#I shouldn't forget to tag this lol

[max05nb]

War of hearts (but if they were signing about their past)

I can't help but love you,

Even though I try not to,

I can't help but want you,

I know that I'd die without you.

I can't help but be wrong in the dark

'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts

I can't help but want oceans to part

'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts

(YHS, Evo, Xequla, Grian)

(So basically idea is you can't live without your past and no matter how much you hate it you can't help but appreciate it, it made you, you, for better or worse. Was it bad? Yeah. But you can't help but love your past self at the end of the day. No matter how hard you try not to. You survived, you should be proud of that.)

[kaiserouo]

actually i can't really decide what comic idea i should use for [prev], but all 3 ideas come down to volt being the free electricity supply on the orbiter.

[anothermonikan]

me when my asexuality means I'm asexual and do not find people sexually attractive

[inkedberries]

i am nodding my head and i am truly feeling you on the 'personality wise we can make it imply that he was empty and copied bits and pieces from the people around him' and we can take that further in backing up that he is ultimately a selfish character. i can stretch it as far as saying, that's his whole deal. hence, all for one.

how hori represented that with his blank eyes that reflect nothing really screams that back at me. it's literally saying that when he looks at you, you mean nothing to him. nothing more than another thing he can use for his own gain (and that is basically all he does to all the characters around him but i digress)

so when yoichi died, uhh i mean when AFO killed him, this was the very first moment, i feel, where he felt regret! a consequence to his action!!! which was, i would think, such an earth shattering thing to have experienced for the first time!!!!! ESPECIALLY FOR AFO! as someone who Believes that there's nothing wrong with the things he does!

and remember that the only reason why he prefers the villain from the comic books is bc they don't hide their identity!!!!! AFO wants to be recognized and--in his own understanding of being the only way to be accepted by society--accepted! even if it is out of fear. BECAUSE TO HIM, IT'S THE ONLY WAY!

in addition, you KNOW he regretted killing his yoichi because i mean LOOK AT THIS

i also love how Specifically he asks for yoichi to look at him so he can see his EYES *head in hands*

and how izuku called him out is so *chef's kiss*

because HE IS! all his life, he basically spent chasing yoichi to be his again bc whether he knows it or not, being with yoichi was the first and only time he felt companionship. as close as it can be, anyway. idk im just rambling i have so many feelings about this

don't even get me started on, in the context of when AFO was born, between him and yoichi, he was the other. the one society wanted to get rid of bc his very existence is dangerous (lol which is true but yknow, again, context lmao)

that's all! i just appreciated your tags so much hahaha!

expanding on the thought of kudou getting the call sign 'hero' and afo getting irked by it for some reason

[divadollcreations]

When you want to make Zootopia Sims, and you want them to have animals skin details instead of removable accessories, but you have to dig through... f**ry cc to get it 😬😬😬

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 11: "The one with the things we shouldn't talk about" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: You and Frankie get back home, eat cake, watch Notting Hill, and talk about all the things you probably shouldn’t—but do anyway. WC: 15,1k (sorry omg)

TW!!: This chapter touches on sensitive topics including grief, suicide, and substance use. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please take care while reading <3

A/N: Well, it seems I just can't manage to write short chapters. I'm sorry about that. I write and write, and before I know it, I've gone way overboard. Sometimes, when I go back to edit, I try to cut anything that's not strictly necessary... but everything feels necessary. If I could somehow describe the exact chemical reaction that happens when Frankie looks at Reader, I totally would lol. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

When you opened the door to your apartment, Mr. Darcy appeared almost instantly, trotting toward you with a dramatic, drawn-out meow, like you’d been gone for days instead of just a few hours.

"Come on, don’t be so dramatic," you murmured, bending down to scratch behind his ears. He accepted the attention begrudgingly, rubbing his face against your leg before stalking toward the couch.

The adrenaline had worn off on the drive back, leaving exhaustion in its place, a pleasant kind of heaviness settling into your limbs. After the jump, Eric had stuck around to chat—mostly with Frankie. He’d asked about Santiago, and when he realized you were his sister, his face had lit up in recognition. Then, with a grin, he’d nudged Frankie and made some joke about dating his best friend’s sister.  

You hadn’t stayed much longer after that. The hunger had hit fast, like a delayed reaction to the morning’s excitement. Frankie had suggested stopping somewhere to eat, but you had countered with a better idea—grabbing food to go and eating in the car. So that’s what you’d done.  

So, instead of the warm scent of coffee and sugar from the drive there, the car smelled like fries and chicken nuggets. You’d taken over the music again with a mix of early 2000s nostalgia—Nelly Furtado, Hole, Jonas Brothers, some Britney, and a rotation of pop hits. Quite a variation, to be honest. Frankie didn't hate it.

Before heading home, you had asked him to make a quick stop at Joe’s Bakery. He had parked outside, unbuckling his seatbelt, but you had stopped him before he could get out.  

"It’ll just take a second," you’d said, already pushing the door open.  

When you came back, you were carrying a pink cardboard box.  

Frankie had glanced at it, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "What do you have in there?"  

You had only shrugged, feigning disinterest, and closed the door without answering.  

Now, back in your apartment, he stepped inside with the same pink box in his hands while you locked the door behind him.  

You walked over to Darcy, scooping him up and pressing your fingers gently against the soft fur of his throat as you made your way to the kitchen. Frankie set the box down on the counter, then followed you, reaching out to give the little guy a quick, absentminded scratch on the head.  

"Can I use the bathroom?"  

You clicked your tongue. "You don’t have to ask."

"Excuse me, I’m a gentleman," he said, eyebrows raised as he turned and headed down the hall.

You set Mr. Darcy down gently, his soft fur slipping through your fingers as he trotted off, tail flicking. Padding over to the kitchen sink, you turned on the water, letting it run warm over your hands as the morning played back in your head like a reel of sunlit images. The rush of air, the weightlessness, the sheer exhilaration of it all. You still couldn’t believe it. It had been incredible. 

God, Santi would have loved it.  

You could go again with him, maybe. You wondered what he’d say when you told him—if Frankie hadn’t already beaten you to it. You hadn’t mentioned it to your brother, and he hadn’t said anything to you, so… probably not.  

You’d send him the pictures later, wait for his reaction. He’d definitely find it odd coming from you. But hey, now you were officially the kind of person who went skydiving. Casual. No big deal. Just that cool.  

You laughed softly to yourself.  

And then, like a shift in the wind, your thoughts veered toward Frankie.  

Your hands stilled under the water, fingers pressing against the cool ceramic of the sink. You stared at the tiled wall in front of you, but you weren’t really seeing it.  

Something sat heavy in your chest, dense and unmoving. A feeling you didn’t quite have a name for, but it clung to your ribs like something permanent.  

And the night before—it was still there, between you, thick. Neither of you had mentioned it. Not once.  

And Frankie hadn’t looked uncomfortable, hadn’t acted any differently. As if nothing had happened. As if just hours ago, you hadn’t been in his lap, bare skin against his, his mouth on you in places that still ached with the memory.  

If he wasn’t bringing it up, it was probably because he didn’t want to. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he saw it as a mistake, something awkward that he was hoping you’d quietly let slip into the past.  

And sure, it had been unexpected for you too. But a mistake? 

No.  

Because no matter how much you tried to shove it down, there were things inside you that were getting harder and harder to ignore. Desires that felt like wildfire, impossible to contain.  

But you were Santi’s sister.  

That’s what he had told you last night. Like it was some kind of rule written in stone, like it was the reason, the boundary, the excuse. And maybe it was. Maybe it was enough to keep you at arm’s length. To reject you.

But the words had sounded weak. And you didn’t know which was worse—the idea that he truly believed it, or the possibility that he was hiding behind it, afraid to say what he really meant.  

Maybe he just didn’t want you. Maybe this was all a mess for him, one he wished he hadn’t gotten into at all. 

“Your bathroom cabinet drawer is broken,” Frankie said, cutting through the thoughts circling in your head.

You blinked, turning off the faucet and glancing at him just as he leaned against the counter beside you, hip pressing into the edge.  

“It doesn’t close all the way,” he added. “Probably just needs the guide replaced.”  

“Oh.” You reached for a towel, only to realize too late there wasn’t one. You wiped your damp hands against your shorts instead.  

“I can fix it if you want,” Frankie offered. “Might just be something stuck in there.”  

You shot him a sideways smile. “Were you snooping through my things, Francisco?”  

His eyebrows lifted, lips parting slightly. “No—no,” he said quickly, straightening just a little, though not enough to actually move away. “I just noticed.”  

“Mm-hm,” you hummed. “Well, if you feel like playing handyman, be my guest.”  

Turning toward the counter, you reached for the pink box you had set down earlier, your fingers running along the ridges of the cardboard before slipping beneath the flaps. Frankie shifted, settling onto one of the stools across from you. His elbows rested against the surface, his gaze fixed on your face.  

But you weren’t looking at him. You were focused on the box, the anticipation of what was inside pulling your attention.  

When you finally lifted the lid, your smile came instantly. You turned the box toward Frankie, giving him a full view of what was inside.  

A small, round cake, covered in smooth white cream. Swirls of frosting curled into delicate peaks around the edges, dotted with soft pink flowers piped with precision. Fresh strawberries were nestled between them, some sliced, others whole, their red brightness standing out against the pale background.  

“To celebrate,” you said, voice quieter than you expected, cheeks growing warm under his gaze.  

Frankie leaned back slightly, his smile widening, eyes creasing at the corners as he took it in.  

“Amazing,” he said. Then, with a teasing tilt of his head, “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to eat cake?”  

You rolled your eyes, nudging the box closer.

“Obviously. It's my favorite," you said, running a fingertip along the edge of the box. "Well, one of my favorites."  

Frankie shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to his feet.

“I should probably let you rest, then.” His voice was quieter than usual, lower, like he wasn’t quite sure of the words as he said them. 

“You’re not gonna stay?”  

His head lifted. He stilled. His eyebrows raised just slightly. 

“Oh. You... you want me to stay?”  

“Yeah. I mean—” you hesitated, suddenly second-guessing yourself. “I mean, if you can’t, it’s okay—”  

“No, no—”  

“I get it if you’re tired. I dragged you through a lot between yesterday and today—”  

“It’s not that—”  

“No, I totally understand—”  

“I want to stay.” His hand flattened against the counter as he leaned in, his eyes locked on yours now. “I just thought... well, that maybe you were tired and wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to bother you, that’s all.”  

“You don’t bother me,” you said simply, lifting the small cake from the box and setting it on the marble countertop. “I bought this to share with you. We both jumped, didn’t we?”  

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “That’s right.”  

You turned toward the cabinets, reaching for plates, pulling open the drawer for silverware.

“Besides, it’s kind of a habit. When I was a kid, every time I did something big, my dad would take me to Delora’s for strawberry shortcake.”  

Frankie didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, listening.  

“He always picked the one with the most strawberries. It was my favorite,” you continued, setting the plates down. “Then on my birthday, he’d get me a huge one and give me the strawberries from his slice. Santi too.” You reached for the coffee maker. “Do you want coffee?”  

“I always want coffee.” A brief silence, then, “So strawberries are your favorite fruit.”  

You smiled, but he couldn’t see it, not with your back to him. It was in your voice, though.  

“Yeah. And I was kind of obsessed with Strawberry Shortcake when I was a kid, too. My mom made me this beautiful costume for Halloween once. It was amazing—”  

You stopped speaking, you hesitated, your hands stilling, a puzzled smile forming on your lips. Something about the quiet behind you made you turn.  

“Francisco?”

He lifted his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. But didn't speak.

“Why do I have a feeling you already knew about this?”  

His expression didn’t change, but there was something amused in the way he furrowed his brows.

“Knew about what?”  

“This.” You gestured vaguely, as if that would explain everything. "Um... Shortcake."

“Oh,” he said, nodding as if considering it. “I dunno. That seems unlikely.”  

“Santi told you?” You turned back to the coffee maker, your hand steady as you poured coffee grounds into the filter.  

“No.”  

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Ha. Funny, then.”  

He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah.” A pause. “Do you want me to help with something?”  

Behind you, you heard the scrape of wood against tile as he pushed the stool back and got to his feet.  

“Yeah, um, grab two mugs.”  

You took the plates and carried them to the breakfast bar, setting them down before leaning against the counter again. The coffee maker hummed to life, the rich scent filling the kitchen. You exhaled, watching him as he moved. He reached for the mugs without hesitation, setting them down beside the cake before glancing at you.  

The look was brief, accompanied by a small, lopsided smile before he settled back onto the stool.  

“So, you used to go to Delora’s,” he said. “That’s pretty sweet. We could’ve gone there if you wanted, bought one of those ridiculous big gorgeous cakes filled with cream and strawberries.”  

You shook your head, peeling yourself off the counter and walking toward him.

“No, the place closed a couple of years ago.” You sank onto the stool across from him, resting your elbows on the counter, chin in your palm. “Not long after my dad died.”  

Frankie’s gaze lifted, the easy amusement in his expression dimming.  

“The last time we went together was a few weeks before that,” you continued, your voice softer now. “When I graduated college.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice careful, though the way he looked at you didn’t shift at all. His dark eyes were fixed on your face like he was trying to memorize something, and maybe a part of him was. He didn’t blink. Didn’t fidget. It was like he’d settled into the discomfort on purpose.

You smiled automatically, but it didn’t quite hold. “It’s fine. There are a lot of good bakeries in Austin. I think I’ve visited almost all of them by now. I could pretend I was on a serious mission, you know? Like some noble quest to find the perfect replacement cake. But really…” You let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “I think I just wanted an excuse to keep eating things that reminded me of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You paused. There was a tightness behind your ribs, a pressure that had nothing to do with the conversation and everything to do with who you used to be when the tradition still made sense.

“But honestly,” you added, your voice quieter now, “the cake wasn’t the point. Not really. It was… the moment. Sitting there, sharing it with him. That’s what I keep trying to recreate. Not the flavor or the frosting or whatever. Just that.”

Your eyes dropped to a spot on the counter, something nondescript—like a coffee stain or a scratch—something easier to look at than him. But when you finally glanced up again, he was still watching you, as if the movement of his body had frozen sometime between your first word and now. There was something on his mouth that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach beyond the corners of his lips. His eyes held none of it.

“Shit,” you said quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for to get all heavy.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, almost immediately. “It’s—” He exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wasn’t sure what expression to land on.  “Really. It’s a beautiful thing, the way you’ve kept that tradition alive. I’m just… sorry you’re stuck sharing it with me.”

He laughed then, quietly, and lifted his hand to his own face, dragging it across his jaw in a kind of nervous gesture.

“I just... I just know I’m not really a worthy replacement for something that meant so much to you.”

There was something in the way he said it—that quiet, self-deprecating remark—that landed in your chest like a weight. You felt it settle under your collarbone, a low, aching pressure, and you hated that it made you feel anything at all.

Because once again, you’d done too much. Said too much. Given him access to a part of you that wasn’t his responsibility to hold. And it wasn’t fair—he hadn’t asked for this, for any of it. He just kept getting pulled into the orbit of things you didn’t know how to carry alone. Maybe because he still felt guilty. Maybe because he hadn’t figured out how to tell you no.

And the thought that he might only be here because of that—because of some unspoken sense of duty or debt—it made your stomach twist. You didn’t understand him.

“Well,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt, “it’s just cake.”

You shook your head once, not to dismiss the conversation exactly, but to pull yourself out of it. You stood from your stool, picking up both mugs and walking over to the counter, where the coffee machine murmured softly, still working.

With your back to him, you added, “I’m just being sentimental. You don’t have to stay for that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What?” he said eventually.

You turned partway, just enough to catch his expression for a second—something unreadable flashing across his face. You gave him a faint smile. One of those practiced ones. 

“I’m saying you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’s okay,” you said, shrugging. “You must be tired.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t push. You stayed where you were, facing the cupboard, your fingers brushing the edge of the sugar jar without really picking it up.

Then, from behind you, came his voice again. 

“Is something wrong?”

You blinked. Your eyelids felt heavier than they should’ve.

“No. No—why?”

You turned around this time, leaned back against the counter with your hands on your hips like it would make you look more composed than you felt.

Frankie was watching you. Then he stood. Crossed the space between you in a few quiet steps, until he was directly in front of you. For one strange second, you thought he might say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped past you, the warmth of his body brushing yours briefly, picked up the coffee jar, and poured the dark liquid into one of the mugs. Still without meeting your eyes.

You looked at him. His profile was steady in the muted sunlight bleeding through the kitchen window. Everything about him seemed calm, measured.

He moved the full mug aside, then filled the second one. Both of you stood in the silence like it had been placed carefully between you.

“I can leave,” he said finally. Still looking ahead. “If I wanted to, I would. But I don’t. So I’m staying. You’re not forcing anything on me.”

Your gaze dropped to the mug in his hands. The way his fingers wrapped around it made it seem small. Fragile, even. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked then.

You shook your head.

“No. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with… all my stuff. It’s personal. Too personal?” You tilted your head, brows pulling together. “Is it too much?”

Frankie let out a low, quiet laugh. Not dismissive, just... surprised. He shook his head.

“You’ve met my whole family,” he said, turning to look at you fully now. “You’ve been in my childhood bedroom. Pretty sure you went through my drawers, remember?” He raised an eyebrow. “If we’re drawing lines around intimacy, I think we passed them miles ago. Don’t you?”

And for a second, you didn’t know what to say. Because he was right.

“I didn’t go through your drawers.”

He looked at you sideways, one eyebrow lifted. “But the rest of it is true, isn’t it?”

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth curling into a half-smile you didn’t bother to hide. There wasn’t much use pretending at this point.

Because yes—of course it was true. All of it. You knew his siblings’ names, the sound of his mother’s voice on speakerphone, the way he liked his coffee, and how he looked when he thought no one was paying attention. He knew how you grieved, who you missed, how your voice cracked when you talked about things you thought you'd long buried.

It was intimate. Too much, maybe. But also too late.

And then, of course, there was the fact that he’d seen you nearly naked, which you weren’t going to bring up now, obviously. That belonged to another moment, another kind of tension neither of you had fully acknowledged.

He carried both mugs back to the counter without saying anything more, setting one down in front of your seat and the other at his own.

You followed, settling onto the stool again. The cake sat between you, small and delicious. You picked up the knife, sliced a clean piece, and gently placed it on Frankie’s plate. Then you did the same for yourself, aware of the quiet ease moving between you, how different it felt from a few minutes ago.

