#this week and month and honestly year has been so awful for me. I never would have thought it would end up w me becoming homeless

[bitterie-sweetie]

Fake it til you make it

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader Genre: fluff, fake dating WC: 6.5k Warnings: alcohol A/N: yes it's about vday buuut it's actually for @syuperseventeen's bdayyy!!! surprise surprise! happy birthday nat, i hope this year is even better and filled with many things to look forward to <3

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

Jeonghan is a prankster. 

Growing up, you’d often be on the receiving end of his pranks at school. Third grade “initiation” had you drenched in water after he told you to pin a cup against the wall with a straw, and in ninth grade you had tears streaming down your face after eating an entire scoop of wasabi—not the matcha ice cream he said it was. Then there was the time he did something to make your first crush hate you, which, in hindsight, was a good thing because the guy turned out to be a total asshole. 

It wasn’t Jeonghan’s fault entirely when you were too willing to fall for his pranks because being the target of a prank meant having his attention, and that’s something that you wanted. Jeonghan had a way of making everyone feel special, and his attention was a limelight that you never wanted to step out of. 

Honestly, you might’ve kept up with it if he kept going. But then that fateful day came and it was like you were suddenly on his side, working with him instead of being the victim to his antics, and you’d say that that’s what has kept the two of you together after all these years. 

Well, at least until now.

“Hey,” you greet in a rush, looking around the table at everyone and seeing that you’re truly the last one to arrive. Usually, you’d give that place to Lee Chan; he’s the most popular of your friend group and almost always has a prior appointment to your meetups. “Sorry I’m late. My train was delayed and—oh, did you already order for me?” 

Jeonghan slides a sealed bubble tea across the table and sets it in front of your seat—the one empty chair right beside him, no less. When you glance at him questioningly he shrugs and tilts his head towards the crowd at the front. “The line was too long so I ordered yours with mine. Hope you’re feeling like your usual today.” 

Indeed, the sticker on the cup shows that it’s your go-to order. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you. Thanks, babe.” 

Today’s meet up with your friend group is the first of the year and it’s also the first time you’re seeing everyone since Chan’s wedding… including Jeonghan. You would’ve spent Christmas and New Year’s with him had he not cancelled on you, and now that bit of distance has manifested into a larger uncertainty for you over the past while. Even now, the ‘babe’ seemed to come out awkwardly, sticking to your throat.

“Wow, you guys are actually disgusting. I hope you know that.” Seungkwan makes a face at you, and beside him, Soonyoung nods a few times in agreement. 

You plaster on a smile. “It’s okay to just say you’re jealous.” 

The only response you get is an eye-roll from Soonyoung, and then everyone moves on, thankfully. Mingyu asks you what you’ve been up to so you talk about your recent promotion at work and some new habits you’ve started in the new year, and when you sense that the conversation is starting to approach the territory of your future with Jeonghan, you gently steer it towards Chan. After all, he’s the one that got married just a few months ago, and you know he would never miss the chance to talk about his amazing honeymoon and how great this new chapter of his life is going.

There is truly nothing like adult friendships and its quarterly updates. 

Once there’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, Jeonghan turns to you. “What are you doing this week?” 

“Oh, this week?” Your heart speeds up tenfold at the uncertainty of what might come next. “Hmm well, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” He nods and much to your relief, there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “So I’ll see you for our date then?” 

“Of course, babe.” 

“Can’t you guys do this somewhere else?” Soonyoung says as he stares daggers in your direction. You totally understand and sympathize with that though; today you’re turning up the sweetness more than usual to compensate for the distance you actually feel, unfortunately at the expense of your friends.

Jeonghan completely ignores Soonyoung’s complaint and doesn’t even look his way. “That’s good,” he says, leaning back in his seat and almost looking relieved at your answer. “I was afraid my darling might not have time for me anymore.”

“What? No way. Did you have anything in mind for our date?” 

“Hmm, yes but it’s a surprise. I’ll text you the details later.” 

“Well, uh, I have to run,” Chan says, slowly getting up from his seat. The rest of you hardly bat an eye, having gotten too used to his busy schedule. “It was nice seeing everyone. You guys should come over for my housewarming once everything is set up.” 

Mingyu stands up too. “Oh, I actually have to go too; got a dinner with Wonwoo later.” 

…On second thought, perhaps you overcompensated a bit too much with the cringe. Soonyoung and Seungkwan leave soon after getting a call from their roommate, Seokmin, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan at the table. Still seated side by side, your arm occasionally brushing against his. 

“How have you really been?” he asks in a low voice. 

“Decent, I guess, despite the winter blues and all. It’s pretty much what I said earlier.” You shrug when he remains silent. “Why do you ask? Do I look depressed or something?”   

“No,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “not depressed, exactly, but I wanted to see if you’re as sad as I am about not seeing each other in so long.” Then he leans in a bit closer, as if to whisper a secret. “I missed you, darling.”

It’s times like this when you feel like he’s toeing the line. There’s a small smile lingering on his lips and a softer look in his eyes, not at all like the overdone sweetness to the point of sarcasm from before, but you can never tell if he really means what he says or if this is just part of the act. 

Regardless, it makes your face feel hot and it makes you unable to look directly at him. 

“Oh… yeah,” you say, trying to make a quick recovery. “It’s too bad we missed out on the holidays but at least we get Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yup, that’s exactly why I have something special in mind for that day. I want to make it up to you, darling.” 

You give him a smile and then go to take a sip of your drink, and that’s pretty much the end of the conversation. Despite saying he misses you, it’s interesting how he doesn’t explain why he bailed on the holidays in the first place, and you don’t know whether you should ask about it at this point.

Or if you should even be curious about such a thing. 

Jeonghan pulls you out of your thoughts with a brush of his hand on yours. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head out?” 

You agree and then let him hold your hand, lace his fingers with yours, and then lead you out of the shop. He doesn’t let go until you cross the parking lot and get to his car. It’s strange, you think. You can’t seem to recall the last time the two of you held hands so naturally like this especially when there’s no one else around. 

In fact, when the two of you are alone, the sickening sweetness is always toned down but not completely dropped. Now, Jeonghan’s smiles are softer around the edges like they’re less exaggerated, less of a performance, and when he calls you darling, his voice is quieter and isn’t at all coated in the sticky honey you’re used to. When he hugs you goodbye at your door, it’s a loose hug and almost has a degree of uncertainty. 

Jeonghan steps back but lingers just for a second. “I’ll see you in a few days for our date, darling.”

“Of course,” you put on a smile, “I can’t wait, babe.” 

He waits until you get into your building before giving a little wave and then heading on his way. 

After you close the door behind you and collapse onto your bed, you heave a sigh and finally let the smile slip from your lips. So there would be a Valentine’s date this year after all; the anticipation makes your heart speed up the slightest but at the same time makes you all the more anxious. You thought that he really would end things today, and if not, that you should be the one to do so. But seeing him after so long, feeling the way the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin, basking in the brightness of his smiles, you simply couldn’t utter those words. 

Perhaps Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be the right time to do it either, or maybe your date won’t end up happening for whatever reason. You know that this is something you have to do, but the question is how exactly would you go about doing it? Because there is one major problem. 

You’re not dating Jeonghan at all. 

One moment in high school is what started this whole thing.

It was eleventh grade drama class—which Jeonghan thought would be fun to take as an elective—that resulted in the two of you being cast in the school play. Although neither of you landed a role that was remotely close to important, Jeonghan decided to have fun with it and improvise during your one minute of screen time and that somehow turned your insignificant cameos into a beautiful romance that had the audience rooting for you. 

And that very moment somehow managed to embed itself so deeply in your relationship with Jeonghan that it became a long running joke to this day. 

Today you’re sitting across from Soonyoung and Seungkwan again, with Mingyu beside you this time. Almost an exact replica of last week’s meetup, but Chan already has plans and Jeonghan is very obviously missing—something Soonyoung points out immediately.

“Wow, no Jeonghan today?” he says loudly even before the hostess is out of earshot. The people at the two tables nearby glance in your direction and you start to regret coming here at all. “We really won this one. Y/N, we should do this more often.” 

You definitely should not. “Um, yeah. Totally.” 

Last week’s meeting with your friends is what gave you the idea to consult with them about your situation. You first suggested the idea to Mingyu, and then used the prospect of free food to get Soonyoung and Seungkwan to come out, and naturally, Chan is busy so it ends up being the four of you at brunch. Which is better on your wallet, you think. You get the feeling that this quarterly meetup can totally happen more often if you were to make this offer every time. 

As for what you’re about to ask… well, truthfully, you still don’t know if you should even do it. You’ve gone so many years without saying a word that it’d simply be odd to ask now, plus you would run the risk of making everything weird. But if you don’t do it, you would only end up making it weird anyway because how much longer can you go on pretending?

Besides, it’s not only you and Jeonghan who are prolonging this inside joke for way longer than it should’ve lasted. All of your friends should be in on it if they treat the two of you like a couple too. 

The waiter comes by to take your orders, and you try not to wince at the entire list that comes out of Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s mouths. Mingyu gets the least, seemingly knowing that something is up if the worried glances he throws your way is anything to go by. 

Once the waiter leaves, that’s when the small talk stops and all eyes turn to you.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Soonyoung asks with a goofy grin. “Since Jeonghan’s not here, does that mean you need help with Valentine’s Day plans or something?” 

Beside him, Seungkwan has the complete opposite expression as he eyes you warily between sips of his americano.

You take a huge swig of water like it’s liquid courage, and then go for it. “This is going to sound weird…” you start, trying not to notice the way Seungkwan tenses up as if bracing for your words, “but I wanted to ask you guys what my relationship with Jeonghan is.” 

Silence. Complete, dead silence. 

Soonyoung freezes like he’s in a photograph while Seungkwan’s hand holding his americano hangs in mid air as a drop of the drink dribbles down the side of his lip. 

“Sorry, what?” It’s Soonyoung who recovers first. “I think I heard that wrong.” 

You shake your head. “Just tell me.” 

“You’re asking us what your relationship with your own boyfriend is?” 

“Boyfriend—exactly!” You have to hold back all the thoughts you have on the topic. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. So you think he’s my boyfriend? That we’re dating?” 

Soonyoung frowns but it’s Seungkwan who answers, exasperated. “Y/N, what are you trying to say here? Are you trying to say you guys broke up? Or do you think we don’t know you well enough and this is a test? Can you say whatever it is directly—” 

“Jeonghan and I aren’t together.”

There, you said it. Your biggest secret is out.

It should make you relieved to finally let out the secret you’ve been harbouring for years or it should at least alleviate some of the weight on your chest, but it doesn’t. The silence in the wake of your confession only closes in on you and makes it all the more suffocating.

“Any—anymore?”

“No. We were never together.”

The bit of silence from earlier repeats itself. Maybe you should become a speaker or presenter with your ability to draw such reactions from a crowd.

Seungkwan noisily sets down his drink and then leans forward with a frown. He’s still in denial, that much is obvious, and he narrows his eyes as he asks, “Is this a joke? A hidden camera? Are you trying to prank us like Jeonghan—”

“No, I’m completely serious. It’s really not what it seems, and this is why I’m asking you guys what you see us as because at this point I don’t even know the answer myself.” 

With a deep breath, you tell them the truth about this entire thing.

You tell them about the high school play and your impromptu acting, and how that led for the two of you to become the famous couple at school afterwards. Sure, it might’ve been a good thing because that meant your acting was believable. But to two people who were interested in just about anything except love at that age, it was annoying and gross. 

After the show when the shippers wouldn’t stop, the two of you decided to do what you do best—pull a prank. You spent that Valentine’s Day together as a joke and acted extra disgusting to mock couples while making fun of how stupid people were to believe whatever you showed them. In twelfth grade, the two of you did the same for Valentine’s Day and then even went to prom together as a joke. 

In recent years, however, the annual joke of a Valentine’s Day date has turned into his Christmas and your Lunar New Year, his cousin’s graduation, your coworker’s housewarming, and Lee Chan’s wedding. It’s made you on a texting basis with his sister and it’s made him familiar with all your favourite food spots and go-to orders. It’s turned him into someone who’s simultaneously as distant as an acquaintance yet closer than a best friend. 

And so, here you are, living an entire lie because you and Jeonghan had the whole world fooled.

“That’s insane,” Soonyoung says when you finally finish the story, unable to look your way and instead, stares into his drink with how mind blown he is.

Seungkwan, on the other hand, remains a bit skeptical. “Okay, but then what was with all that PDA?All the kissing? Is this some sort of situationship?” 

“Oh, um.” Immediately you can feel your cheeks heating up. You didn’t think this far at all but now it seems like the entire truth will have to come out. “All of it was fake. We’ve… never actually kissed.” 

That drama class has taught you more than you needed to know about manipulating angles and the audience’s perception, and Jeonghan is very good at it. Your fake kisses were often just a trick of the angle or occasionally using the thumb trick, and having seen the evidence captured in photos over the years, you know how convincing it can look.

Now, it’s embarrassing to admit for reasons you never would’ve imagined. Admitting to pulling a childish prank like this is one thing, but the realization that you and Jeonghan have faked it for so long without ever once making it real has you feeling almost dejected.

“I always knew Jeonghan was crazy but I didn’t know he’d be *this* crazy.” Soonyoung now has his head in his hands and is staring off into space. “This is the most insane story I’ve ever heard. I’m not sure if I should be happy for you or sad.” 

You give a wry smile. “Yeah, well, I get why you would think we were together though. You met us in college and wouldn’t have known about what happened in the past so I guess there would never be a reason to question it.” 

Beside you, Mingyu clears his throat and you turn to look at him. He’s been so quiet throughout your story that you were too busy focusing on the reactions of the other two, but looking at him now, his reaction is entirely different. Mingyu isn’t as surprised as he is concerned. “Actually, Y/N, a few years ago…” he says hesitantly, “there was a time when I asked him if you were actually dating.” 

“You did? What did he say?”

“He didn’t deny it.”

“Well, we all know how he loves to be ambiguous and leave things a mystery.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “No—see, that’s what I thought too, but it was different that time. At first he didn’t deny it, but when I pushed a bit more, he said that you’re dating. In actual words and with the most serious look I’ve ever seen on his face.” 

This is news to you. You always assumed that they were all in on the joke and would’ve never guessed that anyone actually asked Jeonghan, but the fact that he answered that way is all the more baffling. 

“I don’t get it. Why would he tell you that?” 

“Yeah, so,” Soonyoung says, “from then on we all thought that was fully confirmed, and he never said or implied otherwise.” 

“Right…”

Mingyu nudges you gently. “Y/N, are you telling us about this now because you’re planning on stopping the act? Has it been bothering you? Or did something happen?” 

“Is that why you wanted to tell us today?” Soonyoung lets out a dramatic gasp and leans all the back in his chair, hands over his mouth. “Don’t tell me—are you going to stop the act because you have a crush on someone?”

“What? No, definitely not. It’s not that, it’s—” 

Here’s the next part of your big secret being revealed, something you weren’t entirely ready for but you tell yourself that this needs to happen. 

It’s because of your feelings for Jeonghan. Your very real, very genuine feelings that have nothing to do with this prank.

Truthfully, you can’t pinpoint when you started feeling this way, much like you’re not sure how this joke was able to stick around for so long. It could be the most recent development—when your friend tried to convince you to hop on a dating app, all you could think about was how wrong it felt because you already had Jeonghan. Or maybe it was the Valentine’s Day just before college graduation when he leaned in so closely you thought he was going to kiss you, for real this time, and then only realizing much later that you were disappointed that it wasn’t real. 

Or perhaps it started way back, to the time he asked you to prom—he said he didn’t have a date only for you to later find out he’d already rejected two promposals from other people. All for your fake relationship, supposedly.

And now, for you, what has started as a harmless prank has turned into something much more than that over the years. 

Everyone looks like they're at a loss for words after that part, and even Soonyoung has lost his enthusiasm after hearing it. “Shit, that’s…” he starts. “Okay, yeah, I’m definitely sad for you.” 

Seungkwan and Mingyu have similar sentiments but you wave them off, eager to lighten the mood again after such heavy topics. The food on the table has been long finished and you’re beginning to feel like you’re overstaying your welcome when there’s a crowd waiting at the front of the restaurant. “It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just wanted to get this off my chest today so that I can figure things out before I see him in a few days.” 

A while later, you finish paying and then all head out together. 

The conversation continues to replay itself in your head, and you realize there is one thing you’re curious about. You turn to Mingyu. “By the way—Mingyu, why *did* you ask Jeonghan if we were actually dating?”

Mingyu stops mid-stride and freezes like a deer in headlights, clearly not expecting your question at all. “I—um, I was asking for a friend.” 

“A friend?”

“Yeah, Chan.” He nods a few times in a row. “I thought Chan had a crush on you and I was trying to help him out.”

Strange, seeing as you’ve probably interacted with Chan the least among your friend group. He’s simply too booked and busy to hang out with you, and has been all throughout your college years together. 

Oh, and he’s married.

“Like, before he met his wife?” you ask.

Soonyoung starts to cough furiously from where he is a few steps ahead while Mingyu’s cheeks redden the slightest bit. 

You vaguely remember the first time the two of you did this, and how it wasn’t anything like how it’s going now. 

Tonight is the night you’re supposed to go on your date with Jeonghan, and you’ve been buzzing with nerves since the night before. You have no idea what to expect for tonight since all he told you about it was to show up at his apartment, and that in itself was slightly concerning as you’ve never been to his home before nor has he been so secretive about any plans. Usually the two of you would be going to a casual place or would have the schedule shared ahead of time if it was a more formal event that needed preparation. 

Jeonghan buzzes you in when you arrive and before you can say you’ll wait for him in the lobby, he tells you to go up to his unit. Again, a bit strange. You do as he asks though, and then even go to knock on the door when there’s no sign of him coming out.

When he opens the door and steps aside, that’s when everything clicks—you’re not here so that he can get his car and take you to your date location. This *is* the date location.

Beyond the doorway, you can see that his apartment is completely decorated. Rose petals line the sides of the hall and lead to the dining table, covered in a deep red tablecloth and perfectly set for your meal. Beside it, a large bouquet of roses rests at the center of the sideboard surrounded by a row of flickering candles which light up the space.

Even without knowing what his home normally looks like, it’s obvious that all this would’ve taken a lot of effort to set up.

“Jeonghan, why did you prepare all this?”

He gives you a dazzling smile. “Because my darling deserves the best, of course. I told you I was going to make it up to you for cancelling Christmas.” 

“Babe, that’s too sweet of you. You really didn’t have to.” You try to return his smile but it doesn’t come easy when this whole situation is overwhelming. Then you let him take your coat and then guide you to the dining table where everything is set up. 

Only when you’re seated do you realize that his response doesn’t answer your question at all. 

The scent of the roses fill the room and looking at them gives you a pang in your heart. This is what the two of you used to make fun of—these big, romantic gestures, and the couples that willingly eat them up. Now it’s as if the tables have turned and you don’t know what to think. 

If this were in public, in front of your friends or other people, you would’ve said that it was another funny gesture that Jeonghan put up for the sake of making them cringe. Because the two of you were the perfect joking, prankster couple, right? 

Now that it’s just you and him here, it confuses you as to why he’s going to such lengths for a joke when it’s something that no one else would see, when there’s no audience to watch his performance. 

You watch as Jeonghan busies himself in the kitchen, serving the food that he’s prepared and pouring the wine into glasses while glancing your way every once in a while. He looks pleased, you note, and he should be if he got his space to look this beautiful. But you can sense that there’s something else too, almost like a nervousness that sits on his shoulder every time he breezes past you and makes eye contact for the briefest second.

After everything is ready, he finally takes a seat across from you and the dinner begins.

Making small talk is easy at first; you comment on your surprise at this type of date, talk about how cold it’s been lately and how it sucks that your company is forcing you to go back into the office. You ask him how his holiday went and how his family has been, and mention how cute his sister’s new puppy is after seeing a post about it on her social media. 

You know you’re just delaying the inevitable. Somehow you get the feeling he knows it too, judging by the way his answers are shorter than usual and how your conversation feels so superficial. So this time after there’s a lull in the conversation, you decide to go for it.

