#franks small but you know he’s fucking solid

[frnkiebby]

happy valentine’s day~🎃

[evie-sturns]

Intersection - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after not driving for a few months, you accidentally rear end matts car at an intersection.

contains: crying, swearing, comforting, angry!matt.

-------------└── •✧• ──┘--------------

i haven't drove in the past 6 months that i've been away in Florida, but now i'm back in Boston im slowly starting to get back into it.

8:37pm

i flick my left indicator, swinging round the corner as frank ocean blares through my small white car.

the road is slippery due to the weather recently, the small puddles on the concrete shining from the illuminating street lights above.

i hum to the song as i accelerate, pressing my foot harder on the small pedal as i keep a reasonable distance between the grey van in front.

i check my wing mirrors, there's no cars behind me so i speed up, closing the distance between me and the car ahead.

theres an upcoming intersection, the traffic light is green, i look down at my cupholder for a split second, my bottle of water splashing up out of the bottle with every rock i drive over, "shit.." i mutter, reaching a hand down and fiddling with the cap.

i gasp as i look up, the light is red and the car which is 3 feet in front of me has come to a complete halt.

my heart drops as my mind goes blank.

"oh my god." i shout as the front of my car smashes into this grey van.

i sit in silence for a few seconds, the van drives to the side of the empty road, i follow and park behind, my heart thumps as i drive in total shock,

i've never been in a car accident, not even close.

i instantly start to freak out, how could i not in this situation. i turn off my car, stepping out and wiping my face with my sleeve as i take in panicked breaths.

the door of the other car swings open, a man steps out, he's wearing cargo jeans, a grey crewneck and an assortment of jewellery.

i've definitely seen him on tiktok before..?

i walk over to him, "i'm so fucking sorry my insurance will pay for everything" i ramble, the brunette replies "i know."

his voice is stern, he's definitely mad. i bite my nails as my leg shakes on the spot.

"how the fuck do you not brake? you were a solid 5 meters behind me and yet your car rams the back of mine? are you fucking stupid?" the boy says, staring into my eyes.

"my water spilt and i thought the light was going to stay green, i'm so sorry." i say back, my voice shaking as i start to cry.

he stays silent for a few seconds, scanning my face which is now flushed everywhere with a couple of tears falling from my eyes.

"stop, just give me your insurance details and number" he sighs,

after giving him my number and insurance details i start again, "ill call you an uber, im really sorry." i say, pulling out my phone and attempting to turn it on, soon realising it ran out of battery an hour ago.

"dont worry about it, my cars driveable." he says, i nod. the whole front of my car is squashed, including the engine.

"you got a way home?" the boy asks,

"i mean uh- no but i can just walk." i say with a small sniff,

"come on, ill drive ya." the brunette says, taking my hand and walking me towards his van, the back of it has a medium sized indent, nothing too major though.

"you don't have to i swear its not a far walk" i protest, "i'm not gonna let you walk, honestly its okay." he says, climbing into the drivers side.

i get into the passengers side, he pulls out his phone "i'm gonna call someone to tow your car okay?" he says, his voice soft.

"yeah- okay." i reply.

-

i've found out this boys name is matt, i knew it was something like that, we're now pulling into my street after apologising thousands of times. aside from the whole 'ramming his car' we clicked well together.

i point out my house, matt jumps out first to let me out of his van, "are you okay now?" he asks with a small laugh, "yeah- i think." i reply with a guilty expression plastered on my face.

"can i have a smile?" he asks, i force a pathetic smile and matt nods.

"ill text you tomorrow, we should see each other sometime?" he asks nervously,

did he just ask me out?

"yes! yeah i'd like that." i say,

matt leans down, giving me a hug,

"i'm sorry for making you cry."

"what? no! i'm sorry for rear-ending your car!" i reply, pulling away from the hug and giving him a warm smile.

----

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

“I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly” (Roman Roy x fem!reader)

An: I’m gonna try. Let’s see how this goes. As an asexual (demisexual panromantic) I can feel it in my asexual bones that Roman is so part of the asexual club. Like he’s panromantic for sure he will date and flirt and be with anyone who makes him feel ~wiggly~ so to speak. I think he felt it with Gerri, and felt it with Tabitha. He feels like that pull toward them. And if given the chance he probs does want to bang. Like, he just never has that talk of ‘oh if I just stop thinking and let this person who I trust more then anything know what’s going on in my brain space then it works’ like our man is just. I love him because I am him.