As you reached for your fork, Frankie lifted his coffee and took a sip, his eyes flicking toward Mr. Darcy, who was strutting past on his way to the hallway like he owned the entire block.

“Okay,” you said, watching Frankie’s face as you settled your chin in your palm. “Tell me what you think.”

He glanced at you once before picking up his fork, cutting a generous bite from his slice, and shoveling it into his mouth without ceremony.

You waited, eyes on him, noting the way he chewed, the way his brows pinched slightly as if he were actually concentrating. Then his eyes fluttered shut briefly, and when they opened, you caught the faintest smile breaking through.

“Awesome,” he mumbled, fork pointing toward the filling like it had personally impressed him. “Cream. And whatever that chocolate thing is.”

“Ganache,” you said, amused. “You’re eating cream and chocolate ganache.”

He nodded, entirely unbothered by the details. After a pause, he lifted his coffee again, raising it in your direction.

“Here’s to you. For, you know… jumping out of a plane and doing the whole thing.”

You were mid-bite, but your eyes found his. You swallowed, then raised your own mug in return.

“Here’s to us, for jumping,” you echoed, lips quirking. 

The mugs clinked together with a quiet thunk. 

By the time the clock edged past four-thirty, you'd already gone back for seconds. Your stomach felt full, your heart happy. Or whatever the saying goes.

You’d been talking for a while. That part came easily, almost naturally now, even if it still surprised you when it did. Frankie had ended up telling you how he met Eric, which spiraled—obviously, because stories didn’t stay in neat boxes. One memory tugged on another. Before long, he was telling you about his teenage years, those messy, uneven years that no one ever really talks about unless they’re asked.

You hadn’t asked directly. Not really. But you had wanted to know. What had he been like when he was a teen? What music did he listen to? Did he get nervous around girls? Did he cry when things didn’t go his way?

He told you about his first kiss—how awkward it was, how he’d knocked teeth with the girl. Then his first real girlfriend, a swedish exchange student named Alida, who liked heavy eyeliner and drawing tiny stars on her notebooks. He said her accent made everything sound like poetry. And then the first heartbreak. A girl he’d been seeing for a couple of months, who left him for someone three years older. Frankie rolled his eyes like he’d long made peace with it, but you could still hear something there.

“He had a black sports car,” he said, stabbing his fork into the last bit of cake. “Beautiful thing. I had a bike.”

You laughed into your cup. “Yeah, you didn’t stand a chance, buddy.”

“I mean,” he continued, holding the fork like a pointer, “I would’ve taken her everywhere on that bike. Literally everywhere. Him? Probably didn’t even let her change the radio station.”

There was cream on the corner of his mouth, caught in his mustache, and you thought—without warning—what a soft, ridiculous man.

“A true romantic. I totally believe you.”

You kept picturing him younger—less solid, less tired maybe. What did fifteen, sixteen or seventeen-year-old Frankie look like before the years started layering over him? You’d seen one or two childhood photos before, but those didn’t count. He was a baby there. That was another version of him entirely, before anything really happened.

So you asked.

He didn’t even flinch at the question. Just pulled out his phone, thumbed through the gallery for a bit, then handed it over without ceremony.

The photo lit up the screen.

Frankie at seventeen, shoulder-to-shoulder with another kid you didn’t recognize, both of them squinting into the sun. His face was leaner then, clean-shaven and impossibly young, but the eyes were the same. Dark, serious, a little too knowing for someone who probably hadn’t learned how to file taxes yet. His hair was shorter, neatly combed like he was trying to impress someone’s dad. He wore a black N.W.A t-shirt over a white long sleeve, and his grin was wide enough to make you ache a little.

“Oh, you were handsome,” you said, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips as you zoomed in on the photo, studying the lines of his younger face like you were trying to map something familiar.

Frankie laughed and you noticed the way a faint flush crept over his cheeks.

“You think so? I dunno. I wasn’t doing so great around then.”

“You’re being modest,” you said, glancing up at him. “Your sisters told me otherwise, actually.”

He lifted one shoulder like it didn’t matter.

“I wouldn’t know, wasn’t paying attention, I guess.”

There was a beat of quiet between you—comfortable, maybe even necessary. He took another sip of his coffee, watching the steam curl off the rim like he had something else on his mind.

“Now, show me a picture of you,” he said, eyes flicking to yours.

“Me?”

“No, the other person hiding in the kitchen. Yes, you.”

You clicked your tongue at his teasing but reached for your phone anyway, handing his back as you scrolled. It didn’t take you long. You had a folder set aside for these moments—old photos, scanned birthday cards, old screenshots. Call yourself melancholic.

You picked one and passed it to him, resisting the sudden, fluttering urge to pull it back.

In the photo, you were sixteen. Your hair was different, your baby face present. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a small white kitten curled against your chest, your smile wide and unguarded.

“Look at you,” he said quietly, his mouth curling. “Those cheeks. Bright eyes.”

You felt your face warm under the weight of his attention, but he didn’t see it—he was still absorbed in the screen.

“It was my birthday,” you said. “My parents went to pick up Kylo that morning. He meowed so loudly from their room I figured it out before they could even pretend to surprise me.”

Frankie huffed a laugh, still looking at the picture. “So you’ve been a cat lady from the beginning, huh?”

You grinned. “Yeah, I’m destined to become that woman from The Simpsons, the one who screams and throws cats at people on the street.”

He laughed. “Yeah? I’ll be walking down the sidewalk one day and a kitten will hit me in the chest. I’ll know it’s you.”

“Probably.” You shrugged. “Sorry in advance.”

He looked at you then, not the photo. And with a kind of absent-minded softness, he said, “You were cute. If I’d met you in high school, I probably would’ve had a crush on you or something.”

It was so casual, the way he said it. Like he didn’t even think twice. Just followed the thought to its natural end and let it fall into the space between you.

But the effect it had on you wasn’t casual at all. You felt it right away—a quick, dizzy thrum behind your ribs, like your body was catching up to the weight of the words before your mind could.

And he didn’t even notice.

“That would’ve been weird though, don’t you think?” you said, squinting at him. “You’re like—what? Six years older than me? How old would you have been then?”

You did the math in your head, not really waiting for him to answer. “Twenty-two.”

Frankie rolled his eyes like that wasn’t the point at all.

“Hypothetically,” he said, waving his hand through the air like it could clear the timeline. “If we’d gone to school together��same year, same time—then yeah, you would’ve been my crush or whatever. That’s what I meant.”

“Right,” you said, nodding, trying not to smile. “Well, mine probably would’ve been the guy with the black sports car.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck you,” he said, playful but mildly wounded. “You would’ve missed out. I’d have taken you everywhere on my bike.”

You laughed, your fingertips grazing the side of your cheek like that might hide the warmth rising there. You were blushing. You could feel it and knew he probably could too, even if he didn’t mention it.

After a pause, you stood up and walked to the bathroom. The mirror reflected your face in unfamiliar light—warm cheeks, slightly mussed hair, something about your expression that looked both too young and too aware. You adjusted a few strands near your temples, tucked one behind your ear.

From down the hall, you could hear the muffled clink of ceramic, the rush of tap water. The sound of him, still moving through your space like he belonged there, or at least wasn’t trying to rush his way out of it. It startled you how much you liked that.

Back in your room, you slipped off your shoes and put on a pair of worn, fuzzy slippers and padded back toward the kitchen. But he wasn’t there anymore, and the mugs were rinsed and left to dry by the sink, stacked neatly like someone had been careful with them.

You found him on the couch, sitting, hunched slightly over his phone. His brow was furrowed in concentration, thumbs moving across the screen. The glow from the phone lit up his face in soft strokes, catching on the edge of his stubble.

You sat down beside him, not saying anything. Your hip brushed his, barely, just enough to register it. You leaned back against the cushions, your head turned slightly toward him.

Your gaze drifted to the curve of his spine, to the way his shoulders rose and fell with his breath, then to the soft skin of his neck where it met his hairline. That little patch of curls there, the way they clung faintly to his skin—something you had no right to want to touch, but your hand warmed with the urge anyway. To reach out, gently, not to make a point or start anything, but just to feel what was already so close.

You didn’t, obviously. Why would you?

You straightened your spine, subtly shifting the weight of your body as you reached for the remote. The screen lit up with a blue glow that bled softly into the room. Frankie was still absorbed in whatever conversation he was having on his phone while the television filled the quiet with the abrupt noise of whatever channel it had last been on—a sitcom rerun, maybe, or the end of some home renovation show. You weren’t really paying attention.

You heard the gentle click of his phone locking before he set it down on the coffee table. The sound felt small but final. He leaned back into the couch cushion, his shoulder falling so near yours that the space between you felt thinner, like it could be crossed by a thought.

“What are you going to put on?”

“I dunno,” you murmured, your thumb hovering above the remote’s arrow key. “What do you feel like watching?”

“Ah, I'm not sure. Show me one of your movies.”

You glanced at him, frowning just a little, not out of annoyance but curiosity. “One of mine?”

He nodded, barely—a simple lift of his shoulders. “Yeah. Pick anything.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze flicked across the rows of streaming apps, trying to calculate what felt the least embarrassing and the most��you at the same time. Not an easy combination.

“Okay,” you said, drawing out the word as you clicked into one of the apps. “Pick a decade. Seventies, eighties, nineties, two-thousands. Or we could go by era—there are some excellent literary adaptations if you’re into that.”

You caught his smile in your peripheral vision—quick, not mocking.

“Jesus, I don’t know. Just show me your favorite one.”

“Well, that’s a hard one. I’ve got, like, categories of favorites. But I’ll go with the first one that popped into my head.”

Your fingers danced across the remote as you typed the title into the search bar. A few seconds later, the soft piano of Notting Hill began to play, the opening credits painting the screen with flashes of glossy magazine covers and Julia Robert's bright eyes.

Frankie said nothing, but he shifted slightly closer, knees brushing for a second before settling apart again. You glanced sideways at him, wondering if he’d like it, if he was already regretting giving up control of the remote. But he looked comfortable. Or maybe just quiet. His eyes were on the screen. You let yourself watch the beginning with him, letting the room fall into the rhythm of a shared silence. 

“It’s so obvious she likes him,” Frankie said after a while, just as Anna Scott agreed to go home and change out of the clothes William had accidentally ruined with orange juice.

“Careful, Sherlock.”

Somewhere along the way—somewhere between Hugh Grant’s nervous rambling and Julia Roberts’s tight-lipped smiles—you had leaned closer to him. You weren’t sure who had moved first. Your arm was pressed flush against his now, and the side of your head hovered near his shoulder, close enough to catch the faint scent of his soap, something clean and warm.

Onscreen, Anna kissed William out of nowhere. Frankie tilted his head slightly, not enough to turn toward you but enough to signal something—confirmation, perhaps, of what he’d just said.

“Told you,” he mumbled.

The movie continued. Will is invited to the Ritz under false pretenses, mistaken for someone else, pulled along into the strange orbit of press events and polished smiles. You watched him stumble through it all, never quite fitting, never quite backing out either. She goes to his sister's birthday, everyone loves her, everything's good. Blah, blah, blah. Later, they kiss again.

After that, when Will stepped into her hotel room and saw the man—her boyfriend, tall and self-assured and inconvenient, a prick—Frankie made a sound like someone had nudged him in the ribs.

“Oh, man,” he muttered, as if it had happened to him.

You laughed under your breath. You turned your head to look at him for a second, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy frowning at the screen.

The film moved on. Will’s friends—well-meaning, exasperated—tried to set him up with someone else, anyone else. But he's heartbroken and he walks home as if he'd forgotten how to want something new.

“I’ve been there,” Frankie said, a slight edge of humor softening the weight of his words. He didn’t look away from the screen.

“Oh, you have to tell me. How bad were the dates? Scale of one to tragic.”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There was only one. It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t anything either. She was... a case.”

“Oh,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. But he didn’t answer. His attention returned to the film, or at least that’s where he placed it. 

Onscreen, Anna appeared at Will’s door. Unannounced, the kind of entrance that only works in movies. She was forced into hiding, scandalized in headlines, hunted by photographers with telescopic lenses and no boundaries. Her voice was soft as she apologized—about the boyfriend, about the confusion, about choosing to disappear.

She stayed. Of course she did. And that night, they made love. Obviously. They moved toward each other like it was inevitable.

The next morning, Anna said, lightly, “What is it about men and nudity? Particularly breasts? How can you be so interested in them?”

Will hesitated, unsure how to answer. “Well…”

But you didn’t hear the rest of his response.

Because the image on screen, the quiet intimacy of the bed, the question itself—all of it cracked open something in your memory. We're not talking about this. Frankie’s mouth against your collarbone. The way he’d lowered the strap of your dress with such focused tenderness. His lips against your skin, reverent and hungry at once. His hand curving beneath your rib cage, as if he could read something there.

And beside you, you felt it—his body shift slightly, shoulders pulling in, his breath catching just faintly at the top of his chest. The change was small, but unmistakable. Like heat rising under a closed door.

You knew he was remembering, too. Or at least, it felt that way. That same scene, or the feeling of it. The weight of something you both hadn’t said. Not really.

Your fingers twitched in your lap. You adjusted your position, but the movement didn’t help. It only stirred the feeling that had been creeping steadily higher inside your chest.

“Francisco,” you said suddenly, the name leaping from your mouth before your brain could stop it. It felt like a damn confession just to say it.

He turned toward you, face unreadable, like he already knew what was coming. And your eyes searched his profile—his cheekbone, the gentle furrow in his brow, the way his mouth pressed into a faint line like he was bracing for something.

You reached for the remote and pressed pause. The room fell into quiet again, not peaceful. It sat between you like a held breath. Your pulse thudded hard in your ears. The air felt stretched, suspended.

“Why didn’t you say anything about last night?” you asked.

A few seconds passed. He didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch, as far as you could tell—his body still, his eyes locked somewhere on you like he hadn’t even registered you’d spoken.

You sighed and dropped your gaze to his feet, which were crossed neatly at the ankle.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment,” you said. “I just—please. Say something.”

His eyes moved then. Across your face. His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

“I wasn’t…” he started, then stopped. He looked at the coffee table, then back at you. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk about it.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I mean, when we woke up, you didn’t bring it up either. I thought maybe… maybe you’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

You didn’t respond right away. Something inside you had stiffened, like a thread pulling tight. Frankie shifted his weight slightly, leaned back into the couch again and reached for the back of his neck—something you’d already learned he did when he was nervous, or unsure, or both.

“I didn’t forget. In case you were wondering.” You ran a hand down your thigh, grounding yourself. “In fact, I spent the entire day wondering when you would say something.”

He shook his head, his gaze lowering.

“I didn’t want to risk it,” he admitted. “If I brought it up, maybe you’d regret it. Or feel uncomfortable. And today was—today was nice. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You nodded, even though the words didn’t settle easily inside you. Your eyes dropped to where your fingers were brushing together on your lap.

“Well, I’d like to talk about it now. If you’re willing.”

He looked at you. And in that look, there was hesitation—not out of malice, not even out of guilt, but out of the discomfort of being emotionally cornered.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I’m… I’m sorry. I should’ve gone home last night.”

You stared at him, stunned for a second. Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was the conclusion he had come to?

He must have registered your expression, because his lips parted, like he was about to try again. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“I don’t want to talk about what we should’ve done,” you said, and your voice sounded firmer than you expected. “I want to talk about what we actually did. I don’t want to pretend it was just some mistake, or that we were two idiots acting on impulse. It wasn’t like that. You know that.”

“I know what you mean but—”

“You said you wouldn’t regret it in the morning.”

He closed his eyes for a beat, and when he opened them, he stared down at the floor like it could give him an answer he didn’t have. His hand moved through his hair. He exhaled sharply, frustration passing over his face.

“I know what I said, and I know what I did. I’m just… I’m not sure it was the right thing.”

You turned your face away, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to feel the sting.

This was the version of him you hated most. Closed off, unreadable. The version that retreated just when you needed him to be honest. To open up, even a little. You knew there was more. You could feel it humming under his skin like static. So why wasn’t he saying it?

Frustration curled up inside you, hot and messy and full of disappointment.

“Please stop trying to frame this around what’s right or wrong,” you said, your voice steady in a way that surprised you. “Just be honest with me. You said it yourself, we’ve already crossed whatever intimacy boundaries we thought we had. We’re way past that. Something happened last night and I can’t sit here and let you fold the entire conversation back on me again, Frankie. I can’t do it.”

He didn’t interrupt, but his jaw moved, like he was grinding something down behind his teeth.

“Because things don’t just happen,” you went on. “They don’t fall out of the sky without meaning. They happen because someone chooses them. Because something leads to them. And maybe it’s messy or confusing or difficult to name, but there’s always intention. Even if you’re trying to ignore it.”

He was staring at you now, unmoving.

“I don’t want to pretend it could’ve been anyone else in that room,” you said, your voice softer now, but just as sure. “It wasn’t arbitrary. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t just a moment. It was us. You and me.”

Frankie shifted. Shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is, actually.”

He let out a breath and laughed once, bitterly. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s what makes it so fucking hard.”

You watched the way his hands dragged over his face, the way he tipped his head back like the ceiling might offer relief. He stayed like that for a second, breathing through it, before letting his arms fall back to his sides. His eyes were fixed somewhere above, refusing to meet yours.

“It’s hard,” he said again, more quietly now. “Isn’t that what you’re feeling too?”

“Because I’m Santi’s sister,” you said. Not a question. A fact.

Frankie dropped his gaze, finally looking at you. “Partly.”

“Partly,” you echoed, hollow. “And the rest?”

He hesitated. A long breath left his chest. He stared at the floor like it might organize his thoughts for him.

“The rest is... A lot of things. Things that have nothing to do with you. Just me.”

There it was again—that instinct of his to fold inward, to keep the most important part just out of reach. The door always half-closed.

You wanted to shout. You wanted to shake him or grab his shoulders and pull the words out of his throat. You wanted a pharmaceutical solution to his emotional repression. Something you could slip into his coffee that would force him to talk.

Instead, you sat there. Waiting.

You inhaled deeply, pressing your palm to your cheek in a vague, grounding gesture. Your fingers dragged across your skin like they were trying to wipe away whatever expression you were wearing. Then you looked at him again.

You weren’t going to be able to hold it in. It was there in your chest, heavy and urgent, like a question clawing its way up your throat.

“Do you like me?”

He blinked, visibly startled, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“What?”