"Jeonghan, um…"

"Hmm?" He looks at you and waits for you to continue, but you don't. Or rather, you can't. "Ah, you're going to comment on how good this is, right?" he says instead, as if supplying you with a way out.

You're all too eager to grab onto it. "Wow, you read my mind." An enthusiastic nod, a slight look of surprise. "It's amazing. Did you make all this yourself?"

Jeonghan shakes his head and then follows up with a sheepish smile. "Partly. The rest is store bought."

Another nod, and then it just ends there again. Seated in this spot with the soft lighting of flickering candles cast against the wall and the heat of Jeonghan's gaze on you, the feeling of discomfort only grows. It's hard to remember what the two of you were like before, during the days when everything seemed so silly–when each move was a clearly defined act between two actors and the world was your stage. And most importantly, when each smile he showed you didn't send your stomach into somersaults or your mind into a loop of second guessing. 

The air is so heavy and stifling that you grab your glass and down a large gulp of the wine. At least when you're drinking, you wouldn’t have to speak, whether that might be responding to him in a way that gives away all of your thoughts, or completely spilling them out yourself. Maybe the alcohol will also drown out some of your anxieties and–

"Hey, slow down." Jeonghan glances at you with worry. "We have all night."

You set the glass down, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Right, sorry. This wine is just so good."

Yet another lie, but what's one more at this point? The wine is much too sour and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You would've much preferred a soda or bubble tea, and drinking something fancy like this during such a fancy occasion makes you feel like you're pretending to be someone you're not.

Which is exactly what you're doing, isn't it? You've been living a lie this entire time.

You briefly wonder if Jeonghan feels the same way—the two of you have never properly spent time alone in complete privacy, and to have your first time be in such a formal atmosphere must feel strange. But if he's uncomfortable, he makes no sign of showing it. Or maybe he's always been the better actor of the two of you.

“You know, since you mentioned seasonal depression, I was thinking that for Christmas this year we should go somewhere. Somewhere warm and sunny to get away from the cold.”

“Oh, this year?” you repeat stupidly when you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Jeonghan wants to continue this thing? And here you were, thinking that he was about to end it at any moment for the past few months. “Um, yeah. That would be nice.” 

“Or it could be a fall trip. Your parents have been wanting to go see the leaves change colour, right?” 

There’s no hint of sarcasm on his face and no playful twinkle in his eye, and even though no one can read him very well, you know enough to tell that he’s being serious. You also know that what he’s saying makes no sense at all.

“Right, yeah. They’ve been wanting to do that.” 

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply automatically, and then reach for another long gulp of your drink. “Yup, all good.”

Jeonghan frowns, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. “Are you sure? If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.” 

It’s strange, the way he looks at you. Jeonghan, who dances around questions and deflects easily with humour and only shows people what he wants them to see, now has worry filling his eyes as he waits for you to continue. As if he *knows*.

You doubt Soonyoung and Seungkwan would have spilled your secret so easily, but there’s a great possibility that the two of them would be unable to act normal around him after what they learned, and unintentionally hint at the truth. Then there’s the other possibility that Jeonghan knew way before any of this. Because maybe he—

No, you don’t want to think about that.

“It’s just that,” you say, having to force yourself to pause and slow down your thoughts before something terrible comes spewing out. A slow inhale, a shaky exhale. “Why are we here, Jeonghan?”

His frown deepens, but now it’s turned into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? This date has been nice, but I’m just very confused over why you put so much effort into this when there’s no one else around to see it. Weren’t we doing all of this as a joke? As a prank? Pretending to be a couple so that we can fool the world since that’s exactly what they wanted to see, but joke’s on them because we’re not?” 

Jeonghan watches you silently with an unreadable look on his face. “Is that how you feel?”

“’Well, yes, because isn’t that the truth? And now, we’ve been doing so much together that it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How can it be when your mom is offering to give me homemade side dishes? Or—or when Chan’s wife was there, smiling at us on her wedding day like she wished we’d be just as happy as they are?” You pause to look at him and then proceed to look away. “How long are we going to continue lying to the world? Because I can’t stand the guilt.”

The last part of that may be true, but it’s not the full truth. 

“Yeah, you’re right. We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“W—what?” You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

Jeonghan sighs deeply and then meets your eyes, but then quickly looks away. “Yeah, we should’ve left this in high school. The joke has kind of gotten old, hasn’t it?” 

You have no idea what he means by any of that, but it feels like you’re better off not knowing. The tension in the air is thick, and even when you imagined your fake breakup hundreds of times in your head, this is not something you could have predicted. It’s as you’re on a precipice, and one wrong move will delete all those years, all that time you spent with him. 

And the worst part is that you don’t even want to break up.

“Jeonghan, look. I know all of this is supposed to be a joke, but why is it that it feels like you really do care?” One last deep breath before you make the jump. “And why is it that I *want* you to care?” 

That has him stunned for a second, so much that the expression is obvious on his face in a way that almost never happens. 

“Wait, what? I do care. No, I get that we started all this for fun back then, but that’s not how I feel about it now. Everything we’ve done is real—trust me, I wouldn’t have brought you to my family if that wasn’t the case. And I never thought I was lying to them. It’s exaggerated, yes, and much too dramatic, but I’m not a good enough actor where all that can be based on a complete lie.” 

You braced yourself for the final blow, only to be completely confused over his words. “What are you saying?” 

“Y/N, it’s always been real to me. All of it.” 

“But—but I thought you wanted to stop all this when you cancelled our plans for Christmas. Why did you do that?”

Jeonghan opens his mouth a little but then closes it again. “Do you remember last year at Chan’s wedding when you caught the bouquet?” 

You nod but don’t hide your confusion about where this is going.

“After you caught it, everyone was looking at you… and then at me. It was like they all expected us to be next, because well,” he shrugs, “everyone thought we were together. And that’s when I realized that this is more than simply feeling like it’s real. We were turning it into something real.”

“So you called off Christmas because you wanted to stop doing this? Because you hated how it was becoming real?” 

“No,” Jeonghan shakes his head. “The opposite. I was afraid of how much I liked that it felt real. That day at the wedding, I—I wanted to kiss you for real, Y/N. Not have to fake it.” 

“Oh…”

“If we did meet up for Christmas, I don’t know what might’ve happened. I thought it was safer to stay away for a bit and gather my thoughts.” He hesitates slightly and you can see the pained smile he has on. “But one day into the holidays and I was already regretting my decision.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. Your mind is hardly listening anymore when it keeps on repeating Jeonghan’s words like a broken record, screaming to you that it’s real, that all of it is real. That you’re not the only one who’s been feeling this way, and that you won’t need to stage a fake breakup for your fake relationship. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I’m just—are you sure all this is real? Jeonghan, are you being serious?”

He breaks into a tender smile. “Don’t you remember? I already answered you back then, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You asked me if I’d be your darling, even if thousands of miles may separate us, even if—” 

“—if the paths we walk may crumble,” you finish off. “Or something like that. I actually have no idea what we said back then.”

Those were the lines in the play that you did back in high school, the very lines that the two of you conjured out of thin air one day and the very moment that started this whole thing. 

“Yeah, that,” he says softly.

“Hmm, so, babe,” you put on your usual mockingly sweet tone, repeating the line that you said on stage many years ago, “are you going to kiss me?” 

Jeonghan holds back a smile like he can’t contain his happiness, and follows with his line without missing a beat. “If that’s what my darling wants.”

The smile only widens when he gets up from his seat and you go to meet him halfway, and it’s the last thing you see when he leans in closer and closer. Jeonghan gently slides his thumb between his lips and yours as he closes the distance, like how it was done the very first time, but this time you can feel it as he slowly moves it away. 

Then you’re kissing him, actually kissing him for real for the first time. His lips are soft and warm, and the bit of hesitance between you seems to completely melt away as you wrap your arms around him and he pulls you closer. You let yourself drown in his scent, the warmth of his touch, and the loud pounding of your heart now that you no longer have to be paying attention to the reactions of the people around you. Nothing else matters anymore, all that matters is what you have now.

You spend the rest of the night catching up, whether that’d be stories over the years of shared memories, or creating new memories to make up for the lost time. He tells you he loves you and that the trip suggestions were very much real, and the two of you laugh over how you’ve become the exact couple you once mocked. It’s easy to understand them now though, you think as Jeonghan gives you a sleepy smile as you’re cuddled up on the couch.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask something,” you say, and he looks at you in alarm at your abruptness. “Why did you tell Mingyu that we were together?”

Jeonghan stays silent for a bit, narrowing his eyes as if having difficulty recalling what you’re talking about. Then he finally answers. “Oh that?” He chuckles. “That was because I didn’t want him to think he had a chance with you.”

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #jeonghan fic #my fic #if you asked me just last week if i was ever gonna post again #i might've said no HAHAHA #truly this came out of nowhere!! and yes it's so rushed OTL #not a brand new idea tho bc it's smth i've been thinking about over the years #kinda inspired by an iconic tumblr post!! #tbh the first jeonghan fic on this blog was gonna be #his story of the holiday party series (i wrote 6k in dec and gave up) #was gonna scrap it but i reread it this week and it's not bad?? #so try again this year ig 🤡

[bealovesmarauders]

invisible string / james potter

⋆ ࣪.      ⁺⑅     ⋰˚     *.ﾟ    .˳⁺⁎˚     ˚⁎⁺˳ .    ༺ ˖

james potter x fem reader

word count: 4k

in which james potter has a quidditch injury, and, in healing, meets someone special <3

and isn’t it just so pretty to think, that all along there was some invisible string?

a/n: i've left reader's illness ambiguous because many people go through many different things, however this is heavily based off of personal experience. TW for hospitals, illness, and swearing (kinda??). this is my very first fic so i hope you all enjoy! you are not alone. you are beautiful. you are valid, & my inbox is always open if anyone wants to talk <33 likes & reposts are very appreciated especially as i'm trying to grow my account!!

⋆ ࣪.      ⁺⑅     ⋰˚     *.ﾟ    .˳⁺⁎˚     ˚⁎⁺˳ .    ༺ ˖

the hospital wing is quiet, and james potter is lonely.

he has never been this isolated before. he's sunshine, really- constantly soaking up love, light, and laughter. james thrives off of other people, and the fun that comes with them. merlin knows he's never turned down a prank- never missed a gryffindor house party- never passed up the opportunity to sneak into hogsmeade. but then again, james has never had a quidditch injury this bad either.

it was a normal practice, as it goes. he'd tweaked his shoulder about a week prior during a particularly rough collision with a hufflepuff player during a game, but he'd brushed it off- it was nothing. remus, naturally, had worried- "you'll make it worse, prongs,"- but the pain went away almost instantaneously due to a handy numbing spell flitwick had taught in charms a few months before. honestly, james had forgotten about it (among the numerous assignments he'd forgotten to do for both potions and transfiguration). but this practice had gotten...rowdy, to say the least, and he'd fallen off his broom, landing on his left arm and shoulder while attempting to show off a trick with the golden snitch.

he'd never felt any pain like it, really. madam pomfrey had performed a basic charm to mend his fractured collarbone, but there had been severe nerve and muscle damage to his shoulder, arm, and back. “we'll have to wait it out," the matron had told him, “but you musn't move it."

james knows he was impatient, but waiting is difficult when you're always the first at everything. the first young seeker in gryffindor history to catch the snitch and win the house cup in sixty years, the first student to ever get detention from professor dumbledore, always the first to down a shot at a common room party. in hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have snuck out to attempt a workout a few days into his stay at the hospital wing. “but what do you expect me to do?" he'd argued with professor mcgonagall when she found him cradling his injured arm close to his body in the common room rather than the hospital wing. “you let remus read and do his studies when he's ill! why not me? quidditch is my destiny!"

so now james is going on his fifth night in the wing, and madam pomfrey estimates he'll be staying for another week due to the damage caused from his impromptu exercise session. the matron is kind enough, and her touch is gentle on his shoulder, but no amount of gobstones with sirius and remus when they're out of class can cure james's boredom.

the wing is often empty. there's always an occasional illness, or spell gone wrong, but the healer witch always whips up a healing potion or casts a helpful charm in no time. it's her job, james knows, and so is confiscating the snitch in his pocket. but sometimes he wishes he would have a companion who lasts more than a few hours. maybe it's awful of him to think- that there would be someone in bad enough condition so that he could make a friend. and so james sulks.

but today, that changes. and, as james potter is soon to realize, fate- whether it be quidditch or love- often finds its way.

-

james hears many things when he wakes up in the middle of the night. voices- not unusual, but louder and more urgent than the typical hum of the hospital wing, especially at this time. forcing his eyes open and fumbling for his glasses, he draws the pale green curtains around his bed open to investigate the hubbub. to his surprise, his assumption in the multitude of voices is correct. through the darkness, james can just make out madam pomfrey in her crimson dress across the room, along with professors mcgonagall and dumbledore crouched around a rickety metal bed matching his own. madam pomfrey appears to be quickly mixing up a lavender potion, and mcgonagall and dumbledore step aside to speak in hushed whispers just loud enough for james to hear snippets.

“...very sick..”

“...st. mungo's..”

“..excused from classes..”

james's brow furrows, straining his eyes and ears for more. a sliver of moonlight passes through the latticed window above him, and he can barely see a figure on the bed being tended to by madam pomfrey. even the thought of st. mungo's seems extreme. but then madam pomfrey's voice, usually calm (or peeved), cuts through the night air shrilly.

“albus! minerva! i need your assistance-”

james sits up straight to catch a glimpse of what's happening, wincing from the hot flash of pain radiating from his arm and shoulder. but as the professors rush past him, dumbledore pauses before flicking his wand, consequently drawing the pale green curtains around james's bed closed.

“mr. potter,” he says with a tone james can't quite decipher, “there is something to be said about prying eyes on a night such as this one.”

with these cryptic final words, james runs a hand through his dark curls and falls back on his pillows, defeated and slightly ashamed of his own curiosity.

but, as we all know, the sun will rise again in the morning.

-

when james wakes, madam pomfrey is bustling around, and everything seems normal. normal, until he catches a glimpse of the figure in the bed. it's a familiar face, james realizes- a girl in his year, friends with lily evans and partnered with remus in potions class. he's seen her studying in the library on more occasions than one, studying by herself or with remus. warm sunlight pools on her bed, but her face is paler than nearly headless nick.

it takes james a moment to rub the sleep out of his eyes and regain memory of the night before. “poppy," he says, morning voice rough. “come to visit me again? couldn't keep away?"

madam pomfrey makes her way over to james to hand him his daily painkillers, a sludgy potion the texture of chalk. “mr. potter," she says severely, “how many times have i kindly requested that you address me by my preferred title?"

james is about to make a wisecrack at this, but chokes a bit on the potion instead. it's been several days, but he's not sure if he'll ever be used to the medication. “sorry," he says, grimacing. and then when curiosity overtakes him- “what happened last night- y'know, with that girl?"

madam pomfrey shakes her head, making a tsk sound. “that's not for me to share," she says. “but best not wake her."

james spends the rest of his morning chewing on buttered toast- one of the foods madam pomfrey says will help him heal quicker- and pretending to read a book on broomstick care that remus bought for him last christmas. it motivates him to get back on the field. he would do anything to polish his broom right now- he finds it relaxing, having a routine. but the words swim on the page and staring mindlessly at it does him no good, so he sips on pumpkin juice and finds himself watching the girl in the bed across the room.

she looks peaceful when she's sleeping. fragile, even, as if she might shatter into a million pieces if he were to touch her. hair fanned out on the soft pillow, she looks weak, bundled up in extra blankets. a muggle contraption that remus has mentioned before feeds a concoction of some sort through a long, clear tube into the girl's arm, and several more finicky-looking wires seem to be attached to her. that must feel awful, james thinks. he hopes she's okay. she's quite pretty, after all- it would be a shame if she was stuck in here for a while. hopefully she's out before he is.

when the girl finally awakes, looking rather disoriented, madam pomfrey rushes right back in, and james finds himself peering at a pale green curtain again. what is it with this matron and her privacy curtains? when james was getting fixed up, he was not allowed the luxury of them- instead he was forced to watch the bubbling pustules of a slytherin student beside him resulting from sudden onset dragonpox. sirius had gotten a right kick out of that one.

the rest of the marauders come to visit around lunch, and by then the curtains have opened again, revealing the girl once more. for once, james has trouble focusing on the words coming from sirius's mouth.

“...and then the spell just ricocheted off the wall and hit flitwick smack dab on the nose. he just about blew a fuse! prongs? prongs, are you listening?"

james startles when sirius's voice becomes louder. “sorry?"

remus eyes him, a concerned look on his face. "bloody merlin, you're out of it today," sirius replies, smirking. he's about to continue on with his story when james speaks.

“who's that girl?"

the marauders turn to glance. the girl is sleeping again, or has at least closed her eyes, the matron at her bedside. remus smiles knowingly.

“that's y/n l/n. she's very kind, prongs, you should make friends with her."

“isn't she friends with lily? have you moved on from your precious flower?" sirius asks teasingly. james smacks him gently on the head. “i'm just...curious. has she been in here before?"

remus gives a brief nod. “it's how we met. full moon. ya know."

james, leaves it at that- something remus recognizes as out of character, yet it doesn't go unappreciated. james doesn't want to pry, or invade y/n's privacy. maybe he'll talk to her when she wakes up. instead, james musters a smile, tries to force the trademark glint in his eye, and deals a rousing round of exploding snap with his best friends.

-

"psst!"

y/n l/n wakes up to an obnoxious sound from across the room. everything hurts, she's exhausted, and consequently, she's definitely not in the mood for mischief. regardless, she looks up. and what a sight to behold but none other than james potter.

james potter. of course it's james potter. remus's beautiful best friend, lover of mischief, master of quidditch. except evidently he still has much to learn on the quidditch front- his muscled arm is heavily bandaged, lying close to his chest in a sling. she forces herself to look up- his biceps look a little too nice peeking out of the hospital gown- and meets his deep brown eyes. “hello."

“hey," he parrots back.

there's an awkward silence in which they look each other up and down. she prays she's not drooling.

“what'd you wake me up for?" she finally asks. something in his tone has tied her tongue momentarily, and her voice is soft.

james grins. “it's lonely in here. and you don't seem to need any beauty sleep, you're pretty already."

so this is how it is. y/n blushes and smiles a little. for a moment, she forgets they're in the infirmary. “i'm y/n."

“i know," james replies. “i'm james. pleasure t' meet you."

y/n finds her voice again. “i know," she mimics. “you're friends with remus."

james attempts running a hand through his messy curls using his injured arm- presumably a flirtatious move, but it results in an exaggerated gasp of pain and eliciting a small laugh from y/n. she winces as she props herself up a bit, accidentally tugging on the muggle tubes attached to her body. to her surprise, james's demeanor changes completely, and all of a sudden he's the worried-looking one, asking hesitantly if she's okay, his voice laced with concern.

she smiles, albeit a weak one. “yeah. i'm used to it."

looking around, y/n realizes madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen. noticing this, james clears his voice. “she's helping out with all the seventh-years. they're learning how to apparate, and there's a hell of a lot of splinching. she'll be back soon."

y/n nods, looking as if she's about to ask something. butterflies in james's stomach arise- a rare occurrence since his fifth rejection from lily evans- and the curly haired gryffindor feels as if he can tell there are words on the tip of her tongue, but perhaps she's too shy to say. “do you need anything?"

she exhales, and james realizes she's shivering despite the excess of blankets wrapped around her. “can you- can you get me a blanket? i would get one myself, but i don't think i can walk right now."

he nods so quickly she thinks he'll break his neck. “of course," he replies, and she attempts to shoot him a small smile despite the pain. james's heart flutters, and he gets up shakily from the bed. he's been bedridden for a while, so he's not used to walking, but it's clear already he's in a better position then her. making his way over to madam pomfrey's cupboard of linens and hospital gowns, james attempts to inject some swagger into his strut, prompting another small giggle. when he's finally by her bed, handing her the thick wool blanket, james's shoulder's aching more than it should, but he swallows and puts on another teasing tone. just for her.

