#not to mention travel and hotel costs

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: updating bc i love yall. lol jk i dont want to study for my engineering management long quiz yet. sum1 yell at me to start studying or smth.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2021 is a little dramatic in Max’s opinion. Some would say controversial. A lot of restarts. The issue with the safety car. Hamilton and Verstappen goes neck to neck. 369.5 points to 369.5. In the end, Verstappen overtakes Hamilton and wins the 2021 World Drivers' Championship.

The team celebrates with him after winning and in the sea of Red Bull employees, Max searches for you.

He won! Max Verstappen won! He’s a WDC now! He finally made truth of the world he told you in 2019.

Kelly appears and kisses him square on the lips. Max sees you in his peripheral vision, pulling your ball cap lower on your face before turning around and leaving. He wants to call you but Kelly keeps him in place.

Max visits your hotel room later, all happy and he holds the canned bottle of beer to you when you open the door.

“I’m not the sour loser anymore.”

You smile at him and Max feels like he’s on top of the podium again.

“Told ya you’ll be champion one day. Congrats, champ. Very happy for you.”

Champ.

Max decides that he likes Champ over every name you call him.

2022

you: go to fucking sleep u degenerate gamer

you: its 3 in the morning you have a race at 8

max: youre not my mother

you: i am ur manager u ass

you: and i have ur mom’s cell no

you: i will fucking call her if ur stream doesn't turn offline in ten seconds

you: 10…

max: you wouldnt dare

you: 9…

He moves into a penthouse at the beginning of the year and purchases a jet, Dassault Falcon 900EX, to make the traveling easier. Flying commercial absolutely sucks, even first class.

When he mentions the money he spent; the penthouse rental cost, the price of the jet plus maintenance of the private plane service, you have stood up and went to the balcony to stare at the Monaco scenery to gather your thoughts. Max laughs as he watches your brain overheat. He tells security that you’re to be given an immediate pass into the building and his penthouse without the need of going through the strict security checks. He gives you a keycard that you barely use because you knock on the door every single time you come by. A month later, Kelly and Penelope move in and this is the beginning of the little family charade.

“What are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious?” you gesture to the iPad in your hand. “Readin’ a Lestappen fic in AO3.”

Max’s brows furrow.

“Lestappen?”

“The ship name between you and Charles. Lestappen. Leclerc, Verstappen, Lestappen,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and he’s stupid for even asking, waving your hand in a complicated flourish. “It’s good. Top-tier literature. Want me to send you the link?”

Max’s nose scrunches, “So there are people who ship me and Charles?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Romantically?”

You nod, “Want the link?”

“Absolutely not.”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Your loss.”

Max wins P1 (as things should be) in Austin, Hamilton P2, and Leclerc P3. The team holds a private drinking party in the hotel bar. Max sits with Leclerc, whom he has invited, and Lando, who came with Daniel, and Daniel because he’s Daniel and he still gets a free pass in Red Bull parties even though he’s in McLaren now.

Daniel passes him a bottle of Heineken and Max searches for the bottle opener on the table but it's nowhere. He reaches for you, who sits on the neighboring table with the PR team. Max grabs the hem of your polo shirt sleeve and tugs slightly to get your attention. He opens his mouth to ask if you’ve seen the bottle opener but you got to moving, not even giving Max the chance to speak.

Without even interrupting your conversation with the PR people or even breaking eye contact with the person who is talking animatedly, you take the beer bottle from Max’s hand, toss a hand towel on top of it, then you use your teeth to remove the cap. It opens with a loud click. You wipe the rim of the bottle, pocketing the bottle cap, before returning the Heineken to Max.

Max looks at the Heineken bottle in his hand.

You know, Sophie, Max’s mother, always say that there's a certain type of intimacy existing when two people are able to communicate without the use of words. People associate intimacy with bare skins and basking in the fragility and vulnerability of a person, but intimacy goes deeper than mere nakedness and showing all the bare parts of you to the other person. Intimacy comes hand in hand with truth. When you admit your truth to the other person, that's intimacy. Her knowing his truth, his needs, without him telling her. That's another kind. If that's not the purest form of love then he does not know what is.

Charles pats his shoulder to pull him to reality.

At that moment, Max decides he’s an asshole because he just realized that he likes his manager after she opens his beer bottle and he has a fucking girlfriend now.

Max wins WDC for the second year in a row. Leclerc is at second and Perez at third. He’s on the top of the fucking world. Everything feels right now that he’s standing at the top.

His eyes search for you in the crowd but he doesn't find you. Only Kelly. He kisses Kelly, celebrates with the team, and visits you in your hotel room later with a cold can of beer in hand. It's a little past midnight, his watch tells him. You open the door seconds after Max knocks.

“Have you talked to Horner?” you ask, accepting the beer and opening it. The loud click when you open it feels satisfying in his ears.

You’ve changed out of the Red Bull polo now and instead, you wear a black shirt.

“No,” Max shakes his head.

“When will you?”

“Soon.”

That's the only truth he can offer. Because the bigger truth is this: Max doesn't want you going anywhere, not even the engineering team who works closely with him. He only wants you here, beside him, behind him, at all times.

One more year. One more year and he's going to tell Christian to move you to the engineering team. One more year to have you and he’ll let you go.

(That's what he told himself last year, too.)

“Okay,” you nod and it relieves Max that you’re not arguing with him about it. “Congrats, Champ.”

You don't fly with him to Monaco. You don't fly with the team either. Instead, you fly to Texas immediately straight from Abu Dhabi. Max calls you once in the middle of break to greet you happy holidays and you mail him his gift—a clay keychain figure of him. He adds it to his keys, sitting right next to the beaded keychain you gave him back in 2020 and a bottle opener keychain in 2021.

2023

“Should I break up with Kelly?”

Your head snaps up at a speed that should be considered a hazard, stunned. You give Max a look that can be translated as: Did the g-force finally catch up to your brain?

“What prompted this?” you question, slowly setting Max’s laptop aside. You’re working on fixing his laptop’s wifi connection while he’s getting his makeup done for the Heineken ad filming. Once the makeup artist deemed him done and left the room, he immediately took the chance to ask the question.

“Nothing,” he lies.

“I’ll throw away your laptop if you don't tell me the truth,” you threaten.

“It's just—” Max pauses. His mouth feels dry. He licks his lips before continuing, “It’s just… I don't know how to explain it. It feels like I don't love Kelly anymore.”

I think I love you, [Name].

“Aight,” you grab a monoblock chair and drag it until it's right beside Max’s chair and plop your ass down. You sigh deeply before your face schools into complete seriousness. “Can't believe I’m the one givin’ you this talk. Uh, Max, you see, in a relationship, you typically experience this period called the honeymoon phase.”

Max nods slowly. He doesn't know where you're trying to get at but he clings on each word that leaves your mouth.

“The honeymoon phase can last anywhere from months to years and when it's done, the strong feelings and infatuation you have for Kelly decreases and that's natural. This is the stage where your bond with Kelly is strengthened,” you explain. “It's not all sunshine and rainbows. It can get boring. But the love is still there. It's just…well, less intense than before.”

He wants to ask if this happened to you and Leo as well, but he bites his tongue and says a different thing instead, “You give advice like a relationship guru.”

“Baby, I have a long list of ex-lovers. Kelly’s your first girlfriend. You don't have a say.”

Your birthday is near. Daniel shares to Max that he’s buying you a new ball cap this year, signed by your favorite professional billiard player. Max needs to give you something better.

He thinks about the things you like. He makes a list. It's a short one.

Beer

A spot in the engineering team.

Your family

He cannot give number three. He cannot give what you already have. He can give you number two but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want you to be anything other than his manager. He can give you number one but it'll be very lame of him if he gives you beer for your birthday. What is better than Daniel’s gift? What would you like more than a ballcap?

Max calls his sister that evening.

“Shoes,” she says. “Oh wait, that's a little hard. You might get her shoe size wrong.”

“She’s size 7. In Euro, 37,” Max states a little too quickly and a little too sure.

“How did you know her shoe size?” Victoria wonders.

“I don't know. I just watch her feet?”

“So, you estimated her shoe size by watching her feet like a creep?”

“I watch her feet a normal amount, Victoria,” Max insists.

“Max, I can't even tell my husband’s shoe size even if I stare at his feet for hours.”

“Maybe you just suck at estimating measurements.”

Max ends up getting the shoes with Victoria’s help. Victoria gets too irritated with him midway because he is too indecisive. He thinks all the shoes that’s displayed do not suit you.

It's not even this difficult when he’s picking shoes to give Kelly. Normally, he just asks the saleswoman to show him the most expensive or the latest in their stock and he buys it, instructs the storespeople to wrap it up and make sure the brand shows because Kelly likes it when the brand is big and bright and attention-grabbing.

“If you think nothing’s pretty enough then go get a custom made shoe,” she advises and then sighs in exasperation. Victoria shakes her head at him. It's not supposed to be a serious suggestion but Max takes it to heart.

Instead of black, Max goes for white. You rarely go in white clothing but when you do, you become so beautiful that Max has to stop himself from kneeling down in front of you and risking everything.

It has pearls and diamonds and satin. All beautiful things that reminded Max of you. Max wants, no, needs to see you put them on. He’s the one who puts it in a box. White-colored with peach stickers and a peach-colored ribbon.

Max plans to give them to you after he wins the Miami Grand Prix. But your family arrives just as he’s about to retrieve it from his driver’s room.

Max meets your family. A family that consists of happy parents and three brothers. You are your family’s unica hija.

Julio [Last Name], your father, is a big man and his accent is thicker than yours and he doesn't call you by your name, only the most affectionate-sounding mija. He reminds Max of a giant teddy bear. A giant teddy bear who crushes rocks for a living.

Your mother, on the other hand, is a stern-looking woman. Sally, her name was. She’s short, compared to you and her sons and her husband.

You have three brothers. One older—you call him Damiano. Two younger—Rafael and Dominic. You are more your mother than your father, Max notices. Appearance-wise anyway. Damiano, too. Sharp-looking, both of you. Your sharpness makes you look charming whereas your Damiano’s sharpness makes him look intimidating. Your two younger brothers are carbon copies of your father, a little round and with kinder looking features.

“Papa, Mama, Bro one, two, and three, this is Max,” you introduce him, smiling widely and you're doing that smile where you’re showing too much gums and your eyes are shaped like crescents. Happiness looks good on you.

He lets out an oof sound when your father engulfs him in a hug. Max hears you exclaim: “Papa!”

Max laughs and waves his hand to tell you that the hug is fine and is very much welcomed.

“Congratulations, Maxwell!” Julio claps Max’s shoulders.

“Papa, please,” you shake your head at your father’s antics. “It's just Max.”

“Ya want to join us for [Name]’s birthday?” Julio invites. Max catches your eyes. You mouth a no but Max shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Max joins the family dinner. It's held in a Mexican restaurant somewhere downtown. Originally, your family reserved a table for ten. But Max has gone ahead and reserved the entire restaurant by paying upfront. You slap Max’s hand but Max laughs and says, “Happy Birthday [Name].”

Over dinner, Maxs learns that Rafael, Dominic, and Damiano are the biggest motosport fans so they all talk about Formula One and occasionally MotoGP. He finds out that they're a big fan of Marc Marquéz. Max tells them that he knows Marc personally and shares his experiences with the man. He promises to send them the man’s signatures. You tell him that he doesn't have to. He tells you that it's his pleasure.

Max listens in attentively as Julio narrates his amazing tales about his work experience. You laugh at the surprised Pikachu face Max makes when Julio is telling the entire table about the creepy call he responded to just the other month. You and your mother occasionally join in on the conversation but are more comfortable with listening to the boys.

Later, you stand up to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Max stands from the table five minutes after you leave. He’s drunk too much soda so now he needs to take a piss.

“Are you okay?” Max asks as he catches you reapplying a layer of lipstick—a shade of nude rose—on the sink in front of the washroom.

You hold the lipstick in one hand but the other is holding your right arm, palm covering the word MANAGER printed on the sleeve of your Red Bull polo shirt like it's something to be ashamed about.

“Yeah.” A lie.

The rest of the night goes the way Max wants it. He almost wishes it won't end.

Kelly waits for him in his hotel room. She gives him a gift for winning P1. The shoe box in Max’s backpack remains untouched.

He’s got every country except Singapore, Saudi, and Azerbaijan under his belt. His third WDC is secure even if he loses Abu Dhabi, but Max is selfish. He still wants a P1 in Abu Dhabi so he fights and fights until no one can catch up because of how fast he was.

Kelly comes with him this time to watch him race and support him because it's the final race of the season and she also knows that Max is going to win WDC this year. P is over at her father right now so it's just the two of them.

“Babe!” Max looks up from his laptop. Kelly comes running in and Max’s eyes widened, horrified, when she sees that Kelly is holding it.

The white shoes.

Max stands abruptly. The laptop in his lap falls to the floor and shatters. He curses and crouches down to pick it up and save what he can save. When he looks up, Kelly is sitting on the bed now and is trying the shoes on. Max shoves the damaged laptop aside and strides towards her. He’ll deal with the laptop later.

“That's not—”

“Oh?” Kelly’s face morphs in confusion. “It doesn't fit.”

Kelly chuckles yet it sounds empty and dread pools in Max’s stomach.

“You bought me shoes many times already. There’s no way you’ll get my shoe size wrong.”

Max takes the shoes from her hand quickly and he puts them back carefully in the box.

“That's not for me,” Kelly states.

“It’s not for you,” Max echoes.

“Then who’s it for, Babe?”

Max doesn't answer. Instead, he avoids her gaze.

“Max Emilian Verstappen, who’s the shoes for?” Kelly is seething now.

For the first time in their two nearly three year long relationship, Max and Kelly get into a screaming argument. They get into arguments as all couples do, but never ones with screaming and crying and too much anger in one room.

