.” He looked over at you again, sideways this time, as if the full force of eye contact might give too much away. “Something you would’ve loved. Not just liked—loved. Like, told-Emma-about-it kind of loved.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Guess I’ll just take you home then. Let you sit with your own bad decisions.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, don’t even try it, Francisco. You’re not going to manipulate me. That routine doesn’t work on me.”

He let out a genuine laugh this time, brief and low in his throat, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the road.

Ten minutes later, you were standing at the threshold of his house. Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and slid it into the lock. The mechanism clicked. He paused before pushing the door open and turned toward you with something mischievous flickering behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, stepping in closer. “I need you to close your eyes.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I’m deadly serious.” He moved his hand up and gently placed it over your face, fingers spanning nearly the whole length from your forehead to your chin. “Eyes shut until I say. Do you understand?”

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his palm against your skin oddly reassuring. “I promise.”

“Good.”

You heard him exhale, the door creaking open. The sound of hinges, followed by his fingers slipping away from your eyes. A moment later, he took your hand. His grip was easy, steady. He guided you through the doorway and into the house, and you could hear the sound of the door closing softly behind you. You let him lead you, each step unfamiliar in the darkness behind your eyelids. The scent of something floral lingered faintly in the hallway—laundry detergent, maybe, or whatever candle Helena had dropped off last time she visited.

You felt the soft shift of air as you entered the living room. Frankie’s hand never left yours.

There was a strange sound from another room, and Frankie let go of your hand.

“Okay,” he said, already stepping back. “I’ll be right back. Just don’t open your eyes. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you said with unnecessary urgency. You clamped your palms over your face like a child playing hide-and-seek, and you grinned into the darkness of your own hands. You didn’t understand what was happening. None of it made sense, and yet you felt giddy—completely, irrationally light.

One, two, three… The seconds moved unevenly. You listened for Frankie’s footsteps, the shift of weight in the boards. A faint scuff. Silence. Then movement again, closer this time. You could feel him standing in front of you before he spoke.

“Okay, when I say—” he started, but his sentence was cut short by the softest interruption.

A high-pitched, unmistakable sound.

“Shit,” Frankie muttered.

Then—clearer this time—a meow. Thin and sharp and impossibly small.

Your hands flew from your face, your eyes wide, your mouth already forming words before they reached your tongue.

“No way.”

Frankie stood just inches away, his hands lifted carefully near your face. Between them, resting in the cage of his fingers, was a tiny gray kitten. The animal looked impossibly fragile, like something made of silk. It couldn’t have been more than three months old.

You stared at it, stunned.

“Frankie,” you whispered, as you extended your arms without thinking.

He gave the kitten to you and his face broke into a smile.

You cradled the small body close to your face, kissing its downy head with a tenderness that made something in your chest ache. The kitten let out another soft meow, its voice small but certain. Your heart did something strange, an internal somersault.

“I adopted him yesterday,” Frankie said, running a hand down the kitten’s back. “Doesn’t have a name yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, eyes still fixed on the animal now curled into the crook of your arm.

He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you. Thought you’d like it.”

You glanced up at him then, holding his gaze for a few seconds, long enough to see the affection that sat just beneath the mischief in his expression. Then you looked back at the tiny creature curled against your chest.

“How did he sleep?”

“He followed me around all night,” Frankie said, his voice softer now. “He's really affectionate. At first I thought he was hungry or needed water, but he didn’t. He just wanted to be close. Eventually I put him on the bed, but I was terrified I’d roll over and crush him. So I set his little bed right next to me. Figured it was safer. He still cried for a while, though.”

You smiled. You couldn’t stop smiling. The kitten was pawing at your fingers now, then gently nibbled one, its teeth more curious than sharp.

“You’re just the most beautiful little thing,” you murmured, stroking its impossibly soft fur.

Frankie watched you quietly.

Frankie nudged the bedroom door closed with the side of his foot, careful not to spill the two mugs in his hands. The scent of the tea rose with the steam.

You were already stretched out on his bed, legs tangled loosely in the sheets, wearing one of his T-shirts that hung off you like it had been made for someone else, which it had. Underneath, nothing but a soft pair of underwear. Your hair, still damp from your recent shower, clung to the sides of your neck and the cotton collar.

Sunday was drifting by in its usual, hazy rhythm. After arriving at Frankie’s place and being introduced to the skittish little kitten he had just brought home, the two of you had spent some time lying around, throwing out names—nothing had stuck. Every suggestion felt either too much or not enough. At some point between giggling over how serious he looked when he vetoed “Frankie Jr.” and the slow weight of contentment settling in your limbs, you’d dozed off.

He hadn't minded. A nap after a good meal felt like the natural conclusion to a Sunday afternoon. He normally reserved these hours for fixing things around the house or grabbing a beer with one of the guys. But with you here, in his space, smelling like his soap and stealing his shirts, the idea of doing absolutely nothing became not only acceptable, but preferable.

It was nearly four now. The TV hummed in front of the bed, soft and unobtrusive. The white curtains were drawn shut, letting in a gauzy sort of light that made everything feel suspended in time.

He placed both mugs on the nightstand, then eased into bed beside you, careful not to jostle the tiny, curled-up kitten resting on your chest. You were propped against the headboard, your fingers stroking absent-mindedly over the kitten’s fur, eyes on the screen.

Friends was on—your choice. The London wedding episodes. He remembered you saying they were your favorite, though you claimed not to like Ross all that much.

“The tea’s hot,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in a little closer. He took one mug. “Give it a minute before you try it.”

You turned your head toward him, a small smile ghosting your lips.

“Okay. Thanks,” you said softly, taking it from his hand only to place it gently on the nightstand next to you.

Frankie exhaled, a quiet breath through his nose, and turned his attention back to the television. It happened every time—you'd put something on, usually a show or movie he wouldn’t have chosen himself, something with fast-talking characters and emotional subtext, and without realizing it, he’d be completely pulled in. He told himself it wasn’t his taste, too light or too messy or too sentimental. But here he was.

“Jesus, I don't get it,” he murmured. “I never understood people who obsess over weddings.”

“Yeah, you seem like someone who’d get married in your backyard, on a random Tuesday, without warning.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him now. “Without warning, though? Like, totally unplanned?”

“Wouldn’t that make it more romantic?”

You lifted a shoulder, then let it fall again. “Eh. Maybe. Depends on the context, I guess.”

“What kind of context?”

“I dunno,” you said. “Just… depends how it all feels in the moment?”

Frankie nodded like he understood, though maybe he didn’t, not completely.

“Well. If I did get married like that, it’d probably be because something forced my hand. Like—some kind of bind.”

“Forced your hand? A bind?” you repeated, laughing now. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to be my fake fiancé, then.”

You were teasing, but your voice was warm. The kitten had migrated from your chest to the space between you, burrowing under the quilt.

You shifted onto your side, pulling the pillow beneath your cheek. Your face was close now. Relaxed. Peaceful. He could see the faint dampness at your hairline, smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his laundry detergent—all of it mixing with something that was purely you.

Then you asked, your voice quiet: “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t nothing either.

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the TV and back to you.

“I used to,” he admitted. “A while ago.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I thought about it.”

You turned your face toward him.

“With Rachel?” you asked, voice soft.

He gave a small nod, his brows lifting a fraction, like the whole thing felt absurd in retrospect. As if that version of his life had belonged to someone else entirely. Someone naive.

For a second, he considered brushing it off. Letting the moment pass. But there was something about the way you were looking at him that made it impossible.

“I was ready to commit to her,” he said. The words felt strange, but not painful. He hadn’t spoken them out loud in a long time. And for once, they didn’t come with the usual sting.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, turning his eyes to the television, as if that might steady him. “I thought I had everything mapped out. Marriage, maybe a family. It felt like, like it made sense.”

You made a soft sound, not quite agreement, not quite disbelief. Just something that acknowledged the weight of what he’d said. Then you went quiet again, eyes shifting back to the TV.

Frankie waited, listening to the faint background noise of the sitcom. But he looked at you again, and something in your face had changed, barely—your mouth a little tighter, your eyes distant.

“I was wrong,” he said then. “So wrong. And honestly? Her leaving… that might’ve been the best thing she ever did for me. Who knows where I'd be if she'd never ended it.”

Your mouth curled into the hint of a smile. “Yeah. I mean, you definitely wouldn’t be in bed with me and a kitten right now.”

That made him laugh, softly. It was absurd, when he thought about it—how different his life might’ve looked if things had gone the way he wanted them to, back then.

If Rachel had stayed, maybe he would never have unraveled. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to the point where getting out of bed felt impossible, where everything tasted like dust and felt like noise. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to start from scratch.

He might still be with her. Maybe engaged. He remembered thinking about it right before she left—rings, apartments, timelines. He’d known he wasn’t in the right place for any of it, but he’d considered it anyway, hoping commitment might anchor him somehow.

And you? You would’ve stayed exactly where you were then—Santi’s younger sister. Someone he vaguely tolerated, someone who rolled her eyes at his jokes and didn’t bother to hide it. You probably would’ve kept ignoring each other, kept your distance.

The thought landed heavily in his chest. Not dramatic or painful, just strange. Like something important could’ve slipped past him without him ever knowing what he missed.

Because now he understood what it felt like; being near you like this, existing inside the gentle bubble you created just by being close. It startled him sometimes, how long you had been in his life without him realizing the possible weight of it. Five years orbiting each other, brushing past in doorways, exchanging sharp looks or dry remarks and fights. All that time, and he’d never imagined what it could mean if he let the distance between you collapse.

You spoke then, cutting through the quiet and his thoughts. “No matter what happens, I think I’ll end up being the cat lady anyway.”

He looked at you, startled by the sudden shift in tone, the slight smile playing on your lips as you cradled the kitten in your hands. You were touching its tiny ears like they were the most delicate things in the world. Frankie had the absurd urge to be jealous of the kitten.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

He watched you for a moment longer. “Don’t you want a family?”

You let out a small laugh. And Frankie realized a second too late how personal the question had been. Too direct. Too much, maybe. But you didn’t seem bothered.

“Of course I do,” you said, gently. “I mean, yeah. I’d love that. It’s just… if it doesn’t happen, I don’t think it would destroy me. I know I’d be okay. I’ve made peace with the idea that some lives don’t go the way we plan. And anyway, Santi’s definitely going to have, like, four kids at least. I can always be the fun aunt who spoils them and teaches them weird facts about everything.”

Frankie smiled. “Yeah. I get that. I feel the same way, I think. And I’m already the cool uncle, so I’ve got that covered. Lucky me.”

You laughed, then reached out to tap his arm lightly with your fist. He reached for you instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you into his chest. You came easily, your body folding into his.

“I always thought I’d have a daughter,” you said after a minute, your voice muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. “I mean… I’d like to. If I ever become a mom.”

“Just one?”

“For now, yeah. I think I’d have to see how it goes first. Test the waters. Parenting seems like the kind of thing you can’t really prepare for, doesn’t it?”

“You’d be good at it.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Darcy can confirm.”

You smiled again. “I'm not sure it's comparable. But yeah. I’m already a great cat mom.”

The sound lingered between you for a moment before dissolving into the quiet of the room. On the screen, Monica was spiraling; her mother had said something sharp at the rehearsal dinner, something small but wounding in the way only a parent’s words could be. Neither of you commented on it. The glow of the TV washed your faces in warm color, but the air between you shifted.

Frankie felt it. Not something visible, exactly—just a subtle tightening in your body, a pause that wasn’t there before. He had learned to notice these things with you. How your energy moved. How your breath changed. His body, attuned to yours now, picked up on every slight retreat.

You leaned further into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, and let out a soft breath.

“I had a scare once,” you said quietly, eyes fixed on the television. “With Harry.”

He didn’t move. Just listened.

“My period was late and we’d only been dating two months. I remember this one day, how everything just kind of… froze. Like time stopped working the way it was supposed to. I couldn’t focus on anything. It was like my body had slipped into this other version of my life and I couldn’t get out of it until I knew for sure.”

You paused. The kitten shifted between you, curling into a tighter ball.

“I didn’t tell him. I went out and bought a test, did it alone. It was negative. Then, after I was sure, I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if I needed anything. That was it, really. No follow-up questions. No conversation.” You gave a small, humorless huff of breath. “I started taking the pill that same week.”

Frankie looked at you then, but you kept your eyes on the screen.

“Sounds smart.”

You clicked your tongue, not quite annoyed, but something close.

“Of course. But I still needed more than that. I needed to feel safe. And I didn’t. Not with him. That was the thing—I realized how completely terrified I was at the idea of having a baby with him. And I couldn’t even say it out loud. Couldn’t tell him how scared I was, because I didn’t trust what he’d do with that information. I was afraid of his reaction, of whether he’d be happy, make it about him or minimize it or just… shut down.” Sheepish now, your voice softened. “It made me wonder why I was with someone I couldn’t even share a fear like that with. But I was so sure of how much I loved him, I just... I didn't care.”

“Harry’s an idiot, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. I think he is.”

“He is—”

“So you wanted a family with Rachel?”

He blinked at the TV for a moment, trying to decide how to answer.

“You’re very direct,” he said finally, a little surprised. A small laugh escaped him. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I like it.” He shook his head, the smile still pulling at his mouth. Then he exhaled. “Yeah. I did. Of course I did. I thought I wanted that. Which feels kind of absurd to say out loud now, because looking back, I don’t think I was ready. Not even close.”

He paused, considering.

“I still don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. It’s not just a wish, it’s... a whole reality. One that I’d like to live in, maybe. But I’m afraid I’m not built for it. Or that if I am, I’ll do it wrong. Like, ruin something I can’t take back.”

You were quiet for a beat, then asked gently, “Why do you think that?”

He hesitated, then let the words come.