“milady," he bows, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders as she props herself up into a sitting position. she shivers, but some color returns to her cheeks once she's started to warm up. “why thank you, kind sir. my knight in shining armor."

james stands there awkwardly holding his sling for a moment, and y/n is beginning to wonder if she shouldn't have asked him for help, but just as casually as she'd hoped, he lowers himself into the hospital bed beside her own, sitting like a little boy, criss-cross applesauce leaning back against the pillows.

a smile slowly spreads across y/n's face, and it warms james's heart. “i guess you'll be staying here for a while."

“i guess i will," james agrees, and neither of them can deny the tension in the air.

they spend the rest of the afternoon together talking and getting to know each other. madam pomfrey doesn't get back for a while- potentially prompted by a knowing remus waiting outside the hospital wing with a tale spun of sirius suffering from an unprompted vicious hiccup attack requiring immediate medical attention. (the marauders are positive that james wouldn't mind them stealing a few of his hiccough sweets from his zonko's stash if it meant more time alone with y/n.) james gets to know her favorite things- books, music, et cetera- and entertains her with stories about some of his most infamous pranks. surprisingly enough, when the matron returns, she only gives james a mild scolding for switching beds (“i'm sure you're up to no good, mr. potter,"), pours y/n another dose of medication, and- miraculously!- leaves them be.

the two grow close quickly over the next while. their conversations range from quidditch cup predictions to more vulnerable subjects, and they bond over their distaste for missing class. james knows not to push, but the elephant in the room looms over them: james growing healthier by the day, y/n deteriorating.

the conversation becomes difficult to avoid. soon, james's sling is taken off, and his new friend gasps excitedly at the news when she wakes up, stretching her arm out between their two beds to squeeze his hand affectionately. “you'll be out of here in no time," she grins, but the realization comes with a sense of deflatement. honestly, james doesn't know how he feels about it. he wants to get back to his friends, to life, to house parties, to quidditch. hell, even back to normal classes, with homework. but he doesn't think he can bear leaving her behind.

but overall, the encouragement and company of james's new friend makes resting easier, and in no time he settles into a new routine. his morning consists of waking up, taking his potion, eating, and talking with y/n, while his afternoons typically include having lunch, visiting the marauders, talking more with y/n, and eating dinner. due to the abundance of rest james is getting, he's healing faster, which pleases madam pomfrey very much- and it comes as a shock when she discharges him from the infirmary.

“are you positive?" james asks, slightly flabbergasted.

the matron gives him a dry smile.

“yes mr. potter, i am confident that you are successfully mended and i am rid of you at last."

james, elated, lets out a delighted whoop. he has to restrain himself from sweeping madam pomfrey up into a hug and spinning her around, he's so happy. but then the realization hits him- y/n. she's sleeping right now- she's been weaker than usual lately, never feeling well enough to talk for more than ten minutes. the muggle wires feeding into her body have multiplied, and the infirmary is significantly quieter, bar madam pomfrey's footsteps to check on her every once in a while. he doesn't want to leave her. that is the plain, simple truth.

james soaks in these thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, preparing to tell her when she wakes up. but she stays fast asleep. when remus and sirius come to visit and he breaks the news that he's out, he's mended, james greeted with open arms and claps on the back. but james catches the worried glance remus sends to his potions partner, dozing away in the next bed over. she looks as if she's barely breathing. it’s an odd mix of emotions. hoping to say goodbye, james eats one last meal in the hospital wing, and double checks with the matron that he’s totally healed. but all signs are clear, so he’s officially dismissed.

james stays uncharacteristically silent as he walks up to the gryffindor common room with all of his things- his sleakeasy hair potion, his robes, his stolen snitch given back by pomfrey. he's missing something- a goodbye. but he'll visit her later. he'll say farewell. because he has to. but until then, james thinks, he can distract himself. 

of course, sirius and marlene have organized a welcome-back party. even james, forever a maximalist, thinks it's a bit over the top. he loves sirius, they’re brothers, but james feels wrong being here. the only comfort he seeks is not in the fireworks terrorizing the portraits, or the butterbeer pong, or even in lily's open arms, who seems to have missed him quite a bit. it's the hospital wing he craves. calm, quiet, empty, yet filled with laughter. or rather, y/n.

dwelling on his thoughts, james takes a long sip of firewhiskey, recoiling from the scorching feeling in his throat- it's been a while. he's here, but he's not present, and remus, who's been nursing spiked pumpkin juice all night from the corner, nudges james and whispers into his ear: “go get her, prongs."

james weighs his options. he knows sirius, currently snogging someone in the corner, would say the same- the marauders are less oblivious to james's connection with y/n then he'd hoped- and when he spots a hufflepuff jock slip through the portrait with a gaggle of girls behind him, he’s fairly certain his welcome party is over. fabian prewett, outraged at the infiltration and also mildly drunk on butterbeer, slugs the intruder right in the jaw, and when the hufflepuffs have retreated and fabian's hoisted up onto their shoulders, the new hero of the night upon his pedestal, james knows it's time to leave. this is his chance.

halfway to the hospital wing, he realizes that he doesn’t actually know what the hell he’s doing. showing up at midnight to a beautiful girl’s bedside empty handed? invisibility cloak draped around his shoulders, james picks up his pace as he jogs through hogwarts all the way to the courtyard. hands assured now, he plucks some wildflowers from the grass- it’s too dark to tell what they are- and knows that he is following his heart. bouquet in hand, james is running now, sprinting up the moving staircases as quietly as possible to reach the hallowed hall that’s home to the hospital wing. half of james’s heart wants to make a scene- to swing open the doors to the infirmary with a bang- but he knows all too well how obnoxious sleep disruptions can get. so he takes a deep breath, and enters the hospital wing.

there’s a faint light that greets james as he comes in. it’s y/n- glowing wand at her side, providing enough light to read a familiar book: his broomstick care manual. her face absolutely lights up when she sees james.

“hello there mr. potter,” y/n whispers, quiet even though there’s no one else in the infirmary. “i think you forgot something on your way out.”

she holds up his book, a twinkle in her eye- one james hasn’t seen before. he rushes over to her bed, eager to gift her the bouquet. “well, you can keep it, love, along with the flowers.”

y/n buries her face in the wildflowers, immersing herself in the scent. moonlight pools through the latticed window, illuminating her face. she looks happy. truly happy. “thank you, james.”

there’s a moment, one where they are both gazing at each other, completely enamored. james is in pajamas, of all things- a heather gray shirt and plaid bottoms. it’s a contrast to the hospital gown she’s used to seeing him in. and she can’t help herself anymore, taking his hand and holding it. such a simple gesture, but one that holds such significance and weight.

that’s when james knows. all that’s left unsaid has been conveyed in the touch of a hand, and the wistful look in her eyes confirms it. he gently brushes away a stray wisp of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and his thumb comes to rest on her cheek, stroking it softly. and she knows, too.

“james."

a pause. 

“i’m sick. i’ve been sick since first year. i’m getting better, madam pomfrey says. but it’s a long recovery. i don’t want you to feel burdened by me. you’re not even supposed to be here. you should be at the welcome back party. lily was telling me about the planning of it. i thought you’d be pleased, you’d be having fun. back to normal, you know. but you’re here. why are you here, james?”

“i’d rather be here, love,” he tells her, truthfully. he takes a flower from the bouquet he made for her and places it in her hair. “you know i would. you’re not a burden. you’re so beautiful, sweetheart. and kind, and sweet, and funny. and anything at the party, we can do here. don’t believe me? want to dance?”

james potter offers his hand to her. she takes it, of course. and then all of a sudden she’s smiling, tears disappearing, as he carefully helps her get up and sweeps her into his arms, humming a soft melody and swaying her back and forth slowly in a slow, sweet dance- careful to not pull on any of her tubes and wires. she nestles the top of her head into the crook of his neck, and he kisses her forehead gently.

“it’s me and you against this illness, love,” he says through hums. she smiles up at him. 

“you, me, and the invisible string tying us together.”

#james potter my beloved #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x female reader #james potter x female!reader #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #the marauders #the marauders fanfiction #marauder x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter drabble #james potter drabbles #james potter headcanon #james potter is the sun #james potter blurb #dead gay wizards #marauders era #first fic

[propertyofwicked]

people watching | spencer reid

spencer reid x bau!reader

inspo - people watching by conan gray

2.3k words

warnings: none really - canon character death, angst to comfort :)

they're counting months they've been together, almost 49

“y/n - how long have you worked with the BAU?” morgan asked, shooting you a smirk as you threw your head backwards with a load groan. 

“i don’t know? like, 4 years?”

“4 years, and 34 days, 2 hours and based on when we got called out for your first case, 34 minutes,” reid interjects the conversation without looking up from his file. 

“for someone who has worked here for 4 years, wouldn’t one assume that you would know we never get a whole week without a case?” morgan continued, ignoring reid’s comment, chuckling slightly at the face you pulled. you knew he was right, but something about garcia announcing there’s a new case made you grumpy. as a result you simply whined in response and pushed yourself up to walk to the round table room. morgan and jj walked ahead, but spencer stayed back to walk by your side. 

“hey, that made me realise we’ve been friends for 4 years - we should celebrate!” he said, not looking at you but carrying a smile on his face. 

“depending on the case, maybe we could do movie night when we get back?” you responded, but unlike him, you turned your head to respond to him. 

“that sounds good, did you know research has shown that spending time with loved ones, even doing something as mundane as watching a film, can increase your mental wellbeing?” this time he looked at you to respond, the smile still present on his face.

“so spending time with me is mundane?” you quipped, chuckling at the end of your sentence, so he’d know you were only messing. 

“reid, y/n, thanks for finally joining us,” hotch’s voice sounded across the room.

“sorry dad,” spencer joked, taking his seat next to alex.

they met in class for metaphysical philosophy

he tells his friends, "i like her 'cause she's so much smarter than me" 

they're having talks about their futures until 4:00 a.m

“hey spence?” you asked, filling the silence. the film you had been watching ending a while ago, but the two of you stayed sat on his sofa. at some point you had turned to face him, stretching across the chair with your legs over his. he didn’t mind - he compared it to the calming effects of a weighted blanket, rattling off the statistical benefits on anxiety. 

“yeah?” he looked up from his book, with a soft gaze in his eyes. 

“if you weren’t in the bau, what would you be doing right now?”

he paused for a moment, as if to think about his answer.

“i honestly don’t know. i don’t think i knew before i joined the bau either. had i not joined the fbi when i did, i think i’d still be in college just collecting degrees until i’d done them all,” he laughed to himself, “maybe a professor, i have taught a few classes.”

“i know - that’s how we met. you told that god awful joke about a horse who became hyper aware of his own reality.”

“hey! it wasn’t that bad.”

“spence - no one laughed.”

“you did.”

“and i regret that decision almost daily,” you respond, earning a light smack to the shin that was still thrown other his lap. 

“what about you? what would you be doing?”

“i used to think id be married by now but we both know how that ended,” you mention, referencing the ex boyfriend you and spencer both hated, “honestly though, i think id still be in the FBI but with counter intelligence like i had originally planned.”

“im glad you’re not,” he said with a smile. did he mean married or in a different department? you felt safer assuming the latter - it was safer to than getting your hopes up that some feelings might be reciprocated. so for now, you simply hummed in response and allowed the room to fall back into a comfortable silence. 

im only looking just to live through you vicariously ive never really been in love, not seriously

it was clear you had been mistaken, and in the most cruel and soul destroying way - through no fault but your own. he was happy, you could see. the way he no longer had bags living permanently under his eyes - he was sleeping. he’d sneak away to the payphone, assuming no one noticed. it started off serious, like he was only asking the other person direct questions. it didn’t stay that way. soon enough you found yourself sitting in the SUV, staring at him as he laughed into the phone, basically twirling the wire around his finger like a giddy teenage girl. spencer wasn’t yours anymore. you know he never was yours really, but still you held out hope that the lasting glances, the jokes, the comfort and the spontaneous movies nights meant something more to him. it was clear you had been mistaken. 

“you know if you keep staring at him like that your eyes might dry up,” JJ spoke from besides you one day. it made you jump - you hadn’t realised she was stood next to you and you certainly didn’t know how long she’d witnessed you staring at the side of spencer’s faces as he laughed and smiled over the phone. 

“i wasn’t staring,” you defended, but she gave you a look that said she knew you were lying, so you moved on, “who’s he talking to anyway?”

“we don’t know, but morgan and i think spencies got a girlfriend,” she taunted. you didn’t react, this wasn’t news to you - it didn’t take a profiler to work that out. jj didn’t say anything else, she just adjusted the strap of her bag and walked off to find hotch. eventually spencer put the phone down and walked over to you.

“hey you guys find anything?” he asked, it was a general question but it was clearly aimed at you. 

“nothing yet from me, garcia’s still digging stuff up on the victim though. it’s clear the unsub is organised, he’s been disposing these bodies for years, concealing their identities and he’s never been caught.” concealing their identities, you should know all about that reid, you thought to yourself but didn’t allow your face to waver.

“did you know that despite the rich history in the town, only 2,000 visit the area per year on average?”

“i didn’t, no.” it was a blunt response but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. but of course he did, mr 187 who couldn’t gauge most social cues but could tell when you were off with him. it wasn’t fair. how he could act like he loved you still, even though he clearly had someone worth keeping secret in his life. 

his hand reached up to rest on your shoulder, his tall frame towering over you, giving you an intense stare as he did.

“what’s up?” damn you and your profiling skills. you contemplated saying nothing, but that would only lead to more intense questioning, so you deflected, saying you were thinking about the profile. he seemed satisfied and left you to find hotch, just as jj had. 

cut people out like tags on my clothing i end up all alone but i still keep hoping

maeve was gone. that was her name, that was the woman that had made spencer happy in a way you couldn’t. she was gone, and emotionally, so was spencer. for weeks he moped, refusing to leave his apartment. but he was still your best friend. everyday, you sent him a message asking if he was ok, or needed anything, and everyday, it was left on read. whilst he needed his space, it wasn’t in your good conscience to leave him without support. 

walking up to his door was terrifying. why? you had been here thousands of times, spent hundreds of hours watching films on his sofa and yet your heart was beating so fast you felt as though it would tear through your ribcage and fall out on the floor in front of you. if spencer was here, he’d tell you that wasn’t physically possible and you’d more likely have a heart attack. he’d then reassure you by noting the statistical unlikeliness of having you having a heart attack. but he wasn’t, emotionally anyways. you knocked twice.

“go away garcia, i really appreciate everything you’ve done but please leave,” you heard him shout through the door. it was his voice alright, but deep and strained as if he had been crying for weeks - on second thought, he probably had.

“it’s me spence, not penelope. can you let me in?” you called back.

“no. please, i need some space.” ok, if that’s how he wanted to play it, tough love it was. 

“spencer reid if you do not open this door within the next ten seconds i will have morgan kick it down.” it seemed to work, you could hear a muffled sound of him standing up, shuffling across the floor and undoing the latch. you were not expecting the sight you saw when the door opened - it made your heart shred into tiny little pieces that you wanted to sew together and give to him. his hair was greasy, his facial hair had grown more than you’d ever seen it but worst of all, his skin was pale and his face seemed almost a hollow shell of the spencer you knew and loved.

“what do you want y/n?” he grumbled.

“i wanted to check in on you?” suddenly any tough love had gone out the window, and you doubted every word you said to him.

“ok, well im alive. you can go now.”

“spence ple-”

“i said i’m fine. y/n, i know you want me to sort myself out but im not ready to. please leave.”

“i don’t want you to ‘sort yourself out’ spence,” you paused to breathe, “you need to grieve, i understand that but i need you to look after yourself. however, you clearly don’t need me, you’re clearly coping so well on your own.” sarcasm was a defence mechanism - seeing him like that hurt you down to your very core, but they way he was treating you wasn’t fair. you turned on your heal, intending to leave with your dignity mostly intact, but as you go to take your first step a hand grabs you wrist, stopping you from moving.

“y/n, im sorry, please come in.” you offered him a restricted smile and stepped into this apartment, he followed close behind. you were expecting the worst, but this took it to another level. the curtains were drawn closed, takeout containers littered the counter, the floor and the coffee table - at least he was eating. spencer moved to the sofa, shoving books to the floor and offering you a seat. 

“talk to me spence, tell me everything going on in that big brain of yours.” and he did, you must’ve sat there for 2 hours as he told you about maeve, how he first contacted her, how she understood him, the way she laughed. he spoke about guilt, he believed it was his fault and that he’d never be able to forgive himself. only towards the end did he begin to cry, so you wrapped you arms around his torso and pulled him down to rest on your shoulder. to your surprise, his arms snaked around your waist and held you tight. the room fell into silence, as it had hundreds of time, but this one was not one of comfort as it usually was. 

after some time he sat up, “you know, IQ has no effect on the size of your brain. it may be cause a change in external appearance but the size itself will not change.” you couldn’t help but laugh - it wasn’t condescending, just the mere fact that he had spent two hours talking but still remembered to correct your original statement.

i wanna feel all that love and emotion be that attached to the person i'm holding

years passed since that day at spencer’s apartment. it took him a few more weeks, but he returned to work and returned to his normal self. he no longer thought of maeve, he thought of the future, he moved on in life whilst still holding a spot in his heart for her. soon, he became your best friend again - movie nights and take out were reinstated. sometimes he had to beg you to come round after a case to watch a movie. he remembered what life was like. 

that night was a night like many others. the credits rolled and the room became dark with no light blaring from the screen. silence. a comfortable one. tonight, you found yourself with your head laying on his lap, facing the tv, his arm rested on your hip and his fingers played with a hair tie absentmindedly. you said it was comfortable, he didn’t argue - spencer liked your presence. he appreciated you being in his life and never giving up on him. he admired your work ethic, and your friendship. you provided him an outlet, an escape from the stress and constant work.

“hey y/n,” he whispered, and you hummed in response, “i love you.”

“i love you too spencer.” your heart skipped a beat, but you knew he meant as friends, that’s all you were and all you’d ever be - you had grown to accept that. 

“no, y/n, i love you.” this made your head turn and you rolled onto your back to look up at him. “i mean it. i think i always knew deep down, but i couldn’t establish that that was what i was thinking. did you know studies show that some people have to feel love in order to love?”

“i love you too spencer.” you smiled up at him, squinting through your tired eyes, and his hand came down to stroke your cheek softly. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds #cm #jj jareau #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #alex blake #emily prentiss #david rossi

[cupid-styles]

you're my last shot

second blurb of my fall/halloween series ! this one honestly has nothing to do with halloween but imagine it happens in fall :) there will be a halloween-themed blurb for them coming on sunday!

word count: less than 1,000

content warnings: pregnancy, discussion pertaining to abortion (no action taken)

masterlist | talk to me

fall blurb masterlist

. . .

Y/N isn't quite sure when she and Harry started hating each other so much.

It's been months, probably. Maybe a year? She doesn't really remember; all she knows is that the second he melded into their friend group, she thought he was cocky and annoying, flirting with every person who so much even looked his way, and she didn't like that. She didn't like him. 

The mutual hatred between them was fine up until now, but... now, it seems like it's a major inconvenience, because Y/N is standing in her bathroom staring down at four positive pregnancy tests and Harry — she shudders — is the only person she's slept with in the past three months.

It had been a moment of weakness. A huge one. Massive, really, fueled by a few too many drinks at the bar, a shared spliff outside, an alcohol-fueled decision of, "well, we live in the same neighborhood, may as well just take an Uber together" that ended in a heated makeout session, followed by one of the most passionate nights Y/N has ever had. (She'll never admit that to him, but she swallows it down for herself.)

There was something about that night. He was being less... awful than he typically was when their friends went out. He didn't eye fuck the entire bar, didn't buy any drinks for the cute girls flirting with him. He was tolerable and apparently that was enough for Y/N — well, drunk Y/N who gets a little too horny when she has rosé in her system, and when she eyed his large hands and tattoos in the Uber, and she felt him shift just a little bit closer to her in the backseat, and when he whispered "just for tonight, no one has to know" into her ear, she was a goner.

