#and maybe take this time to reflect too…

[rafecameronssl4t]

The weight of expectations || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: I know you guys wanted more soft moments between Rafe and reader in this au so here you go!!!

Warnings: nothing!

Word count: 1,532

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The dimly lit office in the Cameron building had always carried an air of prestige, a reminder of the empire Ward Cameron had built with his own hands. But now, Rafe sat behind the polished mahogany desk, feeling the weight of that legacy pressing down on his shoulders.

His reflection in the window—sharp suit, tired eyes, jaw clenched—was one of a man constantly battling his own demons. Rafe’s phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. The meeting with Mr. Cartwright was scheduled for five minutes ago, but knowing Cartwright, he would make him wait a little longer just to make a point.

Rafe’s lip twitched in annoyance. This was supposed to be simple—sign the deal, deliver, and collect the reward. But like everything in his life lately, nothing was as easy as it seemed. As if on cue, the heavy doors creaked open, and Mr. Cartwright strode in, his presence filling the room with the unmistakable arrogance of someone who thought he could toy with the Camerons.

Rafe hated men like him. Cartwright was older, maybe late forties, with graying hair slicked back and a suit so tailored it made a statement by itself. Still, Cartwright had power, and Rafe knew they needed him for this deal. Rafe’s eyes narrowed, but he stood, gesturing to the chair across from him. “You’re late.”

Cartwright smirked, unbothered. “You’ve got nothing but time, Cameron.” Rafe resisted the urge to slam his fist on the table. The conversation turned cold quickly, escalating from subtle jabs to outright confrontation as Cartwright slammed his hand on the desk. “This wasn’t the outcome we agreed on, Cameron. I expected the deal to be completed two weeks ago.”

Rafe gritted his teeth, leaning back in his chair, trying to play it cool. Cartwright was testing him, seeing if Rafe would break under pressure. “Things take time, Cartwright. We’re working on it. You can’t expect a project this size to wrap up overnight.” But Cartwright wasn’t having it.

“I expected results, not excuses. I trusted your family’s name—your father’s name—when I signed on to this. Now, you’re telling me I just need to ‘wait’? My investors don’t have time for your delays.” Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “I think you forget I was my father’s protégé, and now I’m handling the business. You underestimate me.”

“I don’t care what your investors think. The timelines shifted, and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. We’ll deliver, but on our schedule, not yours.” Mr. Cartwright slams his hand down on the table, eyes narrowing. “Your schedule is putting my reputation on the line. I’m not some small-time client you can string along. My name holds weight, and if your company can’t keep up, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Rafe’s eyes flicker with irritation, but he maintains his composure, though his tone becomes icier. “You’re not going anywhere, and we both know that.” He leans forward, his stare sharp. “You’ve invested too much in this project to pull out now. So let’s stop pretending you have the upper hand here.”

Mr. Cartwright scoffs, clearly insulted. “Your father knew how to handle his business. You, on the other hand, seem more interested in playing house with your perfect little wife and children than focusing on the deals that matter.” The mention of you brought heat rising to Rafe’s face.

His jaw clenched as he fought to control his temper. The comment hit too close to home. Cartwright had no idea what his marriage was like, the public façade they upheld, the tangled mess of feelings that simmered beneath the surface. “Mention my wife again, and you’ll regret it,” Rafe spat, his voice low and dangerous.

Cartwright just smirked. “Touchy subject, huh? Maybe if you focused on the business instead of her, this deal wouldn’t be falling apart.” That did it. Rafe was out of his chair, leaning over the desk, his eyes flashing with barely controlled rage. “You don’t get to talk about her. You signed the contract. You’ll get what we promised, but on our terms.”

“If you’re too much of a coward to stick it out, then fine—walk away. But you’re not going to find anyone better than me in this industry, and you know it.” The room was tense, their stares locked in a silent battle of wills. Cartwright didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened his suit jacket, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I’ll give you one month, Cameron. If this doesn’t turn around by then, I’ll make sure everyone knows how your family is crumbling—starting with you. Rafe forced himself to relax, stepping back from the desk, his smirk returning, though there was no warmth behind it. “One month. You’ll get your results. But you don’t scare me, Cartwright. Cross me, and you’ll regret it.”

With one final glance, Cartwright turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, leaving Rafe standing alone, the weight of the confrontation settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

~

It was nearing 8 p.m. when Rafe pulled into the driveway, his mind still buzzing from the heated argument with Cartwright. He had no doubt he could deliver on the deal—he always found a way. But tonight, Cartwright’s words had gotten under his skin in a way that lingered, like a dull throb at the back of his mind.

The quiet of the house was almost unsettling as he stepped inside, the weight of the day’s events hanging heavily on his shoulders. Making his way upstairs, Rafe entered the bedroom, immediately spotting you on the bed, nursing Leo. Your eyes were closed, head leaned back against the headboard, one hand gently patting Leo’s back as he fed contentedly.

Rafe sighed, running a hand over his face, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease. As complicated as things were between you, there was an undeniable comfort in your presence—an unspoken understanding that neither of you acknowledged but both felt. Rafe quietly crossed the room, his gaze softening as he approached.

Leo’s wide eyes met his, curious and bright. Rafe couldn’t help but smile, reaching out to gently stroke his son’s cheek. Leo’s tiny hand immediately grasped Rafe’s finger, holding on tight. A warmth spread through Rafe’s chest, and for a moment, the stress of the day melted away. His eyes shifted back to you.

Your breathing was calm, features relaxed in a way that made you look at peace, despite everything swirling around your lives. There was something soothing about the scene in front of him—something grounding. Leo’s eyes never left Rafe, watching his father with that same innocent curiosity. “Tough day?” Your voice, soft but alert, broke the silence.

Rafe’s gaze snapped up, meeting your half-lidded eyes as you watched him, though you hadn’t moved. He straightened, clearing his throat as he walked to the dresser, his back turned to you. “Just another asshole trying to tell me how to run my business,” he muttered, slipping off his watch and setting it down with more force than necessary.

“Cartwright’s testing me,” Rafe continued, running a hand through his hair before heading turned back around, leaning against the dresser. “Thinks I’m not my father.” Your gaze softened as you watched him. “You’re not your father, Rafe. And that’s not a bad thing.”

His blue eyes searched yours, trying to figure out if you truly meant it. There was a sincerity there, a quiet support that he wasn’t used to. It disarmed him for a moment, making him pause as he watched you with a curiosity that mirrored his son’s. The way you moved so naturally—so gracefully—as you gently lifted Leo and placed him in his bassinet beside the bed was a sight he found himself quietly admiring.

A soft sigh left your lips as you tucked him in, smoothing the blankets before slipping back beneath the sheets. You glanced up at him, still leaning against the dresser, lost in thought. “Are you going to get ready for bed?” you asked, your voice soft but carrying that calm tone you always seemed to have when it came to him.

There was no pressure, just a simple question, but it tugged at something deeper within Rafe. He cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he muttered, his voice low as he turned back to the dresser, his fingers absently fiddling with the cufflinks on his shirt.

But he didn’t move right away. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the bed, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around him like a comfort he hadn’t realised he needed. Despite the chaos that always seemed to swirl around them—around him—there was a strange sense of peace in this room, in this space they shared.

Even if it wasn’t always easy, even if things between them were complicated, there was something grounding in the quiet moments like these. And as much as Rafe hated to admit it, those moments were starting to mean more to him than he had ever expected.

[veltana]

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent. 

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion. 

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission. 

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky. 

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely. 

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath. 

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down. 

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble. 

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle. 

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting. 

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.” 

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.” 

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer? 

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence). 

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture. 

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…” His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.” 

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.” 

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502

[luveline]

hii 🤍 i miss spencer, amanda and reader 🥺 when will reader and spencer finally kiss?? hahahah

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.2k

Amanda’s dad has a girlfriend with a kind mouth that curls in smiles, like seeing her is the one thing you’ve waited for all day. You have slow hands: your fingers ease through Amy’s hair one strand at a time, warm, but somehow shivers race down her spine whenever you touch her. You’re like her dad, in that you kiss her cheek before bed or hug her with one arm. You’re a gentle touch whenever Amy wants it. You and Spencer are both enthusiastically tactile. 

What Amy doesn’t understand is why you and her dad never seem to kiss. Amy isn’t sure if she wants to see it. She hasn’t thought of it in depth, just knows that you and Spencer are both grown ups who love one another —Spencer looks to you in every room, his eyes squinting against the sight of you like you’re some star, a sun, bright and blistering and too beautiful to look away. It’s like a movie. Plus, Amy wants a stepmom. Paula from school has one and she says it’s awesome. 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah?” Spencer’s voice echoes, head deep inside a cabinet looking for a can of evaporated milk. “We don’t buy enough canned stuff. We’d be screwed in the apocalypse.” 

“I like fresh.” 

“Of course you do. You’re brilliant.” 

“Brilliant,” you echo, legs swinging against the cabinet behind your legs. You hold the door to prevent Spencer’s likely head injury. 

“Dad?” Amy asks again. 

He pulls his head from the empty cabinet to appease her. “I know, I’m looking for the hot cocoa powder.” 

“That’s not what I want to ask.” 

“Oh. Well, what do you want from me, angel?” 

You choose that moment to hop down off of the counter top, phone in hand. “I’ll be right back,” you promise, leaving with no further explanation. 

It’s good timing. Amy crowds her dad to look up at him, a reflection of her brown eyes peering down at her curiously. He cups the back of her head. “What, Amy?” he asks. 

He says her name nicely, too. Amy is bathed in love, all the time, but it never gets any less warming. She wraps her arms around his thighs and rubs her nose against his stomach, cuddling into him. 

He’s patient, but not unaware. “What do you want, beautiful?” he murmurs, fingers scratching gently up his scalp and through her hair, soft ends of it fluttering down onto her shoulders. He repeats the motion. “I’m listening.” 

“Why don’t you and Y/N ever kiss?” 

He laughs softly. “Why are you asking me a question like that?” 

“You’re boyfriend and girlfriend, but you don’t kiss or anything. Do you?” 

Spencer holds her face, more fingers in her hair than anything on account of her small head. “No, we don’t kiss,” he says, like it’s a secret, but a good one. Amy’s confused squinting makes him laugh again. “Um… just, it’s not easy to explain, but we’re taking things slowly. That means that we like one another, but we’re not rushing to do things we aren’t ready for.” 

“You’re not ready to kiss her?” Amy asks. 

“Maybe not.” Spencer doesn’t share that you aren’t completely ready either, far as he’s aware. This is a big thing for both of you, months of deep pining, a fragility. “It’s not because I don’t want to.” 

“She’s really pretty. I think you should hurry, just in case someone else likes her.” 

Spencer hugs her to his tummy and gives her a squeeze. “She’s beautiful like someone else I know. And I will kiss her, I’m waiting for the right time.” 

Amy forgets about what she’d been asking after that, charmed and then ferried to her room to get dressed. We’ll have to go out for cocoa, Spencer had said, bundling her in a big coat. You were all to happy to put your shoes on and join them, Spencer’s borrowed scarf shielding your neck and jaw, your nose quickly sniffly against the cold. 

Amy takes your hand on the way into the cafe and savours the warmth of it. She will need to concoct the right time, she decides, for her dad to kiss you, if only so she can be a flower girl at your wedding. If you get married (if your wedding ceremony even has flower girls). She’s just thinking maybe she’ll be the maid of honour when you push out a chair for her. She settles in, wondering if you’d like flowers, what sort of clothes you’d wear, if you’d come live with them in the apartment, sipping at a procured, thick hot chocolate while you and Spencer chat. 

“Half?” he asks, knife poised over a pastry. 

“I already ate all mine.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” He cuts the pastry in half and offers it to you, a red and golden brown mini pie, fruit glistening in its jelly, flaky salt on the top that tumbles off the edges as he passes it to you. “Here.” 

You take a big bite. You smile so much you can hardly chew. 

Spencer stares at you. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, nothing.”

You have fruit on your lip. Your genuine puzzlement is all the more enticing: how is Spencer supposed to look away? He hooks his ankle around a leg from your chair and draws closer. 

“You know, I heard you earlier.” 

“When?” he asks. 

“Before we left. You were telling Amy that you think I’m pretty.”

“No, Amy said pretty, I said beautiful. I should’ve said perfect.” 

“That so?” you tease.

