#I always just think of them in separate spaces | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintyys-blog · 1 day ago

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I'm really curious about your Omni-mark. How did he and reader meet? How did they start dating? Were there some hardship and if yes which ones and do they get a happy ending

OMNI MARK ORIGIN

invincible masterlist

warnings ; murder, blood, depression, swearing, smut (not detailed)

You, Amber, and Mark. Three bodies tangled on a thrift-store couch that always tilted left. Sharing fries, bickering over movies, half-asleep during homework marathons. Mark would fall asleep between you two like a warm-blooded space heater, snoring softly with his cheek pressed to your thigh. Amber would thread her fingers through his hair like it was muscle memory. You’d roll your eyes—but never move. Amber ran her hands in his hair, “you should style your hair more up mark,” he hummed. “What do you think Y/N?”

“I think he looks like a nerd either way.” Mark scoffed, offended. “For the record— nerd is not an insult anyone. And I don’t care for your opinion!”

It wasn’t romantic. Not for you and Mark. You were Amber’s best friend. And he was the boy she trusted with her heart.

And he was sweet. So stupidly sweet. When your anxiety got bad, Mark would bring you those strawberry lollipops he knew you liked and quietly slide them onto your desk. When Amber got pissy during finals, he’d fold paper cranes for her out of napkins. He was clumsy, late, forgetful—but never cruel. Never like his father. You all had something. It wasn’t labeled. But it felt safe. Then— Amber screamed. And then she didn’t.

It happened too fast, and yet… it didn’t.

You’d gone with her. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious—just a routine evacuation. Some hostile alien tech had activated near the city perimeter, nothing that hadn’t happened before. People were panicking, but Amber stood firm.

“They’ll call Mark,” she said, calm and sure. “Mark will fix it. He always does.” You both got separated in the crowd. It wasn’t Mark in the sky that day. It was his father.

Nolan hovered like a shadow cast by the sun itself—quiet, cold, wrong. The screams from the crowd didn’t reach him. He wasn’t scanning for threats. He wasn’t looking to save anyone.

He already knew who he was here for.

He descended like a guillotine—slow, deliberate, inevitable. You didn’t know why. You didn’t get to ask. You just saw Amber look up. And freeze. And then—you ran towards her.

Your legs moved without thought, cutting through the fleeing crowd, heart in your throat, throat in your chest. You didn’t feel the way your knees buckled with every step. You didn’t feel the way your lungs stopped working. All you knew was that Nolan had his eye on her—and she didn’t move.

Then: “Don’t—!” Eve grabbed your arm. You spun on her, screaming. “Let me go!”

“He’ll kill you, Y/N! You can’t get close—!”

“I don’t CARE!” you shrieked, voice cracking like your ribs were shattering one by one. “He’s got her—AMBER! He’s going to—he’s going to—!”

Your words collapsed into noise. You clawed at her. Kicked. Begged. Eve just held on. Not gently. Not kindly. She restrained you. She was crying, too.

You fought her like an animal. Until something—changed. The moment stretched, slower. Nolan’s hand gripped Amber’s face. Her lips parted. She mouthed something. Your name? Mark’s? It didn’t matter. The last thing you saw in her eyes was fear.

And then— The crack. Her neck bent at the wrong angle. The sound was so clean. So precise. Like snapping a pencil in half. The look on Nolan’s face didn’t even change. It was effortless. Mechanical. Then her body—limp. Head hanging at a sickening angle. And he let go.

Amber dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, and when she hit the pavement, her skull bounced once. That sound—God. It still lives in your ears. A wet thud. A final punctuation.

You didn’t scream. Not at first.

You just froze. Time stilled. Sound vanished. And then, all at once—it didn’t.

You screamed so loud your vision went black at the edges. You screamed like your soul was trying to crawl out of your body. You dropped to your knees in the street, sobbing so hard your bones ached.

You called her name. Again and again. Like if you said it fast enough, loud enough, the moment would rewind. But it didn’t.

Eve pulled you back as the blood spread across the concrete. She tried to shield your eyes, but you fought her, even as your strength failed. You clawed at her arms until your fingers were slick with blood—your own. And still she held on.

“You let him kill her,” you sobbed. “You LET HIM—”

“I—I couldn’t—” she choked, voice shaking, eyes glassy with her own guilt. You didn’t care.

None of it mattered. Amber was dead. Amber was dead. And Nolan had looked right at you when he did it. As if to say: You’re next. And where was Mark? Where the fuck was Mark?

Eve caught you when your knees gave out. You hit the ground screaming, sobbing, digging your nails into her arms like you could rewind time if you just fought hard enough. “Amber—!” you wailed, throat ripping raw. “No—no—no—!”

Eve held you tighter. “Don’t look—don’t—”

But it was too late. You saw her fall. You saw what was left of her hit the pavement, head lolling at an angle no body should make. Her eyes still open. Your sobs turned silent, chest heaving, nothing left to scream.

And then… A shadow fell over you. Eve looked up—and froze. He was walking toward you now. Nolan.

Expressionless. Silent. Unstoppable. You couldn’t move. You were frozen in the wreckage, in the blood, in your own grief.

Eve stood in front of you again, hands glowing, voice shaking. “You want me,” she said, “you’ll have to get through me.” Nolan didn’t even blink. He raised his hand. You didn’t have time to run. Then— BOOM. A sound like thunder on metal. Wind like a hurricane. Nolan went flying. And someone was there.

Gripping your arms, dragging you to your feet, calling your name like it was the only word that mattered. “Y/N—! Hey—hey, are you hurt?! Y/N, look at me—please—!”

You blinked, dazed. Focused— Mark. His suit was yellow, blue, black—his own design, a new mark, something bold and unfamiliar, and yet it was him.

You couldn’t speak. You collapsed into him like your body recognized him before your brain did. His arms wrapped around you. He held you so tightly it almost hurt—but you didn’t care.

You grabbed fistfuls of his suit, trying to say her name, but your mouth wouldn’t work. You choked on a sob and just shook your head over and over. You didn’t need to explain. You couldn’t. Mark’s face changed when he looked past you. He saw her. What was left. And then he saw his father. His expression shattered.

“Eve,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Take her. Now.” Eve hesitated. “Get her out of here—” Mark’s voice broke. “Before I lose her too.”

You clung to him. “Mark—don’t—he’ll kill you—he’ll—” Mark touched your face. His thumb wiped away blood and tears, hand trembling. “He won’t. He won’t hurt anyone again.” And then he let go.

Eve pulled you into a shield of pink light, and as she lifted you into the sky, you looked down— Mark was running. Straight at the man who killed your best friend. And when they met midair, the impact cracked the sky.

You don’t remember getting home.

Everything from the moment Eve touched down with you is a blur—your ears still rang, your limbs moved like they belonged to someone else. The world didn’t feel real. Not anymore. Not without her.

The front door was unlocked. You didn’t bother to close it.

Shoes left behind in the hallway. Jacket dropped somewhere near the stairs. You walked like your bones were glass—like one wrong breath might shatter you completely.

Amber’s laughter still echoed in your head. Her voice, soft and biting and alive, still haunted the corners of your bedroom.

You collapsed face-first onto your bed, curled into yourself like a question you couldn’t answer. The pillow smelled like her shampoo. You hadn’t even realized she’d borrowed it.

You didn’t cry.

You couldn’t.

There was nothing left in you but the quiet ache of absence, the hollow where love used to sit.

And then— click. The window creaked open. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even lift your head. You only whispered, voice hoarse: “…Mark?”

There was a beat of silence. Then the floor creaked.

You pushed yourself up, slow, eyes stinging as you wiped at them with the back of your sleeve—and that’s when you saw him.

Standing in your room.

His new suit was shredded. One of the lenses in his visor was cracked. His knuckles were raw and bloody. A cut above his brow was still dripping. Dirt and dried blood streaked his jaw, and his chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow bursts.

But it was his eyes that did it.

Wide. Hollow. Like something in him had gone out and hadn’t come back on.

He didn’t even try to come closer.

He just stood there, blood drying on his skin, and said in the quietest voice you’d ever heard:

“…I killed him. My father. I—”

He didn’t finish. You stood up on instinct.