And now she's pregnant with his child.

What the fuck?

. . .

It turns out that that's Harry's exact response.

"You said you're on birth control—"

"I am."

"So what the fuck happened—"

"It must have failed, Harry, there's still a chance of conception even with the pill."

"Are you serious—"

"Do you think I would joke about this?"

He's pacing around the diameter of his living room, trying to digest the news. She understands. It took her about 48 hours to process that this was happening to her, and then an additional 24 when she realized she had to tell Harry. She hadn't told anyone else — not any of their friends or her mom, because she wasn't sure what she wanted to do and she didn't want her decision to be fueled by any outside opinions. As much as she despised him, she believed Harry was the only other person who had a say in this.

Finally, he sits down. Well, it's more a noisy thump as he crosses his legs on the carpet, burying his head in his hands. She sighs, feeling marginally bad for him, even if she was having the same response a few days ago.

"Listen, I'm fine to have an abortion. I know we're both pro-choice and we really don't have to do anything with this... thing. Just, like, Venmo me half the money for one and I'll get it done."

Harry looks up at her, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why would you get an abortion?"

"Why wouldn't I get an abortion?"

"Because I want to be a dad," he says with a shrug, as if it's a given that he'd want Y/N to mother his child, "You may be my only shot. We all know I have a shitty relationship history, who knows if I'll be able to have another kid."

"Harry, this is insane. We can't stand each other, this would never be a healthy situation."

"Why not?" he presses, and Y/N seriously can't believe he's fighting back on this, "Co-parenting is totally normal. We don't have to be married to have a kid together. I'm ready."

Her eyes widen. "I literally watched you funnel a bag of wine last week, and you're 29 years old."

"I only do that shit because I have no reason not to. If we're having a baby, I'm more than happy to stop partying and focus on becoming a dad."

"Do you— like, do you even know what being a parent requires?" Y/N asks, "You would be committed to dealing with me for at least 18 years. Money, emotional support, being there for everything. Soccer games, school shows, parent-teacher conferences, graduations, doctors appointments..."

"I want kids, Y/N. And if you're my only chance, I'm not gonna say no."

She thinks she might puke on the spot.

"You look like you're gonna pass out. Are you okay?" Harry questions, standing from his spot on the rug and stepping towards her. She puts her hands up, a silent and invisible boundary. He stops.

"Are you... set on having an abortion?" he asks quietly, "It's okay if you are, that's your choice."

She sighs. She hates to admit that she's not. That over the past four days, she's envisioned what it would be like to snuggle her sweet baby, to kiss them and hold them and be a mom to them. That, worst of all, her dating history is just as glum as Harry's and, whether she likes it or not, he may be her only shot at parenthood, too.

"I guess I'm not," Y/N breathes, setting her eyes low to the ground. "I know I only have so much time and... I do get scared that I'll miss my opportunity."

"Yeah," he nods in understanding, "Do you wanna... like, take some time to think then? Maybe reconvene in a couple of days?"

Reluctantly, she agrees. But she already knows that she doesn't need any more time to mull it over — she wants to have this baby with Harry. 

#writing #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x oc

[moyokeansimblr]

Update

Not feeling so hot and I'm not going to do anything impulsive at 8PM on a Friday evening but

here is a link to a sfs folder with ALL of my content that's currently only hosted on patreon.

I want to add individual sfs links to the tumblr posts but that's a lot and I'm now regretting never adding alt dl links this whole time... and sorry I don't think the downloads in the sfs folder are in order... it also might be some other things, like fixed meshes or stuff. tbh I just added everything I've made after April 3rd 2023 since that was the last time I uploaded anything to sfs.

I guess while I'm here... I was going to wait until after I finish up the last of my active requests (probably by Monday, I'm almost done) but I desperately need a break from CC. I sent a group message on the 17th to my $4 and $6 patrons encouraging them to cancel, but I know not everybody knows patreon even has dms so maybe you'll see this post and I'll reach out again in the coming days so nobody is wasting their money. I am so immensely burnt out and I need to not create for a while. This is completely my own fault, nobody made me work on CC for 8-10 hours 5 days a week for the last several months and I fully knew it wasn't sustainable ages ago but I kept doing it because it made me feel good, until it didn't. Quite honestly, even before I sent the group message the instant wave of relief I felt just having made the decision to take a break... that caught me off guard but just confirmed I need this. I do feel really awful about it because I feel like I'm letting people down but at the same time I don't want to hate creating which was already happening. That being said, I don't know how long the lull in CC is going to be, and if you're only following me strictly for CC I apologize. As said I am still finishing up one request I still had, I'm about 75% done with that as of this post. But that's gonna be it for a while.

There is a part of me that wants to stop using patreon completely and unpublish my creator page (which is what I'm not going to impulsively do tonight without properly thinking it through...since there are positives like how easy it is to download files and whatnot) but I'd again encourage not only those who joined the $4 and $6 tiers but also the $2 tier to cancel so that you aren't wasting your money. If I did do this I would definitely do the individual sfs links on everything first. I'd not just leave you guys unable to download my stuff.

So, what does that mean for this blog? I'll spare ye, impatient readers, who have already read a lot because I ramble⬇️

Well, as of posting this I still have THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR Strangetown posts in my queue. And I'm not tired of playing that.

I'm looking forward to having an opportunity to do all of the things I've been neglecting. I'm finally going to go through the subfolder within my downloads of everything I'm downloaded the last few months and decide if I wanna keep it in my game or not. And finish default replacing everything. And all my other various little projects I haven't been doing.

Also, I want to start playing Veronaville 😮I've already started downloading lots from kattaty to replace the in-game ones, and I found a cool replacement for the neighborhood map. I am leaning towards making a new sub-blog for this so that you don't have to try and follow Strangetown/LFT posts and Veronaville/ALT posts at the same time. I've only ever played the Veronaville sims for like one day as part of a super failed megahood years ago so I'd like to get to know them.

So basically, I guess I'm a gameplay blog for now? Until I want to create anything again anyways, but I don't know when that will be.

I don't know how to end this post... I'm sorry for the disappointment, but thank you so much for enjoying my stuff 💛💛

#moyokean #sims 2 #ts2 #the sims 2 #thesims2

[anna-scribbles]

can you share some of your writing/planning process for thirteen? i adore the non-linear format - how do you decide what scenes to put where?

ahh thank you!! idk how much of a defined process I have, but there's definitely a lot of planning that goes into it and i can show you some of that.

i keep all the chapters in one doc organized by month, and then i plan everything out in bullet points in a timeline at the beginning. here i just have october and november as examples bc after december things started to get more detailed/messy

all of the scenes (especially at the beginning) set the stage for things i’ve planned to happen later, or establish something that feels relevant to adrien’s character by the time we meet him in canon. the task of condensing an entire month into about 2-3 scenes has been a bit difficult; i’ve found out that i’m a very present-moment kind of writer so it’s harder for me to describe the passage of, like, weeks of time. so i’ve been pinpointing specific threads of adrien’s story that i want to be sure to tell and choosing scenes from each month that build on that.

i’ve had the idea for this fic in the back of my mind since about 2021 so i’ve had several scenes cemented in my mind, ways i’ve decided things played out, etc. some of the writing process has been building the narrative around those things or figuring out how we get there. that’s what i love about prequels in general, honestly - it’s inevitable where we’re going to end up, but how do we get there?

adrien’s situation, at the moment we meet him in origins, is SO endlessly fascinating to me. he is in the process of doing something reckless and rebellious and bold - running away - against the will of his father, a man he spends the rest of the series struggling with his compulsion to submit to. we find out, via the rest of the show, exactly how difficult it is for adrien to stand up to his father. and yet, in his very first appearance, adrien is running away from him.

how did he get here? what, exactly, pushed him to this point? was this the final escalation of a steady build of rebellious behaviors, or an impulsive breakthrough after one awful day too many? what has this small boy been through in the last year, and why does public school seem to be his only fathomable escape?

and WHY, if his circumstances are so dire as to compell him to rebel so boldly in the first place, does he still throw it away to help the old man in the road? what makes him so kind, when he has everything to lose? what happened? how did he get here?

i’m interested, obviously, in the character of émilie. i think that the hole she leaves in the narrative is a compelling silhouette and i’ve been having a blast trying to pencil in its details. it’s obvious that adrien loved her deeply and had a stronger connection to her than with gabriel. but also, adrien was still shut off from the world while she was alive. he was still, presumably, an exploited child star while she was alive. she was an actress and a mother and died by broken magic and never told her son the truth about any of it. figuring out who i think she was and then how to show that through young adrien’s eyes has been a huge part of planning this story for me.

as far as the twenty three year old adrien sections, those have been less involved as far as planning goes. i only recently mapped out which areas of the house i want him to visit during the different months. i wanted his sections to line up at least thematically, if not physically, where thirteen year old adrien is at in his story. for example, in december twenty three year old adrien cleans out the dining room where thirteen year old adrien was having terrible christmas dinner. and in january they’re both in the garden, etc.

it’s a bit harder to map out twenty three adrien just because it has to also make sense geographically - i can’t have him running back and forth up and down the stairs, let’s be real he doesn’t have the energy for that. i’ve also opened up the agreste mansion page on the miraculous wiki so many times while trying to map this out 💔💔 did you know that apparently there’s a third floor we never see in the show. yeah i have to figure out what to do with that now

ANYWAY long story short: the planning process for thirteen is kind of a mess, but the whole story is built around some central plot points that i knew i wanted to hit from the beginning. the details change a lot (as you can see from the outline above - it’s not quite right) but i keep the end in mind. just have to figure out how we get there.

thank you for asking!! mwah<3

#thirteen #anna rambles #asks #sorry for writing SO MUCH #in my defense i’m sleepy #and i just started rambling #adrien agreste…..kissing your forehead my love. tucking you into bed. agreeing with you about tamaharu #i don’t even know if this answered the question this is just truly my process #the process is that i think about adrien agreste and then write it down #ml

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 14: Enjoy the Silence

Gif by @hunterschafer

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: The final heat...

Word Count: 7k

Rating: R

Chapter Warnings: Cussing, violence. I will not be warning anything else due to spoiling the story. We are all grown. You can stop reading when you want to.

A/N: Has it really been a year? I wish I had a better excuse than "I haven't been doing great." But that's what it is. I've had huge changes in my life. New job, new career, new goals, and a greater sense of self-worth. I'm feeling a lot better. But my new schedule is busy! Hopefully you can forgive me for such a long cliffhanger.

Finally, a heads up. This has been the arc I have been working towards for almost two years, and I'm not going to waver. Just stick with me like you have been. It’ll be worth it.

I also did the absolute most and made a specific playlist just for this chapter here.

Forever thank you to everyone who commented, reblogged, shared, boosted, made content for, and supported me. It meant a lot and definitely kept this fic in the back of my mind. As always, most love to my girl @musings-of-a-rose who has tolerated me being a shitty friend for a whole ass year, and always talking things through with me in life and in this fic. Cheers.

Suggested Songs: Depeche Mode "Enjoy the Silence", Fitz and the Tantrums: "Out of My League", Lizzo "Truth Hurts", Michael Kiwanuka "Cold Little Heart", Cigarettes After Sex "Cry", Guster "Demons"

Frankie and you decided to break your apartment lease starting October 1st. Fall term started on the 30th of August, and you wanted time to settle into your schedule before planning a move. You spent almost all your time at his house anyway, only stopping back at your apartment for more clothes. Frankie had already given you a row of drawers to keep your things in.

You’d honestly never been happier, both on cloud 9 and it never faded, you were incredibly excited to begin this new start with Frankie and Gabi. It all seemed to have happened so fast. It had only been five months, you hadn’t even told your family about him yet, mostly to avoid comments on the age gap. 

You were relieved the hiccup in your relationship settled, you didn’t like feeling unsure or that someone resented you. When you started feeling secure again, you clung to it. That sparkle of joy was hard to keep in check.

You picked your Fall schedule out together and spent the remaining weeks of summer basking in your relationship, playing with Gabi, going out with the guys, and constant fucking. But your most favorite thing was still lying on the couch with Frankie, teasing each other and watching bad TV.

“This is simultaneously the best and worst movie I have ever seen in my life. I don’t understand how they achieved this.”

Frankie shrugs, reaching to your lap for the giant bowl of popcorn, his eyes still glazed to the TV where Mad Max: Fury Road is playing. “I dunno. Who cares? It’s cars and chaos!”

“And Tom Hardy. And Charlize Theron.”

He pinches you on the waist, acting threatened by your thirst just to tease you. “You ever been to a demo derby? This kind of reminds me of it.”

You sit up from where your back is resting against his chest. “Um, no? Isn’t that kind of…for rednecks?”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but Benny and Will are rednecks. But no, it’s for anyone who likes cars crashing into each other. There’s actually one at the fair every year. We always go to it. You should come.”

“I’m not going to a demo derby.”

“Aw come on! It’ll be fun! First time for Gabi too, and there’s rides and games and funnel cake and fried oreos—” He pauses as you hold your hand up to silence him.

“I’ll go. You had me at ‘funnel cake.’”

The fair is packed. The final hurrah of the summer before kids return to school and university students dive back into their studies. The derby started at 8 PM sharp, you, Dali, and the boys got there plenty early to look around a bit, get some food, and find seats.

You forgo any typical entree and go right for the funnel cake, heaping fruit and extra powdered sugar on it until the plate is a big mound of sweet. The guys had talked you up on this for days, Benny wouldn’t shut up about it, and you found yourself excited to watch. Your legs bounce impatiently as you scarf down your cake, breaking off pieces here and there to feed to Gabi and your boys.

The seats were bleachers, hard metal planks that hurt your butt and back and caught vibration from every footfall, but Pope sat behind you so you could lean back against his legs to be more comfortable. 

It’s a long wait. The bleachers eventually fill up, you certainly had the best seat in the house (thank you Will), and you could see the hoods up of participating cars behind the commentator podium. The air is musty, the odor of wet dirt from a quick August shower earlier that day.

When the first round of vehicles start revving their engines, Frankie pulls some earphones for Gabi and secures it to her head. Once he’s sure she’s comfortable, he quickly runs you through the basic rules. “So there’s several ‘heats’, and which heat you’re in is based on how many cylinders the car has. Last car moving is the winner, but you can’t just avoid the other cars the whole time. No continuing if your car starts sparking from the engine, no hitting the driver side door, and no hitting anyone who’s already out.” 

“Wait, cars catch on fire in this?”

Before Frankie can answer, the announcer calls out the first heat and you almost choke at the state of the cars coming out. They were completely dilapidated, windows punched out and hood frames reinforced with extra steel. It looked like each entry had about 5 different parts all from different cars, horrendous paint jobs, and one of them even had a stuffed dinosaur duct taped to the hood. Some of them looked like they had already been hit by cars, parts hanging off and bumpers pressing in on itself. None of these cars would last at all. There’s no way...

The rink was surrounded by giant cement cinder blocks creating a large “rink” type area. The contestants lined the front bumpers of their vehicles up parallel to each other at the barricades separating the cars from the bleachers, alternately revving their engines during the countdown.

“Okay, so, usually we all pick the car we think is going to win.” Benny says. You lean forward to look over the assortment of jacked up cars for this heat, eventually settling on an old Toyota Corolla painted a matte black. Benny chooses the dino car, Will chooses a Dodge Stealth with it’s headlights hanging outside the socket, Dali and Pope argue over a Ford Taurus whose back end was already smashed into the back seats, and Frankie chooses a Chevy Impala, which you immediately regret not taking because it has such a long front and back end. Lots of room for smashing and being able to keep going.

Gabi jumps up and down on Frankie’s lap as he points out things to her over the sounds of engines and a countdown, and then the cars are off off, engines roaring and dirt kicking up as they all reverse at full speed, several of them crunching up in the middle while others circle around the perimeters.

It soon becomes clear to you that there is no rhyme or reason to which car makes it and which doesn’t. Pope’s Taurus didn’t even start and is eliminated after 2 minutes of no movement, and whoever is driving the boxy piece of shit Honda Accord that Dali had to select is a fucking maniac, winding and weaving at full speed backwards, hitting whoever gets in their way. Her choice is the winner of that heat. 

Most of them are driving backwards, and Will tells you it’s because they are trying to protect the engine. You deflate in your seat a little in disappointment, but he assures you that as the heat winds down and there's fewer cars taking up the space, the drivers and announcer will get impatient and they will hit each other head to head.

You’re shocked at how much you enjoy it. At one point a car hits the passenger side door of another so hard that it is pushed up and onto the barricade wall from the inertia, hanging from an angle as the crowd jeers and shrieks in excitement. One car flips over completely, another’s engine bursts into flames and the crowd all starts crying out caution because the announcer can’t see it. You’ve never seen anything like it before and there was so much fire you were sure the whole thing would blow up, but the driver slid out the glassless driver’s side window like it was no big deal and walked it off.

There is something satisfying about two cars hitting each other at full speed, the bodies of them crunching, wheels hanging off axles, bumpers being dragged behind and run over by other drivers, cars with mangled pieces becoming stuck to each other so they can’t separate until another car hits them, tires completely gone and cars only moving on its hubs. It’s chaos in a safe format, a way to experience destruction and violence in a way that feels good and unharmful. 

Gabi has never been so amazed in her entire life, her mouth hangs open and she wriggles against her dad to see everything, laughing every time a collision happens. The audience oohs and ahhs and boos and screams and cheers and teases, you and your friends join the clamor as you have your own mini competition with yourselves.  

Giant fork tractors come into the arena area to lift the cars that can’t move anymore, some guys are able to get theirs back up and running, driving them to the sides to shape up for the final Battle Royale.

The final heat is fucking wild. All the cars that were already battered enough before they even began to come back out, returned to do another round for the final winner. With all the action you’d barely even noticed that contestants whose cars were still driveable had spent the remaining heats beyond the barricades hammering and reforming their vehicles enough to compete again. 

And at the end, the winner of all faces the crowd, pulls off their helmet to reveal a thick curly mass of long hair.  The winner is a woman. You and Dali cheer until your throats hurt.

It’s over too soon. There’s a mass exodus the instant the derby is over, the packed stadium standing and pouring down the stairs pressing so tight that you and your boys decide to hang back until it thins out. You lead the way, Frankie’s large and warm hand grazing your waist as you slowly move down the stairs and back out into the fair, turning to wait for the rest of your friends to make it out.

“What next?” Benny says when you are all reunited. “More food? Games? Rides?”

“I’m not eating more before getting on rides, let's do those now.” Says Frankie, grumbling as he hears you tease him with Benny. He whips his head around to glare at you. “Just you wait until you get older and start getting sick on rides, I cannot wait to make fun of you back.”

The wait for the ride tickets is long, but it leaves plenty of time for the group to decide how many are needed. Who is riding what, who isn’t, what pairings and who will watch Gabi on the rides she can’t do. You’re surprised when Will and Pope back out of the Zipper, leaving you and Benny as a pairing for that.

Riding it was a mistake. The ride is basically a giant airborne conveyer belt with completely enclosed containers for people hanging off it that were 360 degree capable. And it lasted FOREVER. You lose some of your funnel cake behind the ride out of sight, threatening violence on Benny if he outs you to the others. 

But it didn’t stop you from riding The Freak Out immediately afterwards, a rotating pendulum swing that made you feel like you were going to be catapulted out of your seat. The ride seated 4 groups of 4 so that in between squeezing your eyes shut, you could catch watery glimpses of Benny red-faced and cackling hysterically, Will’s chants of “ohfuckohfuckohfuckOHfuckOHFUCKOHSHIT FUCCCCCCK!”, and Frankie looking…absolutely fine. It was almost disturbing really, he was calm and collected, the only hint that this might have been something other than a nice drive in his truck was his giant smile, the tears leaking from his squinted eyes, his chocolate curls whipping around in the breeze as his hands clutch his hat in his lap with a steel grip.

“How the fuck were you so calm?!” You gasp as you stumble off the rickety landing platform. You hadn’t moved yet you felt like you had run a mile, your heart was beating so fast from the adrenaline it almost felt like you might have a heart attack. 

