#And we caved on the third time hanging out

[multific]

Moonbound

Va'Rak x Reader

Summary: Taken from Earth and raised as the adopted daughter of a noble Yautja chief, you have spent your life learning their ways and earning their respect. Now, you face a trial of tradition, three noble suitors arrive from rival clans, each one determined to claim your hand for the sake of unity.

The air on Yautja Prime always carried heat like a second skin, clinging to your back and the nape of your neck.

From the high ledge beside your father’s quarters, you watched the arriving vessels, each one landing slowly.

Three ships, three suitors.

You barely flinched when his heavy footsteps approached.

"You are prepared," your father said, his voice low and mechanical through his breathing mask.

You didn’t look at him at first. Instead, you watched the final ship lower.

"I am not some blade to be wielded for alliance," you replied softly, the familiar ache you felt since he informed you of his plans.

"You are more than a blade. You are my daughter," he said simply. "That is why they come."

The words settled. They all felt very heavy.

You were not Yautja by birth, but by blood earned.

Taken from Earth during your youth, you had been a prize once. A trophy of a victorious hunt. But your spirit had not broken. And so they raised you.

You walked tall in their armour. You bore the marks of your trials. You spoke their tongue, and carried honour in every step.

And yet, now they came to claim you like a reward.

Daku’te arrived first.

He wore golden armour and pride in his every step. He knelt before you without hesitation.

"I will fight. I will bleed. I will die for the right to mate you," he said with blazing certainty. "And I will die proud."

He was young. Too young. His hunger for glory drowned out any understanding of who you were.

You bowed your head politely, hiding the flicker of discomfort in your throat. "Honour to you, Daku’te."

He seemed pleased by that, though it was not a promise.

Cha’ren came next, flanked by two silent warriors. His movements were slow, calculated. His smile never reached his eyes.

"So, this is the human prize," he said with a grin. "Raised on our soil, yet still soft."

You met his stare head-on. "Soft does not mean weak."

"Oh, I know," he murmured. "But still, I wonder... do you bleed like us?"

You stepped forward, refusing to be measured like meat.

"If I am chosen, you will never lie beside me."

He laughed low in his chest. "We will see, little thing."

Va’rak was last.

He didn’t kneel. He didn’t speak.

He towered over you, armour marked with the bloodline of a noble house. His every movement was precise, every word calculated.

When he finally broke the silence, it was not to you.

"I come because my father commands it. I will win because it is expected."

You folded your arms. "And what of what I want?"

His stare was cold. "You are not of my blood. I will not taint the line."

You let the silence hang, then smiled tightly.

"Then you are wasting your time."

The Trials Began the next day.

The first was strength. Daku’te won, dragging a cave beast by the tusks, roaring for the crowd.

The second was intellect. Cha’ren impressed many, though his traps were cruel, leaving even the elders uncomfortable.

The third was the Hunt. Va’rak did not speak before it began. He slipped into the trees and returned with the kill before the others had even picked up the scent. Clean. Quiet. Efficient.

But not a word passed between you and him. Not until the night before the final trial.

You walked beneath the twin moons, craving silence. Their silver glow bathed the cliffs in light, softening even the harshest edges of the land.

"You walk alone," came the voice from behind you.

You turned, startled by the voice. Va’rak stood a few paces away.

"Is that forbidden now too?" you asked.

He stepped closer, slowly.

"No," he said. "Only... strange."

You crossed your arms. "Have you come to remind me again that I am not worthy of your bloodline?"

"I did not say unworthy," he replied. "Only not... of it."

You stared at him. "What does that even mean to you?"

He was quiet. Then, "My mother was of high blood. She died showing softness. My father never forgave her for it."

You said nothing at first. Then you stepped closer, slowly raising your hand to his forearm. He tensed, but did not pull away.

"Then your father was a fool."

Va’rak said nothing. The silence filled the air around you before he spoke up.

"You are not what I expected."

"Neither are you."

His voice dropped low. "I came to claim a title. To fullfil duty. But now... I cannot stop thinking of you."

Your hand moved away from his arm, but you didn’t step back.

"What changed?"

He looked at you, his voice rough.

"Your eyes. They see me. Not my name, not my blood. Me. If I lose tomorrow, I will leave. But know this. If I am chosen, it will not be for alliance. It will be for you."

---

Daku’te and Va’rak met in the circle. The fight was brutal. Blood spilled. Roars echoed across the stone.

Daku’te moved fast, but Va’rak was precise.

At the end, he held the blade to Daku’te’s throat... and lowered it.

He stepped back. Bowed his head.

Your father stood.

"Va’rak has proven himself. In strength. In skill. In wisdom."

Then he turned to you.

"The choice is yours."

All eyes turned.

You stepped forward, heartbeat steady.

Va’rak lowered himself to one knee.

"No pride. No honour. Only this. You are the only thing I want." Va'rak spoke.

"Then rise. And walk beside me."

He did. And the drums began.

And beneath the twin moons, they no longer saw a human and a warrior. They saw two hearts, chosen not by blood, but by bond.

He came to conquer. But it was your kindness that conquered him.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[somewheres-woods]

Part three to Auhta's story.

I didn't know that I'd be making this into miniseries, but here we are. This series probably won't have a compelling story, but that's fine. It'll probably just be a series of different scenarios/ one-shots.

Not proofread.

Part One Part Two

It's only going to get worse.

The heat is almost unbearable.

While everyone else is active and lively during the warmer seasons, you are forced to take shelter in the shade. Unless you'd rather receive third-degree burns from the dual suns.

You're drowsy and unfocused, spending more time laying on the cave floor than doing anything productive. Normally, your master would scold you... however, she understands your adversity. Your biology is different. It's as simple as that.

And despite being raised here for most of your life, your body still can't handle the extreme temperatures of Yautja Prime.

You do have small moments of respite, however.

Such as now, laying in a pond of cooling water, the freezing liquid lapping at your skin. Scaring the wildlife off when you approached. You were usually far more stealthy, but this had been partially intentional. You didn't want to get attacked while trying to relax.

This was an annual tradition for you.

But the clan, who had never paid attention to you before, were only now just becoming acquainted with how vulnerable to the weather you were.

Auhta's friends had certainly mocked you for this weakness. Not out of maliciousness, though.

Ever since that stunt Auhta pulled, every last one of his friends had started to call you their friend as well. Whether you wanted them to or not.

Speaking of the devil...

You've learned to memorise the sounds of his footsteps in particular. Seeing how he'd drop by to force you to hang out on a daily basis. It was tiring.

The light behind your eyelids darkens. You already know who it is.

"Why are you in a puddle?" That familiar voice questions, you can practically see the familiar tilt of his head whenever he asks a question.

"... it's not a puddle. It's a pond."

"Same difference."

You suppose it would be for someone of his size...

You groan as you open your eyes. You see him crouched down at your left, his hulking figure blocking out most of the light. Only to clamp your eyes shut again as water was splashed into your face.

Your silence was deafening as his hearty chuckle surrounded the general area, mandibles clicking in rapid succession. You sit up straight, flicking away the water lingering on your eyelashes before you stare at him. Unamused.

His laughter dies down, head averting from your gaze as if he was checking the surrounding area, but you knew better. A gargling rumble rises from his throat, almost as if he was clearing his throat. It felt almost human of him. Like he was mimicking you without even realising it.

"My question remains unanswered." He murmured, leaning his head forward as if to study you. An indignant alien squeal escapes him as you exact your revenge, returning the favour of splashing ice cold pond water. It's a noise he quickly attempts to cover up with a growl, trying to save face.

You snort in amusement, one side of your lips quirking up as you lay back down.

"It's too hot for me." You finally respond, intertwining your fingers on your stomach as your eyes flutter shut again.

Rare silence is what you receive in response.

It's so quiet that you briefly question if he left...

"... I have heard that you are going off planet tomorrow." He rumbles, a deep trill rumbling from his chest. Yet the sound seemed different. No longer content as usual, trilling in a more solemn manner. But the noise stops before you can analyse any further.

Oh, so he heard? You supposed that was to be expected. The clan's Witch Doctor leaving with her human apprentice annually was going to garner attention. The only difference was that no one had cared at the time.

It was different now.

...

You don't know why, but you almost instinctively go to reassure him. To comfort him. It's odd. Yautja aren't known to comfort or coddle, and you are one of them, are you not?

But even as your mind races, your mouth opens to do the thing that your mind tells you not to.

However, he beats you to the punch.

"Return to me– with a trophy." He adds the last part quickly, amber eyes averting for only a split second before they're back on you.

That was...

Unexpected.

It's your turn to laugh this time. Your body shuddering and shaking as you gasp for air, hand flying to cover your mouth as you hold your aching stomach.

And now it's Auhta's turn to look unimpressed.

Oh, how the tables turn.

A loud sigh heaves from you as you recollect yourself.

"You sound like a female during Season."

He gruffly rumbles at that.

"You owe me." He snaps his jaws at you, but certainly not out of aggression, there's a smugness to his gaze.

Oh?

"I do?"

"Indeed," Auhta puffs out his chest, his two right mandibles grinding together in a cocky smirk, "I pulled you from the marsh when we were facing against the Quatza-Rij. You would've suffocated otherwise."

"You didn't even know I was there! Besides, shouldn't you owe me for distracting it after you got your ass handed to you?" You rebuttal, but you can already feel yourself giving in.

He was stubborn. Everyone in your clan was.

You exhale slowly.

"Fine. I'll get you a souvenir."

He trills at that, a soft clicking purr erupting from his chest.

You thought that was the end of it... until you heard the noise getting closer.

"There's not enough room in this pond for the both of us!"

"Then make room."

"I'm gonna be busy this week! I won't have time to write or upload!" I say as I write another fic about Auhta...

Taglist [OPEN] — @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog , @distinguishedprincesstrash , @gremlinartstudio , @me753 , @juuuuno-o , @badbye666 , @yoonsilly , @mei-simp , @theclownkisser , @strawberrybl1ss , @pink-sunrise-56 , @the-shark-named-sharon , @carminhadaavenidabrasil , @broken0verseer , @mys0cksrwet , @straw--b3rry , @ye-olde-trash-panda

[anylady-fics]

First | Mingi x F Reader

Cross posted on ao3

Summary: You just wanted to lose your virginity — no drama, no strings attached. What you didn’t expect was for your friend Mingi to make it that good. One wild night, a lot of firsts, and maybe… just maybe, a reason to do it all over again.

WC: 10.5k

⚠️ warnings: smut, first times, virgin!reader, oral sex (f/m), vaginal sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, voice kink (kinda), big dick Mingi (canon, right?)

An: sorry about the wc, I just really like Mingi 🫠

Ⴡ Masterlist

You got dumped again. Yeah, seriously. At this point, it was getting old. But no matter how frustrating it was, you knew exactly what the problem was, and it wasn’t something you could just fix overnight.

You were… inexperienced.

Going to college after a lifetime of being smothered by overprotective parents meant they had successfully sent you off as a virgin. And for a while, that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal—until people started acting like you were some kind of loser just because you hadn’t fucked anyone yet.

And the guys? Every single one you tried dating was the same. Either they wanted to get into your pants before the first drink was even finished, or they pretended to be patient—like they weren’t just waiting for the moment you’d cave. You might be inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid. And as much as you wanted to get it over with, you couldn’t do it with just anyone.

But after getting dumped for the third time in two months, you decided to do something about it. Something had to change. You wished you’d just handled it back in high school like everyone else, but that ship had sailed.

Your friends told you to just ask one of your guy friends to help you out. Which sounded easy enough… until you actually pictured doing it, and embarrassment nearly killed you on the spot.

Still, if you wanted to lose your virginity, your options were limited. The random guys you’d been trying to date were too impatient, too pushy, and way too stupid.

Which meant your only real option was actually asking a friend. But which one? 

You had a few options, but you needed someone who wouldn’t laugh in your face or make things weird. Someone who’d get that this was just a favor, not a relationship.

Okay. That made things a little easier.

Maybe Mingi? You’d been friends for years, you went to the same college now, and he was definitely experienced enough to help. Plus, he already knew you were a virgin, so at least you wouldn’t have to explain that part.

But how were you supposed to ask him?

Like… “Hey, I need someone to fuck me so I can finally lose my virginity and date like a normal person”?

Yeah. That didn’t sound awkward at all. Well, you would have to try. Maybe it would be less awkward if you could text him…

You: Hey! You good? Look… I kinda need to talk to you about something. 

Mingi: Hey, pretty. Long time since we talked, wanna hang out at that coffee place you like? 

You: Sure, we can meet there after class. Byeee, see ya.

Well, if you couldn’t even type the question, saying it out loud was going to be a nightmare. But you had to try. No backing out now.

After class, you went straight to the coffee shop and ordered your usual before Mingi arrived. The second you saw him walk through the door, your stomach dropped, a cold, nervous, oh-god-what-am-I-doing panic settling in. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Hey! Still buried in your books, nerd?”

“Yeah, and it’s been causing me some problems.” Mainly the one you were about to dump on him. “What about you? Still hitting up every party?”

“Not as much. Kinda got tired of it.”

That… was a surprise.

“Oh. Right.”

He ordered his drink, then leaned on the table, watching you. “So… what did you wanna talk about?”

Okay. You can do it.

“Uh… so… I don’t even know how to say this, Mingi.” You took a slow sip of your way too large Americano, trying to find the right words. “I mean, it might be a lot to ask, but I’m kinda out of options.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I got dumped again yesterday. And look, I know these guys are assholes and not worth my time, but it keeps happening because I’m a virgin. And I feel like… it’s really getting in my way, you know?”

“Uh… I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.” You groaned, shifting in your seat. “Okay, what I’m asking… it’s just a favor, that’s all. I really want to lose my virginity, and I really don’t want it to be with those idiots I’ve been dating.”

Mingi blinked. Then blinked again.

“You’re asking me… to take your virginity?” His eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between shock and did I hear that right? “…Is that what’s happening here?”

“Yeah… I mean…” You trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Mingi still looked shocked, but you could tell—this whole situation was doing wonders for his already massive ego.

“I gotta ask… why me?” He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You have a few friends.”

You sighed.

“You already know I’m a virgin. And you also know I’m not an idiot.” You glanced down at your drink, feeling your face heat up. “We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know… I trust you.”

Mingi didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made your stomach twist.

“But if this is too much,” you added quickly, forcing a laugh, “just forget I ever said anything. And then I’ll dig a hole in the ground and hide from you for the rest of my life.”

“Relax, I was just curious,” Mingi said, holding back a grin. “Of course, I can help you with that. I think any guy in the world would.” 

You rolled your eyes. His ego was thriving.

“But,” he continued, tilting his head again, making that cute puppy face at you “I gotta ask… how far have you actually gone?”

You exhaled sharply. Alright. You can do this. You weren’t exactly the type to chat about your sex life — or lack thereof — but considering you’d just asked Mingi to take your virginity, honesty was kinda mandatory at this point.

“Huh… I…”

“Oral? Fingering?” He had zero shame. Which, good for him. Terrible for you.

You cleared your throat.

“No. And… yes.”

“And did you ever… you know, finish from it?”

“Nope. Only by myself.”

That bit of information seemed to stir something in him. His expression flickered between offended and genuinely shocked.

“Damn. So the guys were really that bad, huh?” He shook his head, exhaling like this was personally upsetting. “Yeah, okay. We’re definitely not jumping straight to it, that’d be traumatizing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting…?”

“That we take it step by step.” He leaned in slightly, voice a little lower, a little slower. “I can’t just… do it. I mean, it’s already a painful experience for most girls, and it’d be a hell of a lot easier for you if we… prepped first.”

You were already blushing because of his lower voice. It got worse.

“Oh…OH…”

“Yeah. Well, that’s my one condition if I’m gonna help you.”

“Okay… I guess.” You swallowed, fingers tightening around your cup. “So, uh… when do we start?”

Mingi shrugged, finishing his coffee.

“You can come over tonight if you want. My roommate’s out.”

He set his cup down and looked at you expectantly. You, on the other hand, were frozen.

That soon? 

You did want to get this over with. But you’d kinda imagined having some time to mentally prepare. Then again… maybe not thinking too much about it was the better option. If you gave yourself too much time, you might just chicken out entirely.

“Okay. So…”

“We can go now,” Mingi said, already standing up. “It’s getting dark anyway.” He waited for you to do the same, then tilted his head before asking you. “You’re really sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can ask you to stop anytime, right?”

“Of course.”

You nodded, but your mind was already spinning. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you were about to do — and who you were about to do it with. But the truth was, you had no idea what was actually going to happen. Mingi had been clear, this wasn’t going to be just jumping into it.

So… were you two just going to make out and see where it led?

Jesus. Just thinking about that made your stomach flip.

You hadn’t really considered how weird this could get, but for some reason, you still felt safe about it. Mingi was a lot of things, kind of a fuckboy, sure, but he wasn’t a liar. If something felt off, he’d tell you. You just knew that.

As soon as you got to his place, Mingi gestured for you to sit on the couch before heading to the kitchen. A moment later, he came back with two cans of beer, handing you one. The silence was already killing you.

“Drink,” he said, popping open his can. “Might help you relax. You’re really tense.”

“Yeah, I am… thanks.” You exhaled, cracking yours open. “I was just about to ask for one.”

Mingi smirked before sinking into the couch beside you. “So… tell me more about these guys you dated. They’re really dumping you just because you’re a virgin?”

“Yeah… I mean, they always try to get in my pants, and when I don’t let them, they just… lose interest.” You shrugged, taking a sip. “I don’t even always tell them I’m a virgin. I don’t need that getting around and people making fun of me, you know? So I just let them assume I’m, like, frigid or something.”

“They’re just assholes.” He paused, tilting his head. “But, like… your virginity… it’s not something important to you?”

“Not exactly…” You sighed, swirling the beer in your can. “I just wish I’d gotten over it when I was younger, like all my friends did. But you know my parents.”

Mingi nodded. He definitely knew.

“I just couldn’t do it with some random guy,” you continued. “That would’ve been awful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching you. “I get that.”

“And I know you’re very experienced, so…”

Mingi chuckled, finishing off his beer and setting the empty can on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t say very… Just… enough.”

Oh. His voice. The way he looked at you.

There it was.

That shift in the air, the kind of tension you could feel settling between you. You took a slow, deep breath, then placed your empty can next to his.

“If you say so…”

“So… whenever you’re ready, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped again.

“Can we… kiss?”

Mingi’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. That’d be a great start. I told you… I wanna take things slow.”

You were already sitting close, so all it took was him leaning in, a slight tilt of his head, a shift in the air between you. You mirrored him, your breath catching just before your lips met.

Soft. Damn, his lips were soft… and so plump.

So far, nothing too unfamiliar. You let yourself ease into it, testing the feel of him. But then his tongue brushed over your lips before slipping into your mouth, meeting yours in a slow, teasing slide. And that… that sent a rush of heat straight through you.

In just seconds, that shy kiss turned into something messy, wet, hot, needy. Damn it. You could feel the effect between your legs, heat pooling inside your panties. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Mingi chuckled, that deep, lazy sound vibrating against your skin as he trailed kisses down your chin, your neck. 

“How you feeling?” he murmured against your throat, his voice low, teasing.

“G-good…”

His lips curved against your skin. “Hm… you’re pressing your thighs together.” Another kiss, right under your jaw. “Already horny?”

God. You swallowed hard. Why were you suddenly so shy?

“Uh… yes.” 

Mingi hummed like he expected that answer. 

“Ever dry-humped someone before?”

“No… never.”

Another smirk, he was such a tease… and then, two slow taps against his thigh.

“Come here. Sit on my lap.”

You hesitated for half a second before obeying, standing up just to settle yourself over him. His thighs… fuck. Thick. Comfortable. Solid under you. And even through his jeans, you could feel him. He was hard, very. 

“Good girl.” Those words hit you in a very specific way…

Your hands rested on his broad shoulders as you kissed him again. Embarrassment still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat pooling deep in your core. You let your body take over, responding to him — the kissing, the touching… the way his big hands gripped your waist, strong and steady.

“Come on, baby. Grind on me.”

Oh, fuck.

You felt those words straight between your legs, a sharp pulse of need making you clench so hard you whimpered against his lips.

Mingi groaned, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, guiding you into motion, urging you to move against him. Against his hard cock pressing through his jeans. Against his thick thighs.

“Just like that…” The delicious friction sent sparks up your spine, and soon enough, you were moving all on your own, chasing more of it. “Don’t stop.”

“Mingi… fuck!”

You ground down harder, a little faster, just enough to push you right over the edge. The orgasm hit you in waves, leaving you shivering and whimpering in his lap as his hands held you steady. He murmured soft praises, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that made your toes curl. Wow, that was really fast.

And all you could think was: Holy shit! You just had the best orgasm of your life. From grinding on your friend. And you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about that, but you were just fine for now.

“So… was it good?” Mingi chuckled against your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses back up to your mouth. “You good?”

“Yeah, but… I feel… uh…” You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, to think. “I don’t know. I just came, but I’m still…”

Needy. You didn’t have to say.

His lips curled into a smirk, and you didn’t even know you like that pretty face of him that much.  

“We can keep going if you want to.”

“What would be the next step? Since you wanna take things slow.”

“Hm…” He tilted his head, considering. “Maybe I can make you feel good with my fingers. If you’re okay with that.”

Your brain short-circuited for a second. Because fuck. Your panties were soaked, embarrassingly wet just from kissing and grinding against him. But you were still throbbing, still desperate for more.

So you just… nodded. 

 “Yeah… it’s fine.”

Still perched on his lap, you hesitated before shifting off him, kneeling on the couch beside him. Your legs felt shaky, but not from exhaustion, no. It was pure anticipation.

Mingi followed, sliding down to kneel on the floor in front of you, his eyes dark and hungry as he leaned in.

“You want me to take your shorts off, or you wanna do it yourself?” He murmured the words against your lips, stealing a quick peck before trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-you can do it…”

His touch was slow, deliberate, as he unbuttoned your shorts and slid them down, pushing them aside like they were nothing.

Then, his hands settled on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Wanna keep the panties on?” His voice was low, husky. “I can still make you feel good like this, if you’re not ready to take them off.”

You should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve felt shy about the way he was staring at you, at your pussy, taking in the obvious wet stain darkening the fabric.

But you weren’t.

Because he looked wrecked just from seeing you like this. And you loved that, really turned you on even more.

“...It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can take them off too. I mean… there’s no point feeling shy now, right?” Your breath hitched. “You’re gonna see my pussy anyway…”

“Hm…” He chuckled at your words, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. “So… you told me you’ve been fingered before, right? How was it for you?”

You hesitated for a second before exhaling, remembering the times you let that happen.

“It was always rushed. Like… in the backseat of a car, or some dark corner in a club. Sometimes it just felt uncomfortable. Sometimes a little painful…”

Mingi hummed, his fingers slipping lower, tracing light patterns over the fabric.

“So has anyone actually seen this pretty pussy, baby?” His voice had dropped, thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Am I really the first?”

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, dragging your panties down slowly, revealing your mound first, then the rest as you lifted your hips just enough to help him.

“Yes… you are.”

“Fuck.” His exhale was heavy, like he was struggling. His hands smoothed over your bare thighs, slow and teasing, while you instinctively pressed your legs together. You had just told him there was no point in feeling shy, but still… his eyes on you like that made your skin burn. Mingi let out a soft, amused hum, his lower voice killing you. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, baby.” His thumbs brushed gently along the inside of your thighs. “But I need you to talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to feel any pain.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t done.

“Good girl.” He said that again, making you shiver once more at his words. His lips curled into something dangerously soft, dangerously sweet. “Now… spread your legs for me.” His voice was just sinful, God. “Let me see you.”

Even with a lingering trace of shyness, you spread your legs for him. Mingi let out a sound that looked like a moan, his eyes locked onto your glistening pussy like he was savoring the sight. You knew you were dripping, could feel it pooling beneath you, and the thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for his touch.

“Nah-ah.” His voice was pure, silken dominance. A soft kiss landed on your thigh, his warm palm resting against your belly. “Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see every little reaction. So behave, and look at me while I touch you, okay?”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, blinking up at him, cheeks burning under the weight of his gaze.

Mingi started slow, his fingers first trailing over your mound, teasing, barely there, making you ache for more. Then, with the lightest pressure, he dipped lower, parting your folds, gathering your slick on his fingertips. You whimpered when he finally brushed over your clit, already swollen, already throbbing for him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” His voice was rougher now, and when he pressed down on your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles, your body reacted instantly. Your thighs threatened to snap shut, but his free hand kept you open.

“Talk to me, baby.” He smirked at you, making your cheeks burn again. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yes… feels so good, Mingi…” Your voice was barely more than a breathy moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. God, what was this man doing to you?

“Good…” He kept up the slow, torturous rhythm, circling, sliding, making sure you felt every second of it. And then he smirked again, eyes flickering down between your legs. “I can see you clenching…” His fingers teased lower, brushing over your dripping hole, but never pushing in. “You want a finger inside this pretty pussy, huh?”

“Yes… please.”

You’d never felt like this before. Sure, you’d touched yourself before — your fingers, the desperate grind against your pillow. But this? Craving someone else's touch this badly? That was new.

“Yeah?” Mingi’s voice was warm, teasing, his breath fanning against your skin. “Alright, baby. Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it hurts, I’ll stop right away.”

He played with your clit for a second longer, making you squirm, before twisting his wrist and easing his middle finger inside you. He slid in easily — too easily — because you were already so wet, dripping onto his palm.

“Fuck…” He exhaled, watching the way you clenched around him, his voice thick with something almost reverent. “You’re clenching around my finger so tight, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“Hm… it’s okay. No pain…” Your words were soft, airy, but your body was already responding to him, hips shifting just the slightest bit, searching for more.

“Yeah?” He started moving, slow thrusts, just the tip at first, then deeper, dragging against your walls in slow, deliberate strokes. “You like it like this? Or maybe…” He let his finger sink all the way in, curling it just right, hitting somewhere entirely new inside you.

A moan ripped from your throat before you could stop it. 

Mingi chuckled, clearly pleased. “I think I have my answer… Looks like I just found your G-spot.”

“It’s… embarrassing that I couldn’t find it myself…”

“Mm, it’s fine, baby…” His tone was honeyed sin, smooth and coaxing. “It’s kinda deep, see?” He pushed in again, curling that single finger right against the spot, making your body jolt. “Here… this spongy little place… this is where you’re most sensitive inside.”

Another slow press, another deliberate curl of his finger, sending a shudder down your spine, leaving you gasping.

“Feels… different…”

“A good different? Or do you want me to stop?”

“No… keep going. It’s good… really good…”

“Mm…” He smirked, his free hand sliding down to find your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions while his finger pressed against that spot inside you over and over again. “Like this, baby? Feels good?”

“Yes…” Your voice was breathy, almost desperate. It felt too good — like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You had no idea your body could respond like this, that just one finger could unravel you so easily. But now you knew. And you needed more. “Don’t stop…”

Mingi hummed in approval, his movements shifting, pressing into your G-spot with more precision, rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It was overwhelming, the pleasure washing over you in such an intense way it left you breathless. Your hips had a mind of their own now, rolling into his touch, grinding against his hand as you chased the high building inside you.

“That’s it, baby…” His voice was low, dripping with praise. “Keep riding my fingers like that… fuck, you look so pretty like this…”

You felt something building inside you—something different. A weird kind of pressure you’d never felt during an orgasm before. It made you panic a little.

“Mingi… feels weird.” But it still felt good, so you didn’t stop. You kept grinding against his hand, chasing the high.

“Weird how? Talk to me.”

“Like I’m gonna… pee…” you admitted, your voice small, embarrassed.

“Mmh…” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered. “Wanna try letting go, baby? You might squirt if you do. It’ll feel so good…”

But you couldn’t. The sensation was too intense, too unfamiliar. And the idea of actually doing that in front of him made your whole body tense up.

“I can’t… I just wanna cum, please… make me cum…”

He kissed your thigh again, soft and reassuring, his finger still buried deep inside you. But now his focus shifted. His other hand is working your clit in that perfect way. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, baby… cum on my fingers. Keep moving, just like that…”

You did. And it hit you hard. Your orgasm crashed over you, stealing your breath, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even speak, so you just moaned and whimpered as he worked you through it, drawing it out until you were spent.

Then he slowly pulled his finger out and, without breaking eye contact, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The sight alone made your pussy clench again.

“You taste so fucking good…”

You bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a moan, because fuck. He wasn’t even touching you anymore.

“So…” Mingi sat back down beside you, his tone playful. “How was it for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still recovering. “That was amazing… thank you. Uh—” your hand moved to his thigh, remembering how you’d been grinding on it minutes ago, “—want me to return the favor?”

“Not today, pretty. Tonight was all about figuring out what you like.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Next time we can try adding another finger… if you’re up for it. Maybe I could eat you out, too.”