Spencer has to wonder what’s beneath it. Kiss me, kiss me. Lean over and do it, Reid. Or if he hears what he wants from your lilting mouth. “I’m sure there’s a hundred words I should’ve said.”

“You don’t have to say anything else,” you say decidedly, your hands falling to his knee, “that’s enough flattery for today.” 

“Is it?” 

“You sound entirely genuine,” you say, voice turning soft now, a padded thing to think about later. 

“I am,” he says. Simply, and hopelessly, leaning in to breathe the same air. 

“Is now the right time?” you whisper. 

“You heard that?” he asks back. 

“I’m ready whenever you’re ready.” 

Spencer chances a glance at Amy where she’s ripping at the paper sleeve on her hot chocolate before he holds your arm to kiss you. A chaste, brushing touch, pressure of a butterfly’s wing at first and then marginally firmer. He kisses you, and he pulls away just as your bringing your hand to his cheek. 

“Was that okay?” he asks. 

“Very princely.” 

“So you're getting married, right?” Amy butts in, her smile a thousand watts. “Yes? Can I choose the flowers? Can we go on a honeymoon?” 

Spencer flushes at the idea of Amy seeing him, but then he feels sick thinking about such a short first kiss, covering the side of your face with his hand to occlude his lips as he moves in and gives you another. 

“Dad, one was enough.” Amy’s concern is grouching, and it makes you laugh against his mouth. 

You both pull away. “Sorry, Amy,” Spencer says, “but you did tell me to hurry up.” 

“Yikes. Can I have some pie?” 

Spencer hands her his uneaten half. You search for his hand under the table. 

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: girl bye this whole part is just screaming n crying omg be prepared

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

authors note: wanted to make a little unexpected visit at the end given his character but yk 😋 let me know if u arent on the tag list yet !! interact w me thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

long story short, the group collectively agree to postpone this dinner night because of what happened. just as you left the restroom, drew was gone and were instead met by leila who told you they were leaving to eat at the pearl some other time.

you feel terrible that they had to witness what they did, and you assume they must’ve seen you and drew talking in the hallway for them to make this decision. they know something’s wrong between you two, and you almost break on the spot. it’s like the whole plan is crashing down and you don’t know what to do, how to move forward.

you and drew travel in different cars on the way home but to end off the night, the group splits up. some dress down and head back to explore the town at night or there are others who choose to stay home, just keep a respectful distance.

you rid of your clothes and step into the shower to collect your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to cry from frustration. the steam curls around you, the hot water beating down your back like it’s trying to wash the weight of everything away—but it doesn’t.

no amount of heat or scrubbing can erase the guilt, regret, and shame that engulf you.

when you finally step out, your skin is red from the heat, and you wipe a hand over the fogged mirror, catching a glimpse of your own tired reflection. your new clothes cling to your still-damp skin, and your hair hangs heavy and wet down your back.

when you step out of the bathroom, the cool air bites at your skin, but that’s not what makes you freeze. you see him—drew—walking toward your shared room. he’s freshly showered, his hair slightly wet, and you realize he must’ve used the bathroom across the hall that gia and roman share.

for a split second, your eyes meet, and you have to bite down on your emotions, hard, before you can speak. before you can let it all flood out.

you get to the door first, quietly letting yourself in, then leaving it open so he comes in too. the air between you feels heavy—like there are words unsaid. you can hear the faint sound of music downstairs, theo’s voice talking low, maybe to leila, but it’s distant. they must be trying to let you talk without feeling like you need to worry.

you step into the room, moving toward the dresser on your side of the room. your hand rests on top of it, gripping the edge for balance, as if the solid wood can keep you grounded. your back is to him, but you can hear him enter. he stands there for a moment, probably watching you, probably waiting for you to say something.

the silence is unbearable.

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

your voice comes out quietly, almost too low for him to hear. you don’t turn around, your eyes focused on the lamp in the corner of the room, as if looking anywhere but at him will keep you from falling apart. your hand tightens on the dresser as you wait for him to answer.

you hear him shuffle behind you, his breath catching like he didn’t expect you to speak first. “i . . . i don’t know,” he says, his voice just as quiet as yours. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you swallow hard, blinking rapidly as the familiar burn of tears threatens again. you know he’s trying to be honest, but that answer—it’s not enough. it doesn’t fix anything.

“you didn’t want to hurt me?” your voice wavers, and you finally turn, facing him. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you like he doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made. “this wasn’t even just a few days either. this has been weeks—weeks of us talking, planning, pretending . . . and the whole time, you were lying.”

as you walk over to him, he opens his mouth to respond, but you can see the guilt weighing him down, making it impossible for him to speak right away.

“not only were you lying to them,” you gesture loosely, meaning the others, everyone, “but you were lying to me.” you point to your chest as your voice cracks, weak and filled with betrayal.

his face tilts slightly to the side, and though he’s staring at you, his eyes are glossing over. you can see the weight of what he’s done finally sinking in, and it’s tearing him apart. he swallows hard, his throat tight.

“i didn’t mean to,” he whispers, his voice trembling now. “i never wanted—”

but he stops, his words catching in his throat, and you can see the tears threatening to spill. his jaw tightens as he forces himself to keep looking at you, even though it’s breaking him inside.

“no, but you did,” you tell him. “you made this decision. you created this plan when you had mila back home, drew.”

he winces at her name. you can see it. but you don’t stop.

every day, every conversation, every moment you’ve spent together, he knew. and he said nothing.

your words slow down though, and the weight of them sinks in deeper. “i had finally gotten to a point after we broke up where i felt like i was free of us,” you say, voice quieter now, but raw. “i didn’t have to worry about things like this anymore. i was finally done with us.”

drew’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but he can’t, and you don’t give him the chance. “but here i am.” you let out a short, breathless laugh, as though even you can’t believe the mess you're in. “i mean, i didn’t think agreeing to this plan was going to work out perfectly, but—”

you stop, searching for the words, your throat tight with emotion. it takes everything in you to keep from crying. you look away from him, your voice going numb, the exhaustion seeping through. “but i didn’t think i’d end up feeling like this. like none of it ever really ended.”

you stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything hang between you two. you wipe at the corner of your eye, then shake your head slightly, more in disbelief than anything else.

“so why?” you ask, “why didn’t you just tell me? why didn’t you say something from the beginning, when we started this whole thing?"

he looks at you, his jaw clenching, but his eyes are filled with guilt. he takes a deep breath, his face turned slightly to the side like he's trying to hold himself together.

“i fell in love with you,” he says, and you scoff. oh, he’s just now fallen in love? he realizes his mistake and gets up when you start to walk away, but he grabs you by the arms, “no, no, no, y/n please, i fell in love with this life—being with you again. i didn’t want to lose that. i’m still in love with you. i always have been. i just realized it too late.”

you can’t believe him. “but you did lose it, drew.” your voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “you lost it the moment you decided to lie. you didn’t just ruin this plan, this stupid fake relationship.”

you shrug him off of you.

“i thought,” your voice cracks, “i thought telling our friends the truth would make everything worse. i was so scared they’d feel like they had to walk on eggshells around us, like it’d be awkward if they knew what happened. but you know what? i wish i’d just told them. instead of this. instead of . . . all of this.”

“and it’s not just about mila,” you say, “even when you’re supposed to be my fake boyfriend, you’re still making decisions for me. you speak for me, like you always know better, like i can’t speak for myself.” you can feel your frustration bubbling to the surface, the heat rising in your chest as you push forward. “it’s like . . . no matter what happens, you still feel like you need to control everything.”

drew’s mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to respond, but you can’t stop now. the words tumble out, each one hitting you harder than the last.

“i mean, do you know how exhausting that is?” your voice rises, and you can feel your emotions slipping, coming out faster than you can stop them. “you made up the plan, you pulled back the moment i was getting comfortable again, even our breakup was your decision.”

his expression hardens, and you can see the conflict raging behind his eyes. “i thought we agreed there wasn’t any point in keeping up something that was barely there,” he says. “we were hardly talking or communicating, y/n. i mean, trying to keep up a relationship for us that wasn’t even really there? was it . . . do you think it would’ve been better if we didn’t break up? i mean—”

“yes! yes, it was worth it! i didn’t care if we weren’t always together!” you blink, caught off guard for just a second, but the fire inside you flares back to life. “and you said there wasn’t any point; not me. we’re busy people, drew, lives like ours don’t get spent every day how these two weeks are supposed to be. you have to know that. so i’m sorry that you felt enough was enough for us but you shouldn’t have had to decide what you thought was best for both of us and make that decision on your own without telling me!”

as you speak, you notice the way his face shifts, confusion and regret flickering in his eyes.

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “trust me, i spent nights worrying about us when we were together, replaying every moment, every doubt.” your voice lowers, becoming more vulnerable, almost a whisper. “and i told myself, ‘okay, that’s normal. that’s normal maybe. so you didn’t get a fairytale relationship; grow up.’”

“but i understood that . . . no matter what, i wouldn’t have left you because i loved you,” you cry, “i stayed because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

drew’s face crumbles at your words, and his gaze drops to the floor. you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you meet his gaze again. “look, i’m not going to say anything to anyone about mila,” you say. “but you need to figure this out, how we move on from here, and whether you’re going to tell her about this plan because i’m not gonna keep doing it if she’s not comfortable with it.”

drew nods slowly. he’s quiet, visibly processing everything. “i’ll do it,” he says, almost to himself, but you nod anyway. he takes a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally speaks. “i didn’t mean to lose you,” he says, staring at the ground. “but i did. i know that now.”

you watch him for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging between you, before you turn away. your hand reaches for the door, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

“yeah, you did,” you whisper, voice broken as you open the door and hurry through, leave him standing there alone. “you did.”

drew stands there, frozen in place as the silence settles around him. he watches when you walk away until the laughter from outside fades into a distant echo, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his body heavy with regret.

“—fucking—” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, and cradles his head in his hands while tears spill from his eyes. in that moment, he’s completely alone, engulfed by the realization that he pushed away the one person who mattered most.

“i’m gonna be back, okay?” libby tells you. you’re sitting in her bed, her and leila feeling like it’s only reasonable for her to step up, and she would’ve no matter what.

“hey,” you say before she goes, your fingers reaching her arm. she halts, looking at you again as she settles back down on the edge of the bed. “thank you for letting me sleep here tonight.”

she gives you a knowing look. “there’s no need y/n. my job is to make sure you’re comfortable and okay. your job is to get under my covers and drool on my pillows ‘til morning.”

“shut up,” you murmur and consider whacking her in the face with one of said pillows, but she leans forward to give you a hug. it’s gentle at first, and you’re relieved to feel a warmth from someone at a time like this. you feel like you can stay there forever, but she pulls away to leave the room.

there’s a knock at the door that startles you a bit, and you wait anxiously for who’s behind it. they open it quietly and peek their head in—roman?

he lets himself inside with cautious steps, and before you can speak he shushes you.

“keep it down, stupid,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows at him. he takes maybe two steps forward and then stops there. “i just wanted to say sorry for not saying anything before at the peel.”

“the pearl.” you nod, your lips pursed. “thanks.”

he deadpans at you. “i don’t do this very often so i’d appreciate more than just a thanks, you kn—” he pauses to rephrase his words, and you can see the gears shift in his head. he sighs. “i fully saw that you were upset and i didn’t do anything. part of it was because i didn’t know if i should’ve but the other was that the food was just really good—”

“roman,” you try to tell him to get out, but he persists.

“no,” he tells you. he tries to search for the right words before continuing, “i’m just sorry. i don’t want to make it seem like i don’t care or that you don’t have anybody to talk to. and i’m not gonna jump the gun or be all enthusiastic the next time this happens but . . . i just won’t be quiet anymore.”

you’re taken aback by roman’s unexpected display of concern. you can’t tell if you’re imagining this. this has to be the first time you’ve probably ever known him that he’s being like this. but you nod slowly, absorbing his words. “thank you, roman,” you say softly, appreciating the effort he’s making. “it means a lot that you care.”

he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory but pressing on anyway. “good,” he replies, his voice a little firmer. “because i might not always show it, but i do care. just . . . don’t think you have to go through stuff alone, alright? we’re friends, i guess, even if i don’t always act like it.”

you smile faintly, still surprised that he’s even still standing there. “i get it. i appreciate you saying something.”