Frankie shrugs. “Feels like a copter in a bad air current.” 

You simply stare blinking. 

“No, he’s always like this. Like this one time, we were flying in a helo over the Andes mountains, and—”

A sharp stare from Frankie that he tries to hide from you makes Benny backpedal. 

“Uhhh yea we were flying over some mountains and the air current was wild but we got over the mountains just fine and everything was fine and we were fine.”

Your heart seizes in your chest, that same feeling of not being told something creeping up. You hate it. You push it back down, swallowing heavily to center yourself. “So I assume you were fine.”

“Yea. Yea. Cat is a good pilot.” 

You hum, the panic still not leaving your chest.

Frankie grabs your hand as you walk. “It happened a lot, I just got used to it.”

“It happened a lot?”

“Yea. I mean, sometimes we were flying through shit climates, sometimes even pursued. Doesn’t make for a smooth ride. I’m just used to it. They always scream bloody murder though.” Frankie smiles softly.

“Oh.”

You go silent, continuing to walk to the next destination: the scrambler. You had already established you would not ride and Dali wanted some funnel cake herself, so she heads off while you stay off to the side with Gabi to watch, lost in your own thoughts.

“Just don’t fucking talk about that, none of that. That never happened.” Frankie seethes to Benny as they are strapped into the ride. 

“Sorry dude, I can’t read your thoughts. I figured she knew.”

“No. I don’t want her to know. No one else needs to know about it.”

Benny falls silent, looking to Will beside him. Pope lowers his head, choosing to say nothing.

“Catfish…you have to.” Says Will.

“No the fuck I don’t. I never want her to know. If she knows…she’ll actually see ‘real me’. ‘Fuck-up me.” And I don't want her to yet. I don’t want to lose her yet. I don’t want her to be afraid. Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

They stop. But only because the ride starts, and they can’t see anything other than blurs.

You hate this feeling, this fluttering in your stomach like something is wrong but your heart knows, it knows it’s fine. It has to be. Your mind is spinning, trying to combat the rising anxiety clenching in your chest, doing gymnastics to find reasons to not be alarmed.

He’s not lying about something. He’s not. …He promised….I’m just overthinking this…

You can’t. You refuse to even think about it. Confronting the terrible possibility that you might’ve done it again, you might have thrown yourself all in to someone only to—-no. 

He’s not lying. He’s not. …He promised….he’s different. I’m just overthinking this…

You can feel butterflies bubbling in your stomach and you feel like you might throw up. Fucking men. You huff in frustration and try to distract yourself with your surroundings, watching people on rides, sharing funnel cake. Your eyes scan over two men staring at you silently by a skewered chicken cart and in your current mood it makes you furious. “What the fuck are you staring at?!” You growl at them. They say nothing and slowly walk away, disappearing into the crowd. Fucking. Men.

You try not to let your emotions show. You sit back while Gabi goes on some rides for her age, using the time to rehydrate and calm yourself down. Living through Gabi’s joy helps.. She’s having a blast, choosing a different person to pair with for each time ride. Pope in the Wacky House, the Helicopters with her dad, Benny on the mini Viking ship. Once you feel better you join in to play bumper cars (Will and Gabi win) and ride the high-rise swings with her seated in the cool metal chair next to you, Benny singing along to the ambient speakers playing “Out of My League” so loud eventually all the other teens on the ride join in.You enjoy the mini coaster more than you thought you would considering it’s for kids Gabi’s age, you and Dali are the only others who can fit in the seats, no matter how hard Benny tried. It was easy to quickly forget.

After the coaster, Gabi begins to slow down, so you hit the fried oreo stand, paying for several batches despite protestation and alternately feeding everyone as the group slowly walks through the agricultural parts of the fair. It’s calmer here, the air warm and quiet. The pathway is less crowded so Gabi is able to frolic around on the walkway in front of you safely. 

You walk through every barn, stopping to pet every animal. She’s a natural with them. Completely fearless, not one flicker of apprehension as she approaches cows and horses that are easily 6 times her height, paying close attention to her dad in how to not spook them. Everyone finds the goats to be the favorite because of the sounds they make. Even more so when Frankie engages in a screaming contest back and forth with a bunch of them until someone shoos them out of the pavilion.

Soon, all the sugar Gabi consumed rears its ugly head in the rabbit barn, she throws a fit when Frankie won’t let her get a pet rabbit and you only just catch her upper arm in time to keep her from collapsing on the filthy barn floor. You’re surprised she held out so long. Even you were crashing and getting tired. Also, the rabbits were ridiculously cute.

“Listen Gabi, how about we ride the ferris wheel? Would you like that?” You kneel before her, swiping the tears off her cheeks as she catches her breath. “It goes really high! Higher than the swings!” She nods, sniffing in a snot bubble as she takes your hand. The two of you lead the way, and as you get closer and closer, you start to regret your decision. 

It’s much taller than the Freak Out. By more than 100 feet. It doesn’t look very stable either.

“Wait...this…this looks kind of high, don’t you think?” You turn to the guys, trying to conceal the wavering in your voice. You were scared enough at 70 feet. This was more like 200.

“Height requirement says she’s fine. And it’s enclosed, goes really slow. Come on.” Frankie takes you by the hand and your heart leaps into your throat, your feet skidding across the lawn as you try to pull back. 

A light shove pushes you forward and you turn to glare at Will as he smirks down at you. “If you don’t go I’m never going to let you hear the end of it. Not after you called us “old and broken down.”

Well shit.

“Fine.”

You’re shaking when it’s your turn, the group mad dashing to three cars next to each other so you could talk throughout. Benny pairs with Pope, Gabi is vibrating with excitement as she’s put into a carriage by Will and Dali, and Frankie is beaming as he motions you towards the left car. He pats your butt as you gingerly step in, waiting until you’re seated before joining you and taking your hand. 

“Babe…are you okay?”

You swallow, grateful it’s dark enough he can’t see you trembling. “Yep. I’m good.” 

He leans forward in his seat, the glowing phosphorescence of the lights of the ride and around the fair bathing him halfway in a multicolored glow. tThe colors and shadows fold into the angles of his face like rainbow chiaroscuro, an angular stained glass window. He takes your hand again, yours is swallowed in his palm and you close your eyes as he rubs his thumb across the top. The dark beat of Depeche Mode pounds against your chest and echoes in your ears and you briefly imagine this is what it must feel like to drop acid.

“Your hands are really sweaty…and you’re breathing really fast. Are you sure you’re okay? Hey…” He squeezes your palm and you open your eyes to meet his. “It’s okay if you’re scared. I won’t joke anymore about it, I’m sorry.”

You swallow. “It’s just really really high.”

Frankie watches the ride operator out of the corner of his eye passing their car as he makes sure everyone is safely locked in before tugging on your arm slightly. You slide forward minutely, he meets you more than halfway with his large limbs and rests his hands on your hips. You gasp as the ride jolts and begins rolling, lifting the cabs up in the air. His calloused fingertip pushes your head back up.

“How about I distract you.” He murmurs, shifting forward one inch more, tilting his neck as his soft pouty lips meet yours. 

You close your eyes, trying to lose your self awareness into him and his mouth and the soft skin of his nose that bumps your cheek and tickles your nose with its little breaths. 

The lift mechanism suddenly shudders, clunking over something and it feels like when you run over a squirrel in your car. You inhale sharply against Frankie’s lips as your cab jostles back and forth. Not much, but enough for you to slam yourself back against your seat and clutch the seat bottom as hard as you can. Your heart beats wildly and you imagine the ride breaking and dropping you on the ground to be crushed to death by this stupid fucking metal cab.

You feel pressure on your knees and look down, focusing hard to not see double from fear. Frankie cups both in his hands, thumbs lightly stroking the inside of your thighs. “It’s okay.” He reassures, squeezing your knees once more. “Probably an under-greased cog, it’s nothing. They test these things like 50 times a day.”

You simply stare, forcing yourself to nod. 

“Close your eyes.”

You open your mouth to argue then close it and obey. You trust Frankie, and it can’t be any worse. 

“Just focus on me. And…you hear the music? It’s called “Enjoy the Silence.” I was obsessed with this song when it came out. And can you hear Benny below us? I can hear Gabi laughing too. We’re all okay, you’re okay too.”

You bite your lips into your mouth, focusing on the song and Frankie’s husky voice. The meditative synth pop calms you, and the carefree voices of your friends below does help calm you, but you can’t slow down your heartbeat. 

“I’m okay. Just too much adrenaline.”

The hands on your knees slide up your bare thighs and wrap around the bottoms of them. Frankie pulls you forward in your seat with a smirk. “I’m feeling a little amped up too.”

“Frankie.”

He doesn’t respond, his sole focus on your thighs as his hands slide up and up and up until he is just able to slip the tip of one of his fingers under one leg of your shorts. For some reason, it pisses you off.

“Frankie!” You hiss. “People could see us.”

“Nah…” He shushes you, his finger sliding lower. 

You clamp your legs shut and push his hand back in his direction. “Frankie, I don’t want to right here.” 

He sits up. “Oh.”

Suddenly you hear Benny’s voice from below. “Hello we are underneath you guys! I don’t want to hear any hooking up sounds!” He trolls, and you fully push Frankie back to his side, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

It’s the first time you can remember that it’s ever been uncomfortably awkward between the two of you, and you’re not sure why. The silence seems so much more noticeable and weird against the clanking of the Ferris wheel gears and the chattering of random other people.

You’re not even looking at each other, you realize. When did that happen? Your neck cranes to the left as you gaze at the stars, and when you turn back towards Frankie, he is looking to the right and down at the fair. 

“…Is everything okay?”

His eyes snap back to yours. “Yea? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause I pushed you away, and…I dunno, you’re being weird..”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not intentional. I’m not upset, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide to you, scooting on his bench so there’s enough room for you.

You hesitate. “Won’t it…won’t it throw off the balance?”

You feel ridiculous asking but he doesn’t laugh at you, just shakes his head slightly. “Nah, they wouldn’t be able to run this ride if people couldn’t sit on the same side.”

You balance awkwardly on the edge of your bench overanalyzing what exact moment during the track of the ride to launch onto his, but you overthink it and end up jostling the cab more than necessary. Frankie’s arms pull you into his side and you burrow your face in his neck as the cab continues to rock. The music fades from Depeche Mode to Lizzo to Lil’ Nas X (Will clearly enjoys that one) and then back to Lizzo, and you forget all about your uneasiness.

He was right. It did feel better being with him. 

The ride does one more pass then rolls to a halt, letting off you with Frankie and Benny with Santiago. You hover at the exit for Will and Gabi, who have to wait for their cab to reach the platform before dismounting. Frankie takes your hand as you wait.

Gabby’s adrenaline rush runs out fast, and you spend the remainder of the fair eating more fried Oreos and playing games. Somehow you manage to beat them all at the water shooting game, which amps up the competitiveness to the point you’d rather just watch.

Which is how you end up at the “star” game. 

“We’re so fucking good at this game, it pisses them off every time.” Laughs Benny, as he shoots the entire Star out perfectly with the gun that is specifically not given enough ammo to achieve this. You hop up on the far side of the counter to watch, noting the way each of you boys handles their weapon and the differences in each. Benny held his gun loosely, like he was relaxed and self assured. It almost seemed like you would be able to slap it out of his hands but you knew he still had an iron grip. Will was precise and, as you expected, “perfect form”. You could tell just from Pope’s posture change that he was the best shot on the team, you’d never seen him look so focused. Frankie held his with a tense white knuckle grip, the folding stock tucked against his shoulder joint. The tension carrying up his arms as his veins popped out in his forearms and biceps. He looked fucking good. And you wouldn’t consider yourself a “gun person.” In fact, you kind of hated them. But there just was something about a strong non-douchey man holding a rifle like that that activated you. Damn the patriarchy. Even Dali is a great shot, though not as good as the guys.

After a few rounds, the carnie finally stopped allowing your posse to keep playing, frustrated that somehow the rigging system didn’t work on your group. You lean back on your hands, your legs swinging against the wood counter, observing Benny arguing with the carnie with a smirk. Gabi is passed out in her stroller next to you as Frankie sidles up to you, feeding you a piece of Fried Reeses, then promptly kissing you so the taste floats between you. 

He hums deeply, stepping closer to you til he’s between your legs. His hands rest low on the top of your thighs. “This ok?”

You smile. “Yes. More than okay. And I want more.” 

Frankie beams and cups your face, his lips crashing into yours as he all but breathes you in. You tilt your head and poke his mouth with your tongue. He responds immediately and opens for you, meeting you halfway. You whine softly as his hands leave your cheeks and trail down your back, one hand sneaking a bit lower to discreetly cup your ass. You’ve just wound your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck when you hear a shrill voice cut through the din of the dwindling crowd.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your heart slams to a halt so fast it hurts. You recognize that voice. And so does Frankie. Your heads both snap to the left as a disheveled looking Lex stands there with a bunch of her friends.

Frankie simply stares. She repeats herself. “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. The BABYSITTER? Are you fucking your BABYSITTER??? Oh Frankie…come on…how pathetic can you be? She’s like a child!”

You look at Frankie, receding into himself like a silent, terrified puppy. You’ve never seen him like this before, it unnerves you.

“Excuse me.” You snap back. “I am 28.”

She scoffs. I fucking knew something was going on with you two. And you’re doing this in front of my child?”

“Well, actually, Gabi is sleeping. At least she was, until you came ranting and raving.” You make eye contact with Pope, who reads your perfectly and starts steering Gabi’s stroller away so she can’t hear. “We made sure to be careful for her but why do you even care if we are fucking? You left him! You didn’t want him anymore, so it shouldn’t fucking matter who he dates.” 

“He’s a drug addict and a pathological liar. He will NEVER change.”

“Yea? And you are a drunk, controlling, OCD bitch who can’t mind her own fucking business. He’s happy with me. I trust him. Unlike you. Bye.” You couldn’t help yourself, you just fucking hated her.

But that set her off. “Did he tell you why he was suspended?”

“Yes, he—“

“Did he tell you he was high, flying a family and he almost injured everyone from a sloppy landing? Did he tell you how he would take Gabi to his drug dealers house with him? How he went on a STUPID fucking mission with these idiots to burglarize a fucking drug lord completely off paper? That I deliberately asked him not to because we had a new baby? That he crashed their helicopter, dropped all their money and shot innocent villagers to keep them from getting it? At children and old men adn women? That because of that, Molly’s husband was shot in the fucking head by one of those people? And then they couldn’t even bring the money back so it was all for no reason?”

She’s shouting now, spittle flying from her inebriated lips. One of her friends tries to grab her arm but she shakes them off. People in the crowd are starting to stop and watch. “Then, THEN, he treated me like shit, saying horrible things to me just when he was mad, throwing things, scaring me!”

You feel like you can’t breathe, it’s too much information all at once. “...What? I don’t…No. no, he said he was on a delta mission–”

“Oh sweetheart,” She sneers condescendingly. “He was on a greed mission. He was retired from delta. This was like a year ago. They all wanted to get rich and robbed a fucking drug kingpin and Frankie shot innocent people to make sure he got alllllll that money. And because of that, his friend was shot and killed and his family has NO idea why. He lied to you.”

You turn to look at him, and all his friends. Everyone is silent, trying not to look up from the ground. Dali looks as bewildered as you. “Frankie…?” Tears water in your eyes and you feel like your heart is going to burst. You thought he told you it was an enlisted mission, but on top of everything else you just learned your thoughts are rushing so fast you can’t seem to remember specifics. 

Frankie can’t even look at you. And that’s how you know. 

It’s true…

“Lex. Stop.” Will’s Southern drawl cuts through the silence, the commanding officer in him coming out. “It’s over. This shit between you two has to stop. Enough.” His eyes shift to Lex’s friends, who are nodding and repeating the same thing. Lex finally allows them to pull her away muttering under her breath, sending one last glare in your direction.

The walk to the truck is silent. The ride home is a foggy blur. But the minute you step into the house, you crack. 

“Frankie please tell me all this is not true.” You can’t read him at all, his face is completely blank as he moves around you towards Gabi’s bedroom to tuck her in.

So you wait.

His hackles are already up when he comes back out.

“Frankie–”

“Yea.”

“Well?”

“Yea. It’s true. We tried to steal money from one of Pope’s cases and it backfired and Tom got shot.”

“Because of you.”

His expression changes then, from blank nothing to vicious defensive anger. “Yea. Because of me. I fucked up the flight back and we crash landed and these fuckin’ villagers were gonna take the money! And it was an accident!”

“You ‘accidentally’ shot innocent people?”

He swallows, his jaw clenching and unclenching. You can see he’s doing mental gymnastics in order to avoid accountability. 

“Did your finger slip?”

No answer. 

“Frankie. Did your finger slip on the trigger?”

You already know the answer before he says it. And somehow it’s like he morphs into a Disney villain as he says it. “No. My finger didn’t slip.”

It burns, the sharp pain in your heart that makes you feel like it’s having a seizure or forgot how to pump blood or is pumping too much blood. “How many people did you kill.”

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know? How can you not know?! Frankie, you told me this was your job! You- you fucking lied to me! I-I I asked you if you were hiding anything else from me and you fucking lied to me!” You can’t help your voice raising, the tears spilling out of your eyes as you realize how fucking stupid you had been. Somewhere in the background you can hear Gabi has woken and is hysterically crying. Frankie, clearly having enough, turns back towards her room. But you continue, screaming at his back. “And that’s why Tom is dead? And his family doesn’t know why?!”

Frankie doesn’t answer and suddenly you are enraged. You run behind him and shove him forward. “I’m fucking talking to you! How can you just be so fucking blase about this??? And…all that other shit???—I feel like I don’t know you at all!”

He whirls around, that furious murderous face you ‘ve seen him give others is finally directed at you. “Because you don’t!” He screams back, his teeth nash and he shoves a finger one inch from  your face. You flinch.

“Frankie, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you? Really? I thought this was your thing?” 

You blink, confused, tears stalling on your face. “Don’t–”  You plead softly.

“No, Lex is right. You’re a naive little girl who thinks she can save worthless idiots like me and live some fucking fantasy happily ever after. You won’t. You can’t. I’m unfixable.”

“How can you say that!! Frankie, I love you!

He scoffs. “I know you think you do. And I know you aren’t stupid, you told me you’ve done this before. But guess what sweetie, you aren’t better, you’re still doing it because you’re so fucking desperate for someone to love you. You don’t love me. You just want to feel like some fucking savior.”

“No! No… I didn’t, I don’t…you told me you loved me!”

“I wanted to fuck you.” His eyes are black as far, it’s like you don’t even recognize his face anymore. Lex was right. Lex was right. How…did you make all of it up in your head?

“You…You’re a fucking psycho…I feel like you emotionally manipulated me into caring for you only for you to play games with me! I specifically told you I couldn’t go through this again and you fucking did it anyway!”

“Hey, you kissed me. And you were fun to fuck, I will admit that. Let me do fucking anything. But we both knew this would happen. You set yourself up. I did shoot those villagers. I caused Tom’s death. I just wanted the fucking money. And I wanted to kill a bunch of kids too, when they got in my way. Fuckin’ teenagers and I told Pope to fucking shoot them all.  And you know what else? We went back and got all that fucking money we hid, and we are fucking swimming in it. And I didn’t share a goddamn dime with my ex. You’re right. I am a psycho, so it’s a good thing this is over. Pack your shit and leave me alone.”

“Fuck you Frankie.”

You don’t wait another moment. You don’t need to be asked twice this time. You shove him aside on your way down the hallway, doing everything you can not to let the second round of tears fall. He’d seen enough.

You slam the door of the master bedroom behind you, frantically bouncing around different points in the room to grab all your shit. When did all of this stuff even get here? Anxiety bubbles up your chest until you can’t take it anymore and say fuck it, he can just throw anything else out. I have to get out of here.