Crossed the room and threw your arms around him like gravity didn’t exist. You wrapped yourself around him, face pressed into his chest, fingers curling around what was left of his suit.

His whole body shook. You felt it. Like he was holding himself together by force. By guilt. By shame. Like maybe, if you let go, he’d vanish.

Your sobs came back in a wave—ugly, gasping, hiccuping sobs. You couldn’t even say her name. It just hurt.

And he broke.

Mark’s arms locked around your waist. He buried his face in your neck and let out a sound—something between a cry and a gasp, like his chest was collapsing in on itself. His hands gripped you like a lifeline.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You both knew. You had lost everything. And now, all you had left was each other. He held you for a long time, trembling, bleeding, breathing in sync with the sobs you tried to swallow. When your knees gave out, he sank with you, pulling you into his lap on the bedroom floor. He kissed your temple once, softly, almost like he was afraid you’d disappear too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Y/N…” You didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault. You didn’t say it was. You just curled into him, and let the silence be the only truth left. The days blurred together after that. You stopped answering your phone. Mark stopped going home.

It was easier that way. There was no reason to leave your room—no reason to pretend the world still turned the same way it used to. You woke up, existed, and fell asleep in the same bed, wrapped in the same silence, his heartbeat always somewhere nearby.

Sometimes he slept on the floor, too bruised to climb up. Other nights, you found yourself tangled together on the mattress, half-covered in mismatched blankets, breathing the same stale air like it was the only thing keeping you alive. No one said her name.

Amber had become a ghost that neither of you dared to conjure, but she lingered in everything. In the scent of her perfume on your pillow. In the way Mark flinched at romantic scenes on TV. In the strawberry lollipops he kept bringing you without thinking. You didn’t talk much. What was there to say?

When Mark touched you—brushed his hand along your back as you cried in your sleep, or cupped your face in the middle of the night like he needed to make sure you were still real—it wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It was survival. It was the need to feel something that didn’t break you.

You spent your days in pajamas and silence. Mark rarely took off the suit, not even when it was fraying at the seams. He was always there. Even when you couldn’t look at him. Even when grief turned to bitterness and you hated how he looked so much like him. He didn’t ask for anything. He just stayed. Sometimes he cried when he thought you were asleep. You never told him you heard.

Sometimes you curled into him so tight it hurt, sobbing against his collarbone because it felt like your chest would split open from missing her. He never pulled away. And when you couldn’t cry anymore, when your grief dried up into something hollow and hot and breathless, you’d just watch him.

How he paced. How he stared at nothing. How his jaw clenched whenever someone said Nolan’s name on the news. You started sleeping in his arms. He stopped flinching when you touched him. Neither of you said what this was becoming. But it was happening anyway. And you weren’t sure if it was healing—or just falling apart slower, together.

You didn’t know who reached first.

Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. But your hands met somewhere in the dark—fingers clumsily brushing, then grasping, holding on like the world was tilting and one of you was about to fall off.

“Mark…” you breathed, voice brittle, tear-wrecked.

He didn’t answer with words. Just slid closer, curling his body into yours until his forehead rested against your shoulder. You felt him shudder. A silent quake beneath skin and muscle and blood. You didn’t speak again. You just moved. There was no romance in it.

You pulled off your shirt because it felt too hot, too tight, like it was choking you. Mark watched, eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched like he was biting down on every scream he hadn’t let out since that day.

You didn’t undress each other gently. It was messy. Frantic. Like the grief had infected your hands, made them clumsy, desperate. Your fingers trembled as you unfastened the button on his jeans. His palms ran down your back, gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish mid-touch.

When he kissed you, his teeth grazed your lip. Not hard enough to bleed. Just enough to remind you were alive. He kissed you like a man who hadn’t felt anything that didn’t hurt in days. And when he pressed into you—bare, trembling, silent—it wasn’t soft.

It was needed. A fevered attempt to smother the pain under sweat and skin and friction. You both moved like you were chasing something just out of reach.

Your head hit the pillow. His hand slid under your thigh, hooking it higher around his waist. His breath was ragged against your cheek. His rhythm fast, almost punishing—like maybe if he moved hard enough, fast enough, deep enough, the ache in his chest would finally quiet. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, as he pounded into you.

Your hands clung to his shoulders. Your nails dragged down his back. You didn’t care that it hurt. You wanted it to. Because she had died. Because he had done it. Because you hadn’t saved her. Because Mark hadn’t stopped him in time. The guilt between your bodies felt heavier than the weight of him inside you. And then, barely audible—raw and broken, whispered into the hollow of your throat: “…Amber…” He said her name like a confession. You didn’t hear it. Not really.

Or maybe you did. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind. But it didn’t register. Didn’t land. Because you were too busy staring at the ceiling, eyes glassy, chest heaving, holding onto him like he was the last solid thing in a world made of smoke. It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about him. It was about the screaming emptiness between you.

His hands trembled as he moved faster. His mouth pressed against your neck, open and hot and desperate. You held him tighter, not because it felt good—but because the pressure kept your chest from splitting open. When he came, it was quiet. A single choked breath. A soft, broken “fuck” buried in your skin. You came seconds after—not from pleasure, but from the weight of it all finally snapping.

And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just stayed inside you, forehead pressed to your collarbone, both of you covered in sweat and salt and silence. You wrapped your arms around him, eyes unfocused, fingers absentmindedly brushing through his hair. Neither of you spoke. You couldn’t. Because what would you even say? There was no love here. No peace. No comfort.

Just two people using each other as a tourniquet for grief that wouldn’t stop bleeding. And in the silence, the only thing louder than your heartbeat was the name he didn’t mean to say—and the one you couldn’t bear to remember.

The light was too bright. It cut through the blinds in harsh, sterile lines, painting your bedroom in quiet clarity. You were already awake. You hadn’t slept—just laid there, eyes closed, heart thudding under the weight of something you couldn’t name.

Mark was still behind you.

His arm was draped across your waist. His breath ghosted along the back of your neck, slow and steady. One of his legs was tangled with yours, anchoring you in a bed that no longer felt like it belonged to either of you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe too loud.

Because moving would mean facing it. Facing him. Facing what you’d done—what you’d let happen. The night before played back in your mind like a fever dream. His mouth. Your hands. The way he’d held you like he was drowning. The way you’d clung to him like you were already dead inside.

And then— Amber. You heard it again, unspoken but loud, echoing between your ears like a bell tolling for someone long gone.

He said her name.

You didn’t know if he meant to. Didn’t know if it was your imagination or some cruel trick of your subconscious trying to punish you. Either way, it didn’t matter. Because you hadn’t stopped him. Because you had wanted it.

Maybe not him. Maybe not like that. But something. Something to drown the silence, to outrun the guilt, to feel anything but the cold gnawing emptiness her death had carved inside you.

Mark stirred.

You felt the shift in his breathing, the twitch of his fingers on your hip. “Y/N?” he said, voice raw and unsteady. “Are you awake?”

You hesitated. Then quietly, “Yeah.”

Silence followed. He pulled his arm back, slow and careful, like he thought you’d break. You didn’t stop him. You just curled in tighter, like the ache might go away if you made yourself small enough.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. The curve of his back was hunched, his shoulders tight. His bruises were healing, but his face was still battered—eyes swollen with something deeper than injury. Shame. Maybe grief. Maybe both.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“I’m… sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t.” You sat up, the sheet falling from your shoulders. “Don’t apologize. Please.”

“But I—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in. Too fast. Too practiced. “It was nothing. We just… we needed it.”

Mark turned slowly, looking at you like he wanted to argue—but didn’t know how. His eyes were red. Tired. Haunted.

And you didn’t want to know who he saw when he looked at you.

You reached for your clothes. The silence felt like a scream between you, louder than anything either of you could say. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t reach for you. And when you stood and left the room, he didn’t follow.

It didn’t stop.

Not that morning. Not the next. Not after the third time Mark climbed through your window, blood crusted beneath his fingernails and silence clinging to him like smoke.

You didn’t ask why he came.

You didn’t ask who he’d been fighting, or what he’d been running from.

You just let him in. Every time.

It was wordless now—the way he looked at you, the way your body moved toward his like a tide that couldn’t help but rise.

Sometimes he kissed you like he was searching for a pulse.