“goodnight, y/n,” he says. just as he’s about to leave, he glances back, a knowing look in his eyes. “and just so you know, i get that things are complicated with starkey, but it’s pretty obvious you two aren’t really together. you don’t have to pretend around me.”

your heart skips a beat, and you feel a rush of vulnerability. how much does he really know? but before you can question him further, he’s already slipping out the door.

at the same time, libby slides past him with mugs of hot cocoa, “ew, what are you doing here?” she says to roman, avoiding him like he’s her brother. “get out of here.”

she kicks the door closed behind her, and her mood switches to a smile. “what was all that about? oh my god— did he hurt you? did he infect you?” she asks, feigning concern as she plops down next to you and handing you a mug. you take the mug and just shake your head with a grin.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull

[luna-azzurra]

do you have any advice for writing a love confession without making it grossly cheesy or awkward?

im writing one between long time childhood best friends that are EXTREMELY close and im so stuck

Since these two characters have been best friends for a long time, the confession should feel like it’s built off their history together. Maybe start with a memory that’s meaningful to both of them. It doesn’t have to be a huge, dramatic moment, something small but personal, like a time they supported each other or a running joke they’ve had forever.

For example, one of them could say something like

“Remember that time we got caught in the rain walking home from school, and you made up that ridiculous song to keep me from freaking out? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately… and I realized that’s when I first started seeing you differently.”

When people confess their feelings, especially in a real and vulnerable way, it’s usually not in flowery language. If you try to make it too poetic or dramatic, it might feel forced. Instead, keep it honest and straightforward. They don’t need to say “I’ve loved you all along” in some grand, movie-like way. Let the confession come out more naturally, almost like they’ve been fighting it for a while and finally just have to get it off their chest.

You could have them say

“I don’t really know how to say this, and it might sound weird… but somewhere along the way, I started seeing you as more than just my best friend.”

There’s no way for this kind of confession to be totally smooth, and honestly, that’s what makes it feel more authentic. They’ve been best friends forever, so there’s going to be nerves, maybe some hesitation or stumbling over words. Lean into that awkwardness, it actually makes the moment more relatable and shows how important it is to them.

Maybe one of them starts talking, realizes they’re rambling, and tries to correct themselves. Like

“Okay, wait, that sounded dumb, let me start over. What I’m trying to say is… you mean a lot to me, more than I’ve probably ever said out loud, and it’s kind of terrifying because I don’t want to mess things up between us. But I’ve gotta be honest, this is how I feel.” The vulnerability in admitting they’re scared to ruin the friendship makes it more heartfelt and real.

This is probably the most important part! These two aren’t just falling for each other out of nowhere, they’ve built this strong, deep friendship over the years. So the confession should acknowledge how much that means to them. Make it clear that the romantic feelings don’t take away from their friendship but add to it.

You could have one of them say something like

“You’ve always been the person I turn to for everything, and that’s not gonna change, no matter what. But lately, I’ve been feeling something more, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not there. I just hope it doesn’t mess things up between us.” This way, they’re emphasizing that the friendship is still the foundation of everything, but they can’t ignore the fact that it’s evolving into something deeper.

Overall, just make sure it feels true to the characters and their relationship. Don’t feel like you have to tie it up neatly with a perfect line or a romantic kiss right away. The beauty of this kind of love confession is that it’s messy and emotional, and it should reflect the complexity of their relationship. They don’t need to have all the answers right away. Let the moment be about the honesty and the fact that they’re finally admitting something that’s been building for a while.

Maybe end with something like

“I don’t know where this goes from here, but I had to tell you. You’re too important to me to keep pretending like I don’t feel this way.” This leaves room for both characters to process what’s happening without forcing a big romantic resolution right away. It’s more about them taking that first step into new territory, which feels more genuine and in line with the close friendship they’ve had for so long.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

PR disaster p.2

Hey guyss, since you liked part 1 and I love Franco I decided to do part 2. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and if you want to read more of my stories here's my masterlist :)

Y/N stood in front of her bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection as she tugged nervously at the hem of her dress. Why on earth was she nervous? This was just a deal—a professional arrangement. She had agreed to go on this ridiculous date with Franco purely to keep him in check. There was no reason for her stomach to be doing flips or for her hands to be fidgeting like she was a teenager going on her first date.

“Get it together,” she muttered to herself, giving her reflection one last once-over.

Her dress was simple but elegant, a deep blue that she usually wore to events where she needed to look put together. Neutral. Not too flirty, not too casual. And yet, as she looked at herself, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—she had spent a little extra time getting ready.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness. "It’s just Franco," she whispered, trying to remind herself who this date was with. That thought should’ve made her relax, but instead, it only made her heart race faster.

Just then, the sound of a knock at her door pulled her out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her dress once more before heading to answer.

When she opened the door, there stood Franco, leaning casually against the frame with his signature grin firmly in place. His dark curls were styled perfectly, and his shirt—though slightly unbuttoned at the collar—looked annoyingly well put together. He always managed to toe the line between effortless and way too charming.

Franco’s eyes flicked over her outfit, and for a moment, something softer passed across his expression. "Wow," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. "Te ves… increíble, jefa." (You look … incredible, boss)

Y/N felt the warmth rush to her cheeks before she could stop it. “It’s just a dress,” she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. “And stop calling me ‘jefa.’ We’re off duty.”

Franco’s grin returned in full force, and he leaned in slightly. "Oh, perdón. ¿Debería llamarte hermosa entonces?" (Oh, sorry. ¿Should I call you beautiful instead?)

She blinked, trying to decipher what he had just said before waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Franco chuckled softly, stepping aside and offering his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "As you wish, hermosa." (Beautiful)

She ignored the Spanish this time and brushed past him, pretending not to notice how nice his cologne smelled as they headed out.

The restaurant Franco had chosen was a small, cosy spot in the heart of the city. It was intimate without being too romantic—just a perfect balance. Y/N had to give him credit; she had expected something flashy or over-the-top, but this was… nice.

Throughout dinner, Franco was, unsurprisingly, his usual self. He flirted relentlessly, slipping in compliments in both English and Spanish, leaving Y/N constantly on edge trying to figure out what he was saying. But as much as she tried to keep her usual grumpy exterior, she found herself laughing more than she’d care to admit.

“So,” Franco said, leaning forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you having fun yet, or are you still counting the minutes until this is over?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide the smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “It’s… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Y/N, you wound me. I was hoping for at least ‘moderately enjoyable.’”

She let out a small laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “Fine. Maybe it’s a little fun.”

Franco grinned, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “See? I told you I could be charming.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” she shot back, though there was no real bite behind her words.

They continued talking, their banter flowing effortlessly between them. Despite Y/N’s initial hesitation, she realized she was actually enjoying herself. Franco, as annoying as he could be, was surprisingly easy to talk to when he wasn’t causing PR disasters.

The evening went by faster than she expected, and by the time they left the restaurant, she couldn’t deny that Franco had managed to wear down her defenses. They walked side by side down the quiet street, the night air cool and refreshing after the warmth of the restaurant.

“You know,” Franco began, his tone a little softer now, “I didn’t just ask you out to make a deal.”

Y/N glanced up at him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by a sincerity she hadn’t seen before. "I asked you out because… I like you, Y/N. Even when you’re all grumpy and serious, you’re…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Eres increíble. You’re smart, tough, and you don’t let me get away with anything. I like that." (You are incredible)

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Franco took a step closer, his eyes locked on hers. "No tienes idea de cuánto me gustas." (You have no idea how much I like you)

This time, Y/N didn’t need a translation. She understood perfectly, and for the first time, she didn’t push him away.

Franco’s hand reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft and lingering. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

But Y/N didn’t want him to stop. Instead, she found herself leaning in, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes fluttered closed.

And then, Franco’s lips met hers.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if he was waiting to see if she’d pull away. But when she didn’t, Franco deepened it, his hand slipping to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck, her earlier grumpiness melting away as she let herself get lost in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Franco smiled down at her, his forehead resting against hers.

"So," he murmured, still slightly out of breath, "I think this date went pretty well, ¿no?"

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

Franco grinned, pressing another quick kiss to her lips. "But you like me anyway."

And, much to her own surprise, Y/N realized he was right. She did.

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - Sips with Stardom

Jenn Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N's morning is stirred when Jenna arrives before opening hours. She finds herself sipping coffee and sharing stories with the star again. Between bodyguards, family, and an unexpected promise, Y/N's day becomes more than just her regular routine—a start to a little more, one sip at a time.

Word Count: 2.9k

As I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar smell of Chinese takeout filled the air. The sounds of laughter and clatter of utensils echoed from the kitchen. Kicking off my shoes and slipping into my slippers, I sighed in relief. Home. Before I could take another step, Mr. Noodles—my black-and-white tuxedo cat, complete with his signature black bowtie—greeted me by weaving between my legs, purring loudly. "Hey, Noodles," I chuckled, bending down to scratch his chin. He meowed once, flicking his tail, and followed me into the kitchen. Marcus and Caleb sat at the table, surrounded by various takeout containers. Marcus dug into his lo mein while Caleb balanced his fork in one hand and scrolled through his phone with the other. "Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!" Marcus called out, waving his fork in the air dramatically. "Yeah, too high on your horse to join your big brothers for dinner? Caleb chimed in without even glancing up from his phone. I rolled my eyes and dropped my bag onto the floor, giving Mr. Noodles a final pat before sitting down at the table. "Whatever you say, peasants, you wouldn't believe the day I had." Marcus raised an eyebrow, grinning. "What happened? Did Tom Cruise stop by to argue with his reflection again?" Caleb snicker. "Or did Chris Hemsworth come in to try and order his post-workout protein shake?" 'Ok. So maybe I don't only keep celebrity conversations with just Wilma.' "No, I still don't know what kind of gym rat demands a coffee shop to make a protein shake," I said, grabbing some fried rice. "But actually, it was Meryl Streep. She and her manager walked in, supposedly for a meeting. And they broke into a feud over whether or not she should be having hot chocolate and a donut." Both of them looked at each other, chuckling. Marcus leaned back in his chair to scratch Mr. Noodles under him. "Meryl Streep, defending her sugar right? You go, girl!" I grinned, stuffing a dumpling in my mouth. "Yeah, his face when she chewed him out was priceless." Caleb's full attention is on me now. "What about Will Ferrell? Did he drop by and give any hints about his upcoming movie?" I shook my head. "No Will Ferrell today. But Liam Neeson came in, ordered tea and a jelly donut, and then tripped on his way out. Spilled tea all over the place." Marcus and Caleb both froze mid-bite before bursting into laughter. Marcus set his fork down, "Let me guess, he threatened the floor after that one, right?" Caleb swallowed his food, "I can just imagine him giving his famous death stare. What did you do?" "I gave him another one, free of charge," I shrugged. "The man looked so heartbroken. I couldn't let him walk out like that." They laughed again, shaking their heads in disbelief. Marcus wiped his mouth, "Man, only in your line of work do we find out Meryl Streep and Liam Neeson are out here having bad days like the rest of us."

We kept eating, trading stories about our day. Marcus talked about a guy at the gym who almost dropped a barbell trying to impress some girl. At the same time, Caleb vented about the latest office drama. While leaning over to offer the piece of chicken on my fork to Mr.Noodles, without even thinking, I casually mentioned, "Oh yeah, Jenna Ortega came in today." Marcus froze, his fork nearly dropping, while Caleb slowly lowered his phone. Both of them stared at me in studded silence. "Wait...what?" Caleb asked, voice rising. "The Jenna Ortega?" It took me a second to realize what I had just said, and I immediately felt my face heat up. Damn. "Uhh...yeah. She was just, you know, having coffee." Marcus leaned over the table, grin growing wider. "Are you seriously telling me you met Jenna Ortega and didn't freak out? Come on, you've been obsessed since she made it big on Wednesday." "I wasn't obsessed!" I protested, feeling my cheeks grow even hotter. "And it wasn't a big deal. She's just a regular person." Caleb raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you...like talk to her?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair and throwing my head back. "Yeah, we talked a little. She was reading a book I loved, so we ended up geeking out about the author. She already read it, too, just revisiting it." Marcus' grin grew, looking smug. "You geeked out about a book...with her? And you're sitting here acting like it's no big deal?" I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "She's just another customer like anyone else, guys," Caleb smirked. "Uh-huh, sure. Except you're blushing right now." I could feel the heat creeping back into my face. "Am not." Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Our lil sis rubbing elbows with big stars. Be careful if she wants to meet us, we're totally gonna embarrass you." I groaned, covering my face. "Shut Up, Please!"