“You really wanna do that?”

He looked at you like you were crazy. 

“What kind of question is that?” His eyes dropped briefly to your bare skin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know… Some guys just don’t like giving head, I guess.”

“Straight guys? I don’t think I know anyone like that. Shit… were your exes that kind of loser?”

“One of them… maybe two.”

“Yeah, they probably didn’t like girls to begin with.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But me? I love eating pussy. You’re so damn responsive… so sensitive. Probably ‘cause you’re a virgin. Honestly, I had a lot of fun today.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is!” He gave you one of his cutest smiles, like he wasn’t just talking about eating you out a minute ago.

“Wanna crash here or want me to take you home?”

“I don’t know… I think I could stay on your couch.”

“Damn, do you think I’m an asshole or something?” He laughed, but it had a bit of a bitter edge to it. “You can use my bed. I mean, if you want, we can share. It’s big, and I don’t mind. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take the couch.”

“Calm down, Mingi… I just don’t wanna bother.”

“We’re friends, relax. So, bed or couch?”

“We can share the bed, I don’t mind.” You were just a little embarrassed, but it was fine. “Give me one of your shirts or something so I can sleep.”

“Wanna shower?” You did. You were still a mess, sticky and flustered, adjusting your clothes like it would help somehow. “Go ahead, I’ll order some food.”

Mingi was so sweet you couldn’t help but feel safe there, like actually comfortable. That post-makeout awkwardness you usually felt with guys? Nonexistent. Maybe it was because he was your friend, and it really felt like he cared.

You took a long, needed shower, and when you were done, he handed you a pair of boxers, some comfy shorts, and a soft oversized shirt like you’d asked. He’d ordered Chinese, and you ate with him while watching TV like nothing had just happened between you — chatting about college, life, random stuff. At some point, you were barely keeping your eyes open.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s pretty late,” he said, turning off the TV and getting up. “I’m gonna shower. You can go ahead and sleep if you want.”

So you did. You headed to his room, crawled into his bed and immediately sank into the smell of his sheets. That soft, clean scent of his cologne was everywhere. Your brain briefly panicked about what you’d tell your roommate the next day, assuming you’d even tell her anything. But she'd probably annoy you until you did.

You were drifting off when you heard Mingi come in. He had a towel slung low around his hips, and you peeked — just a little — before shutting your eyes again. He changed, then slipped into bed right beside you, and suddenly your heart was racing. He smelled like soap, like shampoo, like everything warm and familiar, and holy shit, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. But you didn’t. You forced yourself to stay still, and eventually, you managed to fall asleep.

But nothing — nothing — could’ve prepared you for the morning.

You woke up to a warm weight draped over your waist. At first, you almost ignored it… until you remembered you weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your room. You were at Mingi’s. And his arm was on your waist.

And then it all came rushing back… the way his finger felt inside you, the things he said, the way you came so hard you couldn’t speak… and now? Now he was pressed right up against you, and very clearly hard. You could feel his cock resting against your lower back, thick and hot even through the fabric, and you really, really didn’t want to freak out.

But fuck.

How?

You shifted your hips, just a little, enough to grind back into him, slow and deliberate, because you wanted to feel him. All of him.

Mingi mumbled something low, half-asleep, and pulled you closer, spooning you tight, his breath warm against your neck. The way it made you shiver? Unfair. You bit back a soft moan, trying to keep it together.

You couldn’t stop wondering… was this just morning wood? Or was he actually turned on?

But the way he was holding you, not moving away, letting your ass press right up against him like that… yeah, it could definitely be both.

“Hey…” His voice was deep and rough, soaked in sleep, and it went straight to your core. “You doing that on purpose?”

“I was just… trying to feel you.”

Your voice came out breathier than you expected. He let out a low groan, somewhere between sleepy and way too sexy for your own good.

“Then why don’t you just touch it?”

“You want me to touch your dick?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but damn.

He chuckled against your neck, his body shaking a little with it.

“You did say you wanted to feel me.” Then he rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, shameless and relaxed. “I’m all yours.”

You could see it. The tent in his shorts, the thick bulge straining against the fabric… and shit, it looked huge.

You swallowed hard, your shaky hands practically begging to touch him.

You sat up on the bed, reached for him, and the second your fingers brushed over his clothed length, you felt it. Hard and heavy, all for you. Fuck. 

“Shit, baby… want me to take it out for you?”

His voice was low and wrecked, thick with lust, and god, he wanted this just as badly as you did.

“I can do it.” Your fingers slid under his waistband, tugging down his shorts and boxers in one go until his cock sprang free. Thick, flushed, and already leaking, smacking lightly against his stomach. “So big…”

“Yeah?” He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow squeeze that made precum beads at the tip. “You like it?”

“Yes…” God, you did. He was pretty, and that wasn't something you'd ever said about a dick before. But his? Fuck, yes. “Let me touch you.”

You weren’t some handjob expert or anything, you’d done it before, sure, but this felt different. Bigger. More intense. More him. Still, you wanted to do it right. You wanted to make him feel good.

Mingi watched you as you wrapped your fingers around him, slow strokes at first, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. His cock twitched in your grip, and that alone made your thighs clench. 

He hummed in approval when you squeezed a bit harder, stroking slowly, getting his tip wetter with precum before you could do it a bit faster.

But you wanted more. 

You didn’t even think, just leaned in and spit on his cock to help your hands glide easier.

The slick sound it made when you started stroking him faster had you biting your lip, and then came his whimper… breathy, needy, absolutely filthy.

“Fuck… you’re good at this…”

Hearing that lit something in you. Gave you all the confidence you needed to keep going.

You spit on him again, not giving a damn about being messy, and the way Mingi moaned for you… it was the hottest sound you’d ever heard.

You were using both hands now; he was big, too big for just one. It made your hands feel small, and the thought of having his cock inside you? Kinda terrifying… but mostly it just made your pussy clench and drip even more.

“Baby… I’m gonna cum—” he panted, voice desperate, eyes locked on you like he was begging you not to stop.

And you didn’t. You weren’t stopping until you felt his hot load spill across your fingers.

He let out a deep, wrecked moan as he came, hips twitching, cock pulsing in your hands. His cum painted your fingers, spilled onto his belly, his pelvis, so much of it.

God, it was so hot.

You loved the feeling, knowing you made him come like that. Make him lose it with just your hands.

“So…” Mingi was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling. “Now you’ve felt me.”

You laughed under your breath. Yeah, the whole thing started with you just wanting to feel how hard he was. But this? This was so much better.

“Yeah… I liked that. And…” You still had his cum on your fingers, warm and sticky. And you didn’t fight the urge anymore. You brought them to your mouth, licking them clean right in front of him — just like he did with you. “I like your taste too.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

He sat on the bed and pulled you closer, kissing you like he needed it. That caught you off guard. You thought most guys would be grossed out by kissing you after you had their cum in your mouth.

But not Mingi.

He kissed you deep, tongue and all, messy and hot, just the way you liked it.

“Can I do something? Please?” he asked, breathless against your lips.

“What?” You were already dizzy from the kiss alone.

“I wanna eat your pussy…”

You felt heat rush through your whole body. You wanted that, bad. Even if the sunlight was peeking through the window, making everything feel more exposed. There was no way you could say no.

“…Okay.”

You didn’t know exactly what to do, but Mingi did. He gently switched your positions, laying you on your back and climbing over you.

He tugged your shorts off and tossed them aside without looking, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your pussy. You were soaked, your arousal shining under the light, and it clearly drove him wild.

You didn’t need to be asked, your legs opened for him on their own, desperate to know how it would feel to have his mouth on you.

He kissed your thighs first, slow and wet, his soft lips making obscene sounds against your flushed skin. You couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

Your eyes locked, and in that second, you knew: if you wanted him to stop, he would. You felt safe. Even with your legs spread wide open in front of him.

Then his lips met your mound. A chill shot through your spine and you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

But Mingi kept you open for him.

He pressed a kiss to your clit first, then started to lick it, slowly, teasing, just getting a taste of you. Watching your reactions.

Your eyes fluttered shut. It was already one of the best things you’d ever felt — and somehow, it got better. He started sucking your clit, flicking his tongue over it, then dipped just the tip of his tongue inside you. Then he was making out with your pussy, completely lost in it.

You wanted to scream. Your whole body was trembling, your chest tight with how good it felt. You couldn’t keep your hips still, you were grinding against his mouth, moaning uncontrollably, fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him even closer.

You were so close. You could feel yourself falling apart.

And when your orgasm hit, it wrecked you.

Your legs trembled, your stomach clenched, and your moans were so loud you didn’t even register them until your body started to come down.

It was hands down the best orgasm of your life.

Fuck.

Mingi kissed your thighs while you were still trembling, then crawled up your body to press soft kisses to your neck and lips.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, that was easily the hottest thing you’d ever done.

“So… did you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Your voice was barely audible. “That was insanely good.”

“I’m glad.” He let himself drop beside you with a satisfied sigh, stretching lazily. “Hmm… I think we should get some breakfast. But… my roommate might be home already…”

What?

Fuck.

There was someone there? And Mingi just let you moan like that?

“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before I screamed loud enough for your neighbors to know your name?”

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t want you to hold back. But relax. If he heard anything, he won’t care.”

“Fuck, Mingi. I’m so embarrassed.”

“There’s no need. He won’t say anything, and he won’t even know it was you. I’m not telling anyone.”

“…Okay then. Thanks. I guess.”

You didn’t stay in bed much longer. Not because it wasn’t tempting, but because you were starving. You changed back into your clothes from yesterday, and Mingi took you out to your favorite coffee shop so you could have your much-needed morning caffeine.

What surprised you most was how easy everything felt. There was no awkwardness between you two.

You talked about college, cracked dumb jokes, and laughed about random stuff like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just made you come harder than anyone ever had.

But then it hit you: a vivid flashback of Mingi’s mouth between your legs, and your thighs clenched on their own. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“What?” he asked, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I…” Why couldn’t you breathe properly all of a sudden? “Sorry, I just…”

“You were thinking about the dirty stuff we did, huh?” He leaned closer, teasing. “I think you might be ready to really do it.”

“I was… and you think so?”

“Yeah. I figured you might be a little traumatized from the other guys,” he said gently, “but you’re doing fine. So, whenever you feel ready… we can.”

You were speechless. Truth was, you’d felt ready the second he first kissed you. He had been nothing but respectful, never pushing, never rushing, and that made you want him even more.

“…Okay, so what do you think about tonight?”

Mingi raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised by what you’d just said. You were surprised, too. You thought it would take longer for you to let go like that. But the truth was… you felt ready. And the best part? Him.

You weren’t going to lose your virginity to some random loser. It was going to be with someone you trusted. Someone who cared about you.

“It’s totally up to you. I’m free tonight,” he said with a soft smile, a sweet one this time. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah… I really want to.”

Mingi smiled wider and, like the absolute prince he was, formally invited you on a date. He said he didn’t want to just take you to his place and jump into bed — he wanted to give you the whole experience. And you kinda liked the idea.

He even walked you home. But the moment you stepped into your apartment, your roommate nearly lost her mind.

“Tell me everything!!! You slept with your hot friend, didn’t you?! I saw you two! Holy shit, he’s gorgeous… you’re so fucking lucky.”

“I didn’t…” you muttered, cheeks burning. “Yet.”

You were way too embarrassed to give her all the details, like how he made you moan louder than you ever had in your life. So you just said one thing led to another… and now you had a date.

That was enough to send her into full panic-mode-on-your-behalf. She practically dragged you out of the house to buy lingerie, insisting that if you were finally going to lose your virginity, you needed something sexy. And you knew that she was right.

You found a few beautiful sets. Lacy bras and panties that made you feel way hotter than you expected. But once you bought them, it really hit you: this was happening. You were finally going to have sex.

Fuck.

You still couldn’t believe it.

Back home, your roommate helped you style your hair and pick out an outfit for the night.

She was genuinely happy for you, and you were getting really nervous. But in the best possible way.

“Listen… it might hurt a little. But it’ll feel good after, okay? Just keep that in mind.”

She wasn’t trying to scare you — she was actually being gentle — but it wasn’t exactly helping. “And he’s experienced, right? That’s a very good thing.”

“I know it’s gonna hurt…” Because Mingi was big. Like, the biggest you’d ever seen. “But I’m not really that scared about the pain. I’m more nervous about… what happens after.”

“Like… things getting weird between you two?”

“I don’t think they will…”

And you meant it. Mingi didn’t make things weird. He made you feel safe.

“Then relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”

That made you laugh, even if you weren’t sure why. Maybe because you were quietly freaking out and laughter was the only thing keeping you from losing it.

And yeah… time was running out. He’d be there any minute, and your nerves weren’t exactly calming down.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was Mingi. You’d already done things with him, intimate things. This was just the next step. You wanted it. And you trusted him. Everything was going to be fine.

Your roommate helped you finish your makeup, soft and glowy, just the way you liked, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Mingi was calling. He was already downstairs, waiting for you. 

When you came down, he was already in the car, parked right in front of your building. As soon as you got in, the scent of his cologne hit you. Clean, expensive, and so him. He looked really good too, even more so in those clothes.

“Hi…” you said, trying not to fall apart while buckling your seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Well… I know you like Italian food, so I picked a nice Italian restaurant.”

“You’re making me really nervous, you know? I…” your voice was shaky, your breathing unsteady. “I just feel a little weird doing this, like…”

Like it was something serious. That’s what you meant.

“There’s no need to be nervous, you know that, right?” he said gently. “We’ve gone out to eat a bunch of times. The only difference is that tonight, I’m helping you with something… personal.” He smirked, starting the car. “Could’ve happened before, if you wanted.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m unsure about this. I want it. I’ve been thinking about it all day, actually… it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” he said, flashing you that same calm, charming smile. “It’s all good. We don’t need to plan every step. Let’s just eat, talk, and see where the night takes us.”

He was right, you knew that. But still, why was your heart racing like that? Damn. 

Either way, you managed to calm down a bit when he let you pick the music.

Dinner was amazing. You ate well, sipped on some very good wine, and Mingi showed you just how much of a gentleman he could be on a date. You’d been out with him before, sure, but it never felt like this. This was different. This was a real date.

A few hours passed in what felt like minutes. Eating, drinking, laughing, talking. When the check came, he grabbed it and paid before you could even peek at the price.

As you were leaving the restaurant, his hand found your lower back — guiding you gently, protectively, until you reached the car. That simple touch made you shiver, even though you were way calmer than earlier.

“So…” he said once you were both buckled in. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

The playful tone in his voice helped a lot. You were still a little nervous, sure, but you knew exactly what you wanted now. You weren’t backing out.

“Maybe your place, handsome,” you replied, matching his tone.

He chuckled, turning the engine on. “Not nervous anymore?”

“Just a little. But I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

You looked over at him while he drove, and damn, he looked so good. So relaxed, so confident. You were on a date with a ridiculously hot guy… and you were going to sleep with him. Silly thoughts, maybe. But you couldn’t stop them.

Not long after you left the restaurant, Mingi was already pulling into the parking lot of his building, and you could feel the thick tension between you as soon as you stepped into the elevator. He was acting all relaxed, but you could tell… he was probably just as nervous as you.

When he opened the door to his apartment, you walked into the living room a little faster than you meant to, maybe driven by all that anticipation building inside you. He locked the door behind you and turned the lights on.

“Do you want something to drink…?”

“Not now, but thanks. I’m kinda nervous…” You bit your lower lip, taking a good look at him. God, he looked so good. So fucking good. “Can we… go to your room?”

“I’m kinda nervous too, to be honest. I’m gonna be your first, and I really don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. I’ll try my best.”

“Mingi, I trust you. I really do. I’m not even worried about that…”

“Good… so, we’re both nervous and in the mood. What are we waiting for?”

You chuckled at his words as he guided you to his bedroom. He had changed the sheets, it smelled really nice in there, clean but still like him. You sat right on the edge of his bed and waited as he closed the door behind you.

When he turned around and looked at you, his gaze was so intense, you could feel he was holding something back. And fuck… you couldn’t wait to find out what he was going to do to you.

Mingi sat right next to you, and after making you squirm under his intense stare, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a rough, hungry kiss. Fuck… it was really happening now. Kissing him wasn’t new, but this time it felt different. It felt hotter, more desperate, like you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Your body was already burning up, and it was like he knew exactly what you needed. Without saying a word, he unzipped your dress and slid it off you like it was nothing, not even giving you a second to overthink it. You let him, kissing him harder, wanting more.

You couldn’t help but silently thank your friend for making you buy that lingerie set, because the second Mingi saw you sitting there in just your bra and panties, he let out the filthiest fucking groan.

He hooked a finger under the strap of your bra, playing with it, before biting your lip and trailing his mouth down your neck. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind you, unhooked your bra with one quick move, and tossed it aside like he couldn’t get it off fast enough. 

He was still fully dressed, it didn’t feel fair at all. So you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. You had to break the kiss for just a second to pull it off, and that gave you a chance to really look at him… his flushed face, his lips already swollen from how hard you’d been kissing him. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to bite them, suck on them, make him feel just as desperate as you did.

You pushed him back until he was lying flat on the bed, and as soon as he hit the mattress, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. This time, it was you who kissed him like you were starving for it, your tongue in his mouth, your hands all over his chest, raking your nails down his skin.

His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping you so hard it almost hurt, squeezing and groping until you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. He pulled you closer, pressing you down against the bulge in his pants, making you grind against him as your bare tits brushed over his chest.

But he wanted more. He pulled you enough to bury his face in your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples, teasing them with his hot tongue until they were aching. He devoured you, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, his lips marking you, claiming every inch of your skin. Fuck, it felt so good you couldn’t think.

You shifted to kiss him again, grinding shamelessly against his clothed cock, your hips moving on instinct as dirty flashbacks flooded your mind. You could already feel how soaked your panties were, though they barely counted as panties at all. The thin, see-through thong did nothing to hide how wet and desperate you’d gotten for him.

“Baby… I gotta…” He grabbed your hips, holding you still for a second as his hands moved down to unbuckle his pants. You hadn’t even realized how tight they were on him. “Let me take these off.”

As soon as he shoved them down and kicked them away, you climbed right back on top of him, grinding against his cock again, slow and needy. He left his boxers on, but you could already see the wet spot spreading there. 

You really wanted to make him feel good, you felt this urge to try something new, it was pulsing inside you. You rested your hands on his chest, slowly breaking the kiss.

“Mingi… can I…” Your fingers slid down to his waistband, teasing, pulling the elastic just enough to catch a glimpse of the neatly trimmed hair there. “Can I suck you off?”

He blinked at you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Of course, you knew you were offering something no man in the world could resist, and you wanted to get that exact reaction out of him. It worked.

“F… fuck. You really wanna do that?” He licked his lips, almost trembling beneath you. “If you really want to… do it. I know I’m gonna fucking love it.”

“It’s my first time…” you murmured, trailing wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, then over his chest and hard abs. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

He just nodded, breath hitching, eyes fixed on you as you slid his boxers down, finally freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, slapping against his lower belly. Your mouth watered instantly. Fuck… you’d never thought about sucking a dick before, but you needed it, craved the taste of him.

You wet your lips first, then stroked him slowly a few times, just to watch the precum bead at the tip. You leaned in and cleaned it up with your tongue. It tasted a little salty, but it only made you crave more. You licked along his length, making him groan again, a sound that you felt deep between your legs as you clenched harder than you thought was possible.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you started sucking on the tip, just like your friends had described before. God, you liked his taste, and you were already making a mess with your spit and his precum.

“Just like that, baby… make it wet. I like messy.”

Fuck, his voice. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were just from sucking him off.

You tried to take more of him into your mouth, and you gagged a little when he hit the back of your throat, but the way he moaned almost made you not care at all.

“You’re so pretty sucking dick, baby… keep going…” He caressed your head, holding your hair to get a better view as you started moving a little faster. “Fuck, yes… use your hand too. Like that… fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You didn’t care if you were choking on his cock or not. You loved being praised like that. You could already feel how wet you were, ready to drip at any second.

You kept using your hand just like he told you to, listening to every instruction, loving how much he kept telling you how good you were at it. You bobbed your head faster, getting used to taking him while jerking him off at the same time. It was hard at first, but now you were doing it easily.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth… let's stop here. Let me eat your pussy now.”

He gently pushed you away, watching as a string of spit kept him connected to your swollen lips.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” He touched your lower lip, running his thumb across it, as if he couldn’t resist praising you. “Lay down and spread those legs for me, huh?”

You used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and happily laid down for him, letting him slide your ruined panties off in a second.

“Fucking God, you’re so wet…” He ran his fingers between your pussy lips, feeling just how slick you were. “Baby got this wet just from sucking my cock?”

Yes, you did. And you were so horny that any trace of embarrassment had already faded. You nodded, spreading your legs a bit more, silently begging him to lick your pussy because you couldn’t wait another second.

Mingi didn’t make you wait. He dived in, eating you out like you were his favorite fucking meal. His groans and moans vibrated against your pussy, his tongue teasing your entrance before he slipped a finger inside, making your head spin. Fuck. You ground down on his face, unable to stop yourself… your whole body was on fire, and you screamed when he added a second finger, the sudden stretch making you shiver under his touch.

There was nothing but pure pleasure. He finger-fucked you so fast and so deep that the obscene wet sounds echoed through the room, proof of how messy and turned on you were.

“Gonna cum… fuck, don’t stop, please…” You clutched at his hair, grinding your pussy against his face, sloppy and desperate. He loved every second of it. So did you.

You tried to close your legs when your orgasm ripped through you, stealing every breath and almost your soul, but he didn’t let you. You whimpered, tried to push him away, but your legs barely worked. He finally stopped touching you, but kept his eyes fixed, watching the way your pussy kept clenching even after you came.

"That was so hot, baby..." When you finally came down from your high, you saw Mingi ripping open the condom and rolling it down his cock. "Ready?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes." You didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but your pussy wasn’t exactly letting your brain make decisions anymore. Your legs were already spread, your body completely relaxed, and you couldn’t possibly be any wetter. Everything was ready.

"Okay, I’m gonna put it in… slowly. Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

He hovered over you, eyes locked on yours, holding himself up with one arm while guiding his cock to your entrance with the other. You felt the pressure, the stretch as he started pushing in—slow, careful. There was pain, but not in a way that made you want to stop. It was… thick. Full. He was big. You knew that. But feeling it? That was something else. And he was barely halfway in.

"God, you’re so big…" You gripped his biceps, biting down on your lip.

"You can take it." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, his voice deep and steady. "It’s just the tip now, but you can take my cock. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?"

You moaned just from hearing him say that. He already knew how much you loved being praised, and when he felt you clenching around him, he groaned.

"Fuck... can I keep going?"

You nodded, bracing yourself, but the pain never got too sharp. He didn’t bottom out just yet, but even half of him made you feel stretched to your limits. Still, the thought of having him completely inside you made your whole body ache for more. You focused on relaxing, breathing slowly.

"Fuck... I want more. Give it to me. Please."

Mingi waited a few seconds, like he needed to be sure you were okay, and then did exactly what you asked. He was so gentle, so patient—you couldn’t have asked for a better first time. And then it happened. His cock slid all the way in, filling you to the hilt.

The feeling was overwhelming. You felt so full, so hot, so incredibly stretched.

"Tell me when I can move."

You pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Move... please..."

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that. Not fingers. Not toys. Nothing. It burned at first, but not enough to stop. You were soaked, and the sounds—wet, obscene, addictive—only made you more delirious. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on how he moved inside you, how deep he was, how thick he felt.

But you needed to see it. You looked down, desperate to watch the way your pussy was taking him.

Mingi got the hint. He sat back on his knees, shifting your hips slightly so you could see it happen—see his cock disappearing inside you over and over.

"Play with your clit for me." He grabbed your thighs, his eyes fixed on where you were connected. "Fuck, you're taking me so well..."

You licked your fingers and started rubbing your clit. It was swollen, hypersensitive, and the added stimulation made you moan like a mess. You didn’t care. You just needed more.

"Feels good, baby?" He held himself deep inside you. "Think you can cum for me like that?"

"Yes..." You looked again, watching how slick his cock got each time he slid in. You didn’t stop rubbing, and soon your hips started moving too, chasing that feeling. You felt everything—his size, his weight, the way he hit that same spot his fingers found before—and it made you dizzy.

"You're clenching... keep going, baby. Use my cock. Get yourself off. Cum all over it."

You didn’t hold back. You rode him the way you needed, chasing your high, grinding and moaning and letting go. It didn’t take long. Your body locked up as your orgasm hit, your pussy squeezing him in waves while you screamed, head thrown back, completely undone. Mingi groaned with you, like your pleasure alone was driving him insane.

Your legs were useless now, limp from the intensity. You were still coming down when he started moving again—this time harder, faster, with no hesitation. All you could feel was pleasure.

"You're so hard... I can feel you. So deep..."

"Didn’t think you’d take cock this well, baby... Can I fuck you harder?"

"Yes... fuck me. Wanna feel you cum too."

For a second, you hated the condom, but it didn’t matter. Not when he started pounding into you like that. It was rougher, and you loved every second. Your body was sore but it felt too good to care. You heard his moans, his breath getting shakier as he got closer. He kissed you, bit your neck, and moaned against your lips when he finally came, filling the condom as his cock throbbed inside you.

God, that was insanely good. 

You were caressing his back while he tried to catch his breath. You had just lost your virginity, and it felt so good you could barely believe it.

“So… good enough for your first time?” He slowly slid out of you, pulling off the condom and tying it up. “I’m really glad you chose me, gotta say.”

“It was amazing. Thank you… really.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I did you a favor, and as you can see…” He lifted the condom, still full. “I had a great time too. Huh… Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. And… you know… is this a one-time thing? I’m sorry for asking that right now, it’s just…” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were—and not just physically. “I… I don’t know. Forget it.”

“It doesn’t have to be. A one-time thing, I mean. If you want more…”

“I was just thinking that maybe next time you could… skip the condom, maybe?” Your voice dropped a little, more nervous now. “I was a virgin until now, and I take the pill. I just… really want to know how that would feel.”

“So… you’re asking me to creampie you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking like the cocky bastard he was. “You know that feels like going to heaven, right?”

He looked so hot saying that, so confident, his body still glistening slightly from sweat. You couldn’t stop staring.

“I can do that, of course. Your pussy’s gonna look so pretty dripping with my cum…”

Your cheeks burned instantly, and you had to look away.

“Hm… feeling shy now? Bit too late for that.” He chuckled, tossing the condom aside and lying down beside you, his fingers lazily exploring your chest, your collarbone, your neck. “Ask me whatever you want. I’ll do it. I can be your first for a lot more things, you know.”

“That sounded like an invitation… want to keep me around?”

You turned to your side, facing him, still trying to process everything that just happened. Your legs were sore, your body still buzzing, and your brain felt like it had short-circuited somewhere halfway through.

Mingi looked over at you with that same cocky, satisfied smile, resting one arm under his head.

“I think I'll.”

A second later, he slid closer behind you, pressing his bare chest against your back and wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. You didn’t answer him, it wasn’t necessary. You just tangled your fingers with his and fell asleep. 

Somehow, the crazy decision that led you to end up naked in his bed turned out to be the best one you’ve ever made.

[vinnyvamppp]

we need more mark grayson co-parenting please PLEASE IM GOING TK CRY PLEAAAE

Our Son, Apparently

Note: DON'T CRY, LMFAO. I've made this installment longer, why? Because it hopefully wont bring the request of a third part, but honestly so much could be done with this, I wouldn't be surprised if someone did. This only scratches the surface.

Synopsis: Mark Grayson never meant to be a single dad. You never meant to become a co-parent by proximity. But when Oliver enters your life, everything changes. From grocery store breakdowns to baby-proofing the world from Viltrumite tantrums, you and Mark find yourselves building a family you didn’t plan for… and falling in love right in the middle of the mess.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Canon-Level Superhero Violence, Themes of Single Parenthood, Accidental Family, Identity Pressure, Interrupted Intimancy, Baby... Fluids? EXHAUSTION, etc. (Two and a Half Graysons PART 2: Previous Part: Here.)

Mark Grayson x GN!Reader

WC: 1.9k

It starts with a crack. Not just a crack, an explosion of glass, a shriek of wind, and the sharp twang of something small and plastic ricocheting off the opposite wall. You freeze in the kitchen, work uniform half-smeared with banana mush, its watered down taste and betrayal.

Across the room, the window is obliterated. Shattered glass glitters on the floor like a warning. And at the epicenter—with his fists balled and cheeks flushed purple—is Oliver, practically vibrating with frustration. The pacifier lies in the corner like the murder weapon it is. A stubby, rubber-tipped missile of infant rage.

