#and that's fun because it seems very in line with his family sort of tradition of achievers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phoenix-flamed · 1 month

Note

Hi! :D Not sure if you're happy to take on unscripted asks re. lore and headcanons, but since I absolutely adore the type of political backdrop to FFXVI and you mentioned the Rosarian government - would you mind expanding on how you envisage the High Houses to work in terms of representation / the council and what else you have established for Rosaria while an independent nation?

Unfortunately it does not appear to be explored in the same level of detail as the main bodies of other nations (probably because it all went to hell very early on) but I'd love to hear your thoughts and whether it mirrors any irl source of inspiration (such as, idek, Luxembourg which is also a grand-duchy)?

HELLO FRIEND!!! I AM ABSOLUTELY HAPPY TO TAKE THESE SORTS OF ASKS! aaaaaaaaaaaa I can try to answer this without droning on nonsensically for like five hours, and I apologize so, so, so profusely if I fail spectacularly at that! (And also apologize profusely if my thoughts don't actually make much sense.)

Yeah, I was hoping we'd get more information about Rosaria and how it works politically before things went to shit, but alas... we are not that lucky. I'll admit wholeheartedly that I can't speak on it mirroring any RL places, past or present -- I'd have to read up on them in more detail first, which would be fun to do, but as you and I have found out in the past, the game seems to take creative liberties with what terms, statuses, etc. pertaining to a duchy mean, rather than having it be a 1:1 comparison with a real-world duchy. I want to believe it's creative liberties... rather than them doing a half-assed job of researching, themselves.

Okay. Okay. I'm going to curb my overwhelming puppydog excitement over this Ask and actually write now, I swear.

I am also so sorry for reiterating information that's already known, but. Before Rosaria became a duchy, it was a series of smaller, independent nations, all of which were of course ruled by different noble families. These nations united together to form the Grand Duchy of Rosaria as we know it. The rulers of the independent nations became what are known as the Seven High Houses, with House Rosfield as the central one.

A Rosfield is always the one who sits on the throne, and the Phoenix is always born into the Rosfield line. But while House Rosfield always holds the seat of power, the other High Houses do hold heavy political influence within the duchy.

The way I headcanon it is that the High Houses are each represented in the royal council by the head of the main branch of each house's ruling family, much the same way that the head of the main branch of the Rosfield line serves as the ruling family of House Rosfield. What determines who is the head of these main families? Birth order, for the most part. Gender isn't necessarily important; this is, I admit, largely inspired both by the fact that it was Elwin's mother who was on the throne before Elwin, as well as my unending dislike for the idea that women have no power. So taking what the Ultimania book revealed about Elwin and Anabella's familial ties, I go with the idea that the former Archduchess was the head of the main branch family of the Rosfield line, while her husband, the former Archduke, was married into the main branch from a lesser branch because he was the current Dominant of Phoenix. I like to believe that the other High Houses operate similarly, with the firstborn child of the main branch family serving as the head of that particular High House.

Oh God I hope this is making sense so far. alkgjds

I also like to take a lot of inspiration from the fact that Rosaria's title is, "The Bastion of Tradition," as well as the information we're given in the Ultimania. (For as many parts of the Ultimania, mostly pertaining to ages, that make me want to chuck the book out a window.) Rosaria is driven largely by tradition, and its government and politics aren't any different. No matter how much time passes, I headcanon that the duchy honors its roots by maintaining this balance of power between the Seven High Houses. House Rosfield may be the ruling family, but as said previously, every High House has a seat on the council, and every High House has a say in political matters. The couple on the throne can't act or make decisions without a majority agreement from the council, and the council likewise can't make a decision or act without approval of those currently on the throne.

This, for the Rosfields, is a double-edged sword. There are members of the other High Houses who are less than fond of House Rosfield due to their position, and as a result use their own power to undermine their authority. This is something that Elwin's mother in particular had warned him about, but given Elwin's ambitions of breaking apart the status quo and stepping away from heavy reliance upon tradition and societal standards/norms, it's exponentially more apparent during his time as Archduke -- because as anyone can guess, he isn't a very popular ruler when it comes to the nobility. Whereas the other Rosfields up 'til that point had been content with preserving Rosaria's ways of life because it's "just how things are and have always been," Elwin goes against the grain, and in doing so breaks out of the mold and disregards the precedent set before him by the rulers who reigned before him.

Through the Ultimania, we find out that the Dominant of Phoenix isn't actually supposed to take the throne -- they aren't even supposed to have a say in political matters whatsoever. But exceptions are pretty commonly made, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to take this information and run with it headcanon/speculation-wise regarding Clive and Joshua's dynamic of how their relationship was in relation to Rosaria's governing body, how it was intended to have been by their parents, as well as how that relationship changed once certain key events were revealed(like Joshua awakening as the next Dominant instead of Clive). For example, my headcanon is that it was indeed Clive who had been intended to take the throne -- not because he was the firstborn child, but because Anabella and Elwin had decided on it because it was assumed he was the next Dominant, and the favor that the nobility expressed towards little Clive became support for this decision. But when Joshua awakened as the next Dominant instead, that favor and support was not only revoked from Clive, but was replaced with scorn and nasty rumors, ones that were not only about Clive and why he was rejected, but also about his parents as well. I'll get into the significance of that in a moment, though. Clive was replaced as the High Houses's golden child by Joshua. They threw all of their support and favor behind Joshua, and it was ultimately their influence that caused Anabella and Elwin to make Joshua heir to the throne instead, and Elwin to remove Clive from the line of succession entirely to try and spare him from the nobility's bullshittery.

Now, the big takeaway from that is the fact that Elwin, Anabella, Clive, Joshua, and even Jill are all caught up in this political game, whether they like it or not. It's a game that the parents to some extent try to protect the kids from, as seen in Elwin's decision regarding Clive -- but it's just not possible given the circumstances and positions of their births.

My headcanons have always been that a huge dividing factor between Elwin and Anabella was the subject of Clive, yes, but it was by design of the other High Houses, rather than brought upon initially by their emotions. The other High Houses knew exactly what they were doing by starting up with the rumors and jeers about Clive's supposed bastard lineage; they had always been looking for opportunities and ways, no matter how tiny, to split Elwin and Anabella apart -- just as they did with my Elwin's parents, although it didn't work with his parents. But Anabella and Elwin were much younger, much less experienced/prepared for the personal aspect of the political schemes, had little to no support or guidance from older parties, and were faced straight out of the gate with a slew of political matters pertaining to war and conflict while also having to navigate their new marriage and begin working towards bearing the next Dominant of the Phoenix as quickly as possible because in short, Rosaria was not in a good position in Storm. The duchy was vulnerable, without a Dominant to protect them; and because they didn't have a Dominant, House Rosfield couldn't seek guidance in matters of war from their ancestors.

Anabella and Elwin were, again, pretty much on their own.

The other councilmembers of the High Houses saw all of this and used it to their advantage. They chipped away little by little at the stability of the Archduke and Duchess's relationship, weaponized their differences in opinions against them, and when Joshua was revealed to be the next Dominant instead of Clive, they struck the big nail into the coffin by slandering the royal couple, disgracing Clive and Anabella, and creating that massive rift between the parents over Clive's future and their differing feelings towards the child. The shame inflicted by them upon Anabella was manipulated into anger and resentment, while Elwin's love for Clive was forced into being in direct opposition to his love for his wife, and both of these matters were only worsened by the fact that Joshua was beloved by the nobility and poised by them to take the throne -- despite how sickly and frail the child was. All of these things were aimed at pitting the couple against each-other, and it worked.

These things were also geared towards eventually pitting Joshua and Clive against each-other by means of sowing seeds of resentment and mistrust, but this one failed thanks to the strong bond shared between the two boys.

... I don't remember where I was going with any of this. I don't even think any of this answers your Ask, but I figure it's fun background information that might give some equally as fun context towards my Elwin! I guess the big takeaway from the latter half of this post is that I headcanon that there's A Lot of political unrest and power struggles between the High Houses, it's just kept carefully hidden from the public. If there's anything specific you'd like elaborated on, please feel free to let me know!

#Audiences #Out of the Flames #Headcanons #oh my god will I ever write something that doesn't turn into a five-hour-long ramble that never actually addresses the question LOL #The Answer May Surprise You (and by that I mean it really won't surprise you at all)#stingslikeabee

3 notes · View notes

teagrl · 1 year

Text

Andor ep 11

Oh man this show has something for everyone, doesn’t it?

How neat was that mini dogfight at the end? This ep seemed to be kind of talking back to people who accused the show of not being Star Wars enough. Like yes, it’s short of comedic moments, but I don’t mind that. I’m sure the cartoons have plenty of those.

What I’m referring to is the inclusion of aliens, robots, and that great escape by Luthen at the end. When he was asking for a transponder, I was squeeing like the big dork fangirl I am. One thing is to see scenes like that in novels, but for someone who hasn’t watched either Rebels or TCW to see them happening live action is super fun, even if it makes Luthen go into the whole supercool dude category, which I’m usually leery of.