You rush back down the hallway like a speed demon, praying to whatever that he won’t be standing in the hallway still. He isn’t. He’s sitting on his couch facing away from you, his head in his hands. You hate yourself for wanting to go comfort him. He’s right…I’m

not better…

You pause on the front doorway, struggling to say what needs to be said. Don’t be weak. Don’t keep letting people do this to you over and over. “Don’t contact me.I never want to see you again.” You say to his back.

He doesn’t move a muscle, or even look at you. “You won’t.”

You were able to make it halfway across the lawn before the grief fully hit. By the time you got to your car you were gasping like you were no longer able to breathe. And the minute your car door shut you broke, a wailing sob bursting from your lips as you bury your face in your palms. 

Again. It happened again. And it’s just as crushing as every other time, except now it feels like you never healed from the others and now they are all piling on top of the other with this one as the final blow.

Why. WHY? Was there something wrong with you? Why were you never enough? Why couldn’t you make them stay? What did you do to keep having to go through this? It almost killed you last time, your eyes squeeze shut as you remember the look on your parents face as they watched you writhe on your bed screaming and crying hysterically from your latest breakup.

And why did you let yourself fall into it again, like you had never learned a goddamn thing. It was like you were masochistic, you told yourself you would never need someone again so badly, you wouldn’t enmesh yourself so fully that when it fell apart you could barely function. Your heart was once again ripped out of your chest and thrown to the floor, the cracks from before making this shattering into pieces so small you know it can’t get repaired again.

With a trembling whimper, you pull your face out of your hands and wipe your eyes, your nose. You realize you’re still sitting in Frankie’s driveway and you immediately look to see if he's at the window, concerned for you. He isn’t. You hate yourself for it but it breaks you even more. 

It’s over.

You drive home mindlessly, your Spotify on shuffle and you aren’t aware of anything else. Just get home. Just get home and then you can cry, try to move on. But you already know you won’t. 

You finally tire yourself out of tears, and you try to talk yourself up, turning up the music and chanting “it’s okay” to yourself. 

It’s Coldplay. You always liked Coldplay. 

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try, you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you…

Tears stream down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face, and I–

You slam the on/off button so hard you actually cause the auxiliary cord to malfunction, so you rip it out of your phone and throw the damn thing on the passenger seat. You drive home in silence.

It’s dark in the lot when you arrive. You park in a spot along the side and towards the back because the lot is mostly full. The only light shining is the pole yards away, the bulb switches off and on opposite of the dark one right above you. 

You feel numb. You can still feel sticky dried tears on your face, but your ability to utter a sound is gone. You close your eyes and try to compose yourself, simply sitting in your car in the dark. You’re avoiding going upstairs, you know. You’ve pretty much been living at Frankie’s. Walking through that door would make it feel too ‘official’. You cover your face with your hands and rub the tears tracks off your raw face, and are about to take a breath and gather your shit when a THWACKING sound bursts right in your left ear.

You startle with a yelp and look out your window, prepared to tell off whoever is messing with you, but freeze when you find yourself face to face with the barrel of a gun, the only thing separating you from it is the shitty window glass on your cheap car.

»»———————►

Post A/N: Don't yell at me lol

#fix you fic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x fem!reader #triple frontier fanfic

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I stopped going to Family Suppers every weekend?

So in my family it's just four: My Father (76M) and Aunt (72F) live together in the same house, divided in two. My Brother (38M) and me (34F) live on our own in separate houses. We are expected to go have supper with FA(FatherAunt Combo) every weekend and holidays.

This is basically a four hour event every S and S which occupies half the day and my Brother and I both work all week long and have only weekends to rest. My B is a teacher (in school and afterclasses) and I am a Customer Care Specialist, which means we both have to constantly deal with people and we are wrung out one by rambunctious children and unhappy costumers that behave like them respectively.

FA are very needy, wanting constant validation, and are the sort that complain if, for example, I do not call them everyday to check on them, expressing how "callous" and "ungrateful" I am for not "getting interested in them". But I honestly deal with clients all week and I'm all talked out, so to say. Sometimes when I finish I just want to not talk again in the whole day and lie down and not feel like another cog in the machine. I am still expected to fix everything wrong with them or their houses when I finish though, which is what exhausts me.

It might seem easy to say don't give in, but thing is, they have done so much for me and my B. My A helped me rebuild my house and F helped my brother fix his: they're always there when we need them and I love them to bits. They worry and love us and if we're in trouble they're the first to be there. My father helped me with my tumors and the expenses and my Aunt helped me get out of awful situations.

Thing is, this is reciprocal as much as it can be: B and I have always been ready to help where we can, but we don't have the same resources they do (both boomers who basically were hired before they even finished university whilst B and I had to fight years of unemployment and minimum wage and their relentless mockery of it) so what we can do is limited. We still do our best. To an almost unhealthy point. When things break, I fix them - even if I have an art degree and what broke is the washing machine or my fathers boat (my father has a sailing boat and I can barely reach the end of the month with 50uds in my bank account jfc). I cannot buy them a house, but I do my best to repay them for everything as I am.

But this expecting me to come every weekend and be in my Best Mood, never complain or rant and basically entertain them, prepare the table and food and clean the dishes and fix the Tv that broke and the phone that is not working is sucking me dry. My B stopped going at some point, because he finishes work at 21:30 and weekends are his only days off and he said he's exhausted and cannot deal with these expectations, but now I take the brunt of the FA complaining on how awful he is, the asshole he has become, how ungrateful, for not being constantly at their whim and call. And a part of me knows they are toxic, but this is also the people who brought me up, helped me at my worst and the only people who really stood by my side when I needed someone, so maybe it really is asshole behavior to not repay them in some way.

I have tried talking to them about it, explaining that sometimes my body will not work right and my brain shuts down and I need to unplug, but they do not understand and get offended at the simple notion that being with them to us is not as simple as just enjoying their company. Because truth is, to me it is almost an extension of my job: It is CC voice and face and mood, always jovial because I get shit or "have you tried not being sad/tired/angry" and fixing the toilet flush. Do not raise your voice, clean their house (return to clean yours) and maybe get back home at 4 to rest a bit. This every weekend. And I owe it to them for having taking care of me for years when I was at my worst. I already managed to avoid going to make their grocery shopping too, but they're also a certain age and they need the help. Jesus why is this so hard, they're not even my kids and they should be able to take care of themselves and I feel like a mother but they do need the help.

So the question is, WIBTA if I just... did not go? Follow my brother's example, even if I know how they will take it, and just reduce the number of times I go to them? Or would I actually prove myself to be the asshole they consider him to be?

Ah also I am expected to go visit my F after work too, or call him or else I am the unfilial daughter who does not remember she has a father, haha. Man, just writing this makes me exhausted and feeling like a dick because they're old and need the help.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[bearlyfunctioning]

Don’t panic ‘The Bear Minimum’ will still show up every now and again, just a lot less than it used to. This is a continuation of my thoughts on the comic I posted here last. I’m just not enjoying making art anymore, like -not at all- & it’s really getting me down. Art is an intrinsic part of my identity, so not wanting to do it feels awful. This reticence has been building for at least 4 years now & as of last year I have been acting on my desire to leave art as a career, before I burn out to a crisp. Please note this is the first time in a long time I am feeling mentally healthy & have the resources to go without my portion of our income for some time (while I try to get IRL work). So, I really need to seize this moment of security to make big life changes. Even if it means we’re going to have to tighten our budget a lot while I try to find work. Some of you may remember that I am attending school full-time for an assistant administration diploma, ideally to have a broad skillset to bring with me while job hunting. I’ll be graduating from that course at the end of May if everything goes as planned. I have been on a commission hiatus since the start of this year to put schooling in action, continuing only with the weekly comic & monthly Patreon exclusive work. This brought my monthly income down to 1/3rdof what it usually is, but that was all I could manage alongside fulltime school. Doing so much less drawing has been incredibly beneficial to my RSI hand pain! For the first time in years, I can go to sleep without restrictive arm braces & I don’t need maintenance from the physiotherapist. I honestly thought that was permanent so I can’t even convey my relief there! However, despite drawing a lot less, my love for making art did not return. I enjoy making comics, but they are a whole lotta line-art & that can be a very repetitive process. Being a comic artist has been extremely good for my growth online; to the point where I owe half or more of my current following to it. Some people don’t even know I draw other things, that’s how good their reach is compared to my other art. Despite that I am going to be taking the comic off schedule. Even if it means sacrificing most or all my Patreon income and kneecapping my reach on every platform. I’ve been making the comic 4 times a month, with little break for 6 years. It started as a good outlet for my thoughts & an exercise in consistency, as I had never had a schedule of any sort prior. Doing the comic weekly was a great lesson in self motivation, but no one is forcing me to continue with it other than me. Plenty of times the deadline came I didn’t have a good idea & just made something I wasn’t proud of, because it was income and because I had just done it every week for so long. If you don’t enjoy my non bear/comic art, then I suppose we’ll part ways. In the end I must do right by me though & I feel like this is the best choice right now. Patrons have been notified on what will be happening over there in their own post.

#notacomic #announcement #The Bear Minimum #artist problems

[boxboxlewis]

Share a DVD commentary on Come get your honey

I'm so obsessed with this fic forever. Honestly I would read a line-by-line director's commentary of the entire fic but to rein it in I'm really curious about what Max is thinking throughout the fic? Daniel is so focused on how good the sex is (for him) and at times, how connected and possessive he feels toward Max, but is Max in that emotional space with him or is he focused more on the simple pleasure of it?

also! if you wanted to! i'd truly just chin-hands raptly listen to you talk about anything you wanted to talk about in this verse. like do they ever get together? do they ever have sex that is emotionally overwhelming for max / what would that look like?

ahhhh sarah ilu thank you! come get your honey is one of my secret favourites of my own children fics so i'm esp pleased you like it. dvd commentary below the cut :)

The first time Daniel and Max have sex is also the last time, has to be the last time, so Daniel tries to memorise every detail as it’s happening. Max’s stubble, spikier than Daniel might’ve expected / the awkward way he giggles when Daniel reaches for his belt / how he immediately apologises for the giggle, voice raspy, “Sorry, I just—” 

max is giggling here from NERVES bc he has had a big fat crush on daniel for one million years. however! he is a professional at Being Around Daniel Without Getting His Heart Broken, so he's also determined not to make a fool of himself.

Daniel has no fucking idea what to do with someone else’s dick, except, presumably, touch it in the same way he likes to touch himself, and he has low-key worried about this, when he’s thought about having sex with Max, which has been always, over the past few weeks/months/years, except as it turns out it’s not an issue because Max tells him exactly what to do: every bitten-back gasp from Max’s stupid-plush mouth when Daniel nips at his skin and then soothes it with his tongue, every motion he makes, the way his hips jerk up how he rolls his eyes at Daniel how he says “No, like this, here—”

the max pov of this scene is basically "oh my god how is daniel so hot and also so bad at this"

The next time Daniel and Max have sex is an error. A mistake, a lapse, a moment, and it’s Max’s fault, really. He looks at Daniel while they’re waiting for the pre-race press conference to begin and he smirks, and Daniel looks at his mouth: that’s it, that’s waiting the whole press conference with a half-hard dick and a racing pulse, that’s walking back to his motorhome when he’d rather run and texting Max “ok then” and texting again a minute later, “come over dick.”

max: [smiles hello at daniel]

daniel: AW yeah he wants that ricciardo D again 😎... come on OVER baybeeeee

He’d thought Max would be new to this, would be unsure, maybe, waiting for Daniel to take the lead, but Max is so comfortable, knows just what he’s doing, he shows Daniel how to use his fingers, he opens for Daniel so easily and beautifully, Max is good at getting fucked, and relaxed about it, which means he must’ve done it before, and probably not just a few times, probably lots of times.

daniel is right, max has had a lot of sex in this universe and he knows what he likes!

“You make me crazy,” he grits out, pressing his forehead into Max’s shoulder his collarbone, getting high from the smell of Max’s skin his armpit his hair, he’s trying to give it to Max so good Max will never go to anyone else for sex ever again, will just keep coming back to Daniel over and over and over and maybe if he thrusts deep enough hard enough at just the right angle he’ll make Max his wife— Max just laughs and kicks his heel against Daniel’s ass, says “Daniel, c’mon,” grips his hand in the back of Daniel’s hair and tugs Daniel’s head up and looks at him all cool and handsome and rolls his fucking eyes and pulls Daniel in and bites his lip, hard, and Daniel comes in an agonised rush, no grace no finesse much too soon. He hasn’t even gotten Max off yet, has to pull out and get his breath back and then make his way down the bed so he can get his mouth on Max’s dick and his fingers pressing back inside where Max is still loose and sloppy. He can feel Max’s fucking heartbeat inside his asshole, secret and lovely against his fingers, he can taste how close Max is to coming, and then Max is groaning, salt-bleach warmth coating Daniel’s mouth, choking him.

max is dying here. he likes daniel SO MUCH but also he's like "im literally giving this man a roadmap and a torch what is he doing"

Max has never in his entire life known when to stop. “I think I can tell maybe that you’ve mostly fucked girls.” He’s still tracing Daniel’s tattoos: the cherub on his forearm, now. “Because you kind of, you ignore my—uh.” Daniel guesses the “uh” is Max for “prostate.” He wants to die.

this is max being like "well naturally daniel would want to know if he is bad at sex, so he can improve" and just 100% not getting why it's painful for daniel to hear god bless

Max riding him is good, is better than Daniel could’ve believed, and Daniel can’t worry anymore whether it’s good for Max because it’s so fucking good for him. He can see Max like this, the entire glorious country that is Max’s body, whole vistas open for Daniel’s gaze. The softness of Max’s stomach / his puffed-up little nipples / his perfect fucking thighs, his perfect fucking thighs clamped around Daniel’s hips no one else’s. Daniel’s cock disappearing into Max’s body, Max’s frown, how he bites his lip, focussing, how he throws his head back and hisses when he finds an angle he likes. Daniel can reach up and pinch his nipple, cup his tit and draw a thumb across it, watch how Max flushes blotchily across his whole chest, he can follow Max into the rhythm he’s setting with his hips he can watch as each thrust makes Max’s eyelids flutter he can hope he can hope that this time he’s getting it right.

this time around is much better for max. good work, daniel

Daniel says “I have something I need to tell you, but you're not gonna like it,” and Max looks at him with wide eyes and says “Well don't tell me yet then,” and Daniel kisses him and thinks, one day.

max has some inkling of what daniel wants to say but he is TERRIFIED that he's wrong and maybe daniel will just be like "i think we should try reverse cowgirl" or something. so he elects not to hear it, so that the beautiful possibility that maybe daniel really likes him can live on a little longer 🥲 they do get together eventually but it takes a while!!

#smut asks #asks #maxiel #mv33 #dr3 #sarah this is so long lmao im sorry!!! #i am meditating upon your question about what emotionally overwhelming sex for max would look like in this universe #by “meditating upon” i mean “adding to my fic ideas list”

[tomholland1996simp]

Cute || Tom Holland

Pairing: Tom holland x mum reader

(Tom is not the father of the readers child)

Summary: A day out with Tom and your son that is full of cuteness, and even gets your son to call Tom by a certain name by accident.

“Dylan, baby. Tom’s gonna be here in a minute, can you get your shoes?” You call to your 5 year old son. Today you had planned a cute little day out with your boyfriend Tom and your son, Dylan.

You and Tom have been dating for two years now and it’s going really well. At first it was hard with Dylan as he’s never really had a male presence in his life. But surprisingly Dylan got on really well with Tom, he loves him.

Dylan’s dad has never been in his life, he doesn’t want anything to do with him. That’s why your happy you met Tom. Dylan’s dad left you when you told him you was pregnant, he didn’t want to keep the baby, however you did. But it’s his loss. Honestly Dylan is the most brightest and cutest little kid ever, you love him with all your heart.

“Mummy-“ Dylan whined but got cut off by the door bell ringing. Walking to the door and opening it you was greeted by a handsome face.

“Hello gorgeous” He smirks walking into the house, placing a small kiss on your lips. “Hey baby, we’re nearly ready. I just need to get my phone and keys” you tell him walking into the other room.

“Mummy!” Dylan whines again from his room.

“Mummy please” He calls again. Tom slowly walked into his room seeing the little five year old on the floor with a frown on his face.

“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” He asked crouching down to your son.

“I can’t do it, please can you hwlp me” He cries, pointing to his shoe lace.

Tom smiles picking the boy up onto his lap and tying his shoe lace in a double knot. “There we go bud” He smiles as Dylan crawls off his lap looking at his shoe laces, smiling. Saying a small ‘Thank you’ after.

“You cuties ready?” You stand in the door way admiring your two favourite boys in awe’s.

“You look pretty mummy” Dylan compliments you hugging your legs.

“Thanks Dylan. Right let’s go have some fun” You exclaim lifting your hands up in the air to your son.

“Yesss!” He screams. “Come on Tommy, let’s have fun!” He pulls Toms hand out of his room and pushing him to the door.

“Yeah Tommy. Let’s have fun” you wink at your boyfriend, shaking your shoulders into his with a smirk.

………………………….

You all first went out to eat for some lunch in a restaurant. You really wanted to have a special day with the two boys and bond. Tom had only just got back from filming a week ago and he was away for two months. You and Dylan always miss him when he goes away, but you both understood the reasons behind why he had to go…well mostly you.

Dylan sometimes put up a fight begging for Tom not to go. It was cute to know how much your boy loves and cares for Tom and the other way round. Tom would do anything for Dylan, he acts like he’s his own child sometimes.

“So you decided what you want yet, Dylan?” Tom asks him as Dylan stares at the menu even though he can’t read it.

Dylan smiles, nodding. “Can I..Can I get chicken nuggets and chippys plwease?” He asked me and Tom, us both smiling and nodding.

“Have you decided what you want, darling” Tom places his hand on your thigh giving you a kiss on your cheek making Dylan fake gag.

“Yeah, I’m gonna paying for-“ But before you could even finish what you was going to say Tom cut you off. “No, I’m paying my treat” He smiles, placing his finger to your lips so you couldn’t argue back.

He then called the waitress over ordering our food, the waitress writing it down. “Would you like a kids colouring book?” She asked Dylan with a smile, he nodded happily.

Once we had ate our food and payed, we began to gather our things thanking the waitresses for the lovely food. We all stepped outside the restaurant walking over to Toms car to go to the next place, the arcade.

However of course Tom being in the public eye made people see him. A small crowd started to walk over making me grip onto his hand more tightly. Tom did the exact same thing back but also to Dylan who held his other hand.

“Omg, it’s Tom and Y/n! Dylan!” A fan screamed drawing more attention to you all. You both gave them a small smile, even though they started to come closer.

Fans knew about yours and Toms relationship, they knew a little about Dylan though. You didn’t really want him in the public eye due to Tom being a celebrity and all. You liked your private life to be well in private.

“Tom can you sign this?” A fan asked, Tom let go of both our hands signing the fans things.

“I’m sorry but we have to go, I just wanna-“ He tries to say but people start taking pictures of us three, Tom pulling Dylan behind him. “Im trying to spend the day with my family, can you please leave us” Tom tried not to get mad. You smiled a bit by him calling you both his family. It’s nice to hear him say that, it warms you heart.

Tom picks up Dylan putting him in the car seat, making sure to strap him in. You got into the passenger seat, putting on your own seatbelt as well. As soon as Tom got into the car he turned the engine on driving away as soon as possible.

“You okay?” You asked, placing a hand on his leg trying to calm him down.

“Yeah i’m fine, just wish we could spend a normal day without them harassing us. I love my fans but sometimes they are a bit too much” He sighs, looking through the top mirror to see if Dylan is okay. “You okay Dyaln?” He smiles.

“Yep, t-there just scary..but not as scary as the ones with big lights” He looks outside the window. It’s not the first time this has happened, Dylan was trying to say about the paparazzis. He doesn’t really understand about Toms life and how he’s famous.

“I’m sorry buddy” Tom says feeling guilty.

“It’s not your fault Tommy. Anyways enough of that let’s go to the arcade!” You try lighten up the mood turning on the radio.