“I can't go on like this anymore,” Kelly cries. “I can't. I let it go when you made me wait because you celebrated her birthday with her family. I let it go when you made her that crochet bag. I let it go when you bought a billiard table and brought it into our home because she likes playing billiards—”

“I tried breaking up with you!” Max roars and he sees Kelly flinch. “And you told me not to. You used Penelope so I wouldn't break up with you—”

“Do not even say my daughter's name—”

“It's true!” Max throws his hands in the air like a man gone mad. “I told you in fucking July that I think I’m losing feelings for you! You told me to not break up with you because Penelope already thinks of me as her father and it’ll break her heart if I kick you out of my house! I am NOT her father, Kel, her father’s Daniil! You only want me because I can give you everything you want! Money, pride, and a fucking father figure for your child!”

Kelly strikes his cheek. Sharp, fast, and strong. Max remains still in shock and stares ahead.

Kelly has officially become the second person in this world who has raised a hand at Max.

“I hate you,” Kelly utters it with so much intensity. “I hate you. We’re done.”

She leaves quickly.

Max’s phone buzzes.

you: hey champ. race is on in an hour n a half. u good to go?

max: yeah

max: i’ll be there soon

you: i’ll wait for u

max: you always do

Max races with the guilt that he's a cheating asshole. His mother will not be proud of it once she learns that her son has dated a girl and idiotically realized that he’s in love with his manager halfway through the relationship.

Despite the emotional turmoil that swirling inside him, Max takes P1 and becomes a third-time WDC. He celebrates with the team. You excuse yourself, saying you have something important to do, and Max doesn't bother asking you to stay because he knows he’ll visit you in your hotel room later with a cold can of beer. It’s become your ritual now.

He drinks with Daniel, Yuki, and Checo. Five bottles in, he spills everything. He pukes. It tastes disgusting. His world turns into a hazy blur. You came to his rescue because that's what you always do.

Max is so dumb for taking so long in realizing that he's in love with you. It's always been you. You and your dumb considerate attitude and your snarky personality and your crude mouth. He never realized how horrifyingly enormous his desire for you is until its right there in front of him with its mouth wide open, ready to swallow him whole.

you: landed

you: thanks for the jet

you: talk soon gotta get to papa 1st

max: ok

max: stay safe

max: your dad will be alright dont worry

you: i hope so

It has been seven days since the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, three days since you left Monaco, two days since your last conversation in Instagram, and a day before Max flies to Belgium to celebrate the holidays with his mother and sister and his sister’s family.

max: are you okay?

max: just landed in belgium

max: mum and vic says hi

max: hey it's been a week now

max: is your dad okay?

max: im worried

max: call me soon please

max: happy holidays

max: or merry christmas

max: whatever you celebrate there in america

max: yeah i greeted a little too early

max: you didn't answer my call

max: im friends with logan now by the way

max: we talk at times

max: im trying to get him into sim racing

max: maybe it'll help him improve

max: happy holidays

max: i called your cell

max: you know christian just told me something funny

max: he sent an email this morning with a list of candidates for my 2024 manager

max: he said you resigned

max: very funny

max: please tell me you didn't

[moonwayne]

Weak

logan x gn!reader

warnings: angst, cussing, mention of blood and injury, arguments, my rushed writing

Request: i love logan and i love angst!!I would like to read about an argument (one that is difficult to resolve or forgive) because I haven't seen much of that around here. That would be great! Thk 🫶 - @daugheroferuri

first time writing for Logan, let me know if you like it!

Logan had always struggled with his past. The reminders of trauma showing themselves in arbitrary moments and the constant battles he faced as part of the X-Men was no help. You had been with him for a handful of years now and as a fellow mutant you had stuck by his side for years, supporting him through countless fights. Your empathetic healing and manipulation abilities had come in handy whenever it came to persuading an enemy or alleviating a teammate’s pain. But this wasn’t without a cost. Every change of the mind or lapse in judgement you inflicted on to others no longer had an effect, but removing and forcing pain blockers took its toll on your body. Every use had left you exhausted, nearing a dangerous line of losing consciousness on multiple occasions. Needless to say, Logan was against you using your pain-relieving powers.

In recent days, the strain of the distance forced between you and him at his hand, had been damn near debilitating. As you sluggishly strolled into Charles’ office, you noticed him and Hank talking lowly in the corner. With a heavy sigh, you plopped yourself into a nearby chair, waiting as the two finally noticed your presence.

“Ah! Y/N! H-How’s your day?” Hank stuttered out, face burning with a embrassed blush, as if he’d been a child caught with something he shouldn’t have. You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously before turning to Charles, who matched Hank’s guilty expression and strained smile. You moved your eyes from one to the other a few times, before focusing on Hank and feeling around in his mind.

“Hey! Don’t d-“ He sputtered, cut off by your determined voice. “Hank.” You said, pleading with a tilt of your head. “I can practically see your guilt. You’re very bad at hiding things. Just tell me what you know.”

His face burned again, and he flicked his gaze towards the professor in apology before mumbling out a quiet “Well.. Logansortofdiscoveredanewthreatthatcouldendangerallofourlivesandcountlessinnocents. Heleftlastnight.“ He finished with a meek smile.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out, exasperated at the confession and the situation as a whole.

“Y/N, you must understand-“ Charles injected then. “No Charles! Don’t you see? I’m tired of understanding.” You rose your voice, digging your nails into your palm harshly. “He thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

You scoffed. “He only wishes to protect you.” Charles finished, having found his way over to you in the process, and wrapped a hand around yours comfortingly. “Logan does not know any better.” You rolled your eyes as you yanked your hand away from his harshly, standing up.

“I can’t do this any longer. I won’t. I am so tired of being pushed to the outside just because he simply ‘does not know better’, that’s some bullshit, Charles. And I know you know that.” You stated firmly, making your exit. “If I don’t return, I thank you for all you both have given me.” You spoke, hand grasping the door anxiously. “Truly.” Hank and Charles nodded, and watched your figure fade as you walked off.

+- -+

After searching and finding Logan’s plans in his room you concluded the threat would have been dealt with by the time you arrived to where he was in France. After a long flight and some more traveling later, you caught up to him. You strolled into the hotel and by turning up the charm, you convinced the poor receptionist to let you into where he was staying. It only took around an hour of you pacing the carpeted floor with a frown etched on your face for Logan to come storming in the room, his face already set in a hardened expression. “Y/N?” He questioned, taking in your form as you did his, noticing the healing bruises and bloody knuckles.

“What are you doing here?” He rushed over to you, hands on your shoulders as he began to push you towards the door.

“Logan, I’m here for you!” You said, planting your feet and staring up into his eyes. He shook his head in disagreement and began to push you out of the room again. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s too dangerous.”

“L-Logan. Stop pushing me.”

“Shouldn’t be here.. not safe..” He mumbled, gathering your bags and placing them in your hands. “Logan!” You yelled now, dropping the bags at your feet and making your way over to his cowering form.

“You should be at home.” He grunted. “I need to leave. The threat isn’t dealt with.” He said, turning to leave you alone once more.

"Logan, you can't keep doing this!" You exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "Every time you go on these missions alone, you leave me behind, unsure of your safety. You need support with you.”

Logan's jaw tightened. "I can handle it. I've been doing this long before we met. It's what I do."

"But we're supposed to be a team," you shot back, voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "How am I supposed to just be okay with you shutting me out, okay with you making me feel like I don't matter in your life?"

Logan's eyes softened for a moment, and you thought he might wrap you in his arms and speak to you his apologies, but that was only a thought. He stiffened up and turned away, his voice gruff. "This is not about you. It's about keeping you safe. I can't risk losing you." A crack in his voice was the only sign of emotion. You shook your head rapidly, frustration and sadness boiling over. "Logan don't you see? Every time you go out there alone, I feel a piece of you slip away. I can't do this, Logan. I can't keep living everyday unsure, waiting for the day you decide you simply do not need me anymore.” You spoke, voice trembling with every word. Logan's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words seeming to have had an effect. He sighed and turned towards you again, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and regret.

"I... I don't know how to do this any other way." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. You took a step closer and reached out for one of his bloody hands.

"Then we need to find a way together. Because I won’t continue letting you push me away. We need to stick together." You breathed, regaining some composure. “You know I’m capable of helping. I don’t understand why you don’t let me come with you.” He pulled his hand away from yours aggressively, that stony expression returning to his face.

“Y/N. Enough.” He said, “You’re not strong enough to join me on these missions.” You blinked rapidly, feeling the burning sensation of tears returning to your eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you’re weak, Y/N.”

“You don’t really mean that.” Your voice lowered.

“Right now, I do.” He gritted his teeth, baring that once charming smile into a grim line.

“You’re fucking pathetic, James. We’re supposed to be together, in everything.” Your sadness slowly morphed into a rising anger. Logan's eyes flashed with anger at your statement. "You don't get it, do you? I don't need a partner. I don’t need back up. I need you to stay safe. And out of my way. If that means you hating me, or you leaving me entirely then so be it.” He told you, jaw tightening. “I tried the domestic life once. You know what happened. I won’t do it again. I mean, just look wherre it fucking got me.” He flashed his claws, a pained frown spreading over his face.

“I don’t recognize you anymore, Wolverine.” You stated. “I didn’t fall in love with this version of you.”

He sighed and looked into your eyes, his mind’s pain and uncertainty filling the air around you so thick you could nearly feel it choking you.

“I am sorry, Y/N.” He lifted his bags off the floor and with a single glance into your eyes, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and riddled with doubt. You didn’t know if you could ever bridge the massive chasm between you.

+-+

sorry the ending was a bit rushed. hope you liked it <3

[felicjana050896]

Maximus - the main antagonist in the series?

I finally watched Fallout and I want to comment on one thing, apart from the whole Cooper and Lucy relationship, because there are a lot of analyzes on Tumblr and Twitter (after watching the series, I will immediately rewatch it to find some additional hints, and if not, it's just for fun, because the series for me... was a masterpiece, it's been a long time since I couldn't break away from the series like I did from Fallout, especially since I was playing games, so it was wonderful to feel this atmosphere again, to sum up the sentiment completely took me far away...), so I'll just link some of these analyzes and hints here, in case someone hasn't read it:

It's 100% CGI, you can see how at the end that thread moves completely unnaturally, there's no way it's real, it had to be CGI and it had to be for something, it makes no sense to add such a little, tiny detail with CGI after nothing..., after all, money is spent on it, it's one thing to write "I love you" in the background, and another thing is to make a heart out of thread using CGI... (at least that's what I think, I don't know anything about CGI, but even such a small thing must cost a bit... :D )

Apart from the fact that Max and Lucy have practically no foreshadowings and no chemistry, and they DON'T KNOW each other at all, because their whole relationship is based on "I met a nice girl/boy and I think I like her/him", because let's be honest, there is no talk about love here, they liked each other because Max helped Lucy with the radiation and Lucy helped Max get out of the armor, they helped each other and were nice to each other, that's all... but it's not enough to talk about love, liking each other yes, but not about love (I'm surprised when people, for example on Twitter, write that Max and Lucy love each other, where...???) and as I mentioned above, they don't know each other, they know practically nothing about themselves, about their plans, dreams, tastes, perception of the world, etc., they know nothing about each other, they have barely met, and their entire relationship is based on the fact that in this world it is simply difficult to have any other person, so they instinctively grab whatever comes first. Lucy dreamed of getting married and having children, she was taught to focus on the ,,survival of the species", her whole wedding was pure ,,politics", and in the end it turned out that she married a bandit who then tried to kill her, while Maximus probably never didn't think about these matters, surrounded by practically only guys and focused on military life..., so their entire relationship is based on: ,,he's/she's nice, ok, I'll take it", that's why their relationship seems rushed and has zero chemistry , so in my opinion it is not a bad writing (like with Chaggie from Hazbin Hotel in my opinion), it is supposed to be like that and it makes logical sense, as I have already presented above, this relationship is supposed to be quick and without chemistry, because it is supposed to show their standards, how low they are, in this world... and Cooper, on the other hand, comes from a completely different world...

By the way, unlike Max and Lucy, who nevertheless spend some time together while traveling sensibly, we don't see any specific conversations between them that could bring them closer to each other, as I wrote above, they don't know each other and in fact they don't even try to get to know themselves, while in the case of Cooper and Lucy, Lucy constantly asks Cooper questions, and sometimes he answers (in fact, not directly, but he answers), they have a conversation about torture, Lucy asks Cooper why he is like this, why he continues this ( scene with cannibalism), Lucy asks what he is (water scene), etc., Lucy asks Cooper questions, wants to get to know him, wants to learn more about him, and he also learns more about her through her talkativeness (e.g. the initial scene when Cooper and Lucy meet for the first time and Lucy tries to diplomatically calm him down, or the scene when Lucy gives Cooper the vials), Cooper and Lucy have already gotten to know each other more than Max and Lucy, and now Lucy has gone with Cooper....

But leaving Cooper and Lucy, because this post is not about them, let's move on to Max..., Max, who in my opinion has a great predisposition to become the main or at least one of the main (because the most main may be those from Vault-Tec) antagonists in series, why....