Sometimes you kissed him like you wanted to forget you ever had one.

It was clumsy and quiet. Sometimes violent. Sometimes gentle. Clothes shoved aside, blankets kicked off the bed, hands shaking as they grasped at skin not because it felt good—but because it felt like something.

And afterward… silence. You’d lie there tangled in the sweat and grief, your faces turned away from each other, breaths shallow, hearts heavy. The only sound was the pounding in your skull, the quiet shudder of a name never spoken.

Once—just once—he’d touched your face afterward. He’d brushed his thumb along your cheek like he was going to say something. And you flinched.

Not because you didn’t want him to—but because it felt too much like love. And you didn’t know what kind of monster that would make you. Mark didn’t try again after that. He still came to you. Still slid into your bed without a word. Still held you like his life depended on it.

But neither of you kissed each other afterward. Neither of you said anything real. You didn’t talk about Amber. You didn’t talk about Nolan. You didn’t talk about the look in your eyes when he’d come inside you the second time and whispered a name that wasn’t yours. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe you didn’t want to. But deep down, some part of you did.

Because that night, you curled around him afterward. Pressed your face into his chest. Let your tears soak the fabric of his suit as he stared at the ceiling, his arms heavy around you like chains.

Neither of you could stop. And neither of you had the strength to pretend it meant anything else. You weren’t in love. You were in mourning.And your bodies were the only place left where her ghost didn’t scream.

You hadn’t heard from Mark in two days.

Not a text. Not a knock. Not a bloody fingerprint on your windowsill.

Just… nothing.

You told yourself not to worry. He probably needed time. Space. He wasn’t good at that—handling emotions like glass instead of hurling them at brick walls.

But then the news broke.

You didn’t see it live—your phone had been face down, and you’d been curled up under the covers, halfway to sleep. It was the vibrations that woke you. The dozens of notifications. The news alert. The GDA warning.

And then the headline hit you like a bullet to the chest:

“Guardians of the Globe Found Dead—Believed Killed by Viltrumite Attack.”

You sat up too fast, the room spinning.

No names listed at first. Just the photo. Wreckage. A crater where their headquarters used to be. And blood. So much blood. Splattered against scorched metal and cracked stone.

Then the update came.

Immortal. Dupli-Kate. Rex Splode. Atom Eve. Monster Girl. Black Samson. Shrinking Rae. All confirmed dead.

You couldn’t breathe.

Eve.

The phone slipped from your fingers as your lungs seized, your ears roaring with static. Your mouth formed her name, but no sound came out. You stared at the wall, unable to cry. Unable to move. Because she’d just been here. Just days ago. Holding you back. Holding you together. And now she was gone.

Your heart felt like it had cracked wide open. For a moment, you couldn’t tell if it was fresh grief—or something older, something deeper, being dragged back up to the surface like a corpse you thought had sunk too far to reach you.

It was only when your phone buzzed again that you blinked. Another alert. A leak from inside the GDA.

Someone—anonymous—posted footage.

Grainy. Damaged. But clear enough to recognize the blur of color in the center of the massacre. Blue, yellow, black. You blinked. Once. Twice. Your vision swam. Refused to focus. Refused to believe. But there he was. Mark. Covered in blood. Standing over Immortal’s body. Holding a piece of Rex’s torso like it weighed nothing.

And smiling.

No.

No, it had to be doctored. A clone. A shapeshifter. Something. Not him. Not your Mark. But your stomach churned. Your ears rang. Your knees gave out. Because even if you wanted to deny it, your body already knew the truth.

He went for the GDA next.

Cecil barely survived. The Pentagon was in ruins. Satellites scrambled. His team obliterated. And the moment he issued a red alert to the world’s remaining forces, he went off the grid—gone without a trace.

Debbie disappeared next.

Rumors said she’d tried to confront Mark. That she screamed at him in their home, told him he wasn’t his father, begged him to stop. That he’d laughed in her face. Cecil found her. Hid her. Warned her she was next.

And you— You sat in your apartment, still wearing Mark’s old hoodie, his scent still clinging to your sheets. Everything suddenly felt wrong. Rotten. Like the grief that had once bound you was curdling into something else.

You remembered the way he held you. The way he clung to you like a lifeline. The way he whispered in the dark, voice trembling: “I killed him. My father.”

You thought he meant Nolan. But now— Now you weren’t so sure he ever stopped.

And you were starting to wonder if what you’d let into your bed was the very thing Amber had feared all along. A monster wearing the face of the boy she grew to love.

You didn’t hear him come in.

One second the room was empty—just you, curled on the floor, the TV buzzing static. The next… his shadow. You turned. And Mark was standing in your living room. His boots left streaks of blood on the carpet.

There was something eerie about how still he was. How calm. No tremble in his shoulders. No panic in his eyes. Just quiet resolve, like a man who had finally found peace in the wreckage he’d made.

“I fixed it,” he said.

His voice didn’t match the massacre on the news. It didn’t match the blood on his fists or the faint pink smear on his jaw that could have once belonged to Eve.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I did everything I should’ve done the first time,” Mark went on, stepping closer, tone almost gentle. “I ended the GDA. The Guardians. All of them. They were manipulating everything. Controlling me. Feeding me lies. Telling me who I could protect and how.”

You took a step back, your heel hitting the wall.

His brow furrowed, and for a moment—just a flicker—he looked like your Mark again. The one who brought you strawberry lollipops when you were anxious. The one who cried in your bed. The one who held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” he said. “But it’s better now. Safer. I can do what needs to be done. No more orders. No more compromises. Just… me.” His smile was soft. Hopeful. Like he wanted you to be proud of him. Like this was for you. And for some horrible, broken part of you—it was. You stared at him. The blue and yellow of his suit was darkened with blood. Bits of ash clung to his collar. But his eyes… his eyes were still the same. Wide and warm and desperate for your approval. Your throat clenched. He stepped closer. You didn’t move.

“I did it,” he said again, almost whispering now. “It’s done.” Your knees buckled. And before you could stop yourself—you reached for him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, your forehead pressed to his chest. You clung to him like he was the last piece of something you couldn’t bear to lose. Your sobs came before your voice, ripping through your lungs like barbed wire. You didn’t understand it—you didn’t want to—but you needed him.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, fingers curling into his suit. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

For what, you didn’t even know. For doubting him? For loving him? For not stopping him? For still needing him, even when he’d become everything you feared?

His arms slid around you without hesitation. “Don’t be,” he murmured, voice soothing, lips brushing your hair. “You’re the only one who gets it. Who gets me. You always have.”

You wept in his embrace. Cried like a child. Like the world ended and you were too tired to find another one. You didn’t know what that made you.

A coward. A fool. A traitor to the people you once called friends. But right now, all you could do was cling to the monster in the shape of the boy you loved… and pretend he hadn’t killed everything else you ever cared about.

#omni mark x you #omni mark smut #omni mark x reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 days ago

Text

My Favourite Taste To Touch My Tongue [demisexual!Frankie x reader]

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Read on Ao3

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (cishet female, no descriptions, same age as Frankie)

Tags: demi!Frankie, first time penetrative sex, no condom but reader's on birth control and they're both clean, frankie is a born pussy eating king because of course he is, multiple orgasms, just sweet and sexy folks.

Summary: You are dating Frankie, and when it's time to have sex for the first time, Frankie reveals that he has never had penetrative sex before. It's up to you to make his first time good.

Words: 5,579

A/N: This began with me thinking about what it would be like to be Frankie's first, and have to teach him how to satisfy a woman. I just couldn't figure out how that man could stay unlaid for his entire life. Then @starving-soulzz suggested that he could be demisexual, and I went with that. Thank you for the idea, and for the read-through to make sure I didn't fuck up! <3 Title is from the Damien Rice song My Favourite Faded Fantasy.

Dating Frankie is so easy.

In fact, you didn’t even realize you two were dating. The first time he asked you out for a drink, you just assumed that the guys would be there. When they weren’t, and Frankie never explained why, you didn’t even ask, because it seemed natural to just hang out with Frankie.

When he finally asked you out for dinner, you smiled widely.

”Dinner as in a date?”

He was quiet for a second, and you could just see him lower his gaze, maybe run his fingers through those unruly locks of his. He had called instead of texted, which was so so typical of Frankie.