After dinner, I headed upstairs. Changing into a pair of comfy sweats and a loose T-shirt. Noodles, ever my loyal shadow, hopped onto the bed and curled into a little ball beside me as soon as I laid down. He purred, vibrating through the blankets. I grabbed my phone and, doomed scrolled through Instagram and TikTok. But no matter what I did, my mind drifted back to Jenna. The way she was there—from anxious to completely calm in the café. It was hard to match that with the version of her I'd seen on the screen. And the fact that we actually talked? That was still sinking in. Then there was the blush. That small, subtle blush when she realized she was the last one left in the café caught me off guard. Jenna Ortega, the same Jenna who played the confident, intense character on screen, blushing because she'd lost track of time in a quiet little coffee shop? It made her seem so much more...cute. I immediately slapped my face. 'No, no, not what I meant. I meant human.'" When I looked over, Noodles' eyes were wide, and his tail flickering. I must have startled him with that slap. After a moment of us watching each other, Clearly unimpressed, he huffed and circled a few times, kneading the blankets before settling back down. "Sorry Noodles...What do you think? I murmured, my fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes behind his ears. "Do you think I made a fool of myself?" He responded with a soft purr, utterly unbothered by my internal crisis. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, my mind replaying every detail of the evening: the way Jenna smiled when I brought her the donut, her casual posture as we talked about horror novels, and, of course, the way she blushed. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't Jenna Ortega, the actress. She was just...Jenna. A regular person who got lost in a book, just like me. I sighed, rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. "I'll probably never see her again, right?" I muttered to myself. Noodles meowed softly in response, unbothered by my troubles. But a small part of me couldn't help but hope that maybe she'd come back. Noodles stretched, yawned, and moved closer, curling up beside me. I smiled at his contentment, but my mind was still swirling with thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder if this was it or if I'd get the chance to talk to her again. Maybe she'd come back. With her lingering in my mind, I eventually drifted off to sleep, contemplating the unexpected conversation that had turned my usual day at work into something unforgettable.

The next morning came far too quickly. My alarm blared, and I groaned, rolling over to smack the snooze button. Mr Noodles, the early riser, pounced on my chest and meowed directly in my face until I finally gave in. "Alright, I'm up," I muttered, pushing him off and dragging myself out of bed. After a quick shower, I threw on some clothes and grabbed my bag, ready to head back to The Daily Grind. As I patted Mr. Noodle's head one more time before slipping out the door. I headed out the door, keys in hand, and my phone buzzed as I locked up. I answered. "Hey, Y/N! You're going to have to open up today," she said, practically out of breath like she was jogging. "The twins are dragging their feet and won't put their shoes on! She yelled that last part as I pulled out of my parking spot. "Mama couldn't take them, so I got stuck on babysitter duty again. I'll be in later." I chuckled, imagining the chaos on her end. "No worries, Captain, I can hold down the fort until you come." "Thanks! Oh, and by the way..." Wilma's tone shifted to something more playful. "How did things go with Prima last night?" I paused for a moment, feeling my face heat up. Of course, Wilma was going to ask. I couldn't avoid it, but...did I really have to tell her everything? I could already picture the girl tackling me if she had to find out on her own fruition. "Y/N? You still there?" Wilma prompted, clearly sensing my hesitation. I sighed, knowing there was no way out. "It was fine. We just talked a bit more," I started, trying to keep my voice casual. "Mhm, sure," Wilma replied, egging me on. "And?" I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth creep up my neck. "Jenna...actually walked me to my car," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "And then she teased me, said I had somehow 'charmed' her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She flashed that smile—half playful, half serious—like she knew she was messing with me. Honestly, it was impossible not to blush." "Wait, hold up, She walked you to your car?" Wilma interrupted, her voice dripping with amusement. I could practically see her grinning on the other side of the phone. "And what smile? You've already memorized her smile, huh?" I groaned, blushing. "It wasn't like that, Wilma. She was just being...friendly." Wilma laughed. "Friendly? Please. You're a natural-born flirt, and you don't even realize it. And with "that" smile? She was totally into i—" "I wasn't flirting!" I protested; the thought of Jenna's smirk made me doubt my words. "She was just messing with me." "Oh sure, because it's so easy to charm someone with those smooth barista skills," Wilma teased. "You better brace yourself when she comes back. You're in trouble, Y/N." "Yeah," I admitted, resting my head on the steering wheel. "And then her bodyguards showed up out of nowhere and scared the life out of me." Wilma's laughter echoed through the phone. "Bodyguards? Of course. This keeps getting better by the second! What else? I know there's more." I sighed, already resigned to the teasing. "She made me promise that the next time she comes by, I'd share some of the stories about some bodyguards at the café." There was a beat of silence, and then, as expected, her laughter doubled. "Y/N, you've got her hooked! Wild café stories? She's definitely coming back now. Congrats—you've got yourself a celebrity lover. You're basically famous." "Wilma, seriously," I groaned. "Please don't blow this out of proportion." "Oh, honey, it's already out of proportion," her voice full of playful mischief. "You've charmed Jenna Ortega, and now she's coming back for more. I can already see it—this is how it all starts." I rolled my eyes, fully aware of how this conversation would go. "You're impossible." Wilma snickered. "Well, look at you—handling business like a pro. Don't let the fame go to your head, mascot. Remember to stay humble when you're hanging out with Hollywood Royalty." "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, though I couldn't suppress the small laugh. "I'll try not to let it change me."

"Alright, gotta get these monsters buckled and shipped off to school. Don't have too much fun without me!" "Sure, I'll try not to, and hopefully, I'll survive the first horde," I said, grinning as I hung up the phone. As I pocketed my phone, I shook my head, a smile lingering on my lips. I was starting to get used to the teasing. I grabbed my bag and headed inside. The sun crept up, casting soft light through the windows as I unlocked the door. Stepping inside, I could still feel the leftover warmth from yesterday. The café was quiet and still, just how I liked it before the rush. I went to the back, checked in, and threw my stuff into my locker before heading to the employee area. I slipped into my all-black barista uniform—simple black pants and a fitted black shirt before getting my apron from the hook by the door. The apron was the only pop of color, a warm brown that stood out against the dark. As I tied it around my waist, I fell into work mode. First things first: the plants. I grabbed the watering can we kept under the counter, filled it up halfway, and made my way around, giving each hanging plant a good drink. The soft trickle of water and the rustle of leaves was strangely calming, making the café feel like it was waking up, too. I always made sure to take extra care of the plants; Wilma was obsessed with them. Her grandmother had a green thumb, and she followed suit. So she'd notice if even one leaf looked droopy. Next up, I headed to the kitchen to bake the day's pastries. The scent of flour and sugar greeted me as I pulled out the ingredients. I started with the croissants, carefully rolling the dough before placing them on the baking tray.

While they baked, I started on the rest of today's menu items. If a customer wanted anything else, we'd bake it fresh for them. Next, the muffins were mixed with batter and folded in fresh blueberries. The lemon scones were last—I zested the lemons, mixed the dough, and shaped them perfectly before sliding them into the oven. As they finished in the oven, the warm, sweet smells began to fill the café, and I could already imagine the regulars lining up for their favorites. Once they were done, I arranged the croissants, muffins, and scones, which were still hot, and I knew they'd be the first to go as soon as we opened the doors. I also double-checked the coffee machines, making sure they were clean and ready to brew all day long. Once the plants were watered and pastries set, I headed to the front window to hang up a new poster advertising an upcoming poetry night we were hosting. Wilma printed and designed it with bold artistic letters and a little sketch of a coffee cup next to it. I used a bit of tape to secure the edges, securing it to the front window and centered for everyone to see. As I finished up, I wiped down the tables and chairs, making sure everything was spotless. The last thing I needed was someone complaining about a sticky spot on a table or chair. I rearranged the cushions, giving the booths that extra welcoming touch. Everything was in place by the time I was done, and The Daily Grind was ready to go. The café had this lived-in feel that always made me smile. It was the kind of space that felt like a warm hug—for anyone who needed it. I poured the fresh streaming brew into a mug, fixing it up just how I liked it, feeling the warmth spreading through my hands. As I leaned against the counter, taking that first comforting sip, a familiar figure appeared outside, her bodyguards in tow. I wasn't even officially open yet, but when Jenna Ortega knocks, who am I to not answer? I walked over to unlock the door, letting her and the guards in. Jenna wasn't in her usual hoodie this time. Today, she wore a stylish see-through white tee paired with a pair of plaid pants with high heels. Looking casual but chic. "You look nice," I said, feeling the comment slip out naturally. Jenna smiled warmly. "Thanks. She added, "I have an early interview for an upcoming film...and then some other boring meetings," her tone was slightly sarcastic. I gave her a teasing look. "Boring? Sounds like you've got a rough life," I joked, rolling my eyes playfully. Jenna chuckles lightly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Yeah, it's tough being me," she shot back. I shrugged, "Well, technically, we're not open yet, but I've already got everything set up, so if you want, I can get you and your crew settled in." Jenna exchanged a quick look with her bodyguards, who nodded back at her. "Thanks, that would be great." I turned to the guards, who had positioned themselves quietly near the entrance. "So, what can I get you guys?" The taller two, who had a more serious demeanor, spoke first. "I'll take a hot coffee. Black, with two pumps of vanilla and a dash of cinnamon." The second guard, who seemed more talkative, said with a small smile, "Tea, please. With milk and one sugar. I'm more of a tea guy myself." I nodded and then looked back at Jenna, expecting her to give her order, but I beat her. "Iced coffee with caramel and whipped cream, right?" Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Not bad. I guess I'm predictable." Jenna leaned her back on the counter as I got to work preparing the drinks, glancing toward the front. "What's that about?" she asked, pointing to the poster I hung earlier. "Oh, that? We run an event for people to come to enjoy poetry or music with their coffee. It's pretty laid-back. Kind of a 'grab the mic if you feel like it' vibe." Jenna nodded, looking at it. "Noted," was all she said softly. "Here's your drinks," I called. Each drink lined up. I handed the bodyguards their drinks, and they settled into the bar area by the cash register while Jenna and I sat at one of the tables, far enough away to talk privately.

"Sorry to inconvenience you again." Jenna replied, smiling briefly before glancing out the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her drink, a little distracted. "You look like you're lost," I teased. "Something on your mind?" Jenna blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and giving me a small smile." Just thinking about the day ahead. Meetings, interviews...nothing too exciting." She glanced at me, smile falling slightly. "But I guess everyone has their own version of busy, right?" I nodded. "Yeah, but at least your 'busy' involves making movies. Not a bad gig." Jenna chuckled softly, "True, but you'd be surprised how much of it is just waiting around, talking about things you've already said a thousand times. It's not all glamorous." I tilted my head slightly, "I can imagine. It's like running a coffee shop. People think it's just pouring drinks and chatting with customers, but there is a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff no one sees." She looked up around me, a spark of intrigue in her eyes. "Yeah? Like what?" I shrugged. "You know, making sure machines are maintained, cleaned, and functional, keeping the inventory stocked, baking pastries fresh every day, And don't even get me started with dealing with the occasional difficult customer, celebrity or not." She laughed, her smile returning tenfold. "I guess we both deal with our fair share of drama, huh?" I grinned, nodding. "Exactly. but hey, at least you get to wear cool outfits. All I get is this apron." She glanced at my apron. "Well...it suits you. And besides, I'm sure you could pull off one or two if you tried." My blush crept up, but I sipped from my cup to cover it. Jenna gave me a playful smile, taking a sip of her own. "So," Jenna began, "Where's Wilma this morning? I feel like I'm missing the other half of this Daily Grind dynamic duo." "She had to drop off her siblings at school," I explained, getting comfortable. "We've been best friends since preschool. Never really been apart, even traveled across the country to open this place together." Jenna's curiosity grew. "That's amazing. No wonder you guys make a great team; you're like a hive mind." I nodded, laughing at the thought. "As terrifying as that is, we do make a great team. Wilma's practically family. We've seen each other through school and jobs. It's been an adventure." Jenna's gaze softened as she asked, "And your real family? Are they around?" I shifted slightly, setting my drink down. "My older brothers, Marcus and Caleb, live here in California with me. We share an apartment together. But the rest of my family, my parents and younger sister, are back in New York." Her eyes lit up. "Wait, you've got a younger sister too? Same here—she can be such a pain, always finding ways to bug me, but that's little sisters for, right?" Jenna chuckled softly, a mix of affection and exaggeration in her voice. "She keeps me on my toes." I chuckled, adding, "Tell me about it. Sometimes, it's a lot of deciding whether to ship her off or not, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. And then, of course, there's Mr. Noodles." Jenna's brow furrowed in confusion, gnawing at her straw. "Mr. Noodles?" I smiled, nodding. My tuxedo cat. He's the real boss of the house." Jenna gasped loudly, startling her guards. "I need to see pictures. Now." I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the dozens of photos I had of Mr. Noodles, and handed it over. Jenna's face lit up with a huge smile as she swiped through the photos. "He's adorable! Look at this gentleman; his tie is too cute! How can you ever leave him to go to work?" I shrugged, shaking my head. "It's tough, but he's got work too. He's a professional napper around the clock, so he manages without me." Jenna handed the phone back, shaking her head in return. But my brain froze; her fingers brushed against mine for a brief moment. It quite literally—shocked me. "Thanks," she said, her hand lingering just a second longer than I expected before she pulled away. "No problem," I replied, trying to calm my racing heart.