“Okay,” you say slowly, voice high-pitched and tight. “So we’re entering our supervillain phase early. That’s cool.” Before you can even take a step, there’s a sonic thud and Mark crashes through the hallway barefoot, hoodie half-zipped and clinging to one arm, hair soaking wet and sticking up in every direction like he lost a fight with a showerhead and a towel.

He’s holding one of Oliver’s tiny socks in one hand and nothing in the other. No shirt, no shoes, just sweatpants and alarm. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone break in—?” He pauses and sees the window, then Oliver. Then you, standing frozen with a spoonful of rejected mashed banana still in your hand.

Mark’s chest rises and falls with the kind of slow, controlled inhale you recognize immediately: do not freak out in front of the baby, do not freak out in front of the baby, do not—

He exhales and rubs his face. “What did I miss?” You gesture broadly at the destruction. “He didn’t like the unmashed banana.” Mark squints. “So he shattered the window?” You hold up the spoon. “I didn’t chew it first. Apparently that’s a crime now.”

There’s a long pause as Oliver lets out a little grunt, his chubby fingers clawing at the legs of your trousers, his face formed into the most pitiful pout. Mark presses his knuckles to his temple. “Cecil’s going to want to classify him as a WMD.” You snort. “I mean. Technically… he already is.”

Mark walks over, still barefoot, and carefully lowers Oliver back into the bouncer with gentle, practiced hands. Oliver lets out one last indignant coo before settling, hands clasping around his finger. Mark looks back at you. “I’ll fix the glass,” you murmur. “You just… survive until nap time.” You glance at him—hoodie half-hanging off one shoulder, sleep lines on his face, eyes soft and tired and still glowing faintly from adrenaline. And yeah, you think, maybe this is a disaster. It’s almost midnight when it’s finally quiet again.

The pacifier incident has been cleaned. The window is now repaired thanks to Cecil’s intervention (and Mark, who partially caved and followed a tutorial and swore under his breath the entire time). Oliver is tucked in, finally knocked out cold after Mark flew circles around the home until the kid passed out mid-air.

You’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a lukewarm cup of tea and staring into the nothingness that lives inside every sleep-deprived parent’s soul.

Behind you, a familiar heat. That slight change in air pressure when Mark enters the room. When he leans against the fridge with that look that always gets you into trouble. A lopsided grin, a raised brow, and a T-shirt long abandoned in the laundry apocalypse. What’s left of his khaki’s slung low, one hand casually holding a bowl of food he’s absolutely not eating. 

"You good?" he asks, voice low. "You look like you're about to throw the tea at the wall."

You glance over your shoulder. “If I don’t have a breakdown soon, it’s gonna get stuck in my chest. Gotta let the crazy out somehow.” You pause, finally catching his innuendo. “Are you trying to seduce me with that logic or your cereal breath?”

Mark steps behind you, hands finding your hips. His warmth sinks into your back, and you lean into him instinctively. His nose brushes your neck. “Both. Let it out later. We’ve got ten whole minutes of peace. Maybe twenty.”

You feel his hand drift, slide under the hem of your hoodie, fingers skimming over the expanse of flesh. Your breath catches in your throat. Your whole body hums and you can feel the tension shift—sharp, sweet, starved. His lips graze just behind your ear. “You smell like puff dust,” he murmurs. “It’s weirdly hot.”

You laugh, breathless, turning to face him. He lifts you onto the counter without hesitation, standing between your knees. He’s kissing you—slow, deep, one hand curling around your waist like he’s remembering your shape. Your fingers tangle within his curls, his fingers traveling lower unsure of their destination. You let him press you back against the fridge, and god, it’s been weeks. You can feel the tension unraveling between you both, fingertips digging, breathing uneven—

WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH. You both freeze, eyes wide.

Mark groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “I jinxed it.”

“I knew he was waiting to ruin this. He has a sixth sense for foreplay.” It was the next morning, and you both were awoken by the print of small feet against your lower back and the soft padded knocks at the front door. Cecil had sent a nanny. You weren't consulted, nor was Mark.

She arrives at 7 a.m. sharp in a shimmering suit, floating half an inch off the floor. Thressa, from the Glorvax system. Glowing skin, elegant limbs, eyes like a lava lamp. She walks into the home like she's visited a dozen times in past lives and scoops Oliver up like she’s been waiting years.

He giggles and reaches for her face before nuzzling her like a puppy.

You and Mark stare in utter, sleep-deprived bewilderment. Both looking like abandoned houseplants as she explains his development and gently feeds Oliver a new formula. Mark leans in, whispering, “Do you think she’s actually a nanny or just here to steal him from us?” You narrow your eyes. “She called him ‘my sweet hatchling.’ That’s not childcare. That’s a claim.”

Thressa turns and smiles warmly. “You two look stressed. Would you like time to yourselves? Perhaps a long shower together?”

You silently stare at her. Mark begins coughing violently, clearly flustered. And Oliver’s gleeful giggles ring out. “She knows Viltrumite development inside and out,” Cecil says, appearing via teleportation, money soon to be wasted as you hastily usher him away. “We need to start assessments. He’s already got strength enhancements and advanced development. She’ll help you prepare.”

“Did you hire her?” you ask flatly.

“No,” Cecil says. “I deployed her.”

And that’s when you snap.

You’re pacing Mark’s bedroom, hair mussed and voice sharp. “She shows up, picks up our kid, and suddenly he’s just—hers? She calls him her hatchling, Mark. Who says that? Who just decides they’re a better parent without even talking to us?”

Mark sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching you. Quiet. “I’m trying,” you say, and your voice breaks just a little. “I’m not his real parent. I know that. I’m not even—whatever we are, I just—but I love him. I choose him every single day. And I—”

You cut yourself off, chest heaving. Mark’s looking at you like you’ve just lit up the whole room.

“What?” you ask, flustered beyond comparison. “You said ‘our kid,’” he says quietly. “Like it’s just true. No hesitation.” You blink. “I—yeah. Because it is.” There was no in your words hesitation this time. He crosses the room in three steps and pulls you into a hug that feels like a home. "You're walking this with me. Every step. You didn't have to. But you are." And for a moment, you just breathe together, hearts dancing amongst one another as the night crickets sing.

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch. Oliver’s asleep on your chest, tiny fingers fisted in your shirt. Mark’s beside you, legs tangled with yours, quiet. Soft. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, voice rough with something raw. “About all of this. You. Him. Us.” You glance over. His hand is fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. You feel your heart catch.

Mark doesn’t look at you. “It’s not the life I pictured. But it’s the only one I want. I don’t need perfect. I just need you.” You lean in and start placing soft kisses—one to his forehead. One to his closed eyelid. One to his cheek. Your lips brush his jaw last, and you whisper, “I already said yes.”

He looks at you, blinking, smile blooming like sunlight. He starts to move—to speak, maybe reach for something, and then— BLLAAAHHRGGHHH. A full-force stream of baby puke explodes all over your chest.

Oliver sits up mid-sleep and lets out a happy screech. Mark stares, frozen and yu stare down at your shirt. Silence…

You sigh. “So. Romantic.” Mark laughs, helpless, but relieved. “I was so close.” You press your forehead to his. “You still are. Just—Just give me a moment.” The apartment is quiet for once—no screeching, no flying objects, no sudden diaper blowouts or random alien agency visits. The air hums with that tired kind of stillness you only get after surviving a war made entirely of juice spills and broken windows.

You’re both on the couch, half-curled into each other like always—your legs over his lap, his hand absently stroking up and down your shin. There’s a half-empty bottle of formula abandoned on the coffee table, and Mark’s hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows as he stares at your joined limbs like he’s seeing something new.

He’s not shirtless, shockingly, but the gray tee he is wearing is soft and thin and rides up when he shifts. You’re trying not to think about that. Or about how stupid in love you feel. And then he does it—says the thing that makes everything tilt slightly sideways.

“I really wanted to do this earlier.”

You glance over at him, brow raised. “Do what?” You knew, but you always loved watching him stammer. Mark’s eyes flick toward the hallway—where the baby’s sleeping like a tiny purple demon—and then back to you. “The real version. Not the puke-soaked one.”

Your chest tightens. That thing in your stomach flips over once. He shifts under your legs, suddenly looking very much like the guy who once flew through asteroids but is now panicking because emotions are harder than world threatening catastrophes.

“I didn’t get to say it the way I wanted to,” he says. “Didn’t even get the sentence out. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About you. About Oliver. About how you’ve been in it with me. Even when it’s been hell. And I just—” He stops and scratches the back of his neck, blotches of blush creeping up his skin.

“I’m not great at this,” he mutters. “The talking thing. Or the… ring thing.” Your breath catches as he pulls something out of his pocket. It’s small a small, silver band at first glance. No grand box, no sparkle, but honest. The kind of ring someone keeps in their hoodie for weeks because they never know when life will let them have five minutes to use it.

He looks up at you. His eyes are soft and unsteady, but open. “I don’t need a ceremony or a perfect moment. I just want to make this official. Me and you. And him. Because you’re already it for me. You’ve been it since you didn’t flinch when I showed up with a purple alien baby and said, ‘Hey, I kind of need you.’”

You stare at him for a second, heart full to the point of bursting, brain trying to keep up with the wave of affection suddenly choking you. You lean in slowly. Your lips brush along his jaw as you whisper, “You never had to ask.” He exhales like you just took all the weight out of his chest.

You take the ring from his fingers and slide it onto your own without ceremony, just solid, quiet finality. The ring is smooth and silver-toned, with a thin, engraved pattern around the band—a repeating geometric design that, at first glance, looks abstract. But you recognize it immediately: a minimalist recreation of the pattern around Science Dog’s communicator. On the inside, there’s a small engraving: “For the one who made it all mean something. (Issue#47)”

“Wait, is this… Science Dog’s communicator symbol?”

“You noticed that?” Mark mumbles, stumbling slightly over his words. “Yeah. I mean, he always picks love over logic, even when it gets him hurt. Felt fitting.” It was fitting. He left you in a stunned silence, a grin etching across your lips as his panic set in.

“Look, I saw it on a fan site and the engraving said, ‘Intergalactic loyalty since Issue #1’ and I just—it felt right, okay? Don’t make fun of me.” He laughs—small and a little dazed—and pulls you into his lap, burying his face in your neck. “God, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Mark,” you murmur, smiling. “I’ve been stuck since the first time you showed up at my job holding a diaper bag and looking like a confused golden retriever.” He snorts. “Sexy golden retriever,” he corrects, smitten against your collarbone. “Yeah. Covered in formula and baby wipes. Total heartthrob.”

He pulls back to look at you, the grin soft but teasing. “I love you.” The words are quiet. Uncomplicated and true.

The only sound left in the room is your breathing—and his. Your fingers brush his jaw, just enough to tilt his face toward yours. His eyes are tired but warm—lit from within by something more than adrenaline or duty or even affection. It’s love, and it’s undeniable.

His hands curl around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s making sure this is real. Your thighs bracket his, your knees brushing, and your fingers slide into his hair with a practiced ease that makes him shudder. “We could…” he whispers, his breath catching as your lips brush the curve of his neck. “Maybe… actually finish something tonight?”

You grin against his skin. “Finish or start something. We don’t have to be ambitious.” He laughs, low and warm, and leans into the kiss again, deeper this time. It builds—slow but certain. A quiet dam that’s been waiting to break.

Your hips shift against his. His hand trails beneath the hem of your shirt, and you feel it in your stomach first—the pull of wanting, of comfort, of home. But you pause. Just long enough to breathe together, forehead pressed to his.

Mark’s ring glinting softly on his finger where it presses against your clothed skin. The family photo Eve took on your fridge: slightly blurry, your hair a mess, Mark looking exhausted, Oliver mid-sneeze—and all of you smiling like you didn’t know the moment was going to matter.

Because it does.

Mark didn’t plan for any of this. Not fatherhood. Not an engagement. Not this future. But right now, watching you lean into him like you were always meant to be there, he wouldn’t trade a second of it. Because this is his family. And you?

You’ve been his world since the day he showed up in your doorway with panic in his eyes and a baby in his arms.

You kiss him again, slow this time—no interruptions, no crying, no urgency. Just warmth. His hands around your waist. Your fingers gliding across his scalp. Mouths meeting gently, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

And for once… you do. A/N: I'm contractually obligated to end every fic with a sappy one liner. CONGRATS READER, YOU'RE OFFICIALLY A GRAYSON. (If anyone requests a part three, I promise you I will go full chaos with the nest one, had to keep this one adjacent to comic timing, though.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[ednygmasbowlerhat]

the leverage ot3 is so amazing because each pair within it has its own unique and fascinating dynamic and then all 3 together have a third fascinating dynamic so the character depth is so good.

like parker and hardison have their adorable dynamic that gets tons of attention in the show so i don't think i have to explain but if i do, they are super playful with each other and so loving and romantic and hardison is always calling parker pet names and it's fucking adorable.

then you have parker and elliot, who are the two most emotionally stunted on the team, but something about being the two people who aren't "good" like the rest of the team (like basically the whole conversation they have while stuck in that like ice cave in the mountain climbing episode) is super deep. also, especially in redemption, i love how even though they pardison are not canonically dating eliot, parker is always including him in their future plans, like elliot will also get robot bodies with parker and hardison, etc. etc. like this is particularly sticking out to me in the most recent leverage redemption episode (the swipe right job) when parker is going on a rant about dating apps and elliot goes "we're in trouble" (about their covers getting blown on a job) and parker's like "no me you and hardison are fine" like hello did she just acknowledge that they're dating? more to the point though, i love how we see parker and elliot just hanging out and having like real, honest conversations, especially in redemption. i also love how they clearly spend time together outside of work - like the sheer number of parker and elliot noodle incidents is insane.

next up: elliot and hardison. holy shit they are so iconic. they are the big guy smart guy duo and it plays out in such a sweet way in their relationship. like even though he acts all exasperated, hardison really softens elliot up, for example, elliot complaining about the lucille song but then joining in in the first contact job. and then, at the same time, elliot helps hardison be tougher, think his really great speech in the rundown job where he convinces hardison that he is capable of stopping the terrorist attack and he like grabs the back of his neck and stares him right in the eye like he's donating his aura or something. but at the same time as encouraging him to be tough, elliot is still super overprotective of hardison, like when he instinctively grabs hardison and steadies him when he steps on the mine in that same episode, and i think that's so cute. speaking of the rundown job, the way that elliot and hardison are supportive of each other both in like a serious way and like a funny flirty way. as far as serious, in that episode, we have elliot literally jumping for joy when hardison figures out the sos car thing in time, and then of course as far as flirty and funny, you have the handshake when they're both staring at how hot parker is dodging lasers. btw the fact that they have a handshake too is just like the definition of their dynamic. i love it.

finally, all three together is super interesting because of how all of these dynamics come together. elliot is the scary looking dog who could fuck you up but is actually quite sweet and would rather nap with you on the couch. parker is the cat who takes a while to warm up to you but once she does she is super loving and sweet. and hardison is their genius golden retriever who is like the heart of the group and is always bothering the other two to play with him but secretly they love it. and they work together so well because they play off of each other's strengths and compensate for each other's weaknesses. it's just so fucking amazing ot3 5ever.

[luludeluluramblings]

A meme for feral basis if I may:

*babies first kidnapping*

Criminals: "We have you're daughter now give us 12 million or she dies."

Bruce: *sweats* "WhIcH dAuGhTeR!?

Criminal 1: *describes feral mc whose actively biting through her restraints*

Bruce: Good luck! *laughs and hangs up*

Criminal 1: What the?! dang kid your dad must hate-

*notices they're gone*

Criminal 2: Where I'd she go?!

*They hear feral laughter from everywhere*

Criminal 3: She's in the walls. SHES IN THE WALLS!!

Mc: *Appears behind them like the undertaker* Boo!

Criminals: *horrified screams*

Actually this is baby's third kidnapping.

The first kidnapping Feral!Reader was on their best behavior. They had just moved to Gotham and the whole family had been pounding into their head that they needed to behave and show some decorum.

So Feral!Reader managed to keep all intrusive thoughts under control that one incident.

Bruce (and the rest of the family) freaked the fuck out. Their little abomination was kidnapped for ransom. They're monstrosity had some thugs holding a gun to their head.

Of course, Feral!Reader doesn't flinch or anything. They stay very mindful and demure.

After the whole incident, Feral!Reader does get grazed with a stray bullet. But, they were so excited that they did such a good job even if Bruce was in cardiac arrest from the possible close call.

Bruce makes the decision then and there that Feral!Reader is allowed to go ape shit ONLY when kidnapped.

Which leads us to the second kidnapping. Well, attempted. The idiots tried to kidnap Feral!Reader from a gala. High society has given Bruce so much space since.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

*Goons break into Gala to hold everyone hostage and steal shit*

*Villain of the week monologging *

*Bat Fam hidden in various locations around the Gala with com-links*

Bruce *hidding in a closet* : Who's on patrol tonight?

Barbara *in the BatCave* : Jason, but he's twenty minutes away.

Damian *Under one of the tables* : We can take them.

Stephanie *By the dessert table* : Not if we want people to ask questions.

Duke *back at the manor* : I can maybe swing it in fifteen if I use the Bat mobile.

Damian: Now who wants to drive it?

Tim *stuck with a group of investors getting their luxury watches stolen* : Shut up you two.

Jason *Driving on his motorcycle* : I'm on my way. Cass can be my backup.

Bruce: Good, we can manage until-

Dick *at a random table* : Feral!Reader vanished on me!

Stephanie: How did you lose them?!

Bruce: Does anyone have visual on them?

Damien: No, but I have a bad feeling.

Barbara: I'm pulling up security footage of the venue.

Jason: I'm booking it.

Duke: I'm heading to the Cave to suit up.

Tim: Wait, I think I saw them. Their by the buffet table.

*Feral!Reader ginning manically while they steal the fuel pots from the food warmers.*

Tim: Oh, that's not good.

Bruce: What's not good?

Tim: Babs, get the fire department on speed dial.

*Feral!Reader manged make a pipe bomb with a few things they found. Then used some random fabric they ripped from their clothing hog tie the villain and their goons.*

Villain: You little bitch!

Feral!Reader: Don't call bitch or you ain't gonna like what I do to you!

Villian: Do your worst, bitch!

Feral!Reader: Bet.

*Feral!Reader proceeds to procure a bottle of maple syrup and a fire ant farm before shoving both objects down the villains pants.*

Feral!Reader: My cousin once said that this was a good hack to make your dick bigger.

*Villain screaming.*

*Goons screaming cause the ants are getting on them too.*

*Gotham elite looking in horror.*

Bruce: ...

Bruce: Well, I'm sure this was just a one time incident.

*It was not.*

Tim: Someone needs to check on that cousin…

[mysicklove]

cw: sub! megumi, dom! gn! reader, overstimulation, handjobs (as always), dacryphilia, slight sadism in reader, slight masochism in megumi? teasing, "good boy" used once.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i have been recently hating my writing style guys what do I do </3 also I did this instead of hw so tonight is gonna suck.

“waitwaitwaitwait!” megumi mumbles into your neck for the third time this night. you feel another round of tears drip onto your collarbone, and shaky hands grip your t-shirt in a plea. he was naked — his pale skin seeming to flush a shade of red, and his spine was curved as he caved in over himself.

your thumb circles around the tip, teasing it until you watch another glob of precum bead at his slit. you crane your neck to look at him, using your free hand to tilt his chin up to press a small kiss to his lips. “doing so good,” you mumble into his mouth, and he lets out a broken sob, “staying still and taking it. we don’t need any rope today.”

his whole body feels to be on fire, and with every stroke of your hand, a whole new wave of overstimulation forces another shiver. the boy's mouth hangs open, lip glistening from a mix of saliva from your mouth and tears. “you’re so mean to me."

“poor thing,” you coo, knowing that you aren't going to do anything about his complaint. instead, you use your thumb to brush away some tears. he sniffles at you, nodding his head to hopefully coax some more praise. but your mind travels back to your movements, your wrists twisting back and forth as you focus on the red tip. “but you look so cute like this, i can’t help it, y’know that.”

his head falls back onto your shoulder, and immediately, he plants kisses on your neck, nibbling at the skin to try and distract himself. the top of his dark hair was matted with sweat, but the tips of it tickled your collarbone. you use your thumb to rub at his cheek as you continue to stroke him off, ignoring his sporadic jerks of pain. “can you cum again? just one more time, for me?”

the noise megumi lets out is meek, pathetic even, and he shakes his head into your chest. he has begun to hiccup from the intensity of his sobs, and his hand hasn't moved from gripping fiercely at your shirt. "last one," he breathes, rubbing his nose into your skin, "p-promise its the last one!"

you grab his face again with one hand and begin to pepper it with kisses, successfully wiping away more tears as he whines with shut eyes. his eyelashes are globbed together, and when he opens them again, he narrows them at you, slightly peeved and scared at your lack of response. "promise," he manages to get out before he bites his lip from you rubbing your pointer finger over his slit.

"fine, fine, I promise," you concede, and your hand stops teasing him, instead fully pumping him from base to tip. the act makes his thighs tremble, and you push them slightly more apart to give you easier access. the redness of his cock contrasts his pale skin adorably, and you can't help you're staring as he continues to leak.

"it hurts," he whimpers, mostly to himself, because all he can think about is how overwhelmed he feels. his thoughts are spinning, and even just the slightest touches on other parts of his body seem to startle him due to him focusing his entire attention on trying not to rip your hand off of his cock.

you don't pay attention to the whine, instead just pressing more kisses to his flushed cheeks, nibbling gently at the flesh while he sniffles. but, even with all the complaints and whines he was letting out, you've noticed that his hips have begun to buck back into your hand, only making the lewd noise louder. he tries to pretend that it was you who was torturing him, but his movements were of his own free will.

"you like it now?"

"no!" he says much too quickly, flashing you panicked eyes. "i-i just. 's not my fault!" at this point, you have fully stopped your movements just to watch in admiration of the boy. he was desperate in his movements, and with each thrust of his hips into the makeshift hole a coo leaves your mouth.

"aw, look, now you're getting excited. do you want to cum, megumi?" you purr, brushing his bangs back while twisting your other wrist. his eyes roll back, and his mouth remains open as he lets out quick, short breaths. now, his noises consisted more of moans rather than pained whimpers as he started to chase his high.

"n-no—yes. fuck I-" is all he manages to get out before your mouth is pressed onto his. but he pulls away only five seconds later due to his rapid heartbeat and the need for oxygen to keep up with it. you just chuckle at him and increase your speed, eyes flickering from the sight between his legs and his flushed face.

his thighs begin to squeeze shut, and his moans begin to increase in pitch, a telltale sign that he is teetering near his high. you chuckle at him when he begins to latch onto your neck, planting sloppy kisses to whatever surface he can. "are you close?"

he doesnt even attempt to speak, instead just nodding his head lazily. the act makes you roll your eyes and squeeze just a tad too hard on his dick in warning. he lets out a squeak at the feeling, and this time he does speak up. "yeah. yes. yes. c-close."

you pet his head, satisfied with his answer. "good boy. you can cum, alright?"

another set of tears pools in his eyes, and this time you cock your head to the side. "why are you crying 'gumi? I didn't hurt you that bad, did I?"

"no," he sniffles, "sorry d-dont stop. feels good, don't know why I'm crying. just don't stop!"

"relax. relax. I'm not," you reassure, kissing his face again. "you're lucky you are so cute, with all your demands."

he ignores you like he usually does when you tease him, but you are unsure if it is because he is being his usual self or because he is lost in pleasure.

seconds later, his hands grab at your shoulder, and he goes silent for a breath. then, just as the first rope shoots out, he cries, "cuming! of fuck. fuck!"

your lover's entire body quivers, and his mouth latches into your skin as the first wave washes over him. his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open with a silent scream. more tears come tumbling down his face, and you watch as the most pathetic amount of cum tonight comes dribbling out. it slides down his flushed cock and mixes with the movements of your hands.

eventually, when he comes down from his high and feels the stinging lick of overstimulation once again, he immediately forces your hand off, pinning the white-stained limb to the ground with frantic eyes. then he turns to you, even with his body jerking every couple of seconds from the aftershock, and glares at you — it doesn't hold much effect, considering his cheeks were flushed red and eyelashes were wet with tears, but it was cute nonetheless. "no. more."

you grin at the demand and use your clean hand to ruffle his hair. "your wish is my command, princess."

he narrows his eyes at the nickname, and the man tears himself from your arms. "I am going to shower," he mumbles before using all of his strength to stand up. he takes a step forward, and immediately he comes tumbling down.

megumi pretends he doesn't see the way his legs are trembling, but you see the way his ear twinged red in humiliation. you, of course, use it to your advantage. "need a little help there, Bambi?"

"you're not allowed to touch me for a week," he grumbles but grabs onto your arm and lets himself be left to the bathroom. it was an empty threat, as they usually are.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

After two weeks in the desert and nearly dying multiple times, you start to soften up- a tad, only after a drowning a guy.

[Part one]  [Ao3] [9] [11] [Full Piece Here - It's Mine!] [Chapter Index]

10 * Fill'er [10k]

Suggestive themes + third base (NSFW) We don't care about safe sex or pregnancy! It ain't happenin' here, baby!

"You were oh so kind,

You thawed my heart of the ice,

Now get the fuck out of my mind."

The Sweetest Bone - Go Hang

        Day Eighteen.

        You rose from your mess of a bed, unfurling from Omni's cape that you'd been using as a blanket in the night. He'd yet to acknowledge the behavior and you hoped it'd stay that way. You didn't want him or anything of his, you wanted warmth. The comfortable familiarity of a blanket. The fire kept you warm enough but it was normalcy you craved.

        The GDA issue armor set was near complete on your body. Baldie found the top a few days back but you'd been too out of it to remember him putting it on you. The chest plate was left by the bed, ready whenever you needed it. You were lucid now, which was a relief to the boys, but a burden you were struggling to carry. 

        You couldn't stop thinking about it. The taste lingered in the back of your throat. The muscles that moved his body were now fueling yours. The empty stool no one had sat in since. The blood stain on your bed that Maskless couldn't get off with just water. The lack of his pinched voice and constant threat of wanting to kill you for being even mildly defiant. It wasn't grief or sadness, just a loss, a strange, hollowing thing to know he died and you lived, and you were only alive because you ate part of him. 

        You were able to speak and but chose not to as much as possible these last two days. You didn't trust yourself not to kill one of them and for the rest to tie you down, shut you up, and force feed you until they all died or somehow escaped the desert. You wanted them to die suffering and scared, but you also knew they were the only reason you were alive in this cool cave with food in your stomach. Again the murders were pushed back.

        You stop behind Maskless who is hunched over a swath of fabric scavenged from above. A sprawling map is laid before his hands, drawn with Emperor's fancy pen. Sections are lettered and numbered. The central piece of fabric was this very cave, with the immediate outliers listed as A with a number that must mean some degree north or south. They were all sewn together with scrap wire or loose threads, stitches hasty and puckered.

        "Where can I take a bath?" You ask him. You'd been down and out those starving days, but not deaf. You'd heard a few of them talk about it. Return from it looking slightly less like shit.

        He doesn't turn, good. You don't want to see Mark's face. You'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding looking at all of them this whole time.

        The pen stops moving on a quadrant labeled G60. Fingers hover over the fabric until they pause, come down on, "B-seventy." He goes back to mapping.

        You study the map a few minutes longer. Trying to understand which exit and subsequent turns would lead to B70. Then you remember. You pull out your phone, still largely charged from unuse, and snapped a photo. If you got lost, you'd look at the picture. Easy. You pick the entrance that looks like most B70-ish and walk toward it, flashlight prematurely flicked on. 

        "Where do you think you're going?" Scars says from his post, leaned against the wall, standing guard and watching. 

        "Out." You don't stop. 

        He's stepped in front of you, making you pause. "To where?"

        "What are you, my dad?" You hope the mention of a dad hurts him but his exposed eye doesn't glitter with malice or sadness. He's not moving so you hit him with, "Get out of my way."

        Your body swayed slightly, the dizziness easy enough to ignore. Now that you weren't actively dying or burnt out, your powers were more evened out. Lucky for you, they were working as usual, and he moved out of your way and does not chase. You knew he wouldn't hold long but it was about control with him, and you'd taken it, if only for a second. 

        Five steps later, there was another Mark in front of you. You hadn't even made it out of the main cavern yet. "You're not going anywhere unaccompanied."

        Omni, up from bed. Beard thick and speckled with gray. You'd found his salt and pepper hair on your side of the bed despite your efforts to uphold boundaries. You would put things between you when you slept, the chestplate, a rock, anything you could find, but he found his way back to your side. Such a huge man but you never sensed the shared garbage cot move, waking up with your back pressed to his.

        You side step him silently, hoping your rejection was enough, but he continued, "I will gladly-"

        "No." You were depressed but not stupid. He'd been sizing you up ever since he got back. Something shifted in him up there, and you weren't ready to be alone with the guy. You didn't sense any ill-intent and that made you nervous. You wanted him off your back almost as much as Scars.