”Yeah, a date. I mean, the last time we went out was a date too, I guess.”

”It was?” You saw it now, even if you didn’t then.

”I mean, I think it was. But I guess I never told you.”

You laugh. ”You sure didn’t. Frankie, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

”Great.” His relief makes his voice warm and happy. ”Super. I’ll book us a table at... where do you wanna go? And what day? Friday?”

”Friday at seven?” you suggest, sensing that you need to help him along a little. ”Surprise me. I’m not a picky eater, you know that. Nothing too fancy though!”

”I know just the place. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty on Friday?”

”Can’t wait.”

That dinner was followed by a night of bowling and drinks, another of going to the movies, a Sunday afternoon walk in a park, a movie night at Frankie’s place. You loved spending time with him, always had, and since the two of you knew each other already there were no awkward moments of trying to find out of the other one was a secret racist or something. The only thing that was missing was sex.

Not that you were in a hurry to sleep with him, not as such. But you sure wanted to, and you had slept with other men much sooner. But Frankie was a gentleman, he didn’t even make out with you, and for some reason, you didn’t take initiative either. He had always been kind of shy and drawn back, and you figured he needed time.

Then one night, after pulling into your parking lot, he turns to you and asks you if he can kiss you.

You don’t even say yes, just lean forward and press your lips to his, excited to finally find out what he tastes like. He almost flinches, and his lips are unresponsive, so you draw back.

”Sorry,” you apologize, your cheeks heating up. ”I’m so sorry, Frankie, I just... I’ve been waiting to kiss you, really.”

He looks down, the baseball cap shielding his face, but looks up again, a shy smile playing on his lips.

”It’s okay, I didn’t realize you were so into me.”

”I am,” you assure him, willing yourself to calm down. ”You want to try that again?”

”Please.”

This time, you let him come to you. His lips softly nip at yours, and when you separate them to give him a little bit of space, he closes his around your lower one, and you close yours, and it’s soft and wispy, his scratchy mustache providing a rough contrast to the fullness of his lips. Gently, his fingertips touch your cheek, a contact without greed or force. Your heart is beating so fast and your endorphins are having a field day, but you do your best not to get carried away.

And it’s such a sweet torture to be kissed like this by Frankie, to be tasted slowly and gently when all you want to do is devour him. He touches his lips to yours again, now closing them around your upper lip almost thoughtfully, like he’s trying it for the very first time. His blunt fingertips run down your jaw and neck to your shoulder, then to your upper arm, where they stay, taking a shy hold of you.

You scoot across the seat to get closer to him, and Frankie clearly likes it, because now he pries his tongue between your lips. Your open up for him, hum in appreciation when his hand slides to your back, bringing you in. He still goes excruciatingly slow but you let him, it’s sexy, it’s different, it’s like he’s savouring you, every little bit, and that’s something you’ve never had before.

Hands a little sweaty, you find his shoulders as you let him discover your teeth, your tongue, kiss your lips raw. You let your hand get lost in the curls at the nape of his neck, slowly caress his long, strong neck, smile against his lips when his nose bumps into yours.

When he finally breathes a deep sigh, a little out of breath, and pulls back just an inch, you lick your lips.

”Well...” he whispers.

”Wow,” you whisper back with a smile. ”You’re really good at that.”

”Am I?”

”Definitely.”

He smiles that boyish, charming smile of his, looking down. He often does that, you’ve noticed: looks down when he smiles, especially when receiving a compliment.

God, that turns you on.

”You wanna come inside maybe?”

He hesitates for just a second before nodding.

”I’d like that.”

As soon as your jackets and shoes are off, Frankie takes you by the hand and pulls you into his arms. He kisses you again, now keener but still in that slow, undemanding way, like he’s trying something for the first time and liking it, but still finding his way. You wrap your arms around his neck and dare to show your eagerness, and he responds well to it this time. It’s still unhurried, but the conviction is there as you let him walk you backwards through the hall.

The kitchen is to your left, and you pull back for a moment.

”You want... a cup of coffee or something?” you ask breathlessly. Frankie’s eyes are hazy as he looks at you like he’s honestly considering the offer.

”No,” he finally says, ”no, I don’t want coffee.”

His voice is hoarse and lower than you thought possible, and it’s like it turns a switch inside you because your panties are now wet.

”Then... do you maybe wanna have sex?” you suggest, hand skimming over his scratchy cheek. Frankie swallows.

”Yes,” he rasps, and you immediately take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. By the door, however, he stops dead, prompting you to turn around.

There is something so naked about his face that you forget for a moment how horny you are.

”Frankie?”

”I need to – ” He has to clear his throat and start again. ”I need to tell you something.”

”Okay?” You try to sound encouraging but your warning bells are in position to start ringing. What now? Jesus Christ can’t I just have one hot, sweet, kind guy without any weird kinks or skeletons?

”Thing is, uh, that I’m demisexual.”

You look at him with what you hope isn’t too blank of a stare as you frantically try to think of an answer, but you have no idea what to say.

Oh fucking hell, what does that mean again? Is he one of those people who has to have different partners because I don’t think I can share him with anyone else but I would’ve seen him with someone else then, wouldn’t I? Demi, what the hell is demi, doesn’t it mean half, like demi-god, so it’s half something, but what’s that, do you just like one half of a person, Jesus fucking Christ, look at him, he’s waiting for you to say something, you have to say something, you can’t be quiet for this long, you have to say something!

You open your mouth when realisation hits Frankie and he comes to your rescue, looking slightly panicked.

”It means I don’t have sex with a person unless I can really connect with them! I’m sorry, I should’ve said that first!”

He squeezes your hand a little and you squeeze back, laughing with relief.

”Oh, right, sorry, I wasn’t too sure of the definition there.”

”That’s fine, I only just learned it myself quite recently and somehow figured that everybody knew the term, I should’ve been clearer,” he hurries to smooth over the small awkwardness that, however, is already disappearing with each chuckle.

”I consider myself an LGBT ally but I guess the rest of the letters get lost in the alphabet soup,” you confess, ”and I never met someone demisexual before, so I haven’t read up as I should.”

”That’s totally fine, you can’t know everything.”

You chew on your lower lip. ”So... I mean, not to just ignore your confession and be a dick but... you said you want to have sex? But you can’t have sex unless – ”

” – I don’t want to have sex unless I feel a connection to the person,” Frankie corrects you, with emphasis but not unkindly. You nod slightly, smiling apologetically. There is a new assurance in his voice now and it intrigues you. You know how confident Frankie can be, you’ve seen him take on a car engine and fix it without breaking a sweat. But he has always seemed a little socially awkward. But a different Frankie is emerging before your very eyes, and you like it.

”So...”

”So I feel that with you, and I want to sleep with you.” He shoots you one of his teasing grins. ”Now you’re just fishing.”

You feel heat rising in your cheeks. ”Maybe a little.”

Frankie takes one step so that he’s right in front of you, and raises his hand to your cheek.

”I really want to,” he tells you confidently. ”But you should know that because I can’t just have sex with anyone, I’ve never had sex at all. So I’m a little... inexperienced.”

”That makes sense, doesn’t it?” you say. ”If you’ve never been attracted enough to anyone. It’s okay, Frankie.”

”I want you to have a good time.”

”I’m sure I will.” You lean in to give him a small kiss. ”But if you’ve never had sex, I really want you to have a good time.”

You lead him to the bed and sit down, pulling him down next to you.

”You do know how to have sex, right?” you joke. Frankie grins back and gives you a light slap on your thigh.

”I’m forty-five and, you know, alive. Of course I know how to have sex.”

”Just checking!” you defend yourself, holding up your hands but feeling a little bad. It may have been a joke, but it was stupid.

”I’ll have you know that I do masturbate like every night.” The color rises in his neck when he says this, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

”So you get horny?”

”I get very horny. I just don’t want to do anything about it with someone else. Until now.”

Those warm brown eyes of his suddenly seem darker, and a shiver runs through you.

”You want me?” Your voice is a little shaky, and you swallow to make it more firm.

”I want you,” he acknowledges.

”How?”

”In every way possible.”

”Kiss me, Frankie.”