At the beginning, I was positive towards Max, unlike Lucy, who seemed naive and stupid to me at the beginning, and I don't like such characters (of course, I liked Cooper from the very beginning, after all, Hancock was my Fallout husband in Fallout 4 ;) ), and then she surprised me in the scene with her husband, when she ,,killed" him (almost, but still), I didn't expect such a change in the character at all..., later she surprised me by the fact that she is not as stupid as she seemed in the in the beginning, yes she is naive but not stupid, she just had to get out of the bubble called the Vault and I can't wait to see how her character will evolve in season 2 after all this and being together with Cooper..., I want to see her show her claws..., I want to see even more how, under this guise of a naive girl, there is actually a strong and dangerous woman who can cope on her own and is still fair and honorable..., I love such characters :) , but I had a different experience with Max, whom I liked at the beginning, but the further into the forest, the more I felt like ,,guy, you make more and more stupid decisions, what's wrong with you...", at the beginning Max seemed to me as reasonable, honorable, fair and a real soldier, and at the end I only saw him as an unreasonable 15-year-old boy making stupid, irresponsible and evil decisions with his own ego problem... sorry, but this character gave me the vibe at the end that he would go towards darkness, and when he finds out that Lucy is allied with Cooper..., a guy he fought and who completely defeated and humiliated him..., a guy who, by the way, he hasn't seen since that fight..., Cooper and Max haven't had any interaction in the show apart from this fight, so Max has absolutely no knowledge that Cooper is ,,in the game", and that Lucy could have gone with him at all, he's probably already forgotten about him, and when he remembers..., I'm really curious about his reaction....

The first and most important thing about Maximus in the series... in season one, when asked why he joined the brotherhood, he replies that to ,,hurt the people who hurt me"... that's not a praiseworthy answer..., this is not a good answer..., sure, I understand the issue of revenge etc., but as good and golden rules teach (speaking of Lucy's golden rules, because she sticks to them and this is what distinguishes her from, above all, Maximus) revenge brings no good..., Lucy, despite everything, didn't want to take revenge on Moldaver, even though many people she knew died because of her, her father was kidnapped, and she almost died, she didn't want to take revenge on her, of course, she was out of her own turf and surrounded by enemies, but still, her goal was to free her father, not revenge, while Max's goal is simply revenge, he doesn't want to, for example, rebuild Shady Sands or be a good knight who helps people, bring peace to this world, NO, he just wants revenge..., he wants to become a knight for his own selfish purposes, not for other people, while Lucy does things for other people, wants to free her father, helps Wilzig, worries about dog while Cooper is dragging her, helping Cooper with the vials, helping the ghouls (of course she didn't know and probably wouldn't understand that they were wild, her intentions were good, and that something bad came out of it is something she couldn't have known at that moment), she also helps in vault 4 when she first thinks something bad is happening there, and then she tells Max to return the core and kills his mother out of mercy, just like Cooper killed Roger (I think at this point, after the incident with wild ghouls, Lucy understood what Cooper did then and that it was good after all), Lucy does everything to help people and live according to the golden rules, while Max is selfish and thinks only about himself, leaving aside the issue of revenge, he also says that he wanted something bad to happen to Dane, of course he didn't really do anything to them, but he wanted something bad to happen to them... what kind of person do you have to be to want them to become your best friend harm, just because they got what you wanted..., from the very beginning the series shows us not to have any illusions about Maximus and that he is not really and will not be a good guy...., he let Titus die and sure, the guy was a dick and I would probably get angry too and want to kill him, but kill him anyway... quickly... while from what we see, Max just lets Titus die slowly, I don't know about you, but for me there is a difference between killing someone quickly because he deserved it, and letting it happen and WAITING AROUND him until he slowly dies... that was cruel... I would understand if Max killed him, but he KILLED, he showed some humanity despite everything, even though the guy deserved to die, and he didn't wait next to him and listen to him slowly die... it was evil....

Then, when he has armor, he enters a situation with a guy who raped a chicken (Cooper would be really angry :D ) and instead of learning the whole situation, calming them down and finding out what's going on, who is right, he immediately takes the side of the one who is oppressed, thus oppressing the one who is actually right, takes him brutally by the hair and is happy about it..., seriously..., you are happy about this situation..., even if he were helping a good person, I don't think so that there is something to be happy about here..., although what I really think he enjoys is the power, the power that the armor gives him..., this is bad again... if someone likes the feeling of power so much, power and control, it always reflects badly on him..., then (after painfully holding the innocent man all the time) he throws the guy to the ground and when the other explains the situation that took place, Maximus doesn't even apologize..., he is only distracted and then says, ,,Okay. On your way, citizen." what..., as if you hadn't hurt this ,,citizen" a moment ago and didn't judge him badly..., not at all, there's nothing to apologize for here..., it's better to go on your way..., God..., this was the scene from which my opinion about Maximus slowly started to go down, because even with Titus I still made excuses for him (even if it was cruel), but from that moment Maximus with starting with my grade of his character as ,,4+", at the end of the series he dropped to a grade of ,,2-" and it's not that this is a poorly written character, NO, in my opinion it is a very well-written character, just a bad character man and I mean assessing his humanity, not the creators' writing, because in my opinion it is very good :)

In addition, of course, we have the issue that he lies to everyone that he is Titus because he wants to be a knight and clearly wants people to admire him (again, the issue of his ego), at the beginning he clearly wants to kill Thaddeus in cold blood, but then he changes his mind (apart from what killing Thaddeus would give you..., even if you came back with the head, you would be responsible for two deaths..., come on...), then of course he tries to kill him again after he tells him the truth..., then we have the Vault 4 arc in episode 6 and halfway through the episode when Max goes to the armor that is in the room, he looks at him through the glass with a stupid smile, he turns around and with that smile and behavior, with his body movements, he looks to me like he told them ,,See, this is my armor, this is me, I'm a knight"... it looks as if he wanted someone to come up to him and ask him about it, and he could brag about how cool he is, because I really don't know how else to read this short scene...:

Sorry for the poor quality, I did it on my phone.

then he turns back to the armor and his facial expression changes, he frowns:

and we have a close-up of the entrance to the core, and Maximus sees the guy next to him screwing in a light bulb and asking where it came from they take electricity, he goes to that place and wants to take their fusion core..., literally at that moment he wants to brazenly steal their fusion core, the people who helped them and cured him, he wants to take away their only source of energy..., or Maximum is so stupid that he doesn't know that this is literally their source of survival and thinks that they can cope without him, although it's still vile and I don't believe it, or Maximus is just a vile, evil and selfish man who doesn't matter with no one else but himself and what would make him feel good..., just look at his face at this moment...:

he knows that he is doing something he shouldn't and he is clearly doing it with full premeditation...

later in the plot, in episode 7, when Maximus sees the inhabitants of Vault 4 doing something to Lucy, which Maximus does..., of course he doesn't find out about the whole situation first, he doesn't try to eavesdrop on what they're talking about or anything, he just rushes in in armor and starts attacking everyone around, seriously... how stupid and irresponsible it was of him, I won't even mention... and when they finally release them, which Maximus does..., he takes the armor with the core with him, without thinking that it is their only source of energy and, what's most funny, he doesn't want to give it back..., NO, he wants to keep it so he can walk around in his big armor and show everyone "look how great I am!", says that he needs a core for his armor, and without the armor he won't be a knight, Lucy tells him that a knight shouldn't steal, and Max replies ,,with this armor, I can help people", how have you helped people so far..., you let escape a chicken rapist..., besides, what kind of help is it if, in order to provide this help to people, you steal something that will put other innocent people at risk of death..., you can't build something good on something bad, poisonous roots, will give poisonous fruit, no other way..., then the best thing is..., because be careful... he is trying to MANIPULATE HER! Yes..., this guy who supposed wants to be good, noble, fair..., no wait..., he wants to be a knight to take revenge..., nevermind..., it's up to him anyway fits..., he manipulates her, playing on her feelings, telling her that he wants to help her find her father and asks her if she would give up the core if it meant she wouldn't get her dad back, if it was up to the core to get her father back..., only then Lucy convinces him to give up the core when she says that if his father found out about it, it would break his heart and that she can't do that, only then Maximus gives up on convincing her and decides to give up the core. Lucy is his moral compass here, and it's possible that she would put him back on the right path if she were with him, but in the end, Lucy chooses Cooper and leaves with him.

To sum up... where do people who ship Lucy and Max have this good and beloved Max... where... where is Max a better person and a better match for Lucy than Cooper... (because I saw some comments under some episodes of the series that ,,Ghoul is evil and Max is good and honorable"), so far Max makes more bad decisions and does it with full premeditation and/or out of his own stupidity..., when Cooper, when he does something, it has a purpose..., he never does anything without a reason, yes, he shot Roger, but he did it out of mercy, first he made Roger remember the good times, so that in those last moments he died happily (this is one of my favorite scenes, if not my favorite, it was sweet and touching despite the situation...), he shoots Wilzig, but in the foot, probably so that he won't just run away, it's not to kill him, since he probably at that moment he thinks that he has to deliver him alive, because it is only from Wilzig that Lucy learns that only his head is enough, not himself, he kills people in the town, but only those who attacked him, he doesn't go around houses and doesn't kill random people..., kills "guards" who were bad for him, and one obviously wanted to kill him, but he doesn't kill their boss, interestingly..., he kills, of course, three guys at the beginning who are also ready to kill him and they want to force him to work for them, after practically lying in a coffin underground for 30 years, he kills the farmer's son, when the son reaches for a gun, you can see here how Cooper is poking this son to see if he is capable of doing it, but he himself doesn't reach for the gun until this son reaches for it, Cooper always wants to know, to be sure whether the man he is killing really deserves it, whether there is really a point in killing him, unlike Maximus, who never finds out who he is really guilty, he prefers to just ,,go with the wave" and he orders the one he finds guilty at first glance, he even wants to kill Thaddeus at the beginning (of course he doesn't do it in the end, but he wants to) even though the guy hasn't done any harm to him yet (and bullying ,,at school" is not a good reason to kill, it's not a reason at all), and he's not torturing Lucy like some still claim, even though Cooper himself and the entire scene says he's using her as bait, not torturing her, and yet there are still people who say he's torturing her here..., really I know that some people sometimes have trouble reading the situation on the screen, but when the entire situation on the screen screams "BAIT!" and the character who uses the bait says directly that he thinks torture doesn't work and uses her as bait, like one can still claim that there is some torture in this scene..., are there really people who cannot hear and see things that are said directly..., how..., Cooper used to be a good guy and he still is, deep down, he's still that good guy. When there is a scene from the past when Cooper has to play a slightly worse guy on camera to show that his character also makes mistakes, he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't like it, because in his opinion a good person should be good and not make such mistakes, Lucy will direct him back to the right path, and he will teach her a little about life, this is the perfect dynamic of two different, yet very similar characters who can and do influence each other's development.

And I don't know about you, but for me this scene is terrifying:

this whole brotherhood is like a religious sect, and at this moment Maximus has become a kind of prophet and that look in his eyes...:

for me it is disappointment combined with the desire revenge, disappointment because he found out that the father of the girl he liked is responsible for the destruction of his house and probably the death of his relatives (we never have memories of Maximus' relatives, which is interesting, so it is not certain), and he managed to escape, and the desire I don't think I need to explain revenge... Maximus' plot in season one starts with revenge and ends with revenge, it's his plot, whether someone likes it or not... and in my opinion, as a result of everything I have described, he will change into an increasingly worse person, he was not good from the beginning and will only get worse....

This is a long post, as usual for me... unfortunately, I don't know how to write short... and besides, I like it when all the details are brought to light :) , that's the end, thank you for reading and have a nice day/evening/night :)

[bambisspeckles]

A Cigarette, A Guiding Light, My Guardian Angel

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

*pics for aesthetic purposes only!

CW: simon is kinda gross (its my fav simon im sorry), depictions of a mildly unhealthy relationship but everyones happy, reader is going through it, simon also has his own issues but nothing is specifically mentioned, very light religious themes (literally one paragraph), simon is also a little mean but like teasing mean, mild editing, lmk if i missed anything!!

WC: 3.6k (oops!)

Summary: Simon finds a stray, only it's not an animal: It's you.

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It's winter again.

The cold, biting air nips at your skin as you wander the streets streets of Manchester, your mind in a constant daze. You've been wandering for awhile now, traveling on trains, staying in hostels, shelters, and sketchy hotels, with no place to call home, the one you once had a place you vowed never to return to. It's scary, lonely, the world feels so big when you wander with only the clothes on your back and a few things to your name.

You get desperate, especially during times like this. It's so cold out and your winter coat is wearing, seams splitting apart, and new holes appearing on the fabric everyday. You've tried shelters but most are full, not that you'd be able to afford to stay long anyhow, and hostels in Manchester cost too much per night. You're exhausted, your feet blistering, and your shitty winter boots are rubbing against the back of your ankle. You feel much like the sky above, dark, gray, cloudy.

Sometimes you consider knocking on peoples doors, begging for shelter and a hot meal but the fantasy ends as quickly as it begins, there's no point in begging for something people won't give you. You don't entirely blame these hypothetical strangers though, the world is crazy and hard, most of them are probably barely holding on themselves, how could you expect them to take care of you, even if only for a night. Not to mention it's dangerous for them, what if you're crazy? You're not but they don't know that. You don't know if they're crazy either.

That might be a chance you're willing to take though.

The sun is beginning to set and the air is growing frostier by the minute, you know shops will close soon so you'll only be able to camp out in them for so long. You wonder if it's even worth it, going into a nice warm cafe only to be kicked to the bitter cold is almost worst than just staying it, the warm and cozy atmosphere taunting you with what you can't have. It's cruel, begging on the street, the looks of pity from strangers, it all feels like one humiliation game, like god is taking pleasure in watching you lie down like a kicked dog.

Some nights you beg him to take you out, others you beg him to provide you hope, a guiding light, a guardian angel, anything that might give you hope to keep trudging on. It is said in times of struggle people either turn to god, or walk away from him.

You think you're somewhere in between.

Something snaps you out of your thoughts, a shadowy figure walking down a dark alleyway you were passing by. You know better than to follow monsters into the dark, and maybe if you were still the girl you once knew, you'd shrug it off and continue down the sidewalk, just like anyone else would. Only you're not like anyone else now. You're detached from society, the dirt on the bottom of people's shoes, you're not even sure you're seen as human anymore.