        You pulled the knife out of the GDA belt, pinched the blade between your fingers, and held it out to him. "You look like shit, shave."

        He took the knife and moves a step before stopping with a frown. "Don't do that."

        "Leave me alone."

        He doesn't budge. He's tense, like hard muscle could stop your power, sadly it seemed to work. "I understand you do not want my company. I respect that, however," he turned, scanning for someone not busy sleeping or drawing maps or making more water basins, "Hey, Seven." He didn't trust the little fucker far as he could throw him, but morale and productivity needed to stay high- and Seven was doing jack.

        Lensless lifted his head from the jerky he was gnawing on. Omni jerked his head, and he came over. A piece stuck out between his lips, wriggling while he chewed. "Yeah?" 

        "Stay with (Y/n)," Omni said.

        "Go sit down." You try.

        Lensless, apparently the seventh variant Angstrom Levy recruited into his ranks, trotted back to his stool. Sat. Got up again when Omni said, "Get over here."

        The control snapped, the deed done, you hadn't been specific enough. Lensless came back.

        Omni turned to you, "We can go back and forth all day or you can go bathe." There was an implied 'Or I help,' he didn't say.

        The thought of any of them holding your body naked in the water made you rethink sending Lensless back. But you don't want Omni to think he's won. So you let Lensless come before saying, "Fine. We'll go but you? Shave." You didn't particularly care how he looked just that he looked freakishly like Nolan. Brought back too many memories of meeting Mark's parents over dinner. 

        Omni frowns. "Your trick will not work on me, but I will respect your wishes. Thank you." He watches as you go, using your phone as a guide. Lensless nipping at your heels. He didn't like it, but he would respect that you didn't want him in particular around. He'd knew he'd find a way to change your mind.

        He found Tracksuit sleeping against a stalactite. Gray had finished more of the cots, lining the wall by the fire, but he hadn't gotten one yet.

        "Hey." Omni gently knocked the mans leg with his boot.

        Tracksuit stirred, mask shifting as his head bobbed. "What?"

        Omni pointed down the cave you'd just disappeared into. "Follow them." He assumes Tracksuit would concentrate, force his ears to pick up the joint footsteps and one-sided conversation. 

        Instead, the yellow of his lenses flashes in the pale moonlight as he scoffs, "Fuck off." His head nodded back down and he was asleep.

        He searched for others to follow you. Maskless was busy and uncaring. Scars scoffed, clearly feeling rejected. Phantom was gone, exploring off on his own. As were Gray and Mohawk in separate quadrants. The only variant that would cooperate was Baldie, who shot up from sleep in a panic when he heard. He was down the cave in a blink. 

        Omni leaned over the still water and held the knife to his cheek.

        ***

        "I said, turn around." The fourth fucking time. Why did Omni choose this stupid, perverted little fucker?

        He does, shoulder shaking as he says to himself, "Boobies."

        You slide deeper into the water. Pool waist deep. Water tepid, the room lit by your phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling. Underclothes in the water with you to be squeezed and scrubbed after you were done with your body. It took an hour to find the place on the map and Lensless was no help. 

        You were trying, really, you were, but the sand was everywhere and you could barely get a good scrub in before Lensless was turning around again to stare.

        You pressed your body to the edge of the pool, where he could only see your head and shoulders.

        "Are you always this creepy?" You spit at him because using your power so many times today was starting to make you dizzy. 

        "Pretty much." He says. "I'll stop if you use your powers on me again."

        "Yeah, for five fucking seconds." 

        He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes, "One more time? I promise I'll stay this time." 

        "Freak." You said before dipping your whole head under. Hearing him talk through water but not being able to understand was pure bliss.

        Your head barely broke the surface tension before knocking into Lesless's nose. He was on his hands and knees, peaking over the ledge, smiling big. "Will you use 'em now?"

        You start a, "Back o-" then you see it. The bulge pressing against his thighs, not even trying to hide it. You push away from the side. Legs pressed together, arms crossed over chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, like actually?"

        "A lot of things." He chirped. Fingers leaving the edge to touch the gently rippling water. "You, mostly."

        You warred between using your powers, giving him what he wanted and feeling violated, or not using your powers and still feeling tread on. In the low gravity of the water, you crawled backwards to the opposite edge of the pool. "I'm not your dead girlfriend."

        "I know." His hand sinks into the water, then his wrist, then his elbow until his whole arm is in the pool. "Because you're meant for me." His ass in the air as the other enters the pool, prowling into the water like a leopard. "Before this, everything was so... boring, so normal. I couldn't figure out what was off." His torso kissed the surface as his legs slid in, crawling slowly through the water towards you. "I was a superhero, I had the girl, I had the friends, the life, and then-"

        The taser was at the other end of the pool, it'd do nothing but it'd feel good to use it on him. "Back up, I'm serious." 

        "Then Dad killed you and I killed him right back." Lensless was halfway across the pool now, not even listening to your threats. He moved purposefully slow, every roll of the muscles under his tight suit a warning he wanted you to see. "I didn't disagree with him or even hate him. I loved my Dad but killing him was so much fun, I couldn't just stop. When the Viltrumites came, they said I killed too much of the population to make Earth a viable breeding camp, but things still worked out for me in the end. Cuz now I'm here, with you, and you get it." He was closing in now. 

        Forcing you to pick between staying in the water with him or to get out and expose yourself. Either way, he had you where he wanted you. "Another inch closer and I'll fucking kill you."

        He paused, hand poised to grab your ankle. Already shit-eating grin spread further, "You better stop me then." You swallow, gathering power in your throat, as much as you could muster. His hand passes over your ankle, angling to take you by the meat of your thigh. "Or do you not want me to?"

        "Drown."

        His head went under. At first, you thought he was unaffected, head floating toward your legs but when you moved out of the way he didn't shift to follow. He sunk to the bottom, face down. You pulled yourself out of the pool, limbs heavy with the sudden drain. Blood dripped out of your nose. Still, Lensless did not resurface. 

        You knelt by the poolside, nakedly air drying for a few minutes. Wringing out your solider underclothes, agitating them against the rock to get out as many stains as you could. When it was done, Lensless was still unmoving in the water. 

        You put the armor back on. Underclothes slung over shoulder. No way were you putting on wet cotton and covering it with the unbreathing material. You grabbed your phone and left Lensless's body in the dark.

        You catch him because he wanted to be caught. Baldie not quite hiding behind a pillar of rock on your way back to the main cave.

        "I can see you." You tell him.        

        He swings out. "Sorry, Three told me to follow you guys."

        Your brows knit a moment then remember the numbers Angstrom had given them. "Of course he did. You see any of that?"

        "Enough to want Seven dead just as much as you." 

        Your eyes narrow, "You saw me naked?" 

        "No, I was only listening. Was going to jump in but then you..." His gait pauses. "Did you hear that?"

        You take two more steps before stopping, "No?"

        Baldie's head whips left, then right. "Really? You- you don't?"

        "I don't have super hearing." You say. "What is it?"

        "What does super hearing have to do with it? It's right there." His hand goes up to the low ceiling, touches bare fingers to rock. Soon as he touched the cool surface, he paused. "Oh," and started walking again. Distraction forgotten.

        You had to trot to keep up with him, now power walking, "What was that?"

        "Nothing," he waves you off, "nothing, just sand moving above us, I think."

        "You think?"

        "I'm not used to being around so many living, moving things at once." He says, looking dead ahead, not at you, anywhere but you, "It still surprises me sometimes. I can hear your heart beating and I don't believe it. I-" His head snaps to the side, ear up. "Come on." He takes your hand and speed navigates you out of the caves. Not quick enough to be in danger, but fast enough for you to ask questions. Questions he does not answer. 

        You're dropped off in the main room, sat atop your cot. Phone flashlight still glowing in your hand, he wouldn't look at you before turning and rising out of the porthole entrance into the dim, early evening. He looked every which way, brow furrowed before flying off to investigate. The others gathered below.

        "Is that guy okay?" Tracksuit said. 

        "I don't know." You switched off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket. "He just started acting weird."

        "It is uncommon for a Viltrumite to be found in our own prisons." Gray swept the rock debris off his kilt. A new basin freshly carved in front of him. "But it is always a good opportunity to test experimental medicines and procedures on them until they wither away." He left out a detail, that despite the Viltrumite resistance to age and diseases, the prisoners never lasted long.

        Tracksuit ran a hand through his greasy hair, "Jesus. He's gotta be buttfuck crazy." 

        Your lips twist, and you think of saying he's better than the rest of them before remembering how he let them force-feed you man meat. Who gave a shit if he was nice to you- he was Mark Grayson.

        "Thank you for letting me borrow this." His voice pulls your eyes and mind away from Baldie. Omni held the knife out to you, handle first. Beard gone but stubble still peaked through his skin. Most black, some gray. The knife was made for throat slitting, not shaving. 

         "Sure." You reach out only for the blade to be snatched away.

        "Watch it." Omni snaps, the edge nearly swiping your chestplate as it passed by.

        "Mind if I borrow this?" Mohawk said, already holding the knife. "My shit's been growing." He zipped by the poolside. Knife edge pressed to the grown-out buzzcut around his mohawk. 

        "Give it back." You hiss without power. Everything you had left was used on keeping Lensless's eyes off you, then killing him. 

        Mohawk swiped the blade down his scalp, leaving an even trail, he'd done this before. Hair fell to the dark shoulders of his suit. "Nah."

        Another swipe and Omni stepped in front of you, "She said-"

        "Dude, she definitely doesn't want your help." Another swipe and the right side of his head was shaved down clean. You hated that he was right. You were quite literally just about to tell Omni to piss off. He looks at you through dark lenses, lips pulled taught. Waiting for you to say it. Mohawk doesn't look but wiggles around knowing there's drama afoot, the pot-stirring fuck. 

        "I swear to God, Mohawk." You point at his back as more fuzz falls away. "Give me that back or-"

        The knife sweeps his hair one last time. When he turns he is clean shaven, mohawk seeming perkier with the shorter buzz around it. "What did you just call me?" His tone is mischievous, eyes dancing. That look paired with a knife brought back bad memories.

        Omni moves in front of you but you walk around him. "Give it."

        Mohawk sticks out the blade, edge first. If you wanted the handle, you'd have to take his hand. You take it by the blade, let it sink into the cut-proof material of the GDA gloves. A frown flickers as his grip falls away. You turn to sit by the fire Maskless was building. He didn't need it whatsoever but the chores had begun to naturally fall onto whoever got back to camp first. He could stand to freeze for days but in truth, he liked the warmth and light, it made him feel a little more human.

        Mohawk followed as you set your wet underclothes to hang over a rock, "Wait, say it again."

        "I didn't say anything." You plopped down on a stool on the opposite side of the fire. If you sat on the cot he'd make some gross innuendo and try to lick you or smell you or some other freaky alien thing. 

        Mohawk sat himself on the damp ground at your feet. Scooted close as he could to the stool, shoulder centimeters away from touching yours. Fine with his ass being cold as long as he was beside you. "You heard her call me that too, right?" He asked Maskless.

        Maskless let the fire crack. "I wasn't listening."

        "Bullshit, you have super hearing like the rest of us."

        "I was trying to ignore you guys." Maskless sat himself across the fire. Staring into it thinking about the color of William's eyes and the heat of his naked skin.

        Mohawk chuffed out his nose. "Okay, you hate fun, got it." He turned back to you, firelight accentuating his wide smile. "You've got'a nickname for me, huh? Not very creative but I can let it slide." 

        "It's not a nickname." You say. Head following Baldie as he returned from the surface. Tense but calm. He sat by the waters edge. Unwilling to look at anything else but his reflection.

        Tracksuit flops onto a seat a few stools down. "It's a nickname."

        Mohawk's head snapped to him, flirty stupidity suddenly gone off his face, "None of your business, dipshit."

        Tracksuit held up his hands in mock surrender, "Super hearing like you said, guy."

        Mohawk unwound, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms behind him to lean on, "You agree then?" 

        "I mean, yeah." Tracksuit paused as his stomach growled. "Ugh, I just sat-" Omni was above ground and back in a blink. He held out a piece of jerky to him with something like a smile. "Thanks, man." He bit into the meat, holding his veil off to the side. Tracksuit gave in the same day you did, because Baldie did too and he couldn't be the only non-cannibal. Said it felt like bad juju. The worst juju was him enjoying the meat because whatever Gray did to cook the stuff beat anything he'd had from the grocery store.

        Omni took the chance to sit on the stool closest to you, opposite Mohawk. "What do you think of me as?" The question was silly, stupid, but he sounded so serious saying it, you almost laugh.

        You point to his chest, the color combo that was iconic in your reality.

        "Isn't it obvious?" You said with little bite. Killing Lensless had left you in a better mood.

        His face fell as he said, "Omni Man."

        Jesus, he looked so sad at the thought. You wondered if his Omni Man also beat the shit out of him, if he won that fight unlike your Mark. "Just Omni." You corrected, "You're not your dad." That makes his face a little less depressing to look at.

        "Babe, Omni-Mark is right there." Mohawk says. "Oh my God, did you go by that?"

        "No," Omni says, "I kept the name Invincible."

        Mohawk rolls his eyes but concedes, "Invincible is a cool name."

        Scars doesn't move off the wall. "What do you call me?" 

        "Dickhead." You lied. 

        "Heartbeat picked up, you're lying." 

        Phantom comes down from the roof entrance, holding two slices of jerky. One is for you, you know it is. He always seemed to be the one to feed you, but without force. None of them had tried since the first time. You didn't want a repeat, so you'd eat in small bites once a day. You tried not to look at the meat in his hand, though your stomach was empty and aching. You weren't desperate enough to cave. Yet.

        He notices, slipping the extra slice into his suit to be held onto for awhile. He sat on the stool second closest by your side. Rolled up the bottom of his mask, unveiling sweat-slicked skin with longer stubble than you remembered. Lips parted to bite into the jerky when the knife is pulled from your belt.

        "Need to take care'a that?" Mohawk pulls the blade off your waist and holds it out to Phantom. You were happy about the distraction from Scars so you didn't bite. 

        You feel Phantom's eyes slide to you for approval. You sneer. "Fine, whatever, too many of you have touched it now. I don't want it anymore." Mohawk laughed but Phantom didn't smile. He took the knife only because it retained some of your body heat. 

        Tracksuit swallowed a thick wad of jerky, "Whadda'bout me? Shiesty, right?" He didn't particularly care in earnest, but this conversation was leagues better than the nights of contemplative silence he endured while you were on strike and refusing to talk to anyone. 

        "What the fuck is a shiesty?" You said.

        He tugged on the blue sheet on his face, "My mask, duh."

        "Oh. Huh. I've never heard that. I just call you Tracksuit." You gesture to the very bright and very obvious outfit.

        "Tracksuit." He sounded offended, deeply. "That's fuckin' dumb."

        You shrug, "Can't call all of you Mark in my head."

        "So who do you call Mark?" Mohawk leaned his head to rest on the side of your shoulder. Snickering when you leaned away. All this was a push-pull game of hard-to-get to him.

        "None of you." Hangs in the air. "Too weird."

        Mohawk leaned even further into your personal space, almost laying his head on your lap. "Come on, tell us what happened between you guys."

        "None of your business." You push off the stool to get out of his range, knocking into Gray's boots, who you hadn't even realized was standing guard beside you. Looking down at Mohawk like shit under his shoe.

        "You're Gray." You say to change to subject.

        Gray's hands, perpetually laced behind his back, unfurl so he can point a finger to his own chest. "Me?"

        "Like Grayson, duh." When you look back, Mohawk is back where he started, trying to lure you back onto the stool with his distance. Just so he could invade your space again.

        "I guess, but it's mostly the outfit." You only settle back on the cut rock because the way Gray is looking down at you, so intensely, is starting to get uncomfortable. To crack the pressure, you add, "It's not a bad look."        

        His face does something weird. Shifts. Smiles. Eyes gone soft, cheeks a tinge of pink. "You like my uniform?"

        "I didn't say that." You lean back onto your palms. Feeling a little warm in the face yourself. Mark Grayson smiling at you, blushing because of you. Brought back nostalgic feelings, good ones, then bitter ones. You don't look at him or his charming smile again.

        "You're Maskless." You say to the man who looked like he couldn't care less. Then your gaze rolls onto, "Phantom."

        "What!?" Mohawk barks, "Why does he get the cool name!?" 

        "Because he kept his mouth shut when we met." You say. "Snuck up on me way easier than you getting up in my face with the 'babe this, babe that' bullshit." 

        "Babe-" 

        "Exactly."

        Phantom made himself swallow. Not one to look stupid while being clearly flirted with. His smile was more a shift in the shadows on his face than Gray's.

        "I like it." The lack of modulator left his voice sounding raw, scratchy, but stronger than it'd been when you'd first arrived.

        Mohawk pointed like a child seeing someone slightly outside the norm, "You can actually fucking talk?" 

        Phantom did not dignify that with a response. 

        You knew Scars was behind you because so many of them tensed. "Are you avoiding me on purpose because you call me Sexy?" 

        "How about walking jail sentence?" You shoot back. 

        "You're avoiding the question." Scars breath wafted past your ear. His cape fallen onto your shoulder as he leaned over you. The flesh on the back of your neck prickled. Mohawk's knuckles crack, already forgetting that this place was fragile. Walls couldn't be broken in stupid fights willy-nilly.

        "Scars." You answer quieter than you meant to, and you know he's moving as Mohawk's eyes follow him. 

        "Scars?" He walks around the front of you, assessing your face for the truth he can hear in your heart. A wicked, knowing, deeply wanting grin stretched his face. "Good choice." The words were slick with desire, spoken like a dirty little secret. It felt like one to you, the way he talked about the bombs dropped on his head, the cheek-kiss of getting his face partly blown off. 

        Your leg shoots between his, kicking his loose cape into the fire. Sadly, it doesn't catch. "Hurting me was never that easy, my dear." He tuts. Slinking back to shadows like the creep he was, sporting a semi.

        "Fucking-" Tracksuit shook his head, like even he felt violated. "-Guy, man."

        "What about me?" Baldie said, fingers idling in the pool.

        You feel instantly shitty. He'd been better to you than most of these animals who'd laugh if they heard the name. He'd let you become a cannibal. He'd saved your life from Swimcap. You couldn't say it. 

        "I don't want to make the others jealous." The humiliation could be personal, face to face, alone. Not here.

        Mohawk snorts, "Jealous?"

        "Is it 'cuz he's Sexy?" Echoed off the cave walls he from which emerged. Completely alive, not blue in the face at all, but dripping wet. Lensless. "I was hoping I'd be Sexy."

        "How the fuck are you alive?" You're on your feet going for the taser you wish you'd used on him earlier. 

        "Is he supposed to be dead?" Tracksuit asked.

        "It was a good try," Lensless shakes out his leg, splattering water across the floor, "but you should know we can go without breathing for two weeks." 

        "When I tell most people to drown they usually breathe in the water, you fucking idiot." 

        Lensless chuckled, pushing the hair stuck to his mask back. Lashes darker wet. Suit somehow sticking closer to his body. "I'm not most people."

        "You tried to kill him?" Omni asked.

        "He was being a freak!" You hold the taser out over Mohawk's head. Lensless comes closer, firelight flicking orange on his wet body. You let the prongs release to make contact with his water-sodden throat. You know it won't work but you just needed to do it, for prosperity's sake. 

        He doesn't feel it but the effort makes him blush. He sits down next to Maskless as the prongs retract into the taser. "What do you call meeee?" His toes flex in his boots. Acting like he hadn't been soaking at the bottom of a pool for hours. 

        "Freak."

        He lights up, "Really?" Ugh. His smile is brighter and bigger than Gray's- it's stupid and cute and you hate how it gives you butterflies. 

        You fucking hate butterflies. "No. It's Lensless," You point to your eye, the side where he no longer has one because of you. 

        He partly deflates. "Why not Freak?"

        "Because it'd give you a boner."

        "Oh speaking of! I was in that pool awhile and you held control for a really long time. Like, really long! It was strong." The praise was good news but you had a feeling this was going south. "Like, good job, you're stronger than I thought- But it wasn't strong enough." 

        You lean forward, brows knit. "What do you-" The memory of his hard-on hits you like a grenade, you have to sit down, "Oh Jesus Christ."

        "What?" Tracksuit asked.

        You run your hand down your face. "That's not possible. How did you even-"

        "Cum?" He finishes painfully for you, "I dunno! It was like magic. Dick magic! You should do it again."

        The situation hits the Marks like a wave. Omni had Lensless by the neck, holding him overhead. Phantom had Lensless's arm out to the side, his own arm raised, poised to chop the thing off if he touched you with it. They turn to you for approval.

        "If anybody's killing him, I am." You say, but Lensless is not dropped.

        Tracksuit didn't know to laugh or scream, so he did both, "He came in the fucking bath water!"

        "There are other pools," Gray says stiffly.

        "It's the principal!" Tracksuit argues. "You can't just do that, dude!"

        "Put him down." You tell the duo. "Before he cums on you both."

        Phantom releases him quick, as if stung. Omni is still holding Lensless by the throat, but lowers him until his feet touch the floor. "If you ever talk to my wife like that again-"

        "Not your wife."

        "For the record," Lensless held up a finger as Omni slipped back, "I would not cum on you guys. That's weird. I've jerked off plenty of different ways, but I don't think I could fuck my clone. That's like, too much, even for me."

        "Cumming because I've tried to kill you on two separate occasions is fucking weird." You never thought you'd be having this stupid conversation but here you were, having it.

        "Two?" Omni raises a brow under his mask. "Two times?" Rage taught in the flex of his tensions.

        Your palms press to your eyes. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

        Scars is merciless. "I'd also like to hear about those two times."

        They begin to bicker among themselves, questioning Lenseless who giggled like his life wasn't in danger. You couldn't listen to it anymore. It was up to you to turn this around. "Hey," You look directly at Maskless, hoping to grab his attention. His eyes don't leave the fire. "Hey Dummy, you wanna hear about William from my universe?" This time his eyes flicker up to you, honey brown eyes lit golden by the fire while Tracksuit goes onto the rest of the group about the principles of jerking off in the desert.

        His gaze is a heat sinking missile. "I thought it was Maskless."

        "Thought you weren't listening, didn't think you'd respond."

        He tapped his ear, "Heard something that wasn't lame. Tell me."

        You remembered little of William. He was spunky, nice to be around the few times you met while dating Mark. He was always welcoming and you could appreciae that. The one thing you really remember is, "He's lethal at bowling."

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        "Shit, I haven't thought about that guy in forever." Mohawk stretched his arms over his head, bringing them behind him and trying to catch you by the waist. When you dodged out of the way he smirked. An 'I'll get you one day' kind of look. "He was crazy with those strikes n' shit."

        "He was good."  Phantom fiddled with the remaining jerky in his hands. He had more to say, but couldn't bring it to come out.

        "I used to go to the alley every weekend with Mom when I was younger." Omni said, having long since tuned out Tracksuit and Lensless' rambling, "Just so I could get better and beat him one day." He doesn't say how Dad thought it was a waste of his time, made him stop just for those few precious hours of training. How Mom let it happen.

        "Did you ever?" Maskless asks.

        "No." Omni forced away the memories. William didn't matter anymore. He hadn't mattered in a long time. Nothing had.

         Tracksuit noticed his audience had waned and said, "That guy abused those lanes."

        "'S gotta be a universal constant that he's crazy good at bowling." Lensless said, though nobody acknowledged him. Everyone still a little tiffed about the cum water thing. 

        Something in Maskless seemed to unspool. "Yeah, I guess it is."

        There was comfortable quiet a moment. Quiet where Gray wondered who this William character was. Friends were not something Viltrumites had. He was odd for his culture, yes, but he had still stuck by that notion. Across the room, Scars vaguely remembered a kid who's homework he'd steal and company he'd tolerate when necessary. 

        "Baby girl, you're my universal constant." Mohawk bumped his freshly shaved side against your shoulder. 

        "I'm literally not constant." You gestured to Maskless, to Tracksuit.

        "I mean, yeah, but everywhere else you're like..." The words fall off his tongue and his eyes dart around the room looking for a nice way to say it. Because you were not some moral, goody-two-shoes here and that was strange for everyone. But hell, that's what he liked about you. "My super hot and sexy wife-bitch." He doesn't bring up his planned proposal. The failure was too humiliating to share, even with other versions of himself.

        You could tell he'd thought of something else, how there was something fundamentally wrong compared to his (Y/n) and it sours the small moment of bonding. "She had time to care about those things didn't she?" You do your best to cover up the bitterness but it's hard, so hard. When Mohawk is staring at you with Mark's fucking face, enamored by every word. You hated that Mark was still attractive to you, that his opinion of you mattered at all. 

        "I mean, yeah, I ran the empire, she looked hot. It was like a full time job."

        Your lips twist. "How hot was she when you killed her?"

        His head jerks away. Offense flashing in his eyes as his face tenses. Got 'em.

        He hits you back with a low hiss, "How bad did it hurt when you got gutted?"

        He wants you to remember him doing it, knows you won't. Wants you to remember pain and misery for everything you put him through, even though it wasn't you. Just reminding him of you was enough to warrant punishment.

        It's your turn to be surprised. Everyone's turn to be surprised.

        "Gutted?" Lensless sounded hopeful.

        You want to throttle Mohawk. Slap him around the room till he's red but nothing you could do would hurt him. Not even drowning apparently. "Like shit."

        You had just turned nineteen. A few months into your second go-around with Machine Head. He'd sent you to chase a rat down. Some kid your age who kept selling on Machine Head's block, a few of his men had gone missing before you.  

        "Describe it." Mohawk says, "I wanna know exactly what you felt when I did the same fuckin' thing to you."

        So you did. Machine Head didn't warn you because he didn't know. Psychics were a sheltered bunch. Didn't often make themselves known to the public or criminal enterprises. So when you caught the kid selling in the depths of some alleyway, you didn't except it to happen- nothing. He didn't listen to your commands, and you didn't get knocked back into a trashcan by his invisible push. He grinned then, said, "Oh good, I was wondering when I could do this again." 

        He opened you up low with a box cutter. Deep and fast. You stumbled back, holding your cut guts through your slashed open hoodie. He waited, wanted to watch you fall to your knees, onto your face and die by his hands. You whipped the gun out of the back of your pants and brained him right there. Somebody must have heard the shot, because an ambulance was there before you passed out from the pain. 

        "Happy?" You enjoyed Mohawk's rigid expression. How hard he had to focus to feign cool satisfaction when you could feel the agitation roiling under his skin. You were hurt, almost died, and he wasn't there to be the killer or savior or whatever bullshit his twisted brain thought up.

        "I wanna see the scar." Lensless says. "No proof or it didn't happen."

        You turn on him. "Proof? You want proof?"

        "Yeah, that's what I asked."

        You were tempted to lift the armor, but didn't. You wouldn't be able to deal with the sad puppy dog eyes on the old wound that sometimes still ached. Didn't want to tell them how much time Machine Head added to your sentence when he had to pay off the hospital staff for stitching you back together. All those corrective surgeries meant you'd be working for him at least another five years on top of everything else.

        So you hit him with the classic, "I can't have kids, you fucking asshole." It always shut people up.

        The room is still.

        "What?" Omni says.        

        Oh good! He looked upset! But not for you, not the usual pity you got and hated, he was upset for himself, and you loved ruining their expectations of you.

        "He gutted me, idiot." Your hand followed the scar path, memorized well, "Angled the knife so deep inside me it almost cut my uterus in half. Missed most of the important shit but got that. Isn't it funny?" You relish in the misery that falls heavy over his shoulders. "Didn't even get to start considering having kids," you add just to see him crumple, "before the option was literally cut out of me."

        "Are you-" He grips at his hair, struck through with gray stress, "Are you sure?"

        He could sense more gray coming in soon. This was too much. You two had been talking about starting a family when everything had happened. You had to be lying to get at him. Yet you heartbeat was steady, if only a little elevated with the pleasure of upsetting him.

        Here comes the home run, baby. "Pretty sure. Been around plenty and not a single scare." His hand goes over his googles like you'd see the tears under them. Wham, crack, pow right in the kisser.

        "I need a moment." He didn't move a muscle but floated up and out of the cave. You smiled at the thought of him crying.

        Scars liked how mean you were. Lensless too. Mohawk was conflicted. Phantom was concerned. Baldie wasn't upset, moreso shocked you were talking about the apparent trauma with them of all people. Maskless didn't care. Tracksuit quietly enjoyed his personal drama TV.

        Then there was Gray who'd taken his version of you to Viltrum to specifically breed a child into. If you could not procreate, what was the point? Sure, he'd come to your reality for the glory of Viltrum, but you were an added sweetener, a trophy to cement his victory. This you wasn't weak or humanly moral, he liked you a lot, but put simply, what was the point of winning your favor if you couldn't give him a child? That was one of his main duties to the empire, how could he leave it unfulfilled? He said nothing and tried to keep his expression blank. 