He pulls you to him, over him, as he lays down on the bed, his lips never leaving yours. You adjust yourself on top of him, your soft thigh sliding over the hardening bulge in his pants. Oh God, this is happening.

”What do... you want... from your first... time?” you ask, finding it difficult to speak when he doesn’t want to stop kissing you. Frankie hums low, and you manage to tear your lips from his.

”I want to make it perfect,” you specify. He smiles gratefully.

”It’s not my first time as such.”

”No?”

”I’ve fingered a woman once.”

You raise your brows. ”How was that?”

He fidgets with a strand of your hair, eyes cast down.

”She had a good enough time, I think, but it was... mechanical for me. So I guess it wasn’t good.”

”I’m sorry,” you tell him earnestly, running your fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes momentarily. Oh, so you like that, do you?

”So this will be your first time having penetrative sex?”

”Uh-huh.”

”What do you like, baby? What makes you feel good?”

He sighs softly, a warm caress of air against your cheek.

”I... want it to be good for you,” he reveals. ”That would feel good to me.”

You sit up, straddling his thighs so as not to put pressure on his pelvic area. You don’t need that distraction right now, neither does he.

”Frankie,” you begin slowly as you try to figure out a way to lovingly chide him without insulting him in the process. ”I want this to be about you. I want to find out where you want to be touched, what gets you off. You don’t have to think about me.”

He looks almost scandalized. ”I want it to feel good to you, too!”

”It will, trust me.” You lean down and kiss him, just a quick peck, before you run your lips down his cheek. ”We have all night.” You nibble at his earlobe. ”You just let me take care of you, okay?”

He grunts, and you don’t know for sure what it means, so you left your head and give him a pretend stern look.

”Okay?”

”Fine,” he sighs with a smile before wrapping his arms around you tightly, and pulling you down on top of him.

”That doesn’t sound very accepting,” you tease, but Frankie swallows your words with his next kiss, and you let your fingers tangle in his hair.

”I want...” he kisses the tip of your nose before covering your mouth again, ”... you on top. If that’s okay with you?”

”Absolutely.”

You pull gently at his locks, making him catch his breath and bite down on his lower lip, and then you sit up straight, and take off your shirt. You see Frankie swallow when he sees your bra, and you take his hand and pull him up to a seat so that you can remove his shirt. Running your hands over his exposed chest, you smile at him when he cups your tits in your bra.

”Like what you see?” you smirk. His cheeks seem to redden, and he tears his gaze from your boobs to look into your eyes.

”Yeah, they look... really sexy. Can I take your bra off?”

”Go right ahead.”

You expect him to struggle with the clasp behind your back, but he unhooks the strap with one simple, competent move that makes your pussy throb. You swallow hard and give yourself a litte relief, just a little, by rubbing yourself against him. Frankie exhales audibly when your weight is redistributed and puts pressure on his groin, and he leans back to watch you take your bra off. Slowly, you caress the shoulder straps down, let the cups peel off from your breasts, and the garment is off you, discarded to the side.

”Oh, baby,” Frankie breathes. His reverence is so total that it’s almost making you self conscious. ”That is... wow.”

”They’re just breasts,” you try to lighten up the situation, shaking them a little. Frankie’s eyes widen as he watches them bounce.

”They... sure are.” He clears his throat and looks at you. ”Can I...?”

”Knock yourself out.”

He surges at you, hands and mouth on your tits, licking, kissing, sucking, claiming. Your pussy grows more wet by the second, and you encourage him with moans and words, which seems to rev him into even higher gear.

”Frankie,” you gasp eventually, leaning back and gently pushing him away from your chest. ”We need to get naked, right now.”

”Affirmative.”

You get off him and lie down on your back as you undo your jeans and pull them down. Frankie is beside you, the buckle of his belt clinks, and you kick off your jeans and sit up to help him pull his off. His boxers are tenting, and with your hands on the waistband on his hips, you take a moment to make sure he’s okay.

”May I?”

”Please,” he tells you urgently, and you pull down his boxers. His cock springs free and you can’t hold back a Wow.

”What?” he asks, hesitation in his eyes. You look at the thick shaft striving up towards his belly from the thicket of pubic hair and two sizeable testicles.

”Oh,” you hurry to put his mind at ease. ”Nothing. It’s just that... you’re big.”

”I am?”

”Oh come on, Frankie, you know you are,” you grin at him as you pull his boxers off of him. He shrugs, but you can see that he’s aware of how blessed he is. His abashed demeanor turns you on even more. He could be a conceited shit, walking around with a dick like that, but he genuinely isn’t.

”Okay, yeah, I’ve been blessed in that department,” he admits. ”Is it okay? I mean, if it’s a lot to take, maybe we should focus on you first?”

Holy shit, where has he been all my life? Your pussy clenches around emptiness when he expresses his concern for your pleasure.

”Believe me,” you assure him, ”it won’t be a problem.”

You straddle him again, gently guiding his cock between the two of you, smiling when he twitches in your hand. Leaning down, you kiss his stomach, chest, the patches in his beard, before trailing your lips along his neck.

”You doing okay, baby?” you breathe against his ear before nibbling at the lobe. ”This feel good?”

”Uh-huh...”

”You want me to suck your cock, or do you want me to sit on it?”

”I... Dios mio... I’ll cum right away if you suck it,” he whines, hands running down your sides to your buttocks, grabbing them and pushing you down, trapping his cock between his belly and yours.

”That’s okay,” you let him know, ”but if you want to last a little longer...”

”I want to be inside you,” he rules, his voice tight but excited. ”Please, baby.”

You kiss him then, plunge your tongue into his mouth, let your fingers get lost in his hair. Frankie moves against you while pushing your pelvis down, and you have to smile at his eagerness.

”I hear you...”

”I have rubbers in my wallet.”

”I got some in the bedside drawer. But Frankie...”

You sit up and regard him with sincerety.

”We can be responsible if that’s what you want. But I’m on the pill, I got tested after my last partner, and you’ve never had penetrative sex. If you want to, we can do this without a condom.”

”We don’t have to do that – ” he starts to object, but then falls silent as he looks at you. You’ve known each other for years, and you trust him, and you know that he trusts you as well.

”It’s not how this is supposed to work,” he finally admits, ”but I’d really want to feel all of you.”

”This is all for you, Frankie,” you soothe him. ”We’ll use a condom if that’s what makes you comfortable. But I’m okay without one.”

He takes a moment before nodding.

”Without.”

”Okay.”

You let your lips brush against his in a soft kiss as you reach between the two of you and take a gentle hold of his cock. His breath stutters, his hands come to your waist, holding you like he’s afraid to lose you. Slowly, you nock him at your slick entrance, and start to slide down his length.

He whines your name against your lips, and you shush him breathlessly, focusing on the stretch, the sensation, the fullness. Your lower lip is caught between your teeth when you reach the wide base of his cock, and a low moan escapes you. Frankie misinterprets the sound.

”If it hurts – ”

”No, I’m good, I’m perfect, baby, it’s just a lot, but I can take it.”

He swallows audibly. ”I like it when you say that.”

You blink down at him. ”Say what?”

”That you can take me.”

”I can take you, Frankie,” you smile sweetly him, enjoying to see his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows again.

You breathe, hands firmly set on Frankie’s chest, and when you start to move tentatively, you take Frankie’s hands and put them on your breasts.

”Like this,” you guide him breathlessly. ”Cup them, and play with my nipples.”

He obeys, eyes round and a line of concentration on his forehead. You smile down at him as you slowly grind down on him.

”You’re doing great.”

”You make it easy.”

You lower down and kiss him, moaning into his mouth when the angle makes him hit that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. Frankie grabs your tits, massages them, lifts his head when you break the kiss to instead kiss and suck your nipples. You encourage him with more moving, louder sounds, until Frankie throws his head back, panting desperately.

”Can’t hold on,” he whines, and you double down on your effort to ride him to bliss.

”Let go,” you gasp, ”it’s okay, baby, cum in me, just go ahead.”

Frankie’s muscles stiffen, he grabs your hips and keeps you still, then thrusts up and you feel your core grow hot and full. You continue to rock on him, enjoying his trembling, stopping only when he holds you still, his face resolute and relieved at the same time.

”Don’t stop moving,” he whimpers, despite holding you still, ”God, it’s too much, but don’t stop.”