“I mean… a child. That’s not just a responsibility. It’s a person. Someone with their own thoughts and their own pain, eventually. And I’d be part of shaping all that. That’s terrifying. I want to be good at it, I really do, but what if I mess it up? What if I do something without realizing and it sticks with them forever?”

Your fingers brushed over his arm in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then you looked at him, your expression soft, eyes warmer than he felt like he deserved. A faint smile curled at the edge of your mouth, and for a second Frankie thought about tracing it with his thumb. Just one second of indulgence.

But he didn’t.

“No one knows everything about parenting before they’re in it,” you said. “Even the best people make mistakes. There’s no such thing as perfect parents, or perfect kids.”

“Oh I know that.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’d be a good father, Frankie. You’re patient. Kind. You actually listen. You’ve been great with Jamie.”

Frankie sighed. “That’s different. He’s my nephew. I can always hand him back. I don’t have to make the hard choices. If I was in Henry or Luna’s place, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging a little. “I don’t think anyone really knows until they get there. You can plan, sure. But life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. All you can do is love the kid, pay attention, and try not to let anything get in the way of being there for them.”

“Yeah, well...” Frankie said, reaching out to stroke the tiny kitten curled up in front of you. His hand moved gently, fingers threading through its fur like he was trying not to scare it. “Anyway, I doubt it’ll happen. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to figure out how to take care of a cat.”

“I doubt it too,” you replied. “I swear, there’s nothing that messes with my head more than the thought of being a mother. Or not being one.”

“How come?”

You exhaled, your eyes fixed on some invisible point in the room. “I’m terrified of not becoming a mother. And also, equally terrified of becoming one. It’s like... both possibilities feel too big.” You laughed, but it was a thin sound. “Infertility scares me. Fertility scares me.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. He was breathing in the faint scent of your hair, and it made everything feel a little more real than he wanted it to. Conversations like this were difficult for him—not because he didn’t care, but because the thought of a future that stable, that rooted, felt like trying to imagine himself on another planet. There was a version of him that could handle it. He just wasn’t sure that version existed yet.

“You’ve got time,” he said at last, his cheek pressed against the pillow.

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco,” you said, smiling as if to soften it. “And as much as I hate the phrase, the idea of a biological clock is very real.”

“Thirty’s nothing,” he said, matching your tone, rolling his eyes.

“No, I know,” you agreed. “It’s not. But still.”

He shifted beside you. “Maybe by forty you’ll have it all figured out.”

You let out a laugh. “Wow. That’s a lot of confidence in my decision-making abilities.”

“I’ve seen you order at restaurants. That took several minutes.”

“Hey. That’s important. You don’t want to mess up your one meal.”

Frankie grinned, then looked over at the kitten, now kneading the blanket with its tiny paws.

“Also,” you added, “did you know that after thirty-five it’s technically called a geriatric pregnancy?”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s true.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up. You rolled away from him to check it, and the space where you’d been moments ago felt immediately cooler. Frankie didn’t say anything, just watched you. The kitten padded across the bed toward him and climbed onto his chest. He picked it up in both hands.

What a tiny creature, Frankie thought, watching the kitten as it curled into itself, like a little comma. Its paws were absurdly small, its ears too big for its head. It looked like something you’d win at a fair, a prize made of felt and buttons, only this one breathed and blinked and yawned so wide you could see the pink of its gums. It didn’t seem entirely real. He found himself hoping it would grow big, sleepy and adorable. Like Mr. Darcy.

You were scrolling through your phone beside him, your head propped on one hand.

“Mai sent me the invite,” you said without looking up. “It’s a QR code. They’ll give us wristbands when we get there.”

He nodded, eyes still on the kitten. “Sounds fancy.”

The Halloween party was an annual thing hosted by Kairos, some artsy production company Mai had been involved with for years. She designed the wristbands and the promo graphics, and always managed to secure passes for her friends. Frankie had heard about the Christmas parties too, and the over-the-top New Year’s events where people drank champagne from plastic flutes and danced in dimly lit warehouses. He didn’t go to things like that—loud rooms, too many people, the pressure to make conversation. But earlier that day, over lunch, you’d said something about loving Halloween. Mai had overheard and invited you on the spot. Which meant now he was going too. Because Mai was his sister, and you were—well, you were you.

And honestly, he didn’t mind the idea.

You tapped your phone screen off and turned to him. “Do you know what you’re dressing up as?”

He looked over, smiled faintly. “I don’t know. What about you?”

You shrugged, almost bashful. “I have a few ideas. Nothing definite.”

“Well,” he said, settling back into the cushions, “I’m really, really sure I’ll like and enjoy whatever you pick.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your expression changed—something flickered behind your eyes. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it made him feel warm.

The kitten yawned again and then fell asleep.

Tuesday, October 29th

Frankie leaned back in the lawn chair and took a long sip from his beer. The fire in Santi’s backyard cracked and hissed, sparks rising briefly into the night. The guys were in their usual rhythm (half teasing, half storytelling) revisiting the time Will’s pants split wide open during a yoga class he’d tagged along to, trying to impress a girl.

Frankie wasn’t really listening. His phone rested in his hand, screen dimmed to almost nothing, thumb brushing across it idly. You were texting him.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d gone to try on Halloween costumes, and by some stroke of good fortune—at least in his opinion—you’d decided to keep him in the loop. One by one, the photos came in. A zombie nurse. A ghost bride. A pirate. A vampire in fishnets. Then a Victorian lady. And at some point, absurdly, a towering Marie Antoinette wig that made you look like you'd walked out of a Sofia Coppola film.

Frankie had been more than happy to offer feedback. Encouraged, even. He’d wanted to go with you, truthfully, but work ran late, and he already had plans with the guys. This, this stream of selfies and little captions, felt like the next best thing.

Then finally:

[🍓]: Christine Daaé

And a second later, a photo of a white corset. Silk. Lace trim. The implication was clear.

Frankie had grinned at the screen, then exhaled through his nose like he couldn’t help himself. Of course, that meant he was going as the Phantom. Erik. You’d declared it so.

A bottle cap hit his thigh.

He blinked, looked up from his phone.

Santi was smirking at him from across the fire pit.

“So, can you?” he asked, lifting his chin.

Frankie furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Victor’s boat.”

Frankie shifted in the chair, stretching out his legs. “Ah, right. This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Benny said, yawning as he leaned back, arms behind his head. “You free or what?”

Frankie scratched the edge of his beard. “Actually... I... I’ve got something.”

Santi grinned, like he already knew. “Right. The Halloween party.”

Frankie nodded once, keeping it casual.

“What party?” Will asked, suddenly interested.

“Kairos,” Santi said, turning toward him. “My sister told me. Mai works for them, remember? Costumes, DJs, probably too many people. And look at this guy—ditching me for my little sister.”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and let out a short laugh. He raised the bottle to his lips again, the glass cool against his mouth.

“I’m not ditching you,” he said, though he didn’t offer anything more than that.

And across the firelight, Santi just kept smiling.

“Well, by the way,” Benny said, adjusting forward on the edge of his seat, arms braced on his knees, “why couldn’t you come by last weekend?”

Frankie didn’t flinch. “I was with Mai and my mom,” he said, voice even. And it was true. Mostly.

Sunday had been at his mother’s house. You were there, too. Of course.

Benny wasn’t done. “And Saturday?”

Saturday had been yours. The morning, the afternoon, the parts of the night that bled into morning again.

“Same,” Frankie said, not missing a beat. He didn’t look away.

Across the fire pit, Santi shifted. He leaned into his right arm, elbow pressed into the chair, and tilted his head like he was squinting at a puzzle that had just gotten more interesting. There was something annoyingly pleased in his expression.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it, Fish,” he said, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted. A grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Frankie laughed—short, breathy, too defensive. “Yeah. Right. You guys are unbearable. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

And the second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Santi’s face changed, like a switch being flipped. The amusement faded. He leaned forward slightly, not dramatically, but enough to close the distance. His eyes reflected the movement of the flames, sharp and unreadable. His jaw didn’t move, but his voice came out even, almost quiet.

“Okay. When the hell were you planning on telling me you’re sleeping with my sister?”

The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed. Frankie’s heart dropped so fast it left something hollow behind. His body went rigid. He didn’t blink. He felt the blood drain from his face, felt it pool somewhere in his shoes. The entire backyard blurred at the edges, just orange firelight and too many, many eyes.

He didn’t say a word.

Benny shifted uncomfortably. Will looked down at his beer.

Santi didn’t move. He kept his gaze locked on Frankie, his expression perfectly unreadable.

And then, just as Frankie opened his mouth—he had no idea what he was going to say—Santi broke. A sharp laugh burst from his chest, and he leaned back in the chair, shaking his head.

“I’m messing with you, man.”

Frankie exhaled. It didn’t feel like relief. His skin was too hot, but his fingertips were cold. He ran a hand through his hair, tried to laugh along with them, but it sounded weak, like an echo of something genuine.

His pulse was still racing. His body wasn’t convinced the danger had passed.

And the worst part was: he hadn’t actually denied it.

A breath left Frankie’s chest, short and shaky. “Jesus, man.”

Will and Benny exchanged a glance, laughing in that unsure, uneven way people do when they’re not totally sure it is a joke.

Santi grinned, still riding the high of his own performance.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, pointing lazily in Frankie’s direction. “Fucking priceless. Relax, will you? I’m messing with you.”

“Right,” Frankie muttered. “I know. I know that.” But his voice betrayed him. “You just—you look so damn convincing when you do that.”

Santi shrugged, all casual confidence. “It’s my talent.”

Frankie shook his head and stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his jeans.

“I gotta take a piss.”

“Did you shit yourself, Fish?” Benny called after him, laughing.

Their voices followed him as he crossed the patio and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The silence inside the house felt abrupt. It made the rush of blood in his ears feel deafening. His heart was still hammering against his ribs—each beat too fast, too hard. Like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that it was just a joke.

Just a joke.

In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink after washing his hands, gripping the porcelain with wet fingers. His reflection looked too pale under the overhead light, his mouth tense like he’d been grinding his teeth. He pressed his palms to his face, exhaled into the space between them. Tried to shake it off.

The truth was: he felt like he’d been caught. Like it was written on him somewhere—I’m sleeping with Santi’s sister. Bold print. Centered.

He stayed there for a minute longer, trying to even out his breathing. Trying to look normal. He wasn’t sure it was working.

When he finally stepped out, the hallway felt colder somehow. As he passed the kitchen door, a voice called out.

“Frankie.”

He stopped. Turned his head.

Will was standing by the open fridge, hand already wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. He looked casual. Not suspicious. Not accusing.

“You want one?” Will asked, nodding toward the bottles.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Frankie stepped into the kitchen fully, nodding once as he accepted the bottle from Will. The glass felt cool in his palm. He leaned back against the counter, the edge of it pressing into his spine just enough to remind him he was still in his body.

Will moved with efficiency, pulling three more bottles from the fridge, setting two on the counter with a dull clink, and uncapping the third for himself. He sat across from Frankie, perched casually on one of the stools, the bottle already pressed to his lips.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. Frankie watched the floor. Will watched Frankie.

Then, finally, Will spoke.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out. “How long has this been going on?”

Frankie lifted his head. “What’s been going on?”

Will tilted his head, eyebrows raised in mock innocence. “You know Santi’s basically your brother-in-law now, right?”

Frankie smiled—tight, crooked, tired. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a quiet laugh escaped him, as if the idea were absurd. But it didn’t feel absurd.

“No... I mean—”

“I saw you at the bar,” Will cut in, one eyebrow arched. “On Benny’s birthday. You two were talking. I was heading over to order another round, and I saw you leave. Together.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, a quiet, defensive sound. “That’s not—”

“And,” Will said, leaning in slightly now, clearly enjoying this, “the next day, Santi told us you said you'd spent the night with someone. Said you wouldn’t say who. And then, that day at the river, you said you were seeing that woman. What a coincidence, huh, Fish?”

This time, Frankie didn’t try to argue. He looked at Will, really looked at him, and saw the certainty there. Not speculation. Not a guess. Certainty.

There was no point in denying anything anymore.

Frankie sighed and shifted his weight.

“You can’t say anything. You hear me?”

Will threw his head back, a triumphant laugh spilling from his chest like he’d just solved a mystery no one else had noticed.

“I fucking knew it.”

“Shh,” Frankie hissed, glancing toward the hallway. “Man, shut the hell up.”

Will shook his head, grinning like he’d just heard the punchline of a joke that had taken too long to land.

“You two really aren’t being discreet, you know that?”

Frankie narrowed his eyes, exasperated. “You can’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Will said, holding up a hand in mock solemnity. “Promise. No need, anyway. The others will probably figure it out without my help. You’re not exactly subtle.” He gave a small shrug, then leaned back in his seat. “To be honest, I still wasn’t totally sure. I had my suspicions, yeah. But the look on your face out there?” He let out a low whistle. “Jesus, man. I thought you were about to pass out.”

Frankie let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I kind of thought that too.”

There was a pause. Will’s expression shifted, softened. He took another sip of beer and then sighed, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the counter.

“So?” he asked, his tone more curious than nosy now. “What’s going on? How did that even happen? I mean, how did things change between you two?”

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. His eyes drifted. First to the far wall, then to the patch of floor just beside Will’s foot. He searched his memory, trying to locate the exact pivot, the precise beat where everything had begun to shift. But it was like trying to pinpoint the first moment he started falling asleep. You just wake up in the middle of it, already half-under.

How had things changed?

When?

He could think of a dozen interactions that might’ve mattered. But the one that surfaced—the one that rooted itself in his mind now—was less cinematic than he wanted it to be. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even particularly romantic. But it had cracked something open in him. And after that, he started noticing you differently. Or maybe not differently... just more.

It embarrassed him, how fast it had happened for him.

"Your mother, your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching." You had said that night, the day before his mom's birthday.