"I think I might be in love with Mr. Noodles more than anything else." she joked. I laughed as the door swung open, and Wilma burst in, a disheveled mess, panting like she had just run a marathon. "Sorry, sorry! I swear, herding those beasts into the car is like trying to wrangle lions." Jenna, her guards, and I all turned to look at Wilma, who attempted to play it cool, straightening up as she wiped her brow. "Don't mind me. I'll be in the back getting ready." But before disappearing, she shot me a cheeky smile and said, "Keep charming, mascot." I quickly drank from my empty mug, hoping the ground of the mug would swallow me whole. Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Mascot?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. I rubbed the back of my neck, "Yeah, it's just Wilma's nickname. She has called me since we opened the café, and she says I'm the face of the place." Jenna let out a laugh, "That's cute. It suits you," she teased, her smile growing. She added, "So, do I call you Mascot now, or is that just reserved by Wilma?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "More like trademarked; she's big on original nicknames but doesn't mind if they stick." "Alright, then, I'll have to go to the drawing board." She chuckled. Jenna's guards glanced at each other, then at the phone in front of them, before standing up. "Ma'am, we've got to head out. Your manager's been calling non-stop," one of them said, holding up Jenna's phone. It read 25 missed calls and 12 growing messages. She sighed, clearly not ready to leave, but she nodded. "Alright, guess I've got to go face the music." She stood up, and I offered to top off her coffee. "You've got a busy schedule. Want a refill to help get through it?" Jenna smiled gratefully. "That would be great, thanks." I quickly refilled her cup, handing it back to her as she pulled out some cash. I frowned, confused. "You don't have to—" She cut me off with a smirk. "I never paid for my drink the other day, and I'm covering today, too. Keep the change as a tip for the drink and for treating me like an actual person." She handed me the cash, along with a piece of paper. As Jenna and her guards left the café, the door softly closed behind them. I stare down at the money. Suddenly, I felt a pinch on my arm. "Ow!" I yelped, spinning around to see Wilma scolding me. "That was to snap you out of it. Also, for not charging your celebrity crush like a regular customer," she teased, hands on her hips. I shot her a look. "I was! I was just caught up in conversation. And besides, Jenna's a good tipper." Looking back at it, I realized the paper wasn't just her receipt—it had her Instagram handle scribbled at the bottom, along with a note that read, 'Thanks for the coffee and conversations again, Slick. You still owe me some more café stories.' I stood there, dumbfounded, as Wilma yelled back, "Come on, mascot, it's opening time before I take your tip!" Snapping back to reality, I shook my head and pocketed the receipt and money. "Alright, alright, I was just counting!"

[dee-writes-anime]

God, Do Anything But Leave Me

FEATURING Toji Fushiguro x Reader

SUMMARY Toji just can't live without you.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst to fluff, talk of Toji's dead wife, mentions little Megumi, arguments, reader storms out

AUTHORS NOTE I've been absent, but never fear! I am back from my week-long trip with some Toji goods just for yall ;)

The apartment was unnervingly quiet, the ticking of the clock loud in the stillness. You stood by the window, staring at the night, your reflection faint against the glass. The air between you and Toji felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break. He sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, eyes burning into your back. It was unbearable—the silence, the weight of everything left unsaid, everything you were too scared to voice until now.

Finally, the tension snapped, his gravelly voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You’re acting weird. What’s going on with you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing the knot in your throat to loosen. It felt like you were on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t take back once it started. But there was no stopping it now.

“It’s nothing.” You lied, your voice brittle.

His eyes narrowed, his irritation creeping in. “Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s not nothing. Talk.”

The demand in his voice struck a nerve. He always spoke like that—rough, commanding. But tonight, it grated on you, fueling the fire already burning in your chest. You turned around, fists clenched at your sides, your heart pounding as you faced him.

“You really want me to talk? Fine.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “It’s about her.”

The look on his face darkened immediately. He didn’t need to ask who. His ex-wife—Megumi’s mother. The woman who had been a permanent shadow in your relationship, even though she was long gone.

Toji straightened, his jaw tightening. “What about her?”

“You loved her, Toji. You had a life with her. You had a family. I get that,” you said, your voice trembling but growing louder with each word. “But what am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to be okay knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be her?”

Toji stood up abruptly, the motion abrupt, his looming presence now swallowing up the small room. “You’re not her. You don’t need to be her. I don’t understand what the hell this is about.”

“You don’t understand?” You let out a bitter laugh, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “Toji, you barely talk about her, but she’s always there! You act like you’ve moved on, but I know you haven’t. How could you?”

He crossed the room in two steps, stopping just in front of you, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. “She’s dead. What do you want me to say? It’s done.”

“You want me to believe that?” You couldn’t stop the tears now, your emotions spilling out uncontrollably. “You had a child with her, Toji. You built a life together, and I know you loved her. I feel like I’m just—just filling in the gaps where she left. Like I’ll never be enough for you.”

Toji's jaw clenched, and his eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something raw and wounded. “You think this is about her? You think I’m still hung up on that?”

“I don’t think. I know!” You shouted, the dam inside you finally breaking. “You never talk about her. It’s like you’ve buried everything, and I’m supposed to just accept that? Like it doesn’t affect you?”

He stepped closer, his voice rough and sharp. “You think I want to drag up old shit all the time? You think I want to live in the past?”

“Maybe you don’t want to live in it, but you haven’t left it behind, Toji!” You were yelling now, voice breaking as the words you had swallowed for so long poured out. “Every time I see you with Megumi, I wonder if you’re thinking about her. I wonder if you look at me and wish I was her.”

Toji’s expression hardened, the tension between you snapping like a taut wire. “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he growled, his frustration boiling over. “I don’t compare you to her. You’re the one doing that.”

“Because I have to!” Your voice cracked with the weight of your confession. “I’m trying so hard to be enough for you, but it never feels like I can be. You loved her, Toji. You had a child with her, and she’s gone. How can I ever compete with that?”

Toji’s fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy, like he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. “You’re not competing with anyone. I’m with you because I want to be with you, not because I’m comparing you to a ghost.”

“But that’s what it feels like!” Your voice trembled, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “You might not say it, but it’s there. It’s always there.”

His eyes flashed with anger, his patience finally worn thin. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he growled, stepping closer, towering over you. “You think I haven’t moved on? You think I don’t care about you? After everything we’ve been through, you’re still hung up on this?”

His words stung, each one like a slap to the face, and the tears came faster, slipping down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath. “I can’t do this, Toji,” you whispered, your voice broken. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this. With you not talking, with you shutting me out every time something hard comes up. I can’t compete with someone you lost, someone you loved so much you had a child with her.”

Toji’s eyes darkened further, his lips curling in frustration, but beneath the anger, you saw the flicker of something else—hurt, guilt, maybe even regret. But it didn’t matter. You were too far gone now, the pain too sharp, the cracks in your heart too deep.

“Where the hell are you going with this?” he demanded, his voice rough.

“I’m leaving.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Toji’s face twisted, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “What?”

“I need to go,” you said, your voice trembling, hands shaking as you took a step back. “I can’t… I need space, Toji. I can’t breathe in here. I can’t breathe around all these memories, around the weight of everything you’ve lost.”

For a moment, you thought he might stop you. His jaw tightened, and he took a step forward, but then he stopped himself. His fists remained at his sides, clenched tightly, his breathing ragged as he stared at you.

“And what the hell am I supposed to do?” he asked, voice harsh but laced with something raw, almost pleading. “You just gonna walk out?”

You looked at him, the man you loved, the man you had tried so hard to reach, and for the first time, you saw the distance between you, the gulf that had been widening for far too long.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I can’t stay here. Not like this.”

Without another word, you turned and grabbed your coat from the hook by the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you stepped into the hallway. Behind you, Toji stood frozen, his shadow looming large against the doorframe.

The door clicked shut behind you, the cold hallway wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace. Your steps were shaky, tears blurring your vision as you moved down the stairs. Each breath felt heavier than the last, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. You couldn’t stay in that apartment, surrounded by the memories that weren’t yours, by the ghosts of a life Toji once had and lost. You needed space, air, something to stop the overwhelming ache in your heart.

But behind you, in that apartment you had just left, Toji stood frozen in place. His fists were still clenched, knuckles white as he stared at the door you had walked through. The sound of it shutting echoed in his head, each second that passed making it feel more final. You were leaving—leaving him—and the reality of that hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair, pulling at the strands in frustration. He could feel the anger boiling up again, the sharp edge of his temper threatening to snap. But beneath that, something far more dangerous stirred—panic.

He paced, his heart pounding, each beat like a hammer driving home the gravity of the situation. You were gone, and he was standing here, helpless, watching everything slip through his fingers. The image of you walking away felt like a flashback to another time—another loss.

His breath hitched as a memory, long buried, surfaced. His wife—Megumi’s mother. He had lost her too, just after their son was born. The pain of that loss had carved out a piece of his soul, left him hollow in ways he never wanted to admit. But even in his grief, he had survived. He had kept going, if only for his son’s sake. He had learned to live with that emptiness, that hole in his chest. But this—losing you—was something he couldn’t live through.

Not again. Not like this.

Toji swore under his breath, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch as he stormed out the door. His footsteps were heavy, echoing down the stairwell as he followed you, his mind racing, his chest tight with emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now.

He spotted you just outside, a few steps ahead, your form hunched over as you wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to keep the world out. His heart twisted at the sight, a surge of something—guilt, fear, desperation—forcing him to move faster.

“Wait!” His voice cut through the cool night air, rough and urgent, his footsteps pounding against the pavement as he caught up to you.

You froze at the sound of his voice, your heart skipping a beat. But you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. The tears were still streaming down your face, and you weren’t ready for another fight. Not now, not like this.

“Please,” Toji’s voice cracked as he reached you, his hand gripping your arm, not rough but firm, as though he was terrified you might disappear if he let go. “Don’t go.”

His breath was ragged, uneven, and when you finally turned to face him, you saw something in his eyes that you hadn’t expected—fear. Real, raw fear.

“Toji, I…” Your voice faltered, but the tears kept coming, the pain still too fresh. “I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he rasped, his voice strained in a way that you rarely heard from him. “I just—fuck, I can’t lose you. Not you.”

The words hit you hard, and you blinked through your tears, staring at him as his expression shifted—cracked, in a way you had never seen before. Toji Fushiguro, the man who always seemed unshakable, was on the edge of breaking, and it terrified you.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice thick with emotion. “You’ll be fine. You lost her, and you—”

Toji’s grip tightened, not painfully, but enough to ground you both. “No. I survived losing her, but that’s it. I survived. I didn’t live. I didn’t feel anything after that except for Megumi. It was like everything inside me was just—” He paused, his voice catching as he struggled to find the right words, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the intensity of it all. “It was like a part of me died with her. But you…”

His voice softened, the roughness giving way to something much more vulnerable, something he wasn’t used to letting out. “You made me feel like I was alive again. Like I could actually breathe.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog of your emotions. You had never seen him like this—so raw, so open. It was as if the walls he had built around himself for years were crumbling before your eyes.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes fixed on yours. “I don’t know how to talk about this shit, about her. But you… You’re not in her shadow. You never were. I didn’t choose you to replace her. I chose you because I need you. Because I—fuck.” He closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he fought to keep control. “I need you. And I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning, with all the pain he had been carrying for so long.