“Just that. If you like me.” You felt your pulse in your ears. “If you think I’m attractive. If you’re attracted to me. I’m not asking for poetry, Frankie, I’m not even talking about anything complicated, sentimental—just… physically. Simple.”

His eyes moved, quick and uncertain, across your face, like he was trying to locate the safest place to land.

“I... I mean…” he faltered, then let out a breath. “Isn’t it obvious at this point?”

“Don’t do that.” 

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Be vague. Just answer me. Yes or no.”

There was a pause, a beat suspended in the space between you. Then—

“Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes,” he repeated, and this time his voice sounded a little harsher, like you were tugging something out of him he hadn’t intended to give. “Yeah, I’m attracted—you're atractive. I think you’re beautiful. I don’t know—what do you want me to say?”

You felt a flicker of satisfaction, something warm curling in your stomach, but it was quickly flattened by the weight of everything else. The tension hadn’t broken. Not really.

“Just that.”

He gave a tired nod.

“Okay. Just that.” His gaze settled on you—open now, unflinching. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your arms crossing in front of your chest like a shield. “Because all day I’ve been wondering if this—us, whatever happened—if it was just guilt. If you almost slept with me because you felt sorry for me. Or because you were bored. Or because I happened to be there in a dress that made it easier for you to forget that I’m Santi’s sister. I’ve been sitting with that version of the story in my head and convincing myself not to ask. But I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Frankie’s eyes closed, his face tightening like your words had physically hit him.

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“No,” you said, the frustration slipping into your tone, “I actually haven’t misunderstood anything. That’s why I’m asking you now, to give—”

“We shouldn’t be sleeping together,” he cut in suddenly, like the sentence had been waiting in his mouth all along. “You and I. We shouldn’t. You don’t want that. It’s not what’s good for you. We got carried away, all the teasing and the wine and the lines getting blurry—”

“You have no idea what I want,” your arms tightening around your body. “Or what’s good for me.”

“Not me,” he said.

It landed like a closing door.

You exhaled so deeply it almost sounded theatrical, but it wasn’t. It was exhaustion. You dragged your hands over your face like you were trying to erase yourself entirely.

“God, you’re so incredibly stubborn.”

“Then say everything, tell me what you want to say.”

You dropped your hands from your face, fingers brushing your lap.

“What’s the point? You’re not going to believe me anyway. You’ll twist it around somehow, like you always do—turn it into something I didn’t mean or shouldn’t feel or should apologize for. That’s your whole thing, Frankie.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now. “It is. If I told you right now that I wanted to do it last night—genuinely wanted to—you’d probably tell me I was drunk or confused or emotionally unstable. Or maybe you’d suggest I was possessed by a demon. Something else was making my decisions for me.”

He stayed exactly where he was, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to react.

“Try me.”

“Okay,” you said. Your hands folded in your lap. “Something happened last night. And for me, it wasn’t a mistake. I didn’t wake up regretting it. If I had, you’d know. Believe me, you’d know.”

He didn’t move, but something shifted in his expression—barely noticeable, but there.

“I wanted to do it,” you continued, searching his face for some hint that he was listening, really listening. “And you act like you can just erase it. Like it’s possible to touch someone the way you touched me and then pretend it was nothing. That there was no intention behind it, no reason.”

He still hadn’t said anything, but he was watching you. Closely. Too closely.

You swallowed. “I’m a person,” you said, like you needed him to understand it in the most basic, physical sense. “In case you hadn’t noticed.” 

“That much I’ve noticed.”

You furrowed your brow, jaw tightening. “I’m a person. You’re a person. And you can play pretend for so long before the lines blur. Before one kiss starts to feel like something else entirely.”

He nodded once. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered—not in the playful, flirtatious way he might’ve expected. Your voice was flatter than that. Sharper.

Then you looked away from him, your gaze landing on the frozen frame of the paused television, like maybe the fictional people on screen could offer some kind of clarity you weren’t finding in the room.

You didn’t speak. Not immediately. The silence sat heavy in your throat, thick and stifling like humidity. You could feel Frankie watching you, not just glancing your way but really looking. Like his gaze had weight. Like it was pulling you downward, as if you were stuck beneath the surface of something vast and crushing and liquid. Something you hadn’t meant to step into. Something you didn’t know how to get out of.

“I know what you mean,” he said eventually. “And I get that, I get what you’re saying. But I don’t think that’s how it happened. Not for me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, to let him see the sharpness there.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean… I don’t think it started because we were playing house. Or because of a wedding, or a dress, or wine, or a bed that happened to be close enough.”

You stared at him, waiting. Daring him to continue.

He sighed. “What I’m saying is—this didn’t start because we were pretending. It didn’t start with the flirting or the teasing or some night where we got too close on the couch. That’s not what this is.”

Your heart beat louder in your ears.

"You say all these things but somehow it still feels like you're not saying anything at all. Like you’re stacking words together just enough to form a sentence, but it never—I don't—I mean, I get it. I do. But—God—”

You stood up too quickly, like your body had decided to abandon the conversation before your mind had caught up. A rush of heat crawled up your chest as you moved away, needing space, air, anything that wasn’t him sitting there looking at you like that. You headed to the kitchen, pressing your palm to your forehead, half to ground yourself, half to stop the thoughts from multiplying.

There was a glass on the counter—a red one, translucent. You filled it with water as the sound of his sigh drifted into the room, followed by the quiet pattern of his footsteps. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was getting closer. Still, when you did, the proximity startled you. He was right there, standing like he'd been pulled in by gravity. One hand rested on his hip. The other hovered, then dropped.

"I'm not—" He paused. Swallowed. "I can't do this the way you want me to. Alright? I know that. Talking about this, about us, whatever it is you want me to say, it’s not easy for me. But I’m trying. I’m trying to answer your questions.”

“So—”

“Just—don’t walk away from me like that.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave me sitting in there by myself like, like you can't stand my incompetence.”

“Now, that’s never come out of my mouth, not even close. I don’t think you’re incompetent. What are you even talking about?”

He didn’t answer right away. His mouth closed, his jaw shifted, and he exhaled a breath through his nose, long and heavy like it had been building for hours. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, dragging it across his eyes, his hair already a mess from the way he kept pushing it back. It made him look younger, somehow, but also more exhausted.

“I’m just—” he said, finally. His hand dropped. His eyes met yours. “I’m not good at this. You are. You’re quick, you're smart. You're good with words. You always know what to say, how to say it. I’ve got all these things in my head, but when I try to speak them out loud, they don’t come out right. They never sound the way they do in here.” He tapped lightly at his temple.

You leaned against the counter, arms folded.

“I don’t know what to say most of the time either.”

He gave you a look—tilted his head slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

You sighed. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. That word doesn’t even belong in the same room as you. You just…” You looked away for a moment. “You make me feel desperate sometimes. And that’s not news. We both know that.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, then crossed his arms, standing there like a reflection of you.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. For a moment, the two of you stood in complete silence, the room so still it felt staged. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you, the only sign the world was still ticking on. Frankie was staring at you like he was trying to understand something and the way his eyes caught the faint orange light pouring through the window made your stomach shift.

Then he exhaled, the breath long and quiet, and let his arms drop to his sides. One hand came to rest flat on the counter beside him, and he leaned into it just slightly, the angle of his shoulders more resigned than confrontational.

“Look,” he started, his voice a little rough around the edges. “There are plenty of reasons why last night shouldn’t have happened. Real reasons. Logical ones. I know that’s not the kind of thing you put a lot of weight on.”

“Maybe not. But they’re usually your favorite.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. He stayed like that for a few seconds, staring at some invisible point near his feet. Then he breathed out again and lifted his gaze. “Okay. I’m gonna try to say this right. Just… let me talk. Then ask me whatever you want, tear me apart if you need to, I don’t care.”

The softness in his tone took you slightly off guard, but you nodded.

“Alright.”

His eyes moved slowly across your face and then they stopped on your eyes—as if that was the safest place to land.

“Okay. Logical reasons. You’re Santi’s sister. That changes everything. Maybe not for you, maybe it feels separate, but for me… he’s not just some guy. He’s my best friend. Closer than that, even. He’s like family. He’s always been that.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him. His hand was still on the counter.

“And he cares about you. I know he doesn’t show it in some loud, overprotective way, but it’s there. I see it. And I get it, because I have sisters too. I know what that kind of care feels like. I know what it means to watch someone from a distance and hope no one fucks them up worse than the world already will.” He laughed once, under his breath. “You and I—we’ve had years of bad timing and bad chemistry and bad communication. Years of giving each other a hard time. You think that didn’t wear on him? You think he didn’t tell me to back off more times than I can count?”

“He told me the same,” you said, quietly. “He loves you too, a lot, you know.”

Frankie nodded, the corners of his mouth tugging up slightly in acknowledgment, like it hurt to agree.

“Then maybe you get what I’m saying. I’ve already let him down enough by making things complicated between us. Pushing this further—it feels like crossing a line we never actually talked about but both knew was there.”

He took a step forward, just one, but it made the distance between you feel different. Smaller. More dangerous.

“And the thing with us, you and I,” he continued, “is that nothing ever seems to come easy. It never has.”

You glanced down, suddenly very aware of the floor under your feet, the tension in your arms, your chest. The way it all felt suspended.

“I guess,” he said, voice softer now, “I guess there’s this kind of unspoken rule in our group, you know? Some built-in boundary. You’re his sister. His only sister. I think, at some point, Santi gave some kind of warning to all of us.”

You raised your head slowly, frowning.

“Seriously? Like I’m a teenager he’s trying to keep out of trouble? That’s ridiculous.”

Frankie smiled faintly. “Not like that. He’s not… he’s not possessive. He’s not trying to control your life. I think he just didn’t want things to get messy in a way we couldn’t clean up.”

“Well, it’s not his decision to make. But you’re right. It makes sense.”

“Yeah. It does. It’s a code. One we’ve all followed. And I crossed it.”

You let out a breath, more from habit than necessity, and glanced away—not dramatically, just enough to collect yourself. There was too much in the air, too many things being left unsaid or half-said, which sometimes felt worse. When you looked back, Frankie was scratching at the edge of his jaw, then resting his hand on his hip like he didn’t quite know where to put it.

“Logically speaking,” he said, “that’s one reason. But then what? What comes after that? We’d have to keep seeing each other. It’s not like we’re strangers passing through. So what then? Do we go back to pretending we don’t see each other? Faking that weird politeness again?”

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because you weren’t sure what the answer was. You wouldn’t ignore him, that much you knew. You couldn’t. But the fact that he’d even asked—had brought it up like a real possibility—meant maybe he would. Maybe he was already preparing for it. And the idea made something cold and familiar stir in your chest, something that reminded you too much of the way he used to look past you like you were just another part of the scenery.

He tilted his head slightly. His voice had gone gentler, like he didn’t want to hurt you but didn’t know how else to say what he was saying.

“You know it took us forever to start getting along. That night—we fought, and then you told me you wanted to hit reset. Just be civil. Start over.”

You’d meant it when you said it.

“And we did,” he continued. “We’ve done that. And then this thing that happened... almost happened last night, it would’ve rewritten everything.” He turned his gaze to the far corner of the kitchen, like he couldn’t quite hold your eyes while he said it. “It wouldn’t have been a good decision.”

There was a pause—short—where neither of you moved or breathed too loud.

“I get what you’re saying,” you said eventually. “I do. But what I don’t understand is why, if something did happen between us, the only outcome you can imagine is pulling away. Like... walking away is some automatic consequence.”

You watched his face as you spoke. He didn’t look away this time.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with liking someone, with being attracted to them, and choosing not to ignore it. Choosing to... respond to it. That’s not some scandalous thing. We’re adults, Frankie. You’d think we’d have other tools by now—better ways of handling complicated feelings than just pretending they don’t exist.”

He nodded. Not quickly. Like he was still figuring out what to say even as he agreed.

“I know. I get it,” he said. “And yeah, that would apply in any other situation. But this... you’re not just anyone.” He took a step toward you. “I’ve done the casual thing. Hookups, whatever. Friends with benefits. I know how to do that. I know how to let that go. But with you... I'm sorry but It wouldn’t be casual. It couldn’t be. That’s the whole point.”

Your stupid little heart jumped, reckless and uninvited. And you hated how easily it did that—how quickly it read into things, how quickly it believed. Even though you knew better. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you with this unreadable expression—some mix of regret and restraint, like he was already backing away from what he’d started to say.

“I mean it’s complicated,” he said. “Nothing we’ve done so far has been easy, has it? I mean—we’re pretending to be in a relationship. A whole fake story. What even is that?” His hand moved as he spoke, gesturing vaguely to the side like the road between Dallas and Austin might reappear there, the moment where it all began. “It started with you seeing your ex on some highway, like a joke from the universe. And me... I wasn’t exactly thriving either.”

You did know that. But you said nothing.

“I was broken. You were, too. And we both had our reasons. And on top of that—” he looked directly at you now, and there it was again, the line he always returned to. “You’re Santi’s sister.”

Of course. There it was. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you didn’t. 

“I haven’t been okay,” he said, quieter now. “Not in a general bad day kind of way. Not just tired or burned out. I mean... really not okay. For a long time. There were days where I didn’t think I’d come back from it. I didn’t want to. Silence made me itch, I couldn’t sit in it—I needed noise, distraction, anything to drown out the way things felt. I made choices that didn’t help. Those years…” He trailed off, pressing his thumb along his jaw in a familiar, grounding motion. He didn’t meet your eyes now. “They were dark.”

You didn’t speak. So you waited.

Then he looked at you again, something tentative in his expression.

“You said you wanted me to tell you about the thing with the dates. The setups. My mom, my sisters.”

“I did.”

He nodded, as if gathering the nerve to keep going. “Well, they’ve been pushing it for a while. Because they think I’m ready again. Or maybe because they think I should be ready. But the truth is, my last relationship—” He stopped for a moment, swallowing whatever emotion had climbed into his throat. “It wasn’t good. Not for a long time. There were good days, yeah. But the bad ones were louder. And it ended ugly. She left me. And not long after, I found out she’d been seeing someone else. A guy she worked with.”

You stood there, completely still. You already knew that, at least part of it. But hearing it like this, directly from him, stripped of all defense... it landed differently.

There was something about the way he said it—the way the memory lived in his voice, raw but not self-pitying—that made your chest tighten. Like you were seeing him more clearly than he wanted to be seen.

And still, you couldn’t look away.

“It broke my fucking heart,” he said, his voice scraping a little. “And I think—God—I think it wouldn’t have hurt so much if my dad hadn’t died at the same time.”

You lowered your gaze. The floor suddenly seemed like the safest thing to look at. You could feel the shape of his grief pressing into the space, something dense and old and still sharp around the edges. When you finally looked up again, he hadn’t moved.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what words would help, if any.

“That was it,” he continued, almost as if your silence gave him permission. “The absolute worst moment of my life. Everything collapsed at once. I stopped talking to people. Just… cut myself off. From my friends, my mom, my sisters. I didn’t want to be part of anything anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself. I couldn’t even explain it to me.”

He paused, eyes distant now. “I’d already been carrying this weight… for years, really. Since Nico died.” He glanced at you, as if expecting that name to mean something. “He was one of my closest friends in the CAG. And he died out of nowhere. And I—I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t process it, I just shoved it down somewhere, kept moving, like we’re trained to do. And then when everything else hit—my dad, the breakup—I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. It just came up. All of it.”

You didn’t move. Your chest had started to ache quietly.

“I couldn’t see anything ahead,” he said. “No light, no reason. Nothing to hold onto. I’d wake up and every breath felt like I was sinking deeper. Like breathing was actually taking something away from me.”

His face stayed composed, calm even—but his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with something you could only describe as haunted. A kind of pain that wasn’t fresh, but hadn’t healed, either. Something that lived with him still.

You felt your throat begin to tighten, and a sting rose in your eyes. You blinked fast, willing it away, but it didn’t quite leave. It clung there, just beneath the surface.

And then, after a silence so fragile it felt like it could break with a breath, he said, “I overdosed.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. His eyes dropped to the floor, like he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

There was something unbearable in that, too. In the shame he carried around what had happened to him. You wanted to cross the space between you, to place your hands on his face, to tell him he didn’t need to be ashamed—that you understood more than he thought. That what he’d survived didn’t make him weak, it made him something else entirely. But you didn’t move. You stayed still. In your space. And he in his.

He looked at you again.

“Opioids,” he said simply. “I got them with a fake prescription. It wasn’t like I was using regularly or anything, it wasn’t some habit I’d built. I just—” he paused, dragging a hand over his face, as if the act of remembering cost him something physical. “One day I called a guy I knew, someone with connections. A few hours later I was home with a bottle of oxycodone in my hand.”

He exhaled through his nose. His voice was almost absentminded, like he was walking through a version of events he’d kept sealed away for years.

“I don’t remember how many I took. I didn’t count. I just wanted to stop thinking. Stop feeling like I was sinking in my own skin. It was enough. Enough that I didn’t think I’d wake up.” His jaw tightened. “Mai found me.” He said her name like a prayer and a curse in one. There was a quiet, palpable ache in the syllables.

“She came over because I hadn’t answered her calls for days. She was pissed off, thought I was being a dick. She got there and I didn’t answer the door, obviously. She looked through my bedroom window and—” he winced. “She broke the glass. Climbed in. She thought I was dead.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, pressing his lips together. His voice, when it returned, was rough around the edges.

“I will never, ever forgive myself for doing that to her. To my family.” His voice cracked—barely, but enough. “Mai had a happy life. Good friends. Good memories. No big traumas. And now she has that. That image of me unconscious on the floor, almost dying.”

You felt a kind of quiet horror fill your chest—not at him, not at his story, but at the pain he carried and the way he clearly believed he deserved to carry it forever.

“She saved your life,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Frankie shook his head. “It wasn’t her job to keep me alive. It wasn’t anyone’s job but mine. I let everyone down. My mom… I shattered her. And the guys—I didn’t even have the guts to talk to them about it. I told them it was an accident. That I just wanted to try it. Begged them not to ask questions.”

There was a long pause. You felt your pulse in your throat.

“Was it?” you asked. You didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.

He looked at you then, really looked, and there was so much in his eyes you almost flinched. 

“No.”

Your breath caught mid-inhale, like your body had finally registered the depth of everything he’d just said. The burn behind your eyes came fast, and this time you didn’t fight it. You didn’t blink the tears away or pretend you weren’t unraveling.