Frankie exhaled, the sound half-sigh, half-growl, and pressed his hip against the edge of the kitchen island.

"It’s different." He muttered, voice weighed down by something that felt like exhaustion

"Different how?"

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

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you gestured vaguely in the air between you, where the tension had been gathering like dust. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he corrected automatically.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you were speaking with that infuriating kind of calm that always had annoyed him. "A fucking—"

Frankie’s hands were on your face before he processed the shift. Fingers at your jaw, thumbs resting just beneath your cheekbones. His grip wasn’t rough, just firm. And then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t timid. It wasn’t theatrical either.

He kept kissing you longer than he should have. He knew it, could feel the line being crossed even as he leaned into it, even as his heart stammered in his chest.

And then—just as suddenly—he stepped back.

His hands dropped, and his expression shifted into something smug and irritatingly collected. He clicked his tongue, the sound almost playful.

You weren’t moving. Your posture was stiff, your breath uneven. He noticed the subtle rise and fall of your collarbone, the slight part of your lips, the fact that your eyes were still on his mouth.

He turned from you and folded his arms across his chest, like that might hide something.

“I can do that, no problem,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

Your mouth opened—probably ready to snap back, but the words caught somewhere between fury and shock.

He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned against the island, pretending to study the floor, as if that helped him ignore the sound of your breathing.

“Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend,” you snapped. “I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Frankie’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?"

He pushed away from the counter then, dragging a hand over his stomach before reaching into his pocket to check for his keys. An instinctive gesture, like trying to remind himself he still had an exit.

He walked over to the couch and gave Mr. Darcy a half-hearted pat, then turned back toward you. You hadn’t moved. You looked pissed.

He didn’t blame you. Not entirely, anyway.

“I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Or what? You're going to leave without me?”

Frankie paused, hand already on the door. He looked at you. Then he stepped aside and held the door open.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, like a warning.

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked out, jaw tight, the echo of his shoes fading with every step. The door clicked shut behind him, a final-sounding noise that filled the quiet he hadn’t noticed until then.

Frankie took the stairs two at a time. Something urgent buzzed beneath his skin—irritation, maybe. Or something that required irritation as a cover. When he hit the street, he didn’t hesitate. Got into his car, turned the key, pulled out of the space like it owed him something.

But a few blocks later, a red light caught him. The first real pause.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

His fingers lifted, almost without thought, brushing against his lips. They felt warm, too warm—like they’d been branded. His mouth still remembered yours. Not just the pressure or the shape, but the feeling. The pull. The part of it he hadn’t expected.

He sat there, one hand on the wheel, the other grazing his mouth, eyes unfocused and fixed on nothing.

That was the moment. The first one that counted.

That was when it started for him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Frankie said quietly, his thumb pressing against the condensation on his beer bottle. “It just did. One day I hated her, and the next day I didn’t. And that confused me as much as it probably confused her.”

Will raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly.

“Well, doesn’t confuse me. I knew it from the start��remember? Everything makes sense now. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Frankie let out a sigh and nodded faintly. “I couldn’t tell her, though.”

Will blinked. “You mean all those years you two were at each other’s throats was because you couldn’t be honest with her?”

“No,” Frankie said, laughing in spite of himself. “No. I genuinely didn’t like her after that. I wasn’t pretending.”

Will looked at him, unconvinced. “Okay, sure. But what about now? Did you tell her how it?”

Frankie shook his head. He didn’t explain why. He didn’t know how to.

Will nodded again, slower this time. “And is this—whatever it is—serious?”

At first, Frankie laughed. A short, instinctive sound. Because the question felt too big, too final. But then the laugh faded. His smile disappeared, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

And just like that, the answer was there.

You placed your toothbrush back in the cup and flicked off the bathroom light with the back of your hand. The apartment dimmed into quiet shadows as you padded barefoot toward your bedroom. Mr. Darcy followed you, tail held high, as if he too were ready to call it a night.

But before you got into bed, you paused beside the vanity and looked once more at the costume hanging on the door. Just one last look.

You hadn’t found it in one of those over-lit costume shops filled with synthetic capes and plastic tiaras. You’d gone to a small gothic boutique tucked between a tattoo parlor and a record store. The corset had been waiting there for you—white, embroidered, delicate.

The idea had arrived in your head fully formed: Christine Daaé.

Once you had the corset, everything else followed easily. You found the dress online and paid for priority shipping without hesitation. It was arriving tomorrow morning, and you had already cleared a hanger for it. The pictures online had shown a soft, off-white fabric with dramatic bell sleeves and a neckline that dipped just low enough to make you blush. It ended just below the knees, but a single slit ran up the side of the left leg, high enough to make it interesting.

You had paired it with white thigh-high stockings that fastened with lace, the kind that sat snug against your skin. The whole outfit was beautiful. Romantic, theatrical, sensual. You couldn’t wait to wear it.

Frankie hadn’t protested when you told him your idea. In fact, he had agreed almost too easily. You bought him a white half-mask online and found a soft, 19th-century-style shirt with ruffles at the collar. The woman at the shop, who had probably seen a hundred Phantom couples come through in October, still smiled when you told her what you were planning. She even helped you pick out a black vest with subtle embroidery. Frankie said he’d handle the rest.

You had always loved Halloween in the way certain people love early autumn or thunderstorms—something about the atmosphere, the anticipation, the slight eeriness that made everything feel more heightened, more alive. It was one of your favorite days of the year. Or at least, it used to be.

Lately, the holiday had come and gone like most other days. Last year you’d planned a solo horror movie night. Candles lit, snacks laid out, a carefully curated film queued on the screen. But you’d fallen asleep before the opening credits had even finished rolling. You woke up sometime around midnight, your head slumped against the couch cushion, the room dim and quiet and too still. You didn’t try again after that.

This year, though, there was the party.

It was happening Friday night—even though Halloween fell on a Thursday—because that was how adults did things now. Convenience before tradition. It didn’t bother you. The point was that someone had invited you, and more than that, you wanted to go.

You hadn’t been to a Kairos party in years. The last time, you’d gone with Emma, and the two of you had danced for hours, stealing sips from each other’s drinks and rating costumes like it was a red carpet. But Emma hadn’t been able to make it the past few years and your other friends always had other plans. So, you stayed home.

But not this year.

You folded the corset carefully and placed it back inside its tissue-lined box. The shoes were already tucked away on the top shelf of your closet. You smoothed your hand over the duvet before pulling it back, ready to settle in for the night. Mr. Darcy was already curled up at the foot of the bed.

And then the doorbell rang.

You paused. Checked the time on your phone: 10:03 p.m.

A crease formed between your brows as you walked toward the kitchen, the soft shuffle of your slippers brushing against the floor. You turned the corner and peered out through the narrow window that faced the street. And then you smiled. Frankie.

You didn’t bother asking what he was doing there before heading downstairs. The air outside was crisp when you opened the door to the street, the pavement still holding the warmth from the day.

He was standing there with his hands in his denim jacket pockets, looking at you like he hadn’t really meant to show up but had ended up there anyway.

“Hey,” you said, stepping toward him, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him—just a quiet press of lips, familiar now, but still electrifying. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you at Santi’s?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a tired kind of smile, the kind that suggested he’d had a long day but was happy to be standing there with you. His hands found your waist almost without thinking and he stepped past the threshold as you moved aside for him. Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “but I needed to see you.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Did something happen?”

Frankie let out a low laugh. “Well, first of all, Will knows about us. Did you know that?”

You blinked. “What? Wait—what do you mean he knows?”

He lifted his shoulders in a helpless little shrug. “I’ll explain everything upstairs, okay?”

There was something in his tone that told you it wasn’t urgent, but it still made your stomach flutter.

You nodded anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

You let go of him to close the door behind you, then turned to find him already looking at you with something unreadable in his expression.

“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What? Don’t say it like that. You’re scaring me.”

Frankie shook his head immediately, pressing his lips together like he regretted phrasing it that way.

“It’s nothing bad. I promise. It’s just… something about when we first met.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @thedilfdiaries @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @deatt @yslgreen @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline @crayolacraycray @wencontre @peepawispunk @berryispunk @billionairecowgirl @blub-senpai @madpanda75 @joelmillerpascal @thatdbeagoodsticker @dtftheavengers @jessthebaker @yourallaround-simp @vingtetunmars @deatt @pedges-world @vickie5446

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roc-haze · 4 months ago

Text

Arm’s Length | Will Lenney

Read Part 1 here!

In which Will is all in.

——

Cal: Can we talk? I miss you.

“I didn’t realise that you and Cal were still talking.” Will’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“We’re not, really. Why? Has something happened?” Y/N looked to his phone. “Is he texting you?”.

“Darling, this is your phone.” Will handed it to her, the screen illuminating.

She looked at the message, confused but deciding to lay the phone face down.

“Are you gonna get back to him?” Will asked.

“Not right now. It’s probably a drunk text,” she rested her hand over the top of his. “Anyway… back to what I was saying.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what really happened between you two?” Will chose his tone carefully, not wanting to sound too accusatory.

The group were largely unaware of the small romance between Cal and Y/N. Bach had spotted them walking hand in hand through the tube station on a Wednesday evening, but put it down to nothing after finding Cal swiping through Tinder the following weekend. Will, however, had an inside source. Harry Lewis.

They had been filming a pub golf video for Chris’s channel when Harry had brought it up.

“Mate.. can you believe Y/N and Lux?” Harry lowered his voice.

“What do you mean?” Will hadn’t heard anything from Y/N.

“She hasn’t said anything?”. Harry cocked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they’re together. Like in a serious way. He was asking if he should introduce her to his family.”

“If it’s legit, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.” Will took a sip of his drink, avoiding meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Do you think she’s embarrassed of him? It seems like he wants everyone to know… but she hasn’t even told you? You basically live in her pocket.” Harry questioned Will, somewhat disbelieving his longtime friend.

“Nah, I don’t think she’d be embarrassed of ‘im. He’s a good lad. It’s probably just a lot to figure your shit out with a group as big as this.” Will had always known Y/N to be calm. Level headed. Always with a plan. She’s just probably not ready to tell people yet. She wouldn’t until she was sure he was the one.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not gonna lie mate, I thought it would be you.”

Less than 3 weeks later, Y/N had thrown herself into work. Cal had stopped posting stories of two wine glasses and snippets of songs Y/N had just happened to like. But to their friends, nothing had ever happened. They had always interacted politely, and they moved forward normally. Hey Y/N, you look well. A quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. You too! Did you go to the football this weekend?

When Will had asked her about it, Y/N had just said, “nothing really happened between us… we’re just better off as mates.” He had his suspicions that there was something a little more sinister going on. Maybe one of them had been a little controlling. Or there was a third person in the picture. Cal immediately reinstating his Tinder profile reeked of unfaithful. “That’s a shame. You deserve someone good.” Like me, he felt like saying.

“If I’m being perfectly honest… Cal was starting to feel like he was the placeholder for you.” Y/N hesitated telling him the full truth. “I feel like such a dick. He figured out my feelings about you long before I did. I just kinda feel like I’ve dropped him in shit and then left.”

Will’s face softened. “Fuck. I always kinda assumed the worst.” He shifted in his seat, hand covering his mouth. “No wonder he hasn’t called me recently.”

“Oh come on, Will. It’s a two way street. You haven’t reached out to him either.” Y/N pursed her lips.

“I know… we have that dinner for Freezy’s birthday coming up. I’ll try and talk to him then,” Will reached out for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Okay.. let’s make sure he’s okay and finish this conversation. We were starting to get somewhere.”

“Can’t we do that first? I have a lot I wanna say to you.” Y/N stared at him, trailing her eyes from his eyes to his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that… you’re making me feel bad. Just send a welfare text or something. I’m not gonna get pissy at him for messaging me girlfriend if the intention is just to be nice.” Will spoke quickly.

Y/N looked straight at him, a smirk beginning to grow. “Girlfriend?”

She typed a message back to Cal, Will’s hand taking up residence on her knee.

Y/N: Yeah, we can. Is everything okay?

Cal: Not really. I feel like our dynamic is kind of fucked at the moment. What do you think?

Cal: (I also have an insurance question but this is probably an inappropriate time to ask 🫣)

Y/N: I think it’s definitely a little stiff. But I expected that. How would you like to move forward? (Send me a meeting invite for tomorrow and we’ll chat through. I’m free after 2pm)

Cal: I miss my mate. I’d love for us to get a point again where we can have a pint and chat shit

Cal: Also schweeet. That time works perfectly

Y/N: Okay. Are you up for a liquid lunch tomorrow? Half productive business insurance, half gossip? 🤭

Cal: Count me in. Meet you at the usual?

Y/N: Sounds good. See you at 2!

Cal: Great 👍 good to have you back mate

Y/N: You too chief 🫡

“Are you happy with that, William? Do you feel better now?” She placed her phone on the table in front of her, giving her full attention to the man in front of her.

He laughed, taking her hands in his. “That was very nicely done. It just didn’t feel right moving forward until you and Lux were in a good spot.”

“Well. Now I’m gonna talk. You’re not going to interrupt me.” She spoke sternly, before flashing him a Cheshire Cat smile.

Will raised his hand to his mouth, making a zipping motion.

“You and me are meant to be. I am into you in the grossest way. Like I’d happily fold your socks. Pop your zits. Whatever you want. I’m all in, Will. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay but I’m going to have to leave London out of embarrassment.” She sat vulnerably, searching the man’s eyes for any emotion. Suddenly, the room felt heavy and the exit was looking a little more appealing.

Will sat in silence, blank stare on his face. A few moments passed.

“Are you going to say anything?” Y/N exclaimed in frustration, her voice beginning to crack.

“Am I allowed to speak now? I didn’t want to interrupt.” He grinned at her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. “I thought I made it pretty obvious with the whole girlfriend comment, but if you’d like to hear me say it…”.