You gently loosen his grip on your hips, and direct one hand to where the two of you are joined. He catches on immediately, and presses down on your clit. The sensation is overwhelming, and you arch your back as you speed up.

”Just like that,” you pant, ”right there, Frankie, oh, God, yes, there!”

He lets his hand follow the movement of your pelvis, thumb on your clit, and when your orgasm makes you dig your nails into his chest and throw your head back, he growls something to you, but you can’t hear what he says as your blood roars in your ears.

When you finally lay down on your belly next to him, Frankie rolls onto his side and kisses your shoulder, back, neck, and finally mouth.

”I should be doing that to you,” you murmur against his lips, feeling them curve up.

”But now I’m doing it to you.”

He pulls back, looking at you almost shyly.

”Was it good?” he asks, and you have to laugh.

”I’m supposed to be asking you that!”

”Beat you to it,” he quips, but you can tell that he wants an answer.

”It was really good, Frankie,” you assure him. ”Probably the best first time sex I’ve had with a guy.”

”You don’t have to exaggerate,” he flushes, looking down as he changes position to get more comfortable. His hand comes to rest on your lower back; a warm and safe weight on you.

”I’m not. It really was amazing, because it was you,” you smile. ”How was it for you?”

His smile is lopsided. ”Over a little too quickly.”

”Okay, first lesson in sleeping with women: cumming too fast is super hot.”

He looks skeptical.

”Is it?”

”Oh yeah,” you nod, now propping your chin on your hand. ”To know that a guy goes so crazy for you that he cums right away? Priceless.”

”That was the easiest part.”

”What’s the hardest part?” You can’t hold back a stupid grin. ”Apart from your dick.”

He scoffs, but not unkindly, then considers the question. His fingers move in little circles on your lower back, making the tiny hairs on your skin stand.

”I guess... just getting this far. It took so long for me to know what I felt for you, and what I wanted. And then to muster up the courage to ask you out, and to kiss you – ”

” – you’ll remember that I kissed you first,” you point out, and he chuckles.

”That you did. But I don’t know... you’re a good teacher. It didn’t feel difficult at all to be in bed with you.”

Now it’s your ears that feel heated.

”I’m glad,” you answer simply. Frankie’s hand moves down to your ass to cup first one cheek, then the other.

”Do you think you could go again? There’s something I’d like to try.”

Your stomach twists in anticipation, and again you wonder why you haven’t noticed Frankie before. God, the things you’ve missed out on!

”Yeah?”

”I’ve always wanted to go down on a woman.”

Your ass cheeks clench at his low tone, and he misunderstands.

”Unless you think it’s too advanced for me?”

”Oh no, not at all,” you hurry to reassure him. ”I’m sure you’ll be good at it.”

”Then can I...?”

”Of course.” You sound ridiculously polite, but you turn over onto your back, and Frankie moves closer. He kisses you, strokes a strand of hair from your face, and cups your cheek before his hand slowly makes its way down you body. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he takes a break to look at you, follow your reactions to his careful ministrations. His cum is oozing out of you but he doesn’t seem to care, he only dips his fingers in it and circles your clit. Your eyes blink shut and you exhale in a low moan.

Frankie takes it as an invite to continue, so he trails his lips down your neck, pausing to kiss your breasts before continuing down your stomach. You spread your legs for him, let him reposition himself, and reach for his hand, placing it on your hip with your hand on top. He looks up at you, gaze sharp like he’s taking mental notes, and kisses your mound.

”Let me know what to do,” he asks you in a voice that surprises you because it doesn’t sound like he needs any direction at all.

”You’re doing great,” you reply, squeezing his hand gently. ”Just go on like that, follow your instincts.”

His instincts are a God-send because holy heavens, does he blow your mind. He starts off with soft licks, exploring your taste, dipping his tongue inside you, swirling around your clit, until you’re dripping and moaning. He then latches on and sucks so hard your lower back comes off the bed and you shout right out. You hold his hand tightly, reach for his other hand and he gives it to you, and you don’t let go until you’re writhing, moments away from your orgasm, and then Frankie releases your hands and wraps his arms around your thighs before grabbing your hands again. His head is locked between your thighs and his tongue makes you wail out your release. Your pelvis moves, aftershock after aftershock shaking your core, and Frankie gazes up at you.

”Was that good?”

Unable to help yourself, you start to laugh. Exhilaration floods you, and you keep nodding to let him know that it was good, it was amazing, because you can’t talk just yet.

When you calm down, you pull him up over you, taste his salty, earthy kisses, and all you can say is ”I need you, Frankie, I need you, take me now.”

He’s hard against your thigh, and he needs no more prompting to guide himself into your slickness. He’s confident, clearly proud of his oral skills, but when he’s balls deep in you, he takes a breath to whimper.

“God, you feel good, it’s so good, baby.”

“I know,” you whisper back, “It’s perfect, you fit me so well, Frankie.”

His lips lock with yours and you kiss until you can’t breathe, and he buries his face against your neck as he moves in you, slowly and steadily. This time he lasts longer, has time to alter the speed and the force of his thrusts. You take it with your arms around his neck, not letting go, only asking him to go faster, or slower, and he listens to your every cue until his thrusts become desperate, and you let him decide how he wants it, so he pumps into you with his lips on your neck, fucks you faster and faster until he groans, his heavy weight collapsing on you, his cock filling you with cum. You kiss his temple, comb your fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until he heaves a deep sigh, pulls out, and rolls over onto his back. Covering his face with his hands, he draws a deep, wet breath, and you immediately turn onto your side.

”Frankie? You okay?”

You put your hand on his, gently guiding it away to reveal his face, and he looks at you with tears in his eyes, tears that he quickly tries to wipe as he clears his throat.

”I’m good. I just... fuck, this is embarrassing.”

You shake your head. ”No, it’s not. It’s okay.”

”Didn’t expect this.”

”It’s fine, Frankie,” you tell him again. ”I promise, it’s okay.”

He wipes at his eyes again and chuckles, but it sounds like a sob.

”Tell me what you need from me,” you ask, and for a second he looks confused.

”I... um, I’m fine, I just need to...”

His gaze flickers before he confesses: ”I think I need you to hold me.”

You lie down next to him immediately, wrap your arm and leg around him as you rest your head on his shoulder. He calms down almost right away, seemingly happy with the connect.

”I didn’t think I’d be the guy to cry after sex,” he admits after a few moments of silence. ”That was weird.”

”Well, I laughed, so.”

”You always do that?”

”Not always.”

He hums, and you skim your fingers over his chest, pausing over his heart to feel it beat.

“You wanna talk about it?” you offer, but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m good. It was just surprising.” But it’s fine, I promise.”

You kiss his cheek, and he tightens his hold on you. For a long while, you just lie there together in a comfortable silence, before you can’t hold back your next question:

”You really never ate pussy before?”

”No?” The word comes out timidly, and you stroke his chest to let him know he’s safe.

”You’re a fucking natural,” you let him know. “It’s unfair. I had to learn how to suck dick, and you just went down there and did everything right.”

He chuckles quietly, abashed at your praise.

”I don’t know... it just felt easy with you.”

”I’ll say.”

You feel his cum seep out between your swollen lips, and kiss Frankie’s shoulder.

”I have to go to the bathroom.”

”Don’t be long.”

”I won’t.” You kiss him again, then untangle yourself from him, get out of bed, and hurry to the bathroom to pee. When you return to the bedroom, you pause in the door.

“You want to spend the night?” you ask softly. Frankie nods immediately.

“I’d love to.”

“I’ll take out a toothbrush for you.”

Before you can return to the bathroom, however, Frankie holds out his hand for you.

“Come back to bed for now?”

Smiling, you pull away the covers, and get in with him. As you cuddle up, you can’t help but ask him something.

”How come you wanted to do this with me, and not someone else? Surely you’ve had many opportunities.”

He strokes your back slowly, and his answer lingers so long that you start to think he didn’t hear you.

”I’ve been deployed so many years of my life,” he eventually says, quietly. ”It’s hard to make a connection with someone when you’re never home.”

”Ah, that makes sense.”

”And, you know, I mostly socialize in bars. And women in bars only want one thing.” You hear the cheeky grin in his voice, and you chuckle.