Instead, you stepped away from the counter, the distance between you collapsing with your movement. Your arms looped around his neck in a single motion, and you pulled him in so fiercely it almost knocked the air out of you. The embrace felt messy, urgent, like no amount of holding him could be enough.

You wanted to fold yourself around him completely. To shield him. To divert the pain from his chest to yours and tell him he doesn't have to carry it all alone. You wanted to press your palms to his face and erase the years that hurt him.

Frankie didn’t hesitate. His arms came around your waist like they’d been waiting to do so for years. His face pressed into the hollow of your neck, the scratch of his stubble brushing your skin like an apology. He held you like he didn’t want there to be a single inch between you.

Your heartbeat knocked against his chest, two separate rhythms trying to find a shared beat. You could feel him breathing—deep, shaky breaths like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to be here, in your arms, still alive, still wanted. Your tears soaked quietly into his shirt, and neither of you said a word.

But it was all there. In the way he clung to you. In the way he exhaled against your collarbone like it was the first time he’d been allowed to rest.

There was so much guilt in him. It lived in the corners of his eyes, in the way he held himself even now. But you could feel—just barely—that some of it had loosened. Not gone, not yet. But softened, maybe.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely brushing his skin as you pressed your face into the curve of his neck. His arms tightened around you in response with a kind of quiet insistence.

He didn’t answer. He just held you there, his breath uneven, shallow. There were sounds—faint, fractured—coming from deep in his chest that might’ve been tears. But you didn’t ask. You didn’t shift or pull back to look.

Instead, your hand moved up to his hair, your fingers finding the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You stroked them gently, the way you might soothe a frightened child, or yourself.

And somewhere in the quiet your own sorrow began to stir. It rose in your chest like something old and stubborn. As if his grief had called to yours, and yours had answered. You let a little of it out, not all at once, just enough.

There was comfort in the way his arms wrapped around you, like he’d done this before, held you like this in some parallel world. You weren’t sure how much time passed—it could’ve been seconds, it could’ve been an hour—until you felt something soft brush against your calf. Frankie shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough to glance downward. Mr. Darcy was weaving between your legs, then his, his tail curling with entitlement.

When you looked back at him, you finally saw his face. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy, and the curve of his cheek was streaked with tears. There was something so bare in the way he looked then, like all the shields he usually kept up had been set aside, if only for a moment. You didn’t look away.

He gave a small, almost disbelieving smile at the cat before his gaze flicked up to meet yours. You lifted your hand and brushed the tears from his cheek with your thumb.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said.

He shook his head slowly. “It was.”

“No. You did everything you could, until you couldn’t anymore. You were hurting, Frankie. You were in pain.”

“But I could’ve done it differently. I should’ve asked for help.” His voice caught. “But I didn’t.” A heavy breath escaped him. “I made everything worse. My family… my mom was already breaking after my dad died. And I—” His lips trembled. He stopped. Collected himself like it was a habit. Like falling apart had a time limit.

“And what about you?” you asked, your thumb brushing over his skin again. “What about your grief? Your heartbreak? You lost a friend. You lost your dad. You lost yourself for a while. None of that is easy.”

“I know.” His voice was almost inaudible now. His eyes dropped, as if ashamed of his own softness.

"You deserve to be cared for too."

After a moment, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“I’m sure Mai was scared,” you went on, “and I’m sure what she saw stayed with her. But I think—no, I really believe—that saving your life meant more to her than anything else could have.”

He didn’t react right away. His features were still, composed.

“I’m her older brother,” he said finally, voice taut. “It was supposed to be me taking care of her. Not the other way around.”

You exhaled, something like a laugh escaping with it.

“Well, as a younger sister, I have to disagree,” you said. “Santi and I—it's not one-way. We look out for each other. Always. I’d do anything for him, and I know he’d do anything for me. And I know your sisters, your mom—they love you. They’d do anything for you too. It doesn’t have to be you carrying it all.”

He didn’t respond. Just looked at you. His eyes caught the light and held it, and for a second, you saw yourself reflected there.

You hesitated, just for a beat. Then: “It’s okay to need help, you know. It’s okay to fall apart sometimes. I do it all the time. And lately, you’re here. You show up. You help. Every time. So why shouldn’t you deserve the same?”

Your hand moved from his face to his chest—without really thinking, without any reason other than instinct. Your palm settled just above his heart, where you could feel the faint, steady rhythm beneath your skin.

His expression changed. Just slightly, but it did.

You wanted to ask him what he was thinking. You wanted to understand whatever quiet storm was passing behind his gaze.

And—God—you wanted to kiss him. The thought arrived like a spark and immediately, instinctively, you pushed it away. But it lingered. It always lingered.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, I know."

And you eased back just enough to let him breathe, to offer him that space he seemed to need. But the second you did, the warmth between you began to cool.

You looked at him for a moment longer before speaking, your tone shifting slightly, lighter, in an attempt to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

“So that’s what the arranged dates were about,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess—the candidates were carefully selected and wildly unsuitable.”

He glanced up, the faintest curve tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah. It was a whole operation. Imagine this—my mom, using me as bait. Honestly, I have to admire her optimism.”

You smiled. “Okay, but how bad was it, really? The date you went on—what happened?”

He shifted his weight, leaning back against the counter with a casualness that didn’t quite disguise the fact that he was relieved by the change of subject.

“She was cute. Smart. It started off alright—twenty minutes of solid small talk before she pivoted, without warning, into a monologue about her ex.”

You tilted your head. “Wait, did you go on a date with past me? Sounds familiar.”

He laughed then, a real one. “No, no. This was… a different level. Her ex was married. Had been the whole time they were together.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Right?” he said, eyes wide in mock horror. “Apparently he told her he was going to leave his wife. But he didn’t. And then he went and told her they were having another kid, and—” he paused, raising his eyebrows—“that he wouldn’t be leaving her. For now.”

“For now? That’s cruel.”

“I know. I didn’t even know how to react. Honestly, the whole thing made me want to take her out for a drink and also maybe stage an intervention.”

“So… why’d she go out with you?”

He gave you a look, that boyish half-smile. “I dunno. Why did I go out with her?”

You laughed, eyes narrowing. “So you didn’t see her again.”

That smile tugged deeper, and he looked down for a second.

“Did you?” you asked, already knowing the answer from the look on his face.

He lifted his eyes again, smirk firmly in place. “A couple of times.”

“Oh my god, you slept with her.”

He stood perfectly still, his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress a grin. Guilty. Caught.

“Unbelievable,” you said, head tilted, trying not to smile but failing a little.

He straightened, putting on a mock-defensive tone.

“In my defense, she was honest. She told me she was still in love with him and didn’t want anything serious. I respected that. We both knew what it was.”

“How many times?”

“Um, I dunno. Three? Three, tops.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. You don't even remember? You're such a slut.”

He looked at you, something playful and warm behind his eyes. “Don't be like that. It was before you.”

You rolled your eyes, mostly because you needed something to do with your face, and a laugh slipped out. Frankie was still smiling, then he reached out, his fingers curling gently around your arm, tugging you closer with no real force.

“I just—” he began, and then paused, like the words weren’t cooperating with the pace of his thoughts. “I need to say this, even if it comes out wrong.”

You stayed quiet, watching him. You could feel the shift in the air between you again.

“I have… a lot of things still sitting in my head. Some days it feels like I’ve made progress, and others it’s like I haven’t moved at all. But lately, for the first time in a long while, I’ve started feeling okay. Like I can breathe. Like I’m not dragging myself through every minute.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. Just tiredness. A kind of resignation. “I'm not sure if I can get involved with someone like this. And that doesn't mean that I don’t want it. Or that I don’t think about it, imagine it. Crave it. I do.” He glanced up at you, eyes briefly searching yours before dropping again. “But I just… can’t. I can't.”

You listened carefully, reading the edges of his words just as much as their core. His tone, the pauses, the way he looked down. And you understood.

You hadn’t before, not fully. You’d been asking something of him without knowing the shape of what he was carrying, and now that he’d offered it to you—just a piece of it—you saw it more clearly. You didn’t blame yourself for not knowing. But you still felt a quiet ache in your chest.

He glanced away, then back. “When I went out with this woman—it wasn’t anything. It was empty, if I’m being honest. I think I was looking for… I don’t know, some kind of release. A break from my own brain. Or maybe just proof that I could still feel something good, even briefly. But it didn’t work. It made everything worse, actually.”

He gave a humorless smile, but there was no cruelty in it. “The most depressing sex of my life. I don’t even think she noticed.”

You felt your mouth curve slightly, but you didn’t speak.

“Please don’t think I’m using it as an excuse,” he said, suddenly earnest.

“I don’t,” you said, and you meant it.

He nodded, exhaling through his nose. Then, almost absently, he added, “I don’t even know when things shifted between us. I didn’t see it coming. One day it just…” He looked sideways, like he wasn’t talking to you but rather trying to say something out loud just to make sense of it himself. “It’s different now. And I don’t know what that means.”

You looked away too, not because you wanted to, but because it felt safer that way. 

“I don’t know either,” you admitted, voice low. “I... I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed immediately. “Why?”

You lifted your shoulders in a shrug, trying to swallow past the tightness in your throat. You hated how exposed you felt in that second.

“Because I think like you and I don't know what to do with that,” you said, barely above a whisper. 

There was a pause. Then, a single tear slipped quietly down your cheek, and still, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t sure whether saying it had been the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t about right or wrong at all—maybe it was just something that needed to be said, like naming a feeling makes it real. Like choosing not to say it would’ve been a kind of denial. Of yourself. Of the truth. Of what Emma had been gently insisting with the stubborn confidence of someone who has known you forever.

And Emma was always right. Annoyingly, unfailingly right.

Frankie didn’t move. It was like your words had frozen him in place, his posture still, his gaze locked on yours as if you’d accidentally pressed pause on him. But there was nothing cold about the way he looked at you. If anything, there was warmth. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I think I might be... inconvenient.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t land. 

Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t blink.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you went on. “And I don’t want to make this uncomfortable. I’ll keep some distance, if that’s what you need.”

But then Frankie shifted. A sudden, visible movement, like he was shaking something off.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, quickly. Too quickly, maybe. “I mean—unless you want to. But if it’s for my sake... Don’t. You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

He shook his head, once.

Your heart stuttered. “So what... What do we do about this, then?”

His sigh was quiet but heavy. He looked at the floor, then back at you.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said finally. “And I don’t think you do either.” He paused. “But what I said about starting fresh, I meant it. If that’s still something you want. If you’re okay with that... I don’t want you to pull away from me.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“No.”

You inhaled, staring down at your shoes. You didn’t want to distance yourself either.

Because even beneath the mess of feelings, Frankie had become your friend. Somehow. Unexpectedly. And maybe that surprised everyone, including you, but it didn’t make it less true.

And you weren’t ready to lose that.

“Okay,” you said, looking back at him. Your lips curved into something softer. “But only because you promised me a night out and a New Year’s kiss.”

His expression shifted,eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Oh, and When Harry Met Sally,” you added, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Never,” he said, shaking his head solemnly.

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoed. “Perfect.”

“But a couple of boundaries, buddy,” you said, raising a finger and tapping it gently beneath his chin, like you were drawing a line there with invisible ink. “You don’t get too flirty with me, and I won’t get too flirty with you.”

“Boundaries,” he tilted his head. “I actually know a thing or two about those.”

“Great,” you said. “Then prove it.”

Frankie pretended to consider this very seriously, his eyes glancing upward like he was trying to recall something important. Then he looked back at you.

“Okay. Starting tomorrow, no unnecessary flirting. Only if it’s vital. Absolutely essential. Then it’s permitted.”

You squinted at him. “Why tomorrow?”

“Because today’s saturday,” he said, with a shrug. “Doesn’t feel like a boundary-setting day. Too casual.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “And sunday is... what, sacred?”

“Sunday has structure,” he said, completely serious now, as if he genuinely believed it. “It’s a reset day.”

“Fine. Tomorrow it is.”

“Good,” he said, nodding once, like a contract had just been signed.

“Perfect.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward.

You cleared your throat. “Okay, can we go back to the movie now? One of the best parts is coming up.”

You pointed toward the living room with a casual flick of your hand, already turning your body in that direction like nothing had just happened. Frankie nodded, a crooked smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

You both stayed on the couch, watching the last stretch of the film, but you'd instinctively shifted just far enough apart to notice the distance. Not uncomfortable, just different from earlier.

The room had grown darker as the sun sank behind the buildings outside. The only light now came from the soft, flickering glow of the tv. You sat back, your legs tucked under you, arms crossed lightly over your stomach, trying to focus on the screen, though you couldn't say what scene you were watching. It all felt peripheral—dialogue, motion, soundtrack.

Still, the story carried on, as stories do. Anna stood in front of William. "I'm also just a girl standing in front of a boy..."—the line you’d heard a dozen times but still felt something for. And in the end, of course, they ended up together, as people do in movies.

The credits began to roll. Frankie stretched beside you, arms lifting above his head, fingers threading together as he arched his back just slightly. The movement made his t-shirt rise a little, revealing a line of skin at his waist before he relaxed again.

“What did you think?” you asked.

“I liked it,” he said after a beat. “Especially that scene with the seasons changing. When he's walking through the market.”

You lit up a little. “That’s one of my favorite parts. They actually filmed it all in one day. They built this camera rig on a track and timed the light and everything. It was specially designed just for that scene.”

He blinked, impressed. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Wild, right?”

He squinted slightly, as if trying to picture it in his mind, then let his gaze drift back to the television, now dim with the last names fading off the screen.

“I think I should head home,” he said finally, quiet and careful with his tone. Then, with a glance at you, “Did you have a good time today? Even with... you know. Everything after.”

“I had an amazing time, really. Thank you so much. I mean that.”

He smiled back. “It’s nothing. If you ever want to do it again, just tell me.”

“I will,” you said. And you meant it.

Frankie was gathering his things—wallet, keys, phone—as you followed him to the door. It was quiet in the apartment. You walked a step behind him as he moved down the stairs, watching the shape of him in motion—his shoulders as they rolled forward with each step, the back of his neck where his hair curled slightly at the edge, the way he carried himself.

It struck you how strange it was, in a quiet sort of way, that everything between you felt so oddly comfortable now. Even after everything. Even after you’d said what you said—put it out there like a raw nerve. There was no tightness in your chest, no embarrassment, no urgency to undo it. Just this lightness. He had this calmness about him. You didn’t understand it, especially considering that only a few weeks ago, a single glance from him was enough to set you off, twist your stomach into a knot of irritation or something dangerously close to it.

You opened the door, stepping aside to let him out. He moved through the frame but didn’t walk away immediately. He lingered, standing just beyond the doorway, his body angled toward you but unmoving.

“Text me when you get home,” you said.

“I will,” he replied, though he didn’t move. He was oddly still, as if something in him was caught mid-thought.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. He was watching you with this vaguely suspicious expression.

“What?” you asked, smiling without meaning to.

“It’s not even tomorrow yet.”

The words were quiet, almost incidental. And then, in the same breath, he stepped toward you. His hands found your face, fingers curling along your jaw with a kind of practiced gentleness, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant or testing. It was firm. Certain. There was hunger in it, yes, but it was contained—like he was holding himself back just enough to keep it from tipping into recklessness.

You melted into it. Let him kiss you like that. Let his mouth part yours, let his tongue find yours, let him take whatever he came for. And then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, he pulled back—not far, just enough to press a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, a gesture so tender it almost broke you in half.

You smiled, breathless. “You’re such a bastard.”

He grinned, apologetic. “I'm sorry. You’ve said worse things to me.”

You watched him as he walked off, his hand already fishing in his pocket for the car key, his back retreating into the night.

“See you after tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.

And then he was gone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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[teencopandthesourwolf]

WIP WEDNESDAY

from my sterek blood kink fic pink moon that i've been chipping away at for somewhere around the four hundred years mark lol.

i've not been around here, or written/arted owt in what feels like forever, due to life being a colossal bitch... but i am back, and goddamnit, i am trying!

.

Other than the Preserve's nocturnal animals, he and Stiles are now completely alone in the woods.

Hale woods.

The boy's bronze eyes are blown wider with each tongue-full of his blood that Derek swallows. Stiles licks at unbearably pink lips, slowly, purposefully, cheeks doing their damned best to match the rosy hue as Derek licks away at his arm.

Their shallow breaths are like firesmoke rising in the moonlight.

“You like it,” Stiles whispers. Knows.

Derek says nothing, just laps at the human's skin some more, sampling his prize good and proper. He only pauses to gulp down the pool of tangy red gathered underneath his tongue.

Now he has the heady knowledge, finally, deliciously, of precisely what it is Stiles's blood tastes of: sodium and iron and treacle, but also fresh earth and morning dew drops and mine.

Derek wants. Even worse than that, though, is the way he is just taking, taking, taking.

When Stiles's heart picks up the pace to a speed more Springbok than usual, Derek releases the vacuum of his blood-tinged lips with a resonating pop. The sound whips around the trees, defiantly, satisfyingly, echoing through the small glade in the northern part of the Preserve they're standing in, and Derek stupidly but unabashedly preens.

He's been obsessing over Stiles for some time now. Ever since way back when with the Kanima at the pool, truth be told. But he's always had so many reasons to hold back. Even after scenting Stiles's chemo-signals that suggested Stiles wants him too, Derek hasn't allowed himself to give into the pull of lust and fascination.

Stiles is seventeen, just a kid. With everything he's been through and seen, both before and after Derek—so much more than your average teen—and even if Derek was that age himself a mere three and a half years ago, he knows he shouldn't.

Stiles deserves a chance at something a damn sight better than Derek has to offer.

Unfortunately for Derek's resolve—and more than unfortunately for Stiles—once Derek got a whiff of this strangely new, more refined version of the boy, the primal urge to have this base component of Stiles's biology inside of him is just far too strong for him to ignore.

Stiles's blood is in his mouth, sliding like warm syrup down his throat, and Derek is starting to lose his shit.

He'll get fucked-up on wolfsbane-laced drink and drugs whenever he wants to forget, and he'll fuck his way around both straight and queer bars alike whenever the particular desire to have somebody under him strikes. But he's denied himself true pleasure for so very fucking long; how can he go back to saying no now he's had a taste?

The moon sings to him as he waits for the human to say or do something, anything, preparing himself to be challenged on what Stiles is likely thinking of as beastly behaviour.

Only Stiles doesn't challenge it.