She nodded, finally sinking back into her seat.

“I won’t pop your zits because you’d just about batter me for not having a pimple patch. But I will carry you home after nights out. Take you on hot dates to the Tesco reduced section. Brag about you to people on the street if you’ll let me.” He stopped to take a breath, captivating her gaze. “I’m all in. Even when you start to think I’m wrinkly and pruny.”

“I thought you were just good looking, but turns out you can sometimes string a romantic sentence together.” She looked at Will sincerely, placing her hands on each side of his face.

“I just speak in syllables. Makes me seem all wise.” He laughed, resting his hands on either side of her waist. He pulled her closer, his breath fanning on her face before their lips met.

The kiss was gentle at first. New. The two of them had known each other so well, but this was uncharted territory.

They pulled away, Y/N resting her hands on his chest. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“Don’t ask me. I’ve been waiting around for you.” Will smiled at her, pulling her into his lap. He joined their lips together again, his hands subtly creeping underneath her knitted jumper.

Y/N ran her hands along his forearms, tracing all the way up to the back of his head and tangling her fingers through his hair. His breath hitched as she lightly pulled on a few strands. Will pulled her impossibly close, attempting to shuffle them into a horizontal position.

As Y/N went to adjust her knees on either side of his, almost in a straddle position, her knee couldn’t get a grip on the leather like material and she started to slide off the couch.

Will, unable to get a grip on her quick enough, decided to go down with the ship. They lay on the soft carpet, side by side.

“Are you alright, pet?” Will tried to hide his laughter as Y/N lay rubbing circles over her elbow.

“Fuck, I think I have carpet burn.” She whined, laughing out of embarrassment.

“D’ya want me to kiss it better?” Will turned to face Y/N, seeing her nod. He sat up, placing a kiss on her cheek. Watching the smile spread across her face, he moved to her forehead, other cheek, jaw, chin and eventually her lips.

She laughed as he pulled away. “Wow, I miraculously feel so much better.”

Before the moment could continue, there was a buzz on the intercom.

“That’d be dinner.” Will sat up, making his way to the door. While he greeted the delivery driver, Y/N made her way to the kitchen to collect the essentials - a bottle of red, two glasses, plates and two sets of chopsticks.

Will met her in the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you.. we’re having sushi”.

“I know. We always get sushi after you film.” She led him back toward the living room, setting up the coffee table to accommodate all of their food.

“I ordered some of the teriyaki chicken salad you like. That way you won’t have to worry about buying any lunch tomorrow at work.” Will grabbed the cushions off of the couch, setting them down so they could sit comfortably on the floor.

“You know me too well, Lenney.” She grinned at him, taking a seat and beginning to search through the Netflix suggestions.

He reached over, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. “Always have, sweetheart. You were only just an arms length away.”

Y/N to Ugly Stepsisters chat: I did it. I got the guy.

———

Author’s note:

All finished! Hopefully not too bad for my first fic out of retirement. If you can’t tell by the title, I have been very much listening to Sam Fender’s new album 🤭

Thanks for reading 🤍🤍

#uk youtuber #willne x reader #WillNE #will lenney #harry lewis #roc haze #Spotify

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inawickedlittletown · 7 months ago

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From Loaves to Love -BuckTommy (one-shot)

Summary: Set during 8x07, Eddie sends Tommy a picture of Buck's baked good filled fridge. Fix-it fic. A continuation for the snippet I posted this morning. Words: 2.9k Read on Ao3

Tommy receives a picture of a fridge full of baked goods. Mostly, from what he can tell, loaves. The picture comes from Eddie without a caption. It takes a while for him to realize that the fridge is familiar because it belongs to Evan.

Eddie texts him a few minutes later:

Every time he thinks about calling you, he bakes something instead.

Tommy has a little bit of a breakdown about that because maybe in his mind he'd thought that Evan would already be over it, over them. He'd been not hoping for it, but expecting it, even while he knew that he would probably have a few more cries about it and that any reminder of Evan was enough to make his heart hurt.

The thing is that Evan isn’t really a baker. Or at least, he hadn’t been in the six months that they were dating. He’d been busy from the looks of it. He’s still looking at the picture when Lucy plops down next to him.

“What’s happening there?”

Baked every time he thought about calling Tommy. He doesn’t even fight when Lucy grabs the phone out of his hand and scrolls back on his texts with Eddie.

It’s been the only form of communication he’s had with anyone from the 118. He was thankful for Eddie and for the way that he’d reached out the day after the break up not to demand anything of Tommy, but to ask how he was doing.

Tommy had texted him back after some consideration. In all their back and forth, they hadn’t discussed it or Evan. Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to ask, not sure if he wanted an answer.

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked.

“What do you mean?”

Lucy fixed him with a look. “Tommy, you’ve been moping for days. Clearly he is too. Neither of you wants this.”

“It’s for the best,” Tommy said and he didn’t even know if he believed that anymore.

He’d believed it in the moment, had been so absolutely sure that it was the right move for both of their sakes and yet…

“You’re running,” Lucy said. “I know…I know you’ve been hurt before, but this time you’re not just hurting yourself. You’re hurting Buck too.”

“He’ll get over it. I’ll…I’ll get over it.”

Her eyes bore into him even as she handed him his phone back. “Thomas, you’re in love with him.”

—

Buck had bought all the baking supplies when he’d decided he’d take a stab at making Tommy a birthday cake. That had been before his heart was wrenched out of his chest and given a few stomps for good measure. That was before Buck decided to Buck things up by pushing for more too quickly and before Tommy decided that it was better if they ended things before Buck could end it in the future.

He didn’t bake a birthday cake.

Instead, he baked a banana bread with the bananas that were going spotty. He discovered that being busy and having to pay attention to something like the recipe kept his mind off Tommy. Except that Tommy came rushing back into his head afterwards.

Buck almost called him. Wanted to. Wished he could hear his voice and his laugh and that they could fix it.

Fear stopped him. Fear that Tommy had blocked his number. Fear that he wouldn’t pick up. Fear that he would and that he’d tell Buck not to call. Fear that he would call him Buck again instead of Evan. Fear that Buck would be sent to voicemail and that he would say something he couldn’t take back.

So, he didn’t call.

Instead, Buck baked a pumpkin loaf. Then an apple loaf. Then a walnut and date loaf. That was when he realized he was out of flour and also that hand mixing was not ideal.

He called Eddie.

It had taken him hours before he told Eddie what happened. Eddie hadn’t said much, but he’d offered Buck the couch and then went out and got them breakfast the next morning. Eddie was the one to tell the rest of the 118 and when Buck begged for Eddie to check on Tommy, Eddie just hit his shoulder.

“I already did,” he’d said.

Buck didn’t talk about Tommy again.

“What’s going on, Buck?” Eddie asked over the phone.

“I need you to come to Costco with me.”

“Costco?” Eddie asked and after a pause. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll even drive.”

Eddie didn’t say anything when Buck bought the twenty-five pound bag of flour or the bottle of vanilla extract, or the sugar, or the bags of nuts. He did raise his eyebrow when Buck picked up a Kitchen-Aid mixer.

“What is all this, Buck?”

“I just…I need to do something.”

“So you’re starting your own bakery?”

After they got everything up to his apartment, Buck sent Eddie home with all the bread he’d made the night before. Eddie didn’t say a word, but he did look like he wanted to say something. A few days later, Buck thought that he’d gotten quite good at making different types of loaves. He’d even branched out and found more interesting and complicated recipes.

He did have to take a second trip to Costco to get more eggs when he got it in his head that he should attempt a baked alaska.

Buck did think he saw Eddie take a picture of the contents of his fridge the night he came over to play video games.

Maddie and Chim both didn’t seem to get it. When she said the universe would give him someone special, did she not realize that it had already happened? That Buck had somehow still managed to blow it and that Tommy wasn’t leaving his heart anytime soon? That not calling him was Buck trying not to push where he wasn’t wanted? That not calling was Buck letting Tommy have what he wanted.

And yeah, Buck had been thinking about what Tommy said after Buck not being his last and how he needed to explore. It was bullshit, but if that was what it took…if he could prove to Tommy he’d tried to find whatever it was he was supposed to find with other people then…

The logic was dumb.

After they left, making him promise he’d cut back on the baking, Buck went back to baking. He made brownies and took them right into work the next day alongside a banana bread, a walnut loaf, a zucchini bread, and a pumpkin spice loaf.

—

The knock on his door was in a quick rhythm and Tommy almost didn’t answer. He’d been wallowing a bit because they’d had plans for tonight. Plans to celebrate his birthday, no less.

Tommy hadn’t celebrated many birthdays in his adulthood. There had never been much of a point, but Evan had wanted to plan out a date for them and now…now Tommy was all alone in his house wallowing. Moping. Rethinking his whole life.

“Coming,” he called out when the knocking started again.

He was not expecting Hen and Karen. No kiddos in sight to see the state of him at least. Tommy was a mess. He’d changed into sweats and a tank the moment he got home. His hair was a mess. His eyes probably looked red rimmed and exhausted.

“Hi,” he said. “What are you—”

“Happy Birthday,” Karen said.

“Oh? Uh, come in.”

Tommy didn’t even realize they had a small box with them until Hen plopped it on his kitchen counter.

“What is that?”

“You broke it, and suddenly we’re all on the verge of becoming diabetics and it was just Halloween so we’ve all had more than enough sugar. But it’s your birthday and we figured you should get a taste of what you’re created.”

“What?”

Out of the box came bread loaves. Muffins. Cookies. Brownies. Hand pies. Were those meringues? No cake, though.

“He bought a Kitchen Aid. He’s becoming some sort of baking machine,” Hen said. “All because he can’t bear to think about you.”

That went right to his chest. Lucy wasn’t wrong. Tommy did love him. Tommy was in love with him.

Looking at Karen and Hen, he wondered if they would understand where he was coming from.

“I was his first boyfriend,” he said.

“We’re aware,” Karen said.

“So, then…then you know what that means. He’s been out for…for six months and he doesn’t have any other experience except for with me. How is that fair to him? To me? One day he’ll realize and then that’ll be that.”

“You’re a dumbass for thinking that,” Karen said.

“My wife is usually right about things,” Hen said.

Tommy groaned. “He put me on a pedestal. He doesn’t know it, but he sees me as his gay mentor and he’s confusing that with…with, I don’t even know. I just — I had to put a stop to it before—”

“Before you got hurt,” Hen finished for him.

“Looks like you didn’t avoid that,” Karen offered. “Did you talk to him about any of this? You guys were together for six months, what was the point if you were always going to just leave in the end?”

Tommy hadn’t even realized he was crying, but he was. “It’s not like I planned it. It was…it surprised me too. He asked me to move in with him and he was talking getting engaged and married and—”

“Wait…wait, he asked you to move in? How do you go from that to breaking up?”

Tommy couldn’t explain about the Abby thing and he couldn’t explain about how he wasn’t the guy that got forever and how he wasn’t the guy that deserved someone like Evan. He couldn’t explain about how much it freaked him out to think that Evan could jump right to moving in together before they had even said that they loved each other as if Tommy were just some kind of place holder until Evan found someone else. Someone better. Explaining that would make him be seen and Tommy…he didn’t know that he wanted to be seen even if Hen and Karen could understand where he was coming from.

“Look, talk to him. Please,” Hen said.

“This is just a bump in the road. The two of you, you’d never looked happier than you have in the last six months,” Karen added.

“I…I don’t know.”

—

Buck ran out of sugar.

Jee was partially to blame because she’d spilled some the night he had her as a helper. It was 3am and Buck supposed that there was probably somewhere open that he could get some sugar, but he was down to just his underwear and the plaid shirt Tommy had left behind that didn’t even smell like Tommy anymore and wasn’t that just unfair. Plus, his oven was on and Buck didn’t want to leave it on while he went out to get sugar. It would be just his luck that he’d be back and his apartment was one fire.

Eddie probably had sugar. Buck didn’t want to bother him.

Chim and Maddie would judge.

Bobby might bring some over or he might just tell Buck to go to sleep.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy. Missed him. Wanted him.

Buck grabbed his phone and he went right to messages and typed:

Ran out of sugar. Do you have any?

Sent it to Eddie.

No response.

He wandered over to his couch and…Tommy had slept there just a few weeks ago because he didn’t want to leave Buck on his own. No one had ever done that for him before, cared enough to stay and cared enough to give a damn. Buck wiped at his eyes. It wasn’t fair.

When he broke up with Natalia he had felt free. When he broke up with Taylor he’d felt like he was finally choosing himself. Ali leaving had been clouded with so much else that Buck had hardly been able to think about the break up because his leg was in a cast and his future was in question. Abby…well that had been devastating and yet this…this was worse. So much worse.

His phone pinged.

He fished it out of his pocket and oh no…he…the text hadn’t been sent to Eddie. He’d sent it to Tommy.

Yes.

Oh no. And he was typing. And not typing. Typing. Then…nothing. No message. No more typing. No call. Tommy was bubbling him again.

Buck dropped onto the couch with a groan. At least Hen and Eddie weren’t there to try and steal his phone again. This time, Buck didn’t even want to call.

After all the times he stopped himself from reaching out, that was what he sent? A text asking for sugar?

When the knock came at his door, he went to open the door, reluctantly. A part of him almost didn’t even expect it to be Tommy but of course…of course it was Tommy standing there in his pajamas with just one of his flannels open over it all, in each hand a container of sugar. Brown and white.

“You didn’t have to,” Buck began.

“It sounded desperate,” Tommy said. “Hi, Evan.”

“Come in,” Buck said.

Tommy stepped inside and Buck closed the door, trying to gather himself. In the light of his kitchen, he could see that Tommy looked if nothing else tired. The skin under his eyes was dark, like he hadn’t been able to sleep. Buck could relate. Tommy was taking him in too and that made him feel the tiniest bit self conscious about his lack of pants.