On other news, humanizing B2EMO was also a quintesencial star wars move, seeing him process grief was wrenching (that opening show where it’s like he’s submerged was very effective, I thought). I hope he has a part to play in the finale.

Seems like Bix does too! I’m looking forward to that. Speaking of wrenching seeing what’s become of her after her torture is horrific (the echoes of the chanting then being Leida’s was such a brilliant transition, I caaaan’t). I really really hope that the narrative will allow her to take well deserved revenge. All along as they are asking her about Kreegyr I keep thinking about the adage that torture victims will tell you what you want to hear because they just want it to stop. If Andor nails it, that will be even more aces.

Aliens! Although I enjoyed their presence here, I do miss more of them being present in the narrative. That said, their willingness to aid Cassian and their own hate to the Empire is great. I also liked Saw’s soldier (and that scene with Luthen saying he was the mole was fantastic as was the back and forth where they decide on being ruthless. Seeing Saw struggle with it too was a good moment for him -- although I thought fifty men would die, not thirty, but I only watch the eps once).

Unfortunately I feel a Vel deathwatch coming on. Her fear as Mon describes the trouble she’s in was visceral. You could see her working out how many people would suffer if Mon lead the Empire to Luthen and then Luthen led them to others -- even if circumstancially. I really hope she won’t thrust herself into martyrdom to keep Mon safe. I see the narrative heading there since Cinta told her that the struggle comes first and having her repeat that to Mon. Then her recklessness in straight up approaching Kleya was...not great. I hope I’m wrong.

And I could be -- easily. Mon said she found a way out and you see her being torn up about Leida. Her way out is simply to let Leida continue drifting away from her. Leida is already throwing herself headfirst into conservatism as her own rebellion against her mother, to throw herself into marriage is part and parcel of the same thing. That doesn’t make it any better, mind you. Mon knows that at the end of the day, tradition can be stifling or at least she doesn’t seem to be all that happy in the marriage she made as a child (nor does Perrin), and this is without mentioning how unhappy she’d be at seeing her family linked to another whose values she abhors. It didn’t seem like she agreed with the business man (I forget his name) that limits were liberating (which I agree in other contexts, not necessarily in Andor’s, so I see where Mon’s coming from). It’s her experience which leads her to want something better for Leida down the line, but Leida right now is too caught up with opposing her mother. I find this whole dynamic and the heartbreak in it fascinating. I love how it ties the very personal to the political writ large.

What more can I say about Luthen and Saw? As I mentioned the exchange does so much to show us what kind of principled soldier Saw is. It bothers him to betray Kreegyr, but he comes to see this as war which opens up all sorts of permissible moves. I do wonder if Luthen did truly mean to give Saw the option to lose Lonnie/alert ISB of his existence or if he had another plan up his sleeve. I remembered how he gave Cassian a way out too before Aldhani with the kyber. I kinda don’t want to think he’s that principled, too much is at stake for him, I like thinking that there are traps within traps, but in any case, people do act the way he hopes.

And Cassian! Agreeing with Melshi that they have to tell people. He’s come a long way from wanting to keep his head down. Seeing him hear of Maarva’s passing tempted the audience into witnessing his radicalization right there, hearing him give some powerful speech or something. I’m guessing we’re going to have to hang in there for the last ep to witness him fully tip into the Rebellion’s side -- perhaps with a grand gesture? That is if Narkina Five wasn’t enough, but I’m greedy like all fans.

Argh, I am so sorry that next week is the finale. I’m going to miss this show so much!

#andor #spoilers #shut up frangi

13 notes · View notes

goosebumpsbookclub · 11 months

Text

The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb

Would you believe me if I said I actually read this book, like, ten months ago? And yet I haven't brought myself to write about it. It's just... so... odd.

So, okay. Mummies. Yes. It makes total sense that R.L. Stine tackled mummies early on in the series. But the weird thing is that he actually kind of didn't. Hear me out.

This book stars twelve-year-old Gabe, who's on vacation in Egypt, and starts out with this banger of a line: "I saw the Great Pyramid and got thirsty." Gabe is Egyptian American, which I think was an unexpected choice on R.L.'s part. He's not just a tourist; he's visiting family while his parents are on a business trip. So he has a personal connection to Egypt, although he also regards it with a sense of detachment, probably because he's grown up far away from the country his grandparents were born in. That's a compelling tension that R.L. probably isn't really equipped to mine, and doesn't seem interested in mining. Instead, Gabe just complains about being hot and fantasizes about "[f]ighting off ancient Egyptians who had come back to life to defend their sacred tomb, and escaping after a wild chase, just like Indiana Jones." Listen, I'm not Egyptian, so I could be wrong, but it seems a bit odd to me that an Egyptian kid--especially one whose dad is super interested in history--would find his first trip to Egypt boring because he didn't get to fight his ancestors in hand-to-hand combat.

But, okay, it is kind of refreshing that this isn't just another white kid. And his uncle Ben is a famous Egyptian archaeologist--like, an actual regular scientist from Egypt, not a Harrison Ford type. Ben is cool; he's fun, he's smart, he's kind of dorky. I liked him! His daughter Sari is the obligatory Annoying Girl Character. Ben is investigating tunnels under the pyramid and brings Gabe and Sari with him, where they meet Ahmed, who is just kind of ambiently scary. Whoops! We had a good thing going with Gabe and his family being normal, not-scary Egyptians, but I guess we needed to throw in one spooky one who likes to stare menacingly and rant about ancient curses. Oh, Robert.

What follows is a bit of filler: Ben's team starts getting sick, presumably for curse reasons. Gabe and Sari go to a museum and Ahmed chases them through it because he's weird and scary. We are now late in the book and there have been no mummies beyond the regular dead ones in the museum. When Gabe, Sari, and Ben return to the pyramid (why does he keep bringing these kids to work with him), they end up in a mummy preparation chamber, and Ahmed tells them they have to die for violating the chamber of an ancient priestess, which, okay. He even reveals that he scared the "sick" workers off in an effort to make Ben stop his investigation. So far--and we are nearing the end--this is not a fantasy book but instead a sort-of thriller about a Scooby-Doo villain. Then Gabe activates the totally normal mummy hand Ben gifted him, which is actually "the Hand of the Priestess" (what are the chances!), and all the mummies in the room come to life and scare Ahmed off. This is page 67 of a 70 page book. The mummies quickly go back to being dead again, and that's it. That's the entirety of the actual mummy content.

What happened here? Did R.L. Stine forget he needed to include monsters in his books? I can't imagine he would have handled them very well--he does a shaky enough job with Egyptian history and culture in the rest of the book--but I at least expected them to be there. Imagine if the undisputed king of racist mummy tales from the 90’s, 1999’s The Mummy, was an hour and forty-five minutes of Brendan Fraser noticing that things are getting a little spooky around here and fifteen minutes of there being a mummy. That's this book. I don't even know what to say, what to analyze. I'm so stuck on there being basically no mummies.

It’s worth noting the obvious, though: This book falls into a long tradition of white colonialist fascination with ancient Egyptian artifacts and dehumanization of the people mummies were in life, an attitude that even British museum curators, famously not the most anticolonialist bunch, have started pushing back against. I’m not surprised, of course—Goosebumps is much more about repackaging classic (white American) horror tropes for kids than it is about challenging them—but I reserve the right to roll my eyes at it.

There's no plot twist at the end, a rarity for Goosebumps, but I know there's a sequel. So I'm expecting there to be more mummies in that one. There must be. Right? Right?

Cover: Both the old and the new covers prominently feature a scary mummy, which is misleading. What I like about the old Jacobus one is that the mummy is definitely scary, what with the glowing red eyes and everything, but he's also just some guy. He looks like he's taking a school picture. 2/5

Scare factor: None. Nothing. It's only scary if you find Egyptian history (and present-day Egyptian introverts named Ahmed) inherently terrifying. In which case I have some questions for you. 0/5

Monster content: -12/5. Do better!

#goosebumps #curse of the mummy's tomb #r.l. stine #long post

3 notes · View notes

alexwatchesshows · 5 months

Text

Grace & Frankie S3E1 review

Spoilers for up to and including S3E1.

Woohoo Frankie moment!

Honestly I just love seeing Frankie happy and doing well and this episode had a lot of that yay Frankie! Aside from the art show success she also handled Sol and her family in a way that felt really mature and I do just love her so much.

Grace is also definitely changing. Her openness with Robert shows a lot more vulnerability than she was willing to show in earlier seasons and I think she could really be laying the ground for more successful relationships (romantic and otherwise).

Sol, on the other hand, I'm starting to get annoyed with. I feel like he's shown very little character development and this episode really brought that out. He hasn't been great at accepting responsibility for his actions or letting other people dislike him, boundaries don't seem to be something he's ever even heard of and he just seems to wreak havoc on anyone he becomes close to. He does have wet cat vibes, but more along the lines of my cat who goes out when she knows it's raining, even though she can stay inside then comes in two minutes later sopping wet and annoyed.

We did get a little bit of Robert too and he's actually becoming a more and more likeable character. Standing up for Grace and looking out for Sol really showed that he can be quite an intuitive and caring person when he puts his mind to it and I'd love to see more of that side of him.