”Damn straight we do.”

”So I never really managed to get to know anyone for long enough to become interested. Until you.”

”Yeah, but I’ve known you guys for years,” you point out.

”Exactly. I don’t even know when I started to feel that you were something more than a friend. I just knew that one day, I looked at you across the table... and I just wanted to kiss you.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you just hum.

”What about you?” he asks. ”When did you know that you wanted more?”

”That dinner. When you said it was a date.” You remember how oblivious you had been to your own attraction to him. ”I realized that of course it was a date, and I wanted to go on a date with you. And another date, and another. And I just wanted to spend time alone with you.”

”I want that too.”

He kisses your head, and you sigh happily.

”Was sex what you thought it would be?” you ask, your voice a little drowsy now.

”It was better. But only because it was you.”

”You can’t really know that, but thank you.”

”I know what I know.” He takes a break, like he just thought of something. ”And I know that I want you again.”

You thought you were tired, but you’re not tired at all when Frankie Morales says that he wants you.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #my fic

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acrynix · 3 days ago

Text

Ace Trappola Headcanons

Some of my list of Ace headcanons because why not

He has a slight accent with certain words he says and has a different speech pattern depending on who he's talking to

Has scars on his left hand from a mysterious injury and hides them with his glove on regular school days. If he doesn't have his glove, he's using either makeup or a glamor spell he learned from his brother

He doesn't have many friends back home, but the ones he does have are just as playful and mischievous as he is

Ace learned to count cards and is a master at rigging card decks in any player's favor. He learned by watching his brother and father

Even though he doesn't talk about her much, I think Ace adores his mother and his mother favors him over his brother. On the flipside, Ace's father favors his brother but overall everyone has a good standing with each other

Ace doesn't really like kids all that much, but he's really good at taking care of them and has babysat for neighbors a few times

He and his ex-girlfriend are actually on good standing with each other and they still talk fairly frequently

He's a little insecure about his red eyes and thinks that people might think he's evil (thanks cartoons). It also separates him from his brother and father who both have more orange eyes

He's actually very smart but doesn't like applying himself

Ace is secretive for no reason. One of his friends will ask him a very general question like "What are you doing?" or "Where are you going?" and he will just not give them a straight answer. Just a very private person

He is very accepting of other's sexualities and gender identities and everyone thinks he's just an ally. Yuu is the only person at NRC who knows he isn't straight

Despite his attitude that draws attention to himself, he doesn't like being in the spotlight and deflects any unwanted attention onto someone else (birthdays are a nightmare for him)

He fidgets with his glove when he's nervous/anxious/restless and if he isn't wearing his glove, he plays with a deck of cards

Ace's favorite card games are Black Jack, Hearts, Speed, and Poker (Texas Hold 'em)

Ace's family is full of magicians and illusionists and Ace knows almost every trick in the book

I don't think Ace knows exactly what he wants to do when he graduates and he's mostly going to NRC just because his brother did

Sometimes he's found just sitting alone somewhere super random just staring off into space and/or just wandering the halls if he's bored (cryptid)

He genuinely doesn't have a favorite friend. He'd lose his shit if any of them disappeared suddenly

Ace comes off as a coward and only seems like he wants to protect himself, but the moment you insult anyone he cares about his fists start flying (Riddle is painfully aware of this)

He bottles up a lot of his emotions until he literally can't hold in every thought he's ever had

His music taste consists of anything but country and classical music and always fights Epel and Sebek if one of them offers to take control of the playlist

He's very good at spotting liars and after the Playful Land event he was beating himself up a lot over not being able to see that Ernesto was playing them

Sometimes Ace just shows up at Ramshackle and it doesn't matter what time he does (it could be 4am or 3pm it doesn't matter), Yuu always lets him in and they always watch reality TV

Ace is secretly a really good artist but hasn't shown anyone his drawings

#ace trappola #twisted wonderland #headcanon #my shayla my shayla #I love this lil guy he's my son #ace trappola headcanon

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janeworkshop · 15 hours ago

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Burn the root of old pattern ✮⋆˙ the gateway to void ⠀

Hello to all , i hope u all are doing good if not then take a deep breath and rest a while everything will be okay <3 so today we are going to discuss how to get rid of the old pattern which is printed in your mind.

You’ve tried method after method. Meditations, affirmations, visualizations. You’ve stayed up all night counting to 100, hoping this time something would happen. But nothing. Just more burnout. More doubt. More waiting. But instead of just changing methods have u ever really thought up what is the real cause ? why only u are the one who is struggling ? if no then let me help you reason out and burn the root of the pattern, no clickbait only the real reason so let's get started

ᯓ✦ What is the Void State ?

The Void State is an awareness state where your mind becomes completely silent, and you're no longer identified with your body, ego, or thoughts. In this state:

You are pure consciousness.

Your manifestations become instant.

Reality bends to your will.

You're free of pain, identity, effort.

It’s not visualization. It’s not meditation. It’s a total blackout from the ego—and a portal to limitless change.

ᯓ✦ What actually happens in the Void State / the realm of pure consciousness ?

The Void State is not an empty void in the sense of nothingness or absence, but rather a profound presence beyond form, thought, and identity. When you induce the Void, you move beyond the constant chatter of the mind — beyond memories, fears, desires, and even the sense of “self” as a separate being. What remains is pure consciousness itself: a vast, still, and timeless awareness that witnesses everything without judgment or attachment. It is like the clear sky behind the clouds; the clouds (thoughts, emotions, sensations) may appear and disappear, but the sky remains untouched and infinite. In this realm, there is no past or future, no time or space as you usually understand them — just the ever-present “now.” The experience can feel like a deep inner silence or a boundless openness, where the usual boundaries between “you” and the world dissolve, revealing a fundamental oneness with all that is. This state is the very essence of being — pure awareness that is free from conditioning, egoic patterns, and mental noise. Because it transcends form, it is often described as indescribable or beyond words; it cannot be captured by thought or language, only directly experienced. The Void is not a void of emptiness but a fullness of presence, a field of infinite potential and peace. In the Void, you are not trying to do or become — you simply are. This pure consciousness is the source from which all experiences arise and to which they all return. Inducing the Void State is like peeling away the layers of identity and mental clutter until only the essence remains: you, as awareness itself, boundless, unchanging, and free. It is the ultimate freedom — the pure “I am” that exists beyond all phenomena and forms.

ᯓ✦ What is the cause , why u are struggling with void state so much ?

The Void State is already within you because it is your natural, pure consciousness. So why does it feel so difficult to reach? why u are trying so hard for something which is all with in you ? why u are searching for the proof if it's real or not?

The Void State was never something you had to force, find, or prove. It’s not about doing the right method or waiting for your body to float or feel something special. That’s the biggest misunderstanding — people keep looking for a physical sign or some dramatic experience, thinking that’s how the Void shows up. But the truth is, the Void has never been physical. It’s not in your body, your thoughts, or your senses — it’s what remains when all of that fades. It’s the awareness behind your eyes, the stillness beneath every thought, the quiet presence that’s always been with you. You’ve been chasing something external, waiting for proof, but the Void was always internal — it was never about reaching something “out there.” The reason people feel stuck is because they keep trying to “enter” it as if it’s far away, when in reality, the Void is what you already are without the effort, doubt, overthinking, or expectations. You’ve been taught to believe that silence, emptiness, or stillness means failure — but that’s the very doorway. You were never blocked. You were just listening to the wrong voice — the voice of the ego, which is terrified of nothingness, because in the Void, the ego has no control. So the moment you let go — of needing a sign, a method, a result — and simply rest in awareness, you return to what’s always been within you. It’s not about how your body feels. It’s not about seeing stars or floating or losing time. The Void doesn’t come with fireworks — it comes with peace, with a deep sense that you are finally home. And that happens not when you try harder, but when you stop trying at all. It was never far. It was never fake. It was never about form. It was always you.