He doesn't do or say anything at all, actually, which is kind of unprecedented. He opts only to watch Derek, carefully, as Derek continues to lap away at his blood, choosing to brutally gnaw on that unbearably plump bottom lip of his, bright eyes darkening and misting over as his chemo-signals spike and morph into something smoky-sweet that reminds Derek of incense, trailing mandevilla, and the feverish heat of sex.

In this moment, under a sky of wispy grey clouds and a full pink moon, Stiles looks, smells, and tastes like everything Derek could ever want or need.

Fuck.

.

tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @sharkfish @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @raisesomehale @dontcallpanic @heavensenthale @violetfairydust @renmackree @outtoshatter @superfluffycam-blog @seaweed-water @dear-massacre @princecharmingwinks @fuji09 @oldefashioned and anybody else who wants to do the thing!

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

The Greatest Fear of Man is the full Moon

Genre : Fluff

Summary : After being ripped out of your sleep by a bad dream, you look for comfort from your husband.

Notes : Fluff, angst if you squint, not really character death, toothrotting fluff, I wrote a lot this weekend lol, I always forget the established relationship tag, wife!reader

Take me to AO3

A clean break. There was no sound for it, and yet you knew it was there by staring into those empty eyes, you tried to look down but- your eyes widen as you looked at yourself in the thick red liquid. You stepped back, which made you trip into it, your robe stained and you tasted metal in your mouth. Your nails scratched against the dissapearing floorboards looking for anything that migth save you from your independing doom. And those lifeless eyes. Her lifeless eyes.

They were the last thing you saw.

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

Your eyelids were ripped open and your hand reached out to her side, to Arlecchinos side, only to discover well made sheets and coldness. You sat up, eyes flailing around the room. You were meet with the darkness outside of your window, not even stars remained. You took yourself back to the brigth hearth, it's cackling sounds. Better not to linger on a starless nigth. You turned the ring on your finger as you slid of the bed. Would it be childish to seek for her? You stopped binding the bow of your robe at the thougth. You shock your head, continuing. She wouldn't...send you away, rigth? You'd cry if she did, you'd cry alone but you'd still cry. You regretted not taking a candle with you as you went down the staircase, the rooms were equal to the outside. Arlecchino had once again not turned on any ligths. You yourself did not like brigth ligths, but a candle or two wouldn't hurt her Fatui image! You went through a few more rooms before reaching the one for dinning. You looked out of the windows and were meet with a brigth moon. You hummed. Maybe that was were the nigthmare came from. You continued to be quick on your feet, escaping the claws of darkness that were slowly creeping up on you, passing luxurious furniture and historical artifacts as if they were nothing. The stairs made sqeakie noises as you skipped each one. You looked over your shoulder, the moon had helped with the darkness, but you'd argue that, that white shine which reflected on the golds, blues and whites made it even worse. You only slowed down once you stood in front of the office.

Something, something "Numbers should be increased..." and "...mission needs more..."

You leaned your forehead against the door. So it was work related. Your previous determination was slowly being stripped down, revealing a bit of shame. You shouldn't bother her because of a stupid nigthmare...thus, the servants weren't being allowed in there when she was working, that same rule went for you when it was something important. And maybe this was important. You let go of the handle and moved back, only to hear a peticular loud squeak from one of the boards you stepped on. The voices hushed down into whispers and you swore that you could feel her gaze on your back. A few seconds passed before she called.

"Come in."

Maybe if you stayed quiet-

"I know it's you."

You dropped your shoulders. Of course she did. You turned back around and opened the door a sliver, looking through. You recognized a Fatui soldier and... you opened it up a little more, sticking your head in...her. "Hey.", you greeted.

She turned to the soldier, telling him to leave. Her closed the door behind him and you took his place in the chair opposite to hers. There was a typewriter on her desk, but she never used it, preferring quill and pen. The candle on her desk was lit, for her to write, of course. And there was a bookshelf where papers and, well, books were stored in.

"It wasn't important?", you asked, your eyes sweeping back to her and her tired eyes.

"Not really no, just another report. You weren't intruding."

You sighed, slumping a bit into the chair, fidgeting with your wedding ring. "Good."

She took her quill, sinking it into the ink. "Well, did you have a nigthmare, or did you seek me out to come to bed finally?"

"You know me that well already?"

"You are easy to read.", her left hand was out on the table, her well medicured nails laying still. You put yours down and inched it closer to hers, she took it in and started to stroke the back of your hand with her thumb. She smiled. Her hands were soft but rugged, she used a lot of hand creme, yet, it could not hide the regular use of her scythe.

"What are you writing about?"

You leaned forward, something, something rations, something, something food.

"Food for the orphanage. The children need to be feed."

"...can I help?"

"I'm nearly done.", she absent-mindedly pulled your hand closer to kiss your knuckles. A thank you, perhabs?

You looked behind her, at the city ligths, that big tree. You did not know why it made you recall your dream and squeeze her hand.

"Thinking about something unpleasant?"

"To put it ligthly..."

A crease appeared between her brows. "Do tell what that dream was about."

She put her quill down, her full focus on you now. You smiled.

"You've gotten good at this husband thing."

Her expression stayed neutral. "I'm trying my best...", something changed, something complicated. You asked yourself ; had she ever truly loved someone but you? It wasn't to your knowledge. So your smile softened.

"I see that." You sighed, recalling your dream.

"You died, in my dream."

It didn't face her. "Again? Darling, why do you dream of my death so much?"

You pulled your hand back. "Not funny. It is not as if I wanted to...it just happens.", you tried to recall yesterday, what migth have triggerd it. You had been at the orphanage for the morning, eaten with them and Arlechino dinner, to then finish some of your own paperwork, after that you took a walk at the beach and gathered some shells. Then you meet with her again at home and you talked about your day, you just decided to go to bed earlier than usual.

"You just- you just died, your neck was cracked and..." you looked down at the desk, avoiding her eyes, you migth cry if you don't.

She put the papers to the side into a neat pile. Her chair made nearly no sound as she set it back. Her finger tapped on its wood. You looked up. "Come here."

You were on her lap and in her arms within seconds.

"Would it be even possible?", you hid within the crock of her neck "Your death?"

One hand stroked your hair, the other held your thigh, making sure you wouldn't accidentally drop. "Well, I am not immortal, so, yes, I will die."

You shifted a bit, trying to get closer, she resumed the motion of her hands despite it.

"But, if you asked 'is it possible you migth be murdered' the answer would be quite different.", she leaned back into the chair, seemingly getting comfortable. "Because if I went into a figth with an archon...I'd say that they are no real match to me, and that if I pulled my strings rigth, I would be victorious.", she crossed her legs.

You looked up at her from your hiding place.

She smiled, looking down.

"This answer satisfies you, doesn't it?"

"It does.", she scratched your head and drowsiness started kicking in. "You should come to bed."

"And you could just stay here, I enjoy the view."

Your eyes were drooping and your heartbeat slowed, your body started to feel heavy. That sneaky bastard was using your tiredness against you, how manipulative, how mean, how... she kissed the top of your head and worked her coat around your form, as if it was a blanket. A little "I love you" was whispered into your ear, before she resumed her writing. The quill was scraping against the rough paper, that connected to her breathing and the soft sound of her heartbeat? Oh, it ended up lulling you to sleep, leaving you with one last thougth. How lovable.

[merakiui]

https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/765912899204038656/mera-react-with-memes-only-how-would-you-feel?source=share

In very typical "riddle only gets L's on this blog" fashion, i forgot to put riddle in the lineup LOL and the tags.... wait ..... imagine riddle as Frankenstein and skully as Frankensteins monster.... riddle makes darling a friend so u will be less lonely but unexpectedly the friend wont stop following you around, peeping on you, touching you etc.... riddle thinks its acceptable for now ... until he finds his creation with darlings legs hooked over his shoulder as skully pounds you into the mattress . Maybe riddle tries to pass skully off as your "child" together so it only makes sense when skullys got you in a full nelson and keeps chanting out "mommy~"

I was wondering where Riddle was in the lineup... T_T it must be fate that he's taking L after L on this blog,,, to be forgotten on the lineup and now Skully is stealing his wife not-so-subtly....... will he ever win!!! >_<

BUT AAAAAA!!!!! Maybe Riddle shouldn't have let Skully wander the house so much, and maybe he shouldn't have been so eager to show you his creation if he knew this would be the result of it. But Skully's a very curious creature and how was he supposed to know that seeing you in your undergarments would make him feel something (in his heart and below the belt)!! OTL Riddle who tries so hard to instill it in Skully that he and you are his "parents," so it's wrong to act in such a perverted manner towards anyone, really, but especially you. You're Riddle's, not Skully's. And that's just so frustrating to Skully sometimes. >:( he has the intelligence and wit to know it's wrong, but he's just so greedy with you sometimes, especially when Riddle isn't home.

Riddle was wary when Skully would kiss your hand constantly or trail after you everywhere like some sort of escort, but he supposes he's just being a gentleman, learning from the examples around him. And that was good! Riddle wants his creation to be well-mannered and articulate, which is why it pleases him when Skully picks up classic literature and excels in the core subjects. But he couldn't have anticipated chaste smooches on the hand would become so much more.

Omg full nelson with Skully....... so stupidly drunk on sex and his cock that always seems to stir up your insides in the best way. You spoil him too much, but you can't help it. You're weak to his smothering affections and how he fucks like an eager rabbit in heat, how cute he can be when he begs you to let him empty everything inside. And when he isn't fucking you into the mattress, he's very kind and helpful, the absolute sweetest. He has the right idea recognizing you and Riddle as his parents and caretakers, but he completely twists the meaning of what a mother should be. ^^;; you try to be gentle and explain it to him, but it's hard to get a word in when he's kissing you all over and burying his face in your tits and hitting your deepest spot, all while chanting "Mommy" over and over. You tell yourself you'll try again another time, but that time never seems to come.

Oooo and he's filled with so much angry jealousy when he spies on you and Riddle making love. If this continues, he might have to do something about his creator,,, his "father" who is loving you so sweetly it seems to make you forget all about your dear Skully. </3 aaaa maybe Riddle's scheming to dissect and disassemble his creation because he's become too dangerous and unstable. Also, he really wants him to stop fucking his wife!!!!!!

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you. | pt2

part 1 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // mild violence, reader is having an existential crisis, gi-hun is baby girl as always, lots of fluff but like also some slight angst lol a/n: i tried to keep readers backstory vague enough to be kinda relatable but also clear enough to understand their motives/struggles LOL i loved writing this chapter i hope u enjoy

Tug-of-war was like hell.

Almost all of you had died, that bottomless pit taunting and swallowing anyone who fell over the edge whole in the blink of an eye. Your team had clear disadvantages much to Sang-Woo's dismay, who struggled to hide the disdain in his eyes as he watched other teams build muscle whereas yours seemed to build... Outcasts.

Player 244 made you uneasy like a sinking boat in murky waters. Trepidation built up within you like a simmer into an inferno as the elevator climbed up to the planforms. You'd seen group after group perish and tumble over the edge, dragged down like sacks of led before the ropes were cut short, their lives along with it.

It was a close call. Even with Il-nam's strategic placement, even with Ali's strength combined with all of your own, it was close. Watching Gi-hun dangle over that cavern made your entire world stop.

But perhaps 244 had spoken some truth, because when you begged the Lord above to save him, he provided. Dragged Gi-hun right back to that platform and sent the other team spiraling to their dooms.

Your team managed a sour win.

It was hard to forget the look on your opponents faces as they fell, link by link.

Exhausted beyond belief, slick with sweat and heavy with your aching muscles, you were more than ready to get a nights sleep. Everyone was silent on the ride back down on the elevator. Silent during the walk back to the dormitioties.

This heaviness tainted your morale. You knew you shouldn't torture yourself over it- it was your life, or theirs. There wasn't a choice. But between your own rapidly crumbling resolve and 244's ramblings you were struggling to keep your composure.

You missed your neighborhood- which was funny, because you swore you spent years cursing it with your every breath. God, you missed your bed. Shitty as it was, it was yours.

Or maybe it was less longing for your bed and more missing the way you used to be able to sleep with both eyes closed. Staring up at your stained and leaking ceiling, you remembered being so miserable, telling yourself one day things would be different. You would come out on top. Now you'd give anything for it.

It was decided (much to your dismay) that you and Gi-hun would be the first pair to watch over your sleeping comrades. Your hearts were heavy. Your arms feel even heavier. Sore and aching. Gi-hun didn’t say much for a while afterwards. The woman with the long curly hair, Player 212, really put a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Before the game had even started you were already fed up with her. As you were sitting with your friends, debating who to invite to your team,

"You need some real muscle on your team, not these skinny girls," She'd harped. She'd plopped down beside you and slung an arm around your shoulder despite the way you grimaced and bristled. "You look pretty tough. The two of us could make a good team, yeah?"

She had nerve to do it after everyone witnessed the way she clung to 101 until he'd discarded her like trash. It made your skin crawl. And she didn't stop there, following you and your team around like a lost dog going on and on about absolutely nothing. You really didn't have the energy for it. No one did.

Even Ali had a snark up his sleeve, taunting her for being so unwilling to cooperate with Sang-woo’s quick thinking idea. You didn't think it was possible.

By the time lights out had come, everyone except you and Gi-hun were quick to fall asleep. It had been such a dreadful day, all you could do was pray tonight was different than the last.

You both sat side by side watching. Waiting.

Gi-hun’s eyes were farther away than you’d seen so far. The moment the lights went out, he’d stared off into the darkness, blinking every few seconds in an empty glare. It was odd to see him like that, and honestly sad to know a little bit of that warmth that had drawn you in so intensely had been distinguished. You could the games starting to weigh him down, the lines in his face growing deeper with each passing day.

Just before bed, everyone began to move their beds, forming barriers around every entrance of their forts. And your group did the same. During so, that man, player 101, approached Gi-hun. Taunted him, threatened him. Though it wasn't the first time they'd both had an intense interaction, something was different about the way Gi-hun spoke to him. He wasn't defensive, or apprehensive as 101 approached. He merely stared him down, unfaltering. Glared right into the barrel of that gun. 

“Can you really trust your team?” He asked, voice low and grave. “If that was me there, once the fighting starts to happen, you’d be the first person I’d go for.”

You’d never heard him sound like that before. It’s intimidating. And it worked. 101 stared hard as his team over his shoulder, watching them wrestle like buffoons while the rest of the room prepared their defensives. There was this dubiety in his eyes you hadn't seen yet, his usual sneer falling flat.

Gi-hun had changed, even if just by a little. Hard not to after everything. But you hate seeing the difference. Not so trusting. Not so naïve. 

But… he was still good. Still Gi-hun. 

You suppose you’ve changed too. Maybe in the opposite direction, though. You’d come in so confident and ready to take on anything and everything in your path. A train that wouldn’t stop for anybody. But for some reason you’d found yourself derailed. Whether if it was because you’d clearly overestimated your abilities, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure, but your priorities were shifting right before your own eyes.

In moments of great, great terror, your first fear wasn’t that your life was to be cut short. It was that someone else’s- one of your friends, would meet their demise. 

Even the fact that you were considering them your friends at all was a problem, and you knew it. But you couldn't help it. You valued them. It made you sick to your stomach with worry.

Why was letting people in so fucking hard? Granted you survived this somehow, would you always suffer like this?

Love, even platonically, was foreign. You felt like you couldn't cope, sometimes.

And it was all thanks to Gi-hun. Him and his heart. It was contagious, infected you like a sickness you couldn’t quite shake. Changing and manipulating the very core of your DNA. 

He’s still staring forward, unfocused and lost in thought and tense when you speak. 

“You alright?”

He damn near jumps when your voice cuts the silence. He stammers, recollecting himself from something you couldn’t place. 

“Hey.” You reach out, and you hesitate first, but you touch his arm. He turns to look at your hand, resting faint and unsure on his bicep. 

“This barricade,” he starts, with a shake in his voice. “It reminds me of… an old job I worked at.”

You tilt your head, a little piece of his puzzle shifting into place. 

He told you about his old job. How he'd sank over a decade into it making car parts, had a baby on the way, when suddenly a majority of the crew was fired- dropped off like trash. So naturally, they’d held a strike. 

It takes a moment for him to get it all out, but when he does, his eyes fall downcast. 

So much violence.

Your words betray your thoughts, soft coo’s of comfort even though the smart part of your brain demands you stop right there. 

It was becoming too real for you. Makes you squirm in your skin- you shouldn’t be learning all this about him. He’s crossing your barriers. But you can’t stop yourself. 

You realize, after he shares with you, that the weird disquiet in your gut isn’t brought on by conflicting feelings. It’s guilt. Guilt over the fact that he was so transparent, and raw with you. Meanwhile you lied about something as little as what dish of food you like. After all he had done for you, too. Took you in with a bright smile and never once led you astray. Saved your life during the night attacks. Held you when you couldn’t break yourself from the hysteria. 

Trusted you even when you didn't deserve it. That alone drove you do better, just for him.

He falls quiet again. 

“I lied.” You blurt suddenly. Gi-hun glances at you from the corners of his eyes. You chew the inside of your cheek, guilt eating away at your conscience. Man, he had really fucked up your game plan. “I, uh… I don’t really have a family. I never did.” 

He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read. Not anger, or confusion. It’s softer than that, but not quite happiness either. It makes your stomach roll. 

“I know.” Is all he says, nudging you with his elbow. 

He knew? This entire time? 

You blink at him. “How?”

“Everything you’ve said about your childhood has just been so… Unclear.” He sighs and leans forward, elbows on his crossed legs, eyes still scanning the room. “You’re so vague about your dad. You don’t even call your mom mom, just my mother. And- and, in the first game, you were one of the first to cross the line. And you already knew how to play tug-of-war! So I thought to myself, she doesn’t seem like she’s never played games!” He paused briefly, you stared at him slack jawed. Then, he smiles, and he laughs and it rings through your ears. He turns towards you. “And if you really stayed inside reading and coloring all day, dalgona would have been a breeze for you.”

For a long moment, you’re bewildered. He was so observant and you hadn’t even noticed it. The gears in his mind were always turning, eyes always watching.

“You never tried to trip me up.” At first it’s supposed to be a question, but it leaves your lips like more of a statement, or more of an appreciation.

“I'm sure you have your reasons.”

You stare at your lap. This level of consideration and thoughtfulness was new to you, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it. Your cheeks warm up, your breath quickens. He had such a way of drawing you in, even despite your brain warning you to do otherwise. To keep him at an arm's length.

But you don't want him at arms length. Sometimes, when you're lost in thought in the quiet moments that grow more rare by the day, even an inch seems too far away.