Coyote is moving up in the world (sort of) and I'd like to see more of the whole putting his life back together thing because whenever we get hints of it it sounds like a really emotionally complex process and what we do get seems pretty well-done.

Brianna is also experiencing life changes, and the conflict between her and Barry is definitely one that runs deep in both of their characters. Brianna has a fear of commitment and avoids it at all costs whereas Barry falls hard and has big hopes of a traditional committed relationship, and there doesn't seem to be huge amounts of communication about this on either side. With Brianna, the comparison to Grace is glaringly obvious and, although it hasn't been explicitly discussed yet, it's interesting to see how the unhappy marriage of G & R has affected their children, with one unable to believe in comitted and happy relationships and the other one in a marriage that looks more and more miserable with every passing episode.

Also I'm going to come out and say that I really don't like the portrayal of Alison. She has the potential to be a great character, but instead just seems to become a running joke about chronic illness, belittling genuine and real struggles. I hope the portrayal of her changes and actually catches up with what is real and relevant because currently it just gives off big making fun of disabled women vibes.

#my posts #spoiler #grace and frankie #grace and frankie spoilers #tv show review #tv #tv shows #episode review #tv reviews #grace and frankie review

0 notes

babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Should’ve Known Better

Pairing: EB!Frank x Reader

Summary: You should have known better than to sleep with a friend.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, FWB set-up, a little bit of toxic shit, angst

A/N: Frank got the most votes when I asked which other Seb character I should write for, so here it is! This is very personal to me lmfao it’s somewhat based on my own experience that really fucked me up a couple of years ago aksncajscna no but for real, stay away from the friends with benefits kind of relationship if you can’t keep shit purely sexual lmao also some guys are just fucking assholes even if they’re your friend lol

ALSO, I tagged those who are in my Everything Bucky Tag List. I’m not sure if I’ll write more Frank in the future too so I won’t be creating a separate tag list for him yet.

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Do you love me?"

It was a simple question that was supposed to make you think. Given your experiences and your personality in general, you were supposed to cringe and ignore it. Maybe even make a joke out of it, especially that it was Frank who was asking you this question.

He wasn't supposed to ask it too. He wasn't one to ask such thing, not especially with the relationship that the both of you have. It was clear from the get go that this was nothing serious.

So why was he asking it now?

And why did you respond to it right away, as if you knew your answer even before he asked?

"Come on, it'll be fun."

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"I'll make you feel good, you won't regret this."

It did feel good, you were going to give Frank that. Possibly the best, even. But the latter part? You weren't so sure. Were you regretting it? Honestly, no.

Maybe not yet.

You'd rather not think about it for now.

"What's there to lose? We know each other too much to develop feelings anyway, you said so yourself."

Oh there's plenty to lose. Maybe a decade's worth of platonic (was it really platonic from the beginning though?) friendship. Your self-esteem was on the line too, but you didn't know it yet. You'll get there though, whether you like it or not.

"I'm free next Friday, come over. Spend the night with me. What do you say?"

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"Next Friday. I'll see you, okay?"

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"Ugh, fine."

But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

That first night with Frank was something else. It was fun and he kept his promise to make you feel good. So, so good. You never thought that sex could be that fucking good. At least, not with your previous partners. Not that you had many in the first place.

But god, Frank knew what he was doing and he loved doing things to you. He loved the entire process of knowing your body, what you liked and what you loved. How you liked to be kissed and touched and fucked.

He studied your body like his fucking life depended on it and you let him. You let him own your body because you needed someone to. You needed to feel something, wanted to have a purpose even for just a short while, even if it meant being someone's fuck buddy.

You felt lost for the longest time, but as you laid on Frank's bed with his tongue lapping up your cunt, you actually felt like you belonged somewhere.

You weren't a booty call, definitely not. And when things escalated between the both of you, Frank was already single and had broken off with his recent girlfriend, Daphne. You weren't a doormat nor a side chick. Frank had been your friend for the longest time, one of your closest actually. He knew you the best and not just physically. Frank knew the darkest parts of you the same way you knew him like the back of your hand. He was the most open to you, he said so himself.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." he told you one time.

Frank wasn't afraid to show you his true colors; how he wasn't the kind to settle for one or how he would often end up with someone immature or toxic. He himself was toxic and for the most part, you tolerated him.

That was the mistake on your part.

You let him be himself, that's why you held a special place in his heart. Not even his past girlfriends could get rid of you. You were untouchable.

"Are you sure she's fine with us going out?" you asked Frank one time, as the both of you headed to the movies.

He scoffed, "Yeah, don't worry. I already told her you're my best friend. You're off limits." he chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside the cinema.

"You're fine." he reassured again, this time wrapping his arm around your shoulder and then cradling your head playfully.

Looking back, you sometimes ponder whether the friendship was really platonic. You were sure of it when the both of you first became friends; he was a couple of years older than you. You sort of looked up to him like an older brother for the first few years of your relationship. And he was very caring too, always looking out for you.

Your other friends were the first one to notice the closeness. They often told you that Frank seemed to have a thing for you. You brushed it off though, saying that it was impossible.

His girlfriend then was an acquaintance of yours. She was nice and wasn't bothered by how Frank was affectionate towards you.

Indeed, you were untouchable. You were the best friend after all.

"We fought again."

You rolled your eyes at Frank as he sat across from you at a local coffee shop near your place. It was your birthday and as always, you spent the most part of it with Frank.

It was like a tradition already, to celebrate your birthday with Frank first before you went out with your friends. Or even family. It was that kind of friendship.

"I'm sorry but who are we talking about again?" you joked.

Frank made a face, "Daphne." he responded. "I just told you about her like, two days ago."

You snickered, "I was kidding. But honestly though, you have to stop flirting with other girls. It's been really difficult for me to keep track of your record, Frank. And are you and Daphne even official?" you asked, taking a sip from your cold brew.

He rubbed his chin and shrugged, "Sorta. Well, we were official two weeks ago. Now though, I'm not so sure. Here's the thing, Daphne can be really..." he said, trying to search for the right words.

You hummed and shook your head, "Immature?" you said and mindlessly scrolled through your phone.

"You should really stop dating girls who are immature, Frank. I swear to god, this is like...I don't know, the fifth time you dated someone like her? Why don't you settle for someone who actually acts her age?" you blurted out.

Frank groaned and transferred to the seat next to you, his body facing yours and his hand landing on your thigh. You didn't mind, didn't think it was too touchy or intimate for someone who was in a relationship. It was pretty common for Frank to be this touchy with you anyway, you never paid much attention to it nor given it any malice.

"We fought because of you actually." Frank admitted with an apologetic smile.

Your head snapped towards him, a scowl etched on your face. "What did I do?!" you asked in defense.

"It was my fault. Daph saw your photo inside my wallet." he said.

"You should really throw away that photo. Jesus, why do you still have it anyway?" you complained.

Frank scoffed, "That's my favorite photo of you. I don't wanna get rid of it."

That was the last day that you considered your friendship with Frank platonic.

Come over

I miss u xoxo

Miss eating u out

Miss ur moans, wanna hear them again

You groaned at the continuous notifications that flooded your phone. While you were at work. After that first night with Frank, he had gotten extra clingy. No lies though, it felt nice to be wanted like this.

im free nxt Sat

Yay

Cant wait to see u, missed u a lot

dude, we were at the mall together just last wk

U really dont get attached do u?

Frowning at Frank's reply, you honestly didn't understand what he was implying.

what u mean?

Nothing

Work kept you busy for the entire week, with Frank bombarding you with sweet texts. You've avoided being sweet with him, it felt wrong. You weren't an affectionate person but Frank was, it was sort of one-sided. It wasn't a big deal anyway.

No one from the rest of your friends knew what had become of your friendship with Frank. You just thought it wasn't something that should be revealed. It was like your and Frank's little secret. You had to admit, the thrill only made the sex better.

Whenever the both of you went out with other people, the tension was there and it was fun. It was fun trying to brush off the way Frank's hand would steal touches from your waist, or how he'd subtly squeeze your thigh. The looks you exchanged from across the room; how Frank's "fuck me" eyes were meant for you and only you.

Things like that made you feel a certain type of way. But you never dwelled on it, or at least, you thought you didn't.

"Yeah, fuck...just like that, baby."

Frank's fingers dug deeply into the skin of your ass as he guided your hips. You gripped onto the back of the couch as you bounced on his cock, head thrown back from pleasure as Frank suckled one of your nipples. You could feel each of his fingers pressing down against your skin, it's probably going to leave bruises again.

"Frank, shit. I'm close." you panted against the skin of his neck, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close.

Frank grunted and took your face in between his palms, forcing you to look at him as he began to thrust his hips upwards, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from you.

"Wanted to see you like this ever since." he breathed out, pressing his lips against your open mouth.

"Wanted you since we met, d'you know that?" he asked, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back so he could nibble on your throat.

You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, nails scratching at his skin as you continued to ride his cock, "God, Frank...so close." you moaned.