You swallowed hard, the tears still falling but the sharp edge of your hurt beginning to dull as his words sank in. “Toji, I…” You faltered, your heart aching with how much this moment hurt, but how much you wanted to believe him, to believe that this could be different, that you weren’t just a stand-in for someone he had lost.

He stepped closer, his hand moving to your cheek, brushing a tear away with a gentleness that belied the storm in his eyes. “I lost her, and it hurt. It tore me apart. But I kept living. I had to. For Megumi. For me.” He paused, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, his voice lowering to a whisper. “But if I lose you, I don’t think I can come back from that.”

Your chest tightened, a sob escaping your throat as his words wrapped around your heart. You could feel the weight of his emotions in every word, in the way his hand trembled slightly against your skin.

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to cling to the pain, to the hurt that had driven you to walk out in the first place. But standing here, with Toji looking at you like you were the most important thing in his world, the walls you had built around your heart started to crumble.

“Toji, I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m scared I’ll never be enough.”

He shook his head, his grip on you tightening as though he could somehow hold you together with just his hands. “You’re enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m the one who’s not enough. But I’m trying. I’m trying because I can’t lose you. Not after everything. Not when you’re the one thing keeping me from falling apart.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. There was so much pain here, so much history, but there was also something else—a chance, a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw and pleading. “Don’t leave me.”

[fleming-o]

Behind the spotlight - Niamh Charles x Reader

request here

Award show nerves aren’t always the best

angst with comfort

---

The soft hum of the city buzzed just outside the window as you fidgeted with your cufflinks, trying to push down the tension building in the room. Niamh stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress for what had to be the tenth time. Her brow was creased, lips pressed into a thin line, and her usually bright eyes were clouded with something heavier tonight.

"You look stunning, you know?" you said, stepping closer, hands hovering just inches from Niamh’s waist. You didn’t want to touch her yet—not when the air between you felt so fragile.

Niamh’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks."

The flatness of her voice cut through your chest, but you kept quiet, knowing better than to push. Niamh wasn’t usually one to show her insecurities. She was a fighter on and off the pitch, and tonight was supposed to be a celebration of that. But the way she kept glancing at her reflection, adjusting her dress, her earrings, her hair, told a different story.

After a moment of silence, you finally stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Niamh’s back. "You okay?"

Niamh’s shoulders stiffened under your touch, and you instantly regretted asking. "Yeah, I’m fine," she said quickly, too quickly.

"Are you sure?" you pressed gently, not trying to pry but unable to shake the worry.

Niamh sighed, her fingers stilling at her side. She met your eyes in the mirror, her expression hard to read. "I just... I don’t know why I’m even going tonight. It’s not like I’ve had a standout season or anything."

You blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about? You’ve been incredible this season."

Niamh scoffed, turning away from the mirror and folding her arms across her chest. "Incredible? I barely played for half the season because of my shoulder injury, and when I did, I was hardly at my best. I don’t even know why they invited me."

Your heart ached hearing her speak like that. You stepped in front of her, gently grabbing her hands. "Niamh, you’re being too hard on yourself. You pushed through, you came back stronger, and everyone’s noticed. You deserve to be there as much as anyone else."

Niamh pulled her hands back, looking away. "I don’t feel like I do. It just feels... fake, like I’m playing a part tonight or something. All those cameras, the smiles, the awards. It’s all for people who’ve done so much more this season. Not me."

You felt frustration rising in your chest, not at her but at the situation, at how much she was doubting herself. "You’re not playing a part," you said softly. "You’ve earned this. And it’s okay to feel nervous or unsure, but you can’t let that take away from everything you’ve accomplished."

Niamh shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her. "You don’t get it. I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything. I feel like I’m just... there, you know? Filling a spot."

The room went silent, tension thick between you. You knew how much the injury had weighed on Niamh, how hard she’d worked to get back to full fitness, but hearing her like this, so vulnerable, was new. Niamh always hid it so well.

"You’re more than just a spot-filler, Niamh. You’ve fought through so much this season. That means something."

Niamh’s eyes flickered with doubt, maybe frustration, but she stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on the floor, her thoughts clearly heavy.

After a beat of silence, you sighed and stepped back. "Look, I know tonight feels big and overwhelming, but you don’t have to go if you really don’t want to. We can stay home, watch a movie, whatever you need."

Niamh’s head shot up, surprise flickering across her face. "No, I—" She hesitated, her voice softening. "I want to go. I just... I don’t know how to be okay with it."

Your heart squeezed. You stepped forward again, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "Then let me help you. We’ll get through tonight together, okay?"

Niamh’s shoulders sagged slightly, her walls crumbling just a little. She nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay."

---

The awards night was every bit as glamorous and overwhelming as Niamh had expected. Lights flashed from all directions as you walked into the venue, cameras capturing every smile, every step. Niamh’s hand was tight in yours, her fingers cold and stiff. You could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin.

"You’re doing great," you whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as you made your way through the crowd, trying to ease some of the tension radiating off her.

She gave a small nod, but her grip on your hand only tightened.

The night passed in a blur of speeches, applause, and polished smiles. Niamh sat rigidly at your table, her eyes darting around the room, never settling for long. Every time the camera panned across the audience, she straightened up, forcing a smile you could tell wasn’t real. You squeezed her hand under the table, hoping to remind her that you were there, that she wasn’t alone in this.

When Niamh’s name was finally called for an award, you saw the flicker of panic flash across her face. She stood slowly, hesitating just long enough for the applause to feel awkward before making her way to the stage.

You watched her closely as she accepted the award, the way she held it in her hands like it didn’t belong to her, the way her voice wavered just slightly as she gave a brief thank-you speech. Niamh was always a fighter, but tonight, she looked like she was fighting against herself.

When she returned to the table, her smile was brittle, her eyes distant. You leaned in, whispering softly, "I’m so proud of you."

Niamh’s jaw clenched, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed the award on the table. "I don’t deserve this."

Your heart sank. "Yes, you do. You worked so hard to get back here. You deserve every bit of this recognition."

Niamh shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn’t feel like it. I feel like a fraud."

You wanted to argue, to tell her again how wrong she was, but you could see how fragile she was in that moment. Instead, you placed a hand gently on her thigh, grounding her. "You’re not a fraud, Niamh. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And even if you can’t see that right now, I do. I believe in you."

Niamh’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and for a moment, the mask she’d been wearing all night crumbled. She leaned into your touch, her body sagging with the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

"I don’t know how to feel better about this," she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. "I feel so... lost."

Your heart broke for her, but you stayed steady, knowing she needed you to be her anchor. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just take it one step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this."

Niamh nodded, her grip on your hand tightening again, this time not out of anxiety but out of gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw. "For everything."

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always."

---

Later, after the lights had dimmed and the applause had faded, you found yourselves back in your apartment. Niamh sat on the edge of the bed, the award resting on the nightstand, her gaze distant.

"You were amazing tonight," you said gently, sitting beside her. "I hope you know that."

Niamh didn’t respond right away. She stared at the award, her expression conflicted, before finally speaking. "I’m trying to believe it."

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "You will. And until then, I’ll remind you every day."

Niamh rested her head on your shoulder, her body finally relaxing into your embrace. "I love you," she whispered, her voice soft but steady.

You pressed a kiss to her hair, your heart full. "I love you too."

And in that quiet moment, with the weight of the night behind you and the warmth of your love surrounding her, Niamh allowed herself to believe—if only just a little—that maybe, just maybe, she really did deserve it all

---

[we-are-inevitable]

i think jack would keep his room really tidy. he organizes his clothes and sneakers by color, he keeps all of his art supplies in storage under his bed, his comics are all on a shelf, and- despite his creative streak- he’s not really a maximalist so there’s not much in the room to even work with. he’s just never had stuff. maybe a few pictures on the walls, maybe he’ll hang up the paintings he’s most proud of, but home has never been stationary for him and moving a lot of stuff is a bitch and a half, so he keeps his decor minimal. sure, he would love to have his room decked out— but he has what he needs, and if he doesn’t, he’ll figure it out. he always had. he’ll borrow things from charlie and racer, or scour thrift shops and buy-sell-trade facebook groups until something works. he’s never had the luxury of storing and collecting and keeping things, and now, he stresses about it— what if he has to leave? what if he can’t take everything he has? what if he has too much, how can he delegate, how can he choose?

davey, however, is a maximalist. and davey’s room reflects that. it’s not dirty, but it’s cluttered, and there’s really no rhyme or reason. he has books all over the place and trinkets and collections he’s been gathering since elementary. his clothing is all stuffed in his closet, and he has a hard time getting rid of things, so he still has flannels from middle school and old graphic tees that don’t reflect his style anymore. he says he’s saving them for les. that’s the thing about growing up lower middle class- you save and save because sometimes you might need that old extension cord or that bag of loose screws or those old clothes from childhood. davey’s room is a shrine to everyone he’s ever been, everything he’s ever liked, and getting rid of things means the possibility of needing something, and davey never wants to need anything. needing is a burden, and he’s independent to a fault.

jack can’t be tied down to anything. davey has ties to everything. eventually they’ll find the balance.

[newbiespud]

I'm sure it's been said before but I'll say it myself because why not

The game In Stars and Time makes for a revealing contrast to the movie Groundhog Day in how they treat their final time loop and how that reflects on the main character. (Even though, if I remember right, the dev largely wasn't aware of Groundhog Day when they came up with ISAT.)

Spoilers for both after the break, I guess.

In Groundhog Day, Phil starts out narcissistic and self-centered, has the realization that he can live life without consequences, gets depressed after having tried and done everything that he's got everyone and everything memorized so that nothing can delight and surprise him anymore, and finally escapes when he performs a loop that proves that a better, happier world is within his grasp to make, not something owed to him, and that he is happy with the life he has today, not always pining for his ambitions for the future.

In... In Stars and Time, Siffrin starts out deflecting and aloof, has the realization that they can do this perfectly - 'this' being not only the impossible challenge of defeating the King but navigating their relationships with their party - gets depressed after hitting wall after wall and repeatedly fumbling into faux pas after faux pas with their party, and finally escapes when they perform a loop where their true feelings come out, no matter how ugly, and they're honest about their own desires and wishes rather than trying to keep up an ideal façade.

Plenty of people have pointed out that In Stars and Time subverts the 'escaping on the perfect loop' time-loop trope that Groundhog Day largely codifies. Not only does the 'perfect' loop completely fail, Siffrin escapes on arguably the 'worst' loop, the one where they rightfully worry that they've hurt and alienated their loves ones forever and cannot escape those consequences anymore.

But I don't think this contrast is as direct as it seems, even though one could say that Phil got away scot-free compared to Siffrin and that In Stars and Time is the superior story for portraying a harsher outcome. (I do think that exploration and advancement of tropes is just inevitable and even healthy over time, and Groundhog Day came out in 1993 so of course it and the tropes it spawned deserve modern critique, but I digress.) I actually think that it reflects how both stories and the mechanics of their time loops are built around their main characters. (There's also something to be said about how genre shapes narrative since GD is an existential comedy and ISAT is an action-adventure focusing on interpersonal drama, but that's another digression.)

ISAT makes an impact on the whole time loop genre with its clever subversion, but like all the best subversive stories, it's couched in strong characters that embody its themes.

And to take a broader perspective, the best time loop stories are allegories for the real-life situation of making the same mistakes over and over again caused by your own deep-seated personality flaws, and being forced to finally confront your inner demons and overcome them and become a better, healthier person. (Relatable, much?)

Phil is a man who's never happy with his lot in life, so he needs to learn to find the eternal richness and beauty of what he has within his grasp, and that a better, happier life is something he can make for himself. Thus, he escapes on the 'best' loop.

Siffrin is a person who refuses to share their true feelings and problems with others to the point of self-destruction (and complete reinvention in one aspect), so they need to learn that no matter how ugly and twisted they think they are, being open and honest doesn't mean their loved ones will care about them any less, even when Siffrin is seen at their lowest point possible. Thus, they escape on the 'worst' loop.

It's not just clever subversion, it's holistic circular story structure!

...Though maybe I'm just drawn to these stories because I, too, would like some extra time to Figure Some Shit Out and have that time come with some superpowers along the way, even if it nearly destroys me in the process.

[callsign-mayhem]

sundress

Part one of my Heartbreak Feels So Good sequel series!