“Yess Mummy I beat Tommy!” Dylan shouts dancing in Toms face to celebrate the arcade came he had just won. You have been playing multiple of games with the boys for about an hour now, winning lots of tickets. “I beat you..loser” Dylan giggles as Tom pouts a face chasing the boy around the place as he screams.

“How dare you, you little bugger” Tom laughs grabbing the boy from behind, picking him up tickling his stomach as Dylan screams in happiness.

“Stop- Ahh. Tommy” He giggles as Tom keeps tickling him. “AHHH! Haha. D-Daddy stop!” Dylan laughs out loud, not realising what he had just called Tom.

Your mouth falls open, you didn’t care whether or not Dylan called Tom his dad. Tom has been basically his dad for ages now anyways. You just didn’t know how Tom would react.

Tom stopped ticking the boy placing him down on the floor, crouching to him at eye level. “wait, wait. What did you call me?” Tom asked shocked himself.

“I said Daddy” He says now realising what he called Tom. Tom turned to look at you, a big smile plastered onto his face as you smiled with tears in your eyes. You couldn’t believe it, Dylan actually called Tom ‘daddy’.

Tom couldn’t form words to express how happy and lucky he felt. But he was quiet for too long making Dylan think he shouldn’t of said it because he knew Tom wasn’t his actual father. “I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry” He cried going to run to you, however Tom grabbed his hand.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry buddy. I’m not mad, okay. It was just a little unexpected” He hugged the small boy, reassuring that it was okay.

“I j-just want you to be my Daddy” Dylan says looking more at you to ask if Tom could be. Tears started to spill out of your eyes, happiness and love filled you.

Tom smiled tears forming in the corner of his eyes, he always though of Dylan like his son. “I would love to be your Dad, Dylan” Tom picked up the small five year old.

“really?! Mummy! Mummy! Tommy said he will be my daddy!” Dylan cries in joy trying to fall into your arms as you move closer to Tom.

“You really wanted Tom to be your dad?”

“Yes, I love daddy!” Dylan smiles as we all hug.

“I love daddy too” You laugh looking at Tom seeing him looking so happy. Your two boys are so cute!

“I love your mummy more” Tom smirks pulling me in for a kiss but only gets to kiss the back of Dylan’s hand.

“Hey! Eww Daddy you can’t kiss mummy only I can” Dylan says kissing my cheek making me and Tom laugh at our sons comment.

I need ideas so request please…

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #fluff #like #tom holland fic #tom #tomhollandsimp #imagine #oneshot #Mumreader #tomhollanddad #tomhollandfans #tom holland x you

[nimata-beroya]

20 Questions For Writers

This was sitting on my notifs for a few days and i finally took the time to do it. Thank my darling @takadasaiko for the tag!! 💕💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 88 works in total, 31 of which are for Star Wars.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

574,873 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I'm only writing for Star Wars. But I used to write for Arrow and Supergirl, and ASoIAF, Dark-Hunters and Chronicles of Nick are in standby. I'm waiting for right motivation to come back to any of the last 3.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm only talking about Star Wars fics here...

Kadala (The Mandalorian) [and 4th place in most kudos of all my works]

Rough Awakening (The Bad Batch) [and 5th place in most kudos of all my works]

Welcome to Yavin IV (Rebels)

An Explosive Situation (Rebels)

Rescue on Ryloth (The Bad Batch)

And the the rest of my all-time fics with most kudos are

Take Your Breath Away (Arrow)

Undisclosed Desires (Arrow)

Made For You (ASoIaF/Game of Thrones)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best, but sometimes I forget, and then it's been weeks and months since I got the comments that I'm embarrassed to reply them after so long. Even though, I think it's important that a writer let the reader/commenter that they appreciate it, even if it's with a simple "thank you" or an emoji. I know I'm being a hypocrite here since I fail to do what I preach, but it doesn't make it less true.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think that would be Drifting, because it's kind of open ending, left to be interpreted, so it could end however the reader wants. Although, I left an author's note at the end saying what's my preferred ending, which always will be inclined to the happy side.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

High Above the Ground because is the happy ending i want for Commander Fox and Riyo Chuchi. They deserve only the best!

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

No, not really. I've gotten only 1 stupid message of someone criticizing a fic, but that was years ago when I still posted on FF dot net. The joke was on the reader because I moderated all the comments there so I just deleted it and nobody saw it but me. Honestly, I just laughed about it cuz their argument was just stupid.

9. Do you write smut?

I do, all kinds -from the most tame thing to the most perverted. But I used to wrote way more in my old fandoms, especially for Arrow. I think for Star Wars I've written just 1 or 2 smutty fics, and tamed at that.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I've tried a couple of occasions but never finished them. I'm not opposed to them obviously, but I do think the combination of fandoms has to be just right to work. Or at least, when it's me doing the writing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes! Many, many years ago in the first fandom I ever wrote for. It was awful and hated it! You see, this was in the stone age of the internet when fandom specific sites abounded and not everyone had an account on FFnet yet (and Ao3 was not even a dream). The site I published on was split in 2 sections because the ships war in the fandom was bloody and ruthless, so to avoid the slaughter, I kept myself in my preferred side. But one day, a friend who read fic on both sides told me that someone stole my fics. Avoiding to get caught, the person who did it published them under a pen name that was almost exact to mine, she only added a period at the end, which could easily go unnoticed. Oh, and she interchanged characters names so it'd fit the other ship.

At first, my friend thought I had posted them but she knew I'd never write for that ship, like ever. In the end, it turned out that I wasn't the only one who had being plagiarized. Several people ON BOTH SIDES were. Thankfully, the person was caught and banned, but we almost burned the site down because of the whole shitshow.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

By me, yes, several. All into Spanish (my mother tongue). By others, not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes! A couple of times for different fandoms, and I loved it. I hope I'll do it again. The thing is that you need to find the right partner for it, or it can be a nightmare.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

I don't appreciate this question, let me tell you. It's hard to choose. But I think I have to go with Olicity. I love them still (even if the show ending ruined it for me). Close second would be Braime (and I'm glad that there's still hope for them on the books, because as usual the show fucked them so but sooooo bad)

And as Star Wars specific, I don't think anyone will be surprised if I say it's Kalluzeb, right 🤣 They're my babies and I adore them!

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Anything for Arrow or Supergirl. I sworn off those fandoms after their respectively awful endings.

No promises, but there's still hope for all if my unfinished works for Star Wars 😅

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Coming up with ideas. So, so many ideas. All the time and I want to write them all.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Finishing writing the above-mentioned ideas. I tend to splay myself too much when I'm writing, and it takes me forever to get to the portion I really want to write (usually the idea that sparked the whole writing process) and I lose steam. That's why I have so many unfinished WIPs. I wish they'd write themselves.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

It's ok if used sparingly. A word here, a phrase over there is fine, but if a wall of dialogue that the reader needs to scroll down to the notes or click on a tooltip to find out the meaning it's the worst!!! A better solution for a writer that really needs/wants to have a whole conversation in another language for plot reasons or whatever, then all they need to do is to say once that the characters are talking in the other language and put the dialogue in the same language they've been writing the rest of the narrative and in italic.

The characters who don't speak the language won't understand what's being said, but the reader will and their reading will be more pleasant and fluid.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

An Argentinian show called Floricienta. A modern retelling of Cinderella.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I don't like this question either! All my fics are my babies! How do you want me to choose?!! There are so many I'm proud of. I guess I'll point the most recent one: Feed Me Poison, Fill me till I Drown I really like how this story is coming along. It's not done yet (what else is new? 😅) but what's coming is so so good!

Tagging (no pressure): @renee561 @thecoffeelorian @genericficerblog @airlockfailure @mistr3ssquickly @insertmeaningfulusername @fanfictasia

#20 asks for writers #ask game #the mandalorian #the bad batch #sw rebels #kalluzeb #braime #foxiyo #mare writes star wars #and other things #olicity #long post

[andiwriteordie]

Mike coming out to Will sometime during season 5 before they’ve confessed their feelings for each other or anything hehe

For the writing prompt requests <3 also CONGRATS ON 1500 ANDI U DESERVE IT!!

hi elli!!! oh my god this prompt 🥺 this is so sweet, and it was so much fun to write. (side note i have now written like 3 coming out stories in the span of a week so. that's fun!) also tysm!!! <3 i hope you enjoy this!

—

you pull me in (and i’m a little more brave)

Mike Wheeler has two secrets.

He’s never really been a person who has liked keeping secrets, at least not from his friends. He’s kept secrets from his parents for his entire life, so that doesn’t really matter. But Mike has always tried to be honest with his friends. After all, the Party’s first rule isn’t “friends don’t lie” for nothing.

But Mike Wheeler has two secrets, and he’s kept them close to his chest for the past couple of years.

The first secret is this:

Mike Wheeler is gay.

Yeah, that… that had been something difficult to come to terms with. It all started back in the fall of 1985 before everything went to shit and before the world started ending and before they got trapped into an interdimensional war with One and the monsters of the Upside Down. Talk about an awful time to have a sexuality crisis. 

Seriously. Mike spent… a lot of sleepless nights, absolutely terrified that his first big secret would be found out. When you’re fighting a monster who literally reaches into your brain and brings out the worst parts of you—the parts that you’re terrified to even admit to yourself—it’s really not a good idea to have this big of a secret. 

At least… at least that’s what Will said when he came out as gay, early last year.

God, he’s the bravest person that Mike knows. There’s no one braver in the world than Will Byers—not even El, whom Mike believes is really fucking brave. But El, as incredible as she may be, is also a superhero. Of course, she can bravely face monsters and government scientists and anything the world throws at her. Mike thinks he’d be braver too if he was better than Superman.

Will’s just Will though, and he’s been through so much. And yet, he makes the decision to get back up every time the world tries to knock him down. He stands up against all the monsters and the bullies and every single being that’s ever hurt him, and yet, he still manages to be the kindest, most loving person Mike has ever met. He’s never lost sight of who he is, and everything he does inspires Mike to be braver. 

There’s no one braver than Will Byers—no one better in the world than Will Byers.

And that’s exactly why Mike decides that Will Byers should be the first person in the world to learn his secret.

The two of them are sitting in Mike’s bedroom now. Earlier, he’d asked Will if they could talk—alone, he’d been quick to add. Naturally, Will had been a little bit confused, but he’d nodded and promised to come over to Mike’s room in the lab after dinner.

And so… here they are. 

Mike’s heart pounds inside his chest, and his hands feel clammy. Of all the people in the world, Will is going to be the most accepting. Everyone in the extended Party has been accepting of Will and Robin (who’d come out a few months before Will), so honestly, Mike knows he shouldn’t worry about their reactions. But still, he’s never shared this secret with anyone before, and… and it’s terrifying.

But this is Will.

And Will makes him feel brave.

So, with Will Byers’ kind hazel eyes staring back at him, Mike takes a deep breath, and he wrings his hands nervously.

And he chooses to let his walls down.

“Will… I… I’m gay,” Mike admits, his voice impossibly soft. He doesn’t dare look up at his best friend—not yet. The memories of words so cruel and so hurtful, said years ago on a day full of pouring rain and his worst mistakes, make their way to the forefront of his mind. “I… I’ve known for a while now, and I, um… I didn’t want to admit it... But I… I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Another breath—shaky and quiet this time.

Mike dares to look up, and he meets Will’s eyes. “I, um… I said some things to you when we were younger,” Mike whispers, and though his vision is a little blurry because of the tears stinging his eyes, he can still see the recognition that flashes across Will’s face. “Some really, really hurtful things… and I’m sorry, Will. I… I know it’s no excuse, but… that’s when I was first starting to realize this about myself… And I was scared, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

One more breath. In and out.

“I wanted to tell you first,” Mike says, his voice soft, “not… not just because you’re gay too, but… but because you’re my best friend in the entire world, Will. And I just… I trust you more than anyone else, you know? And also… because you make me feel brave enough to be myself. So… yeah. That’s it, I guess.”

For a moment, Will just stares back at Mike, as if he’s searching for… for something or trying to understand Mike better. There’s curiosity but also compassion and understanding in Will’s eyes, and before Mike knows it, he’s being pulled into Will’s arms.

“Oh, Mike,” Will whispers, holding him close. 

The embrace is warm and familiar and comforting, and God, fresh tears well in Mike’s eyes as he all but collapses into Will’s hug. Will’s arms wrap around him tighter in response, and Mike sniffles, burying his head in his best friend’s shoulder.

 “I’m so proud of you,” Will murmurs, rubbing Mike’s back gently. “God, I am so, so proud of you, Mike. You have no idea. Thank you. Thank you for… for trusting me and for being you. You’re incredible, and I’m so proud of you.”

Somehow, just like he always does, Will knows exactly what to say. He knows exactly what Mike needs to hear, and Mike can’t help the watery laugh that escapes his lips. “I didn’t really do anything,” he admits. “Nothing that you haven’t done.”

“Hey.” Will pulls back, just enough so they can look at each other now, and he smiles at Mike, gentle and familiar. “Coming out is terrifying no matter what, and it’s not about me. It’s about you and how brave you are and how incredible it is that you’re accepting who you are. So… I mean it, Mike. I’m proud of you, and thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Will pauses for a brief moment; then, he smiles again. “When I came out,” he says softly, “Robin told me this… She said that the world becomes a better, more beautiful place whenever anybody accepts who they are and shares it with the world. So… just remember that, okay?”

Mike can’t help but smile, and he reaches up, putting his hand on top of Will’s. “Okay,” he whispers back. “Thanks, Will… Seriously. Thank you for… for everything.”

The look on Will’s face turns soft again, and for a moment, the world shrinks until it’s just the two of them. Something wildly beautiful and familiar and electric lingers in the air between them, close enough for Mike to reach out and grab it, and he nearly does.

Because, you see, Mike Wheeler has two secrets—though, he’s now shared one of those secrets with someone and is starting to find the courage to share it with others.

The first secret is this: 

Mike Wheeler is gay.

The second one is… a little more complicated than the first, and it’s this:

Mike Wheeler is in love with Will Byers.

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #ok this one is the last one of the night #i probably should've gone to bed sooner but i was having fun #i'll finish the others tomorrow or sunday!

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

here's a question, what do you think happens to Debbie (and Franny) post s11? Personally I'm not a fan of the idea that Debbie would go off with Heidi after she fought tooth and nail to stay in her own house, plus Heidi is...not really what I'd picture for a good ending to Debbie's story. What would you see being a good post script for Debs?

ahhhh i love you for asking this

i mean, there's a part of me that wants to say that everything will go great for them, but i think that it'll be rough for a little while.

to answer the heidi thing (which i have talked about many times before but this ask is a little bit old lol sorry!), she will not last. she'll be gone in like, a week, and will never be heard from again. i think that the finale made that pretty clear, even though other people interpreted it in other ways. when heidi mentioned texas, debbie looked hesitant, and considering how she spent the past season fighting for this house, and the past eleven seasons fighting for her family, there isn't a single part of me that thinks she will be leaving for texas and if she does, her kid will be coming with her 100%.

but anyways, debbie will be going through it. she will have lost her father and her girlfriend in the same week or so and given her abandonment issues, i think she'll probably break. she'll have a whole breakdown over it, then be a bit depressed for a month or two, and then i think she'll slowly start to feel better. also, something that nobody talks about for some reason is the fact that post-11x12 all of the gallaghers (including mickey, tami, kevin, and veronica) all most likely get covid since they were all around frank and like touching him and shit, so that will probably happen.

i think that, as always, she'll pick herself up on her own and fix everything herself. her business will thrive, maybe she'll help out at the alibi if carl and tipping buy it (i hc that they do), but i think that money-wise she'll be set.

she and lip will definitely still have some conflict. every gallagher kid has a complex, difficult relationship with frank (i've actually been writing about this) but these two and frank have always stuck out to me (but they all stick out to me, honestly). i think that since the two of them were already fighting and are both notoriously awful at handling their emotions shit will go down.

debbie will keep the house since it's been in her name since the season nine finale (i mean duh, why would lip get to sell HER house??), lip, tami, and fred will move to milwaukee but then lip and tami will split up and it'll be messy, maybe he'll come back to chicago and they'll get split custody, carl will live there for another year or two, liam will live there until he graduates, and ian and mickey will move back to the south side. debbie will feel uneasy because of all of the change, so she'll insist on family dinners weekly, absolutely NO exceptions (you could be sick with some sort of flesh eating virus and she'd still demand that you attend).

she will never fully process losing frank. even dead, he still manages to fuck her over. i think that she'll set up a memorial for him a lot like the one she set up in 3x01.

if she reads the letter it'll fuck her up even more and i'm hoping that she gets therapy (i have a fic in my drafts about this lol) to help her deal with trauma, abandonment issues, grief, and help her navigate parenting while being only twenty.

i seriously just wish her the best because season eleven really made me realize how much she actually needs help.

live laugh debbie gallagher

#shameless #shameless us #shameless meta #debbie gallagher #franny gallagher #heidi shameless #post-finale #11x12

[astrobei]

carrying the other one in their arms with byclair 😗

#23 for touch prompts!! (me acting as if i did not beg thea to send me a byclair prompt and as if i did not take forever and a half to write it) (was so intimidated and nervous about this one but i hope you like it !!)

Will doesn’t drink. Like, ever. With the exception of his twenty-first which was kind of a given and also at New Year’s that one time, but that was champagne, so it barely even counted, because who even gets drunk off of champagne? Or, more accurately, sparkling white wine from the supermarket, because they're in college and it's not like anyone has real champagne money right now. Unfortunately.

Anyways, Will never drinks. And that’s the reason why– when he had thrown the front door open ten minutes ago, thrown his bag onto his floor, tossed the keys onto the dining room table, and announced loudly that they were going out tonight– Lucas had immediately resigned himself to the role of designated driver.

Well, not driver per se, because they don’t have a car and the local college bar is, like, five blocks down the road. Designated walker, maybe. Designated sheepdog, because if there’s one thing about Lucas Sinclair’s friends, it’s that they get drunk and fucking scatter.

“What’s the occasion?”

Will is fiddling with his hair in the hallway mirror. “Ugh,” he says, and Lucas catches the corner of his frown as he leans in closer. “Long week.”

“I’ll say,” Dustin pipes up from the living room. “You would not believe the shit my client put me through today.”

“Tell us about the shit your client put you through today,” Mike says, head buried in the folds of a coat as he roots through the closet. “Okay, who took my other shoe?”

Lucas looks down at his feet. “Oh,” he says. “I was wondering why my shoes were fitting differently.”

“Unbelievable,” Mike mutters. “I told you not to buy the same pair as me!”

“But they’re so nice,” Lucas grins, bending down to undo the laces. Mike shoots him the finger.

“Unfortunately, it seems that you’ve just admitted that Mike has good taste,” Will says, which is a very occasionally correct but tragic point, then turns around. “How do I look?”

Dustin squints at him from the sofa. “Um. Normal?”

“Good,” Mike says, still glaring at Lucas as he pulls the laces of the right shoe– tragically, Mike’s right shoe– free. “You look good. Is that jacket new?”

“Kind of,” Will laughs, glancing down at the worn brown leather. “Jonathan lent it to me when he visited last month and I never gave it back.

“Typical,” Dustin calls. “But it’s just a college bar, Will. Who cares?”

“Me,” Will frowns. “I care.” He turns to Lucas. “Look okay?”

“Uh,” Lucas says, promptly letting the laces fall from between his fingers. Will looks good. Like, really good. Unfairly good, because he’d just been complaining about how he’d had the longest week known to mankind and how he’d been up at six that morning to get ready for a meeting with his advisor and then he’d sat through seven hours of classes before spending another three in the library and now it’s seven o’clock in the evening and it should honestly be a little bit illegal to go through all of that and come out of it not even looking frazzled.

Will frowns, snaps a finger in his direction. “Lucas?”

“Don’t distract him,” Mike says. “He still needs to give me my shoe back!”

Lucas finishes toeing it off the rest of the way, and kicks it in Mike’s general direction. It flies through the air, rather ungracefully, if he’s being honest, and lands with a soft thump near Mike’s foot. “There,” he says smugly. “Now give me my other one.”