You felt Frank's lips curl into a smirk against your neck, his fingers gripping your hair to keep you in place as his other hand slipped in between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it to help you reach your climax.

Every single time he touched you, you felt like your entire body was on fire. You felt the most alive, the most free whenever Frank fucked you. Maybe because he was truly gifted in bed or maybe he just knew your body and how to make it sing.

Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at you whenever you fall apart for him. Like he only had eyes for you, like it was only you that he could see.

Sweaty bodies and hoarse voices, the smell of smoke and sex lingering in the air. It was such a familiar ambiance by now. You liked how the aftermath of fucking Frank was never awkward, if any, it was a comfortable experience with the both of you just talking casually about how each other's day went.

"So I'm talking to this girl..." Frank said, turning you around so he could spoon you. Oh, the irony of the intimacy and conversation.

"Where'd you meet this girl?" you asked.

"Tinder." Frank snorted before pressing a kiss on your nape. "No, but she's different. I don't know, there's something about her."

You merely hummed in response.

"Think I might ask her out."

The first sting. The first realization. The first denial.

You should've said no. You should've known better.

The art exhibit wasn't a flop, but you wouldn't call it a success either. When you got a call from the organizer asking whether they can include your paintings in the exhibit, you said yes instantly. What can you say? You were a struggling artist who was seeking validation.

But now that you stood in front of your works with barely ten people attending the one-day exhibit, you thought that this wasn't a validation. It felt like a wake up call that maybe, art wasn't your calling and that you should probably give up on your dream.

"These are amazing."

You were on the verge of breaking down when you heard his voice. Turning around, you were surprised to see Frank. He was nodding his head as he approached you, his eyes scanning each of your painting.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had work." you asked.

Frank gave you a face, "Did you really think I'd miss out on your first exhibit?" he said and pulled you into a warm embrace.

"I'm proud of you." he whispered before kissing the crown of your head.

One validation from Frank was all it took for the walls to crumble down. He was the one who had been there for you all along and that was why you completely trusted him.

Frank will never hurt you, he'll never bring you down.

Or so you thought.

"Do you love me?"

It was a question that was supposed to make you think. But you didn't, because even before Frank decided to ask you that, you already had your answer.

You knew your answer for the longest time now, but decided to lock it into a box that you kept in the deepest part of your heart. It remained there unbothered and almost forgotten, up until this point.

That's why it was so easy for you to respond to it without even batting an eye.

"Yes."

It was too late when you realized that you had just admitted that you were in love with Frank. But you felt like it was the right time for you to bring out the key to that box, open it and just set your truth free.

They said that the truth will set you free, but why does it feel like it only imprisoned you?

"Shit, I was kidding." Frank said, his face panicked and body stiff from your unexpected admission.

Before you could even say something, Frank let out a nervous laugh as he ran his hand through his locks. "Wow, I didn't...are you serious?" he asked again.

It took you everything to brush off the pain, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. Come on." you shook your head and forced out a breathy chuckle.

Frank heaved out a deep sigh, "Fuck, I was messing with you. Are you sure it's fine? I mean, would this change anything?" he asked.

You deadpanned, "No, Frank. It wouldn't change anything. Like I said, get over it. It's not like I'm in love with you. I just love you...if that makes sense? You're my friend." you explained, more like lied.

"Look, it's not like I'm unattracted to you. I like you, I like spending time with you. It's just that I sort of don't see myself committing to you."

It didn't sink in to you immediately, Frank's statement. You didn't pay it any mind because again, you knew Frank. He wasn't one to commit so that was fine, you understand where he was coming from. It's not like you were going to force yourself on him too. But then you accidentally glanced at his phone and saw the messages he'd been exchanging with a certain someone.

When r u coming home?

In a little while, Daph

That night, Frank's statement hit you like a ton of bricks but again, you chose to deny what you actually felt. It's fine.

You're fine.

You should've said no. You should've known better.

Those words rang in your ears on the day that you found out. Your body turned cold, your vision blurred and your head spun. You'd never experienced hurt and anger like this, the kind that consumed you.

The kind that made you realized and admit that fuck, you'd truly fallen for Frank only for him to break your heart.

It didn't help that you were having such a terrible day at work. And Frank was so sweet to ask you whether you wanted to meet up with him. Not for sex, but to talk. The sex came rarely recently and was replaced with wholesome trips to the grocery, shit like that.

You knew there was something special going on. Even after he told you that he didn't see himself being with you, there was something.

Apparently, that something was just an assumption. Because when you asked Frank to meet you up that night, he said he couldn't and needed to be somewhere. That he'd meet with you the next day instead, a promise.

But then you saw him post a photo of him and Daphne. And it made your blood boil.

u back together?

No. Not really, been trying to fix it but u know how it is.

if ur trying to fix it with her then im out, frank

Wait what? Hey, are u mad?

r u fucking serious? u knew i love u and u come here parading ur ex, what the fuck is that all abt?

Shit, hey. Look, let's talk later, okay? Im out, will txt u when Im free.

Frank didn't text you back for the rest of the day.

You should've said no. You should've known better. But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

Were you regretting it? Yes. Sometimes.

You didn't know which hurt the most, the fact that Frank kept you in the dark while he was trying to patch things up with his ex, or that he considered you his best friend and still chose to break your heart.

He knew you the best, your relationship and trust issues and out of all the people, he really had to be the one to fuck you up the most. You trusted him so much, trusted him not to hurt you. Hell, if he doesn't want to commit then that's fine. But for him to treat you like a second option? Fuck that.

For him to confuse you with his actions, the intimacy...were all of those even real? All the times he came to your support when you had no one, when he was there for you on days you felt alone. What were those? He made you feel so fucking special, like it was possible to actually turn the friendship into something more than just fucking.

All this time you thought it was one-sided because you never actually showed Frank how much you meant to him the same way he did to you. Turned out that it was one-sided, but only because you were the only one who fell.

The following day, you received a voicemail from Frank. You pondered whether you were ready to listen to it but at the same time, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was pretty stupid, he fucked you up and there was no excuse for that. But the friendship you had with him had a strong hold on you.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. That was my mistake." he started off. "I thought that this was really just sex and having fun, but I want you to know that I like you. I really do, you're special to me. Please give me a chance to make things right. Daph and I...I want to end things with her. Please stay, I don't know what I'd do without you."

“I just didn’t expect that you’d end up falling for me, I mean shit. You know the real me, how fucked up I am when it comes to relationships. Just please...please stay?”

Did you stay? Sort of. But you kept your distance, didn't meet up with Frank after that and only responded to his texts occasionally. Did he end things with Daph?

He didn't.

He said he would but instead, they got back together.

It was fucking selfish of Frank to ask for you to stay only for him to get back together with his ex. It'd be better for him to just slap you in the face then.

Being told that he couldn't see himself committing to you but then going back with his ex was the cherry on top. God, if that didn't mess up with your self-worth.

You totally stopped talking to Frank, ignored his texts and calls. You stayed away from him, tried to get over him and eventually, you did. But you'd be lying if you said that he never left an effect on you. Because he did, Frank did a number on you and it would take you a long fucking time to completely recover from the damage he inflicted on you.

You should've said no. You should've known better. But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

And that's okay, because there's nothing wrong with taking risks and ending up in heartbreak.

You live, you love and you learn.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03 @its-yasbxtch @whoth3hellisbucky

#bbb writes #oneshots: eb frank #endings beginnings #frank endings beginnings #sebastian stan

627 notes · View notes

starryeyedweeb · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day With Hunter x Hunter

Characters Included: Kurapika, Hisoka, Chrollo, Illumi

Content Included: Floofity fluff- Valentine’s style; fairly gender-neutral

A Valentine’s Day With...

Kurapika

Kurapika’s actually beyond excited for Valentine’s Day with you, and has counted down the days until the event

He has a pretty traditional way of celebrating Valentine’s, but isn’t it tradition because it’s beloved by all?

He had made arrangements to get off work early that evening weeks in advance, and when the day finally comes, he can’t wait to go pick you up for your date

Like most, he had made reservations at a romantic restaurant, but the one he had chosen was more of a hidden gem- in a quieter part of town, with a niche menu, and in an intimate setting

You observe your surroundings in delight as you’re led to your table, where you sit side-by-side in front of a spindly vase of flowers

“Do you like it?” Kurapika asks, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he watches your reactions carefully. “I saw this restaurant months ago, and I’ve always thought you would enjoy it.”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, squeezing his hand lightly, and he averts his eyes with a sheepish chuckle

After enjoying your romantic course meal, Kurapika takes you off to the next spot of the night: an observatory, which is conveniently empty of all other people

“I’ve always wanted to go stargazing with you, but it’s too cold to go now. Even if it wasn’t, though, you can’t really see any stars in the city,” he explains. “So I decided on the next best thing.”

You could sense his nerves, for he wanted so badly for you to enjoy yourself completely

“I love it, I promise.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go sit down and enjoy it.”

With hands still linked, you relax into your reclined seats and stare up at the celestial scene above you, pointing out constellations and naming your favorites

After settling deeply into your contentment at the time you were having with each other, Kurapika sits up slightly and reaches into his pocket

“I’d like to give you your gift now, if that’s alright.”