“So why are you here, then?” He asks. 

You have this knee jerk reaction to lie through your teeth again. But then you see the way he's looking at you, studying you, taking in every curve of your face, and suddenly you can’t bring yourself to.

“To prove to myself, and to everyone else, that I’m not worthless.” Your voice is so small. 

“Who is everyone else?” 

You shrug. You honestly don’t even know the answer to that, yourself. 

“Are your parents even alive?” He suddenly asks, and the abrupt question almost knocks the wind from you. 

“No.” You answer plainly. Then, you start again. “Well, I don’t know. My dad died when I was a baby and my mom…” You chew the inside of your cheek, ignoring the sore spot you’re starting to create. “She may as well be. I haven't seen her in years. We don’t talk.”

You expect him to sneer at your answer the same way almost everyone else does. You never talk to her? you can already hear him saying. What kind of daughter cuts contact with her own mother?

But, once again, he shocks you. He seems to do that a lot. After a beat of silence, he says, “Ah, So it’s like that, huh? I get it. Relationships are hard. You try to do your best, but…”

Your heart rate picks up again. He gets it. The end of his sentence falls off and you’re sure you could finish it for him if you had to. The same boat. 

Relationships are hard.

“Do you talk to your mom?” You ask quickly, trying to hop away from the topic of your own mother before that annoying lump forms in your throat as it always did when you actually put thought into the whole ordeal. He nodded. 

“She lives with me. Er, or, well, I live with her. She’s been struggling with some medical issues over the weeks but she’s still just as stubborn as always.” His eyes are far away now, somehow softer than before. You feel like you’re at the edge of your seat. “That’s why I came here. She needs surgery but, well… I’ve been… A lousy son, I suppose.” 

He tells you bits of his life in bite sized moments. You learn about his issues with gambling, his struggles with finances. The up’s, the downs, the rock bottoms. How the strike, the violence he’d seen that day had been a catalyst for years of struggling.  Stealing money from his own mom to fuel his addictions, losing custody of his daughter. Missing her birth. 

She’s moving to America, He’d sighed, forlorn with fleeting tears soaking his waterlines. 

It's shocked how much he's willing to tell you. It's almost like he'd been waiting for someone to ask. Or maybe, waiting for someone to actually give a shit.

For some reason, your heart hurts for him. This was his shot to really make it up to those he’d wronged in his life. To spoil and give rather than to cheat and steal. It made your reasoning feel so much less… Worthy. Petty. The moment your mental scale begins to teeter in his favor, your brain tries to fire off the flares all over again. 

You shouldn’t be doing this- bonding with him.

But it’s hard. You want to know everything there is to know. 

There could only be one winner.

And suddenly, the thought that used to bring you comfort, pains you. 

Only one.

Unease planting seeds in your chest, the vines worming their way through your resolve. How cold you’d felt when he was in danger, how you threw yourself in harm's way to help him without even thinking. It was beyond survival. You liked him. Felt for him. Put his life above your own, even if it was just for a second. 

You were supposed to be the one to make it. You, not him. But, oh god, the way he looks at you. Like you’re something actually worth giving a damn about. Someone worth listening to. The way you want to spill every last secret to him. The way you want to know every last bit of him down to the minute detail.  

Fuck, you dont want him to die. 

You were screwed. 

You should sit in silence, and stop this conversation dead in his tracks and get some sleep trying to fight away the conflicting thoughts of him you harbored. But you don’t. 

He tells you stories of his time at bootcamp, with his best friend, Jung-bae. Some were funny, some were a bit scary. At least the way he told it, anyways. All of them successfully blanketing you from the harsh reality that was the games momentarily. You giggled and leaned towards him subconsciously, opening up to him. Letting him in, bit by bit. So you give just a little more of yourself. Tell him stories of your days spent playing in the afternoon sun. Ball, tag, wrestling, tug-of-war. Always covered in bruises and scrapes and always running on an empty stomach, but never really giving a damn. Once you broke your foot jumping from the top of the swings, trying to land farther than your friend had. You did, in fact, draw a farther line in the sand. It was too bad your ankle had to bear the consequences for it.

Gi-hun couldn’t help but laugh at your wild stories growing up free. That’s what you preferred to call it, anyways. Free. And definitely not neglected. 

That’s when he also told you a particularly funny story. One that he didn’t find funny at all but it made you have to cover your mouth while he went over the details. While he was learning to dance for his wedding, he once fell on his instructor, a woman, and he’d fallen just right and broke the poor lady's arm. He remembered how she cursed at him as she was taken to the hospital, demanding he find a new instructor. 

“Guess I didn’t miss out on anything, then.” You snorted, quietly, trying to keep your voice down. He shook his head, trying to shove the bad memory out of his mind. His eyes settled on you. Low, forbearing.

“Missed out?”

“I never learned to dance.” You chirp, leaning back on your palms, like it’s something to be proud of. 

“You really don’t know how to dance?” He asks, incredulous, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. 

You shake your head. “Nope. Never had a reason to.”

He faces forward into the vast span of the dormitory, nibbling his lip in thought. You wonder what he’s thinking. Probably mulling over the fact that you laughed at his not-so-funny-but-also-super-funny story. You almost worry you’d offended him somehow, but then he finally speaks up.

“You should learn how to dance.”

Wow, he’s really stuck on that, isn’t he?

"I'm fine." You scoff. “Not like it matters, any. Look where we are.”

“I can teach you.” 

You freeze.

“What?” Now it’s your turn for your eyebrow to raise. 

“I’ll teach you.”

You’re sputtering for a reply, unsure what to say, or even do, next. The room is suddenly uncannily silent, your friends breathing in tandem around you. The next thing you know, the option is being stripped from you. He stands up and grasps your hand, drags you up with him. He looms over you, and for some reason it only just now strikes you that he’s got almost a full head of height over you. He’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of him through his tracksuit, hands finding your shoulders.

“It’s easy,” he hums, like you aren’t on watch for your lives. Carefree as a child. He makes it easy to forget your lives are constantly at stake. “Hold, here.” He brings your arm up over his torso, rests it on his neck. You flush a furious red. Was this seriously happening? Right now?

Why are you just letting him do this?

You try to keep your breathing under control when he runs his fingers down your other arm, captures your hand in his and brings it up. His hand is warm and soft. Fitting for him. You feel like you’re going to combust. It gets even worse when snakes his other arm around your waist and bumps you against him, nearly chest to chest now. Surely, he could hear your heart hammering away in the cage of your ribs. And surely you’re gaping up at him like a awe-struck fool. He, on the other hand, beams with a sort of tender glee you've never had the pleasure of witnessing until now.

“Follow my lead. It’s easy. Take a step back when I take a step forward, take a step forward when I step back. Like this, see?”

You’re barely even registering what he’s saying. Too caught up in how you can hear his quiet breaths and the way his thumb is making idle circles into your waist.

He’s killing you. He’s killing you. 

And he’s leading you. Tugging you along with every step. Backwards, forwards. You’re fighting to keep your breathing under control but he captures almost all your attention, eyes on yours. It feels like time isn’t real. As if it’s just you and him. He’s humming something, just barely audible, but there none the less. You don’t recognize the tune, but you realize he’s following the rhythm of it, stepping in time with the tune. You chest feels full. You imagine him from years ago, nervous and misaligned and anxious for his wedding. You imagine his eyes so full of life and shining with love. 

Carefully, he starts to turn, guiding you by your waist. You can’t believe it’s this simple- you can’t believe you’d never had this before. Always on the sidelines, never under the spotlight. Never having anyone's arms wrapped around you. You always told yourself it never bothered you- you didn't need anyone but yourself. No one would ever understand you, no one would ever be worth changing for. 

A fugacious life full of loneliness so profound you wore it like armor.

But now that you’re here, following Gi-hun’s every little movement, leaning into him, flushed tomato red with shaking hands and racing thoughts, you don’t know… Maybe you have been missing out. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room is so alien it feels almost wrong. Like this sort of intimacy wasn't made with you in mind. It takes your breath away. 

You wonder how you're supposed to go through the rest of your life without it.

Ali rolls over in his sleep.

You're supposed to be watching.  

It’s like being thrown into cold water. Your heart lurches as your line of sight snaps at the sound, suddenly acutely, painfully aware. The façade is broken. 

Gi-hun could die at any moment. 

You suddenly feel sick to your stomach. 

“Where’d you go?” His voice drags you back to him. You meet his gaze once more, concerned. “There you are. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? What’s fucking wrong?

“I-...” Your gaze flickers anxiously between him and the wide open space just outside of the bunk bed barrier. Anyone could just show up, anytime. You wouldn’t be ready. 

Have you always been this neurotic?

You misstep. 

Your stomach drops at the feeling of losing your balance, but he’s quick to catch you, jumps forward and you fall into his chest, your gasp muffled in the fabric of his top. With your ear pressed to him, you both hear and feel the rumble of his quiet laughter.

It’s soothing in the way you imagine car rides are for infants, a wave of tension leaving you in one deep breath. 

“It’s okay. I did the same thing.” He murmurs, and he says it so delicately it makes you nearly recoil. 

“H-” You flounder in your attempt to speak, having to settle yourself before you try again. “Hopefully no one breaks an arm this time, right?”

His grip, even if he doesn't realize it, tightens around your waist. He shakes his head. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Is not.”

“...A little bit.”

Gi-hun sighs into the crown of your head. You realize, with a stuttering heave of your chest, that he’s pressed his lips to your scalp. And he’s smiling- you can feel it. He’s swaying back and forth with you tucked against him like you’d done it a thousand times before. Your mind races and stills all at once. Your heart can’t decide if it wants to drop in foreboding gloom, or if it wants to flutter. Maybe both. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

You aren’t sure how he’s managed to worm his way under your skin like this. Even more so confusing, why you’re letting him. God, it was so easy to let him. There was something different about him- like, if light were to be a person, it’d be him. If love were to be a person, it had to be him. 

Long ago you’d told yourself you’d never be vulnerable for anyone, ever. 

But. It had to be him. 

Back, forward. Left, right. 

You can’t help the way your lips upturn when his pets his hand down your lower back comfortingly. He drags it out of you like a snake to a song even when you’re upset. Even when you’re scared- and god, have you been downright terrified over the days. 

You wished you could dance like this forever. 

Back, forward. Left. Right.

Ali stirs again from the floor. Him and Sang-Woo would soon take over, and you’d be given the grace of getting some real sleep in before tomorrow came and you’d find yourself faced with-

Don’t think about that right now.

Your brain puts the breaks on your spiral. You’re not sure when it learned how to do that. 

Just focus on right now.

Gi-hun’s gentle breathing, ghosting over your hair. His hand on your waist, the other clasped with yours oh so sweetly. 

Back. Forward. Left. Right.

You shut your eyes and press your face into his chest. This could be the first, and the last time.

You let yourself have this. 

Time slows again. It’s just him. He begins to hum again, and you teeter on every note. 

“Ready for the best part?” 

His voice is just a whisper, but you’re confused, because how could it possibly get any better than this?

Your conjoined hands are brought down between your chests, gently pushing you backwards. Without his arm wrapped around your waist, you try your best to not stumble, watching him with a strained expression, unsure what to do next. His eyes crease at the corners in excitement, and then, he spins you.

It’s slow, and it’s choppy as you struggle to not topple over, but you spin. Once, then twice. The dormitory is just a nonexistent blur of darkness, Gi-hun’s hand the only thing in this world truly anchoring you. It feels beautiful. After the third spin, it feels dizzying. Then you’re fished right back into his arms, his lips pressed against the top of your head once more. And that… That feels perfect.

Meant to be. 

“Woah.” You say into his chest, partially referring to the light feeling in your head, partially referring to the way you’re in active motion of understanding the true depths of your feelings for the man before you. He chuckles at your amazement.

“Pretty fun, right?” 

You wished you could stay right there. Prayed that somehow, tomorrow wouldn’t come. Or that it’d be different. Anything but what you know is coming. You don’t know if you could bear to see him get hurt. At this point, you weren't sure if you could handle seeing any of your little rag-tag group get hurt. The night everyone had slaughtered one another like animals… the way you felt knowing their lives were on the line.. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. 

You’d never cared before. It’s a difficult feeling to navigate- a concoction of adoration and trust blending and twisting with non-stop anxiety for their wellbeing. 

To have is to lose. You never had much in your life. But, the things that were yours, you were so tired of losing. 

You can't lose this.

When Gi-hun separates from you, it takes all your willpower to not chase him. He sets his broads hands on each of your shoulders, and you gaze up to find his line of sight. You can’t read his expression- something far away, or maybe something close, at the tip of his tongue. His thumbs brush the sides of your neck. 

You'd never had the urge to kiss someone, but it's there now.

But then, Ali sit’s up and yawns with a wide, broad stretch. Gi-hun’s hands leave you- and you’re suddenly aware how cold you are. Everything just feels wrong, disappointment dragging a frown out of your previous smile.

But you greet your friend regardless, crouching down in front of him as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Your turn?” You breathe. He nods. There’s no mistaking the let-down that thrums at your heart. 

Gi-hun leans down to tap at Sang-woo’s shoulder. The sleeping man rises in silence and he's quickly sitting up without so much as a groan. The moment his eyes opened, he did a head count, his eyes settling on you afterwards.

“It’s been quiet.” You already know what he’s going to ask, so you beat him to it. 

He nods once, eyes passing between you Gi-hun quickly. “Good. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

So cynical.

Even if he was right- you found the taste in your mouth always so much more bitter when Sang-woo spoke than when Gi-hun did. 

Despite it, you agree.

Gi-hun lays down before you do. Practically throws himself on the ground with an oof. You take more care, kneeling down before you plop onto your side and let out a breath of content. 

Ali’s voice is low from where you had been moments before, murmuring something to Sang-woo. You can barely see the outline of them sitting side by side. What you can see, however, is Gi-hun rolling onto his side to face you. His expression looks deeper, eyebrows furrowed in thought like something was truly eating at him. You tilt your head and prop yourself on your elbow. 

“You okay?” 

He stares at you. 

“Is your favorite food really Bulgogi?”

“No.” You snort. There he went, surprising you again. He was such a strange man. A strange man that really gave a damn about your likes and dislikes. The thought of food makes you hungry, and you remember your favorite dish your friend's mom would prepare now and then. It was one of the few warmer memories you’d stored. “...It’s grilled fish.” 

His eyes light up. It makes your heart swell. “Mine too. Grilled mackerel.”

“I can’t say I’ve had mackerel.” You murmur, eyes starting to slip shut.

“Yet.” He’s quick to retort. 

You blink at him. Something bittersweet and knowing blooms in your belly, but you echo him regardless.

“Yet.” 

It's a promise of some sort. You're sure of it.

He smiles again, something real and dear, before he rolls on his back and hums. That same little tune he’d played in the soundtrack of his mind while he brought you to himself and danced like there wasn’t a care in the world. It makes you happy. Content. 

He’s the last thing you think of before you fall asleep. You don’t even try to force the reoccurring lovely thoughts away, either. In fact you’re almost too happy to welcome them in, allow him to infect your dreams and hurdle over every wall you’ve built to keep yourself safe. 

Only one winner gnaws at you from somewhere deep and buried in your brain. 

Your eyes crack open to stare at the high ceiling overhead that seems to be lost in the darkness. 

You were so damn screwed.

[seangelfish]

WHEN THEIR S/O GETS JEALOUS

Featured characters: Kaoru Hakaze, Rinne Amagi ♡ Tags: (Mild) angst to fluff, established relationships (separate), fem reader (she/her pronouns), not proofread. ♡ Word count: 1,023 (Kaoru), 711 (Rinne) ♡ Synopsis: Short fics of the characters' s/o getting jealous through misunderstandings or just on purpose. A/N: Needed to clean my drafts (again) lol

KAORU HAKAZE – Accidentally making you jealous

Situated in the middle of the Ensemble Square lobby, you took a seat on one of the vacant couches. You were waiting for your boyfriend to walk you home like he usually does, but he was oddly late today. Normally, he would be the one waiting for you in the lobby, so you assumed that he just had more work to do. You didn't mind waiting for him. After all, he is an idol and he was bound to be quite busy rehearsing with the rest of UNDEAD or doing some other solo work.

However, it had already been 15 minutes and he still hadn't shown up. You were getting agitated especially because he hadn't replied to your messages asking him where he was. And the worst part? He has seen those messages too!

Today had been a draining day working at Cos Pro and all you wanted was to be with Kaoru, to be held and comforted by him. So why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he replying to your messages? ...Did he forget? No, Kaoru would never!

You decided to wait for him for another five minutes. If he didn't arrive by five minutes, you were just going to go home by yourself even if Kaoru has told you multiple times not to walk home by yourself at night.

Oh, if only he would pick your calls up too... which he didn't.

Kaoru never showed up within those five minutes you spared him. You sighed but attempted not to show your frustration. You walked out of the building and was greeted by an indigo night sky scattered with stars. It would've been nice to watch these skies with your boyfriend... if he were here with you.

You continued to make your way to the bus stop but came to an immediate stop. A few metres away stood Anzu, a fellow producer at Ensemble Square, accompanied by someone you knew fairly well - Kaoru.

"Oh, I get it," you muttered to yourself, annoyance spewing out of your system. "So that's why he never showed up."

Before the two of you started dating, people titled Kaoru a 'lady's boy' as he was constantly surrounded by girls and would do anything for their attention. But you've acknowledged that those days of his were over, it's the fact that before your relationship, he had this obvious crush on Anzu.

Is he still hung up over that? Is that why he's with her and not you? His actual girlfriend?

Were you just his second option?

You didn't know what to do at that moment. You wanted to cause a ruckus, to yell at your boyfriend, but your insecurities kept telling you that if you did, it would make him like her even more.

So you just stood there pathetically, watching them speak to each other with sweet smiles on their faces. At that moment, Kaoru turned around and his eyes fell on you instantly.

"(Y/N)-"

"I've waited so long for you, Kaoru. I texted you multiple times asking where you were, but here you are," you began. "You're so annoying. You should've just told me you didn't like me anymore..."

"W-Wait, what?" he questioned before realising the situation from your perspective. "(Y/N), did you not get my message?"

"You didn't send me a message at all."

Kaoru checked his phone and you were right, there were no messages delivered to you, but what you didn't know was that he did send you a message, it just didn't send due to an error. He explained that he was going to get you, but he did get caught up in a lot of work which Anzu was a part of. So when that was finished, he decided to walk her to the bus stop before retrieving you. After all, he stood by his words - girls shouldn't walk themselves alone at night.