“So, you’ve taken up baking.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not a normal response to a break up.”

Buck laughed. He laughed because he might cry if he didn’t.

“Do you want me to be like you, then? All unbothered at the end of the best six months of my life? Is that it? Oh, wait…no, you want me to go find myself or something? Sleep around and what, go back to being the himbo that Abby dated after you left her? Except I guess now I can sleep with men and women, somehow I don’t think it will go any differently.”

“Evan,” Tommy said and his voice was gentle and sad and there were tears in his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” Buck said and his voice broke. “I can’t. I can’t. I miss you. I want you. I wanted to bake you a birthday cake and since I couldn’t do that I baked everything else and it still isn’t enough.”

“Oh, Evan,” Tommy said and he set down the sugar and opened his arms, giving Buck the option.

—

Evan rushed into his arms, burying his head in Tommy’s shoulder, tears and all. His arms clutched at him and Tommy didn’t think that Evan was likely to let him go any time soon. It didn’t matter, because Tommy wanted to hold onto him too.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “I’m so sorry. I did this to us.”

Evan nodded against him. “I didn’t help,” he muttered.

“When you texted me tonight…the thought of you up at this hour baking, I got worried and I’ve been literally doing anything possible to stop myself from driving over since that night. I had to come. I had to see you.” He took a breath and couldn’t hold it in any more. “I love you, Evan.”

“You love me,” Evan said back, pulling back, staring at him with that amazed look in his eyes like he couldn’t quite believe it.

His hands reached for Tommy’s face. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you too. And I am never letting you go, again.”

Their kiss was reminiscent of the first. It was even happening near where that kiss had happened. It was gentle, soft, full of so much wonderment and feeling. Neither of them willing to push it into more because this was what they needed. There was so much to talk about and so much to consider and work on and yet, Tommy wasn’t afraid of that as much as he was afraid of giving up on this. On them. On Evan.

He’d lived a little over a week without Evan and even that was too much.

“I’m still not moving in with you,” Tommy informed Evan after a few more shared kisses.

“Oh. Yeah, I jumped the shark on that a little.”

“You also forgot to consider that I own my house and you rent,” Tommy said.

“So, how about this, nothing changes and we communicate more. You decide when you want us to move in together because we will. One day. You may be the first dude I’ve ever dated, but I think you can be the last too.”

He kissed Evan again and Evan moaned into the kiss. They were interrupted when the oven timer went off.

“I thought you ran out of sugar?” Tommy asked.

“I was going to make apple pie,” Evan said. “That’s cupcakes.”

He let Evan go take them out of the oven and out of curiosity began to look around. Opened the fridge. He couldn’t even begin to count how much Evan had managed to bake.

“What are you planning on doing with all of this?”

“I have no idea,” Evan said. “Donate it?”

Tommy just laughed. “Yeah, Evan, I’m sure someone will appreciate it. Those cupcakes are mine, though.”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Happy birthday, by the way,”

Tommy ate the first cupcake before it had cooled and without any frosting. “Hmmm. Delicious.”

#bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 abc #911 fic #spoilers #911 spoilers

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anotherspookyarchivist · 25 days ago

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I have sinned some more. Here's another Stan in a Can snippet. For story context please look at this post, which includes the first two parts. Warning for those unaware, but this is a dark story; The funny name is misleading. "Communication". (CW: death, implied suicidal ideation, dehumanisation, emotional manipulation)

78467. 78468. 78469.

Lee was feeling something. An approximate of something. He tried to squish the feeling, because he didn’t want to risk Stanford’s mood before they’d even started.

Trepidation. That’s the word. It didn’t like the idea of complete detachment. Appeasing Stanford was important, but there was a part of him that knew that complete detachment would leave it with nothing.

It couldn’t see. It couldn’t touch. It couldn’t do anything. It’s trapped in this emptiness that is vast and unyielding.

Oh. That’s… interesting? Stanley stopped the mental count, disrupted by an actual memory. It liked the memories from the outside, it was hard to remember what reality looked like once – and Ford’s descriptions just weren’t enough for him; But the occasional memory – when he remembers seeing the outside world? Those memories have become his most cherished possession.

Thinking about its state reminded it of something that happened before Lee’s undeath. A different sort of darkness. A different sort of blindness. He’d felt so much back then, hadn’t he?

Rope burns on his arms, as he tried to shuffle out of them. Feelings of panic? Fear? Anxiety? Probably quite the mixture of it because it had been afraid to die. What a silly thought, he had been naive. Naive and in a lot of pain. Moreover as he had aggravated his injuries while trying his best to get out of that trunk. He had felt the pain for weeks after, its teeth were ruined; bruises everywhere on its vessel as it’d tried its best to find a new hiding spot.

If Stanley could smile, he would have. If he tried hard enough he could maybe remember what that felt like. To possess and be in control of a vessel and to feel its damage. The darkness of the trunk was still more than what he could see now, but maybe he could ‘play’ as if it were the same. That in just a few numbers he’d be finally try and move and feel a sting of something.

Then he discarded the thought.

Too risky.

He let go of the memory for now. The count was already quite high, and Stanford promised he’d return. So it’s better to not fall into any sort of emotion. Emotions were a low number thing. It was risky to dwell on them after 7484… or was it 6135?

Especially not now, where it was already struggling to keep itself in check. This must be the closest to happiness it’s felt in a while, and that was already dangerous. There was no need to add more.

It continued to count, and at 91362 it happened. Ford returned.

“Hello Stanley”, his brother always sounded so happy when he visited it. But Lee knew that he had to stay calm.

Hello Ford

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”

Let me guess, the portal?

“Yes, the portal. Again.” Oh, Stanford sounded… annoyed? Or maybe frustrated. It was hard to grasp. But the other continued quickly, before Stanley could get a word in. “It’s already been syphoning most of my time but today, had proven itself to be worse than usual.”

That sounds bad.

“I apologise for my delay.”

Don’t worry about it.

“Though, in all fairness, I should be blaming McGucket.” If that was the case, then Stanley would blame them too. He’d never met this McGucket person, but since Ford knows them, they have to exist… but it didn’t want to miss its chance, so it quickly asked for elaboration.

What happened?

“Oh, I know you’re curious Stanley. I’ll tell you about, if you’d like – and if you promise not to tell anyone else.” One nice thing about wherever it was placed in – Lee could hear Ford so well. All the nuances of the other were somehow transmitted to it. It wasn’t like he was hearing it, and yet it was. There was no other voice than Stanford’s, no noises or interruptions. And yet, it could hear his brother’s sighs, and laughter, as well as the other’s anger during moments where it had messed up. Ford was such a good scientist; To be able to create something so impressive (and empty. It’s empty so empty and it hates being left so alo-). Focus. It wasn’t worth thinking about this. Not during their conversation.

He could hear Ford laughing at his own joke. Ford being happy was good. It meant that it hadn’t messed up, yet.

I won’t tell, I promise.

“We’ve attempted another parallel expedition” is what Ford started with. The portal, Stan had to admit, was something it didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t mind Ford telling him about it. It didn’t matter if it understood or not.

“We’ve been increasing the amount of excursions for a while. It’s mostly to fulfil those frustrating quotas as presented by the government.” the other paused for a moment, and Stanley tried to imagine what Ford looked like right now. Eyes twitching? Hands shaking? Those were things that a person could do….

Oh, it had nearly missed his brother’s next words. He really should be listening. He was being rude and ungrateful. Ford was talking. It liked it when Ford was talking, so he’d better be attentive.

“Oh Lee, you wouldn’t believe how demanding they’ve become. I’ve been tempted to use McGucket’s Memory Gun and to… erase some of our work from their memories, though that would also erase any potential of future funding.” Ford sounded unhappy about it.

“Sadly, the upkeep of the Institute demands that we work with the government, even if we don’t like it.” and there was it again. A huff. Oh, this one the thing in the void recognised all too well. It’s had enough experience by now to keep itself in check.

“But it’s not like you can judge me, Lee. I know what you did to survive.”

I wouldn’t have judged you either way, you know.

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t consider asking me for help. You sold yourself for scraps. Debasing yourself over and over, instead of asking for my help; Not even when we met up again did you think about telling me. You drove off. Stanley, you’re impossible.”

It didn’t respond.

“This is exactly why we’re in this position now, you know? If you’d been honest with me, I could have helped you earlier.”

I know. I’m… I’m sorry.

“But at least I get to keep you safe now. There’s nothing that could hurt you.”

Yes. Thank you. Thank you. And I’m sorry.

“I forgive you. You hadn’t known any better, and now you do. You’ve been doing so well, Lee. I know you’re trying your best.”

I do. I am.

There’s only silence. It was familiar.

1. 2. – wait Ford was probably still there. For some reason the other wasn’t talking? But Stanley didn’t worry. Worry would only lead to Ford leaving for real.

Ford? So, what happened with the portal?

“You’re right. I was supposed to tell you about today’s mishap.”

It waited.

“There was an incident during today’s parallel expedition. McGucket and his team were visiting dimension 4546B, while I was observing their trip from the lab; The dimension had previously shown up on our scanners – and we’ve already categorised it as ‘dangerous’… but we had not been aware of any additional dangers.”

So wha-

“One person from the expedition team came into contact with their parallel self.”

Oh.

“We hadn’t even known that a simple touch could cause such destruction. The dimension was immediately falling apart – and I had to ensure that the expedition team would return safely nonetheless.”

The guy?

“Sadly, the team-member didn’t make it. Seemingly disintegrated before the rest of the team, which was a whole other issue.” It was sure that it could hear Stanford thinking loudly.

“It was both fascinating, as well as horrifying. A danger that we’ve been completely unaware of.”, there was amusement in his brother’s voice.

“Poor Fiddleford. He’s still really bad at handling these intense moments. I do wonder if he’ll be willing to continue leading these excursions.”

Maybe Fiddleford would also need to learn how to ignore emotions?

“The whole dimension collapsed. It doesn’t exist anymore. So much potential information lost in a blink of an eye. The government asking for reports that we don’t have. That’s why I’ve been gone for so long, Stanley.”

Don’t worry. The number wasn’t that high. I’m glad you’re here.

“Moreover, it was suggested that we increase security and change our protocol for interdimensional travel – again. For safety purposes. Just to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

That sounds like more work.

“I agreed”

oh. it knew what would come next. That’s why Ford had been so happy to talk about his day.

“I really thought that this would be done by now – but work really keeps piling up. But I know you. You don’t want me to overwork myself, and you don’t mind waiting for a bit longer for that communication model, do you, Lee?”

…

“I knew you wouldn’t mind. Thank you, Stanley. And you know that I’m just so happy to have you here with me, have you support me throughout all of this. As always, my closest confidant.”

…

“You’ve settled in so well, really. I promise you, you’ll get that communication device as soon as I can make the time. I know this is important to you.”

…

“You just have to trust me.”

I do. I have to.

...It wanted to trust his brother so badly. He wanted to be able to have more at his disposal than this mimicry of a real conversation. The illusion often shattering at inopportune times. Leaving Stanley with this empty feeling, because anything else was not allowed.

“I’ll see you again soon, right Stanley. Stay safe.” a chuckle, and then nothing.

Goodbye Ford.

It waited for a bit. And then for a bit longer. And when nothing else changed and it remained in the void, he began once again to count. He wanted to trust his brother… but he just started the count. The number was low. Stanford wouldn’t return before he’s reached a higher number. It allowed itself to feel. Just for now. No one would have to know. Just until the number was higher.

And it let itself feel; It tried to grasp the first emotion it could find within its being, and so he let himself feel fear.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stan in a can #a better world au #gravity falls au

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oonajaeadira · 5 months ago

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Patricio Keeps a Journal, Pt. 1: Winter

Good. Things. Take. Time. is a series that grew out of prompts–the whisper of a character, the asks of readers. And now, to get myself back into PATS’s head, the prompts are coming from @fanfticionoverload’s Seasons of Life challenge.

What you’re about to read are some excerpts from Patricio’s journal. Heads up they probably won't make much sense if you haven't read the ongoing series.

Each excerpt is just that–snippets that pertain to the story, taken from his presumed wider journal, each notated where it lands in the series and follows the chronology of the series.

The rules of the challenge ask for 250 words per prompt. I thought it would be a little less forced if I didn’t worry so much about that, so some may fall short of that number. And I’ll say that these aren’t heavily edited nor are they anything other than basic reactions, precisely because I wanted them to feel like the unfiltered thoughts one writes in a journal.

Let’s say that it was Shell’s orders for him to keep a journal in the first place. If his practice is his way of dealing with his demons, if he’s not going to go to traditional therapy, then “the least you can do is just offload before bed, and not the kind of offloading you do with your dick. I’m not gonna read it, but I’ll want to see words on those pages. Write a fucking play for all I care, write a manifesto about your love of pasta, I don’t give a shit what. Just write.”

I don’t have anything to write. I’m not a fucking poet. Shell says use the pen, get the words out of your head, just write anything. Anything. Anything. Tables have turned. Now I’m the one practicing letting it all out. Trying not to think too hard. Anything.

EXCERPT 1: SNOW

TIMELINE: a few days before Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

#39 gifted me four tickets to the game at her last session. It’s Neils’ birthday. I’ll surprise him and Dan with a guy’s night out.

Got a new client coming in on Thursday. #48. I wasn’t going to approve her. Nothing in her application hints at any lingering trauma that she can’t just get treated at a legit clinic. But Shell was pushy about this one. She's got a knack for these things and hasn’t been wrong yet. Official referral diagnosis: pain is psychological tension from a recent(?) divorce. I guess it’s worth a shot. If nothing else, divorcees are usually just in need of a good fuck so it’s an easy fix. Good photo. I like her style. She’s going to make pretty faces.