“You got me something?”

“I did.” He laughs gently, his cheeks reddening again. “I’ve always wanted to get you a nice gift, and this seemed like the perfect occasion.”

He hands you the pristinely wrapped package, which you open to find a delicate necklace, with a single but stunning ruby charm

He had saved up for months to get you something nice, and had labored over picking out something that would remind you of him without being too pretentious on his part

So, needless to say, happiness swells in his chest when you break into a wide grin

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe

“Would you like me to put it on you?”

You nod, and with gentle fingers brushing against your skin, he fastens the chain around your neck, placing a whisper of a kiss just below your jaw.

“Thank you for spending this time with me,” you murmur as the two of you sit back again, your faces illuminated by the starry scene above

“If it was up to me, I’d never leave.”

Hisoka

Going into Valentine’s Day with a partner as unorthodox as Hisoka left you with many questions about what he would do to celebrate, if anything at all

You were prepared for anything, so you were less surprised than you might’ve been when he shook you awake nearly at the crack of dawn

“What’s going on?” You mutter sleepily. “Why are you awake so early?”

He merely drops a bag down next to you and strides out of the room

“Put that on,” he instructs, shutting the door behind him

Your brows knit in confusion as you reach into the bag and pull out an outfit that toes the line between summery and skimpy, presenting the question of “Is this streetwear or lingerie?”

Knowing it would be more fun to play along with his plan, you do as he told and go to meet him outside the room

Your breath catches in your throat as you see him with his hair down and makeup off, almost as if he was going incognito

“It’s a little cold to be wearing something like this, isn’t it?” you ask by way of announcing your presence

Sighing headily as he takes in the sight of you, he approaches and wraps his arms around you, his hands sneaking down to give your ass a squeeze

“It will make sense soon, I promise.” He grabs your coat off the rack and holds it out for you. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make it on time.”

You allow yourself to be swept up in his plan, which ends up with the two of you on a plane he had “borrowed” from Illumi and the Zoldycks, flying towards an unknown destination

“Seriously, Hisoka, what’s going on?” You demand, peering out the window for clues

“Relax, darling. Would I ever lead you wrong?” He pours you a drink and holds it out to you

You take it and flash him a dubious look. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Fine. I’ll give you a hint. I’ve always hated the cold, so I want to take the opportunity of a romantic holiday to escape it with you.”

“That’s better, I suppose.” You sip your drink, noticing him look you up and down out of the corner of your eye

“I did an excellent job picking out that outfit for you,” he declares, cocking his head slightly sideways. “We still have a while to go. Why don’t we do something to keep busy?

You slide a bit closer to him, drawing a finger up and down his hip. “What did you have in mind?”

Hours later, when the plane finally arrives at the mystery destination, you find yourselves on a secluded island, approaching a quaint beach house that had been carefully prepared for your arrival

“Was this the surprise?” you gasp, staring at the scene in awe.

“It was. Some time away where we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist,” he replies with a self-satisfied smirk. “Are you pleased?”

“I am! This is perfect.”

He snakes his arm around your waist, leading you towards the entrance of the house. “Let’s get started, then.”

“I thought we already did get started.”

“Darling, you should know by now that what we did was only a warm up.”

Chrollo

Chrollo had been secretly planning a celebration for months, mapping out all of his operations around keeping that one special day open

On Valentine’s morning, he’s gone, but in his place is a tray of your favorite breakfast and a note instructing you to dress warm and be ready to leave by 7:00 that night

There are no other clues, so as you indulge in the breakfast, you wonder what he could have planned for you

Because with Chrollo, it could be anything

Meanwhile, he’s spending the day making all the last-minute preparations for your celebration, and hen the hour arrives, a knock sounds on your door

But instead of Chrollo, you find a driver that had been sent to take you to the date spot

You end up being driven so far outside of the city you halfway wonder if you’ve finally fallen victim to one of the revenge kidnappings Chrollo had always warned you about

Until the driver pulls up to the base of a massive hill, where your boyfriend waits with a smile on his face

“What on Earth have you planned this time?” You ask as he extends his hand to help you out of the car

“I’m a criminal mastermind, love. I simply cannot afford to be predictable.”

He leads you up to the top of the hill, where he set up a candlelight picnic on a blanket covered in rose petals, situated overlooking a fantastic view of the entire city

“Oh, Chro, it’s lovely,” you breathe, but can’t resist a shiver as you sit down and take the glass of wine he offered

He tuts. “I thought I told you to dress warm.”

“You didn’t leave much more information, so I wasn’t sure just how warm.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing that I planned for this, too.”

He takes out a blanket and wraps it around both of your shoulders, and you enjoy your cozy meal whilst overlooking the lights of the city

“Let me guess,” you begin, reaching for yet another gourmet appetizer. “Everything here is stolen.”

“Why, of course it is.”

“And the Troupe is probably quite angry with you for sending them on such a trivial errand to get all of this.”

“Initially, but they were alright with it when I offered them half of the spoils for their own enjoyment.” He shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket. “But I’d like to give you something that, for the first time in years, I haven’t stolen.”

“You actually bought something?” You gasp incredulously, taking the small box in your hands.

“Sort of. I had it made.” He shrugs. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

With him looking over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, you flip open the top of the box and discover a ring, the delicate silver band formed in the shape of an elegant spider web, tiny diamonds glistening at the points

Once you’ve taken the sight of it in, Chrollo takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger

“Since you’re reluctant to get a Troupe tattoo, I wanted something else to symbolize.”

“To symbolize what?” You ask, admiring how the ring glistens in the candlelight.

“To symbolize that you’re my home,” he replies with a cheesy, almost joking expression, but his eyes sparkled with truth. “Do you like it?”

“Chro, I love it.”

The corners of his lips turn upward as he cups your cheek

“And I love you.”

Illumi

Honestly, Illumi had never even heard of Valentine’s Day before you came along

So, needless to say, no plans to celebrate were made until he was out for drinks with Hisoka the night before and Illumi was asked what he was going to do to celebrate

He just blinked, completely confused

“You know, people tend to get very upset if their partners don’t do anything for Valentine’s Day. They’ve probably got something planned for you,” Hisoka teased.

When Illumi was still staring at him with a blank expression, Hisoka explained the concept and helped Illumi make some last-minute arrangements

So, when you wake up on the morning of Valentine’s Day, you find an ornate vase full of orchids and a box of luxury chocolates sitting at the end of your bed

Gotta use and abuse the Zoldyck family funds, you know

You’re overjoyed and pleasantly surprised

Honestly you had expected nothing at all, so assuming that the flowers and chocolates were the entirety of your surprise for the day, you happily go about the rest of your own Valentine’s plans: a day of self-care and self-love

Dating an assassin with a personality like Illumi’s was rewarding, but also immensely challenging, so you definitely deserved it

In light of cliche and tradition, you decide to make some fondue for yourself, and are just getting ready to serve it when you turn around to find Illumi standing behind you in the kitchen

You let out a startled yelp and drop the spoon you’re holding

“Illumi, you scared me!”

“I thought I’ve been teaching you about awareness lately. You should’ve sensed my presence.”

“I was just distracted. Besides, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at all. I thought you were supposed to be working tonight.”

“I just learned what ‘Valentine’s Day’ is. I rearranged the plan so that I could come spend the evening with you.”

You sense a warm feeling spreading across your chest, and have to fight the urge to swallow him in a hug.

“Well, perfect timing. I was just about to serve dinner.”

The two of you share a two-course fondue, then settle in on the couch

Illumi wasn’t really a TV person, so you play some music softly in the background and gaze out the window as rain begins to fall outside

As you lay with Illumi’s arm folded around your waist, you reflect that your quiet Valentine’s Day was a little less than orthodox, but the peace it brought was exactly what the both of you desperately needed

475 notes · View notes

atinyidea · 3 years

Text

Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

252 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron oneshot #star wars

66 notes · View notes

sylvies-chen · 3 years

Note

Can you do 64 or 67 for brettsey please?

Prompt 64 can be found here!!

67. “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Matt should have seen this coming.

His mom's not exactly young. He doesn't know where she's been or how she's been doing these past few years, frankly. He's had no record of whether she's been staying healthy-- through no fault of his own, seeing as how his mom's always been less than reliable since getting out of prison. Hell, even before getting arrested she'd been letting him and Christie down in smaller ways.

So when he gets the call that Nancy Casey has passed away from a heart attack at the ripe age of 68, he thinks it's just one more way in which his mother has let him down; one more member of the Casey family carrying their overwhelming amount of secrets to the grave.

He should feel sad, he knows that, but all he feels is numbness and a slight annoyance at having to deal with the funeral and all her belongings.

Her belongings aren't actually all that numerous, he realizes soon enough, which he assumes is a perk of being so flakey. All he gets is a box of things. He doesn't know what things, exactly. He'd gone to her place, shoved everything he could find into a cardboard box without paying attention to any of it, and left before he had the change to boil over with rage at all the things she'd kept from him and Christie-- the apartment included.