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 3.1k CW: Use of Y/N

Find the original series here!

It's been a week since you and Bradley confessed your feelings to each other on the beach. After an impromptu first date, Bradley takes you to a new Italian place on the seafront to wine and dine you like a true gentleman.

Natasha Trace was rarely wrong.

You stood in front of your full-length mirror, admiring your reflection—not just looking at it, but admiring it. 

You weren’t a vain person. It simply wasn’t in your nature. But something about this yellow dress—the one you were going to wear for Jake’s leaving drinks—made you feel confident. It had been so long since you’d felt this way that you’d almost forgotten what it was like. Maybe the dress had magical powers, or maybe yellow was just your colour. Either way, you were relieved to feel like someone worthy of dinner and drinks with Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. Nothing was worse than going on a date and feeling like you were punching above your weight. 

You had Nat to thank for this. She’d warned you off of wearing it for Jake’s leaving drinks the Friday before because she thought it better saved for a more special occasion. The white dress had walked so this one could run, and now there was no reason to stress about finding an outfit on the day of your first date. 

If you wanted to get technical, it was your second date with Bradley, but he didn’t class last Friday night as a date. You did, though. You were highly sentimental, and that night was more special to you because it was silly and spontaneous. Bradley thought it ungentlemanly, but it felt like something from a romance novel to you. 

After your confession and makeout session on the beach, you’d practically begged him to take you out for food since he wanted to do things properly. As a man of his word, you knew he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t go home with you unless he’d had a meal with you first. As a way of cheating his system, you’d convinced him to take you to In-N-Out, and he’d agreed as long as you promised you’d do things by the book the following week. 

So he’d ordered an Uber, and when you arrived at the restaurant, you ordered more food than should have been allowed. You picked a booth in the window, and the two of you sat there until most of the food was gone, and you were both relatively sober. Bradley’s phone was dead, but the Daggers had been blowing yours up for two hours until you eventually had to answer. Neither of you wanted to reveal that you were technically on a date. Something about keeping it between the two of you made it feel more special and less pressurised, so you made up a lie and said Bradley had been sick and you’d taken him home before heading back to your apartment. You'd promised Jake you’d see him off Sunday morning and promptly turned your phone off. 

After that, you’d sat in the booth talking until closing time, enjoying getting to know each other all over again. Because you’d sobered up, neither of you wanted to rush each other into bed anymore. You liked the idea of taking things slow, savouring every little moment, and doing things as Bradley had initially wanted. But neither of you regretted your impromptu first date. 

Your phone pinged on your bedside, and you almost tripped over your feet in your haste to get to it. It was Bradley letting you know that he was leaving his and would be with you shortly. You were simply too excited to wait, so you grabbed your bag and hurried out the door. 

It was a gorgeous evening, typical of San Diego. Sunlight cascaded down through the trees surrounding your apartment block, creating intricate patterns on the pavement. Birds circled lackadaisically above, in no hurry to get to any particular destination. A group of teens whizzed down the road on brightly coloured rollerskates, laughing carelessly. It was crazy to think you weren’t sure about settling here initially. Now, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Bradley Bradshaw definitely had something to do with that. 

You heard the Bronco before you saw it. The low rumble of its engine was exciting and comforting, as was the man driving it. You could see him grinning as he pulled in, cheeks flushed from the heat of the evening. Before you could hurry over and open the passenger side door, he jumped out of the car to do it for you. He admired your sundress, shamelessly wolf-whistling as you walked over.

‘You look dazzling, Y/N.’ He said by way of greeting.

When you reached him, you stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He wore tan dress pants, a brown belt, and a crisp blue shirt. The first three buttons had been left undone, teasing the top of his Herculean chest. He’d rolled his sleeves up also, revealing his deliciously veiny forearms. 

Bradley Bradshaw was a well-wrapped gift, especially for you.

‘Thank you,’ you replied. ‘So do you.’ 

He grinned. ‘Our server’s gonna have to wear sunglasses.’

You laughed delightedly. ‘And everyone else in the restaurant, if you keep smiling like that.’ 

He helped you into the Bronco, buckling your seatbelt like he did the day of your breakup. It was a terrible day, but he’d made it better, as was his superpower.

During your drive to the restaurant, the two of you sang along to 80s classics—Karma Chameleon by Culture Club and Foriegner’s I Wanna Know What Love Is. Bradley made you feel comfortable enough that you weren’t embarrassed by your singing voice despite his sounding angelic. You were too overjoyed to be self-conscious, a clear signpost to Bradley being the one for you. With Elijah, you were always hyperaware of the way you came across. You overthought your appearance, the words you said, and even the tone of voice you said them in. And it wasn’t just because you wanted to control how he perceived you—it was because you had to be careful not to make him angry. 

Where being with Elijah exhausted you, being with Bradley breathed new life into your mind, body and soul. 

You arrived at the restaurant floating on cloud nine. He’d chosen a new Italian place right on the seafront. The interior was tasteful, and the views from the deck out back were worth dying for. As your server (who wasn’t wearing sunglasses yet) seated you, you silently hoped the menu was as well-cultivated as the place itself. You had the best seat right on the edge of the deck overlooking the ocean. Paired with your devilishly handsome date, it was already the perfect night, so if the food did end up being shit, you wouldn’t be too upset about it. 

‘Can I get you guys started with some drinks?’ The server asked with a smile.

‘Two Peronis with lime, please.’ Bradley responded, flashing her his movie star smile.

She disappeared to get your drinks, leaving the two of you alone. 

Bradley reached for your hand over the table, rubbing circles over your palm.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Our first date.’

‘Our first date was last week.’ You quipped. 

He smiled fondly, shaking his head. ‘That wasn’t a date.’

‘It was, and it was the best first date ever. I’ll die on this hill.’

‘Okay, fine, our first civilised date.’ 

Your drinks arrived, and you both busied yourself with the menu. You’d skipped lunch to ensure you had room for dinner tonight, and your stomach growled audibly. 

‘I’m going for the cannelloni.’ Bradley announced. 

‘I think I’m gonna get a pizza.’ You replied. ‘Shall we get garlic bread for the table?’

‘Is that even a question?’

After ordering your food, you chatted about work and your friends. You already knew each other’s histories—family and otherwise—on a friend level, at least. You were still discovering topics you’d never broached and details left out from stories already told. It was exciting getting to know one another again, not nerve-wracking at all. You didn’t feel like a fish out of water as you had with Elijah. 

The food arrived and was just as delicious as you’d hoped, if not more so. You ordered a glass of red wine and Bradley another Peroni. Since he was driving you home, you didn’t intend to drink any more. The waitress brought your drinks over, blocking your view of the double doors leading into the restaurant. You completely missed another server seating Penny and Maverick a few tables over. They spotted you before you were even aware of their presence. 

‘Is that Lieutenant Y/LN?’ Pete whispered. ‘With Bradley?’

Penny glanced at the two of you, eyebrow raised. ‘It is. They look like they’re on a date.’

Pete blinked in shock. ‘He didn’t tell me he was dating Y/N. He didn’t tell me he was dating anyone.’ 

‘He doesn’t have to tell you everything, honey.’

‘I know, but this is big.’ 

He had to admit, it was hurtful to find out something like this in such a manner. He and Bradley had only been getting closer since they arrived home from the mission that had ultimately saved their relationship. Pete would have thought he might have mentioned that he was seeing someone, especially since it was a Lieutenant under his command. 

‘From what I’ve heard, she’s only just gotten out of a relationship, which would mean that whatever’s going on between them is quite new.’ Penny pointed out, ever the voice of reason. ‘Maybe they’re not ready to share just yet.’ 

‘Maybe.’ Pete replied, frowning deeply. ‘Should we go over there?’

‘No.’ Penny hissed. ‘Did you listen to a word I just said? If they wanted us to know, they’d have told us. I’m sure the last thing they need is us ambushing them on what looks to be their first date.’

‘So we just sit here and pretend we haven’t seen them?’

‘Yes.’

You and Bradley were unaware of the conversation happening not ten feet away. You were too wrapped up in one another and the food in front of you to pay any mind to your surroundings, which was probably for the best. You’d agreed to keep things private for now, and it was working out quite well so far. Not having your friends involved alleviated some pressure to figure out precisely what was happening between you and where it was going; you could set the pace without any interference or judgement. Not to mention the thrill the two of you got from sneaking around and keeping such a massive secret from the rest of the Daggers. 

‘Are we ordering dessert?’ Bradley asked once you were finished with your meals.

‘Is that even a question?’ You mimicked with a grin.

‘Touché.’

You stood up. ‘I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Order for me?’

Bradley took the opportunity to admire your full form again. ‘What would you like?’

You refrained from saying 'you.' ‘Surprise me.’

You waltzed off to the bathroom—with a bit of extra sway of your hips for Bradley’s benefit. You couldn’t believe how well tonight was going. During your tumultuous relationship with Elijah, you’d promised yourself that if things didn’t work out between you, you would never date again. Why would you want to when it had proved to be such a monumental waste of time? But then Bradley had swooped in, and now you could reflect upon how wrong you’d been. There was a reason things hadn’t worked out between you and Elijah, and it wasn’t just because he was a massive twat. It was because you were never supposed to settle with him. Maybe it was too soon to say, but you wanted to believe that you weren’t supposed to settle with him because you were supposed to settle with Bradley. 

You exited the bathroom—which was just as showy as the restaurant itself—and headed back onto the deck. The later it got, the more people had arrived, and now only a few tables were free. You were wondering whether to text Natasha and ask if she wanted to come here for cocktails next weekend when you locked eyes with Captain Mitchell. He quickly glanced down at his dinner, clearly hoping you hadn’t clocked that it was him, and you hurried back to your table. 

‘Hey, sweet thing. I ordered you-’

‘Mav is here.’ You panicked, sliding back into your seat.

‘What?’ Bradley started looking around. 

‘On a date with Penny. Three tables to the right, just behind that lady with the big hair.’ 

Bradley leaned back so he could see past the big hair in question. ‘Well, shit.’ 

‘Guess the cat’s out of the bag.’ 

‘I’m gonna talk to him,’ Bradley announced. ‘Tell him not to say anything to the rest of the squad.’

‘Do you think he would?’

‘Not to be a gossip, but he might mention it thinking everyone else already knows.’

You nodded. ‘That makes sense.’

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. ‘I’ll be right back.’ 

Bradley couldn’t believe it. Of all the nights Mav could’ve taken Penny on a date, he chose tonight. At this very restaurant, no less. When they saw Bradley approaching their table, they were surprised to see him. If Bradley weren’t so good at reading between the lines, he’d have believed they had no idea he’d been sitting three tables away from them.

‘Bradley!’ Penny gushed. ‘You look handsome.’

‘Thank you, Pen.’ He smiled. ‘You look lovely as always.’

Maverick stood up, took Bradley’s hand, and hugged him. The short kind—the bro kind—involved a slap on the back. 

‘Nice to see you.’ Mav said. 

‘I saw you this morning.’ Bradley pointed out.

‘Is that Lieutenant Y/LN?’ Maverick asked coyly, glancing at you sitting alone. ‘I didn’t know the two of you were dating. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Penny glared at Mav, making Bradley think they’d discussed Maverick not saying exactly what he’d just said. 

‘We haven’t told anyone yet. This is our first date, and we kinda just wanna keep it on the down low for now.’

The look Penny shot Mav this time said: I told you so.

‘Y/N just got out of a pretty shitty relationship, so we’re taking things slow.’

Bradley didn’t know why he was telling Mav all this. He was rambling, trying to hide the awkwardness of the situation. 

‘Well, your secret’s safe with me.’ Mav assured him.

Bradley relaxed. ‘Thanks, Mav.’ 

‘You got a good one there, Rooster.’ Penny said. ‘Take care of her.’

‘I will, Pen. You don’t have to worry about that.’

They said their goodbyes, and Bradley headed back to you. The dessert had arrived: a large slice of tiramisu to share. You had been waiting patiently for him to return before digging in, a shiny silver spoon already in hand. 

‘He’s not going to say anything.’ Bradley said, sliding back into his seat. 

‘Whew. That’s a relief.’

He nodded. ‘But I think he was upset that I didn’t tell him about us.’

You frowned. ‘Did you tell him that we aren’t ready to go public? That this is-’

‘New? Yes.’ Bradley finished. 