You can call but no one will answer.

It's normal for your, how have people put it? Your kind, to reside in alleyways, dark hallways the rest of the world wouldn't dare to touch. It's where the dirty go, the sick go, the broken go. You think you fit that bill well now, and since you do, you ignore the way your gut screams at you to turn around, and run back to the light. You've learned there is no hope in the light, so perhaps you'll find it in the dark. You walk further into the alley, the darkness making it feel like a never-ending tunnel. Everything you expect to be there is there, used needles and empty bottles, bodies slumped over, you're not quite sure if they're dead or alive.

Dirty. Broken. Sick.

Everything is there, everything except what you're looking for. You not even sure what it is, all you know is that you haven't found it yet. Perhaps it's not a thing you're looking for, maybe it's a person. Darkness envelopes you like a cold, uncomforting blanket, it feels like tendrils of murkiness are wrapping around your body, pulling you further into your own misery. You're not really sure how long you walked, it was likely only a few minutes but with the state of your mind it felt like hours. You can tell you've finally reached the end when you can squint and see a brick wall in front of you.

God, what did you expect. It was a whole load of nothing, of course it was. The cold was probably getting to you and you can't imagine you're in the best mental state at the moment, of course you're not! You just walked down a dark alleyway, I mean no one willingly does that unless they're mentally unwell and-

"You shouldn' follow strange men into dark alleyways girl." A deep, gravelly voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You take a quick moment to collect yourself, your voice practically a squeak as you talk.

"W- what makes you think I was following you." The man laughs at that and you finally turn to look in his direction, the orange glow of a cigarette butt guiding your gaze towards him.

'Wha' else would you be following? Or are you tryin' to tell me you walked down an alleyway jus' cause." There's a cocky, almost teasing lilt in his voice. It makes you scowl, not that he can see.

"I don't know why I came down here." You reply honestly and there's a helplessness that unwillingly seeps through your voice. You're afraid it reveals too much.

You hear the man huff at your words before he speaks again.

"Go home. S' not safe for such a little' bird like you to be out here all alone." You faintly feel the thick smoke from his cigarette as he blows out, tendrils of ash caressing your skin

"I don't have one, not anymore." You're not sure why you tell him this. He doesn't care, he can't save you.

Perhaps, foolishly, you hope he will.

"Bit dramatic are you?" The man takes another drag of his cigarette and you huff at is words.

"I'm not being dramatic, it's true. I don't have a home, I thought it'd be obvious with my unsightly appearance." He chuckles at that.

"Can't see you well in the dark… Perhaps we should step into the light, hm?" You hear the man shift in place for a moment, the sound of ruffling clothes filling your ears.

"There's not much to see in the light either." There's a beat of silence before the man speaks once more, his shadowy figure leaning closer to you.

"Come home with me bird." It's more of a demand than a question.

"I'm not some whore for hire." The bite in your voice causes him to grunt rather harshly, flecks of orange ember falling onto your skin.

"M' not tryin' to fuck you. Said' you got no where to go, m' offerin' you a place to stay. Take it or leave it bird." He blows out one final puff of smoke before the orange glow of the cigarette butt slowly dissipates into the night, the odd comfort of the dull light dissipating with it.

You clench your jaw for a moment, the sound of your grinding teeth filling the tense silence. Perhaps if you were still the person of your past, you'd say no, but if you were the person of your past you wouldn't be here at all. You're no longer integrated into society, no longer part of a community, you have nothing and no one yet the world keeps spinning, how foolish you were to think you mattered at all. Who are you to think you're above anyone else? Everyone just wants the same as you, a warm bed and a hot meal.

There are many paths to the same place after all.

With a long, breathy sigh, you nod into the darkness and though you doubt the man can see it, he somehow knows you've said yes.

"Smart thing you are." He coos at you so softly and it makes your stomach twist, though the underlying purr of his words makes your heart thrum just a bit.

Not that you'd say that out loud. \ You don't feel very smart at the moment, but who knows, maybe the monster in the dark can offer you more than an angel in the light.

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Simon knows better than to pick up strays, especially one as clueless as her, they're more trouble than it's worth; Dirty, sick, broken. He already has to continuously pick up the pieces of his past, millions of little shards that he has to take the time to glue back together, over and over again, he doesn't want to do that for anything else. He's always been firm in it too. Johnny constantly pokes fun at him, telling him his heart is colder than he originally thought, that perhaps he'd find a bit of joy in a disheveled little thing.

Johnny probably meant a cat though.

Instead, Simon's got himself his very own bird. He had no intention of caging you, truly he didn't, he was content to send you on your way, send you out of his life. But when the moonlight hit your features just right, a vulnerable glow in your eye visible, and the helplessness in your voice seeped out, he couldn't help himself. Simon never acts based off his wants, off his selfishness, but perhaps just once, he could have a pet of his own.

So that's what he does. He takes you, and you don't put up much of a fight. Willingly following him out of the dark alley and back into society, bright street lights causing him to squint his eyes. He asks your name and you tell him so sweetly. You're scared and unsure, he wants to tell you not to worry, that he's a bad man but he'd never hurt a helpless thing like you. Eyes all wide and glassy, furrowed brows, and pouty lips. He wonders how such a soft bird like you ended up shunned from the world. You don't look like a junkie, and you told him yourself your no whore for hire, when he looks at you all he sees is a helpless kitten, separated from all her purebred friends, and tossed outside for tomcats like him.

You fidget anxiously when he ushers you towards his car, his calloused hand moving onto your lower back to guide you softly, causing you to stiffen up for a moment. He chuckles meanly at that. Your fretting continues in the car and Simon's not sure what more he can do to calm you down, after all, he's never dealt with a stray before.

He resolves to leave you be, eventually you'll realize that his home is yours, that you're safe now, that he'll take care of you. You'll let yourself be pampered by him and he'll have a trophy to show off to the world, a pretty little thing perched on his arm like a good little bird.

Simon doesn't like strays, but he sure does like you.

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The man tells you his name his Simon and he doesn't tell you much more, you don't bother asking anything else, maybe you should. He takes you to his home, it's empty and lifeless, you think it speaks on the kind of man he is, you're not sure if it should scare you. You linger in the entryway unsure of what to do, it feels strange to be in a home, strange in a way you never thought it could. You feel out of place, uncomfortable, there's something inside you screaming, telling you to run away. Unfortunately, you don't want to play the cards you've been dealt and now you're forced to draw. Perhaps it's a mistake, if it is you're not sure you care.

"You jus' goin' to stand there bird?" Simon's voice startles you, pulling you out of your dazed state.

"Sorry…" You're quiet, a bit shy even, and you're not sure how to feel about the smirk that grows on Simon's face at your discomfort.

"Nothin' to apologize for," He says gruffly. "Come inside." So you do. Shuffling your feet against the wooden floorboards as you make your way over to him.

He guides you into the kitchen, a rough hand on your lower back as he silently urges you to take a sit in a small dining chair. You don't move for a moment so he drags the chair out for you, it's wooden legs screeching against the floor. He stares at you as you settle and you can't quite tell what he's looking for. You're in such a vulnerable state, emotionally rubbed raw, and physically you're sure you're much weaker than before. It's scary, and with his gaze your palms begin to sweat.

You wonder if this is what being prey feels like? Bottom of the food chain; the weakest link.

Simon feels much like a predator, stalking you, watching you. At any moment he could decide to rip you open, take whatever he wants from you, leaving your carcass behind as evidence of what he's done. He watches you for a few moments longer before his gravely voice breaks through the stillness.

"You must be hungry bird, why don' we get you somethin' to eat?" You nod at him timidly and he grunts back before turning around to rummage in his fridge.

"Don' have much to eat right now…" His voice trails off for a moment before it picks up again. "Can order take out, unless you're starvin' right this second." You shake your head at him, a pathetic 'no' escaping your lips. He tilts his head a bit and you realize 'no' may have been to vauge.

"I can wait." Your voice suddenly finds you again but it's still nothing more than a whisper.

He hums at you before picking up his phone and dialing a number. He places an order of what sounds like Chinese food and then hangs up the phone, the clacking of the screen against the tiled countertops causing you to cringe a bit.

"S' the only place open this late," He explains suddenly. "Would've asked you wha' you want but nothin' else is open." You shrug your shoulders and he chuckles at you.

"Timid thing you are, you know that bird?" You don't respond but he doesn't expect you to. Instead, he opens the fridge again, pulling out a half empty of beer before turning on his heels and walking over to his couch.

You watch as he sinks down into the cushions, the fabric stained and worn down, sipping on his beer while watching whatever happened to be on TV. You stay sat in his dining chair, eyes trained on his hulking figure sat on the couch, your body fidgeting in the uncomfortable piece of furniture. You want to speak but the words feel heavy on your tongue, to be honest you're not even sure what you'd say.

"You think loud." His gruff voice cuts through your dazed state and you jump in your seat.

"Sorry…" It's all you can think to say, you're not even sure what you're sorry for. You think maybe you're sorry for letting someone see you like this, weak and pathetic, sorry for letting him see you so timid and scared, not because you feel pity for him.

But because you pity yourself.

"Come on," He pats the small space next to him on the couch. "Doubt' you've had any good entertainment for a while… I know I haven't." The way he speaks sends a shive down your spine, the look in his eye nothing short of predatory. That's when it really clicks in your head that this man, Simon, isn't a good man. He didn't take you in because kindness blooms from his heart, he took you in because you're his prey, his pet.

You stare at him for a moment before shuffling over to the couch and plopping down into the stiff cushions. He makes a pleased sound at your obedience and it both fills you with butterflies and maggots, you feel disgusted at yourself for enjoying the scrap of praise he provides. You barely even know this man but every instinct in you is telling you to please him, to let him do what he wants to you, and in turn you get taken care of.

Or maybe, you'll only ensnare yourself more.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Simon isn't sure how he's meant to take care of a stray like you. You're skittish, you jump at his voice and tense at his touch, it makes him grind his teeth together, struggling to resist the urge to sink his teeth into your soft skin until you submit. He doesn't want to scare, for once in his life he wants something soft to call his own, but the first step to caging a bird and clipping it's wings is getting it to trust you and he's truly lost on how to do that.

Logically, he know it will take time, but this is one of the rare moments he's not sure he has the strength in him to be patient. He knows he has to be, you're scared and playing the game of survival, pushing you too fast will only frighten you but it's hard for him to stray from his ways. Seldom can you teach an old dog new tricks.

Perhaps he needs help, someone who knows what scared little strays need to feel loved and safe. Simon has already bought you food, he really thought a clueless kitten like you would be cuddled up to him by now. He understands though, and one day you will too. He decides to ask Johnny, something he'd normally avoid doing but he's got a knack for taming strays.

Afterall he tamed Simon.

Once you've been bathed and fed he sent you off to sleep, ushering you into his tiny bedroom, gray bedsheets still tucked under the mattress. He thought it was cute that you felt guilty for taking the bed, and he had to assure you many times that it was alright and he'd be fine, though your pouty lip was quite the (unintentional) invitation to share the bed. When he was sure you were tucked in for the night he slipped out onto his balcony to call Johnny.

"Johnny." Simon could hear his own voice crackle through Johnny's side of the line.

"Lt! Callin me so late at night aye? M' I your booty call sir?" He could hear Soap chuckle on the other end of the line and he let out an exasperated sigh at that.

"Need your help Johnny." He can hear the Scotsman shift around a bit and he stifles a snort at the image of Johnny sitting up right in his chair over this.

"Aye, of course Ghost." Simon huffs out through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"How d'ya take care of a stray?"

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Things have gotten better with Simon. He's still grumpy and stoic, and truthfully he treats you more like a pet than a person, but (not so) secretly you think you like it. At first you were worried he'd take advantage of your vulnerability but he never really did, you always did what he said and that kept Simon satisfied. On the rare occasion you messed something up or didn't do what he asked of you, he make a point not to yell at you, instead he'd squeeze you tight and lowly tell you to 'quit your cryin'.'

You would both make a point to ignore the shivers it sent down your spine.

Perhaps your unorthodox relationship with Simon wasn't the healthiest, you were entirely dependent on him and you both liked it that way. Simon made sure you knew you had freedom, he gave you many opportunities to take advantage of it but you never did and you think that was his plan all along. You were already broken, all he had to do was build you back up, shape you exactly the way he wanted, and then you'd never run.

Not that you think you'd want to either way.

He wasn't mean, or cruel, just a bit twisted and lonely. He never hurt you, or treated you unfairly, you were his bird, and he made sure you knew that.

As the months transpired you find that you've grown grossly infatuated with him. He took you in, nursed you back to health, gave you all the attention and love that you needed to blossom and now you're completely his. Simon had his issues, you had yours, but somehow they mesh together in a way that creates a peace rather than chaos. It was a mundane, domestic life that both of you were content with.

Perhaps if you were still the old you, you'd hate him more than anything, but you now understand broken people more intimately than anyone would ever want to, and somehow it's been the greatest gift life has handed to you. When Simon holds you close, squeezes you tight, and tells you how much you're his, you find it hard to do anything besides melt into him, to feel anything besides adoration.

You were two broken people that somehow made a whole, and you were lucky you did. It could've been so much worse, things could have been so much harder, but he saved you, and though he'd never say it out loud, you saved him too.

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

AHHH! I'm so freaking sorry for my absence, 12th grade is the year of dealing with many things so I've been super busy with it all! I wrote bits and pieces of this during my free time so it might not be entirely cohesive but I pray its good enough! Love and miss you all dearly <3 take care of yourself MWAH!!

as always likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[jedi-luca]

It's Okay

Summary: The endgame for her was always death.