Thinking about taking some time off after that. Rare confluence of three clients ending their run at the same time, it’s slow season at the office and the guys can handle a week without me, I should get out of town. Someplace quiet. Or fuck, I don’t know, someplace distracting where I can get out of my head. Maybe I should book a massage. Look at me, I’m hilarious. Who massages the masseuse? I’ll have Shell find me something. Keep it interesting. Place yer bets: seedy and cheap or golden toilets and happy endings? As long as it’s somewhere warm.

Renee posted the pictures from her honeymoon. Skiing in the Alps. She always used to hate the snow. Guess people change. Change can be a good thing.

She’s better off.

___

EXCERPT 2: SCARF

TIMELINE: The night of Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

Shell hit the jackpot on this one. Perfect plaything. She’s like I custom ordered a client. Recurring cluster knots all down her starboard teres major, needs a hand getting in under the port shoulder blade…can’t do it alone. Needs my hands. She needs me. Follows directions, trusts completely. Has a good imagination. That will open up more in time. I expect a challenge out of this one. Surprised the shit out of me with the beautiful thing though. Maybe shouldn’t have let her have that. Maybe shouldn’t have gone down on her. It’s fine. She’s clean. Tastes good smells good ass for days. I can get a good handful. Everywhere.

And perfect inside. Tight but not too tight, good control with the right assistance, takes direction like a dream. I’ll be able to get her to sing if she keeps listening. Mierda, her skin. My hands want to eat it. Oil it up and map it out and scarf it down. Her muscle structure is -just- amazing. I haven’t been this amped in months. This one hits the spot.

Giving her Thursday across the board might have come off too eager. Well, if that didn’t, offering up extra days on call probably did. Jackass.

Not gonna worry about that tonight. Bowling with the guys tomorrow night. Hope they’re ready to eat their damn balls. I’m fucking invincible.

She called me beautiful. She’s [sentence scratched out]

Forgot to note in her file–she said she hasn’t had anyone make her come in over a year even though info says she’s only been divorced a few months. What kind of an asshole just walks away from that her? How could anyone share a bed or a house or anything with that and resist for a year? She deserves to get fucked every day. Why wouldn’t you want someone that just falls into you so willingly and fucks so pretty? Great. Now I’m angry. Not my concern. Just my gain.

___

EXCERPT 3: COZY

TIMELINE: weekend evening, after installment #2, relieving period cramps

…

Keep thinking about Thursday. It’s not about the blood. It is and it isn’t. It’s obviously that she needed relief. It’s good to see her trusting. That can be tricky for some women. Beaten into them that they have to hide what their body does. It’s a body. It’s a unique mechanism. It has shit and blood and needs a good release now and then. Or every day for some people...another truth for some of us that the world wants hidden away.

The blood’s messy. It’s primal. It’s brutal and nobody blinks an eye if it comes from a punch to the face or a slice of the thumb. But the minute it comes from the minute it shows you what a woman’s body is capable of… But it’s also the harshness of the color, a signal that if there’s pain then it’s real. It’s a helpful focus.

She just LETS me. There's beauty in that pliability. She trusts, she follows, she heals. The way her face just relaxes when the knots are gone. It’s almost as good as the orgasm itself. Beautiful.

Got her all warmed up in the bath, all cozy in bed. Fell asleep like a worn-out kitten and I had an urge to kiss her forehead. Poor thing just needed it today. Successful session.

___

EXCERPT 4: FIREPLACE

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks later, evening, after installment #3, the treatment for migraine and anxiety AND includes this six sentence ficlet

…

Well shit. There’s a coincidence. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her.

Thursday came in tonight tight as a screw, migraine a good 7 or 8. I had to take it slow. Asked her to focus on some bright spots in her life, like her favorite things. I might have guessed the animals and reading, but the fanfiction was a surprise. Cute. It was best not to talk about what was causing the stress because

Her family coming to stay.

Fuck if I don’t sympathize.

Mama got here two days ago and all she can do is complain about her hotel and American food and how everyone speaks too fast for her to keep up. It’s cold here. The hotel should have a fireplace. Why don’t you take time off Patricio? You have an extra bedroom, why can’t your mama sleep there?

I love her. But I get it. There are just some boundaries that are hard. I get you, Thursday.

Preciosa.

Fucked her five ways til Sunday. She fucked ME five ways till Sunday.. She drew blood. Didn’t even care. Mark me up, girl. Glad I could help, but damn that might have been more mutually beneficial than I’d originally planned.

___

EXCERPT 5: HOT CHOCOLATE

TIMELINE: night of installment #4, with the undergarment ripping and the thigh-highs

…

I didn’t expect to get to play this much. I’m usually so focused on the pain and making sure the client can come in their condition that there’s not a lot of room for fun and surprises. I got to take Shell out last weekend and might have bought her too many beers and pull-tabs. It took her about three bottles to get profound. She wants to know who "therapies the therapist" and told me I should remember that it’s okay to put my own priorities first sometime. She said that people in the industry of care need to be taken care of too. She said it’s okay to have a client that gives as good as she gets. Then she went home and threw up and texted me the next day that she’s drinking nothing but hot chocolate from now on. Haha

Shit. Thursday feels good when she walks out of here. She looks like a million bucks. I did that. I DO that. THAT’s what I need. So yeah. Why shouldn’t I enjoy that? Cute tonight. She wanted me to rip her panties. All she had to do was ask, but I think she was embarrassed to?

So the new diagnosis is lack of confidence and the treatment is for her to speak up for what she wants. We’re going to get her to a place where she can ask–or demand what she needs. We’ll work on her trusting that I’ll give her anything she wants–anything.

She’ll be able to walk out of here and conquer the world when I’m done with her.

___

EXCERPT 6: FREEZING

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks after the previous entry

...

[….] and Niels can go to hell though because I don’t care how low key it is or how good the whiskey is, I’m not giving up my Thursdays to fill in the hole in his poker night. His basement is freezing and I have warmer places to be.

Although speaking of, Thursday canceled again. It’s been a couple of weeks. Crunch time at work for her I guess. Her portal messages seem pretty stressed. She’s apologetic about missing sessions. I can tell her she doesn’t need to apologize, I’m getting paid whether she shows or not. And honestly, it just means we’re going to have to work that much harder to get her malleable again and I can hardly complain about that. A build up’s a hell of a thing. As long as she doesn’t mess up her rhombs again. We were just making headway on that. I should ask her about her desk chair.

But I’d be lying if I said that I gave a shit about the pay. I’m allowed to enjoy my clients and be disappointed when I don’t get to see them.

At least Jean’s back on Friday. It will be nice to see her again. Now that her latest surgery’s all healed up, we can find her some good positions for her to take home. I know her partner’s skittish about the discovery phase. But she’s almost done and when the reconstruction’s over, he’ll thank me for it. He SHOULD thank me for it, she’s got a good laugh and good tits.

Jean’s a perfect example of learning to speak up for herself. I can do the same for Preciosa. Lucky for her she doesn’t have Jean’s level of pain to work through. But she’s gotta show. up. for. it. Come on, girl. I got you.

___

EXCERPT 7: MARSHMALLOW

TIMELINE: directly after installment #5, all pent up and feral

…

Now THAT. Was a successful fuck. We’re making headway here. Little slapping, little biting, she got a good few hair yanks in there. She’s learning that not only am I not a marshmallow…neither is she. Good girl. Pretty high praise response, but she’s also got a little fight in her. She’s a switch and doesn’t even know it. She will.

There were some real emotions tonight, real anger, real tears. But when she let go I nearly wept myself. It was beautiful. She’s working too hard and she knows it. But she also knows I’ve got her when she does. Hopefully that will preempt some of the stress next time. Not even upset about that shoulder blade. We’ll just start from the beginning on that.

[....]

Just reminded me of Renee nagging about working too hard. I just remembered that I had a dream about her a few nights ago. Not really about her. She was in the background somewhere and not even angry that I didn’t stop to say hello. Then she picked up her purse and left. The light kind of shifted like, I don’t know. Felt like it was the last time I’d see her. Not in a bad way.

It’s good. Like a door really closing.

Maybe I do work too hard. But I like it. It’s who I am. It’s my choice.

____

PATS in winter by @d4rm4nd4

SERIES MASTERLIST

#good things take time #pedro across the street #calls fanfiction

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blackknight-kai · 9 months ago

Note

Any headcanons for Sun Wukong and the Destined One [separate] catching female reader masturbating while crying out their name?

GOING BRAINROT FERAL HERE!

Ahem….

Thank you for feeding us with your delicious posts;)

Sending you lots of love and blessings, sincere and heartfelt health wishes too🩷🩷🩷

Okay okay I’ll give this a shot 😏 I personally feel like it might depend on the mood and where they are in the relationship. BUT I’ll give a crack at this one! This will be a specific scenario as I work better like that - in this you are in a relationship with them but haven’t progressed to the next level yet and you are a bit pent up. There will be a little rushed snippet and then the bullet point notes :) WARNING: I went more NSFW in this than previous asks. This is Fem reader! MINOR DNI

(Note after finishing: I got carried away…..after writing this I realized I kinda made two fics so….its a bit long sorry not sorry :))))))))))) (I’ll be turning these into mini fics I think on AO3 since i basically wrote them already 💀)

(Read under the cut 😘)

Destined One

He’d left you alone to scout the area around your near and camp as he does every night for any possible danger or trouble that might happen upon you while resting. You’d decided to take a little personal time while he was away, something you wouldn’t normally do but you guys had found a little cozy cave to rest in for the night. Knowing it would be a while before he came back you set about quickly setting up your furs and bed rolls, your body already revving up in anticipation for what youre going to do. You’re happy being with him, finally having confessed mutually and sneaking a few kisses here or there between your travels but watching him day in and day out fight with such focus and strength has culminated in a prominent need.

A need to have his hands on you for more than just guiding you or helping you stand, to feel his fur brush against your naked skin, to deepen those tantalizing kisses. You just WANT. And he hasn’t made any moves to show you that he wants more besides maybe what you think is a disappointed look in his eye when you both pull back from your kisses and go about your day or whatever task is at hand. He’s not very expressive as it is, you were lucky to manage getting a slight flush on his cheeks and a firm head nod when you guys decided to be a couple. He’s good at masking his emotions and so while you want him, youre a bit nervous to tell him what you need. You have no doubts he’d fulfill it especially if it’s something he wants too. But getting the courage up to ask is another thing entirely, part of you wishes he would just DO something.

So instead of communicating your need you decide to take advantage of this prime opportunity while he is away, its been too long since you had any real privacy and you can already feel yourself pulse as you finish setting up for the night

Just in case you listen closely for a moment to see if there is anyone close by but hearing nothing you settle down on to your back on your bed roll. Your breath picks up as excitement washes over you and against your better judgment you slip your clothes off. Goose bumps ripple over your skin as the warm breeze gently flows through the cave. Your heart races and as you skim your fingers across your breasts and nipples you sigh as you close your eyes and imagine familiar claw tipped hands replacing your own. You picture him above you, his determined frown focused on you as he explores your skin. As your imagination takes hold you continue your perusal of your body sliding your fingers down trying not to rush too much in your need as you spread your thighs.

- [ ] His patrol doesnt take quite as long as it usually does tonight

- [ ] At first he takes his time heading back just enjoying not having to be in a rush for once

- [ ] But as his too sharp hearing picks up the distant sound of your voice, what sounds like a pained cry, he immediately goes tense and is off running back towards your cave his staff gripped tightly in hand

- [ ] As he quickly grows closer he notes a distinct difference in your voice, something about it makes him slow down

- [ ] Your sounds are not what he usually associates with your fear or pain

- [ ] Instead as the next sound carries through the forest for his expert hearing, the breathy tone of your voice instantly sends a ripple through him and makes his fur feel like its standing on end

- [ ] He’d heard these sounds before, just not from you. The other monkey’s from home would occasionally sneak off with each other and he’d have the pleasure of hearing their activities even being quite a ways away.

- [ ] This though doesnt give him the same grossed out feeling

- [ ] Oh no. It sends a tidal wave of heat straight to gut

- [ ] You are being pleasured and by the sounds of it youre enjoying yourself

- [ ] A flash of possessive anger rushes through him wondering who could be touching you in such a way that wasnt him

- [ ] But as he stalks closer and steps between the trees he freezes

- [ ] Relief washes over him, youre alone

- [ ] But thats quickly replaced by instant hot desire as his mouth goes dry and his length starts to harden just from that first glimpse

- [ ] You’re in the shallow cave NAKED and on your back, knees up and thighs spread.

- [ ] His mouth slowly falls open as his expression goes slack as it becomes very clear what you’re doing by the wet slick sound coming from between your legs where your hand disappears from his view

- [ ] He cant even blink nor look away completely and utterly locked on to your flushed skin and the needy pinch of your brow as you pant making soft little moans

- [ ] As you arch your back, a louder cry leaving your mouth as you shift your hips desperately, he feels his cock throb painfully bringing him back to reality for a moment

- [ ] Shame courses through him, he should NOT be watching this, you obviously waited until hed been gone to take your pleasure he should definitely grant you your privacy. While you are a couple he wasnt one to push past your boundaries not wanting to make you do something youre not ready for no matter how much he struggles to not touch you every damn day

- [ ] But he cant seem to move, not as your breasts jiggle softly from your body’s movements your peaked nipples drawing his attention.

- [ ] He licks his lips, tail twitching with jerky movements behind him as he feels his cock leak and wet the front of his pants from your display, fuck does he want you

- [ ] Clenching his fists hard, digging his claws into his skin he tries to come back to himself and just as he’s about to turn away from you your fingers seem to speed up and then he hears it

- [ ] It being HIS name being ripped out of your mouth in the most breathy needy tone he has ever heard, the name youd given him.