        "So you learned that through what? Getting ran through by a bunch'a guys?" Mohawk elbowed your side, trying to win you back.

        "Now that's an image." Scars muses though he hated the idea, he loved seeing you squirm.

        Mohawk took it a step further, "Ever been fucked by a Viltrumite, baby? I bet I could-"

       You had. The memory was sweet and clumsy, though stung to remember.

        "Not interested." You finally feel the weight of all their eyes on you, the reason some of them were upset and why some of them weren't. You stand and he almost falls after leaning so hard into you.

         "I'm going to piss." You didn't wait for reply, just turned and moved. Phone flashlight on, map pulled up on your screen, no piss sloshing in your bladder.

        You heard some protest, but no one stopped you. No one wanted to be the bad guy. Scars did, but he wanted you to brew awhile in your own angst.

        Omni returned maybe five minutes later. Right when Lensless was saying to himself, "She's been peeing awhile."

        He looks across the fire, sees none of them gone, only you, and asks, "Which way did she go?"

        He pointed, Omni went.

        ***

        This was stupid. These caves were stupid. So dark and wet and echoey. You considered downing some codeine just to feel something else besides a dull roiling anger made sharper by hunger you couldn't stand to sate. You'd been running on fumes and rage for so long, you'd grown almost used to it but here- in these caves? Surrounded by reminders of everything that went wrong? It was starting to wear you down. 

        With Machine Head you always went home to be alone at the end of the day. Sat with your cat, watched stupid TV on your laptop. Life sucked, but it was good enough. Now you were sitting on a wet ledge you almost fell down a few minutes ago. Drop so deep your flashlight couldn't penetrate the bottom. There was something introspective there, you think, but couldn't be bothered to chase it. 

        You were vulnerable and sad, but at least you were alone.

        "There you are." Omni's behind you. Of course he came for you.

        "Go away." 

        You don't hear him leave. Hopefully he floated back to camp. But when you turn he's there, hovering in the laid-down phone light, over the ground your ass was freezing on. "I won't leave you again." He said. "I apologize for my... response."

        Your eyes narrow. "Jus' gonna stalk me like the rest, huh?"

        "I'm not going to-" He swallowed the words because they're partly true. He retries, "I want to protect you. And I can't protect you from the past. It upset me to hear that."

        Now, that was funny. "You force fed me human meat."

         His lip twitched, not the response he was looking for. "Two did that." Meaning Scars.

         "You helped."

        "Because I care about you (Y/n)," It's said soft, an olive branch, an apology without actually saying it. 

        "You cared so much you killed the (Y/n) in your dimension, right? Even though she was your wife. Some doting husband you were." Pow, right in the kisser, again. 

        "(Y/n) I-"

        You exploded, why did he get to look at you like a kicked puppy when you knew he killed a version of you he apparently loved. "No, dude! This is fucking crazy! You killed her- me- and now you're like- rebounding with me. It's fucking insane!"

        "That's not what this is. Let me explain." His tone was still soft. It pissed you off. 

        "I don't give a fuck how you feel! I'm not your dumb, bitch wife!" You stand and spin, fast, too fast. Your foot slips on the edge and you tip back, back, back, until there is no ground beneath your feet. You fall, you are falling. Still falling because he hesitates catching you. He's out of view and all you can think is you were going to die because of him again. There are arms strong under your back, body heat curling around you as you gasp. He floats down to the bottom, where the air is even colder and damper, the rock smoother. 

        You can't see anything. Phone light left at the ledge. You are vulnerable and he holds you despite everything he knows you've done, everything you know he's done.

        "Put me down." He only does because your voice warbled. Knife fights and stabbings were one thing, falling almost to your death was another. You'd never get used to almost dying. 

        You stumble until you're leaned against a wall, chanting to nobody, "You almost let me die." 

        "I didn't." He says. 

        "You almost let me die."

        You hear him come closer, cape fluttering behind him, "I would never let you die." This version, anyhow.

        "You thought about it."

        Omni is quiet. "You're just so... different." The admission is a leaden weight, only to be dropped in absolute dark. "I wasn't expecting a different person, different circumstances. You complicate things."

        You swallow the bile that'd been creeping up. "This doesn't have to be complicated." You turn to face the sound of his voice. Eyes widen to try and find his frame in the dark, but you see nothing. "It's always been simple. I'm a different person and so are you. I'm nothing like her and you're nothing like him."

        In this instance you are the same as she was. Eyes wide in the dark, searching, while he can make you out tangled in the sheets of his bed. Disappointed in him but still open looking for an option to make it all better. Vulnerable and wanting in the darkness before he takes you. The scenes of then and now mash together like his lips upon yours. Your back is pressed flush to the wall, surprised hands not yet tightened to fists on his chest. His gentle yet firm touch holding your head in place, knee parting your legs. 

        You hadn't known to resist, it happened so quickly. One second you were bitching, the next he was sucking on your lip. The gasp you let out is a welcome into your mouth, for his tongue to find and wind around yours. The friction melts something inside you. His groan and tightening grip only melts it quicker. 

        He moves his head with yours, nipping at your lip. His tongue lathes over yours. It's the first time he's kissed you, but you know its also not, because knows how to gently tear you apart.  

        Mark never got to know you this well, nobody in your reality did, you'd never had a partner for more than a few months. But Omni had, he knew you. It brings on a wave of nostalgia for something you never had, of sadness, of angst, of desire to know the other side of what he knew. 

        Your hands fold in and out of fists. One second bumping against his chest, the next gripping his shoulders. You hate him but feeling his knee press so hard between your legs softens the feeling.

        "Tell me to stop." He says breathlessly between the heated exchange, spit making both your lips slippery. As he says it, his other hand is undoing the buttons of your pants. Hasty but careful not to rip the fabric.

        All he gets in reply is a, "Fuck you," which isn't stop.

        He takes it as permission, licking a hot stripe up the side of your neck. Which earns him your arms thrown over his shoulder and your clothed cunt dragging up and down his armored knee. The drag stutters when his lips find their home in the nape of your neck, his teeth teasing the skin. You twitch and gasp, the sound different from his wife but the reaction similar.

        His gloved hand slips into your pants and finding no resistance. You were bare. He pressed his palm to the pulsing flesh, just making sure what's his was there. He could feel the heat, the silken softness through the kevlar of his gloves. You buck, needily against his unmoving hand, trying to take what you wanted. The already pulsing flesh of his cock began to ache.

        Omni tore off his gloves, needing to feel skin to slick. At the same time you claw off his stupid mask, pushing it to hang around his neck like a limp hood. You couldn't see his face, you didn't want to, but the lenses were a barrier between you. You find his hair, twisting it in your grasp, pulling hard at the dried gelled strands for a reaction but get none. 

         His touch returned. He hadn't felt you in months and when he did, you were so hot it burned, so wet his fingers slipped, blood rushing to his dick so fast he almost blacked out.

        "God." He breathed against your neck, exploring with fingerpads. Testing if the same buttons did the same things. They did. 

        You had no clue how he was working you like this. Hookups were fun, and part of the fun was the exploratory nature of it, directing someone how to please you. Learning just enough to reach your end and never having to think about it again. But Omni knew, there was nothing tentative about his touch. It was knowing, he was perfectly circling your clit with two lazy fingers and you were mewling embarrassingly into his neck. Scratching at his scalp. He had wiped your mind blank.

        He was in complete control of your body and it pissed you off as much as it made you needily grind against his knee. You unwound your hands from his hair, trailing down the hard mass of his chest, over the bulge you knew was there. Because you knew hookups were always a two way street. You had just barley began to grope him when he pulled your arm back over his shoulder.

        He hissed between teeth. "Don't." He's right back to circling your clit. Breath hot on your face. "This is for me." To prove something to himself. That you were the same person in the very core of your being if not the surface. If some part of you was the same, he could live. He would live for you.

        "That doesn't make any-" Thick finger tips press into your entrance. Not even past the first knuckle and you're gasping, words forgotten. 

        Satisfaction hums in his chest. "I want to focus on you." He pushes two digits in, tortuously slow. Relishing in the way you twitch and gasp at every gained fraction of skin. His palm met your slickened cunt, rough padded thumb pressed to your clit. He moved, slow, curling his fingers against your insides.  

        "Fuck!" Your thighs go up, around his hips like a vice. 

        "Quiet." He swallows your moans in an open-mouthed kiss. You were louder than her, but he didn't mind because feeling you around him, warm, wet, and welcoming, cemented the idea inside him. You were her, in some removed yet fundamental way, you were her and she was you. No other human would allow a monster like him to touch them, but she had been brave to love him, and you were brave for standing against him. Taking him like this.

        For giving him the gift for his wife, alive and whole again, he pulls his fingers out only to ram them right back in. You'd always liked things on the rougher side and he liked to deliver. It seemed you liked it a whole hell of a lot here too. Practically crying into his mouth which meant he just had to keep viciously stuffing your cunt with his fingers. Thumb messily slipping back and forth across your clit. He knew you were close by how uncoordinated your kiss became. Your breath coming out in hot pants against his lips.

        Your hands didn't know where to go, spasming on his back, twisting in the cape or his hair. 

      "Ma-Mar-Mmmh-haaa!" Your walls tightened around him, but he didn't slow. Viltrumite strength was good for something.

        Orgasm hit you, a sledgehammer to the cunt. So hard you were paralyzed in his grip. Pussy clenching against his fingers like it never wanted him to leave. He pumped right on through it, muttering praise, "Good. Good job."

        Your body started to go limp but he held you up. Fingers never breaking pace even as your insides tried to slow him in the aftershocks. You hadn't cum so fast with a partner in... ever. You didn't know how to handle this kind of pleasure, given as a brutal gift by someone else. You wanted to choke him out with his stupid cape. You wanted him to fuck you literally forever. 

        His fingers adjusted the tiniest amount and you threw your head back against the rock. His tongue back on your neck. "Mmm-haaa-!"

        "Markus." He kissed into your throat, "Call me Markus."

        The thrusts dwindle into slow, rolling pumps. He waits for you to be desperate enough to say it but you won't. It's too intimate, too much. You buck your hips into his hand, "Come on, come on, faster." You just manage not to tack on a desperate please. You weren't that far gone yet.

        Instead, he buried his fingers against your g-spot and rubbed viciously at your clit with his thumb. Your back jerked involuntarily up, name ripping out, "Markus!" God, you were going to regret this later.

        Pleased, he pulls his fingers out, and two becomes three, and you are filled to the brim. But it feels right, like he'd fucked you this way a million times. A strangled cry is torn from your throat, pushed back in by his tongue in your mouth. His thumb has fallen, hand focused on ramming you full. Whole arm flexing, shaking you both. Palm slapping harsh against your swollen clit. 

        Your second coming is a lot different than what's in the Bible. Lots more, "Oh fuck's" muttered against his spit-slicked mouth. 

        His pace followed the spasm of your muscle. First erratic, then dwindling, slipping out of your pulsing body when it was done, though you had more to give. He let you go slack in his hold, allowing himself a still moment to taste you on his flesh. He sucked his fingers nearly down to the bone as your feet found purchase. That familiar sour tang that reminded him of home, his cock throbbing. His point was proven. His meaning refound.

        Your heartbeat still pitter-pattered, your body still wanting, still open to him. You could go another round. He considered the idea. He still had you against the wall. A no still hadn't come off your lips but a, "What the fuck is wrong with you," just had, so it was about time to pack it up.

        "Did you not enjoy that?"

        "What- I- Tch-"

        You can't see it but he smiles soft. You'd come around and there'd be more where that came from. 

        "Well?" He goaded, hoping you'd say it. How right that felt. How inexplicably well he knew your body. 

        "I'm still mad at you." Came out with little bite. He'd dulled your teeth.

        You feel rather than hear his chuckle, his hand coming to your waist. 

        "Are you?" It's teasing in a way you'd never heard before, but she had. Before you both had done the same song and dance. Something stupid was done or said and you were on the verge of argument. Then he'd bend you over a counter or table, and fuck the fight right out of you. Worked like a charm. Happy wife, happy life, dad had once said.

        "Yes." You don't give into his teasing, don't lean into the fingers tracing your body but don't move away.  

          Markus pulls his mask up and over his head. He knows if he says nothing you'll dig your grave deeper in three, two, one... "I'm not calling you that in front of everyone. It's a stupid name."

         "It's our full name." You try stepping over his knee, still perched between your legs but nearly trip. He catches you by the arm, shifts you easily to rest over his forearms.

        You tried to keep your voice from wavering, “I know that. Nobody calls you that in any universe.”

         "I know, that’s why it'll be our secret," He lifts off the ground easily, feeling lighter than air.

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, epilogue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Lee discovers life on her own.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 Here we are, this is the end! I'll see you on the other side 🧡 @frannyzooey marry me? 🧡

Word count: 8.6k (I'll never learn)

[prev] * [series masterlist] *

Epilogue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday, in the loneliness of your room, in the hollow space of your life, through the cold hard rectangle of your phone. 

Hey, baby.

Hey, Frankie.

How’s my girl doing?

The caress of his voice convokes the memory of his touch, of the bedspread’s synthetic fabric, stained and slippery, and the rough material of the brown rug abrading your knees. 

You close your eyes, so you can see it better. His freckles, his dimple. The dip between his collarbones. His skin of gold, the smoothness of his curls, gliding between your fingertips. 

His cold hard stare. His soft sad eyes. 

I’m good. 

You close your eyes and smile, because he’s there, still, another week, true to his word, and the modulated sound in your earpiece lets you hear his own relief, breathed out in a smiling exhale. 

Through space and distance, through memories, his hands ghost your skin. 

Sometimes, the round accents of his low husk guide your hand downward, down between your legs, wringing wistful waves of pleasure out of you. 

Let me hear you come, baby. 

It’s a distant echo. A forlorn imitation of what his body did to yours in the motel room. Outstretched shadows on a cave’s wall. 

And afterward, his voice sounds pained, hurting the same way your heart feels bruised. 

Sometimes, most times, he just wants you to talk. 

Tell me. What’d you do this week? Learn anything new?

Is it worth it? What you've learned in this seven day gap, this open wound of a time-stretch, waiting for his voice to fill your ears like his body once filled your life, is it all really worth it? 

Your bones are worn out, your skin feels too big. Your heart is shrunk, aching, heavy like lead, blackened like coal, near the wild creature crying ruby tears. 

And yet, you learn. Every week, you have something new to tell him. Every week, intently, he listens. 

In the loneliness of your room, in the hollow space of your life, through the cold hard rectangle of your phone, your love continues to grow, nurtured by words and silences. 

—

In a surprising turn of events, you don’t entirely dislike New York. 

The city still mildly scares you. Its buoyant history feels like a sparkling secret you’ll never be let in on. Its mythical aura makes you feel small and provincial. It’s definitely too big, too noisy, too stressful. And, you’ve learned at your expense, ridiculously pricey. 

But it is also completely, blissfully anonymous. People don’t only ignore who you are, they also do not care. Since you got here, your name hasn’t once elicited the silent gasp or double take it never fails to provoke down in Tampa. 

And instead of drowning, forever disappearing, you wake up every morning and breathe in a big gulp of saturated New York air, making the conscious choice to tame the current. 

Spring is undecided, imprecise. It oscillates between chilly mornings and warm afternoons, cumbersome jackets and disorientation. 

Your shabby blue suitcase stands out like a sore thumb in a corner of Polly and Ava’s living-room, styled with slick 1950s furniture, straight lines, confidential art pieces, and quality material. 

Thrown from a life sentence in a glass tower into this transient condition, you vacillate, but hang on tight, and you wait, in between Fridays, to be tethered by the thread of Frankie’s praise and encouragement. 

On weekdays, from 9 to 5, you sit behind a black square desk on the third floor of a modest Manhattan publishing company, proofreading copies of psychiatric essays for typos. 

The work is dull, tedious, an entry-level position hardly above an internship, but the task is concrete, its results tangible. It provides you with a decent salary you might owe entirely to your connection with Polly, and the priceless satisfaction of a job accomplished when the working day is done. 

You miss him. 

Summer is unforgiving. The entire city smells like hot trash, melted asphalt, car exhaust and overwrought engines. The combined heat from millions of strangers' bodies pressed together in urban proximity is otherworldly. 

The nearby presence of the Atlantic Ocean, centuries of waves, dark and unfathomable, is impossible to conceive. Your frazzled eyes search the city sky in vain for the line of the horizon. 

The commute from your furnished studio apartment in Jackson Heights is uncomfortable and never-ending. You read voraciously, to prevent your mind from wandering to the square window with the yellow curtains, the black-edged mirror and the one dollar store painting of the Appalachian. Your lost paradise. Your unexpected home.

At night, you’re too tired. Too tired to eat, too tired to read any more, or even watch television. You stumble onto your empty bed and pray for an empty sleep.

On weekends, you seek refuge in air-conditioned museums. There, in the bustling silence, among crowds of eclectic tourists snapping performative pictures in square format, your life is suddenly, quietly upturned: art understands. Art heals. Art is the key to translating your raw feelings. A catharsis for your searing emotions. 

You miss him. 

With fall come crisp winds, clear lights and yellowing leaves, and the city turns another kind of spectacular. You finally seem to find your bearings. 

At work, you’re given more responsibilities, along with your very own intern. A tall, polite young man in an awful suit that hangs off his lanky frame, he stops blinking every time you address him, hungry eyes snapping to your lips every now and then. It makes you smile, what you do to him. 

In your kitchenette, which is really more of a narrow corridor than anything else, you’ve taped a world map on which you pin a round, colourful thumbtack for every new cuisine you taste. Cold burritos shared with Frankie on the motel’s dirty carpet are hard to beat. But Columbian chicharrón ranges at a close second. 

Forsaking rest, you spend your Sunday afternoons in a 1st Ave cinema, which specializes in pre-war films. In the solitary darkness of the red velvet-lined theater, you fall in love with Louise Brooks, with Pabst’s German realism, and Murnau’s Sunrise. New names and faces crowd your thoughts during your daily commutes: Bette Davies, Theda Bara, Marion Davis... Slapstick comedies have you kicking your feet, and you devour every book and article you can dig out on the Hays Code. 

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you clock off early and hurry uptown, where you attend evening classes in art history in a small overheated classroom decorated with faded museum postcards from all over the world. 

The attendees form a small mismatched crowd of second-chancers, seeking meaningful connections more than a proper education.

Thierry is the first to approach you. A stupidly handsome, late twenty-something man, sporting a dark Mohawk and second-hand bespoke shoes matched with a leather perfecto, Thierry claims to be French Canadian, and you know better than to call him out on the obvious fib. If anything, you’re more than willing to play along. Thierry takes you out as often as you’ll let him, sometimes to cafés and thrift stores, but more often to gay bars. He says you’re the best wingman he’s ever had, with your distant demeanor and the melancholy in your gaze. 

“My peers love your brand, bébé,” he says.

On one of these drunken late-evenings turned early-mornings, in a Brooklyn dinner with greasy pleather benches, over eggs Benedict and burnt filter coffee, Thierry tells you he was born Travis, in Nowhere, North Dakota. His voice remains surprisingly steady when he explains how, tired of living in fear, he ran off to New York with less than 18 dollars to his name. But his eyes won’t meet yours. Too shiny. Too liquid. 

He tells you about the straight man, married with children, who once broke his heart, and asks you about the one who broke yours. 

“I didn’t need a man to do that,” you answer in earnest. You watch the tears brimming in his dark blue eyes. You hear him say, “I love you, Lee. You’re the best friend I have,” and you believe him.

Around mid-October, Vera joins the Thursday evening class. She’s prompt to initiate conversation, and soon, you spend every other Saturday afternoon in her quaint Brighton Beach apartment, eating blini with homemade jam, mesmerized by her deep gravely voice as she recounts tales of her life in the USSR. Of how she fled the country, back in 1986, with nothing but grit, a suitcase full of photographs, and a heart bleeding memories. She speaks, you find, simply because you are willing to listen. Before you leave, she hugs you strong enough to crack your spine. 

Vera was a mother, once. To a blond boy named Igor, who died of undiagnosed leukemia not long after he’d learned to walk.   

When you leave her place, your clothes are impregnated with her scent, bergamot tea and vanilla tobacco. You take a long stroll to Coney Island in the brisk dusk, clutching your scarf high on your face. The sharp Atlantic wind makes your eyes water. Shivering, you sit on a boardwalk bench, and marvel at the Wonder Wheel’s lights, brightening the crepuscular fall.

You miss him.  

Ava seldom has time for you in her ever busy schedule. Sometimes, the two of you meet for a quick lunch, and every once in a while, she takes you to an art performance where young adults with edgy haircuts douse their naked bodies in paint in front of a live audience to protest climate change or human trafficking. You don’t always understand, in truth, you rarely do, but you always welcome the opportunity to broaden your horizon. 

Polly makes sure to have you over for dinner at least once every two weeks. The regularity is touching. Some nights, you feel like indulging, and take a cab back to your place.

You learn. Every day, you learn. Through sweltering heat and ice-sharp cold, through lively chatter and the crackling of dead leaves. Through loneliness, yours and other’s. You learn. 

Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, home is people. 

And you miss him, you miss him, you miss him… 

—

Twenty-nine Fridays. 

Frankie once more sat down behind Lupe’s desk at the dispatch center, to count down the weeks since your departure on the large cardboard calendar. 

There’s 29 of them now. Soon, those empty Fridays will outnumber the ones you filled with your skin and your scent. 

Your absence has torn a gaping hole inside his chest, and loneliness came pouring in to fill it. The feeling is alienating. It’s worse than shame, worse than fear, fear of hurting and fear of dying. The grief is all encompassing. It’s worse than everything he’s ever been stricken with. 

“Time will help, hermanito,” his sister had said shortly after you’d left. “Time is gonna make it better, don’t worry. Paso a paso.” 

Will hadn’t said anything. Will would never lie to his face. 

Frankie knows, just like Will does, that time ain’t gonna do shit. If anything, time will only make it worse.

Time has forsaken him. Everywhere around him, people go on with their lives, moving forward, making plans. 

Lua’s curls grow longer, her babbling evolving into fully formed words, and her balance becoming surer as she explores the world around her with her big bright eyes wide open. His beacon. His pride. His little miracle. 

Marcus moved in with Lupe. There was a proposal, quickly followed by talks of a spring wedding.  

Tess’ll be starting college soon, sponsored by the Redfly Family trust, her little sister already attending middle school.

Will went back to Colorado, where he found a counseling position at the VA office in downtown Aurora. 

Benny quit the MMA circuit and followed his brother, like he always does. Met a girl back home, a brunette with water-clear eyes, a kind heart and a sharp sense of humor. Now, they work together on her father’s tree farm, and he says things like, “she gave me a purpose.”

And Frankie’s stuck here. Stuck inside his pain, locked up within his loss with a hole the shape of you inside his chest, surviving on the promise of your voice every Friday at 7pm. Of your cheery tone when you talk about what you’ve discovered and learned, your new friends, your new tastes, your unassertive victories. Your steady healing. 

Only he knows your life up there can’t always be milk and honey. But you won’t tell him about the hardship. Bottling it up for his sake, he assumes, but then, where’s his fucking purpose? 

His longing just follows him everywhere, dimming the sun, turning his food all wrong, turning his friends to enemies, places that once brought him solace no longer meaning relief. The cab of his truck devoid of your scent, a song on the radio that you’re not here to hum, and his blood turns to lead. The whole world around him, a reflective surface to reverberate his grief. 

So Frankie waits. Minutes, hours, and days. He aches and simmers and he waits. He’s cut for grit and patience and restraint, anyway. He waits for time to remember about him, to let him hop back onto that fast-paced train, he waits to be alive again. Hold your body close to him, feel the coolness of your touch, breathe in the scent of your perfume. Be your man. Keep you safe. Forever and always. 

He waits, until one afternoon in early December, when Lupe approaches him in the break room after his shift. 

“We need to talk,” she says. 

The following morning, a Thursday, an incoming call wakes him up. The sound of your sobbing comes in shaky and muffled through the receiver, and his spine grows rigid.

“I need to see you,” you say.

And Frankie knows he’s done waiting. 

—

The front door rattles with three successive knocks. Like a bloodhound, you still, head perking up, a near white-knuckle grip on the vacuum handle. You press the tiny button on your headphones to pause the music, and Kate Bush’s voice fades to silence, allowing the vacuum’s roar to resurface. You kill it, too. 

It’s impossible you could have heard anything over all this din. 

You balance the vacuum handle against the dresser to grab your phone that’s lying there, and check the time on it. 

Noon. Frankie’s plane just took off. He isn’t due here for another three hours. Leaving you just enough time to finish tidying up the apartment, take an everything shower and hop on a cab to go pick him up. You purposefully postponed the cleaning until the very last minute, so you wouldn’t go insane waiting for him in these last hours.

A little pang of guilt flares hot across your neck and cheeks, quick and sharp, at how shamelessly you begged over the phone, a couple of days prior. Letting him hear your sniffling, the sound of your tears rolling down your face, if you could have, just because you couldn’t bear the misery of crying on your own anymore. Unabashed and so very selfish in your need of him. Of his hold and his warmth. His eyes and freckles. The weight of his body, the low thrum of his heartbeat. Petulant like a child. Please, please come here.

You snatch the headphones off your head. The room is silent. Three floors down, the neighbor’s yelling at her husband again, their baby crying. No one in the hallway knocking on your door, then.  

“Damn it,” you mutter, tossing the headphones on the dresser and padding over to the minuscule entryway. Wearing nothing but your sleep shorts and ragged college t-shirt, all of which should have been in last week's laundry load. If someone’s here, they’re in for a smelly treat. 

You wrench the door wide open, like a dare, like a vain wish, and you’re met with the solid wall of Frankie’s broad chest. 

A gasp, yours, short and high-pitched, and he collides into you, his arms circling your waist, pulling you flush against him. His face burrowing in the curve of your neck, his hat knocked off his head with the force of the collision. A hard press, a sharp inhale, he’s hoisting you up and carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. 

Your heart, black and shrivelled, is suddenly too big for your rib cage. The wild creature’s purrs are deafening. Dopamine floods your brain, you’re madly happy, a relief so intense you’re trembling. 

“I’m not leaving this stupid city until you’ve given me this t-shirt,” he says, his mustache grazing the tender skin behind your ear. 

He smells like cold air, and underneath it, him. Old leather, a hint of sawdust, blond and taffy-sweet, and you smile through the tears lumping the back of your throat, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, fingers threading through his curls, digging into his thick jacket, socked feet dangling an inch above the floor. 

“It’s gross. I’ve been sleeping in it for a week, at least.”

“Yea, well, that’s the point, baby.”

You laugh, a choked up sound, half elation half sob, the curve of his own grin felt against your throat. 

“I’ve missed you. Fuck, Lee, I’ve missed you so much,” he groans, and his words, rasped and warped, bear the weight of his loneliness. Months worth of sleepless nights. 

His large hands span your back in all directions, a needy grasp at the soft curves of your hips, back up to your shoulder blades, and down to your waist, making sure —Are you real?— making up for everything that’s been lost. Your back arches into his chest, into his pulsating life force, your leg hitching up along his cold denim. 

There’s all of his strength, all of his need in this embrace. Forever imprinting the shape of you into his flesh. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” you whisper. 

His right hand leaves your back, barely, just long enough to slide the strap of his black rucksack off his shoulder, before it returns to you. Fingers curling around your nape, his forearm aligning with your spine. The metal of his belt digs into your belly as you push into him with a near matching strength, no space left between your bodies for anything but this bright beaming bliss. 

Entwined like honeysuckle and ivy, you stand there, in the entryway, under the dangling naked bulb. Basking into each other’s scent. Bodies thrumming high and strong like a power line of the highest voltage.

“Let me look at you,” he says after a while, hands cupping your face, dark eyes raking over your features under his creased brow, “how are you feeling, baby?”

His gaze flicks over to the thin scar in your hairline before it locks with yours, and it’s a binding spell, again, always, intact and unaltered. Black magic and fate, things that aren’t even real except he makes them. 

“I’m good!” you laugh, your fingers curling around his forearms, a stubborn little tear hanging from your lashes. “I’m good, now.”

“Yea? Good,” he nods. “You look good. You look fantastic.”

Your lips pinch down a bashful, incredulous smile. He leans back into you and presses a pointed kiss to your lips, greedy, wet, open-mouthed, and you respond in kind, eager, starved. He tastes of coffee and him, and you might lose your sanity with how content you are feeling, how happy, how frighteningly complete.

His hands snake under the hem of your t-shirt, and there’s the cold tip of his fingers, the warm cup of his palms, spanning the expanse of your back, roaming over your shuddering skin and your body ignites in their wake, coming back to life, inch after inch after touch.  