‘Maybe we could do a double date soon?’ You proposed. ‘It might help make Mav feel a little more included, and it’d be good to get to know him better since you’re so close.’

Bradley brightened at the suggestion. ‘You’d do that?’

‘Of course I would.’ You replied earnestly. ‘And I’m not just suggesting it to make him feel better. I actually think it sounds nice.’

‘You’re amazing, you know that?’

‘Yes, I do.’ You smirked, digging into the tasty-looking tiramisu.

Bradley refused to let you pay half of dinner. You vowed to make him let you pay for something sometime soon, even though you knew it would be difficult. He was a true gentleman through and through. 

You spent the whole drive back to your apartment wondering whether to invite Bradley to come up with you and what it would mean if you did. You didn’t even know what you’d be insinuating if you did invite him up, let alone how he’d take it. Were you ready to sleep with him? Was he ready for that? By the time he pulled into your lot, you were steadily developing a stress headache. 

He parked the Bronco right in front of the doors leading into your foyer, so you wouldn’t have to walk that far.

He reached the centre console and took your hand, and you turned to face him.

‘Since we’re doing this properly,’ he started. ‘I’m not coming up with you.’

You looked down, blush creeping across your cheeks. Had he been reading your mind? In the moment of silence that followed Bradley’s declaration, your brain tried to ruin the fantastic night you’d had with self-deprecating thoughts. Briefly, your thoughts wandered back to the second half of your relationship with Elijah and how little sex you’d had, the fact that when you did have sex, it was always about him. It never even crossed his mind to go down on you, and you had to hope you finished before him because once he was done, it was always game over. 

Bradley put a finger on your chin, tilting your head up so he could see your face. 

‘What’s wrong, sweetness?’

‘Nothing.’ 

‘Where’d you go just then?’ He pressed. 

‘If you don’t want to be with me like that, it’s okay.’ You told him honestly. 

His expression went from shock to anger and then hurt in the space of two seconds. 

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘I don’t know.’ You murmured. 

You tried to look away, but he kept his fingers on your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

‘Listen to me. I want to be with you more than anything.’ He told you truthfully. ‘But I think we should go slow. I want to make sure we take things at the right pace.’

‘There’s no rushing something you want to last forever.’ You repeated from that night on the beach. 

‘Exactly that.’

You leaned over and kissed him slowly and sweetly in the spirit of not rushing things. There was no urgency, just passion. Now he’d reassured you, you knew he was right. You weren’t ready to take the next step yet, and savouring the build-up was good. For all you knew, all these first times with Bradley might be your last. 

‘I’ll walk you to the door.’ Bradley mumbled against your lips.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be able to resist coming up?’

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought he might change his mind about not spending the night. ‘I can wait. You’re worth it.’ He said. ‘But one of these days, I want you to wear that sundress for me again.’

‘Why?’ You whispered.

‘Because I think it’s going to look so good on my bedroom floor.’

A/N: I've finally gotten around to writing the first part of my sequel series to Heartbreak Feels So Good. This one's short and sweet, but I'll be writing some longer parts as the series goes on. If anyone has any suggestions or requests for moments they'd like to see in future parts, please let me know! Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed/added to the taglist for this series.

Taglist:

@crowdedimagines

@sadgirlgiselle

@sleepy-writersblock

@lovelyygirl8

@my-therapist-hates-me

@primroseluna

@eloquentdreamer

@sgt-barnesveins

@daybleedsintonightfa11

[lightandfellowship]

I do think that Eraqus' haircut, along with creating narrative symmetry with Xehanort's haircut, is meant to visually convey that Eraqus has gotten more serious about his responsibilities as a Keyblade wielder.

Before, his hair was long, a little messy, and more in-his-face. You get the impression that he probably just grabs a handful of hair, puts it into a quick ponytail, and doesn't do much else with it. In addition, I could see his long bangs potentially getting in the way while he's fighting, obscuring his eyes. But for someone who's characterized as a slacker who likes to do things at the last minute, it would make sense that he wouldn't think about that all too much, nor seek a solution in a timely manner.

After his haircut, his bangs are much shorter, and less likely to get in his eyes, I feel. It also looks like his hair has been trimmed all around, since his ponytail and the hair on the back of his neck look a tad shorter, too.

This to me reads as him putting more effort into his appearance, both in terms of presentation and functionality. He's a Keyblade Master now, and not just that but Odin's heir too, and with that new responsibility comes an obligation to direct more effort into everything he does, even the things that don't seem super important in the grand scheme of things, like how he looks.

Interestingly though, even with this more intentional haircut, there's still some notable oddities in his hair. His bangs aren't symmetrical at all, with one being much longer than the other. And there's almost a choppy look to it. It wouldn't surprise me if he cut his hair himself, maybe to emphasize all the more that he's taking responsibility now, and isn't relying on others to do things for him.

Note: it should go without saying that in real life, how one chooses to style their hair doesn't always reflect some element of their personality. In character design, however, it usually does, especially when accompanied by a character arc or timeskip, so this analysis is from that perspective.

[alyssa-ai]

Let's get going! Challenge,

it was complicated for me to identify this theme, but after some reflection and support from my friend, I said to myself, travel theme?, yes, but also too a desire to travel, a desire to surpass myself, to find myself alone facing the elements, that's my desire to travel (even if I don't have the physical condition) 🙂

I have a dream, that of climbing to the top of a mountain and feeling the grandeur of the world, from the top of these giants, climbing step by step these rocky walls, feeling the hot then cold winds whip my face, with the satisfaction of moving forward, higher, always higher. until the first bivouac, ...

Time to stop and camp, the sun hides behind the mountain line, the sounds of nature fill the space, I am alone with my thoughts, and this view that one cannot get tired of...

The sun has risen, rested and in great shape I prepare myself and resume the climb, …

We continue walking on this sea of ​​ice, this white desert is so appeased, I can see the summit, only a few more hours and I would be on the roof of the world …

I see the summit, I am there, and I imagine in this dream that this moment is exceptional, one of those journeys on this planet and in its spirit that we cannot forget

it's a journey, it's a dream, maybe one day reality that I share with you on the occasion of this challenge I take the opportunity to take all my little friends with me to the summit on this flag that I would like to plant up there, so that the dream comes true ❤️

This is my simplistic way of participating in this challenge, while maintaining a deep admiration for the achievements of all the other participants who are incredibly creative, well done to all and thanks @burningpoisonroaster for organizing 👏

@dryndelicate @danni-gurrl @gigiprinceton @ai-satin-chic

@softsmooth69 @fluffyfaza @synth-ai

@mohairmaster @mistressmaurahypno @hollyjumper

@andysfantasie @milunessence @anderii @bumani

@burningpoisonroaster

[vermilionsun]

hellooo, i really love the headcanons u write 4 touchstarved. i totally understand if ur uncomfortable writing about this, so no pressure. but if ur okay with it, i’d be curious to see how the lis (whichever u prefer, but preferably leander or someone with a visible scar ><) would react to an mc with sh scars.

TW! Implied self–harm [as per the request] Let’s start with the basics; this is not romanticising sh in any way, shape or form—I believe it’s obvious

If anyone ever feels the need to let something out of their chest/venting, or even chit-chat about this and that, my messages are and will remain open <3

And always remember; Seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness.

𝓐𝓲𝓼

✩ He didn't mean to see them. He wasn't trying to look for them.

✩ His eyes widened slightly before narrowing again. The subtle shift in his expression betrayed his thoughts as he debated whether or not to acknowledge what he saw.

✩ "What are those?" Not subtle, not discreet, straight to the point. "How did they happen?" he asked, his tone blunt but oddly caring.

✩ He took a step forward, and then another, standing so close that he could easily reach out and touch them. "Listen, I'm not gonna judge you or anything. I just wanna know…”

✩ He’s worried as fuck

✩ but remains as calm as can be, letting them take their time

✩ He took it upon himself to make sure the scars were healing properly (with what little knowledge he had from helping Kuras)

𝓚𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓼

✞ His eyes narrow minutely. He doesn’t show any sign of fear or disgust, and that somehow is even more alarming than it would’ve been if he had. The expression on his face is almost blank.

✞ His tone remains even, betraying nothing of his thoughts or emotions. Something in his stare is just the slightest bit piercing, however. He’s assessing them, studying all of the details of their form and expression. He’s… unnervingly perceptive. He keeps just barely out of arm's reach.

✞ His coat rustles as he gently reaches out, like he’s trying not to startle a small wild animal. A single long, slender finger traces one of the scars. "My. That is serious scarification. How did it happen?" He asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't want to believe it.

✞ He will push for an answer.

✞ There’s a long, heavy silence. A flicker of understanding clouds his expression. "Why?" The sharp tone melts away, replaced by gentleness.

✞ He lets out a tired sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, all the tension leaving his body. For that moment, the mask of the competent, emotionless doctor falters, and he suddenly looks older, more worn-down, more vulnerable.

✞ "Don't… I've heard the same story far too many times."

𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻

🗡"Hey, what are those from?" His expression remained the same for a brief moment, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, fixated on the scars.

🗡When he noticed the pause, he took a step closer, maintaining a respectful distance. "It's alright. You can tell me."

🗡 As the words left their lips, Leander's expression shifted slightly, reflecting a tinge of surprise and a hint of understanding, though he remained calm. "You..." Leander started, choosing his words carefully. "Did you do this to yourself...?"

🗡The concern in his eyes intensified, and his voice dropped to a soft, gentle murmur. "Are there more?"

🗡 His fingers instinctively reach out—

🗡 He gently drew them into a tight embrace, holding them close against his chest, his body warm and firm against theirs. "Nevermind. You don't have to say a word. I'm here for you."

🗡 "You know, scars aren't all bad. They're reminders that you've survived, that you're stronger than you give yourself credit for…. Just promise me you won't do it again. Those scars... they don't belong on you."

𝓜𝓱𝓲𝓷

🕊 Mhin's demeanor would change the moment they'd spot their scars

🕊 They’d hesitate only momentarily before walking up to them, yanking any fabric away and inspecting them

🕊 "How old are they?" They’d ask, their voice a bit softer compared to their earlier attitude.

🕊 They’re just.. staring at them, the gears in their head clearly turning. Mhin looked quite… shocked, like they’d seen a ghost roaming the streets of Eridia.

🕊 “You did this on purpose,” they concluded. "Were you trying to…?" Their voice is careful, treading on thin ice.

🕊 For once, they ignored their pride and went with something their heart was telling him to do instead of their head; They soaked a cloth in the disinfectant eyes flickering back up to their ace before carefully bringing it to the scars. They worked silently, cleaning the wounds with surprisingly gentle touch before wrapping them in bandages once done.

🕊 “Who drove you to it?”

𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓮

✦ Ỳ̶̡̮̜̙̑̈́͆̄̌̾̈́̔̚͘ͅỏ̸̢̨̖̺̦̫̀͊̏̊͝u̷͚̜̟̟̪͎͙͂́̉̑̌̀̊̔̄̾̌͝r̴̨̞̪̽͋̌͜ ̵̧̡̞̺͔̖̳̱̗͈̩̟͛͋͜ͅͅs̷͈̯͊̀̃́̿̿c̶̨̨̜͈͙͈̱̀̑́̎ą̴̙̞̟̰̙͓̫̽͑r̴̢̢̡̙̭͖̦̝̺̮̄͑̍͛̓͗̂̿̂̿̓̒̈́̕ṣ̵́̈́̉̋̂̏͛̐̂̑͊̾́̕̕.̴̖̤̱͙̀̀ ̴̢̧͇̮͈̥̮̲͈̫̓̄̔̋ͅ

✦ It's unexpected. He is really close to them—too close for comfort. So close that they're able to feel the heat of his breath.

✦ His face is calm, almost emotionless, but there is something like deep thoughtfulness in his eyes and a little bit of irritation that he is clearly trying to conceal. 

✦ "A lot of them..." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. There's something strange in his tone. "Who did that?" They feel his rough fingers on their skin, his touch not gentle, but not as harsh and cold as they'd expect. He seems tense now, looking at them with a kind of coldness that they hadn't seen from him before.

✦ He suddenly makes a quiet huffing sound, as if he's almost sneering. “What a waste.” He mutters and he finally steps back a little, his gaze still on their scars. “Stupid… What was even the point?” It’s something like a sincere question, that came out without him realizing it.

✦ He’s clearly trying to figure something out, staring them down, observing every muscle, twitch and every subtle movement

✦ “Was it worth it?”