- [ ] He has to grip himself HARD to stop himself from cumming on the spot and he shudders as the wet sounds your fingers are making is driving him fucking insane

- [ ] He forgets himself completely and unable to help it steps towards you as his own desire to be the one to make you cry for him like that over takes him

- [ ] He practically pants, his breath coming in short bursts as he takes in your sweat slick skin and the red flush

- [ ] His body thrums with heat as the sounds of your moans and the wet easy slide of your fingers is all he can focus on as he steps onto your bedroll, his dick is hard as hell and twitches with every sound you make.

- [ ] And your scent, fuck he can smell your ecstasy and need. It makes his knees weak and his mouth water

- [ ] You dont seem to notice him right away, not until he’s dropping to his knees hard right beside you fully taking in how wet your thighs are and how slick your fingers look as they disappear inside you

- [ ] As you register his sudden presence though your eyes fly open and your movements freeze, he cant help but track the movement of your breasts as you lie there panting and surprised

- [ ] He doesnt give you even a moment to freak out or whatever it is you might do

- [ ] No, instead he places a shaky hand on your arm, the one you stretched down between your thighs as you took your gorgeous pleasure

- [ ] “Can I?” He asks lowly, voice rough with disuse and filled with thick desire. “Please?”

- [ ] You seem to still at his request your eyes widening and he holds his own breath waiting to see what you’d do. He hopes with every fiber of his being you say yes

- [ ] When you nod shyly and begin to retract your hand he slides his gently down your arm and shivers as his claw tipped fingers meet with your slick warm ones. His eyes never leave yours as much as he wants to look down, he doesnt want to miss the expression on your face.

- [ ] He doesnt hold your hand though, instead he continues his gently descent until he meets your soaked warm pussy lips

- [ ] It’s then that he finally lets out the breath shaky he was holding as you arch up into his touch pushing his fingers to slide further against your slick core

- [ ] His cock jerks painfully at how hot and wet you feel as his fingers tenderly explore. As you close your eyes reaching up to grip his shirt with your still slick fingers he lets his own gaze slide down your body watching as you shyly shift your hips against his long fingers

- [ ] When you let out a little breathy sound as he brushes against your little nub he knows hes a fucking goner

- [ ] “You’re so beautiful,” He’d mumble raspy and heated

- [ ] And when he finally slides a finger in you another immediately follows. with you so slick and ready for him causing him to groan deeply

- [ ] He has made it his mission from here on, this is how you will spend every night from now on. You wont need to take things into your own hands, not if he can help it.

Wukong

He is away doing whatever it is that Wukong does every day. Be it fighting something, pissing someone off, or just getting into something he probably definitely absolutely should not get into. You’d been hurt, twisted your ankle of all things, so you were stuck back at camp. You’d found a little shallow cave two days ago to recover at, not wanting Wukong to carry you everywhere. On the surface that sounds nice and he would definitely do it as you either fed his ego or told him he was too weak to do it. He’s easy like that. But what isnt easy to deal with is how much fun he has tossing you up and down or making you almost sick as he bounces you as he walks just because he thinks its funny to make you squawk with annoyance at him. So it’s easier to just rest and enjoy a little peace while he gallivants off to cause whatever mischief that doesnt have to do with you for once as you are his usual victim. Apparently having mutual feelings and being mates does not quell his need for chaos. In fact it amplifies it you think.

The only downside to having his attention on you even more now is that the mischievous little (he’s taller than you but thats besides the point) asshole doesnt seem to have a horny bone in his body. It’s been months of simple hand holding, if you can get him to sit still long enough, and literal stolen kisses. He apparently enjoys his little surprise attacks as they fluster you but not because youre too shy or because it scares you, no. It’s because you need more than a simple kiss or his soft fuzzy tail wrapping around your waist or arm keeping you close to him as you walk. You’d even tried once to time changing your clothes so they were partly off when he would be arriving back to camp after doing a quick patrol only for him to immediately start ranting and raving about some slippery little creature he’d happened across as he poked at the fire and began cooking that nights dinner over the flames. He didn’t even spare you a glance and his posture was relaxed as can be. Not even as the sound of your clothes rustling seemed to catch his attention as he drooled over the cooking food.

And so, your frustration escalated. You know at some point you’ll have to talk to him but thats a problem for future you because you just KNOW it’s going to be an ordeal. Nothing can ever be easy with him especially when it comes to his damn ego which no doubt will be stroked heavily knowing you want him, that is unless he doesnt have an inclination towards such intimacies.

Today he had been especially restless and so had you. You had decided that while he was gone you were going to pamper yourself a little and relieve the sexual tension you’d built up inside yourself. Watching his ever present shows of strength and that cocky attitude of his always sends a stirring in you and it doesnt help when he walks around sometimes with his shirt off showing his rippling muscles under all that soft looking fur. When he finally grew too impatient with sitting around, he didn’t like having to wait for you to heal but agreed to it nonetheless knowing you aren’t built like him, he stood abruptly and told you he was going on an adventure. You waved him off trying to be nonchalant as excitement tickled down your back knowing what you had planned for yourself for the day.

And so as his furry tail flicked out of view you waited a handful of minutes giving him time to get some distance away before you couldnt take it anymore. You’d gotten a nice body oil from a village youd passed by a week or so ago, it smelled lovely and reminded you of peaches. You hadn’t used it yet, but figured if it had a fragrance Wukong’s sensitive nose wouldn’t be too disturbed if it smelled like his favorite snack. Acting quickly you hurry to wash your skin and body in a near by spring. You might have taken your time normally but you didn’t want to put this off any longer. After youre done you make your way to back to the shallow cave and sit on your bed roll and fur blankets that Wukong had gifted you. Your skin is still a little damp and the afternoon breeze makes goosebumps ripple across your naked skin. With a small content hum you grab your sweet scented oil and being applying it to your skin slowly, gently, enjoying the sensation as your body starts to warm up from your ministrations.

As your breath starts to quicken you lie back on the furs and using both hands you glide your hands across your soft oil slick skin sensually. It’s not long before you close your eyes and start to lose yourself in a fantasy, imagining a hard but softly furred body rolling against yours and curious fingers possessively mapping out your skin as teasing fangs nip from your neck to your breasts.

- [ ] Wukong had grown bored VERY quickly after he left you at camp. There was NOTHING around for him to do no one to fight and no distractions from his ever growing need to be closer to you - which he will NEVER show.

- [ ] He doesnt know if youre doing it on purpose, probably not, but the way you sometimes look at him makes him twitchy and hot. He’s not some impulsive boy unable to control his more primal urges but you test his control daily

- [ ] He’s not sure if you’ve been using a new scented lotion or perfume but the scent coming off of you at random times the last several weeks has been making him need to grind his teeth to keep from reaching out and pulling your body tightly against his

- [ ] Thankfully he’s learned self discipline and finds it relatively easy to keep an air of innocence around you, not wanting to scare you off with his ever present and growing desire to lick you from your cute little toes to your sweet sweet mouth.

- [ ] Sitting around camp with you today was testing his patience. He’d noticed that slight flush on your cheeks assumed you may just be a bit warm as the day was a little hotter than usual. Unfortunately the sight of your reddened cheeks did nothing but fuel his imagination.

- [ ] If hes honest with himself desires like this were new, not in regards to you, but in general. So getting away from you for a while was always the best bet, he keeps an ear out in case you need him of course but fighting something always helps relieve the tension he builds up being in your presence

- [ ] Unfortunately the area surrounding your little temporary home was quiet. Too damn quiet. He almost thinks about going a little further out but quickly decides against it, not wanting to get too far from you in case something DID happen

- [ ] Which is why, as he’s hopping through the large forest trees, he ends up circling back towards the shallow cave

- [ ] His pace is fairly lax, enjoying the warm air and the calm familiar sounds of the woods

- [ ] Wukongs mind wanders a little to what lies ahead on your little journey as he makes his way back. He’s quite lost in thought so it takes him a moment to realize that something is amiss as he gets closer

- [ ] His sharp ears pick up the sound of your voice but it’s not something he’s heard before, or well he has, kind of. Only when youd eaten something really really good and you make a happy little noise that always makes his old heart skip a beat

- [ ] Well now he’s just curious, what did you find to eat? Were you hiding it from him to keep it all to yourself? How had he not known? Or smelled it?

- [ ] With a huff he picks up his pace racing through the trees determined to give you shit for trying to hide some wonderful little treat from him

- [ ] He can hear you better now that he’s close and just before he breaks through the trees he stops with a smirk deciding to sneak up on you as punishment

- [ ] But in his haste he missed a crucial detail - one he now is acutely aware of as he pauses just as the little camp comes into view

- [ ] He freezes, going completely still as he takes in the sight before him and the very obvious soft squelching sound echoing a little in the shallow cave. His keen hearing amplifying the sound.

- [ ] Hot HOT desire ripples through his strong frame causing every single hair on his body to stand on end like he’d been hit by lightning as he takes in your naked body, hips shifting just so as your hand is going to work between your thighs as you moan

- [ ] His simian nostrils flare as your scent hits him like a boulder almost knocking him off his feet, well at least now he knows where that heady scent you sometimes carry comes from. He salivates at the thought of tasting your nectar. There’s another scent mixed with your pleasure, faintly it smells almost like peaches but not quite.

- [ ] Your soft sounds wash over him causing a full on shudder to go through him. His cock hardening in an instant as you then whine HIS fucking name

- [ ] Something inside him almost snaps - later youd tell him it was his arrogance and ego swelling to the size of 5 mountains

- [ ] You are touching yourself wanting HIM, Wukong, and that sends a possessive growl rumbling through his chest, his claw tipped fingers flexing with the need to reach out and grab you, to touch you, to run his claws gently down your skin and watch you shiver and squirm

- [ ] You dont hear it of course too lost in stuffing your needy hole but by the sounds of it, its not quite enough for you

- [ ] Wukong keeps himself in place for a moment longer as he watches you tend to yourself, one of your hands slides up the side of your breast and pinches a nipple and he licks his lips at the sight, wanting to know what they taste like

- [ ] His tail flicks with pent up energy behind him as he finally stalks forward, a predator about to pounce on his prey

- [ ] But he has no intentions of helping you as he strips himself of his shirt letting it fall to the ground not caring where

- [ ] His furry chest is rapidly expanding with his quickened breaths, he breathes purposely through his nose wanting to capture every moment of your scent and commit it to memory

- [ ] Finally sensing you’re not alone you open your eyes and still with a sharp shocked breath. He watches as your cheeks redden further with surprise and embarrassment

- [ ] Quick as a whip before you can even pull your fingers away from your soaked pussy he’s between your knees bullying his way through with one hand holding you open by his grip on your thigh and his tail wrapping around the other. Spreading you open for his heated gaze

- [ ] He has ahold of your wrist preventing you from pulling back and before you can even think of protesting he pulls on your wrist, gently but firmly, you gasp as your fingers slip out of your pussy, the wet sound sending a tingle of embarrassment through you

- [ ] Instantly he has your dripping fingers pressed against his nose and mouth as he huffs in your scent before licking at them

- [ ] Feeling you tremble in his strong hold and your little shocked gasp he locks eyes with you and smirks as he licks your fingers completely clean as though he was starving for the taste

- [ ] He can tell you dont know what to do, that your torn between embarrassment and want. But he doesnt mind, he’s made the decision for you

- [ ] Wukong nips your fingers teasingly before he lowers your hand and places it back against your pussy, he uses his fingers to press yours pointedly against your slick lower lips and the little wet sound that accompanies the movement makes you both shiver.

- [ ] He slips his fingers in between yours, teasingly touching you for a moment as his fingers glide through your slick

- [ ] A light growl/groan rumbles through his chest as he looks at you with half lidded eyes filled with naked desire

- [ ] Slowly and deliberately he lets go of your hand, pleased when you keep your hand right where he’d placed it, and begins undoing his pants

- [ ] His puffs his furry chest out a little and chuckles, the sound husky as he watches your expression turn needy as he dips his hand into his pants and brings his throbbing dick out, enjoying how heavily your breathing gets and how your eyes seem to be unable to look away as he spreads your juices over his cock

- [ ] Scooting forward so that his cock presses against the back of your knuckles he smirks down at you

- [ ] “Since you decided to take your pleasure for yourself, give us a show my sweet peach.” He demands like the king he is with no room for arguments, wanting you to resume touching yourself while he watches and takes himself in hand. Punishing you a little for taking a special privilege away from him

#black myth wukong #sun wukong x reader #black myth wukong x reader #destined one x reader #bk kai writes #welp here you go 🫡#Hope you like

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moonselune · 7 months ago

Note

Headcanon about what a lazy morning looks like with each of the female companions? In camp or post Elder Brain doesn't matter.

I did it as little snippets because I simply could not contain myself

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The first rays of dawn filtered into your shared tent, casting a soft glow on the canvas walls. The air was still cool, but the warmth radiating from Karlach more than made up for it. She lay sprawled on her side, her fiery hair fanned out on the pillow, her breathing steady and even. The sight of her like this—completely at ease—was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

But peace was fleeting when it came to Karlach’s mornings. As her eyes fluttered open, she stretched her arms high above her head, her muscles shifting with the motion, and let out a groggy yet determined groan.

“Alright, babe, time to get moving,” she mumbled, already swinging her legs over the edge of the bedroll.

Oh no, you weren’t having that. Not today.

Before she could rise, you flung your arms around her middle, pulling her back down with a playful grunt.

“Absolutely not,” you murmured, burying your face in the curve of her neck. “Stay. It’s too early, and you’re too comfortable to go anywhere.”

Karlach laughed, her voice husky and warm. “C’mon, sunshine, just a quick run to shake the cobwebs loose. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You tightened your hold, resting your chin on her shoulder. “Nope. You’re officially trapped. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

She turned her head, smirking as her sharp teeth glinted in the morning light. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do to stop me, huh?”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “I’ll bribe you with all my love and maybe a few promises here and there. How’s that?”