“So I look awful,” Will huffs lightly. “Message received.”

“I said you look good, Will,” Dustin says, finally slamming his laptop shut and making his way around to where Mike is tossing Lucas’ other shoe– the one that’s blessedly his– over to him. “Jesus, Mike, you’re going to take someone’s head off throwing shit around like that.”

“Sorry,” Mike says, not sounding sorry in the least. “And we did say you look good, Will, so does our opinion just not count anymore, or–”

“Dustin said I look normal,” Will corrects, “and I don’t trust you. You have terrible taste.”

Mike lets out an offended noise. “Hey! I have excellent taste, thank you–”

Lucas doesn’t know about all that, even with what he’d been saying about Mike’s shoes, so he chimes in with, “Well, normally you do look good, Will, so Dustin’s technically correct.”

Will freezes, one hand still buried in his hair. “Really?”

“Oh,” Mike snorts, “nice one, Lucas.”

Lucas blinks. “What? What did I say?”

“You said,” Will turns back to the hallway mirror and smooths down the collar of his jacket, “that I look good. Like, normally.”

Great. Is his throat dry? Probably not any more than it usually is. Maybe Lucas should drink some water. “Well. You do.”

“Wow,” Mike rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe that Lucas has more game than you and I combined, even stone-cold sober.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dustin scoffs. “Sweet, sweet liquid courage will be working its wonders tonight.”

Lucas doesn’t know about all that either, but Will is still giving him a bit of a weird look and suddenly Lucas is really regretting not pawning designated sheepdog off on Dustin as reparations for throwing up in their single shared bathroom for hours on end last time they’d gone out. “Sure,” he says instead, as Dustin tugs his own shoes on, and pointedly does not look over at where Will is standing. “Let’s go, you losers. I’ve got class tomorrow morning.”

—-

Here’s the thing, right. Lucas isn’t stupid. He might be a little dumb sometimes, if any of the things Max or Erica or Dustin say have any merit. But he’s not stupid. 

Max says a lot of things, actually, and it’s kind of annoying how many of them land super close to home, considering that she’s currently in school on the other side of the country. But one of those things had been, “College makes people super attractive,” or some iteration of that, over the phone when Lucas had called a couple months ago. And his gut reaction to that had been, like, mild apprehension, because he’d seen the guys in his early morning Psych class, okay, and he didn’t know if he’d classify them as super attractive. Maybe just regular attractive, even though that might be pushing it. Or maybe it wasn’t pushing it so much as maybe they just weren’t his type, and he was being a little unfair.

He’d told Max that too, which, in hindsight, had maybe been a mistake. She’d paused, and then– not even bothering to hide the glee creeping into her voice– said, “Not your type?”

Belatedly– and just one second too late, but enough of a delay for Max Mayfield to hone in on his fumbling, vulnerable self like a vulture descending on a carcass– he’d realized that the appropriate reaction would have been to just call them, like, ugly or something. Unattractive, but entirely separate from his own attraction.

Tragically– as he’d figured out over the next hour and half by means of a very panicked phone call, a very amused ex-girlfriend, and a lot of very hyena-like cackling– the guys in his 8:30 Psych class aren’t unattractive. They’re just not– you know. Attractive to Lucas.

Because apparently that’s a thing now. Guys, that is. Being attractive to him. To Lucas, more specifically. Lucas, finding guys attractive.

Great.

“Don’t sweat it,” Max had assured him. “I told you people get hot in college. You’re gonna notice things.”

Notice things. And after some very dignified squawking on his end of the line, and some more cackling on Max’s end of the line, he’d accepted his sorry, highly amusing fate, and hung up.

So Lucas isn’t an idiot, is the bottom line here. And she was definitely right, and he definitely has been. Noticing things, that is. Things like the back of guys’ necks where their hair meets their skin, and the shape of their arms when they stretch, and the angles of their jaws and noses and shoulders. And, to be more specific, because Lucas isn’t an idiot, and he’s been noticing things– Will’s neck and arms and the angles of Will’s jaw and nose and Will’s shoulders. Especially in that stupid brown leather jacket.

Which is, like, fine. It’s fine! Because people get hot in college and you start noticing things, and Lucas is really, really starting to wish he’d never offered to be the sober one tonight because he would kill for a good spiced rum right about now. Unfortunately, he’s a man on a mission– which he’s already kind of failing, because Mike Wheeler has broken his self-imposed no tequila shots with Dustin rule and now Lucas can’t even be too sure they’re still in the bar.

Will is usually better at being the designated sheepdog than he is, because even drunk, they all seem to know that it’s kind of a low blow to make Will Byers chase them all around town, which is why he ends up doing it most of the time. Lucas would know. He usually is the drunk friends, and he sends a mental prayer of an apology up to whichever divine power might currently be listening, because if he makes it back home with one inebriated friend still intact, he’ll be counting his blessings.

He’s starting to think he might have lost Will too– which would make him go down in history as the worst sheepdog known to mankind– when he reappears at Lucas’ elbow, holding a cup of something in one hand and looking– tragically– very good.

Like, objectively. You know, if Lucas is going around noticing things, he might as well be upfront with himself about it. “Hey,” he says. “What’s that?”

Will looks down at his cup and frowns. “No idea. Mike gave it to me and then disappeared.”

Okay, so as of about ten minutes ago, at least, Mike Wheeler was still in the bar. “Where’s Mike now?”

Will is maybe just the slightest bit tipsy, because he shrugs, says, “Sidewalk,” then throws the rest of the drink back in one go.

Sidewalk. Great. Whatever that means. But it’s fine. Mike is a big boy. He can handle himself. 

Maybe.

“Cool,” Lucas says instead, straining a little over the music. “Was he– um. Okay?”

Will grins at him, saying something that Lucas can’t quite catch, and okay, apparently this is another thing Lucas is noticing now. Will has a nice smile. He’s not blind, okay, and it’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing. That is. And it probably doesn’t hurt that the mystery drink and the couple of shots he’d downed earlier seem to be lending him a kind of warm, easy confidence that Lucas is sure hadn’t been there before.

He blinks. “Sorry, what?”

Will leans in a bit closer. He isn’t that much shorter than Lucas, who doesn’t have to bend down much more than an inch to reach his height, maybe two at the most, but he finds himself leaning in more than that, for some reason, meeting Will in the middle just as his cheek brushes up against his own. “I said,” Will repeats, breath warm against his ear, “he was taking Dustin home. He didn’t look too good.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” That beats the whole point of someone staying unfortunately very sober, Lucas thinks, because the whole point was that Lucas was supposed to walk Dustin home after he and Mike inevitably broke their no tequila shots pact and started dry heaving into a bush. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Mike looked okay,” Will says, still right up next to his ear. He places a hand on Lucas’ forearm for balance, presses his fingers into the sleeve of his jacket, and adds, “Surprisingly enough.”

That is surprising, because Mike can’t hold his fucking liquor. And still, as surprising as Mike Wheeler not being the world’s biggest lightweight for an evening is, it’s not as surprising as Will sliding his hand from Lucas’ arm and dropping it gently down to his waist.

“Um,” Lucas says, because as far as the whole warm and easy confidence thing goes, this seems to be a little much, considering that Will isn’t exactly the touchy-feely-grabby-in-public type. Even in a strictly platonic sense, this is– “Um. What are you doing?”

Will looks at him, and looks at him, and looks at him, and then he finally cracks. “I gave you my wallet for safekeeping,” he laughs, slipping a hand into Lucas’ jacket pocket and pulling his wallet out. He wiggles it in the air. “Remember?”

Right. Yeah. He had done that, hours ago. “Oh,” Lucas says, feeling suddenly very stupid. Is he drunk? Can you get, like, secondhand inebriation? Is that a thing? Maybe Dustin knows. Lucas makes a mental note to ask him. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I’ll close out my tab,” Will says, pulling away just enough to look Lucas in the eye. His cheeks are a little tinged with pink, which makes sense, because it’s warm in here. It’s very, very warm. Lucas is warm, that’s for sure. Jesus. What had Will been saying?

Right. His tab.

“Right,” Lucas says. Will still hasn’t moved. “Your tab. You should. Um.”

“I’ll close it out,” Will repeats, a little quieter now, as he takes a step back and smiles. “And then you can take me home.”

Christ. Okay.

—-

Some other things Lucas has noticed (because he’s a guy with eyes, and when you’re a guy with eyes, you notice these things):

One. Will looks good in that jacket. Lucas hopes, just a little bit, that maybe Jonathan will never realize it’s missing, and then maybe Will can just keep it forever and ever and wear it every day because it looks good. It’s something about the cut of it, he thinks, because it makes him notice how it pulls Will’s shoulders up and out of his perpetually terrible posture, and there’s something about that confidence– artificial or not– that is just objectively very attractive.

Speaking of attractive things. Two– Will is attractive. There’s probably no point trying to avoid thinking about it anymore, out of some arbitrary fear of making things weird. You can find your friends attractive. That’s not weird! That’s a thing that happens to a lot of people, and Lucas can admit to himself that Will is attractive– without hiding behind the guise of thinking about his shoulders or Jonathan Byers’ choice of clothing– and it’s fine. It’s normal. Will Byers is an attractive guy. Full stop.

Unfortunately, because Lucas is Lucas, the full stop lends itself into turning into more of a comma. Because they’re walking home, right, and Will’s foot catches on an errant crack in the sidewalk, and he stumbles, catching himself on Lucas’ bicep with one hand and clutching at the front of Lucas’ sweater with the other, and in one fell swoop, Will Byers is an attractive guy turns into Will Byers is an attractive guy, and Lucas is definitely attracted to him.

Great.

“Whoa,” Lucas says, reaching out to steady Will where he’s still kind of swaying a bit, trying to get upright again. He grips Will firmly under his elbow and hauls him the rest of the way to his feet, and says, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out, gingerly moving the offending ankle back and forth. “Yeah, I just– tripped.”

“I know,” Lucas laughs, and Will rolls his eyes up at him. “I saw.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Will smiles. He tests his weight slowly, leaning forward on one foot then back again, then lets out a soft noise of discomfort. “Ah–”

“Shit,” Lucas frowns, then tightens his grip on Will’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

Obviously the answer is yes, but Will, the stubborn motherfucker, shakes his head and says, “No, I’m– ow.”

“Nice,” Lucas deadpans, and Will shoves lightly at his chest.

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m drunk.”

Lucas peers at him. Will doesn’t seem drunk, but maybe he’s just really good at hiding it. “Are you really?”

“No,” Will snorts. “Are you kidding?  It’s going to take more than three drinks over four hours to get me. I’m just clumsy.”

Lucas knows this already, because they’re roommates. He’s seen Will in the mornings. And in the afternoons, and in the evenings, and in the middle of the night. “Fair enough,” Lucas agrees, then hesitates. “Here,” he pulls one of Will’s arms over his shoulder, “just– lean on me. Like this.”

“Now people are really going to think I’m wasted,” Will mutters, but he lets Lucas move him anyway. Lucas slips an arm around his waist, under his jacket, and pulls him in closer. “I definitely look like I just threw up into a bush.”

A fourth thing Lucas notices– Will is warm, and he’s solid, and he isn’t pulling away, even when Lucas grips tighter, right over the soft fabric of his university sweatshirt. Will lets him hold his weight up without complaint. It’s nice, Lucas thinks. This is nice. “Is that what Dustin was doing?”

“No, but it looked like that’s where it was headed.” Will leans into him a little bit more, the space between them almost gone, and tests his weight on his hurt foot again. “Ah– okay. Okay. I’m fine.”

He most certainly is not fine. Lucas frowns. “No you’re not.”

Will laughs softly, resting a hand over the back of Lucas’ palm, where it’s splayed flat across the side of his waist. “I mean, we’re only a couple of blocks away. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I could carry you,” Lucas offers. It’s partially a joke– because Will is Will, and the chances of him letting himself be carried by anyone are little to zero– but it’s also– well. It’s not not genuine, because Lucas is thinking about that noticing things thing again, and here are the other things he’s noticed, in the last five minutes or so:

One– Will really does not need to be this close to him. Even with the whole leaning on him thing, he doesn’t need to have his face turned into Lucas’ neck, or his body angled towards him this sharply, or his hand still resting atop Lucas’.

Two– and here’s the real kicker: Will hasn’t said no yet.

“Really?” Will sounds surprised, but again– that’s not a protest.

“Uh,” Lucas says, because he really didn’t expect to get this far, but again– he hadn’t not been serious. “Yeah. Yeah! Of course.”

Will gives him a curious look. “You think you could?”

Lucas scoffs. “Please. Look who you’re talking to.”

Will’s not a small guy by any means– and Lucas knows this, because, hey. He has eyes. Either way, Will laughs again, and says, “Right. I forgot who I was talking to. Mister student athlete extraordinaire.”

“I don’t know about extraordinaire,” Lucas says. “But that’s not a no.”

Will gives him another look, and holds his gaze for one, two, three seconds, before caving. “Yeah, okay,” he says, patting the back of Lucas’ hand once where it’s still holding onto his waist. “Why not.”

Lucas grins. “Great. I’m going to need you to turn about ninety degrees that way.”

“Sure,” Will says, turning, “but why– whoa!”

“See?” Lucas doesn’t consider himself to be, like, a douchey gym guy type, but hey. He’ll take his victories where they come. “Easy peasy.”

Will stares, legs bent and dangling almost hilariously off of Lucas’ forearm. “What–

Okay. So he’s enjoying this a lot, actually. Lucas does a little half-squat, just to show off. “Easy peasy,” he says again, and winks. 

Maybe that does make him a douchey gym guy type, but it’s worth it, for the look on Will’s face. “Wow,” Will says, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Nothing,” Will blinks. His cheeks are slowly turning red. “You’re just– strong.”

Lucas stops dead in his tracks.

Is he being flirted with, right now? Is that what’s happening? Is Will Byers flirting with him?

He supposes he did start it, after all. “Um,” he says, feeling his own face grow warm. “Thank you.”

Will just nods wordlessly. “Yeah,” he says softly, then clears his throat. “Um. Should we–”

“Yeah! Yeah, let’s– um. Yeah!”

They haven’t even made it half a block down before Will starts up again. “You sure you can–”

“Will.”

“Okay,” Will says, tightening his arms around Lucas’ neck. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

It’s really not that bad. They’re close enough to the apartment for Lucas to see the building around the corner, and Will is solid and firm in his arms but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the street ahead of him, though, because for all of his hemming and hawing about being able to carry him and it’s fine, Will, he isn’t sure that he won’t drop him immediately if he catches a glimpse of Will’s face.

Jesus. Okay. This is fine.

They make it all the way to the elevator before they run into a problem.

“Um,” Lucas says, looking up at the metal doors then down at Will. “So I don’t think we’re going to fit.”

They probably will, but he doesn’t want to be responsible for, like, slamming Will’s head against the door and giving him permanent brain damage. “Probably not,” Will agrees, then taps the arm under his legs with a small smile. “You can just put me down, you know.”

“No way.” Lucas shifts him in his arms and puffs out his chest. “We made it this far. I’ve made a commitment.”

“Chivalrous,” Will says, in what was probably intended to be a deadpan, but it comes out a little bit breathy anyway. His cheeks are still pink.

Lucas swallows, and, as the elevator opens up with a quiet ding, says, “Yeah, I know.”

“Go sideways,” Will instructs him, “no, more sideways– yeah, there you go.”

To his credit, Will’s foot only bumps the elevator door, like, the littlest bit. “Sorry!” Lucas apologizes. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Lucas,” Will laughs. “It’s fine. It’s fine!”

“Not very chivalrous of me after all,” Lucas grumbles, as they make their way down the hallway to the front door.

“At least you weren’t the one who tripped and busted up his ankle,” Will points out, reaching into his pocket. “Here– let me down, I’ve got the keys.”

Lucas sets him down, gently, gently, keeping one arm braced around Will’s waist as he fumbles with his pocket, then the lock. Will lets him. He notices this too, with a kind of absentminded, gleeful sense of victory. It feels like one, anyway, how Will is leaning into him even though he doesn’t have to anymore, because they’re home and he can just hobble off to bed and deal with the whole situation in the morning. In the–

Oh, shit. It’s Thursday night, and Lucas has an 8:30 class.

Whatever. Small victories are small victories. He tightens his arm around Will’s waist and waits for him to get the door open.

“So,” Will says, once they’re inside and the door is closed behind them with a soft click. “That was fun.”

Lucas grins. Will’s turned to face him, so he’s not so much leaning against him for support anymore as he is just leaning. “I thought so too.”

“I didn’t think you’d really do that,” Will admits, taking a step closer. He places a hand on Lucas’ upper arm, the same arm that’s still resting on top of Will’s university sweatshirt, under the stiff leather of his jacket. “It was very gentlemanly.”

“Next time we go out, I’ll lay my jacket over a puddle for you,” Lucas whispers, and Will laughs gently.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Seriously,” Lucas adds, “you should ice that, or something, because it’s going to be so bad when you–”

Wake up tomorrow was what Lucas had been about to say, and then Will cuts him off with a kiss.

Things Lucas is noticing, added on to the end of an ever-growing list, apparently: Will Byers is a damn good kisser. 

Lucas isn’t too sure where that came from, and also he can’t really find it in himself to care, because Will’s lips are soft and his hair is even softer, and up close he smells like fresh air and men’s cologne, and Lucas notices all of these things with far less lucidity than he’d been keeping tracks of things with before. Then, the list of things goes flying out of his head and it’s just Will– warm even though it had been so cold outside, in Jonathan Byers’ stupid leather jacket, and Lucas makes a vague mental note to buy him a brand new one, so he never again has to think about Will’s brother while kissing him.

Again, he thinks faintly, a little bit giddy at the thought, clutching at Will’s waist as he sways lightly, a little unsteady on his injured foot. Again. He’d like to do this again, except maybe without the melodrama and the injury and– whatever happened to Mike and Dustin.

“Gentlemanly,” Will murmurs again, as he pulls away. It’s barely loud enough for Lucas to hear, even though they’re just a few inches apart. Will’s eyes drop down to his mouth, once, then back up to meet his gaze. He bites back a smile, eyes sparkling. “I stand by my previous statement.”

Oh, god. Max is going to have a fucking field day with this one.

#oh my god ok #warm up ficlet for the full length byclair i will be writing soon #but this was so strangely hard at first especially lucas pov #im so used to describing will from mike pov #this took a second tbh #but it was so fun and i love them and i've been seeing sm byclair on the dash recently so i figured what better time to finally finish !! #thea i hope u enjoy #my number 1 byclair enabler fr #god i love them #they are so #SOOOOOO #like i love byler. byler is The couple ever #but byclair.... #BYCLAIR............ #watch out mike wheeler that's all im saying #byclair #lucas sinclair #will byers #fun sized fics #fic #um #ok that's all i hope this doesn't Suck

[raytm]

this is a bit of an emotional post but you know.

for those who don’t know last October my cat passed away, he was 18 years old and honestly if you haven’t had and lost your soul mate in an animal I don’t think it’s a pain you can even say in words. I took a huge nose dive in my mental health, didn’t sleep for a week, was pacing for several hours at a time in and out of the ER. I was forced to quit my job ( I was too exhausted to do anything it was generally awful ) and I had to leave my home due to tension with family because of how sick I was. I was fortunate enough to have an amazing friend my now housemate Tobias who has taken care of me for the last six or so months and tbh last November I didn’t even think I would make it this far.

anyway, as much as I still don’t sleep can’t even fathom being in a bed ( I can only sleep on the couch lmao ) I’m ?? doing so much better than I was ?? I’m so thankful for all my friends on here who make coming and writing feel so fulfilling again and Tobias who has been a light in my life these last few months.

I’ll include some favourite rocky posts so people who never met him can see what an icon he is.

#I still miss him every single day but #I’m so much happier and doing better than I was but #I’m just fortunate I have awesome mutuals who enjoy my portrayals and Tobias who has been in my corner this whole time #ooc. #grief / #healing / #he was an icon and the thing I’ve loved the most for my whole life #I don’t think I’ll ever have something so precious to me again #kiss your animals for me