Natasha Romanoff x SurpriseSuper!Reader

Warnings: Implied death, Reader has a penis; past mentions of smut no pronouns used.

“No!” You screamed jumping off the cliff to follow the love of your life.

You took her in your arms colliding against the cliff.

“Y/N.” Her voice cracked.

“No, Nat, there’s always another way. We can go back-“

“No, we can’t and you know it.” She whispered brokenly.

“Yes-“

“Y/N, we’ll see one another again. You have to let me go.”

“No.” You shook your head, tears running down your face. “I won’t lose you. I won’t.”

“It’s okay.” She whispered, kissing you softly before suddenly kicking against the rock making you let her go.

“No baby no!”  You watched her plummeting to her untimely brutal demise. 

“Nat!” You screamed, gasping awake. Your chest heaving and a sheen of sweat around your body. You wiped your tears standing up. You sighed noticing an empty bottle of whiskey near you. 

You stand from the floor of the hotel room moving to the window. Leaning your arm against the window pane. Looking out to see the Great Pyramid of Giza.

“I’ll see you soon, Nat.” You whispered.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You coughed up some blood laying back on some ancient statue. You took out an entire group of traffickers but it came with a cost. You were littered with bullet wounds. You reached into your chest pocket taking out an old photo of you and your wife Natasha.

“I’ll see you soon baby.” You smiled remembering how you met the love of your life and everything that happened after. Until you stopped on the last memory of you had with her. It was the last time you both laid together as one. 

You could practically remember the feel of your fingers grazing her soft skin leaving chills down her body. You traced every inch of her that night.

“Y/N, I love you.” She husked feeling your body tighten around her.

“I love you too forever and always baby.” You kissed her passionately before releasing your honey deep inside of her. 

Suddenly you heard another voice.

“I feel the pain inside of you.”

Your eyes snap open being pulled away from your precious memories of her.

“What a waste!” 

“Huh?” You cough.

“I am in search of a warrior.”

“Good luck with that my days are over.” You snorted.

“What if I told you I could bring back your soulmate?”

“What?” Your eyes snapped open once more.

“Natasha Romanoff is it? She died in honor.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you become my warrior I will bring your lost love back from the Field of Reeds.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”

“I am a God the great Khonshu now tell me great warrior do you wish to live your life with your soulmate? To have a family and live a life of peace?”

“Now I know you’re lying.” You spat out the blood in your mouth.

Suddenly you weren’t on a sandy ground in a cold and dark pyramid. You were in a massive field. You turned to see a beautiful house. You walked up instantly remembering the way Natasha described her dream home. 

“Nat?!” You shouted seeing a shadow move behind a window. “Natasha!” You ran up looking in the window. You could see her flaming red hair in a braid as she read a book. You rushed to the door trying to open it. “Nat! Baby! It’s me open the door!” You giggled tears streaming down your face out of disbelief and pure happiness. 

Suddenly you were back on the ground gasping for air. “Take me back!” You screamed. “Take me to her now!”

“I can if you swear to protect the travelers of the night. To be my hands, my eyes, my vengeance.”

“I don’t know.” You whispered, all you knew was you wanted Natasha and if not then death so you could finally be with her again.

“Well do you want death or life? A life with Natasha? A family I could you know. Bring her back with the ability to bear children.” Khonshu sent you off again, showing you Natasha with child. Smiling at you as your son ran into your arms. You all looked so happy as you tossed him up into the air catching him in your arms.

You smiled, feeling a lone tear trickle down your cheek. You were brought back to reality.

“Do you promise me that you will bring her back? That we’ll be together again just like the vision you showed me?” You asked.

“Yes.” 

“Then yes as long as I can have her in my arms again alive and happy. I want my wife back, but know this. If you betray me I will go to the ends of the universe and back just to kill you.”

“Do you swear to protect the travelers of the night, and bring swift vengeance to those that do them harm?!”

You looked down at the photo once more. It was your wedding night and Natasha wanted a selfie of the two of you in the limo. You knew there might be consequences but you were willing to take that chance. Anything to give her the life she deserved.

“I swear.” You clutch her photo when you feel a light inside of you.

“Then rise! Rise and live again! Be my fist of vengeance!”

Your body rises, being engulfed in a white mummy suit. You have never felt this powerful not even when you were given the serum. 

You turned, seeing a tall skeleton of a falcon.

“When do I get her back.” You ask

“Once you have fulfilled your oath.”

“Then let’s get to it.” You growled feeling a mask go over your face. 

“Yes! We have much work to do!” Khonshu laughed.

You place her photo beneath your robes as Khonshu leads you to your misery.

[atsoomi]

It's been exactly 2 days, 4 hours, and 32 minutes since you and Kuroo got married.

It was the kind of wedding you thought you’d never get the privilege of having— small, comfortable, and filled with familiar faces— not to mention, the most memorable day of your life. You’d never thought you could be that happy, or that you’d be surrounded by so many people who shared the sentiment. But if Kuroo has done anything through the course of your entire relationship, it’s prove your negative thoughts wrong.

And then, of course, came the honeymoon. 

Previously, you’d argued with him a lot about where to go for the honeymoon period. He thought somewhere in Japan— like Hokkaido with its breathtaking natural scenery, or Kyoto with its countless temples— would do just fine. But you’d nagged him about taking you somewhere outside the country, reminding him of the fact that you live in Japan; you have the rest of your lives to travel around Japan, but who knows when you’ll get the chance to go to Europe again?

After a few weeks of going back and forth, discussing all the possible locations and looking up things till one in the morning, you finally agree on Italy, specifically, Venice. It’s the perfect mix of culture and fun for both of you, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to see The Grand Canal, especially with all the lights at night.

So, after a day of post-wedding packing, and a long day of traveling, you’re finally in Venice. In Venice, on your honeymoon. And it would be absolutely perfect, if you hadn’t lost your husband of two days in the crowd of locals. 

You’d done a lot, a lot, of research on spots in Venice that you wanted to visit during the 3-week stay. And you’ve always known (after a lifetime of fantasizing about this trip) that if you come to Italy, you have to try their gelato. So you went through a few articles, bookmarked a few websites, and found this shop, Gelateria il Doge. 

It’s been described as a hidden attraction, and you’ve always loved discovering hidden gems. The excitement was so overpowering that the first thing you decided to do once you settled down in your hotel room is go out and find it. Kuroo can’t say no when you’re so excited, so it only took twenty minutes to find yourself at the desired spot.

You went in, without Kuroo because he insisted on slowing down and taking some more pictures, and you finally ordered the gelato you’ve been thinking about since you agreed to come to Italy. But it seems to have cost you your husband.

He’s not where he was standing five minutes ago, you turn and scan the mass of people walking by, but you don’t spot the familiar head of dark hair. Your phone rests in your cross bag but your hands are full with gelato, so you hesitantly accept your fate and sit on the nearest bench you can find, assuming that you’ll just spot him when he comes back from wherever he went. 

You sit and admire the cold treat in your hand, it’s beautiful and inviting and it makes you feel like you’ve never had ice cream before. It makes you feel like your life is about to be altered permanently, even though you’re not completely sure what flavor you got— something about poor Italian skills and taking risks.

You’re about to taste it for the first time, practically salivating at that point, when a strange guy sits on the same bench, seemingly popping out of nowhere. You pause, mouth shutting, as you peer at him with caution. He’s undeniably good looking, skin-kissed tan skin and brown hair falling over warm green eyes, but he’s not exactly your type. No other man could be.

You attempt to ignore his presence, but he turns his head and you make intense eye contact. Your mouth hangs slightly open as he scans your face, it’s awkward and you feel the awkwardness paralyze you into speechlessness. You’re sure you look incredibly dumb but your mind is too busy malfunctioning to save you. 

His eyes go down to your hand and he says something in Italian that you don’t understand. A few seconds pass by before he reaches for it, your hand that is, with wide eyes. You reflexively flinch away, alarmed at the sudden approach. What the hell is going on?

“Oh my god, you idiot, the gelato.” He speaks, frustrated, this time in the language you can understand, with a heavy Italian accent. 

You look down at your hands and you’re surprised at the trail of melted gelato on your hand. Oh, he’s not a creep, you realize, he was just trying to help.

You bashfully keep your head down, embarrassed at how you reacted and the fact that you were too tense to realize he said the word gelato about 3 times. God, this is embarrassing, where is your husband when you need him? 

“Sorry about that,” you lick the melted sweet off as discreetly as possible, “I don’t speak Italian.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, I can tell.” 

You’re silent, ashamed to be specific, as you eat the rest of your gelato before something else happens. He observes you for a few minutes, as you eat from both cones to prevent any disasters, before he chuckles quietly. 

“Tourist?” He asks. 

“Kinda,” you answer, slowly relaxing as the embarrassment wears off. 

He nods, “How did you find this store then?” he points to Gelateria il Doge. It stands there proudly, almost mocking you for making a fool out of yourself in front of a local.

“Oh, lots of research.” You laugh to yourself, remembering the sight of a very tired Kuroo by your side while you’re on your thousandth new tab. “It actually wasn’t that hard.” 

“Do you like it?” He asks. 

“The gelato?” 

He shakes his head, “Italy.” 

“Oh,” you smile, “yeah, it’s lovely and I’ve wanted to visit for a really long time.” He hums approvingly so you go on. “You’re Italian, aren’t you? Grew up here?”

“Kinda”, he retorts and you giggle, “I grew up in the south, but my brother lives here.” 

You nod your head in understanding; more questions are on the tip of your tongue (like his name for example?) when you’re interrupted by a familiar voice. 

“Oh I thought you looked familiar.” You turn your head and see your husband of two days walking towards you and this Italian stranger. He beams at you, happy to be reunited with the sight of your lovely face, but halts for a second when his eyes shift over to the guy. He tips his head to the side, silently asking about him, and you just smile. I’ll tell you later. 

“You weren’t going to eat both gelatos yourself after all,” the Italian says, which reminds you of the two cones you’ve been holding yourself the whole time, and the fact that your husband walked off and left you all alone, in Venice of all places. You’ll definitely yell at him once you’re alone, but for now, you settle on standing up and handing him his cone. 

“I’ll leave you lovebirds alone now, enjoy the honeymoon, ciao.”

He winks at you discreetly, maybe not discreet enough because Kuroo suddenly places his arm around your shoulder protectively, and you manage to wave at him before he’s gone. 

Kuroo turns to you, eyebrow raised, “was he hitting on you?” 

You laugh, “that’s all you care about, isn’t it? What about telling me where the hell you’ve been? Or apologizing for making me wait so long,” you slap his chest, “it’s actually your fault I had to entertain another man.” 

He holds your hand against his chest, grinning at the fake annoyance in your voice, “I apologize my dear, dear wife.” His eyes rest on the ring he put on your finger for a second, feeling prideful. “ Let’s sit, we have to finish this before it melts.” 

While you eat, you tell him about the whole interaction with the Italian man and every small thing that happened while you were apart. He scoffs at the events between you and the guy, fully convinced that he just wanted an excuse to touch your hand. You laugh and tease him about how attractive the guy was, telling him maybe you should’ve gone with the guy who didn’t leave you all alone. He flicks your forehead before you can continue and that conversation gets lost between all the other topics. You ask him what he was doing while he was gone, and he smiles, all-knowing and mysterious. 

“You’ll see.”

[ihatedtoadmit]

The Windows To My Soul [1]

pairing: OT8 x fem! reader (gender is rarely mentioned)

genre: soulmates, angst, fluff (mostly in the later chapters)

warnings: almost being kidnapped, occasional curse word

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Attending your favourite idols' concert didn't go as planned, not at all.

↳ Masterlist ↳ Next chapter

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

I looked around the unfamiliar streets, my worried expression hidden under my mask and Eevee cap, the latter’s ears flapping around with my jerky head movements. Uselessly looking at the street signs, I sighed, unable to read them in this foreign country.

I had travelled to Japan with a friend, purely to watch the Stray Kids' concert they had held just earlier that day. If we wanted to see them live once in our lives, we had no choice, with us living in a small country in Europe. And as we all knew, idols didn't usually hold concerts in Europe, making international fans cry out in despair all over the world. Either way, we decided to join the japanese concerts, us being fans of the country itself as well, due to our love for anime and manga.

But now I stood in the streets alone, typing directions into google maps on my phone, to at least try to get to the train station. You see, my friend came with her boyfriend and they had booked a place to stay at together. She had offered to let me stay without an ounce of hesitation, but I didn't want to be a bother and intrude. So, I’d booked a place by myself, but by the time I had gotten around to it, everything in that city near the concert or even my friend's place had already been booked. I had no choice but to choose a place at a hotel that was far away, far enough that you could only reach it with a train from the concert's location.

Come on me, I was a big girl, I could do this. I got here somehow -still had no idea how, with my anxiety and horrible navigation skills-, I could find my way back too.

So with a quiet, nervous sigh, I started following the directions shown on my phone, head slightly bopping to the music that filtered through my headphones that sat snugly on my ears, over my cap. Of course the pleasant and energetic tunes were from the same band I had seen hours ago on stage, but with the added background noise of the late city life, thanks to the ambient aware option on my headphones.

The train I needed to reach wouldn't leave for a good while, so I could slightly relax and look around the cement jungle without having to hurry needlessly. It was interesting to see how different, yet in a way, similar it was to my own country. Sure, the buildings' style was different, the streets were more busy and bright, but some shops were the same or really similar. It was nice, to just not feel completely alien and lost in a foreign city.

Although one thing that kept happening was that people kept staring at me. Naturally, it was bound to happen with my slightly over 6 feet height in Japan of all places, but the added combo of my Eevee outfit only strengthened it. Some people even outright complimented me, making me awkwardly bow and thank them in my limited japanese knowledge. To my utter surprise, some even asked for a selfie or a photo, undoubtedly making my cheeks dust with red, all evidence hidden under my mask and scarf.