Her laughter filled the tent as she relented, settling back down into your embrace. “Alright, you’ve got my attention. What kind of promises are we talking about here?”

“Anything you want,” you replied, tracing small circles on her arm. “I’ll make you breakfast for the rest of this week, rub your shoulders, maybe even kiss every bit of your face.”

Karlach turned fully to face you now, her grin softening into something tender. “Babe, you’re making it really hard to resist you right now.”

“That’s the plan,” you said, matching her smile.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, murmuring sleepy words back and forth, trading kisses that ranged from playful pecks to lingering brushes of lips. Karlach would occasionally make a half-hearted attempt to get up, but each time, you pulled her back down, giggling as she surrendered with exaggerated defeat.

Eventually, though, her stomach growled loudly enough to interrupt the peace, and she laughed. “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll stay lazy—but only if I get breakfast.”

“Deal,” you agreed, releasing her with an exaggerated sigh of loss. “But you’re fetching it. I’m too busy being cozy to move.”

“Oh, so I’m a servant now? So much for those sweet promises” she teased, pulling on a loose tunic and giving you a playful glare. “Fine. You just sit there looking cute. I’ll be back.”

She leaned down to kiss your forehead before ducking out of the tent. You lay back, basking in the warmth she’d left behind and listening to the distant sounds of camp stirring awake. When Karlach returned, she was balancing two plates loaded with breakfast—a chaotic mix of bread, cheese, and fruits.

“Feast time!” she announced, plopping down beside you on the bedroll.

The two of you dug in, making a complete mess of the blankets as crumbs scattered and sticky fruit juices dripped onto the fabric.

“Alright, who’s the slob now?” you teased, pointing at the crumbs collecting on her lap.

“Oh, please,” she shot back, her mouth half-full. “You’re the one with jam on your chin!”

You reached up to wipe it off, but Karlach leaned in, licking the spot clean with a quick swipe of her tongue.

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting at her.

“Can’t let good food go to waste,” she replied, grinning as she kissed you again, tasting of sweet fruit and warmth.

By the time you’d finished eating, both of you were laughing so hard your sides hurt, teasing each other about who had made the biggest mess. Crumbs covered the blankets, and there was a suspicious smudge of butter on Karlach’s cheek, which she refused to admit was her doing.

“Alright,” she said finally, leaning back with a contented sigh. “This is the life. Lazy mornings, breakfast in bed, and you. What more could I need?”

You smiled, reaching out to tangle your fingers with hers. “I could ask the same thing.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while longer, sharing quiet moments of laughter and warmth, before finally deciding to face the day. But in your heart, you knew these mornings with Karlach were what you’d treasure most.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Lazy mornings with Minthara were never truly lazy, not at first. She was a woman of discipline, a warrior who thrived on structure, and mornings, in her mind, were for action, not indulgence. You had long since learned that the battle to keep her in bed was one that required cunning, strategy—and occasionally, shameless dramatics.

This morning was no different. Minthara had already stirred, her sharp gaze fixed on the faint light spilling into the room, her body tense as though preparing for an unseen battle.

“I have things to attend to,” she said firmly, her voice a silken blade. She was already reaching for her armor, her movements precise, deliberate.

You, however, were ready for this. Sliding closer to her, you tangled your legs with hers and let out the most exaggerated sigh you could muster. “Oh, but who will keep me company in this cold, lonely bed? The pillows can only do so much, and the silk sheets—soft as they are—lack the warmth of a lover’s embrace.”

Minthara paused, her silver-white hair falling into her face as she turned to glare at you, though there was no true malice in her eyes—just the faintest flicker of amusement.

You pressed on, emboldened. “Perhaps I’ll dream of someone to hold me. Someone strong, someone fierce, someone who could rule both the bed and the world…”

Her hand darted out, grabbing your chin and tilting your face to hers.

“Enough,” she hissed, her crimson eyes narrowing. Then, before you could respond, her lips were on yours, silencing your teasing with a kiss that was both possessive and electrifying. When she pulled back, her voice was low and dangerous, though the smirk playing on her lips betrayed her. “If you dare dream of another, I’ll ensure you never wake again.”

“Veiled threats already?” you teased, leaning into her touch. “And here I thought we were just starting the day.”

Her laugh was soft and dark as she finally relented, sinking back into the bed and pulling you close. Her arms wrapped around you, and one hand found its way to your hair, her fingers idly combing through it.

“You are insufferable,” she murmured, though her tone held no real bite. “But it seems I’ve been bested—for now.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

The two of you lay there for a time, her body a warm, reassuring presence against yours. Minthara rarely allowed herself these moments of vulnerability, but when she did, they were all the more precious.

“What shall we do with our day, then?” she asked, her voice softer now, contemplative.

“Conquer the world, perhaps?” you replied, tracing idle patterns on her arm. Her lips quirked up in a rare smile.

“Ambitious. But tell me, where shall we start? The surface? The Underdark? Or perhaps,” she added, her tone teasing, “we’ll begin with breakfast.”

You chuckled. “We’ll start wherever you want. Though ruling the Underdark together does have a nice ring to it.”

Her eyes softened as she considered the thought. “You truly wish to remain by my side, even there? In the dark, where few can thrive?”

“Wherever you go, Minthara, I’ll follow,” you said earnestly.

She regarded you for a moment, her expression unreadable, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Then we shall carve our future together, one conquest at a time.”

The morning passed in quiet conversation, your shared ambitions weaving a tapestry of possibility. For once, Minthara allowed herself to stay, her fingers brushing through your hair as she spoke of her dreams for the Underdark and the life you would share there.

As the light grew stronger, you knew she would soon insist on rising, but for now, you had her. You had this. And that was more than enough.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lazy mornings with Lae'zel were always a battle of wills. She was a Githyanki warrior through and through, her mind and body conditioned for discipline, combat, and constant motion. Staying in bed was, to her, a waste of precious time. But you had your methods—methods that she begrudgingly admitted she was impressed by, even if she would never say it aloud.

It always began the same way. The first rays of sunlight would filter into the tent, and Lae'zel, ever vigilant, would stir. Her muscles would tense as if prepared for a fight, and she would begin to shift beneath the blankets.

“I must rise,” she would say, her voice sharp but still laced with the drowsiness of sleep.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you murmured, already moving. You wrapped your arms around her waist and legs, entwining your body with hers like a constricting boa. She tensed beneath your hold, her golden eyes narrowing as she tried to pull free—but you were relentless.

“Release me,” she demanded, though her tone lacked the bite it usually carried in battle.

“Not until you promise to stay,” you countered, your grip tightening just enough to keep her in place.

Her muscles flexed, and you could feel her testing your hold. But then, to your surprise, she stilled, her gaze scrutinizing you.

“You are tenacious,” she remarked, a note of approval in her voice. “Very well. I will humor you… this once.”

Satisfied, you rewarded her compliance with a flurry of kisses on her face, starting with her forehead and moving down to her cheeks.

“Good choice, Lae'zel,” you teased, planting a final kiss on the corner of her mouth. She scoffed, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

“Do not mistake this for weakness,” she warned, though she made no effort to pull away.

You grinned, settling beside her with your head resting on her shoulder. “Never. But now that you’re here, you owe me a story.”

“A story?” she echoed, raising a sharp brow.

“Yes. Tell me about the Astral Plane,” you said, your fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm. “I want to know what it was like. All of it.”

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze growing distant as she considered your request. Then, she began to speak, her voice steady and commanding, as if recounting a battle strategy. “The Astral Plane is unlike anything you could imagine. It is a void, vast and infinite, where time holds no dominion. The stars are not stars as you know them, but luminous beacons of psionic energy, guiding us to our conquest. The Githyanki thrive there, unbound by the laws of your world.”

You listened intently, hanging on her every word. The way she spoke of the Astral Plane, with both reverence and pride, painted vivid images in your mind.

“Did you ever look out into the void and just… wonder?” you asked softly.

She turned her head to look at you, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Wonder about what?”

“About what else might be out there,” you said. “Beyond the conquest. Beyond the battles. Just… what it would be like to live there, peacefully.”

She was silent for a moment, as if the question had caught her off guard. Then, she spoke, her tone quieter than before. “Peace is not a concept that the Githyanki are taught to value. But… perhaps I have wondered.”

Your heart swelled at her honesty, and you pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmured.

She huffed, though her expression softened. “You are insufferable. But I find your curiosity… tolerable.”

You laughed, knowing that was the closest you’d get to a compliment. The two of you lay there for a while longer, Lae'zel continuing to share her stories of the Astral Plane while you listened with rapt attention.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Slow mornings with Shadowheart were a cherished slice of heaven to you, a rarity in your chaotic lives that you clung to. The two of you often found yourselves tangled in each other’s arms, her head resting on your chest, your fingers lazily combing through her soft, raven hair. She was slow to wake, a luxury she rarely afforded herself, but in your arms, she allowed her guard to fall.

The first hint of the morning came with the sound of Scratch’s claws clicking against the wooden floor outside the bedroom. You groaned softly, already knowing what was coming, but Shadowheart barely stirred, her breath warm against your collarbone as she shifted slightly closer to you.

Just as you expected, Scratch’s wet nose nudged at the door, and a moment later, it swung open. The loyal dog padded over, tail wagging enthusiastically. He jumped up on the bed with a happy woof, which earned a sleepy groan from Shadowheart as she stirred.

“You’re far too energetic for this hour,” you mumbled to Scratch, scratching behind his ears as he let out an eager bark.

Before you could do anything, Scratch took it upon himself to deliver his morning greeting to Shadowheart—by licking her face. Shadowheart let out a soft, sleepy hum, still half-asleep and mistaking the sensation for something else.

“Good morning to you, too, my love.” she murmured groggily, her lips quirking into a small, contented smile.

That was it. You couldn’t hold it in. Your chest shook with barely contained laughter, and when Shadowheart finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by Scratch’s happy, drooling face.

Her expression shifted from affection to realization, then to horror.

“Wait—Scratch?” she exclaimed, sitting up abruptly and wiping at her face. “I thought—! You—!”

You were absolutely losing it, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as you clutched your sides.

“Oh gods,” you gasped, tears forming in your eyes. “That was—oh, that was perfect!”

Shadowheart glared at you, her lips twitching in a suppressed smile despite her best efforts. “You think that’s funny?”

“Absolutely!” you managed to get out between peals of laughter.

“Fine,” she said, her voice laced with mock seriousness. Before you could react, she grabbed your shoulders, leaned in, and ran her tongue up the side of your face in one swift, deliberate motion.

You froze for a second, utterly stunned, before letting out an exaggerated sound of protest. “Shadowheart!”

“That’s what you get,” she said smugly, settling back down into the bed and pulling the blanket over herself as if nothing had happened.

Scratch, apparently pleased with himself for causing such chaos, flopped down at the foot of the bed, wagging his tail contentedly. You wiped at your face, still grinning, and turned to Shadowheart, who was now feigning sleep again.

“You’re impossible,” you said, pulling her back into your arms.

“And yet, here you are,” she murmured, her voice soft with affection as she nuzzled against you.

The rest of the morning passed in a warm haze of sleepy cuddles and light banter. Scratch eventually drifted off, his snoring filling the room, and you couldn’t help but press a soft kiss to Shadowheart’s temple.

“You know,” you whispered, “I think he likes you better than me.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Smart dog,” she replied, and you couldn’t help but laugh all over again.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The morning light filtered through the tent’s flap, casting a soft glow over Jaheira’s features. She stirred before you, as usual, her discipline refusing to let her linger in bed for too long. Her hand reached for the edge of the blanket, intending to throw it off and rise to start her day.

You rolled over, catching her wrist gently, and looked at her with a sleepy smile. “Must you be so diligent, my love? You’re not a young sprout anymore. Surely, someone of your… seasoned years needs more rest.”

Her eyebrows lifted, her lips curving into an amused but challenging smirk. “Seasoned years, is it? Careful, or I’ll show you just how much strength comes with them.”

Feigning innocence, you stretched lazily and tucked your hands behind your head.

“Oh, I’m not worried. I just thought you might need a little extra time to… recharge.” You waggled your eyebrows teasingly.

Jaheira let out a low laugh, shaking her head as she leaned down over you. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? A little fox, nipping at my heels.”

Before you could reply, her lips found yours in a kiss that was both commanding and affectionate, silencing whatever retort you had prepared. Her hands brushed along your sides, firm but gentle, leaving you breathless as she pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I may be older than you, but don’t mistake that for weakness,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth.

You grinned, cheeks flushed, and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her back down onto the bed with a soft laugh. “You’ve proven your point, oh wise one. But I win this round, don’t I? You’re still here.”

Jaheira let out an exasperated sigh, though her eyes glinted with fondness. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

“I like to think of it as a gift,” you replied smugly, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

She chuckled, shaking her head again, but didn’t make any further attempt to rise. Instead, she allowed herself to relax into your embrace, her fingers absentmindedly stroking through your hair as the two of you basked in the warmth of the moment.

“I suppose one morning spent lazing about won’t hurt,” she said after a while, her tone softer now.

“Exactly,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Besides, I’m selfish. I want all your mornings.”

Her hand paused in your hair, her gaze turning thoughtful as she looked down at you.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” she said, though her smile betrayed her affection.

“Your menace,” you corrected, grinning up at her.

With another indulgent sigh, Jaheira rested her head against yours, allowing herself to savor the stolen moment of peace. You both knew the world would demand your attention soon enough, but for now, you were content to remain entwined, sharing the kind of love that made all the teasing and trouble worthwhile.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so cute to write, I love little fluffy things like this and I hope you guys enjoyed it too! - Seluney xox

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