He should book time off or something. Or maybe visit her grave. He hasn't been there since the funeral a week ago (at which he, Sylvie, and Christie had pretty much been the sole attendants), maybe it'd do him some good in theory. But right now, every normal way of grieving flies out the door for him. He feels himself reverting back to the Casey family tradition: internalizing your feelings and keeping them secret until the day you die. Literally. It's not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not healthy. But in some weird way, it feels like his own way of honouring his mother, so he doesn't fight it. He should, but he doesn't.

Until Sylvie notices, and manages to tear down his walls in one fowl, beautifully agonizing swoop.

She picks up on it pretty quickly. He drifts off a lot during shift, he looks even more serious than usual, and he refuses to talk about it all that much whenever she asks how he's feeling-- which isn't for lack of trying, but how the hell can he put every complex little emotion he's feeling into words? Doing that will take time.

She's over to the loft one night, petting gently at his hair with her legs sprawled across his lap as they mindlessly watch TV, when she notices the box of his mom's things collecting dust by the by the basketball machine. Stella and Severide are out and Sylvie knows he's not paying attention to what's on anyway, so she turns the TV off. It manages to get his attention and he looks to her, confused.

Her attention isn't on him though, only on the box. Its flaps are taped shut at the top, his mom's name in black sharpie fading slowly. "You still haven't opened the box of your mom’s stuff?"

"No," he admits.

“Matt…” she sighs, taking her legs off his lap to sit upright on the couch. “You’ve been retreating into yourself ever since your mom passed away. Please don’t shut me out. I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I do. But Sylvie, I’m fine,” he insists. “My mom knew exactly what she wanted in life once she got out of prison and I wasn’t exaclty a part of that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, I probably don’t know half of what’s in that box anyway. She hid her new life from me and Christie. She’s just next in a long line of people in my family who’ve taken their secrets to the grave, that’s all.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Her tone is sympathetic but has a slight edge to it. She wants him to open up, he knows that. That’s, along with the surprising frustration in her eye, is enough to make Matt want to. So he tries.

“I want to,” he assures her. “But there’s nothing to say. She was gone before, and she’s gone now. It’s just more permanent now.”

“But don’t you think opening that box will give you some— I don’t know… closure?”

“I know it probably will, but I've been busy with contracting work and the firehouse has been busy and... I don't know, it just slipped my mind."

She gives him a look as if to say she doesn't buy it for a second, only it turns quickly into a look of sympathy. Because it always does. Sylvie, through thick and thin, good and bad, just always understands him. That goes both ways, which makes it even better, but it also means he knows exactly what she's thinking right now.

"What's keeping you from doing it now then?"

"Now?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his arm stretching out against the back edge of the couch and rubbing at her far shoulder. "Well for one, I'm having a relaxing night with you, and I'd rather not ruin that with memories of my less than reliable mother. And second, I just... I'm...."

Matt finds himself choking on his words, unable to admit to himself the one word he's looking for. He doesn’t know where this sudden seriousness comes from, this abrupt inability to keep things in. It’s like an old habit, and normally those die hard. Except Sylvie’s lifting a gentle hand to caress his face, is giving him that warm and comforting look, and he knows exactly why it’s hard.

It’s hard because it’s her. It’s Sylvie, and trying to internalize things around her at this point is pointless— even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He’s stripped of all his walls when he’s around her and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Scared?” She finishes his sentence for him, giving him an expectant look.

He nods, because yes. Matt Casey, a firefighter who’s faced blazing fires and near-death experiences, is scared of opening a tiny little box. It takes a lot for him to admit that but he’s with her, which makes it ten times easier. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t bring myself to look at all the things from her life that she left me and Christie out of. I’m scared I’ll look in there and realize just how much of a stranger she was to me— and of how much I miss her anyway.”

Sylvie exhales quietly, eyeing him achingly for a moment while she gnaws at her lip the way she only does when she’s thinking hard. Then, she gives his knee a comforting squeeze before standing up. He shifts on the couch, elbows moving to his knees as he scrunches his brow in a pensive and painful train of thought of his own. He thinks Sylvie is just getting a glass of water or a tissue or something else, honestly. But when he looks up from his brooding, he sees her over by the basketball machine, picking up the box and bringing it over.

“Here,” she says, placing it on the table in front of them and sitting back down in her spot next to him. Their legs press together, leaving no space between them on the couch.

“No,” he shakes his head as he responds. “No, I can’t do it.”

“You can,” Sylvie assures him. “We can do it. Together. You don’t have to go through any of this alone, Matt. So if you have to sit here for a minute before opening it, or ten minutes, or an hour even, then you can do that. I’ll be here the entire time.”

Her eyes twinkle kindly at him and Matt swears, in that moment, that he’s the luckiest man alive. Something about everything she just told him strikes him harder than usual, acting as a sharp and wonderful reminder that they’re meant for each other.

“I am so in love with you,” he utters softly.

Sylvie lets out a quiet giggle, moving to hold his hand and lace their fingers together. “I love you too.”

She presses a tender kiss to his cheek as he sucks in a sharp breath, his attention now turning to the box in front of them. The box looks back at him, almost as if challenging him. Only now, miraculously, it seems more manageable to him. It’s still scary, still carries a lot of emotional weight for Matt. But he feels Sylvie’s hand in his and it gives him the strength to do this.

He lets go of Sylvie’s hand for a moment to tear the flaps of the box open. His hand finds hers again as soon as its done, relying on her for more strength as he moves to peer inside the box.

His heart stops.

With his spare hand, he pulls out the first thing in the box, at the very top— the very thing that made his heart stop. Nothing else in the box matters now, he thinks. Because sitting there, in the palm of his hand, is a picture of him, Christie, and his mom. Nancy Casey sits in the center of the picture, with Matt and Christie at her sides. He remembers the day well; it was his fourteenth birthday, after all. There’s a cake in front of them in the picture to prove it. Matt doesn’t ever remember looking and feeling so young. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember being that happy around his family either. Normally, birthdays were sort of a mess for him, a constant struggle of battling with his father over how they should celebrate it that alwaus left Matt grumpy and hurt. But in the picture, his mom’s hand is tickling his side, as well as Christie’s, and the moment captures the exact moment that he and Christie reflexively lean into her chest from the laughter. His mom’s smile is bright and wide— something he rarely saw around his household.

They were happy once. They were a family, no matter how messed up everything got between them. Maybe Nancy Casey wasn’t such a stranger to him after all. That fact alone sends those million complicated little emotions swirling around in his chest.

Only this time, he doesn’t bury them. This time, they all come pouring out at once and the dam breaks. He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they flow now with a painful ease.

Sylvie lets go of his hand and pulls him in, holding onto him tight and close as his head rests on her chest. He feels tears of her own drip on the back of his head as she strokes his hair gently. He so rarely cries like this and yet now that he’s started— now that he has someone like Sylvie who lets him be vulnerable— he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Only she tightens his grip on him, whispers soothing hushes and gentle reassurances that everything will be okay, and he knows that he’ll stop soon enough.

#y’all enough with the angsty hurt/comfort prompts PLEASEE my emotions can’t take it lol 😭#fanfic prompts #abby writes #prompt requests #abby.answers #brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey

70 notes · View notes

aliwritesfic · 3 years

Text

The Night Shift Part 6 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's Saturday, your dickhead boyfriend is out of town, an old friend is in town, and it's time to get drunk!

Warnings: Drinking, mention of drug use, crippling self doubt

W/C: 4.3k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 7

Somehow, the week went exceptionally well. You bugged Frankie each day for the photo he promised you, and each time he grinned and told you that good things came to those who waited. On Wednesday you received a call from the vet telling you the kitten was going to be fine, and she would be put up for adoption when she was old enough. You were initially crushed that the kitten wasn’t going to be yours, but told yourself it was good she was bound to go to a good to a family. You couldn’t give the kind of life a cat deserved.

But most of all, you were almost unreasonably excited for the weekend. You bounced with excitement every time you thought about it - hell, even things with Kurt seemed to be going better. He had planned a hunting trip up north with a few of his friends, and would be gone from Thursday til Monday. He had brought you a bunch of flowers when he ‘broke the news’, not your favourite kind but it was the thought that counted. An entire four days to yourself was more than enough incentive for you to almost force him out the door on Thursday afternoon. With a kiss and a packed lunch and a promise to call, he was gone and the apartment was blessedly empty.

Even better, your best friend Sara was in town.

Fifteen minutes after you watched Kurt’s car pull out of the apartments parking lot, watching the window carefully to make sure he didn’t come back, you called her.

“Can we do something on Saturday? Get drunk, do bad things, anything?” You said by way of greeting.

“Oh hell fucking yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be fun again!” Sara said. You knew that was a not so subtle jab at how much you had changed since Kurt entered your life. You ignored it, like you usually did.

“Saturday sound good to you? I work Friday night and I can’t take it off.” More like you didn’t want to take it off.