Things seemed to be going well, until the time of day was starting to run out and the streets were slowly but surely becoming empty. The fact that my GPS was taking me through slightly questionable roads didn't help in the matter at all.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps, somewhere behind me, never stopping.

At first, I didn't think too much of it, but then my paranoid mind made me pause my music on my phone, the device buried in the depths of my pocket. I didn't stop and look around, merely continued to walk towards my destination to not seem suspicious, something my gut told me to avoid at all cost.

Then I listened.

The footsteps were still there, something that didn't change no matter how much I had walked. They were also weird, rhythm-wise. They felt unnatural, as if the person didn't usually walk like that. Their rhythm was also suspiciously like mine, the sound of our steps usually mixing together into one, making me listen keenly for several minutes to confirm my suspicions.

My pulse picked up, skyrocketing into the stratosphere.

I had heard about the dangerous things that could happen on the late night streets of Japan, my mind now on overdrive as I tried to act natural, as if I was clueless still.

I had to get away from this person somehow, I didn't want any of those horrors to happen to me, just the mere thought made my skin crawl and head hurt.

I shouldn't have turned down my friend's offer, being a third wheel would have been so much safer.

My eyes fluttered down onto my phone and my heart skipped a beat.

I was walking in the wrong way.

Amidst my panic, I must have taken several wrong turns, because now I was dangerously far away from the train station. Maybe if I hurried I could have made it, a debatable thought in itself, but that was the last thing on my mind as I heard people chatting from my right. Turning my head over there, I was met with bright lights from advertisement boards and all kinds of fairy lights, the fact that I was in a dark alley registering in my mind only then.

I didn't hesitate to make my way over there with quick steps, my long legs carrying me swiftly and quickly towards my desired goal.

But not quick enough.

Before I could reach the main street, I was grabbed from behind, something being forcefully pushed in front of my face. But probably due to height differences -also thanks to my fluffy scarf and my mask’s added layers of protection-, the person couldn't quite do it quickly and I instinctually elbowed them wherever I could reach.

Based on the grunt he let out, I hit his gut, the arms around me releasing their hold just enough for me to break away and sprint towards the people with all my adrenaline-powered strength.

When I reached the brightly lit street, my eyes looked around the empty place, mind halting to a stop.

Where were the people? I just heard them! Where were they?!

But before I could look around properly, I was tackled to the ground, my arms that instinctually cushioned my fall  flaring up in pain. An instinctual yell left my mouth as I wrestled with him, my scattered mind resorting to shouting in english and broken japanese both.

Just as I thought I was going to be kidnapped, my hands held down and face stuffed with a drenched cloth, the weight on top of me disappeared in an instant.

I didn't really know what just happened, I only heard some shouting -in what language, i wasn't sure anymore- and skin upon skin impact, before the quieting sound of shoes hitting the ground reached my ringing ears.

I simply blinked up at the dark sky as I panted there, head laying on the dirty pavement underneath me as I fought with the nauseating dizziness that was attacking my system violently.

Sometime later -because i wasn't sure how long i had been laying there for-, a figure appeared in my vision, his eyes above his dark mask filled with worry. Sounds came from him, but it all sounded gibberish to me at that moment.

After receiving no reply, he turned to the side to talk to someone, but before he could do anything else, I quickly sat up. He fussed around me, rightfully surprised by my sudden movements, but I cared not as my mind finally caught up to itself.

I quickly tore my damp mask off, hiding my face from the harsh autumn wind with my scarf quickly afterwards, the soft fabric providing me with much needed comfort. Feeling the dark fabric in my hands, it was no wonder that no amount of breathing helped after my attacker had left. It was soaked with most probably chloroform, explaining why I was still feeling so dizzy.

Looking up from the mask, I saw the man who had -probably- saved me, crouched right in front of me. Another man was next to him, taller and more built, dressed in dark clothes. They were talking, but the language they used was definitely not japanese or even english. From the sound of it, it was another asian language, but I couldn't pinpoint which with my extremely limited knowledge and gibberish thoughts.

Not knowing what else to do with my hazy mind, I bowed my head as much as I could towards my saviours, uttering my thanks in japanese. Thankfully, I knew that much from all those years of watching anime and beginner japanese language classes.

They immediately stopped talking, the man who fussed over me earlier saying something along the lines of not a problem in japanese and asking me how I was feeling. I said I was okay, because really, I was, my mind was just a bit foggy. His eyebrows furrowed at my answer, as if he couldn't believe me for some reason. I furrowed my own eyebrows at that and slightly tilted my head to the side, not understanding his confusion.

But when I tried to stand up after putting my cap and headphones back on properly -the latter around my neck this time-, I understood his concern.

I was shaking.

Sure, not extremely, but the slight, unintentional movements of my body were there, clear as day.

"Oh, looks like I lied about being fine, sorry." - I quietly uttered out in english, not even realising that I had switched languages once again. "So I did hear it right, you do speak english." - one of them spoke back, catching me off guard.

"Shit, sorry, it wasn't intentional." - I quickly muttered out, defending myself. "No worries, now I know why you didn't respond to me the first time and just looked lost instead." - he lightly laughed out.

The person next to him extended a hand towards me, and after blinking at it for a few seconds, I finally realised he was just trying to help me up. So, with a purse of my lips and a bow of my head, I thanked him and took his hand. He swiftly pulled me up, checking if I needed some help to stay upright. Seeing that I was alright -as alright as one could be in that situation-, he let me go and talked to the other man in that foreign language once again.

I simply stood there, the weight of what had just happened not fully hitting me yet. Realising that I was still clutching my mask in my hand, I pocketed it and looked towards the only other man on the road besides us three.

He was speaking in that same foreign language, but sometimes he switched over to english. His accent was thick and painfully familiar, along with his deep, melodic voice. I tried to fit the puzzle pieces into their place as I just watched him, how he spoke to his phone, no doubt vlogging or live streaming.

" -y, hey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" - a soft touch broke me out of my train of thoughts, his voice -that was also familiar and had a similar accent- laced with worry. "Y-yes, yes, sorry, I was just lost in thought. But thank you two, again, for saving me, I don't know what would have happened if you weren't here. Really, thank you so much." - I rambled out, bowing a few times for good measure. "Hey, it's alright, I'm glad we were here. Do you need help getting home? Where're ya headed to?" "Ah, the train station. But I'll be fine alone… Why are you looking at me like that?" "... The train station is hours away from here, and it's already almost midnight."

Eyes widening at his answer, I took my phone out of my pocket -a miracle it had stayed there, unharmed- and unlocked the screen. Sure enough, he was right. Checking the schedule for the train I needed, no matter how many times I read it over and over again, the letters and numbers didn't change at all.

The last train would depart in 30 minutes, something that I would only reach if I had magically gained the ability to teleport.

My eyes turned glossy as I continued looking at my screen in despair, lower lips caught between my teeth as a way to ground myself.

I couldn't get to my rented out hotel room now.

"Hey, hey, look at me. It's gonna be okay. What's the matter?" - his warm voice reached my ears once again, my eyes flitting up to meet with his. "My…my train… The last one’s gonna depart in 15 mins, something I have no way of reaching. And now I-, I can't get to my hotel room now, I don't have anywhere to stay–" - my voice cut off at the end, worry eating me out from the inside.

Even if I were to call my friend to stay with her and her boyfriend, they were a few hours away from where I ran away to. I had already checked it, multiple times. Somehow I’d walked in the completely wrong direction as I was trying to escape that man.

"It's gonna be okay, trust me, I'll think of something. Why don't you sit down over there and eat this, while I talk to my buddies here, hm?" - he gently said, pointing towards a nearby bench and handing me a lil protein bar from his pocket.

I blinked down at him -because he was considerably shorter than me-, but then I carefully took the offered snack and nodded. I didn't have anything else to do anyway, and I needed to take any help I could get. That much was obvious to me, even in my current situation.

I felt like a pathetic child that needed to be looked after, sitting there on the bench as I snacked on my protein bar in an Eevee cap.

Maybe I was one. I wouldn't be surprised at this point.

Having finished munching on the snack, I pulled my scarf back up and stared emptily at the ground in front of me, hands clutched and resting on my knees that rested tightly clenched together, no doubt causing a faint bruise to form.

I was absolutely fucked, to put it simply.

I had been almost kidnapped in a foreign country, merely hours after I’d had the time of my life at the first concert of my life. Chloroform was probably still lingering in my system and clouding my mind, not to mention that my only friend in this country was long asleep and I had already formed a splitting headache.

Wonderful.

Truly, truly, wonderful.

I couldn't help the sigh that left through my nose, my hand going up to rub at my now dry eyes -contact lenses sadly had that effect-, but stopping when I remembered I had makeup on. I tugged the cap even more into my hurting head, instinctively trying to hide myself magically with the habitual gesture.

Just when I thought about putting my headphones up and calming my still very erratic pulse with some music, the shorter man approached me -the taller one lingering behind-.

He sat down beside me, leaving a comfortable amount of space between us, something my jittery mind much appreciated.

"So, we talked about it, and ya could stay with us for the night if you want to. It's just me and some friends. Of course, you would get your own room, all to yourself. I can bunk with one of my pals for the night no problem. I understand if ya don't trust me, truly I do realise how sketchy my offer sounds, but… I don't want you to stay out here for the night and get hurt even more. I have the opportunity to help, and I want to." - he carefully explained it to me, making sure I was following his sentences actively.

I remained quiet, thinking the offer through.

He was right, it was definitely sketchy as heck, but, what could I do? I could either stay out here on the streets, because everything was either closed or booked already -stupid concert-, or I could go with them.

"Ya can decide a bit later too, ya kno'." - I quickly shook my head gently -that massive headache significantly becoming worse-, cutting him short. "If you guys really don't mind, then… I would like to take your offer." - I gently muttered out, bowing once again in gratitude. "Oh please, stop bowing, ya really don't need to. It's alright, really, none of us bite, I promise. Actually, lemme introduce you to one of my pals, he's been there, live this whole time."

He stood up after he pointed to the aforementioned streamer and I quickly followed him, slightly bowing towards the taller man once again in gratitude as we passed by him. He sheepishly rubbed his neck and waved his hand in front of his face in a dismissive way, probably wanting me to stop bowing, just like the shorter man.

Speaking of which, I watched as he walked up to his buddy, my body slowing to a halt. I didn't want to disturb their job or hobby as well -whatever streaming was to them-, so I stopped before I could enter their phone camera's range.

The other man was slightly taller, but still smaller than me, with blonde strands peeking out from underneath his black beanie. Few freckles sat above his own dark facemask, my eyes squinting at the familiarity.

But once again, my train of thoughts were disrupted before I could come to a much needed conclusion.

"Hey, don't be shy, c’mere. This is Felix, and I'm Christopher, but call me Chris." - he introduced themselves to me as I still didn't go into their camera's range just quite. "I’m… well, uuh, my name’s weird and foreign, so for simplicity purposes, call me Eevee. For… for obvious reasons.  I'm sorry, I will tell you later if you really want to know it." - I added in, bowing my head before glancing at their stream.

An understanding hum left their lips and I suddenly felt like I was in the presence of an anime character. A sunshine one, to be specific.

"I wanted to say it earlier, but your outfit is so freaking cute, like, really cute! Where did ya get it?" - the blondie asked, eyes sparkling and smile widening, so much so that his eyes were slightly arched upwards, turning into little crescent moons.

Taken aback, it took me a few seconds to formulate a normal reaction and reply.

"I-, uh, thank you? Well, I kinda got these clothes at different places and times, they just fit together nicely by coincidence. The scarf and cap was actually a gift from my brother, because he saw this silly lil cap in an Austrian store one day and wanted me to put it on real bad. Long story short, here I am now, fully decked out. A walking, comically tall Eevee on the streets. Just don't throw a pokeball at me. They hurt surprisingly much." "Ooooh, that's so cool. Hyung, we gotta get a cap like this later! Also, wait, did someone actually throw a pokeball at ya?" "... Yeah…"

Their expressions were hilarious even with their masks on, absolutely worth the pain. I couldn't help the little laugh that slipped past my lips.

"Don't worry, it only happened like twice, and one of those times it was a plushie." "Fhew, okay, I was gettin' worried there for a sec." - the blondie sighed out, his hand placed onto his chest out of relief.

With a small laugh they started walking, my anxiety-filled self unsure if I should join them. I really didn't want to be on camera, even though my face was practically completely covered.

But I didn't need to ponder for long, their forms looking back at me and beckoning me to join them.

"Come here, and naur, don't worry, it's fine. You're not disrupting us."

With a small nod and a deep breath, I joined them, slightly waving at the camera.

Christopher introduced me, or I assumed he did, because he was speaking in that foreign language once again.

"Right, Eevee, do you speak korean?" - one of them asked, drawing my attention to him from the flooded chat that was moving way too fast for my tired eyes.

So that was what that foreign language waaas, got it.

"Ah, uh, no, not at all. I couldn't understand a word of any of your guys' conversation, don’t worry."

"What do ya mean don’t worry, that must feel awful to not understand anything! We'll speak more english then, no worries! I couldn't speak it a few years ago either, so I truly do feel ya." - he replied, voice cheery and calming.

Wait.

Now hang on for a fucking second.

This boy to my right was blonde, had freckles, had a deep voice, had a weird english accent and hadn’t been able to speak korean up until a few years ago.

The boy to my left had the same accent, his voice was way too fucking familiar and nice, he had dark curls peeking out from underneath his beanie and could speak korean well.

Stray Kids had their concert half a day ago in the same city, a band that had two members with an eerily similar description.

Haha, naur, no way.