You’re the first to break the kiss with a sudden concern, irrelevant, futile, and he’s holding your face again, his eyes hooded with want, drinking you in. 

“I thought your plane landed at 3pm. I wanted to come pick you up. I’m not even done cleaning, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry. I got to the airport too early,” he chuckles. “Figured I could change my flight. I should’ve texted you.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” you start, but his face slots back into the curve of your neck, and you flinch with a new sensation, as he nuzzles his way up, his plush lips a soft caress over the shell of your ear, his scruff a soft tickle. A dark shade of amber pooling down inside you. The thinner hair on your nape standing up. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Frankie,” you breathe out, voice weighed by that thick and sticky thing coiling in your center. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

“Got a veteran discount. And even if I didn’t, I couldn’t fucking care less about the price,” he murmurs into your skin.

A veteran. A pilot. Once more, always, the notion turns your blood to mush, thick like molasses, saccharine like a schoolgirl crush. And then, a thought, overwhelming, terrible: this man, a veteran, a pilot, dropped everything to fly across the country and make sure you were okay. Because to him, you are worth it. Because he cares. Because you’re his.

Pride, fierce and territorial, tightens your belly. Pride and that something else. 

“Do you want something to drink?” you manage to ask, a reminder that you’re still very much your mother’s daughter. “Coffee? Something to eat? Do you need to rest?” 

“Thanks, baby,” he says, straightening up to let you see the wicked grin dimpling his gorgeous face, “I got everything I need right here.”

—

Through the density of his body, tense and giving, through a need stronger than the both of you, in the stifling intimacy of a closed motel room, month after month, week after week, you’ve learned him. 

Out of necessity, you’ve allowed time and physical distance to come between you and him, only to find the knowledge is still there, constituent to your very being. Ingrained, ineradicable. Like an instinct, like the sun’s fiery circle burnt into your retinas through closed eyelids. 

Mellow inside and out, lightheaded and boneless, you follow him to the kitchen. Standing close to him by the steel sink as he washes his hands, enraptured, enamored, chest pressed to the back of his arm, cheek rubbing the brawny swell of his shoulder. Humming, like a cat purrs. 

You lead him into the room where you eat, sleep, and dream of him, bare walls, sparse furniture you never chose, a single narrow window. It’s supposed to be home but doesn’t feel like it, until he steps in, and everything changes.  

He looks massive in here, just like he did in the kitchen, too large for your everyday life, all proportions distorted, your perspective reframed by the scale of his shape. 

You watch him undress, and the details of him resurface. The plane of his solid chest, the breadth of his shoulders, when he removes his jacket. The graceful arabesque of his wrist tattoo, his lean forearms, when his flannel slides off his frame. The dip of his collarbones with its firework of sparkling freckles. His tanned skin, his softer belly, his scars and old wounds, when he tugs off his t-shirt. The trail of darker hair underneath his navel. His thighs, as he slides down his denim, thick and strong, his knees, his calves, the harmonious shape of him, the sum that surpasses the parts, everything so perfect, and you realize just how much you remember, how delusional you had been, thinking you could go on without it.

Everything pushed to the back of your consciousness, so the separation could be bearable. 

As he stands before you in the gray midday light, your desire is tinged by mute apprehension. You fled Tampa moved by the urgent necessity of your own survival. Now that you've shed most of your scarred skin, now that the danger no longer feels imminent, how will you survive his absence, once he’s gone?

Frankie calls your name, his round husk roping you out of your head, and you ask, “Should I keep my t-shirt?”

“Not today. Today, you take off everything.”

Sat on the edge of your bed, he beckons you, guiding you to stand between his spread thighs with firm, tender hands. The reverence that softens his mahogany eyes, the love and want you find there, it’s all yours. Yours to keep and treasure. 

The tip of his fingers thread along your curves in a delicate touch, brushing down the back of your legs, up to the small of your back, along your spine. Then down your arms, his lips nestling into the inside of your wrist, smooth and fragrant. A soft trail of love, light kisses and caress, shedding weeks of longing in their wake. 

You cup his face, thumbs slotting in the bare patches of his scruff jaw, and relish in the way he leans into your hold. 

He bends into you, his mouth a wet press to your soft belly. The scrape of his teeth, gently teasing. 

Twining your fingers into his thick curls, your fingernails scrape over his scalp. The echo of his groan reverberates deep into your center, slick leaking warm down your folds. You tug his face back to look at him, and ever so quiet, he hums, the sweetest sound, the greatest gift, eyes flickering shut under the pleading arch of his brow, a smile curling the corner of his lips. So much abandon. So much trust. You’re falling.

A fleeting memory tugs at your heart, wistful, indelible. Yours for the night only, and your breathing falters, you’re sinking deeper. 

Yours forever, if you’d only say the word. 

“Do you remember when you wouldn’t let me touch your hair?” you tease, but there’s hardly any air left in your lungs. 

His smile broadens. 

“Remember when you told me your name was Marion?”

Your laughter rushes out of you and his eyes flash open, his smile fully bloomed, transforming his face, all dimples and crinkly eyes. 

“Come here, Marion,” he chuckles, sitting you over his sturdy lap. 

All at once, you’re crushed against his chest to the music of his rumbling mmhs, before his embrace loosens, head dipping, nipping at your collarbone, calloused palm skimming up the underside of your breast.

“Fucking perfect,” you hear him growl before his mouth latches around your nipple.

You keen, quiet, grateful, eyes fluttering close as his tongue twirls around the hardening bud, hanging on for dear life to the breadth of his shoulders. So many sensations, after feeling so little for so long. There’s a live-wire buzzing down from your sternum to your core, and your pulse’s a desperate staccato, you struggle to remain afloat.

With an appreciative sound, he sucks on your nipple, a rough hand squeezing your breast, and when he bites into the soft flesh of it, it shoots straight to your clit. Your hips bucking forward of their own volition, seeking more.

Under your folds, his cock twitches, exquisitely stiff for you, already. 

“I could come like that, you know?” you pant, rolling your hips into the bulk of his want.

A shake of his curls, and he lets go, his mouth releasing your breast with a wet sound.

“No,” he husks, teeth ghosting the column of your neck, “you’re coming on my cock. Put it in.”

Your heart stutters, skips a beat, or two, or several. 

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs but he’s not moving you away, and there’s no space between your sealed bodies, no leeway for any movement. You’re trapped in his hold, pinned to his skin, glued to the amber golden light of him. And your hips keep rolling, and your heart keeps tripping, and your want keeps swelling. 

His lips wrap over the beating vein in your neck, sucking on the tender skin, sharp and stinging, teeth sinking into the surfacing blood. You lean into him, lean into the bite, lean into the pain.

You give yourself to it, all the love and the want and the affection, lose yourself in it, limp and pliant as it pours inside you, and everything has a name, now, everything is right, as his touch dissolves all the hurt calcified around your heart, all the fear you wouldn’t let out, all the failures and the doubt. 

You breathe out his name, and he breathes out yours, and you’re whole, bright, in bloom. Brimming with life.

He fits in your hand, warm and hefty, smooth skin and bulging veins, throbbing under the caress of your thumb, leaking thick and tangy over your knuckles, and you’re desperate for a taste, but you can’t let him go.

“Put it in, come on” he grits, but there’s no bark to his words, only need, bleeding into the bruising furrow of his fingers into the plush of your ass. 

A lift, you’re weightless in his hold, and he’s pushing thick and stiff at your entrance. Your face hanging above his, lips parted, trembling, and it’s already too much, the way everything within you pulsates and tingles. 

His gaze levels with yours, and his eyes spear into your eyes before he lowers you onto him with an unyielding grip and a shaky exhalation. And with each splitting inch, the searing girth of him stretching you blind. 

Fingers curled around his biceps, forehead pressed to his, you sink down to the hilt. The coarse hair at his base grazes your clit and sweat beads over your temple. 

With measured breaths, he pauses, giving you time to adjust. Eyes skittering over the small line splitting your brow, the quiver of your lip that you're too full to bite down on. 

For the first time ever, there has been no Stop me. This is something else. 

This is what comes next. What you’ve earned, what you’ve prayed for. 

There’s a tremor in his frame, the only evidence of his waning control, and he grabs at your ass, rocking you onto him, languid, scorching, a deep grind, perked up nipples grazing his solid chest, and you're already ascending. 

“Frankie,” you whine, plead, beg, walls a frantic flutter as his cock slots right into the center of you in rolling waves.

“Let go, Lee” he rasps, “let go, I got you.”

With the hushed assurance of his words, round and sincere, your release crackles and tenses. You slump in his arms, undone, rebuilt.

“I’ve missed you, Lee,” he presses into the slope of your shoulder, “God, I’ve missed you.”

—

He’s insatiable. Some of it is reminiscent of your first encounters at the motel, when his hunger was indiscernible from his rage. 

Tied up, with your arms behind your back and your face buried in the mattress as he holds your ass up with a bruising grip on your hips and pounds into you hard, rough, relentless. 

His fingers tangled in your sweat-damp hair, your knees on the hard tiles of the shower as he fucks your throat until you forget how to breathe. 

And suddenly reverential, his gentleness nearly too much when he wakes you up to cover your body in kisses and strokes. Overwhelming, the desperation with which he seeks the contact of your skin, his gaze spearing into your eyes as he grinds deep into your heat. 

The urgent, low husk of his voice when he murmurs, “Tell me what you want, Lee, let me give you what you need.” 

When he sits you on his face and relents control, when you pull on his curls to press him closer to where you want him, shameless and wanton, riding your release.

—

“And what about the Russians?” you ask, propping your chin on his chest. “Have you ever fought against the Russians?”

“Jesus, woman,” he laughs, “how old do you think I am?”

“I’m not talking Cold War Russians, I’m talking CIA stuff. I know you lot, Delta operatives.”

“Oh yea?” he grins, cocking an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

A mischievous expression dances on your face and he chuckles again, a wider grin pulling his lips. Lightheaded, is one way to put it. Melting inside is another. Giddy like a teenager with your levity. 

Your eyes flicker down to his dimple and you lift your hand off his chest to brush your finger into the dip in his cheek. You keep it there for a beat, seemingly absorbed, enthralled by the touch, and then it’s over. You lower your head back onto him, cheek resting right over his scar, he knows there’s no coincidence to it.

Frankie lets out a silent sigh. His head lolls back on the fat pillow. Twenty-nine Fridays, carved out and hollow. Twenty-nine weeks, 1123 miles, carrying his love and hunger like a penance, and then this. Your naked body tucked against his, under the thick downy comforter, in this tiny room saturated with your scent. Your taste on his tongue. Your easy laughter. Your gaze sinking into his eyes. It's a blessed sensory overload. That old slicing ache in his chest singing another song. 

Somehow, you look younger than when he last saw you. Maybe not younger, just more carefree. Understandably so. Those last weeks in Tampa, you had become so frail. But you’ve put on some weight since. It sits harmoniously on your figure, suits your features and brightens up your face. Means there’s more of you, too, and he can’t keep his hands from roaming your curves. 

He knows he’s gotta talk to you at some point. It’ll kill the mood, probably. Inform you of that decision Lupe took that will affect his life for the foreseeable future. Affect yours as well, maybe. To some extent at least. That insane rippling effect. His past choices always breathing down his neck, when he’d give everything for a clean slate.

But you look so fucking delicious. He went so fucking long, too fucking long without you, now he cannot get enough. It’s too soon to risk it. 

There were plans. An itinerary you had drafted in the short lapse of time it had taken him to organize his trip here, and that you’d texted him on the night before his flight. Things you wanted to show him, places that matter to you. The Coney Island boardwalk, the Guggenheim, and some marine paintings in the Frick Collection you were excited to share with him. He’d texted back with some requests of his own: your office building, the place in Brooklyn where you attend the evening classes, your favorite places to eat. 

But since he arrived, he’s kept you in, or you have him, he cannot tell. Either way, the two of you haven’t left the dim apartment, and any notion of time has been reduced to the alternation of semi-dark urban nights and stonewashed winter days. 

He tries not to dwell on the fact that your apartment barely looks lived in. Bare walls, save for that map in your kitchen, if he can even call that a kitchen. Your suitcase standing beside the dresser, like you’re ready to take off. No curtains, no rug, no lampshade. It’s almost like you don’t really want to settle. Like you’re still trying to decide if you truly belong here. 

The only evidence of you is taped to the mirror above the dresser. A Polaroid of a kid in pigtails blowing raspberries, washed out yellow and blurry by the years. Your sister, if he had to guess. 

And that receipt tucked between the pages of a leather-bound book on your nightstand. From the cantina. That very first Friday he brought food to the motel. He checked the date stamp. 

It breaks his heart, the way you’re torn and scattered. Neither here nor there. His guilt might be irrelevant, misplaced, but it churns his insides nonetheless.

Still, New York is where you live now. You’ve made some good friends, work a job you seem to like enough to give it your best. It’s probably just a matter of time before you store away the suitcase. 

Part of him wants to go out and explore this city that has robbed you from him. Learn everything he can about your life here, so that when he flies out on Saturday morning, he can picture you in your environment, going about your daily life. Anything to try to survive your absence. 

He wants to meet your family. A dinner is scheduled sometime this week with your sister and her girlfriend. He’d like to meet your friends. Further explore the mixed emotions and feelings he experiences whenever you mention these people, whenever he thinks of them. Gratitude, for the affection and comfort they give you. Envy, for the parts of you that are familiar to them and that himself will never get to know. 

The person you are when you’re with them. 

“Frankie?” you call quietly, your leg a smooth brush against his as you hitch it higher.

“Yes, baby?”

“Have you ever thought about how people are like… made of layers?”

“That’s funny, I was just thinking about it.”

“Really?” you exclaim. 

Your head pops up comically, and his jaw tenses. Why can’t he bring himself to let you see the dopey smile that melts his face whenever you look at him like this? Until now, he’s never felt vulnerable demonstrating his affection. 

But things with you are different. That living pull between you is too big, bigger than him. He senses it thrumming behind your lungs while it whirs inside his chest like an answer, constantly, it might bleed him dry with its intensity. Like first love. Pristine. Brand new. All encompassing. 

“Mmh,” he grunts, gathering his brain. “Yea. Or maybe like puzzles?”

“Yes,” you agree, your tone serious, and you scoot up a notch, propping your head in your hand, so you don’t have to crane your neck to look at him, “puzzles, exactly. And everyone you know holds a different piece of you.”

“Yea, pretty much, I guess.”

“And so the puzzle of you is never truly complete because the pieces are never all together at once.”

You pause, pondering over your reflection. 

“Do you think all the pieces could fit together, if they were assembled?” Frankie asks after a moment, a strange sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, like his center of gravity has suddenly shifted. 

“Probably not,” you muse, head shaking imperceptibly, your gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

The memory of the motel room resurfaces, stifling heat, amber lighting. The distance that sometimes clouded your eyes, your silent retreat within yourself, that inner world of yours, your island. Week after week, getting closer, within his reach, yet never fully accessible. He swallows thickly. 

“I think you got all my pieces,” you say in a casual tone, in contradiction with his thoughts.  

He tightens his grip around your waist.

“I don’t think I do, baby. But it’s okay,” he lies, as if he’s not free-falling from the sky, plummeting straight into your ocean. 

Slipping out of his hold, you sit up on the rumpled bed, your naked back turned to him. 

“Do you think I’ve got all your pieces?” you ask.

“God, I hope not,” he sighs, running a palm over his face. 

Hugging your knees, you lean forward, away from him. The room is thick with a compact silence, as if all the sounds were absorbed by fresh snow.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks, brushing his knuckles along your spine. A shiver fizzles under his touch.

“I was wondering… Is it important? Do you have to know someone to love them? What’s the right balance between knowing your partner, and knowing yourself? What’s the tipping point?”

His hand splays over your lower back.

“The tipping point to what?”

You shake your head in frustration, straightening your back, your knee bumped against his thigh. Offering him your profile, but not your direct gaze.

“I don’t know how to explain. When do you start losing yourself to be what others… what people expect you to be? At what moment do you start feeling isolated? Misunderstood? In a relationship, I mean? Because that’s the beginning of the end.”

“Fuck, Lee, I don’t– I don’t have those answers,” he frowns, sitting up with a cinch. “I know I love you, all of you, even the pieces I don’t know. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to be someone else.” 

Reaching behind you, you take his hand and weave your fingers with his. Your fingertips are cold, and he squeezes his into the back of your hand, to imprint some of his heat into you. Some of his words, too. 

At last, you fully turn. Under your scowl, something darkens your gaze. Something Frankie cannot decipher. His face close to yours, his eyes boring into your eyes, the moment tightens his throat, decisive, important. The pregnant silence. The gray winter light painting shades of blue on your pale skin. The old pain spears through his heart, sweet and beaming. It’s gonna split him in half. He knows he’ll never forget it. Never let go of this sensation. 

“I trust you, Frankie.”

“I trust you, too.”

Your brow shifts, the tiniest inflection, and your eyes widen, luminous like a rising sun, like a summer morning.

“I promise I’ll always be honest with you.”

“I promise I’ll always be honest with you, baby,” he rasps, the weight of his secret sitting on the back of his tongue. 

—

On the fourth day, at last, you venture outside, ushered by your sister’s and Polly’s dinner invitation. 

The itinerary had to be stripped to the bare minimum. Frankie will be flying out in two nights. Your heart stutters and sinks every time you think of him leaving. 

The cold is unforgiving, the sky a gray shade of white, heavy and full like a quilted blanket. Against reason, you offer to take him to Coney Island, where the Atlantic wind will freeze the ears off your head. You’re not sure why it’s important for you to take him there, but he says he’s game. 

Bundled up in your thrift store coat, your face half concealed between a scarf the size of a tablecloth and a wool hat, you watch him brave the cruel temperatures with nothing more than a Sherpa lined trucker jacket over a fleece shirt, and his ragged Standard Heating Oil cap. 

As you stand and shiver, waiting for the bus —the first act of an interminable route— the tip of his ears poke out from underneath his curls, reddened by the frosty air. Sliding your numbed-out hand in his, you’re surprised by the warmth of his palm. Your mind wanders to the harsh conditions his former life has trained him to endure. You squeeze his hand with all of your strength. 

Later, sitting side by side on the subway’s hard plastic seats, you rant to him about your love-hate relationship with the NYC Metropolitan Transportation Authority. The never-ending rides, ideal for reading, listening to music, or idle contemplation. The welcome aloneness of anonymity, in a sea of indifferent strangers. 

He listens, his sharp profile tilted down in concentration over your words, and you’re mindful to downplay the downsides, the maddening time-consuming sprawl of the city, the promiscuity, the last-minute route changes and the undecipherable PA announcements. 

It’s not a lie as much as an omission. You can’t send him back over there with the knowledge that despite all its perks, you’ve failed to make this place your home. 

Thinking of your earlier promise, you fall silent, the deafening thunder of the train’s wheels over the tracks ringing out in your ears like a metallic injunction.

Your head lolls onto the round slope of his padded shoulder. His large hand curls over your thigh with a strong squeeze as he presses his lips to your temple. 

“What are you thinking, baby?”

“I was thinking that I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to living here,” you confess.

His shoulder slumps under your cheek. 

It’s another hour on the F train before you make it to the ocean. 

On the boardwalk, by the deserted amusement park, the wind slices through you, biting the exposed skin of your cheeks and chilling your bones. The defunct Parachute Jump stands erect like a skeletal sentinel, guarding over the memories of summers past. The graceful Wonder Wheel’s silhouette stands out in bright colors against the bleak December sky, like a benevolent promise, the assurance of continuity and the return of better days. 

“I think it’s my favorite season to be here,” you murmur.

“I can see the appeal,” Frankie rasps against the wind, eyes trained on the line of the horizon over your head. His arms circling your waist, the wall of his solid heat at your back.

“What have you told your sister about me?” he asks after a moment.

“Not much. Are you nervous?”

“No, not really. Wait, should I be? Her girlfriend’s a shrink, right?”

You laugh heartily, and immediately regret it when air made of pure frost rushes inside your lungs, freezing its way to the very end of your bronchioles. 

“Polly’s nice, don’t worry about her. Don’t worry about either of them. I love them, but I’m not waiting for their blessing.”

You’re done abiding that collective “we.” Another resolve rising up to the surface without your conscious knowledge of the process. 

“Oh shit, look at that,” Frankie exclaims. 

Above you, snowflakes descend from the white sky in a fast-paced twirl. Your very first New York snow. It’s neither fluffy nor cute, though, more like fierce little icy shards barreling toward you like small crystalline weapons. 

Your first thought is of his child.

“Has Lua ever seen the snow?”

“No.”

You squint against the wind and the stabbing snow, against the white daylight and all of your past hesitations.

“I can't wait to meet her, you know.”

He pulls you in closer, reaching out for your body through layers and layers of winter clothes. 

For a while now, the feeling has grown steady and strong inside of you, taking up more space each day. Nurtured by the pictures and many stories you’ve asked Frankie to share with you. This time, you’re better equipped to name it, from the very beginning. And it’s strange, in a tranquil kind of way, the unconditionality of this love. The irrationality of it. You love her, without any reason for it. You love her, just because. 

“How is it, being a parent? Did you know from the start what to do?”

“Oh fuck no,” he scoffs wryly. “Most of the time, I feel like she’s the one teaching me how to be her dad.”

The honesty of the statement makes you smile.

“Do you think you could bring her, next time?”

“She’s gonna have to get used to it.”

Frankie’s words reach your ear as you’ve already spoken yours. You whip around in his arms to face him, struck by the look on his face. Like he’s trying to chew his molars.

“Wait, what? Used to what?”

“She’s gonna have to get used to the snow.”

—

Your eyes are fucking blazing, so big they eat up half your face. A single teardrop clings to your lashes, from the near polar gale, probably, and you’re shivering cold. 

He can’t stall any longer. Not again. Not this time. Not when he just gave you his word to always be honest with you. 

“Lua’s mother's getting married. They’ll be moving to Rochester in the spring. Her fiancé’s from there. His father passed away a couple weeks ago, and his mother has ALS. He wants to move back to take care of her.”

“Rochester… New York, Rochester?”

Frankie nods. Against his chest, your lean figure grows stiff. 

“She’s taking Lua with her?” you ask in a thin voice. 

Frankie nods again. The wind picks up in gusts, those sharp snowflakes falling down obliquely, murderous, whipping your faces relentlessly. He wants to get you somewhere inside, somewhere warm. What if you get sick when he’s about to leave? 

Why you seem to fall for the things that are the most arduous to love is a complete mystery to him. This place in the winter. Him.

Your fingers curl around his lapel. 

“She’s taking Lua, yea. We talked about it. I’m gonna have to relocate. There’s no way I’m seeing my kid less than I already do. I started scouting for jobs in the area.”

“Is that why you came here? To tell me?”

“I came here because you said you needed to see me, Lee,” he answers, the hint of a scowl sharpening his tone.

You tilt down your face and furrow into his neck, your woolly hat a fuzzy tickle against the scruff of his chin. Your unrelenting tenderness, that brought him back from the darkness.

“I’ve checked the flights here from up there. It’s a short trip, a little under two hours. I could come down to visit every other weekend. If you want me to, of course” he adds, his voice warped with sheer fucking terror, his heart thumping in his throat. 

“I don’t like it,” you shoot right back, rising your face to look him dead in the eye. 

It’s that same look again, the one from that very first night at the bar, feverish, lost, hopeful against all odds, against your better judgment. Instinctively, his hands fly to cup your face. It’s cold as marble, and his palms ignite at the contact of your skin, again, still, always. Your eyes pool with something dark and dense, your fingers leaving his jacket to cuff his wrists. 

“Every other weekend isn’t enough, Frankie. It’s not enough.”

“What are you saying, Lee?”

“I'm saying I want to go there with you.”

His pain huffs out of him. Disbelief in a puff of white breath. 

“You want to follow my ex and her new husband to fucking nowhere up north, when you just settled here?”

Brow pinched in a stern expression, you nod frantically between his palms.

“Yes. I want to be with you.”

“What about your sister? Your job? Your friends? What about–”

“I can find another job,” you cut it, words punching out of you and landing straight into his gut. “You said it’s only two hours to fly here, I can visit them, I want to be with you, Frankie, please, please, plea–”

His mouth crashes over yours, silencing your plea. Your lips are icy-cold as you press back into his kiss. He feels your arms rounding his back, your little fists bunching his jacket, clinging to his shoulders. He could swear he feels your heart, too, pounding loud against his, leaping out into his rib cage, exactly where he wants it, where he needs it, next to his, to keep it warm and safe. 

How did he get here, on this freezing boardwalk, facing the dark immensity of the Atlantic Ocean on the cusp of a second chance? On the verge of everything he never dared to long for? Everything he has ever truly wanted? 

“You’re gonna come with me, baby?” he chokes, the words rolling thick over his tongue. 

“Yes,” you sniffle, a tear running down your cheek.

“You’re gonna let me love you? Gonna let me build you a home?”

“Yes, Frankie,” you nod again, a smile tugging your lips, more tears slipping down your face, and he’s surprised the wind doesn’t turn them into pear-shaped diamonds. 

“Okay. Okay, alright,” he smiles. “Can we get somewhere warm now?”

You laugh, leaning into his hold. Blue lips, red cheeks, pink scar. Eyes of gold. 

“Yes,” you agree with another sniff. “Remember when we wished for seasons?”

The End

****

End notes: alright, Orange bedroom besties, raise your hand who thought they wouldn't end up together? I tried, this time I really tried, but there's nothing I can deny this man... or you, I guess? This series took a big chunk out of my life. It consumed a lot of my heart, time, energy, brain, emotions... Wow, look at that, not unlike therapy, huh? Anyway, enough about me, my point is, THANK YOU. Thank you for your patience, I know I'm the slowest and I feel terrible, thank you for reading, or for just passing by, thank you for bookmarking for later, engaging, lurking, liking, commenting, reblogging, sending an ask, reccing, thank you for supporting me in any way and manner, thank you thank you thank you, Ily and I appreciate you, genuinely, so very much 🧡 Thank you Kelli my love, for beta reading that whole damn thing with so much kindness, for teaching me so patiently, for holding my hand every step of the way, for listening to my endless rambling, for being you, smart and talented, selfless and gracious, for being my friend. This is a story about hope, and your stories brought back hope into my life. I love you, I like you, I admire you, until the end of times 🧡 Thank you Lua @pedrit0-pascalit0 for letting me love you on main, oops I mean use your name! Thank you for sharing your thots on the Pilot™ with me, thank you for being a menace in DMs and keeping me alive and alert with your smart and talent and humor. Ily. Big loads 🧡 @dreamymyrrh you know what you did, and everything you gave this story. I'm so grateful for you 🧡 I love you more, I don't want to hear anything, shhhhh 🧡 Now I'm gonna go lie in the dark utterly terrified that I won't ever have another idea or write another word rest a little bit and get back to work as soon as inspiration strikes again!

THANK YOU ALL 🧡

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello hello! I was just reading through your account and saw the ask of some hsr characters being the big spoon, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing hsr characters being the little spoon? I was thinking characters like, Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron and Firefly, if that's ok with you.

Have a good one!

(H:SR) Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron, Firefly, Feixiao, Qingque, Serval, and Tingyun being asked to be the small spoon

(Silver Wolf) "'Kay."

Silver Wolf doesn't get flustered nor does she really hesitate to let S/O hold her.

As long as they don't block her arms and hands from moving and to keep playing her game, it's good.

It's a nice feeling, sure, but she's too busy grinding.

For in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only material grinding.

(Silver Wolf) "...What? Turn down the brightness? Hang on, just need to see in this cave for a second-"

(Asta) "A-Alright, go ahead!"

Asta feels honestly a little giddy being held by her S/O.

She isn't particularly shy with her affection, but to be in such an intimate space never failed to get her heart beating faster.

Asta takes a deep breath before exhaling, snuggling into S/O's chest and hugging them back.

For now, she doesn't have to worry about work, she can just decompress with their arms around her.

(Asta) "...Do you think we need to buy a new blanket? This one feels a little too thin-...N-No need? Hm. True, this would be our third blanket.-"

(Acheron) "...You may hold me if you wish."

Acheron takes a second to adjust in their hold. Normally, she was the one holding S/O.

She wasn't entirely 100% positive at first if she liked it, but with how quickly her body relaxed she figured she could learn to.

Regardless, it's something she will start to treasure, any time spent with her beloved is time well spent.

Acheron's face is unmoving until S/O's hand brushes the back of her head, holding her gently yet firmly.

(Acheron) "Is your hand stroking my hair?...No, it is not unpleasant, it's quite nice, actually..."

(Firefly) "If you don't mind...!"

Well, Firefly doesn't really need sleep that much, but she'll never pass an up an opportunity to snuggle!

As much as she enjoyed being the big spoon for S/O sometimes, she could not deny how nice it felt for someone to care for her like this.