“Saturday sounds fantastic. There’s a big fight night happening, and I wanna watch some hot sweaty guys pummel each other.” Sara said. “We can get drunk at the same time. Also I can get some molly if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, not entirely opposed to the idea of spending the night high as shit. Especially if Kurt wasn’t going to be there to yell at you for it.

“Let me know, sooner rather than later so I can sort it out with my guy,” Sara said. “Anyway babe, I’ve gotta jet, I’ve only got five minutes left on my break and I haven’t eaten yet, love ya!”

“Love you too,” you said, meaning it with your whole heart. Out of all the friends you once had, Sara was the only one who had stuck around after you started dating Kurt. At first, you had choked it up to jealousy, convincing yourself all your other friends were envious of your perfect relationship with a perfect guy. Now looking back, you could see what really happened: you had ditched them. Completely and utterly. Kurt had taken up all of your time, convincing you to stay in when you had plans to go out, telling you that the girls you would have trusted your life with only barely put up with you and it was just so obvious to anyone with an outsider's perspective that they didn’t really like you. You were grateful for Sara, more than words could say.

~*~

Saturday came quickly, and before you knew it, Sara was slamming her fist on your door, a bag stuffed with alcohol slung over her shoulder.

“Bitch!” she screamed in greeting when you finally opened the door, still wrapped in your towel from your shower. She was already dressed, in a tight gold 70s style jumpsuit that made her dark brown skin look like it was glowing from the inside out.

“How do you manage to look so good all the time?” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Witchcraft,” Sara said, pulling a bottle of prosecco out of her bag and popping it open. “And like, this whole thing took me all day. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” you said, plucking the bottle out of Sara’s hand and taking a swig. It was cold and crisp and filled your partly empty stomach. You continued to take small sips as you got ready, occasionally asking Sara for her girly wisdom on what to wear. She picked out your outfit as you applied makeup. It felt almost foreign, using something other than a mascara and brow pencil. The use of colour and shimmers almost felt like breaking some unwritten rule you had created for yourself since dating Kurt.

“What happened to all your fun clothes?” Sara whined, going through your wardrobe. You shrugged, carefully applying bronzer. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Sometimes things just went missing - you didn’t really question it anymore.

“I’m a miracle worker.” Sara declared after almost fifteen minutes of searching. You looked up at her, then at the small bundle of clothing in her arms. She grinned and flung the pile at you. You held up a black pleather skirt that you hadn’t worn in almost a year, and a black body suit that dipped low in the chest.

“Christ,” you muttered.

“What’s wrong with it,” Sara sounded exasperated, like she had been expecting this from you.

“It’s just-” you hesitated. “I’m not going out to get dick, you know? What’s wrong with a pair of jeans?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with a pair of jeans? I’ll tell you what: everything. You don’t have to have dick as the aim of the night to look cute. You can look cute for yourself. You know just as well as I do that skirt makes your legs and ass look amazing, especially when paired with the shoes I’ve brought for you. Plus, if someone out tonight decides you look cute enough to buy you drinks, then even better! Because free drinks! You don’t have to fuck them as a thank you, you can just turn around and walk away. So, get dressed and stop complaining.”

You considered Sara’s words for a moment. She was right. After you changed, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your ass really did look amazing, and the strappy black heels that Sara had loaned you accentuated your calves magnificently. Sara stood next to you, arm linked through yours, almost a foot taller in her platforms and with her afro teased to the high heavens.

“God, we’re sexy,” she murmured, taking another swig out of the bottle. “You’re absolutely wasted on Kurt.”

You didn’t bother with your usual retorts to that kind of comment. She’s wrong, you’re lucky to have someone to love you like that at all, no one else would want to if they got to know you, you told yourself. It’s what he had told you over and over again, the words searing themselves inside your brain to repeat each time you began to truly doubt with him.

You finished off the prosecco while you waited for the Uber to arrive, enjoying the warm buzz it left you with. Sara whipped out her phone and began to take photos of the two of you. At first, you shied away from the camera, the words Kurt had said once in a throwaway comment, surely not designed to hurt but did anyway, rang in your ears. You don’t look very good in photos, why do you take so many? After that, you would spend hours staring at old photos of yourself, the flaws that were invisible now glaringly obvious.

Tonight though . . . Tonight you felt pretty. You posed for the camera, following Sara’s instructions as best you could. You took photos of each other throughout the entire ride to the venue where the fight night was taking place.

It looked a little shabby on the outside, overgrown hedges snaked up the walls, covering the windows. A smoking area was off to the side, crowded with people. The inside was even more crowded, with bodies pushing up against the horseshoe shaped bar and surrounding the ring. Two women were in the ring, both bloodied and swinging.

“God there is just something so arousing about hot people consensually beating each other up,” Sara said, unable to tear her eyes away from the ring.

“Babe, you’re drooling,” you joked, stepping in line for the bar.

“I can’t help it, I have an overactive salivary gland,” Sara sighed, tearing her eyes away. “At least my dentist says so.” You grinned at her and ordered three vodka sodas each. It was a tradition with the two of you that you would always order three drinks at a time. Less back and forth, you had reasoned. Although, usually as the night progressed, three drinks were downed in the same amount of time it took to drink one, so it really cancelled itself out in the end.

As tradition warranted, you and Sara cheersed and swallowed your first drink in one breath.

Several more fights occurred, the divisions eventually changing from women’s to men’s. Neither you nor Sara paid much attention to the first few fights: “amateur hour” Sara had said to you “I’m waiting for the good stuff.”

The good stuff, it turned out, started almost an hour and 5 drinks after you arrived.

“Next fight, King V Miller!” The announcer shouted into the microphone to the cheer of the crowd. Sara’s head shot up as if she could sense the sudden change, and she grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to the ring.

“Oh, my god look at him,” Sara said, gesturing to the ring. You knew instantly which one she was talking about. He was tall, with shaggy blonde hair and lean muscle corded over his body.

“He’s pretty spry,” you said, and instantly cringed. Spry? Really?

“I wanna fuck him tonight,” Sara said. Then her voice took on a determined edge. “I am going to fuck him tonight.” Manifestation, Sara called it. If you told the universe what you wanted, the universe would deliver.

Apparently.

“I am going to get more drinks,” you told her. She nodded, not tearing her eyes away from the fighter. You went to the considerably less crowded bar- it seemed like everyone was now watching the fights- and leant against its sticky surface.

You shouted your order over the noise of the crowd, and scanned the bar as you waited. Most faces were familiar in the way that you knew when you had seen someone before, but you didn’t know when or where. That was, until you landed on one dazzlingly familiar face, standing almost right next to you.

“Frankie?”

~*~

Frankie startled at the sound of his name. He looked around, expecting to see one of the boys or maybe an old work friend from the mechanics. The last person he expected was you. But there you stood, looking so good that he was momentarily lost for words.

“Frankie!” You said again, with a huge grin on your face this time.

“Hey!” He grinned back, “what’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?” His tone held a flirty edge, one he wouldn’t dare have used if he hadn’t already had several bourbon and colas.

“Oh you know, I plan on accosting the winner tonight of all their prize money and taking off into the night, never to be heard from again,” you accepted three drinks from the bartender as you spoke. “What about you?”

“My friend Benny is fighting tonight. He’s actually up right now, the blonde one.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way! My friend wants to fuck your friend.” You pointed your chin towards a tall black woman, dressed like she had wandered out of Studio 54. “Is he single? Can we play wingpeople?”

“He is, we can.” Frankie nodded confidently. Maybe it was the alcohol controlling his brain, but any excuse to spend time with you seemed like a good excuse. “How should we do this?”

“Does your friend Billy-”

“Benny.”

“Benny stick around after the fights?”

“Yeah, he gets free drinks,” Frankie said. You nodded approvingly, taking a sip of one of your own drinks. Frankie watched amazed as you somehow held the two others in one hand, your fingers curling around the hard plastic cups.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Hold your stuff like that,” he gestured to your fingers. You looked down, confused.

“Whatta’ya mean?”

“With your fingers.”

“Oh! Um, I dunno, I just do.” You shrugged and placed the now empty up on a random table, and started on the next drink. It occurred to Frankie that you were well on your way to being very, very drunk.

The crowd cheered loudly as Benny knocked out the other guy with a bloody grin. Frankie whistled his support and Benny caught his eye, saluting tiredly. Santi also caught his attention, and even across the room Frankie could see the wicked grin form on his face. Frankie looked away quickly, not willing to give the bastard any ideas.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Frankie asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Some stupid place doing some stupid hunting,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “Fuck him anyway he never lets me do anything fun.”

“What do you mean ‘lets you’?” Frankie said, his brow furrowing.

“I mean, he’s a controlling dickhead!” You said, then slapped a hand over your mouth. “Don’t tell him I just said that! Please!”

“I won’t, I promise,” Frankie said.

“Just forget I said anything,” your voice had taken on an almost desperate edge.

“It’s forgotten,” Frankie lied. He didn’t know how, but he was going to bring it up later. The idea of your boyfriend ‘not letting’ you do something had taken root in his brain, and somehow it made him furious. He took a deep breath, counting slowly to calm himself down.