After the two of you bid farewell to Anzu whose bus arrived, Kaoru continued.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I had my phone on silent too so I didn't know you called. I was the one who should've called," said Kaoru with such sorrow in his voice. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine how you felt when you saw me here with Producer instead of you."

Kaoru has always been correct with your emotions and reactions, and he was spot on with this one too. Perhaps it's because he knows female emotions more than the average male as he was always with them during high school.

It was silent for a moment. Kaoru was getting increasingly nervous at how quiet you were being. He tried reaching for you, but you'd take a step back each time he did.

"Do you still like her?" you asked.

"What...? Of course not," he said. "The only girl I love is you, (Y/N). The only girl I will ever long for is you. The Producer is just a friend to me now, nothing more. You're all I ever want, all I ever see. I'm sorry that this situation has made you lose your trust in me. I will do better to show you that you mean the world to me."

Kaoru always had a way with words. He seemed remorseful too, for leaving you in the lobby. Well, you supposed he didn't do it out of malice, and his words were sincere.

You took a step closer to him. "You're sure that I'm not your second option?"

He wrapped his arms around you and you let him. "You were never an option to begin with. I just knew you were the one."

After all, when he saw you were there at the bus stop with him, his eyes instantly lit up just like the stars in the sky. You may not have noticed this, but everyone around you did. Kaoru only had eyes for you and you only.

"To make it up to you, I'll sleep over at yours tonight, okay?" he suggested in which cheered you up quickly. The two of you held hands throughout the rest of the journey back to your place, happy in each others' presence.

RINNE AMAGI – Purposefully making you jealous

You hummed to yourself happily, carrying a packed lunch between your fingers. You decided to surprise your boyfriend with a homemade lunch box since he usually buys himself lunch at the cafeteria, and it would be nice if he had a home-cooked meal from time to time.

You waited for him at the cafeteria with a smile on your face as you tapped on the lunch box excitedly. You couldn't wait to see his face when you surprise him with lunch. Imagining how he'll thank you by patting your head made you feel giddy.

When Rinne finally appeared, you stood up from your seat to call him over, waving your hands to get his attention. There wasn't too many people at the cafeteria, so he should be able to spot you without any difficulty.

His eyes lit up and his lips curled into a smile. "Ah," he said as he headed towards you.

As you opened your arms, expecting him to engulf you into a hug, he completely ignored you and passed by you without second thought.

“There you are, onee-san!” he greeted.

You turned around, confused by his behaviour. Your arms drop to your sides as you find him beginning to spread his arms wide for Anzu, the producer who was currently eating her lunch at one of the tables behind you.

You stand in your spot, completely speechless. Your hands began to tingle as your eyes threatened to spill tears.

"Oh..." you muttered.

You quickly walked away from your table, leaving the lunch box behind. Thoughts about your relationship with Rinne spun in your head. It wasn't as if he didn't see you. He purposefully ignored you and went straight to Anzu. But what about you, his girlfriend? What was he trying to imply by doing that? Is he already throwing you away for his producer?

"(Y/N)!"

A hand grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks. Rinne turned you around to face him.

"I was kidding!" he blurted out. "Sorry, sorry. I thought it would be funny!"

You stayed silent, your eyes focused on the ground. He didn't sound too sincere. Your hands clutched themselves into fists as your nails dug deep into your palms. Rinne was aware of this. He took your hands in his to slowly unfold them from their current position.

"(Y/N)~" he sang. "Come on, look at me..."

He held your chin up so he could look you in the eyes, but is surprised when he found out that those eyes of yours were coated in tears. Immediately, he brought you to his embrace, stroking your back apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "(Y/N), I'm sorry."

The sincerity in his voice was apparent now.

You gripped onto his shirt angrily. "You're not funny..." you hissed. "That wasn't funny."

"You're right. It wasn't. What could I do to make it up to you, huh?" he said softly. He let you go so he could cup your face to plant a kiss on your lips. You avoided his affection by not returning the kiss. "You looked so happy when you saw me too... Argh, I feel really bad now."

"You should..." you mumbled, returning back to your table to show him the lunch box you made for him. "I even cooked you something for lunch too and this is what you pull?"

Rinne is able to read the room well, but he just couldn't help it. A laugh erupted from inside him. You were just too cute!

"Kyahaha, you cooked me lunch?!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Aww, that's so cute. My girlfriend's the best!"

He hugged you from the side in order to kiss you on the temple. A small smile appeared on your face, but you tried looking away so he wouldn't be able to see it. Rinne saw it alright.

"(Y/N), I love you," he said in his most serious tone. "I'm sorry for what I pulled on you, but let's enjoy this lunch together, okay? I'm hungry for what you cooked me!"

You rolled your eyes, but mimicked the grin on his face. Despite Rinne's childish antics, you appreciated how quickly he is able to make you smile again. The two of you eat lunch together, laughing at each other's jokes and stories.

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

[emmg]

wip wednesday

tagged by my enabler @heylittleriotact hehe who has already also tagged some of my faves so I'll just add @lavenderprose @mindtrove @seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana and fave Raphael provider @adinfernumadinfinitum

This is, uh, from that Emmlich x Rook creepy one-shot I'm sort of playing around with whenever I feel like it lol. Still trying to work out the intricacies of lich sex (what a weird thing to write lmfao) because while it may not be 100% my thing, I think it's important to address the change in intimacy. But while I think that through, here's whatever this is.

Under the cut for waking up next to a fucking skeleton

Not all moments are beautiful.

Once, she wakes in the ink-black hours of night, disoriented, floating somewhere between dream and memory. Her hand reaches out instinctively, searching for him, because surely, he must be there. Shouldn't he always be there? That’s what lovers do when they share a bed. They remain.

And yes, he is there. He is always there. Emmrich does not sleep; he merely keeps her company through the hours when she drifts and he does not. But her mind is thick with the fog of waking, her thoughts unwritten, and in that brief, horrible moment, she forgets. Everything. The color of her hair. The sound of her name. And him—him most of all. She turns her head, and her eyes catch on his face, his real face, in its eternal, grotesque stillness. And she screams.

She flings herself away, blind with panic, and chaos follows her. Her temple cracks against the nightstand; the edge of the floor kisses her forehead; her nose blooms with pain as it meets the ground. A wetness spreads across her face, metallic and hot, and she tastes it—the blood—before she understands anything else. It coats her lips, slides over her teeth, drips slow and thick down her chin.

Somewhere above her, his voice unfurls, trembling at the edges, full of apologies that she feels she does not deserve. “Oh, dearest... Hush now, it’s all right, all right, I am so sorry, so terribly sorry...” His hands are upon her, impossibly light, as if afraid that any pressure might shatter her further. One rests between her shoulder blades while the other lifts to hover above her broken nose. A faint, flickering heat flows from his fingers, a quiet, mending magic that knits her back together as though nothing had happened.

“I forgot,” she whispers through the haze of shame and iron on her tongue. “I forgot—I didn’t—oh, Emmrich, fuck, fuck, I wasn’t awake, I didn’t know—I just saw—I love you, I love you—it was just so dark, and—and—and— ”

“Enough,” he says, gently cutting her off. “It is nothing, my love, nothing. You are safe. Hush now.” His hands work steadily, mopping the sticky, congealing blood beneath her nose with a handkerchief. It is a small and useless luxury from a life he no longer has need for but keeps anyway, because perhaps some objects are anchors in a sea of unbeing. “My poor darling... Perhaps I should keep a candle lit. Yes, that would be wise, don’t you think?”

She nods, quickly, furiously, her hair falling into her face. Yes, a candle. That would be good. Very good. She almost asks for something more. Almost begs him to keep his glamour, the sweet illusion of his past face, always in place, but she swallows the words, tasting their bitterness as they go down. It wouldn't be kind to him.

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

A witchcraft basics doc; update, resource call, interest check, and a possible second doc

Bet most of you didn't even know I was working on this >:D

Yes this is a huge post. It's a lot of things.

So, one of my first posts ever on this blog was me mentioning that a friend of mine had NO clue what they were signing up for when asking for the basics of witchcraft. The google doc I wrote took on a life of its own, and the post did as well when people started asking for it. I still plan to tag said people when I post it, assuming they haven't deactivated. The thing is, this doc had become a proper project, and it took a long time for me to have the motivation to work on it again. Now, though, it seems to me like a damn good way to reconnect to my craft after a rut! (which, by the way, is why I've been offline.)

So, my first post back is for a couple of reasons. For one, if you have any resources you'd think would be useful for beginner witches, feel free to shoot me an ask, DM, or comment/reblog on this post! I'll have a list of things I'm putting in the doc (taking recommendations there as well) at the bottom of this post.

The other thing is that I might end up making a second doc, one that's a little less "101" in vibe. It would have a MAJOR MAJOR UPG warning on it, first off, and I'm not sure whether or not I would be marking any UPG either since this would essentially be a second Grimoire/Book of Shadows for me that would be public to others for the sake of sharing information! I can't say I'd call it "advanced witchcraft" by any means, I'm not very fancy lol, but I don't want the basics doc to get too overwhelming. I do, however, want to scream about random witchcraft topics that interest me. So this is also a bit of an interest check for that, as well as the basics doc.

FINAL NOTE: I fully plan on posting this basics doc before it's done. Some sections will be unwritten or unfinished, because if I wait until I find it "finished" I'll never post it. It's going to be added onto whenever I can, but I feel as though getting it out is the best course of action.

A list of stuff in the doc that I'd take resources on (AKA everything planned in it) with * by anything that will be left unwritten/unfinished on purpose until I know more. I will take resources and recommendations on EVERYTHING though. This is in no particular order:

grounding and centering

VOCAB (intention, intuition, UPG/SPG/VPG, appropriation. probably others I'm forgetting.

candle, plant, crystals and safety* (as well as any other tools one might need safety tips for. This is left completely unwritten as I use very few tools of this type.)

deity work* (the whole debate surrounding when to start, as well as information about it. Will include smth about house rules/boundaries. My work is very casual, I'd love to see different POV's of this! This is by nature left unfinished because deity work is so unique to the witch.)

grimoire/book of shadows

tools of the craft* (common tools and how to use them consumerism in witchcraft, etc.)

cleansing

appropriation* (I don't know near enough about this, I just check what's in my own practice. I would like this to include a list of commonly appropriated closed practices, a definition of appropriation and why it shouldn't be done, open pantheons, and common open practices.)

spellwork*

meditation

where someone could go from here* (including sigils, tarot, crystals bc my friend likes rocks lol, maybe astrology but oh god I have nothing about that it makes my brain hurt just looking at an astrology chart /pos. I will probably make a list of stuff that I could add in this section.)

casual/daily/quick/low energy practices and witchcraft

paganism and witchcraft; overlap, what they are individually, why one might be for you rather than the other, etc.*

there'd be a credit section for anyone who wants to be credited for links/resources at the end! If you send me resources plz specify if you want to be included in that or not.

Things I might include in the second doc if I make it:

the craft and mental health and my experiences with it

things commonly touched on in the community (your deities don't hate you, cycles of inactivity and burnout, other things I'm forgetting rn)

deity-specific things, more specific topics of the craft, etc. yet another reminder that this would all include UPG, possibly unmarked, because it would basically be primarily used to give me motivation to research more.

[different-wonderland-sweets]

Can I request a Underfell Grillby with a water spirit/elemental SO?

Anon. Of course you may.

I never thought this day would come. I had to pause and be like "do i... write fanfic? Do people know I DO that on Tumblr dot com?". Then I realized it doesn't matter, because they will. I still don't know why everyone loves my intersex reader one-shot but I'm happy to do more lmao

Sorry that it took me several eternities to see and write this, I never thought I'd have this opportunity. It would be funny, though, if you accidentally sent the ask to me instead of your fav writer lol

Favorable Conditions– Underfell Grillby x Water Spirit/Elemental S/O Oneshot

Warning(s)/General Tags: Description on how a Water Elemental/Spirit Eats, Strangers to Friends, Mutual Pining, I forget how I initially characterized this AU Grillby so sorry if it's inconsistent, maybe OOC Grillby but I like to think not

He was closing the bar per usual and taking the time to stretch. 'Fuck, my back hurts,' he thought, flames crackling brighter.

-- -- --

From safe kitchen doors, I peak my head out to investigate the noise. The purple-flamed monster turns his head disinterestedly to see the water spirit that's been staying with him aboveground.

And he smiles at me, making my form melt.

"Looking for more work?" He teases, giving a wicked smirk. I point to the kitchen to tell him what's wrong, which garners Grillby's attention. He, also quietly, approaches me and leans close to see what I'm pointing at. He's so close, it kind of distracts me. So close, I can feel him without hurting anyone...

And Grillby realizes the problem. I was not very compatible with his grill and hoped to clean it, but I don't have any gloves that would fit me for this task.

The gloves he usually wears while cleaning his grill wouldn't work either as I usually can't grip larger accessories—

Ugh, he just knew this day would be a pain in the ass.

"The grill isn't going to burn you and it shouldn't be hot anymore. You could probably still wash the grill if you wanted to," he muses, "with you being made of water. You know where I keep the dish soap, and the baking soda is..." He trails off. And blinks at me, owlishly.

"What?" He askes, rather confused by my face.

"...I can't exactly touch dish soap. Tasting it wouldn't hurt, but it would be a hard taste to be rid of, and it can get everywhere—" "You what." He just. Blinks again at me.

Now it's my turn to look at him with confusion.

"Don't you eat with your fire?" I ask. He chuckles at that. "No? And come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen you eat!" He thinks aloud. Then he rushes into the kitchen and grabs something out of the fridge, wincing at the coldness and moving it between his hands. He moves it to the countertop and places some chicken nuggets in a pan under a grill grate, closest to where the fire will be.

Then, there's fire.

I watch, quite dumbfounded at his excitement to make these chicken nuggets, that I leer closer at the flames and the way his body moves. It's enthustic, wanting to bubble with laughter, but that same care is always there. No matter what he makes, who he makes it for, the love of his craft and especially the love of who he might make it for is obviously there.

It can be easily seen that he's not just heating up chicken nuggets as a joke towards some stranger— he seems genuinely excited about our time after working hours. Even if he clearly wants to play it off as a joke to laugh at me.

No, Grillby was much more good-natured than he let on. His willingness to engage with me, despite the cultural oddity of verbal speaking or mixing things up with an elemental that could easily dust him...

Were I not the same elemental who hide in waterfalls and ponds, maybe I would have minded more.

And like that, his chicken nuggets are done. They are in the shape of monsters I don't recognize. Those human stores have them— 'dinosaur nuggets'? Maybe the King's Favorite Human orders them occassionally?

Grillby playfully hums a tune and unceremoniously dumps my snack on one of his personal plates.

He then clears his throat and keeps a straight face.

"So, before you show me how it's done, we have some things to discuss."

Then his face seems more strict, and I remember that this is Grillby.

"Like how you didn't tell me you needed gloves. Were you just avoiding the soap and dirty water this WHOLE time?" He asks, fire crackling much louder than what I'm used to.

Well, I'm going to be honest.

"Most people don't consider how water elementals can taste or eat. The workarounds are fairly convient and it's not too much fuss to quietly find them, anyways," I add, which softens Grillby's features. Actually, he seems... quite regretful. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what I meant, being a fire elemental himself.

"And you took my offer anyways? You didn't have to do that." He sort of grumbles, absentmindly watching as I grab one of the chicken nuggets he made.

I look at it with a sort of bored gaze. "I wanted to. And for the record, I wouldn't have cared if you never noticed or asked. You're a great company to be around." I bite into chicken nugget, which sort of floats into my head before being magically dissolved into the water that makes up my body.

I catch Grillby staring into my eyes before conjuring an argument.

"But I'd help you anyways. If you were just desperate to leave that pond, I would have helped you find something else!" Grillby seems more frustrated. That's right.

I found Grillby with the rain was pouring outside this store. Being so new to the surface, we were both caught off guard when the rain could just. Appear anywhere? So he had no umbrella but the guy inside kind of pissed him off, so he wasn't going to buy an umbrella. He planned on waiting, until I gave him my umbrella.

I only ever carried one because Waterfall had them aplenty and the taste of cave ceiling condensate gets repetitive and repulsive with time. Lucky for Grillby, I kept it out of habit and saw the perfect opportunity to leave it with someone who would actually need it now.

Grillby (very reluctant and suspiciously) took the umbrella, checked it for holes or intentional slashes. Keeping an eye on me for any sudden or lethal movements.

When he determined that the umbrella was actually perfectly fine, he took the umbrella with more poise.

"Thanks," he muttered, and tested how well it kept off rain. Then walked with it, marveling at the shelter it provided, before he turned around. "If you don't plan on keeping it, I wouldn't mind having it," he (sort of) joked, which you calms waved off. "Keep it," you insisted. Then you walked off, continuing past the building for the one you actually came for.

Grillby could never forget how odd and kind the interaction was. This was the surface, huh?

Not a bad place to open shop, if a monster like YOU was here, too.

And when you ran into each other again, living at this new pond on the surface, you found yourself in a bit of situation.

Winter was approaching, which means you'd be trapped under the ice. And bear in mind, your pond was small and empty of fish. But if you left, you would probably have to go back underground and how would you work? What if another elemental took your pond?

Well, you were just going to have to figure something out.

On your way to work, you came by your bus stop. We'll, who would uave known? A familiar elemental showed his face, umbrella on hand in case of emergency.

Both of you talked, he joked, you laughed. It was a nice moment on a mundane day, between two unsuspecting elementals that crossed paths again. You told him your struggles for winter, he offered a job. You know, as thanks for valuing his time.

At first, you rejected. Didn't know the guy, who he really was, but he held the offer out in case you needed it.

You talked some more the following days. You got his number and met at all sorts of places. When you came to his bar, well... it was better than a pond. He laid his offer out.

That wasn't very long ago, but the time you've known him has certainly been something.

Back to your current situation, Grillby was more than sure he wanted to make out with you right here, right now. It didn't matter that the shop only just closed, or that you were both friends, or that he swore that it'd be a miracle if anything happened between you. His fear of water was there, yes, but there had to be some magic that allowed him to kiss you. To hold you. To craddle your face as you looked up to him with those watery eyes.

And it wasn't fair. It's not fair that he has to yearn like this when you were so close, so impossible close that he wanted to just lean in and risk it anyways. But even if he truly believed you felt just as strongly about him (which he doesn't), he would be at risk of hurting you, too. And he didn't pummel a few customers for making fun of you, because he didn't care.