Even if it was something small like cuddling, it still meant a lot to Firefly.

Firefly's smile is ear to ear, accompanied by a light blush as she holds S/O back, her head underneath their chin.

(Firefly) "Dream well, S/O..."

(Feixiao) "Hm, alright, guess I could!"

Feixiao as the little spoon? Now that was a novel experience!

It felt absolutely divine to her to be held by S/O like this, as well as very strange.

Usually her strong arms would be holding S/O, sober or otherwise but she could get used to this!...Probably!

Her Foxian ears droop ever so slightly as she smiles, leaning into S/O's touch as their hand caressed her face.

(Feixiao) "Just don't blame me if you wake up when I do! With your arms around me it'll be kinda hard to get out."

(Qingque) "...Is that some kind of joke, S/O?!"

As if Qingque wasn't always the little spoon anyway!

Pouting, she'll just sigh before letting S/O hold her tightly, blushing.

It takes only a few seconds for her attitude to soften, simply yawning and ready to fall asleep.

Even if the hardest thing she did today was play a few games at work.

(Qingque) "...Why am I yawning? I'll have you know I do work from time to time you know!...STOP LAUGHING!"

(Serval) "Change of pace, huh? Sure!"

Serval doesn't hesitate, at least not until S/O holds her closer, making her blush.

She fiddles with her fingers for a brief moment before shifting their arms around her stomach, allowing her to move her head backwards into them.

Serval closes her eyes with a wide smile, already feeling comfortable.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

(Serval) "Hm, you're really comfy too, S/O..."

(Tingyun) "Mind the tail!"

Tingyun giggles at their request, but promptly settles in after doing the proper care for her tail, making sure that S/O can't mess with it during their sleep.

But afterwards, Tingyun happily lets herself be held by S/O.

After a long day, nothing is better than being held coming home. Well, maybe that and a promotion.

But she probably shouldn't complain.

(Tingyun) "Good night, S/O!~...Hm? What about my ears?...Alright, a little touching is fine, but don't mess it up too bad!"

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz) - part ii

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: 2.7k words, written au, angst, mentions of alcohol

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

part i

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

It’s been ten days. Ten days since you broke your one month streak. Ten days since you slept with your ex. Ten days of constantly oscillating between anger and sadness, of lying to your friends, and trying desperately not to let Carlos Sainz Jr. occupy your every thought.

At least it’s off-season, so the chances of accidentally coming across his face on social media or on billboards in town are a lot less high.

You’re meant to be over him. You were the one that broke up with him, after all. And yet, you can’t seem to get him out of your head.

“Oh come on,” your colleague nudges your shoulder, leaning in to make sure you can hear him. “I thought we would crush this quiz, but you’re not even paying attention!”

Slammers is loud on any given day, but it’s their monthly quiz night that really makes the whole place feel just a tad overcrowded. Normally, it’s something you look forward to, winding down from long office hours – and finally letting loose with colleagues.

Normally, you’re the first one to shout the right answers down the table to whoever’s in charge of writing them down.

Normally, you don’t mind the no-phone policy that lets you actually focus on spending time together, rather than sending off a final email or text.

This time around, you’re just trying your hardest to not zone out completely, give into the irritating urge to grab your phone and obsessively check it for messages, or – worst case scenario, cave and send a message yourself.

You can justify it, too. There’s the hoodie he’d left in your room, after all.

And your key. He still has your spare key.

It’s not because you miss him.

When your coworker pokes you again, you give him a half-hearted grin. “Sorry, I’m just a little bit distracted,” you apologise, making an effort to look over the answers that have been given so far. There’s quite a few items still left wide open, question marks crowding the margins.

“Well, we can’t have that. We kinda need your brainpower to win, as you can see,” he winks.

Wendy pipes up to defend you. “Don’t bother her Dean, she’s still recovering from a breakup. Takes about one-third of the time you were together, so she's got a couple months left to go.”

She means well, but it’s also an invitation for people to jump on the opportunity to talk to you about Carlos. You can’t help but internally roll your eyes when inevitably, someone indeed pipes up to ask for details. “What would really cheer me up is if we’d win this quiz and receive a,” you lean forward and squint your eyes to read the prizes listed on the screen up front. “A dinner voucher for Amù. Good food nurtures the soul, right?”

It’s a good restaurant. You’d been there twice with Carlos, once with his family in tow. That had been a good night. Until you’d gone and ruined it by freaking out afterwards. Everything had seemed a little too serious, his parents being a little too nice, and his sisters wanting to hang out with you. You hadn’t even said “I love you” to each other, and yet they were treating you as if you were already their daughter in law.

Carlos hadn’t understood your reaction, and had gotten upset over you not liking his family. It’d been one of many moments that had inevitably led to your decision to break things off.

Wendy smirks, then raises her eyebrows at the rest of the group. “You heard the woman – no to more personal questions, yes to more pub quiz questions please!”

You’re four drinks in now, and while the pub food has certainly helped stave off full intoxication, you’re definitely well on your way to being drunk. Add to that a pretty challenging quiz, and the zero-phone policy, and you actually were having a great time – finally feeling unburdened by confusion, guilt and lingering hurt.

Of course, it doesn’t last forever. When the last round of questions is announced, it’s clear that your blissful bubble of ignorance is about to burst. First, it’s the fact that the category is none other than Monaco itself. Immediately, you know that’s code for at least one Formula One reference.

Second, it’s the way in which Dean has apparently taken the news of you being single as a green light to getting very comfortable around you. His arm is draped around your chair, and every time you lean back a little, his fingers ghost across your skin.

You wish it wouldn’t be unwelcome. Dean’s hot, and maybe in another life, under different circumstances, you’d be flattered. As it stands, all it does is remind you of the fact that just ten days ago it was Carlos’ lips trailing down your shoulders and you still don't know how to feel about it.

Sighing, you lean forward again, trying to pay attention to the questions instead. Sure, your skin craves contact, but not at the cost of poor decision-making. You’ve done enough of that lately.

The quiz goes exactly as you’d expected, as your ears perk up at the next question. “What did the podium in Monaco look like for its iconic F1 race in 2024? Bonus points if you can name both the drivers and their constructors."

It’s impossible for everyone in Slammers to know that you’re right there – or to even be aware of the fact that you’d been dating a driver up until recently. Still, the question leaves you wanting to run and hide, and you cling to the numbing taste of alcohol on your tongue as you answer the question for your team. “Charles P1, Piastri P2, Carlos P3. Ferrari, McLaren, Ferrari."

At the time, it’d been so exciting. Two Ferraris on the podium, Carlos shifting up in the Driver’s Championship standings. You shiver at the memory of the epic celebration sex that had followed and – no.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him like that, you chastise yourself.

“Hmm. Shouldn’t be thinking about who, like what?” Dean murmurs in your ear, his hand sliding down your back to settle at your hip.

Embarrassed, you twist to look at him, effectively putting some space between the two of you. “Did I say that out loud?”

He nods, smiling as his gaze flickers down to your lips. “I’d be happy to take your mind off of whoever else you’re thinking of.”

You blink once, then twice, as you process what Dean’s offering. “That’s very kind of you. But I – need the bathroom,” you slide out of your seat and hurry away.

The sight that greets you in the bathroom mirror is not one that you recognise. Your skin’s flushed, and empty eyes stare back at you as you try to make sense of what had just happened.

Did Dean really try to come onto you? You sprinkle some cold water on your face, trying to bring some relief and ground yourself.

Maybe Carlos was right, when he said you were so difficult to read sometimes. You can't even read your own reflection.

How fucking infuriating.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Alarmed, you immediately shift your expression into something a little less fragile – shutters closing again as you paste a happy smile on your face and turn around.

It makes no sense whatsoever, but you find yourself hugging none other than Carlos’ youngest sister Ana just seconds later. “Que suerte!”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hoping that it doesn’t come across as accusatory as it sounds in your head. Most importantly, you hope that she knows you’re no longer together with Carlos. That news should not be coming from you, and definitely not delivered in a random bathroom in Monaco’s decidedly not-finest establishment.  

“My boyfriend and I are visiting,” Ana starts, but her smile fades a little as she rolls her eyes. “But my brother’s been in a mood, so we’re out here while he gets to be miserable by himself tonight.”

Something about how at ease she seems, makes you all the more uneasy to hear whatever comes next. “How great that I run into you here! Of course, great minds think alike when it comes to escaping one of Carlos’ sulks.”

She definitely doesn’t know, you conclude, as you try not to think too much about the fact that he’s apparently miserable and alone. “It’s good to see you, I hope you’re well,” Ana continues blithely, and you’re torn between telling her the truth or revelling in the lie for a little longer.

“Yeah, I think so. Just out with colleagues now, we do our monthly pub quiz here,” you say, testing the waters a little bit. Maybe this is fine. Maybe pretending for a little bit won’t hurt at all.

Excitedly, Ana claps in her hands. “What’s your team name? Are you winning?”

“Smartinis. And I think we are – last question was about Formula 1, so,” you note with glee. Weirdly enough, there’s a lick of satisfaction that runs through you as Ana smiles at you widely. It’s a genuine smile. At least she doesn’t hate you. Yet.  

Maybe it’s the fact that she looks so similar to her brother, or it’s the alcohol that’s still coursing through your veins. But all of a sudden you feel a lot closer to crying than three seconds ago. The wave of emotion is only further accelerated by Ana’s smile falling from her face as she watches you get more and more upset.

“Are you okay, Y/N? Can I help?” Ana gasps, “did you and Carlos have a fight?”  

A miserable laugh bubbles up from the back of your throat, and the sheer concern in her brown eyes make it easy to decide between the truth and the alternative. “It’s fine,” you squeak. “My co-worker just came on to me, so I fled here to try and figure out how to navigate that. But I can’t even think straight, because I’m drunk and confused.”

It’s not something you’d ever hoped to discuss with Ana, of all people, and definitely not given your current state. She seems a little thrown at the mention of someone else being interested in you, but recovers quickly. “Tipaza, you didn’t do anything wrong - it is okay, no? He made you uncomfortable, that is not okay. But it’s stupid either way. Everyone knows the rules, you don’t date colleagues or exes. Que idiota.”

Who is the real idiot here, you wonder briefly. Had Dean made you uncomfortable? Sure, a little bit. But had you really not done anything wrong? Guilt pools in your stomach as you glance at her, and think of Carlos.

She doesn’t know.

Why did she not know, when Carlos is so close to his family?

“I guess it’s okay. He hasn’t crossed my boundaries, yet. Just hasn’t caught onto the fact that I’m not interested, I suppose. ‘m not ready,” you mutter the last bit. Ana doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m just tired and overwhelmed,” you tack on for good measure. “As soon as I know I’ve won this thing, I should probably just go home.”

Ana smiles at your renewed resolve, and squeezes your arm briefly. “Ah – of course my cuñis is just as competitive as my brother.” She pauses when her phone buzzes, and she glances down briefly before shooting you an apologetic smile. “We’re headed to the next pub. See you?”

She’s gone before you can properly respond, make up your mind about telling her you probably won’t ever see her again, or ask her what cuñis even means.

It’s probably just another nickname, you figure, then splash some more water on your face before making your way back to the table. The whole group is shouting, debating what the answer is to the last question of the night. “Monaco is French! So it must mean something in French,” one of your colleagues says. “No, it obviously comes from monarchy,” someone else argues. “Actually,” you start, and everyone turns to listen. “it comes from Mon Oikos, it’s Greek – Hercules passed through and a lone temple was built to honour him afterwards, as he’d turned away the old gods. It means single/lone house.”

As someone feverishly writes it down, just in time for the quizmaster to collect the team’s answer sheet, Wendy smiles at you. “Truthfully you’re the only Smartini in this entire team. When we win, you’re so getting that voucher, girl. Now go treat yourself to another drink!”

You laugh, and dutifully walk over to the bar to order another martini for the both of you. Maybe it’ll help drown out the lingering guilt towards Ana, or the rest of the night that still awaits you, you think wryly, as you back a shot.

When you return to your table, you make a quick pitstop to deliver Wendy’s drink to her, before realising there’s nowhere else to sit than your original seat next to Dean.

“Whether or not we get that voucher, I’d love to take you out sometimes,” he says, before you can even get a word in otherwise. Part of you admires him for being so bold, but another part is irritated at the presumptuous nature of his request, and the fact he cannot seem to read the room.

“Actually,” you turn to face him properly, shaking your head in an unspoken apology. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. You’re one of my favorite coworkers, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not – I’m not really into dating right now.”

He seems a little taken aback by your answer, and frowns. “I thought you and that driver were done?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into the next best thing.”

Dean’s smile returns at that. “I’m not really looking for that either. But I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with you. Alone. Casually. As your next best thing.”

It’s hard not to cringe, and you desperately want to look anywhere else. However, the liquid courage from earlier makes you stare straight at him as you shake your head once more. “I’m going to have to say no to that offer as well.”

He tries to smooth over the dejected look on his face when he realises you’re serious. “Alright, fine. Guess I misread things. You seemed chill this evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, but he shrugs as his arm pulls away from your chair. “I mean, we were getting cosy. We’re both attractive, and for the first time in weeks you’re not distracted by this goddamn phone of yours.”

Where you’d previously been pretty hopeful that Dean would handle the rejection well, that changes in an instant. “What do you - why do you have my phone?” You ask sharply as soon as he slides it across the table towards you.

He shrugs. “It went off while you were in the bathroom, and I was closest to the basket. Had to make sure we wouldn’t be disqualified.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then look down at your screen. There’s two missed calls, and your stomach sinks when you see who they’re from.

“It seemed like you didn’t want to talk to the person who called you anyways,” he adds, as if it’s no big deal at all and he’s actually done you a favour.

Sure, you might have saved Carlos’ contact under “x do not interact x”, but it’s not up to anyone else to decline his calls. And most of all, that warning had been put in place mostly to keep you from reaching out. Not the other way around.  

“That still gives you no right to pick up my phone.”

Immediately, Dean backpedals, “I didn’t answer – just told him you were busy.”  

It only makes things worse.

“Fuck,” you swear under your breath.

As much as you want Carlos to know you do not miss him, this isn't the way. Feeling queasy all of a sudden, dread settles into your gut as you read the text thread again and again.

She's busy.

Who is this?

Dean.

Why do you have Y/Ns phone?

Hello?

I’m coming to pick you up.

And then, on your third read through, a new text bubble appears. "Outside." “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Let me know what you think <3 Likes, comments, reblogs, asks are all appreciated. part iii will hopefully be posted in the next five days again.

Update: part iii is available here now.

[2tcs]

Day 6: Forgetting an important date and offense

DeadTired: Tim

TheBloodSon: Damian

WingDing: Dick

PurplePower: Steph

Shadow: Cass

GlowStick: Duke

UndeadDrama: Jason

SpaceCadet: Danny

Alfred: Alfred

B Less Batchat

Feb 9, 11:15 AM

DeadTired

“I don’t think you understand the 

importance of getting a third

party to” bla bla bla

I sware. Some of these old farts

just need to retire already.

PurplePower

But if they retired then the world might figure

out that we don’t need them.

Shadow 

🤯

WingDing

Just a little longer Tim then your home free

DeadTired

Easy for you to say. I have three meetings

after this. And all of them could be covered

in an email. But I swear that none of these

Old hats even know what an email is.

SpaceCadet

ducks to be you

Ducks

Ducks

DeadTired

It’s okay. Take your time.

SpaceCadet

Fuds you

wtf?

PurplePower

🤣😂🤣

Shadow

😂

WingDing

Autocorrect strikes again.

TheBloodSon

Please cease this irritating conversation.

Some of us have important work to do.

GlowStick

This is kinda the highlight of my patrol.

But I remember when I was in school.

Don’t let the teachers see you texting.

TheBloodSon

Tt. As if they would catch me.

SpaceCadet

Aren’t you at lunch right now

Damian? Besides you could

just put your phone on mute.

PurplePower

Ooo Snap!

TheBloodSon

That is irrelevant. You all need to

focus on your duties instead of

complaining about frivolous things.

WingDing

Aw. Look how responsible you are!

PurplePower

Our little boy is growing so fast. 😭

Shadow

😢

DeadTired

Some day he will be all grown up

and too smart to hang out with us

simpleton.

TheBloodSon

I am already too smart for a plebian

like you Drake.

SpaceCadet

Lol

Sit down, pleb.

Oh before I forget

The 12 is my dd so I

won’t be available.

Shadow

👍

WingDing

👍

GlowStick

👍

DeadTired

👍

PurplePower

👍

TheBloodSon

Tt

UndeadDrama

QUIT SPAMING MY PHONE!

Alfred

Might I suggest you all return to your

duties?

Feb 10, 8:30 PM

SpaceCadet

Where is everyone?

Shadow

❓

SpaceCadet

I’m in the cave but no one else is.

DeadTired

Lol

Check the time.

Alfred

Young master. I can hear you all the way

in the manor. Please mind your language

And remember to place a quarter in the

jar.

SpaceCadet

Sorry Alfred

Feb 11, 6:00 AM

DeadTired

GUYS! I JUST FIGURED IT OUT!!!

I KNOW WHAT COFFEE SHOP

DANNY GOES TO!!!!

DANNY YOU ARE SUCH A SELFISH

AHOLE!!! THEY GAVE ME A 12OZ 

OF STRAIT ESPRESSO SHOTS!!!

Alfred

Master Tim. Master Danny. If you would 

please meet me in the kitchen at exactly 

6:30 am I would very much appreciate it.

SpaceCadet

Tim. I am sorry to inform you

that we are no longer friends.

DeadTired

GET BENT DEAD BOY!

SpaceCadet

Alfred? Tim hasn’t gone to sleep

since February 7th. He has set

up an alarm system to tell him

when you are coming up the 

stairs to the family wing so

he can pretend to be asleep

when you check on him.

DeadTired

YOU TRAITER!

SpaceCadet

Oh, hay! Thanks Tim! Now

I have my own theme music

for the day!

DeadTired

NO! SUFFER!!!

UndeadDrama

Why the heck is the Barbie song

playing next door…

Never mind. I just read the texts.

SpaceCadet

I′m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world

Life in plastic, it's fantastic

You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere

Imagination, life is your creation

DeadTired

GO EAT A DICK!

SpaceCadet

I think Kory would unalive me if

I tried to eat your brother.

DeadTired

ALSKDJFA;OLSDIFJKA;SOLKDF

Feb 11, 9:15 AM

UndeadDrama

I hate to inform everyone but

Danny’s phone has unfortunately passed

away.

GlowStick

R.I.P.

What song was it playing?

UndeadDrama

Crazy Frog. Auto-tuned Crazy Frog.

WingDing

Isn’t that song already auto-tuned?

UndeadDrama

This was worse. So much worse.

Think Alvin and the Chipmunks 

level of pitch with the weird 

auto-tune echo.

PurplePower

On this day we say goodbye to

a good phone. Taken from us

too soon. Please light a candle

for our fallen comrade. 🕯️

WingDing

🕯️

Shadow

🕯️

GlowStick

🕯️

UndeadDrama

🕯️

GlowStick has invited (888) XXX-XXXX 

to the chat.

(888) XXX-XXXX  has changed their name to 

DieHard.

DieHard

🕯️

DeadTired

YOU WILL SUFFER!!!

Feb 12, 10 AM

GlowStick

Hay. Has anyone seen Danny?

He wasn’t in class today.

TheBloodSon

He is probably shirking his studies.

WingDing

Come on Dams. Danny likes that.

Hay Jason. Danny’s apartment is

Next to yours. Is he home?

Feb 12, 3:16 PM

UndeadDrama

Just woke up. I didn’t hear him get

back last night.

Feb 12, 3:30 PM

UndeadDrama

Just went through his apartment.

He’s not there and it doesn’t look

like anything’s been touched since

I was over yesterday.

Shadow

😱

PurplePower

That’s not like Danny. Sleep is sacred

to him. He would never purposely

Stay out later than his normal patrol.

GlowStick

He never showed up for class. I’m on

patrol rn so I’ll keep an eye out for him.

Shadow

🤕❓

WingDing

I don’t know Cass.

I’m coming to Gotham tonight

To help look for him.

UndeadDrama

I’m going to do a few rounds

in the alley. If I can’t find him 

before patrol, I’ll have some of

my men start nosing around.

Alfred

I will make sure the med bay is

prepped and ready. Please be safe

everyone.

DeadTired

👍

TheBloodSon

Of course.

WingDing

👍

PurplePower

👍

Shadow

👍

GlowStick

👍

UndeadDrama

Okay Alfi.

Feb 13, 7:35 AM

DieHard

Hay everyone. I just got

back in Gotham.

What did I miss?

WingDing

DANNY!!!

PurplePower

Danny! Where were you!

Shadow

🥺💔

DeadTired

WTF WAS YOUR TRACKER?

WHY WAS YOUR PHONE

UNTRACABLE?!

GlowStick

Dude! Are you okay?

TheBloodSon

Tt. I do not see a reason for you

all to be so concerned.

DieHard

DID YOU ALL FORGET

ABOUT MY DEATH DAY?!

DISSHONER! DISSHONER

ON YOU! DISSHONER ON 

YOUR COW!

Alfred

Young Master Danny. I am happy

To hear you are back. If you would

be so kind please come by the

manor, I would greatly appreciate it.

DieHard

Of course Alfred.

Feb 13, 2:50 PM

UndeadDrama

Danny! Your back!

DieHard

🖕

UndeadDrama

😢

DieHard

🖕🖕

UndeadDrama

😭

[avatar-anna]

Rumors

so...i've had this concept rattling around in my brain, but i had no idea how to write it, so i used pictures instead. i definitely want to do more, but tumnlr only allows 10 pictures a post, so here's to hoping i remember to come back to this in the future!

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift and 67,530 others

yourinstagram: had a very cool dude over today to make even cooler music

yoursistersinstagram: you let someone in the bat cave?!

y/nfan5: possible collab on the new album?

yourinstagram: more like i was helping someone with theirs ;))

harrystyles: Thank you for having me. X.

harryfan3: HARRY???

harryfan7: omgomgomgomgomg

y/nfan1: pls god let us have a harry and y/n collab on his next album i NEED it

harrystyles

liked by gemmastyles, yourinstagram and 2,233,781 others

harrystyles: HS3. Coming soon.

harryfan8: NEW ALBUM ALERT

harryfan11: HARRY YOU CANT JUST DROP SOMETHING LIKE THAT WITHOUT A RELEASE DATE

harryfan4: this has to be what he was working on with y/n right?

y/nfan3: i need them both on a song together

yourinstagram: had fun late night talking with you xx

y/nfan9: i'm sorry wHAT

harryfan5: is this flirting this sounds like flirting

harryfan13: honestly...here for it

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan7 and 4,320 others

y/nupdates: Y/n in a video for Vogue recently!

"A lot of people ask me how Harry Styles ended up recording at my house when we'd virtually never crossed paths before. It was actually Taylor (Swift) who kind of set the whole thing up. They spoke at the Grammys last year and she apparently gave him my number so we could work together...He called and asked if I was available to help with his album at all. At the time I was on the road, then working on stuff for the band, and it just kind of went back and forth for a few months while we tried to line up our schedules. Then I was done touring, but I was kind of in a weird state in life where I didn't want to leave the house or hang out with anyone. And I remember making up excuses because I wasn't really up to making myself presentable to a whole team of people I'd never met before and having our first meeting be this huge thing. I'd basically built it all up in my head about how our ideas would clash and we wouldn't get along and I just kept telling him maybe some other time. Long story short, Harry showed up at my place a week later by himself with just a guitar, a notebook, and my favorite takeout order. We spent the whole day together working on a bunch of different stuff from themes to genres of music to sampling and mixing. And writing. Lots and lots of writing. And now he's a dear friend. He's so sweet and so talented. I wish him all the best with the new album."

y/nfan8: ok i'm glad it worked out and everything but imagine a virtual stranger showing up to your HOUSE?? like she said no and he basically forced her to write his album for her

y/nfan4: that's so real of her tbh to not want to leave her house

y/nfan2: y/n is notoriously introverted it makes sense

harryfan13: girl...

y/nfan7: i don't think it was that serious. and if she really didn't want him there she could've said no

harryfan13: and y/n literally called him a friend?? stop trying to start shit that doesn't exist

y/nfan7: of COURSE mother brought them together

harryfan17: i can't believe that's what harry and taylor were talking about in the video!

harryfan2: chill harry doesn't need to be in a relationship with every woman he's associated with

harryfan4: wait but wasn't y/n at that grammys too?

harryfan9: it was still covid it's possible their paths didn't cross

y/nfan19: wait what if he was too shy to go up to her??😭

harryfan4: i love that they're writing besties now but i think they'd be so cute together 🥹

hsupdates

liked by harryfan4 and 10,343 others

hsupdates: Harry about Y/n L/n for Rolling Stone:

"I've always admired (Y/n's) work. She and her band are incredibly talented, and are just so passionate about creating music. I wanted that same energy for my third album, the freedom to make whatever I want without any reservations, and I knew Y/n was the perfect addition to the team. It took some convincing, but once we kind of got started, we couldn't stop. As we've gotten to know each other these past few months, I not only respect her as a musician, but for the person she is as well. Her soul is one of a kind, and I feel like my album would be so different without her on it. So now not only do I have an album that I'm proud of and love, but I got an extraordinary friend out of it too."

harryfan9: so this is what people mean when they say platonic soulmates

y/nfan12: all we've gotten is crumbs and i'm already in love with their friendship. and the album of course

y/nfan2: i'm so interested to hear this album now. if y/n is on it it has to be good

harryfan3: "her soul is one of a kind?" if that's harry as a friend i don't think i can handle boyfriendrry😭

y/nfan7: i'm holding out hope for them honestly🤞🏼🤞🏼

liked by harrystyles and 23,724 others

yourinstagram

yourinstagram: you've fallen from the sky down to me, i see it in your face, i'm relief, i'm your summer girl

y/nfan17: shut up are those song lyrics??

yourbandinstagram: the tears behind your dark sunglasses, the fears inside your heart as deep as gashes🎶🎶

y/nfan17: HOLY SHIT those ARE lyrics!

y/nfan6: haven't even heard the song and i know the girls have done it again

harryfan4: could it...could it be about harry?

y/nfan8: you're grasping at straws

harryfan12: are they? they've been spotted together all over LA

harrystyles: ☀️☀️

y/nfan8: as friends. friends can hang out can't they?

harryfan3: new music from harry AND y/n? we're about to be fed y'all

harryfan10: THEY REALLY ARE BESTIES

y/nfan2: i bet they collaborated on this song together

Interviewer (I): What's one memory or experience you can share from making this album? Any trips to Japan or Jamaica?

Harry (H): We stayed in Los Angeles mostly for this one. But erm...in terms of a specific memory...I would say that while I was working with Y/n, one of the tracks was actually inspired by her cat.

I: Really?

H: Yeah. Whenever it did something to annoy Y/n, which was quite often, she'd call her a little freak. The song's obviously not about the cat, but the phrase was in my head and yeah. Things just kind of...snowballed from there.

I: The sound that Y/n's band has is more rock centric, a similar sound to your first album. Is that what we can expect for your third studio album?

I: You've become quite close to Y/n L/n it seems like.

H: Not necessarily. Y/n and I collaborated, but she also let me take the reins in terms of sound. She had opinions of course and we would bounce ideas off of each other...but she really just followed my lead and supported the vision I had. She is playing a majority of the instruments on the album, though.

H: It's hard not to.

I: How so?

I: It sounds like you could go on for quite some time about her.

H: She's just cool, you know? I was kind of intimidated when we met for the first time. She's quiet, but you never forget that she's in the room, you just want to go over and talk to her. Of course once you meet her she's incredibly kind and not at all intimidating, but still like chill and stuff. The first time we met we sat for an hour just talking about music we enjoyed and live shows we wanted to attend and things we learned while in lockdown. She's just effortlessly cool. An old soul, I guess. And somehow she translates that into her music. Her sisters, too. They're all just first-rate musicians.

H: Sorry. I kind of gushed for a minute there.