ᯓ✦ Analyzing from the success stories perspectives

If you look deeply into every real Void State success story — no matter what method they used or how long they struggled — one thing becomes clear: they entered when they finally let go. And that moment of letting go didn’t mean they gave up completely or stopped listening to subliminals or threw away all their practices. No — most of them still listened to subliminals, still laid in bed, still counted or visualized — but internally, they let go of the pressure. They stopped chasing the result with tight, anxious energy. They stopped thinking, “I need this to work now or I’ve failed.” They dropped the emotional weight of expecting, doubting, overanalyzing, and obsessing. That’s what letting go really means. It’s not quitting the method — it’s releasing the desperation behind it. They may have still listened to Void subliminals or repeated their affirmations, but with a light, surrendered heart. They didn’t demand a result; they simply allowed. And in that surrender — when the mind finally quieted, when the ego finally stopped clinging — the Void revealed itself. What used to feel like “nothing is happening” became everything. The silence became profound. The body disappeared, not because they forced it, but because they no longer clung to it. Every story shares this moment: they relaxed so deeply that they no longer needed proof, signs, or sensations — they just trusted, and in that stillness, the shift occurred. That’s the real reason people enter the Void. Not because of the perfect external setup, but because they dropped the internal resistance. The subliminals, the meditations, the methods — they still help. They prepare the mind, guide the energy, and build the pathway. But the actual entry happens when you stop needing them to “work” and just allow them to carry you. Letting go doesn’t mean doing nothing — it means doing everything from a place of peace, not pressure. The moment you stop chasing and start allowing, you remember that the Void was never separate from you — it was always what you are beneath the noise.

ᯓ✦ How to break the old pattern practically ?

Breaking free from old patterns and truly stepping into the Void State starts with understanding that it’s not about mastering complicated techniques or proving anything to yourself or others. The first step is to recognize that all your doubts, fears, and disbelief come from the mind’s habit of trying to control and explain something that cannot be controlled or fully explained — pure consciousness is beyond thought, beyond logic, beyond evidence. To apply this practically, start by creating a simple daily practice where you allow yourself to just be — no agenda, no expectation, no judgment. This could be as simple as lying down in silence, closing your eyes, and focusing on your natural breathing, gently reminding yourself that you don’t need to do anything special to enter the Void — it is already present beneath all mental activity. When the mind raises doubts or tries to convince you that it’s not real or that you’re failing, acknowledge those thoughts without resistance or judgment, then gently return your attention to the present moment — the breath, the silence, or the simple awareness of “I am.” This practice trains your mind to stop resisting and start allowing. At the same time, you can still use subliminals, meditations, or methods as support — but only as tools, not as crutches or proof. The real power comes when you stop needing them to work a certain way, and instead trust the process and surrender to the experience, whatever it is. Over time, this relaxed surrender weakens the old patterns of “trying hard” and “doubting,” because you’ve shifted your identity from “someone chasing the Void” to simply “being the Void” — a presence that can never be lost or gained, only remembered. Patience and self-compassion are key: every time frustration or burnout arises, use it as a sign to soften, breathe, and release expectations. The more you practice this gentle allowing, the more the Void State unfolds naturally — not as a goal, but as a natural state of your true self, here and now. This practical approach doesn’t rely on theory alone — it’s about embodying the truth through daily moments of surrender, presence, and trust, which gradually erase old patterns and open the door to a deep and lasting experience of the Void

ᯓ✦ how to reset and induce the Void State without burnout ?

Resetting your mind and inducing the Void State without burnout is about shifting your relationship with the process, not pushing harder or chasing faster results. Burnout happens when you approach the Void with tension, high expectations, or frustration—trying to force it to happen, which only creates mental resistance and energy drain. Instead, the true reset begins when you stop struggling against yourself and release all urgency and pressure. This means gently stepping back from overdoing techniques, stopping the endless mental rehearsing, and allowing yourself space to simply rest in awareness — even if at first it feels like “doing nothing.” Rather than trying to induce the Void like a goal to be conquered, treat it as a natural unfolding that happens when you quiet the mind and relax deeply into the present moment. Use tools like breathing exercises, soft meditation, or subtle subliminals, but always from a place of curiosity and ease — not from a place of “I have to get this right” or “I must see results now.” Trust that the Void is already within you, waiting beneath the surface noise of your thoughts and emotions. When you release the mental grip, surrender your need for control, and stop identifying with the restless mind, the Void state naturally arises without struggle or burnout. The key is consistency paired with gentle self-compassion: short, relaxed sessions that prioritize presence over performance. This way, you build a sustainable practice that resets old patterns and gradually induces the Void as a peaceful, natural experience — no hype, no shortcuts, just steady deepening of awareness.

ᯓ✦ Why u have feeling nothing will workout + Void challenge

You feel like nothing will work out because your mind has been conditioned by repeated failure, waiting, and the constant trying that led to burnout. Each time you attempted a method and it didn’t give you instant results, your subconscious silently recorded a message: “It didn’t work. Maybe nothing will.” Over time, these impressions stack up, creating a mental wall of doubt, exhaustion, and emotional detachment. It’s not that the Void isn’t real or that you’re incapable — it’s that your mind keeps recycling the belief that something’s missing, that you have to do more, or that you’re just not there yet. This creates an illusion of separation between you and the Void, between effort and results. So now, even when you approach new techniques or try to start fresh, it feels like just another cycle that will fail — not because it’s true, but because the old pattern of disappointment is still running the show. The key isn’t to force belief or fake motivation. It’s to recognize this loop, pause, and say: “This story isn’t mine anymore. I choose to stop recycling failure. I choose to experience presence without demand.” From that inner shift, everything else can finally begin to unfold.

˗ˏˋ 7-Day Void Induction + Self-Concept Challenge ˎˊ˗

Optional incase anyone is interested<3 This challenge is not about “trying to enter” the Void. It’s about releasing what blocks it — doubt, ego identity, neediness, and over-effort — and replacing it with a stable self-concept rooted in pure awareness.

Step 1: Nervous System Reset + Breathwork (10 min)

Sit or lie down in a quiet space. Begin box breathing:

Inhale through nose – 4 seconds

Hold – 4 seconds

Exhale through mouth – 4 seconds (Repeat this for 8–10 minutes)

As you breathe, gently repeat mentally:

“I release. I surrender. I return to presence.” “There is no future. No past. Just stillness now.”

This resets your nervous system, pulls you out of survival mode, and stills the mental noise that blocks Void awareness.

Step 2: Self-Concept Rewiring (10 min)

Now sit still. Breathe slowly. Begin repeating these identity-dissolving affirmations — not as wishes, but as truths:

“I am not this name, this story, or this body.”“I am not someone trying to enter the Void.”“I am the awareness before effort, before identity.”“The Void is not a place I go — it is what I am.”“I allow everything to dissolve. I remain.”

Let your old image of “you” fade out. Don’t try to feel anything. Just observe the awareness that watches your thoughts. That silent observer is the gateway.

Step 3: Inducing the Void State through SATS Stillness (10 min)

Lie down. Close your eyes. Allow your body to become very heavy. Stop trying. Don’t visualize. Just sink into awareness like falling into water.

Now mentally repeat like a lullaby:

“There is no world. No desire. No time.”“There is only this still awareness.”“I do not chase the Void. I induce it by letting go.”“I am falling inward. Deeper. Deeper.”

If you get distracted, return to breath. No judgment. Just drift back into the quiet space behind your thoughts. This is not forcing — it’s allowing the mind to empty until the Void reveals itself.

ᯓ✦ Final reminder

You don’t have to chase the Void anymore. You don’t have to force, wait, or beg for something that has always been within you. The Void isn’t something distant or mystical — it’s the raw, untouched presence beneath all your thoughts, doubts, and effort. What kept you stuck wasn’t a lack of methods — it was the belief that you had to become someone else to deserve it. But the truth is, the Void responds when you stop performing. When you stop trying to be “ready,” and simply drop into the moment as you are. Let go of timelines. Let go of “I can’t.” Let go of the story that said you failed. The moment you breathe, relax, detach from who you think you are, and surrender the need to control — you begin to induce the stillness that leads you home. You don’t need to prove anything. You don’t need signs. The Void is not something you find. It’s what remains when you stop believing in everything you’re not. Just come back to yourself. That’s all you’ve ever needed to do.

xoxo jane <3

#loa blog #loa success #loa tumblr #loablr #loassumption #void state #void success #shiftblr #reality shifter #shifting realities #shifting blog #shifting #loassblog #4d reality #pure consciousness #shiftingstories

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