“Who’s that guy who keeps making faces at you?” You asked, gesturing across the bar. Frankie sighed.

“Santi.” Frankie rolled his eyes at his old friend and waved him over. His curly hair friend bounded over, flashing you with a brilliant white smile.

“Well, hello there,” he said, winking at you. “Santiago Garcia, but you can call me whatever you like.”

You smiled sheepishly and gave him your name, “I work with Frankie.” Santiago’s grin widened at this piece of information, and Frankie groaned internally.

“You’re the girl Frankie told me about.”

“Chatting shit, I’m sure,” you laughed, but Frankie didn’t miss the questioning glance you sent his way when you spoke.

“Santiago was the one who took that photo I told you about,” Frankie said quickly, not wanting you to get the wrong idea. You nodded and leant over towards Santi.

“He keeps promising to show me but he’s yet to deliver,” you said, winking at Frankie. His stomach jumped, breath caught in his throat. He knew you were joking but he couldn’t help but feel like he had disappointed you somehow.

“That’s my fault,” Santi said, “I keep meaning to get him a copy but since he’s sleeping all day I haven’t been able to.” You nodded and turned to Frankie.

“I should go find my Sara before I lose her for the night,” you said, looking at Frankie. “Come find me - I mean, us later? With your Benny?”

“Yeah, of course,” Frankie said, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The urge to grab you and kiss you grew with every second, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t that kind of guy, and no amount of drinks would make him think it would be a good idea to do that to someone. Let alone you.

~*~

Frankie’s head was cloudy with alcohol, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good your ass looked in that tiny skirt, how he wanted to plant his face directly in your chest.

“Fucking hell, get a grip,” Santiago said, shaking his friend by the shoulder. They were back in the locker rooms, Benny was buzzing with his win. He and Will were going their post match ritual of smacking each other on the back and releasing loud “woo”’s.

“I’m fine,” Frankie insisted, and Santi scoffed.

“You’re full of shit,” he said. “Ironhead, tell this idiot he’s full of shit!”

“You’re full of shit, Fish!” Will said automatically. “But what’s he full of shit for?”

“He’s in denial about pining for the chick he works with,” Santi said. “Look at the poor bastard, it’s written on his face.”

“Fish, you’ve never been good at keeping a straight face when it comes to emotional crap,” Benny said. “All other stuff, you’re great. Just not when it comes to matters of the heart. Or the dick.”

“You should’ve seen the way he was looking at her,” Santi laughed. “And the way she was looking at him, making bedroom eyes at each other.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, ignoring how the last comment made his heart leap. “You’re all stupid, she’s just a work friend saying hi. Nothing more.”

“Full of shit!” Benny cackles. “Look at his blush!” Frankie groaned. They were right about him at least. He had it bad for you.

But that didn’t matter. You had a boyfriend, and even if everything Frankie found out about the guy made him resent him a little more, he couldn’t change that one important fact. And he wasn’t stupid enough to ruin the beginings of his friendship with you over a stupid fucking crush. He just wasn’t.

Benny showered, singing You Belong With Me and switching out the pronouns as he did. The man was an unashamed Swiftie, claiming that she had a song for every situation. Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep swig of his beer. Will sat beside him and nudged him gently.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

Frankie frowned. “What? I’m not gonna ‘do’ anything. She has a boyfriend, end of story.”

“Sorry to hear that man,” Will said, sounding sincere. He knew Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to wreck someone else's relationship for purely selfish reasons. “You’re a good man.”

Frankie wished he wasn’t.

Benny changed into his regular clothes quickly, and said something about needing a drink. The four of them left the locker room and made their way to the bar, and Frankie couldn’t help but look around for you. When he couldn’t see you, he bit back the slight disappointment that sank in his stomach. Benny brought a round for the group and they found an empty table to sit at. The employees of the bar were dismantling the ring to make room for a dance floor. Loud, thumping music started playing and within moments the floor was packed with bodies.

“Frankie! And Frankie’s friends!” Frankie looked around at the sound of your voice, which was high with excitement. You bounded over, clutching the hand of the friend you had pointed out earlier. You introduced yourself and your friend Sara to the group and pulled up a chair for you and Sara each. Frankie didn’t miss how you placed Sara’s chair next to Benny, or how Benny was staring at Sara with his mouth slightly open. He also noticed with a slight pang how you sat yourself between Will and Santi, directly across from him.

What he didn’t was how much you kept looking at him. Lucky for him, Santi and Will noticed plenty.

You and Sara spent a few hours with the group, until a not so inconspicuous Benny and Sara both disappeared, Sara throwing a wink towards you as she left. Will left not long after, saying that his bed was calling his name. Santi stayed a little longer, flirting with you much to Frankie’s annoyance. To his credit, he didn’t show you the catfish photo. Frankie wanted to show you that one himself, when you were both sober.

“I better head out,” Santi said as it rolled past three in the morning. “I’ve gotta babysit Lee tomorrow, and you know how hyper he is.” He turned to you and kissed your hand. “It was the deepest pleasure meeting you, don’t be a stranger. Frankie.” Santi raised an eyebrow and shot him a meaningful look.

“Good night,” he said a little forcefully, shoving Santi towards the door, mainly to get him to stop flirting with you. He knew the flirting was just incentive to spur him into some kind of action with you, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Your friends are nice,” you said, struggling to connect the straw of your drink with your mouth.

“They’re assholes most of the time. They’re just nice to beautiful women.” Frankie regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Shit! Now she thinks I think she’s beautiful. She is! But she doesn’t need to know I think that! Frankie finished off his drink to avoid looking at you.

“I’m attractive til they get to know me,” you said with a snort.

“What makes you think that?” Frankie asked, confused as to how that could work.

“I don’t think,” you said, “I know. It’s a fact. One that cannot be argued.”

Frankie was about to argue with you about this when you turned away, stumbling as you did. She’s super fucking drunk, Frankie thought, grabbing your arms to steady you. Your skin was so much softer than he anticipated, sending a jolt through him. He let go quickly, mouth going dry as you beamed up at him.

“You saved me!” You declared, then finished your drink quickly, emitting a small burp. “To thank you, I must give you a token of my gratitude. I know! A drink! Three drinks for the kind sir! And three for me!”

“Jesus, how much have you had?” Frankie asked, laughing.

“Only a little bit,” you shrugged and thought for a moment. “Maybe like, a dozen vodka sodas and some shots and also half a bottle of prosecco. And also a teeny tiny bit of molly, but that was hours ago, so it’s basically gone.”

“Maybe I should walk you home,” Frankie suggested gently, amazed that you were still upright let alone getting served. You shrugged.

“I can just get an Uber or something, it’s fine.”

“No, no, don’t waste your money, let me walk you.”

You looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The cold air outside hit the both of you like a wall. Stars scattered across a moonless sky, leaving Frankie wonderstruck for a moment, until he noticed the goosebumps on your arms. Without a second thought, Frankie took off his jacket and placed it gently around your shoulders. You looked up at him, a surprised look on your face.

“Frankie, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I have this friend, right? And she’s been dating this guy for years now. They live together, no kids or anything. But she told me a little while ago that she’s been feeling . . . trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Yeah. Like, she doesn’t think she loves her boyfriend anymore. At least, not in a way that she should. And he’s so mean to her, too. He doesn’t hit her or anything, but he’s also not super nice to her, and-and she doesn’t always know what she did to deserve it. She doesn’t know what to do.”

“Can she leave?” Frankie suspected you weren't talking about a friend, but he didn’t press beyond what you were willing to tell him.

“Not easily, I don’t think. She doesn’t have enough money for her own place and- and she’s afraid.” Your face flushed.

“What’s she afraid of?”

“Being alone. Unloved. She doesn’t have any family or anything and her boyfriend is the closest she has to that. So um, if she was your friend, what would you say to her?”

Frankie was thoughtful for several moments. He didn’t want to fuck this up. If his suspicions were correct, you were talking about yourself. “Well, first of all I would tell her that her boyfriend is a massive dick, even if he doesn’t hit her, boyfriends shouldn’t make their girlfriends feel like shit. I would tell her to talk to her friends, ask for their help. I would also tell her that being alone doesn’t have to mean lonely, and it certainly doesn’t mean that she’s going to be unloved.”

You nodded thoughtfully at this. Frankie took this as a good sign. “She can’t know for sure what her life will be like, but my guess is that it will be better if she chooses to leave this asshole.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Frankie knew you were thinking about what he said. He too, was lost in thought. Trying to figure out a plan to help you in any way he could. All too soon, you arrived at your apartment building.

“Thanks for this,” you said, taking off the jacket and handing it to him. Frankie nodded.

“You needed it more than me,” he said simply. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow?”

You nodded, and then as if you weren’t entirely sure if what you were about to do was a good idea, you wrapped your arms around him. Frankie stiffened for a moment before hugging you back, holding you to him tightly, breathing in your scent of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. You were warm and soft and everything in him was screaming don’t let go.

“Thank you,” you whispered in his ear, and he knew you weren’t talking about the jacket.

Taglist: Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209

#the night shift #frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier

77 notes · View notes