H: And the band. They're just so talented, you know?

harrystyles

liked by jeffazoff and 4,211,323 others

harrystyles: From start to finish, making this album has been such an incredible journey. It was so fun to try new things sonically while also making something that I'm one hundred percent proud of. I've never felt more myself while making music than I did while creating this album for all of you, and I have so many people to thank for that. Hopefully you know who you are. I love, love, love you.

harryfan16: 😭😭😭😭😭

harris_reed: little angel👼

harryfan3: WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU

yourinstagram: congratulations h. you deserve it.💐💐💐

harrystyles: I couldn't have done it without you💐

yourinstagram

liked by yourbandinstagram and 53,089 others

yourinstagram: for one night and one night only...but in all seriousness shout out to my friend and his incredible album. happy to have been a part of the magic :)))

harryfan13: HAPPY HARRY DAY!!!

harryfan4: is she in ny??

y/nfan7: yes! she was spotted with harry before the show today

harryfan9: they're literally so cute i love their friendship

harrystyles: You made the magic happen. Thank you for everything. X.

harryfan3: they're so...

y/nfan2: i genuinely think they like fucking with us bc i legitimately can't tell if they're dating or not

y/nfan7: at this point i don't even care i love whatever they're doing they both just seem so happy to be besties/lovers/collaborators and i love that for them

harryfan5: ^^

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan10 and 3,742 others

y/nupdates: Y/n performing Keep Driving onstage with Harry in NYC tonight at ONO!

y/nupdates: When he introduced her, he said: "Tonight is special in a lot of ways. I'm sharing my album with you for the first time, my family's here, my friends are here, and...a very good friend of mine is here to play a song with me tonight. This album wouldn't have been possible without her, so please give her as much love as you've given me. Y/n L/n, everybody!"

harryfan4: stop they're so close it hurts😭

y/nfan7: i was there they were staring at each other and smiling the whole time!

harryfan12: that's the one where he says choke her with a sea view!?

y/nfan7: YES AND I SWEAR HIS SMILE GOT BIGGER WHEN HE SANG THAT PART AND LOOKED AT HER LIKE HE FULLY HAD TO TURN AROUND TO LOOK AT HER BC SHE WAS PLAYING THE DRUMS

harryfan3: i'm choosing to believe they're in love idc what anyone else says

hs/ynupdates

hs/ynupdates: Harry, Y/n, and her sisters in New York after ONO tonight! Apparently Harry and Y/n were standing and walking very close to each other. Like arms wrapped around each other close.

harryfan2: that could literally mean anything tho. they're good friends why wouldn't they walk next to each other?

y/nfan14: i feel like they don't know if they're dating or not at this point😅

y/nfan8: her sisters are so unserious i love it

y/nfan5: i love that they all showed up for harry🥹

yourbandinstagram

liked by taylorswift, harrystyles and 710,225 others

yourbandinstagram: Thanks for having us, London!

y/nfan1: i can't believe i got to see harry and y/n perform in ONE NIGHT

harryfan3: sending my love and my tears to everyone who got to experience this historic night

harrystyles: Thank you for taking the time to share the stage with me. X.

yourbandfan2: how do y'all always look so good 😭

I: So you opened for Harry Styles a few weeks ago and performed a song with him in New York.

Y/n: My sisters and I did, yeah.

I: How did that come about? Did your team call his team? Or was it more casual than that?

Y/n: Oh, definitely more casual. I think we were just hanging out together one morning and he kind of just suggested it. No bells and whistles or anything like that.

I: So can we expect (Your band) to join Harry on his upcoming tour, then?

Y/n: I don't think so. We're working on putting out a record of our own at the moment, but we do want to get back out on the road soon, but I will definitely be attending more of his shows in the future.

I: And what can we expect from this upcoming record? Did Harry help you the way you helped him out?

Y/n: I've sent him a couple things to listen to, and I value his opinion a lot, both as a friend and as an artist. He also showed me a couple records recently which kind of influenced how I approached some of the songs sonically. He's got a huge vinyl collection at his house. I'm honestly kind of jealous.

I: There's been some rumors running around that you and Harry are in a romantic relationship. Would you like to put any of those rumors to rest?

Y/n: I could see where people might think that. Harry's very affectionate by nature, and over the last couple of months we've become very close. He's not just someone I admire in the music industry, but as a person in general. I feel incredibly lucky to call him a friend. And a close one, at that.

I: So just a friend then?

Y/n: Yeah. Yeah, just a friend.

[tired-truffle]

My Soul to Keep

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4k

A/N: Rises from my Dragon Age cave to throw this at you - sorry for the delay! Hopefully it won't take me as long for the next chapter <3

Tag List: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @ihascat5 @pebble-bb @goooofy-goooober1121 @furblurwurblur @potatointhedirt @webofwhimsy @mad-simp420 @xo-mingx @patchs-curiosity-corner (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I missed you!)

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Two days later - on a rare day off for Viktor - the call came. You’d been lingering in the apartment while Viktor worked at his desk, scribbling notes that you couldn’t understand. He’d answered the phone on the third ring, and you watched as his face remained impassive.

“It’s what you suspected,” he said after hanging up the receiver. His voice was distant, his mind already three steps ahead. “The doctor diagnosed consumption.”

“Oh.” His illness had a name now - what you’d guessed it to be. That made it feel real in a way you hadn’t expected. “Did they say what to do?”

“They requested that I return to the clinic urgently for further testing.”

You’d accompanied Viktor without further delay. Once he’d arrived, they brought him back for x-rays - needed to determine if it was a latent or active infection. Thankfully, you’d been right about that too. An hour later, after the radiologist had taken a look, it was confirmed to be latent. They’d started him on medication and sent him on his way.

Back at his apartment, still prior to noon, Viktor paced.

“I should have known you’d be right,” he said, not looking up. “You know impossible things. It leads me to believe I should at least attempt to prevent this, ah, shitty future you spoke of. What would you have me do?”

The question caught you off guard, but only for a moment. You’d prepared for this in the past few days, mulling over exactly what you wanted to say. “Okay, what I’m going to tell you may sound a little far-fetched, but I need you to work with me. And remember, if you think I’m crazy and I turn out to be a figment of your imagination then that means you’re crazy too, so don’t judge me ‘till after I prove it. 

Viktor finally met your gaze, intense amber boring into your translucence - could your panties get wet if you were the only one who could feel it?

“I’m listening.” “Great. The first thing we need is Jayce Talis’s address. He’s a student at the Academy. I’m pretty sure he lives in an apartment that belongs to the Kirammans.”

Viktor hesitated, clearly puzzled. “Why do we need his address?”

You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the conversation you’d been dreading. “What he’s working on will start a chain of events that leads to…many deaths and a civil war. We have to stop it before it starts. I don’t know if his work is salvageable, but first things first, we need to get to him before his work is stolen. That’s what starts it all.”

For a moment, silence hung between you like a third presence in the room.

“Eh, why not?” Viktor strode to his desk, rummaging through piles of paper and notes until he found what he was looking for - a directory.

You watched as he flipped through pages with deft fingers, pausing occasionally to check names and addresses. His focus was absolute; this man would one day change the world. Whether he changed it for the better remained to be seen.

“There.” He tapped a line on the page with more force than necessary. “Jayce Talis. The address matches one owned by House Kiramman.”

Perfect. Though what you planned to do once you got to his apartment was a vague idea at best. You couldn’t necessarily do anything, but Viktor could. If Jayce listened to him.

Viktor’s eyes searched your translucent face for guidance, or perhaps reassurance.

“Shall we depart?”

You nodded, reticent to waste any more time.

Floated closely behind him, he moved through the apartment building. Out on the street, Piltover was alive with activity - the clatter of carriages mingling with the sharp whistles of enforcers directing foot traffic.

As you approached the district where Jayce lived, Viktor adjusted his pace, falling into rhythm beside you.

“What if he doesn’t believe us?” Viktor asked quietly when he was sure there was no one around to hear him.

“We’ll make him believe,” you said. Though your voice carried more confidence than you felt, there was no room for doubt now - not when there was so much at stake.

Fuck, this was a terrible, half-baked idea. You only hoped it didn’t get Viktor in trouble. At least he’d have you for company in his jail cell, right?

Finally, the building came into view, a vague memory swimming in the back of your mind. You’d never seen it from a street angle, but you recognized the golden railings and fine stonework. Viktor glanced up at it briefly before charging straight ahead toward its entrance.

This was it - the moment when everything could change. Or nothing would. And Viktor would become the Machine Herald. Probably.

Through the opulent but cozy foyer and up the stairs, Viktor caught Jayce just as he was stepping out of his apartment, a satchel slung over one shoulder. His hair was tousled in a way that suggested an early morning soak and he had the expression of a man already late for something important. It almost made you laugh. Though you were more partial to him with a beard, his height and broad shoulders were entirely different to witness in person.

“That’s him,” you whispered to Viktor, forgetting for a moment that only he could hear you. And see you. Fuck.

“Are you Jayce Talis?” Viktor asked, stepping towards the larger man.

Jayce hesitated, eyeing Viktor with vague curiosity. “Uh, yeah? Look, I’m about to head out, can this wait?”

“I assure you,” Viktor said, planting himself firmly between Jayce and the hallway, “it will only take a minute. I’m here on Heimerdinger’s behalf.”

The name-drop gave Jayce pause - and Viktor’s academy robes gave his statement credibility. That and Jayce was much too trusting for his own good. This was the man who’d paid full price without bargaining for goods in Zaun and thought he wouldn’t get targeted.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Fine. Come in.”

As they entered, Viktor glanced around with discerning interest while Jayce closed the door behind them. The place was sparsely furnished but refined - clearly Kiramman-owned.

You hovered impatiently before making a decision: you floated down the hall toward what you remembered as the back office. Sure enough, the door stood closed at the end of the corridor. You passed through it like a whisper of guilt.

Inside was exactly as you’d feared - a half-eaten sandwich on a desk cluttered with notes and blueprints. Your heart sank faster than the Hindenburg, which didn’t even exist here - all your references, tossed out like a baby with the bathwater.

Unless Jayce left sandwiches lying around every day - a likely possibility, if he didn’t have the Kiramman funds for a maid - that meant Vander’s kids were coming today.

Outside, Viktor was engaged in conversation, calm as always. You held back a scream of panic. To have arrived when you did, this must have been some sort of sick fate.

“Professor Heimerdinger believes your work to be promising,” he said carefully, “but I have reason to suspect it could lead to grave consequences.”

Jayce leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed in skeptical defiance. “What are you talking about?”

Viktor hesitated just long enough for you to slip back through the walls and rejoin them.

“There is much at stake,” Viktor resumed when he saw you hovering urgently at his side again. “I fear it might cause…unnecessary harm.”

“What do you know of my work?” Jayce asked in a suspicious drawl, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge Viktor’s intentions.

Viktor fell silent, and amber eyes flicked toward you in a way that made the truth sting - you hadn’t told him anything about Jayce’s research. You, ghostly and useless, with your half-baked plans and vague ideas.

You rushed to fill the gap. “The desk by the balcony,” you blurted out. “Lift the papers in the middle.”

Viktor moved slowly, as if contemplating, and Jayce huffed his irritation. His cane tapped across the ground as he crossed the room to the large desk that sat beneath the window. He reached for the stack of notes just as Jayce pushed off the bookshelf.

“Hey, wait! Don’t touch—”

But Viktor already had them in hand. The papers shifted like leaves in autumn, revealing a glimmering but rough gemstone beneath.

Jayce lurched forward, panic and frustration in the deep set of his frown. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to help,” Viktor insisted, though he was staring at the gemstone in awe. Perhaps you should have warned him. It pulsed gently with light, casting blue shadows across their faces.

“Help?” Jayce’s skepticism hardened into anger. “This is sabotage!”

“It’s still intact, and no harm has befallen your work. I fail to see how that is sabotage. I came to help, that is the truth.”

Jayce rubbed his temple as if warding off a headache. “And I’m supposed to take your word for it? You barge in here uninvited—”

“Technically, you invited me in,” Viktor cut in, regaining some composure.

Jayce's scowl deepened. “And you think showing up with a warning about ‘grave consequences’ is going to get me to trust you?”

“If you are as smart as I’ve been led to believe, you will listen.”

“Then explain,” Jayce challenged. “If you know everything, tell me what these ‘grave consequences’ are.”

Viktor hesitated for a fraction of a second, and you swooped in with the frantic energy of a hummingbird on caffeine. “Jayce was tailed when he came back from Zaun. These kids are coming to rob him today since they know he has money and didn’t even try to get a better price at that pawn shop for pretty illegal shit, they took him for a sucker.”

“You were followed you back from the Undercity,” Viktor said smoothly. “You purchased illegal components, and now they believe you have more wealth than sense. The would-be thieves are planning to strike today.”

Jayce's anger wavered, doubt creeping through indignation like a crack across thawing ice. You were about to breathe a sigh of relief when his stubbornness rallied for one last stand.

“Why should I believe any of that?” he asked, pushing back. “You expect me to just take your word on blind faith?”

Viktor’s eyes flitted towards you - maybe he wanted more help, or maybe he was wondering how long before he blew his entire cover. Probably both.

“They’ll be here at some point during the day, but I don’t know when. If we wait, we can prove it,” you offered, cringing at how terrible a plan it was. Would he even agree to wait potentially hours? “Jayce is trying to blend magic and science, but it's unstable. One wrong move and it could blow up this entire apartment. You are the one who will help him stabilize it.”

Viktor’s expression shifted subtly, interest sparking in his eyes, though he kept it masked under indifference. “You realize that magic is illegal in Piltover. If the authorities were to discover this—” he gestured toward the gemstone, “—you would be expelled from the Academy. Most likely arrested.”

Jayce paled slightly, a bead of sweat tracing his temple. “So this is blackmail?”

Viktor ignored the accusation and continued steadily. “It is fortunate that I am here, and not Professor Heimerdinger.”

“What?” Jayce’s confusion was almost comical.

“I want to help you with your research,” Viktor said simply.

Jayce laughed incredulously. “I don’t even know you.”

“Not yet,” Viktor replied, calm as ever, “but you are about to be burgled and lose everything, I’d imagine.”

“How do you—” Jayce began, defensive suspicion flaring once more.

Viktor rolled his eyes with exasperation. “Do I look like I’m about to rob you? Relax. I have informants.”

Jayce wiped a hand down his face, frustration mingling with reluctant acceptance.

“We can wait,” Viktor suggested. “I’ll prove it when they try to break in.”

“No offence,” Jayce countered warily, “but I'd rather get the Enforcers to deal with this.”

“They’re just kids,” you insisted urgently to Viktor, wishing you could tug at his sleeve. “They’ll come back unless they’re properly scared away. I have an idea that I think will work, but I’m going to need you to do it. And to trust me.”

Knowledge could be a weapon if applied precisely.

Viktor gave an almost imperceptible nod before addressing Jayce again. “The Enforcers will not stop them permanently; they will be back the moment your guard is lowered. I can ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Jayce eyed him skeptically. “And how exactly will you do that?”

Bobbing his head from side to side, Viktor made a non-committal noise. “That depends on how they react.” A smooth cover, but at the widening of Jayce’s eyes, Viktor was quick to correct his assumption. “And no, I’m not going to hurt them. They’re children.”

Jayce’s nose crinkled. “I’m…going to be robbed by a bunch of kids.”

“Precisely,” Viktor said with too much enthusiasm, but you couldn’t deny how cute it was.

Jayce threw his hands up in exasperation. "Whatever, fine. But if this goes south, it's on your head."

"Says the guy with the illegal parts," Viktor retorted dryly, tapping his cane against the floor as he glanced meaningfully at the gemstone.

Jayce gave him a withering look that could have wilted a cactus, but said nothing more.

You floated closer to Viktor, and began to explain your plan. His eyes widened slightly at certain details, but he nodded to signal his understanding.

"Jayce," Viktor addressed the taller man, "wait out of sight of the balcony and open a window in your study so you may listen when the time comes. I'll inform you when the coast is clear."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" Jayce asked, suspicion in the tightness around his mouth.

"Prepare," Viktor replied simply. "Now go."

With obvious reluctance, Jayce retreated to the adjacent room, glancing back over his shoulder several times before finally disappearing around the corner. There it was again, too trusting for his own good, even of someone he was suspicious of. Viktor moved to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he selected a worn book on theoretical physics. He settled into an armchair partially hidden from the balcony behind the bookcase, crossing his legs as if he had all the time in the world.

"Do you really think this will work?" he whispered, barely audible as he flipped through the pages.

You hovered near his shoulder. "It has to," you whispered back, unsure why you felt the need to match his volume when only he could hear you. "Trust me, I've seen what happens if we don't intervene."

Viktor nodded, his eyes never leaving the book. "I find myself wondering why I trust you so implicitly," he said quietly. "Perhaps I truly am going mad."

You smiled through the tension. "Maybe. Or maybe the universe just decided you needed a ghost friend."

"A ghost friend," he repeated as if testing out its validity. His lips twitched into the faintest smile. "How peculiar."

You returned his smile with one of your own. “I’ll wait on the balcony and let you know when they’re coming.”

You slipped through the glass doors, passing through the solid barrier as if it were nothing more than water. Being a ghost had its uses. The bright sun shone through you, creating no shadow as you hovered above the balcony floor.

Time ticked by with excruciating slowness. You paced back and forth, floating just above the railing, scanning the neighbouring rooftops for any sign of movement. The waiting gnawed at you, setting your nerves on edge.

A restless energy began to suffuse through your limbs. It started as a subtle tingle in your fingertips, then spread rapidly through your limbs. You tried to calm yourself, focusing on the mission at hand like the good little ghost lookout you were trying to be, but the strange energy pulsed more intensely.

Without any further warning, your perspective shifted dramatically. The balcony suddenly grew larger around you, the railing now above you rather than at waist height. You glanced down to see paws instead of hands. You extended your claws, to test, though what exactly it proved you were not sure.

For fuck’s sake, not this shit again, you cursed internally, your tail – yes, your tail – twitching with annoyance. Somehow, you'd transformed into a cat again. The timing couldn't have been worse.

You were about to turn back and alert Viktor to your predicament when movement caught your eye. There, skipping across the adjacent rooftops were four small figures. Even from this distance, you recognized them instantly – Powder with her vibrant blue hair, Vi leading the pack, Claggor's bulky silhouette bringing up the rear, and Milo, nimble and quick, already pulling ahead as they approached Jayce's balcony.

There was no time to dwell on your feline fuck up. You darted back through the glass doors. Inside, Viktor remained seated in the armchair, his nose buried in the theoretical physics book. You were sure it wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Was there anything science-related he wasn’t an expert on?

You bounded across the room, meowing loudly.

Viktor looked up from his reading, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. One eyebrow arched upward in a curve of surprise, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you like that before.

You pawed at the air in the direction of the balcony, and he nodded his understanding.

The clicking sound of a lock being fiddled with reached your cat ears, and Viktor stood, setting his book aside, and took quick strides to approach the balcony. Before Vi could smash through the glass, Viktor yanked the doors open, slipping out onto the balcony and causing the young thief to stumble backward with a startled yelp.

Four pairs of eyes widened in shock as Viktor stood before them, his thin frame towering over them. His cane rested over his arm and despite his scholarly appearance, there was something commanding about his presence that made even Vi take a cautious step back. To see them all so young…a bittersweet burn swirled in your chest. If you could stop them from experiencing the horrors that awaited them, maybe they could finally get the happiness they deserved.

Milo and Claggor could see adulthood. Powder would never become Jinx and neither she nor Vi would lose their father. And then lose him again years down the line. Was Isha even alive at this point in time?

"Uh…we were just…" Milo stuttered. "We thought this was…our friend's place. Yeah! We were supposed to water his plants while he's away."

You snorted - a strange sound coming from a cat - and circled around Viktor's ankles. The absurdity of the excuse was almost painful to witness. Not a single plant was visible on the balcony and you knew there were none inside.

Viktor's face remained impassive as he regarded each child in turn. "Milo," he said, nodding at the boy who was frozen post-excuse. "Vi." The pink-haired girl's fists clenched reflexively at her sides. "Claggor." The larger boy shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Powder." The smallest of the group peered up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"How do you know our names?" Vi demanded, stepping forward protectively. Her stance was defensive, ready to fight or flee depending on what happened next. "Who the hell are you?"

Viktor didn't answer her question. Instead, he leaned slightly on his cane and asked with disarming casualness, "Does Vander know you're out here, attempting to burglarize private Piltie residences and disrupt the peace he has worked so hard to achieve?"

The mention of Vander's name sent a visible ripple of tension through the group. Claggor glanced nervously at Vi, whose face had drained of colour. Powder shrank behind her sister, while Milo's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Vi finally said, but the tremor in her voice sold her out.

"I wonder," Viktor continued, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "what would happen if I were to send word to the Enforcers right now. They might decide to make an example of you."

You could see the calculations running behind Vi's eyes as she weighed their options. Fight? Run? Neither seemed particularly promising. It was four versus one, but Viktor’s calm confidence had her wary.

"Or," Viktor continued, "I could pretend I never saw you here today and we can forget this ever happened. Well, after Vander receives the message I sent earlier this morning informing him of your activities."

A bluff that he pulled off with fascinating ease.

Fear flashed across Vi's face for a brief moment before her defiance returned. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Viktor asked, and even you began to question - but no, he hadn’t known who they were earlier. He was simply a good actor. "You may have noticed I knew your names without introduction. I know about Vander. What else might I know?"

Vi's lips pressed into a thin line as uncertainty crept across her face.

"We didn't mean any harm," Powder piped up, and you had to resist the feline urge to rub your face against her. "We just needed—"

"Powder, shut up," Vi hissed, nudging her sister.

"Money," Viktor finished for her. "Yes, I'm aware. The Undercity is struggling even more than it was when I lived there.”

You padded around Viktor's legs, your eyes fixed on the children. This wasn't how things had gone in Arcane. These kids were supposed to break in, get caught by Jayce, and end up fleeing with the gemstone that would eventually tear apart their lives. But now Viktor stood between them and that fate, rewriting history. God this was absolutely insane. You were insane. But fuck it. You could at least let yourself enjoy your insanity a little.

"You're from the Undercity?" Milo asked, his suspicion momentarily giving way to curiosity.

Viktor inclined his head slightly. "I am. And I know what it means to be desperate enough to risk crossing into Piltover for a chance at something better."

Vi's stance softened, though not completely. "Then you know why we're here."

"I do," Viktor agreed. "But thievery is not the answer you seek."

"Easy for you to say," Vi shot back. "You got out."

Your tail swished impatiently as you watched the exchange. This was taking too long, and Jayce could emerge at any moment, potentially ruining the delicate balance Viktor was maintaining. His impatience could ruin everything. You hoped he was listening intently from the study, and you eyed the cracked open window.

"I did not 'get out' through crime," Viktor replied evenly. "I used my mind. And each of you has something valuable between your ears as well, if you would only apply it differently."

Claggor shifted uncomfortably. "We don’t have time for school, mister."

"Perhaps not formal education, no," Viktor conceded. "But there are other ways to learn, to create value. Should you wish to apply your talents, you may contact me here.” He produced a business card from his pocket, holding it out towards VI.

Vi snatched the card, her eyes narrowing as she studied Viktor's face for any sign of deception. "Why would you help us?"

"Because someone once helped me," Viktor said simply. "Now go, before the Enforcer patrol makes its rounds."

The children exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Vi pocketed the card with reluctant acceptance and gave a curt nod.

"Come on," she said to the others, already backing away. "Let's get out of here."

Powder lingered a moment longer, her curious gaze fixed on Viktor, before scampering after her sister.

The four of them disappeared over the balcony's edge, their small bodies retreating the way they had come. You watched them go, relief washing over you. They were safe - for now.

Viktor remained at the balcony rail until they were completely out of sight. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, shoulders rising in a shrug that seemed to ask: Was that what you wanted?

You meowed in response, unable to communicate properly in your current form. The absurdity of the situation - you as a ghost cat, Viktor standing on Jayce's balcony after averting a historical catastrophe - left you spinning.

One catastrophe down, only…a few more to go.

A/N: I hope that all made sense! There are a lot of moving pieces, and we have more to explore and Jayce to deal with, but the crisis has been averted…for now.

[hiddendreamsstuff]

A little (time called) resus fantasy that asks you to use your imagination as to how we got here. Feel free to DM with your ideas. 😁

You are naked from the waist up. You have a blanket over your bottom half to give you some sense of dignity. They are pounding on your already bruised and battered chest endlessly. Your chest caves so deep with each one at this point. Your ample chest is exposed and your breasts show the impact of the doctor's compressions. You arm hangs partially off the table, bouncing with each one. You have a tube down your throat and the nurse is pumping air to you through it with a bag.

Leads are connected all over your chest measuring all of your vitals, of which there are none at the moment. The monitor makes a high pitched buzzing sound. The team around you is working tirelessly as I watch them from the corner of the room.

One nurse is giving you resuscitation meds through an IV in your arm… A doctor is doing compressions because all of the nurses in the room have exhausted themselves doing so for the better part of an hour….Another nurse is charting…. The other continues filling your lungs with air…. The final one stands by the monitor, paddles at the ready….

It’s your third code today. The others were short; a minute or two at first, then ten. You have been shocked nine times in total. Five of them were at 360j during this code alone. You have maxed out on drugs. But your heart has not had electrical activity for over 20 minutes now

… it’s been too long; I can tell- you look different- there is a void in the room…

Another doctor comes into the room. She sees the “time down” reading on the monitor. It says 47 minutes 52 seconds. She goes to the doctor doing compressions and puts her hand on her shoulder. “She is gone. You have to let her go” she says earnestly.

“She’s young” they say.

“She is healthy” they say.

“Can we go just a few more minutes?” One begs.

The doctor doesn’t stop right away. Then she pauses with her hands still on your chest then slowly pulls them away across your breast. The nurse does not stop breaths until the doctor sighs deeply and tears well up. “She has been down 48 minutes 35 seconds. We have to call it….Time of Death: 15:42…”

Now your body’s still. I sink to the floor.

No one else moves right away. Then, the doctor rips off her gloves and yells, “Damn it! I can’t believe we’ve lost another one!” and leaves the room. The other doctor follows her out to the hallway. I watch the nurses start unattaching leads, remove the tube from your throat, and pull the blanket up to your neck.

You are gone. There was no saving you. What is left for me?

[lvrsturniolo]

“a boy two boys who are jacked and kind..”

‘Slim Pickins’

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws 💓

It was one of those random afternoons where you, Matt, and Chris were just hanging out at their house(Nick had just gotten back from a space camp meeting and was taking a nap),scrolling through TikTok and tossing around ideas for what to do. Chris was laying sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his For You Page, while Matt sat at the table pretending to be interested in something on his phone. You were sitting on the floor, back against the couch, doing the same thing until Chris suddenly sat up.

“Yo, have you two seen that one TikTok trend to the Sabrina carpenter song?,” he said, grinning like he just had the best idea ever.

“The Juno pose one? Cause I’m not doing that if that’s what you’re thinking of.”

The boy giggled softly. “No, no. It’s the one to- I think the songs called slim pickins?”

You squinted at him. “What’s that?”

He flipped his phone around to show a video of some dude lifting his girlfriend onto his shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” Matt muttered from across the room without even looking up.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start. It’s not like you’d be the only one lifting her. We’d do it together. Team effort.”

You laughed, looking between them. “You seriously think both of you could pull that off? You’re barely strong enough to pick me up in general, let alone on your shoulder.”

Chris was already hyped. “Nah, we got this, it’ll be both of us together;piece of cake! We’re stronger than we look, right Matt?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.

“C’mon,” Chris said, nudging you. “You in? It’ll be funny. Worst case, we drop you and it’s great content.

“Worst case, I break a bone and you’re paying my hospital bill,” you shot back, but honestly, it sounded kind of fun.

Chris clapped his hands together, leaning down and kissing you softly on your forehead. “Thank you baby, it’ll be fun I promise.”

It took another ten minutes of you and Chris trying to convince Matt, but when he saw you giving him those eyes. The begging eyes,he finally caved. “Fine, but if this goes south, m’blaming both of you,” Matt grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said, dragging you both to the center of the living room where there was more space. “Alright, so here’s the plan. You get in the middle, we both squat down, and then we lift you up. Easy.”

“Easy for you to say,” Matt muttered, shaking his head but moving into position anyway.

The first attempt was a disaster. You couldn’t stop laughing long enough to actually get steady, and Matt kept losing his grip.

“Bro, hold her fuckin legs higher!” Chris yelled, adjusting his grip on your thigh.

“I’m trying! She keeps moving!” Matt shot back, struggling to keep his balance.

“Guys, I swear if you drop me—” you started, but you were laughing too hard to finish the sentence.

By the third try, you were all red-faced and wheezing from laughing so much. Finally, Chris and Matt managed to get you up on their shoulders at the same time, and you threw your arms out like you were on top of the world.

“WE DID IT!” Chris yelled, spinning in a circle while still holding you up.

Matt looked up at you, smirking despite himself. “Not bad, huh?”

“Alright, alright, you proved me wrong,” you said, laughing and holding onto their heads for balance.

You all stood there for a second, just laughing like idiots and feeling way too proud of yourselves. It wasn’t perfect, but it was your kind of perfect.

“Alright, one more time for the TikTok,” Chris said, already setting up his phone.

Matt groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Why weren’t we filming before?”

“Come on, Matt,” you teased. “For the content!”

And honestly? It was worth every awkward, giggly attempt.

Mel speaks~I know this is shit but I tried 😋😋 I loveeeee Chratt so much