I looked back at them as they were talking to their chat, only coming to that same, insane conclusion. Glancing at the flooded screen on the phone, I mostly saw -probably- korean characters, but there were a few english sentences as well. One of them caught my eye, the word 'Chan' peeking out from it painfully.

My breath got caught in my throat.

Okay, okay, they were just people, act normal. Just, normal, okay? If they won't find out you're a STAY, and neither will the other fans, everything would be fine. I didn't plan on taking photos of them secretly or anything anyway, like a goddamn sasaeng. So just breathe and ignore that they kinda do be idols and people you look up to, okay?

Aaaagh, I was so absolutely fucked.

Next chapter

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[channoticedmeuwu]

19:36 HRS | p — CHOI BEOMGYU × FEM!READER | g — fluff, humor, slightly suggestive, rich kid!beomgyu | w — reader wears a corset, mentions of said corset being tight

you eyed your wrists turning red in the mirror as you clasped the sink tightly, joints of your fingers turning white. the feeling of a tickle on the back of your neck made a shudder travel down til your toes as beomgyu bent over, his outgrown hair falling on the nape of your neck as he let out a struggled whimper from his lips.

“whose bright idea was it to wear a corset?” he groaned as he eyed you in the mirror with a glare, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and onto his neck— the thread-like laces of the corset creating red creases around his fingers and palms, “jesus, y/n, it's an engagement party.”

“oh, yeah?” you asked, turning your head over, your hand reaching over to push him off, “and who said ‘oh, I'm so big and strong, y/n! I can help you tie the corset, y/n'?”

“fuck!” he yelped as your gentle nudge caused him to let go directly off the strings and fall onto the closed seat of the toilet right behind you. a fit of uncontrollable giggles erupted as you held your stomach from the pain of the already tight corset, now hurting twice as much as beomgyu lay still, shocked out of his mind.

“do you know how much these pants cost!?” he gasped, standing to his feet and nearly losing balance again due to his expensive, slippery shoes. “y/n, if I look like shit on my brother's engagement, so help me—”

but by this point, you were already on the floor, your laughter echoing in the bathroom, throughout the entire hotel room, and possibly to nearby rooms as well. “you fell on your ass!”

beomgyu stormed out, a flick of his wrist as he swashed his hair, his shoes clicking on the tiles. “at least tell me how the corset looks!” you laughed at the poor boy's face, now turning darker shades of red, almost identical to the maroon, silk button-up he wore.

before beomgyu slammed the door to your hotel room with a huff, he yelled back, hands on his cheeks and an annoyed, but oddly charming, scowl on his pretty face.

“REALLY FUCKING HOT!”

txt — masterlist

a/n — 230610 beom looked so hot I'm sorry I HAD TO. I HAD. TO. IDC.

[tonkatsubowl]

intoxication.

jing yuan x trailblazer!fem!reader ⿸ xianzhou spoilers. mild nsfw themes (mention of alcohol). read at your own risk. fluff! fluff! fluff! english isn’t my first language, so please don’t mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ every annual year, general jing yuan participates in the summer festival that occurs in aurum alley. this time, he decides to invite the express crew. though, it seems our trailblazer has gotten carried away with the alcohol!

TERM DIRECTORY ◖y/n: your name ◖e/c: eye color ◖h/c: hair color

during your expedition to xianzhou, you recently developed feelings for the general, jing yuan. but you weren't the only one who had developed such emotional feelings as well. though, jing yuan kept them rather well hidden, but proceeded to make subtle hints of him flirting with you here and there.

although your interest was there, you prioritized your work and your teammates over those feelings. you were going to travel to different worlds, fight over and over, and meet tons of people...so you wouldn't have time for love.

...but for some reason, you decided to spare a tiny bit of time in the aurum alley with your friends. dan heng was already being dragged away by march to go participate in some games with bailu. welt was forcibly dragged into the festivities by himeko, who remained behind to watch over the express. you and welt sat together, conversing through many, many topics over a refreshing drink.

however, unbeknownst to you...you were drinking a very strong beverage. welt wasn't much of a drinker, and he would prefer to remain sober to watch over you.

your curiosity to drink this world's choices of alcohol wasn't a regrettable decision; you were gifted by the exotic flavors of it all. flowery and herbal tastes which became an addiction for your tastebuds. however, it seems you drank a BIT too much. luckily for you, welt was around, offering you several glasses of water so you wouldn't have a hangover the very next day.

"ah, it seems you really did arrive," a familiar voice can be heard from behind. turning your head to the side, you see a familiar figure...a certain military general had already entered the fray, still adorned in his attire. your cheeks were already red from intoxication, but they had already redden even more due to the presence of your crush.

"general," welt says, "is there a hotel or some sort of inn nearby for y/n to rest up for the night? i would take her back to the express, but i doubt she would make it."

dazed, you stand up, almost falling over in the process. fortunately, the chair you sat upon was a great assistant. stumbling over to jing yuan, you boldly threw your arms around the taller man, brushing your redden countenance into his chest. "jing yuan," you murmur, "god, i missed you!"

a drop of sweat comically rolls down welt's face as he sighs, getting up from his seat to retrieve you. jing yuan chuckles playfully, wrapping one arm around your shoulder as he used his other hand to pat the top of your head. "ahh, i can smell baijiu from you, y/n. i guess you drank a bit too much!"

welt sighed, "i apologize. i didn't realize how much of a lightweight she is."

"no, no! don't worry about it, welt. i'm just surprised her friends aren't around." jing yuan replies, casting a glance down to your adorable, intoxicated look.

"yes. as a matter of fact, i should check up on them," welt adjusts his glasses with a sigh, akin to a father babysitting a bunch of children, "may i ask of you to take y/n to an inn of some sort?"

jing yuan flashes a smile, "of course! i'll be sure to escort her safely to a place of rest. do not worry about the cost of the inn, i will cover it."

welt nods, "thank you."

near the entrance of aurum alley, jing yuan had to carry you at that point. you refused to walk―well, technically speaking, you couldn't walk. you were basically leaning and falling limp against the general's arms as he sheepishly and joyfully dragged you away from the scene and from unwanted attention.

"jing...jing yuan," you cooed, "i drank too much... ah..." your head leans over, resting against his chest. you took a moment to pause, admiring his gaze. you were more bold and quite talkative when you were intoxicated.

"god... jing yuan... you're so pretty..." raising a hand, you sluggishly rested your hand against the side of his face, brushing the pad of your thumb against his cheek.

jing yuan smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in, brushing his nose against the top of your hair―but nothing more than that. you were drunk.

"ah? i appreciate your compliment, y/n. but you are the most beautiful of them all, my flower." he says, finally bringing you into an inn where you could peacefully sleep in.

after finding a room and paying for the fees for the night, he placed you onto the bed, tucking you in. you immediately got comfortable, watching as the general was headed towards the door.

"i'll be back with a glass of water and some snacks for you, y/n. please stay here. can you do that for me?" jing yuan says, looking back to you as you lied on the bed. snuggled up against the blanket, your dazed, intoxicated eyes studied jing yuan. and you...wanted him. so badly. you wanted to kiss him.

"...mmh," you nodded slowly, licking your lips, "i want to kiss you when you come back."

jing yuan blinks, looking at you with a slight surprise...then he chuckled. "ah, you're such a bold one, y/n."

then, he left for a only a moment, before bringing back the promising refreshments and snacks. placing the condiments on the night stand, he sits down on the bed, looking at you. you were still awake, but still dazed―and becoming very sleepy.

"jing yuan," you murmur, getting up slowly. you raise yourself from your bed, tugging at his sleeve.

god, you were an adorable, drunken mess. you definitely did drank too much, but because of the amount of water you were drinking, you spared yourself from having the a hangover that not even the aeon nanook can even handle.

"yes?" he quietly said, looking towards you. reaching over, he caressed the side of your face, moving your bangs to the side, "can i bring you anything else, y/n?"

"...no," you murmur, leaning in, "i just..."

brushing your lips against jing yuan's, you felt him reciprocate. his fingers delicately inclined under your chin, welcoming the affection. you wrapped your arms around jing yuan, but he pulled away,

"y/n," he murmured against the side of your lips, "you're drunk. please, rest."

"..rest with me," you plea, tugging him down onto the bed with you.

jing yuan nodded slowly, reaching up towards the tie that held his hair together. pulling it off, he let his hair fall, letting it flow down towards his shoulders. jing yuan wasn't going to do anything towards you without your consent, but he would definitely be here for you to protect you and make sure you were okay. you were still intoxicated after all, and he didn't want anything bad to happen to you.

"as long as you sleep, y/n." he said, laying down next to you, brushing your hair.

"...mm. i'm sleepy..." you whisper, snuggling up against jing yuan, inhaling his scent. "before i sleep...before i fall asleep, i mean..."

jing yuan blinked. golden opticals peer down as he examined you, "what is it?" he murmured.

"...i'm drunk, so... please keep it a secret," you said, whispering, "...i really like you..."

god, you don't know what the fuck you were doing or saying at this point.

"..." jing yuan was silent, but there was a faint smile across his lips. he leaned in, his lips brushed against the top of your hair, "...oh, i know. i like you quite a lot too, y/n. perhaps one day, we can see the outside stars together. see different worlds together...i would like that. don't you think, y/n?"

"..mm.." you were already drifting away into slumber. you wanted to tell jing yuan the adventures you've been on...the countless battles you've faced. the memories you've made...but it seems the night sky had decided to take you as its own.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Better Than You

Author: verobatto

Artist: Clara-AnotherStep

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas (mentioned Sam/Eileen, mentioned past Dean/Ana)

Length: 21950

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

Tags: Office AU, rivalry, enemies to lovers, bottom!Dean/Top!Castiel, character development.

Posting Date: October 4, 2023

Summary: Dean has many goals in his life, but there's just one that bothers him to death: to defeat the perfect Castiel Novak at any cost. This is a self-discovering journey, in which Dean will try his best to win against Castiel and not to fall in love with him in the meantim e.

Excerpt: For fifteen minutes Dean was trying to convince the poor employee from the hotel to change their rooms, yet it was in vain. The place was full and the room had already been booked by the organizers. Castiel sighed loudly beside him and Dean glanced at him with his brows furrowed. Novak was still standing there, staring at the ceiling with innocence all over his face, "I think this is like a test, don't you think so?" he finally asked, darting his blue eyes to Dean. A test? Like– a competition? Suddenly, Dean felt fired up. He snatched the keys from the receptionist and said, "Gimme that!" Spinning around to face his rival, Dean growled, "Then I'll be the winner of this test. Let's go roommate." (...) Once they arrived at the room, Dean noticed it was very spacious and there were two separate beds, but they were too close one from the other. He pursed his lips with anxiety as he saw Castiel taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Flinching in surprise, Dean exclaimed, "The fuck are you doing?" With a confused frown, Castiel cocked his head to a side, "I'm taking a bath–" "Why?" Dean asked, terrified. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Castiel replied, "Because we've been traveling for hours and I feel dirty?" Swallowing slowly, Dean suddenly realized he was being too dramatic, "Oh." "What's wrong with you?" Castiel asked, it was obvious he was feeling kind of annoyed by the way his forehead was wrinkling. Approaching Dean, he huffed, "The fact that I'm gay doesn't mean I will jump on you, besides," Castiel tilted his head as he scowled at Dean deeply, "You're not my type." What? Turning around, Castiel walked towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Dean remained speechless in his place as his mind repeated Castiel's last wo rds like a lesson to learn.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[somnolent-scout]

TF2CC Live!

On February 10th, we'll be doing a fundraiser livestream on YouTube to raise money for our future events and conventions! Every donation is read live on stream, so everyone is mentioned! We'll be playing Team Fortress 2, hosting a virtual cosplay contest, answering questions with Sol, and so much more!

You can donate here!

All donations will go towards funding the travel costs, hotel expenses, and convention tickets for our crew members! Every penny counts, and every donation matters!

[galaxy-forest-productions]

Devlog 20/08/2024 - Travel game idea that will probably change with time but I felt like sharing cuz it's 10 p.m. and I'm not sleepy yet

Since I'm traveling now and dropping zines as I go I've been inspired to create eventually a traveling themed TTRPG. I'll take my experiences during this train trip in europe as inspiration and learning material for this future game.

The idea I have is for a large project I call fantasy tourist, a game about traveling in a fantasy world. The base mechanics are simple. You have a buget for each town, you can stay for as long as you have money. I also wanted to add the fantasy adventure element of being allowed to take small jobs to increase your budget and stay in a town you liked for longer.

The reason this would be a large project, is that I wanted to properly write town guides. I wanted this to be a little bit more guided than my usual solo rpgs. Yes, imagining yourself is part of the fun, but I want this to feel like a choose your own adventure book in a way. I want you to feel like these places exist already and you're exploring them.

In my ideal version of this game each town guide would have:

Budget – depending on your character and other factors the budget you have on each town may change. I'll also add a dice roll for a little bit of fun randomness.

Overall description – this is just a description of the town you’re in and what is known for.

Attraction guide – this is the list of things you can do and see in this town. Some attractions also come with guided tours, if that’s the case it means you’ll get a detailed explanation of the inside and little details of each work of art etc… Most will be a rough information guide, when it's open, how long does it take to explore this attraction and how much it costs.

Events - some towns will have seasonal events and I like the idea of the game following a calendar, so you'll know when you're in each place and even plan for certain's town's events that you really wanna see. You can even choose to travel for a whole year and plan all the events accordingly.

Theme parks – if a town happens to have a theme park that attraction will include multiple small attractions inside. The rides, the places and such will all be described. I might even include a park map just for the funsies.

Restaurant guide – this is a guide of places you can eat at in this town and the prices too. I will include tiny menus for each restaurant just because I think it would be cute and add to the worldbuilding. Like each page could be a menu of that restaurant.