Gods, if he could have one wish...

"I was in a bad spot, but I still choose to take your offer. So far, I still think you'll be one hell fo a roommate." You give him a little bit of a winning smile and he's reeling back to reality.

Right, of course. He nods.

"Just don't think you have to do everything yourself. We're roommates for a reason," he complains, which you blissfully tune out as you eat the rest of your nuggets.

'Roommates', you say? That's what you both agreed to. And as long as he's near you, maybe 'roommate' will be good enough for now.

[haologram]

get to know me! 🍀

i was tagged by many people, but only remember @seungkw1 atm LOL note: if you were tagged and are looking for it, it is likely at the bottom! feel free to scroll past to see what was pinged for you <3

what's the origin of your blog title? i love xu minghao. that's about it <3

favorite fandoms? unfortunately, i have been neckdeep in fandomland since i was a kid, and i've been across many different ones. currently: enhypen, seventeen, stray kids, ateez, got7, monsta x, bangtan...lots of 'em 😭 but i am also into some games, a lot of show fandoms and such.

more under the cut!

otp(s)/shipname? oi vey...i am BALLS deep in jeongcheol land 😔 however, i do love wonchan and i am an avid enjoyer of verkwan. i just like people having fun i guess...if they kiss that's their business and idgaf !! (and you shouldn't either 💘)

favorite color? contrary to the color i've chosen for this tag game, i am a purple fiend. i love purple and i've loved purple since i was 5 years old. borahae, putas.

favorite game? video game wise, stardew valley! everything else...idk, i like jenga. i like...uno. monopoly. i fuck bitches up at monopoly.

song stuck in your head? million years ago by adele, my i by svt junhao, pink pony club by chappell roan

weirdest habit/trait? uhhh i'm not sure! probably that i make a lot of weird little noises for no reason

hobbies? writing, singing, dancing, drawing, makeup, cooking, baking, sewing...i just like making stuff LOL

if you work, what is your profession? i currently work at a pharmacy! but i am also a med student :)

if you could have any job you wish, what would it be? a novelist, or a songwriter.

something you're good at? making people laugh

something you're bad at? driving 💀

something you love? music. my faith. my family, the homies. i also love shoes and fashion.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff? southern barbecue. have done it before, will do it again!

something you hate? i am incapable of hatred (people who refuse to change after issuing bullshit apologies.)

something you collect? photocards but not currently. i also like collecting jewelry and blankets!

something you forget? nothing. i have a very good memory, which is both a blessing and a curse.

what is your love language? i like to recieve & give gifts. however, i am also very fond of quality time and often indulge in parallel play with my friends. physical touch and i are not very good friends but if i am dating someone, it is very important to me.

favorite movie/show? so many! law & order svu, 2 broke girls, bob's burgers. as for movies, i love it, brave, mulan...the list goes on. i love films.

favorite food? anything my mom makes. i am a very finicky eater and i rarely eat at other people's homes.

favorite animal? cows!

are you musical? yes! i come from a very musical father, he loves to sing and dance and i am the same, however it is a very big part of my personality and i love to involve other people in singing with me and such.

what were you like as a child? i wanted to be cool :( i wanted people to like me! but aside from that, i was a very loud kid with introverted interests. i read a lot of books, i used to do speed reading competitions, and i struggled with a lot of things outside of the realm that i am willing to talk about. however, i was also a very anxious child who wanted to be liked and did everything she could to make that happen. as i grew older, i was bullied a bit but there is a lot of dynamics that play into that that i don't really want to get into. but, i wish little me knew she'd grow up to be pretty cool, anyway.

favorite subject at school? art and biology!

least favorite subject? math. i have dyscalculia.

what's your best character trait? funny, honest, confident.

what's your worst character trait? talks too much, anxious, selfish is 50/50.

if you could change any detail of your day right now, what would it be? nothing! i'm about to go to bed! :)

if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? my grandparents.

rec your fave fanfics (spread the love!): i will never shut up about favorite coworker by @sescoups (I'M SORRY JOSIE I CANNOT SHUT UP ABOUT IT!!) other fics i love and never stop reading over and over: - fake it til you make it by my angel tara @diamonddaze01 - orbit & perspective by my beloved tomogotchi @tomodachiii - hi (i love you) by my sweetest rania @wheeboo - rivers & roads by my dearest @miniseokminnies

tag others to complete (no pressure!): @wonuwoe @heechwe @be-my-sunrise @hanniesbrat @c-oupsie @wooahaeproductions @wqnwoos @bitchlessdino & whoever else wants to do it! say i tagged u <3

[smoooothoperator]

untouchable

04: Point Of No Return

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle

Words: 3k

Warnings: drama, acotar reference (if you know which one, say it!!!)

a/n: so the drama is getting better, huh? This is kinda something that happened on my birthday lol. Not all of it, but yeah :)

Masterlist

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Every way of feedback is very welcomed

Experience always told me that I should never wait for the best of everyone. That I shouldn't have big expectations or high hopes. Everyone is busy with their lives, no matter what happens, you will never be more important than someone.

The light of the sun lighted up my room with a gold shine making me open my eyes slowly. The bedroom.was beautiful, and I thanked mentally Lando for letting me have this room the entire week. It was a spacious room with a king sized bed and a window that occupied a wall letting me see the mountains and trees.

I smiled softly, stretching and yawning wide. My phone was on the nightstand, the charger plugged in. I grabbed it, turning on the screen.

But, instead of a smile, a frown and a heavy weight in my chest showed in my face.

No messages, no calls. Not even from my parents.

I have signal, there's wifi in this house. So… why?

I swallowed thickly and got up, grabbing a hoodie and walking out of the room. Downstairs was quiet, maybe they were still sleeping.

But for my surprise, Lando was awake and

already drinking something.

“Morning” I sighed, hiding my face with the hood of the hoodie.

“Morning” he said back. “How did you sleep?”

“Amazing” I said, walking towards him and sitting next to him on the couch. “The best way to wake up… best views ever”

“Yeah? I'm glad” he smiled.

I nodded and sigh, hugging my legs and looking where he's looking. Two foxes, playing with themselves.

“Oh” I whisper, surprised.

“Yeah” I heard Lando chuckle softly.

Silence fell between us, sometimes filled with the sounds he makes when he sips the tea or with the sound of the wind outside the house. 

“Happy birthday” he whispered, looking at me with a smile.

He was the first one that said it. The only one, at the moment.

“Thank you” I smiled softly, somehow sitting closer to him.

“By the way, I made you your mocha” he whispered again, not stopping looking at the two foxes. “It's on the microwave, in case you want to warm it again”

Little gestures. He was always a man of little gestures. Having the coffee or the tea I like whenever our group went to his house, asking me which book I was reading, congratulating me for my little personal wins… Little things that showed me he cared.

But still, I was surprised. He knows that's my favorite coffee, he knows I like to have it for breakfast every morning.

I got up, walked towards the kitchen and warmed the coffee in the microwave while I looked at my phone. 

Nothing. No messages. Nothing from my parents. Nothing from my classmates. 

And it hurts. It hurts waking up on a special day and watching that no one cared, that no one noticed.

Only Lando.

I grabbed the mug and walked back to sit next to him, closer than before, this time our arms were pressed against the other. 

“Why did you wake up this early?” I asked him. “It's eight in the morning, there's nothing to do…”

“Oh, I had to make some calls” he smiled. “And then I saw those two playing and just decided to stay”

I hummed, nodding softly and taking a sip of the drink, savoring the taste of it. Sweet, just how I like it.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, sitting next to each other in a comfortable silence while watching two wild animals hunt and play, but the voices coming downstairs interrupted that moment of silence.

I felt two arms wrapping my shoulders and a kiss on my cheek, then the scent of Pietra came to my nose.

“Happy birthday!” she giggled, hugging me tighter and chuckling softly.

Max looked at me and did the same she did, kissing the crown of my head and hugging me.

And I felt grateful. They remembered.

“Thank you guys” I smile looking at them and then at Lando.

“Why don't we have breakfast?” Lando asked, getting up and going to the kitchen.

Max and Pietra nodded, but I just stayed on the couch a little more, waiting for the two people left to walk downstairs and do the same as Max and Pietra did.

But my answer came with a moan, followed by another moan, and the sound of a bed moving.

“Fucking hell, are those two really going to spend the week fucking all days?” I heard Max groan.

I sighed, closing my eyes, but the moment I heard Eloise screaming his name I felt a deep stab in my chest.

“Violet”

Lando called me, walking towards me and grabbing my wrist, making me follow him towards the kitchen where Max and Pietra were.

I didn't notice it but my eyes were glassy, the knife was buried deep inside my chest hearing every moan or every sound they made upstairs. 

“Ignore them” Lando whispered. “If they want to stay here all day, fucking until they don't have any other thing to do, it's their problem. But today, we planned something and you are coming with us, okay?”

At which moment Lando started to act like this? Why is he brushing his thumb over the skin of my wrist?  Why did he make me sit on the chair next to him? Why… Why did he buy my favorite coffee and cookies?

“So… what are today's plans?” Max asked, looking at Lando.

“Well, exploring the village, I guess” he said. “I heard there's a nice restaurant and a Christmas market”

I just hummed, looking at my phone. Only a few messages from classmates. 

“Are you okay?” I heard Lando whisper, feeling his hand on my shoulder.

“Ah, yeah… Yeah, I'm fine”

I tried to ignore the pain in my chest, living the present.

I should have never had high expectations on people. I should never put my hopes in no one.

I saw the pain in her eyes the moment she noticed what was happening upstairs. I could even hear her heart breaking.

She was quiet during breakfast, glancing at her phone but letting out frustrated sighs. Pietra tried to cheer her up, talking with her about what they should do at the village, but she wasn't paying attention at all.

If only I had the guts to tell her everything…

“Shall we get ready?” Max asked, looking at me.

I saw the doubt in Violet's eyes, how her throat moved after swallowing thickly. She doesn't want to hear them. And I get it, totally.

“Hey, have this” I said, grabbing my AirPods from the pocket of my hoodie. “I found a song that maybe you'll like”

I saw confusion in her eyes the moment I put the earphones in her ears and connected them to my phone, placing it on the pocket of her hoodie.

And with that I held her wrist and walked upstairs with her. The music was high, just so she couldn't hear them. 

Our bedroom doors were in front of the other, so I changed quickly and waited for her in front of the door.

Maybe I look like a stalker, like someone who is obsessed with her. Maybe I am. Maybe all I want right now is to see her smile, to make her open her eyes and see who loves her dearly, who wants to make her happy.

“Ready?” I asked her when she opened the door. She still has the earphones, listening to the song.

I held her hand. This time, I held her hand and walked downstairs with her, getting out of the house.

“Did you like it?” I asked. “The song”

“O-oh, yeah” she nodded, giving me back my phone and AirPods. “And… Thank you, for doing that”

“I'm here for you” I said.

Max and Pietra walked out immediately, and somehow they were surprised we were already outside.

“Well, we have to go by car” Max said, showing me the keys. 

“Oh, right” I nodded.

The four of us went to the car and in less than ten minutes we were already parked in the village.

Max sat next to me while Pietra and Violet stayed at the backseats. Sometimes I looked back at her, watching how she admired the landscape, how her lips curved upwards on a tiny smile.

I felt my phone vibrating inside the pocket of my hoodie, with messages and calls, but I ignored them. Max started to receive notifications too.

“Ignore him” I whispered when I saw him opening the app. “Don't answer him”

“Lando…” he frowned.

“He did it himself” I whisper. “He's pushing us away, pushing… her. I don't even know why he came. If he wanted to fuck Eloise all day, he could do that back at home”

“Then why did you invite him?” Max frowned, locking the phone and looking at me.

“You know the answer. You know the answers to everything. You know why I'm doing this”

We spent most part of the day there, walking around and discovering the village, going to the market. It was an amazing day, until Harry decided to use his manipulative claws.

“They are asking where we are” she frowned, looking at her phone. “You didn't tell them that we were going to the village?

“Why should I? They were doing other things” I said, not noticing how she stopped walking.

“We left without telling them” she said “We abandoned them”

“No. They abandoned us” I frowned. “They did the same yesterday. How longer are you going to defend them? How longer are you going to act so blindly and let them do whatever they want? Did they say something about your birthday? When are you going to open your eyes?”

Max and Pietra were standing behind us, hearing me, hearing us. As me, they saw how Violet fought the tears, how she clenched her jaw and tried to find words to speak.

“You don't get it…” she mumbled. 

“Why are you letting him manipulate you?” I asked. “Can't you see that? He's using you! Toying with you like a doll whenever he wants and then throwing you away like trash. Open your eyes, Violet! Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because I love him!” she exclaimed, with anger in her eyes. 

I knew she did. But hearing herself say that out loud, it felt worse than I expected.

“You don't understand anything, Lando. You don't know me at all, you don't know who I am. So leave me the fuck alone”

“Violet-” Pietra tried to calm her, but she stopped her.

“No” she said, mad. “Leave. Me. Alone. Are you happy, Lando? I heard you were an ass, and I tried to not believe them. But seems that it's true: you love making others feel miserable”

Every word she said was venom thrown to me. 

It was like my feet were frozen, glued to the floor. Max and Pietra felt the same. The three of us saw her run away, and none of us couldn't stop her. None of us saw where she was going.

“What have I done?” I gasped looking at Max and Pietra.

It hurt. It hurt so bad hearing him say those things. It hurt so bad watching how Max and Pietra didn't stop him. They knew, of course they knew.

And what hurt me the most was the fact that I knew he was saying the truth. That I knew what he was talking about. But I never wanted to admit it, I never wanted to admit that I was letting Harry manipulate me.

Why would I? Why would I admit it when I love him? A tiny sparkle of his attention is what makes me happy, right? Watching him smile is what makes me happy…

At which moment I let myself be treated that way? Why did I let myself be manipulated by him? If only I could go back in time and erase the moment I introduced him to Eloise… If only I confessed my feelings those years ago…

My phone started to vibrate. Harry.

“H-Harry…” I said breathless. 

Where am I?

“Where the fuck are all of you? Why the hell did all of you leave us?” 

He's mad. And I can hear Eloise trying to calm him. 

“I… Lando said-”

“Of course it was his idea” he groaned, making me swallow the lump of my throat.“That piece of shit… If I see him I will kill him, I swear!”

“Harry, no…” I tried to calm him. But it was useless.

“You are mine! Do you hear me?! That asshole will see what it is to take what's mine”

He was out of himself, mad. I never saw him like that. Possessive, scary. 

“I'm not yours” I frowned. “You have Eloise”

“What did you say?” he laughed. “Oh, it's that, huh? He finally had the guts to confess his feelings? He took you away from me to finally say he loves you. What a smart move!”

Confess his feelings? He loves me?

“Leave me alone, Harry” I said, swallowing thickly. “You already fucked up my birthday, thank you”

“Violet-”

I ended the call, looking at the screen of my phone in disbelief.

Lando? Does he have feelings for me? He loves me?

No… it can't be. He's wrong. Lando can't have feelings for me. 

What did I do to deserve this? A day that is supposed to be happy, is now painful. A day full of betrayal, of anger, of pain…

Eloise didn't bother to call me. She didn't even try to locate me. Was this part of Harry's plan? He was manipulating me and pushing Eloise away from me? He wants me to be alone… to not have anyone? 

At this point I don't know where I am. Did I run that much to be that far from the market in the middle of the village? I can't even hear the people talking, only the sound of a river and the trees moving with the wind.

“Fuck…” I sighed, looking around and trying to find somewhere to sit.

There is a kids park with benches on it, barely lighted by the street lights. But that's better than nothing. Maybe I should go back to the house, or call someone… But who? Harry is furious, Max and Pietra? Lando? And how am I going to face them now? How am I going to face Kandi knowing that he loves me and that he knows I love Harry? Why do I even love Harry? Lando was right… I'm so blind.

So that's why he started to act like that with me yesterday? Because he wanted to confess his feelings for me, he wanted to be close to me.

At this point I have too many questions…

“Violet!”

Is someone calling me? I looked around, trying to find who was calling me. But I only saw snow floating in the air. When did it start? I've been so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice how cold my body was.

“Violet!”

That voice again. It was coming closer and closer every second.

“Violet” 

It's close, I can hear it. 

“There you are” he was behind me, the sound of his shoes walking through the snow were behind me. 

“Lando” I whisper, turning around and looking at him.

“I've been looking for you” he smiled and somehow his gaze softened. 

“Where are Max and Pietra?” I asked, standing up and suddenly wrapping my arms around him. I need warmth, I feel so cold.

“Back at the house” he said, hugging me and holding me close to him. “In case you went there walking… But thank God I found you”

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, you were right” I whisper, trying to stay calm. “You are right. Harry…”

“It's okay. But don't talk, yeah? You are freezing” he said. “Let's go, we should sleep here somewhere…”

“What, why?” I frown. Sleep here? In a hotel? With him?

“It's snowing a lot, Violet. It's too dangerous to ask Max to come for us” he sighed. 

“I'm sorry for acting this childish” I whisper, feeling how he pulled away and held my hand, putting it in the pocket of his coat to keep me close. 

“And I'm sorry for talking to you like that. You were right too, I'm an asshole”

“No, you tried to open my eyes and all I did was insult you” I mumbled, looking at our hands, how he held mine tightly inside of his pocket. “And I did… I did open my eyes, I'm sorry it took me too much time”

“Better late than never, hm?” 

We walked for a while until we were back at the center of the village. Only now I noticed how wet my clothes were because of the snow, how much I was trembling because of the cold. He guided us to the hotel that was there, right in front of the big Christmas tree.

“Is there a way of reserving two single rooms tonight?” Lando asked. 

“I'm sorry, we only have one tonight from a couple that left not long ago…” the receptionist said and I just laughed.

“How cliche” I whisper, making Lando sigh. “It's okay, I don't mind”

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “I can sleep on the couch, okay? I don't mind”

“No, no… it's… it's okay” I nodded.

It was silent, the way towards the elevator and to the room. Lando is not holding my hand anymore, he walks in front of me with the keycard in his hand, opening the door.

“So… there's a big bed” he said. 

“Yeah I can see it” I nodded, standing next to him.

“You know what? Go take a shower to get warm, hm? I'll go out to grab some warm clothes and something for dinner”

I couldn't even answer him before he walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the middle of it.

Is this really happening? What type of joke is this? Now what am I going to do knowing that he might have feelings for me?

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