Available missions and when – missions are a way to make more money. Each mission will sacrifice time. Sometimes a few hours, and sometimes a whole ass day. You will be provided with money for completion. Some missions also can only be completed during specific days and some can be repeated.

Hotel guide – a guide with the hotels you can stay in. Some of them include breakfast, some are hostels which means you’ll share with others. Honestly these are mostly for flavor, paying for a better hotel won’t affect your gameplay much, except for the included breakfast, meaning one less meal.

Townspeople – some relevant citizens may be mentioned in this section. This will be most prominent in small towns where everyone knows everyone. In big cities there will be less of these since there isn't that local people feel.

I also wanted to make some other little guides that would be used all the time:

Traveler guides – this is the booklet with all the other travelers you meet. You might once in a while meet other adventurers. If you meet them frequently enough you might become friends. If you are friends with another traveler you might even agree to share a room with them to save on money, or even go to attractions together. I also might make the hotels relevant by having some of these characters be easier to find in certain hotels. Maybe one is always trying to save and staying in hostels, maybe another is a rich girl that will always take a 5 star hotel so meeting her requires you stay in a top quality place and so on.

Friend guide – Sometimes you'll have friends in other towns. If your character has a friend in that town they can ask to stay there for free for a little while. Each friend has their own limit of how long they will let you crash there before they get angry. I think which friends you have in each town should be picked in character creation.

And that's the ideas I have so far. Making each of those town guides will be hell, but I feel like it would be a super fun worldbuilding project. I also think it would be a cool base to then have other versions with different flavor. I'm not even sure what kind of flavor I want for this one when it comes to the fantasy aspect. It may be the classic medieval fantasy, or should I go more urban fantasy, reflecting how we travel today with phones and all that but with fantasy creatures and magic existing? There are tons of options.

[snakegorl212006]

What makes them worry about there S/o

========Clive + jill============== -when you’re out for long periods by yourself This was briefly mentioned earlier but clive and(Mostly) Jill would feel uncomfortable leaving you to your own devices for longer periods far away from any safe spots like Martha’s rest. Both suggest to have someone to accompany you.

-when in battle It's not news that you'll have to draw weapons at someone but it's a event they wish you'd avoid. Battling is like playing a game with chance and skill so not even they would know if you'll make it out alive in a fight. Because of this, they wish you avoid conflict at all costs or let them help you solve the problem.

=======Joshua + jote============= -when you and joshua by yourselves -jote is protective over both of you -yall’s safety is very important to her so having you guys out by yourselves makes her anxious -on the otherside joshua would be in the same situation if you and jote are out alone together -not only he fears of you both not returning when he’s bedridden he also fears of ultima who might get in contact with either one of you -unlike clive and jill, this worry would only stem if you are out with joshua or with jote for a extended period of time -for example; jote is shopping for medicine while both you and joshua are out and about shopping for useful items. When she returns to the inn/hotel/home and realized y'all haven't return, she begins to worry

====Cid=============== -he’s not the biggest worry wart but he has his moments when he’s concern -you can be out for extended periods in time(like explorations long) -you could be traveling too close to odin's territory or hang around in the blight -what makes him worry the most is when you’re injured -getting hurt any sort of way makes his heart sink. -like who hurt you? What harmed you? -being hurt or you having a near death experience would traumatize him

====Benedikta============ -based on canon she has some sort of abandonment issues(from my pov when i was playing) -so she worries i can even say fears that one day you’ll leave her -especially if you became almost a perfect replacement for that empty hole cid left within her -she does her best to become a good lover to you and would hide things from you if it means she’ll stay with you -if she cares enough for you,she’ll even put away some of her selfishness and try to accommodate to your needs -but this fear also explains her possessiveness and can be somewhat controlling of you -the last thing she wants is you to leave her alone

======Dion + terence============== -most fears and worries come from Dion -boi has a lot going on and since he has a image to keep and responsibilities he does worry he’ll have little time to spend with you -Terence also has the same worries for he has to be by Dion’s side as his second in command -this worry of making you feel left out also stems from them being gone for long periods of time dealing with orders from Dion’s father,Sylvestre, casualty wanting a conquest -they also both worry if you’re caught in the crossfire of anything -be it monsters, akashic, or even if Dion has to use Bahamut on home turf -Dion dose worry about you getting hurt by him -Terence just worries if you get into any trouble without protection

=====Barnabas + Sleipnir============ -barnabas dose fear about your death -although ultima’s ideals rain supreme, he does fear that he’ll lose the only think he cares about which is you -sleipnir holds similar worries and acts on these worries on barnabas’s behalf by granting you round the clock protection and advice so you wouldn't be turned akashic or end up parishing under any means -helicoptering you is just the side effect on having some power over odin -behind close doors barnabas truly worships you similarly to hugo -so you dying or having to be turned into basically a ether infused zombie is not something he looks forward to

====Hugo============ -like barnabas, he worries of your untimely demise -hugo wouldn't go so far as to helicopter you but would often suggest guards to accompany you or him -he always worries if something were to happen to you like a major injury -if you do end up fighting someone and you end up hurt, if the person who assaulted you is alive he would kill them and there entire bloodline and anyone involved -you’re his prize possession and he refuses to have anything happen to you

[kellyvela]

Sophie's Hon Vol. IV Paris Fashion Week Edition 🇫🇷

Welcome back to this series in time for the lovebirds' return to Paris, the City of Love, the same the city where we saw them kiss for the first time.

A lot of their most romantic pics yet and some sexy stuff under the cut!

WINE ME, DINE ME, SIXTY NINE ME . . . .

The first sight of Sophie and Perry in Paris was on Sunday, March 3th, while they were leaving Le Bristol Hotel to attend a especial dinner:

Here we can see Sophie with Danielle Haim and Jamie Mizrahi at FRAME Paris Fashion Week Dinner, held at Caviar Kaspia Restaurant:

On their return to their hotel, Sophie was pictured very happy and relaxed and holding Perry's black jumper:

I guess Sophie was looking at Perry in these pictures, he seems to make her laugh and smile a lot 😊

Now, we don't know when the lovebirds arrived in Paris, but while these pictures were appearing on the internet, I was alerted by anon message that Sophie had created a playlist with a very particular name just the day before (Saturday, March 2th) . . . . 👀 🙈 🤭

Here some songs that stand out:

These lips can't wait to taste your skin, baby, no, no And these eyes, yeah, can't wait to see your grin, ooh, ooh, baby Just let my love Just let my love adorn you Please baby, yeah —Adorn by Miguel

Oh lá lá . . . . 💋

Whispered something in your ear It was a perverted thing to say But I said it anyway Made you smile and look away Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby Nothing's gonna take you from my side —Nothing's gonna hurt you Baby by Cigarettes After Sex

I guess Paris brings out passion in lovers . . . . 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

~~~

YOUR CLOTHES LOOK BETTER ON ME . . . .

The next day, Monday, March 4th, Sophie and Perry went to the Louis Vuitton Paris La Samaritaine store, probably for Sophie's outfit fitting for the next day show:

On their return to their hotel, they went on a very romantic stroll through the City of Love, holding hands, walking by le Pont des Arts, sitting on benches to exchange clothes, and being the most affectioned with each other . . . .

Oh my heart . . . . Why are they so cute and sweet and lovely???

OK, so when they actually arrive to their hotel, Sophie was wearing Perry's green jacket that looks so big on her, and I love it!

I know, Sophie, I know . . . . It's so nice to smell the scent of the person we love on us . . . .

Oh, to be young and in love . . . . in Paris 💕

~~~

GIRAFE & COSTES

During the night of Monday, March 4th, Sophie and Perry were seen at Girafe restaurant, and later at Costes restaurant.

There are several videos of Sophie being so nice and sweet with her fans waiting for her at her hotel door and at those restaurants doors. She took pictures and videos and sent greetings for a lot of lucky fans. You can watch it here & here.

In those videos you can see that Perry's friend, Rupert Gorst, joined them that night. He is the same friend that travelled with them to ski in Meribel.

In those videos you can also see that Sophie left Costes restaurant with a Glowery bag. Glowery is a brand founded by Alexandra Kolasinski (a long time friend of Sophie's ex husband), so Sophie probably met with her at Costes. I'm mentioning this just to reiterate that the "cheating allegations" are a made up narrative.

OK, let's see the pictures!

Leaving Girafe:

Loving the way Perry is holding Sophie's hand in these pictures . . . .

Leaving Costes:

Lol at Rupert waving his hand to the paps in the back 😂

Here's another video of them leaving Costes, via Backdrid with Game of Thrones theme lol

I like how Perry is the last to leave, several steps behind her and Rupert and he opted to read his phone to avoid the paps pictures . . . . Also, how lovely and polite Sophie is with fans and paps!

Now to the main event!

~~~

LOUIS VUITTON WOMEN'S FALL-WINTER 2024 SHOW - PARIS FASHION WEEK - TUESDAY, MARCH, 5th 2024

No Perry sighting during the Show, just lovely Sophie in Louis Vuitton.

Here's a picture of Sophie's Glam shared by Christian Wood:

Here's Sophie arriving at Musée du Louvre, arm in arm with Chioma Nnadi, the new head of editorial content for British Vogue 👀 👀 👀

Chioma Nnadi also attended FRAME Paris Fashion Week Dinner, held at Caviar Kaspia Restaurant the night before, so maybe they met there.

Here's Sophie posing for photographers:

Here's Sophie being interviewed by Alexa Chung:

You can watch a little bit of the interview here!

Here's an official picture shared by Louis Vuitton:

Here's a picture of Sophie inside the Show:

Here's Sophie for Brithis Vogue:

She looks so happy and lovely ❤️

Before the Show started, Sophie was chatting with Anna Wintour and posed for pictures with singer Lisa, member of Blackpink, and actress Ana de Armas. You can se the video here.

Here's Sophie, Anna Wintour and Cynthia Erivo watching the Show:

Here a few of my favorite pictures of Sophie from the day:

Gorgeous!

Hopefully we will have Sophie on a Vogue cover soon and also attending the MET Gala!!!

She's an angel 👼

Straight out of a Renaissance painting, right?

Loveher so much ❤️

~~~

MAXIM'S

After the Show, Sophie and Perry were seen leaving Maxim's restaurant where Louis Vuitton held an after party:

During the after party, Sophie was seen next to singer Felix from Stray Kids and Nicolas Ghesquiere, while listening to singer Zaho de Sagazan performing her song La symphonie des éclairs on the piano.

Rupert Gorst joined Sophie and Perry for the after party as well. They sure had a blast.

There is a lot more of Sophie from the Show but Tumblr doesn't let me upload more material 😭

I'm gonna leave you a few links tho:

More Sophie from Vogue Germany! - Similar video from Vogue Italia! It seems Vogue is promoting her a lot!

More Sophie from Madame Figaro France!

Sophie posing for photographers pre Show! - Same video from TikTok! She's so lovely!

Sophie Turner & Chloe Grace Moretz!

Sophie leaving the Show & interacting with fans! Love her so much ❤️

Another video of Sophie leaving the Show!

~~~

You can read the previous editions here: Vol. III - Vol. II - Vol. I

I'm going to update this post as new content appears.

[rom-e-o]

The Pack travelling to Australia. Nobody tell Adonis about the huntsman spiders. And don't mention the cane toads to Bess.

OHHH, that would be quite the trip! The wildlife would be ... an adjustment, haha, that is for certain. I imagine they stay well within the more sprawling urban areas for that reason, though that provides only marginal refuge.

Please imagine as their flight ends, they're picking up all the pamphlets in the terminal while waiting for their cars.

Bess, suddenly going white: Con.

Connie: Hmm?

Bess: T-There are toads here. Ones that can live up to 15 years.

Connie: Really? Aw. Do you think Mr. Toad was a cane toad? With 15 frog-years, that would be enough to save up and build a nice little mushroom house, yeah?

Bess: ... Let me get this straight - sweet, beautiful HORSES frighten you, but THESE things are fine and dandy to you? Cane toads are illegal in the U.S., Constance - do you know why? They are invasive, horrible creatures! You'd choose one of these vile things over a wonderful, majestic--!

Connie: ... Bess, your eye is twitching, honey.

And in the same vein:

Adonis: Oh, gods, look at this. (Points in pamphlet) The 'venomous spider' section of this bloody guide is ... four pages. No, five. Gods, you'd think they'd run the city. Do you think they have a representative at aldermanic meetings?

Wolf: Yes, brother, I'm sure they do.

Adonis: Ugh. Some horrifying abomination presiding over Ward 5? Mandibles clicking? (Shivers)

Wolf: An amusing thought, but look on the bright side. The entire spider section is 15 pages.

Adonis: ...

Wolf: I'M JUST pointing out that the odds are in your favor. Chances are you'll run into regular, non-venomous spiders! They'll be as large as your head and might lay eggs in your ears, but they won't bite.

Adonis: ... Too bad for that.

Wolf: Spare me the glare. Save it for the spiders, maybe you'll frighten them. ;)

They likely stay in a hotel or rent a large house. They all want to stay together, after all. There are many things I can see them doing.

I can honestly see some of them really taking to the nature and scenery, exploring locations like Hanging Rock and admiring the grandeur. Others might enjoy the winery scene in cities like Melbourne and Adelaide, savoring flavors less readily available in the rest of the world because of the painful shipping costs it takes to make them available, haha.

Of course, the kids would be infatuated with zoos and wildlife exhibits! But the wildlife does come out to play in other ways, haha.

Bess: WOLF, DARLING, PLEASE HE-

Wolf walking in to trap and release a toad that got in: Got it, darling.

Meanwhile, across the hotel/AirBnB:

Adonis: CONSTANCE, P-PLEASE, THERE IS A-

Constance, walking in with a paper towel/cloche to grab this huge spider in their room and get it outside: Got it, sweetheart.