I’m gonna tag @romeulusroy because I heard they were having a bad day and maybe soft roman can help

He liked looking at her when she didn’t know he was, he liked the feeling she gave him. A rush inside that he’s felt so few times in his life. Roman liked her smile, the way her lips split to show her teeth, the way her nose wrinkled when she didn’t like something. He liked her. Liked her? No he was pretty sure he loved her. Well what he assumed was love, he was pretty sure he’s only ever felt the emotion a handful of times.

Once when he was a kid and found a baby duck in the backyard pond of his mothers villa, it was so small and he helped it back into the pond where it’s family was. He remembers the feeling of warmth watching the mother goose bump it’s little tail back into place. He imagined every duck he saw after was somehow that one duck growing and visiting him.

He remembers the feeling when connor had popped him on the bathroom counter and bandaged up his scraped and bleeding knee. Connor was what he assumed his friends parents were like. He liked feeling cared for. Even if it was rare.

He likes listening to her ramble about her bullshit job of being a coffee runner most days, how she wishes she could punch Karl or frank or even his dad in the face when they forget her name, even though she’s worked under Gerri for at least 2 years.

He loves waking up next to her, always before her, something in him, maybe because of military school, maybe because he always wanted to be up before his siblings to hope that his dad would let him join him at the office, or to get the best pieces of bacon or toast for breakfast. Not anymore, now it was to be able to have the few moments of staring at her. Her softened face against the pillows, her worry stripped from her forehead. The moments when he could scratch her scalp lightly with his fingers and she would just sigh in her sleep.

He loved her. He would marry her if the fear of a marriage being the prison of unhappy people. From his parents to Tom and shiv and even Kendall. Though he would push all of it away if it meant a forever of seeing her like this.

He remembers the conversation that made him fall. Hard and fast and slamming him into the cold pavement.

“I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly” it was a joke, she had laughed slightly looking down at her computer typing a report or email for Gerri or Karl or whoever was yanking her around this week.

“Roman we both know neither of us would enjoy that” it stung, she was right, but it stung.

“I mean I would rock your world for like a solid 3 seconds before you realise I have zero clue what’s going on” she had looked at him, cocking her head to the side, eye brow raised

“Roman. Can I ask you something.” He was caught off guard, his own walls coming up slightly, shrugging he looked around

“Yeah what’s up” he didn’t know why he couldn’t look at her suddenly but he just couldn’t.

“Do you know what asexuality is?” Asexuality? Obviously he did, biology and science was one class he knew he passed with more then a barley passing grade.

“Like fucking ameba and shit. They fuck themselves and bam! Another single celled whatever” she laughed, he turned to her then smiling a bit more

“I mean in the biology, organisms sense yeah, but like I mean in people,” Roman shrugged again shaking his head a little

“Some new fancy label the ‘woke’ mob has made to make people like my dad and Kendall rage for no reason?” She shook her head at that

“No Roman it means you don’t really like banging. Like, you could live with out it. So to speak, you could go your whole life never caring to want it. It wouldn’t change anything. And weird bathroom door Jack off sessions aside, it means your just not that into the whole sex thing” he felt his face flush at her mention of his brief weird relationship with Gerri. He simply looked at her

“I mean sex is…super cool….I love fucking, all night, we could do it right now, and it would be…explosive” he knew she could hear through his wavered tone

“Roman, do you know why I haven’t even pushed having sex?”

“I don’t know your weird and religious upbringing scared you for life with trauma?”

“Good guess but no…I’m asexual. Like, sex is just, a thing, I don’t care if we have it, or not, we could never and I would be 1000% okay with that. I don’t need you to bang me, how ever satisfying or not it would be, because I just, don’t need it.”

Roman stared at her then, his brain buzzing, heart slamming in his chest, he assumed like grace and Tabitha, one day you would clamber for him to attempt the unsuccessful routine of making out, hand stuff above his pants, a seemingly awkward game of red light green light before both of you gave up and you walked off to finish yourself in his bathroom.

“Roman, i haven’t brought it up, because if we never have sex ever, I wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter.”

He wanted to scream, and cry and hug her. He didn’t know why but he did. He simply stood up, walked over to her, yanked her up and kissed her. His hands holding her cheeks, hoping she understood what he meant in it.

When he pulled away she smiled at him nodding

“One day we may, who knows, but one thing is for sure. We’ll both lay each other badly”

“But gladly?”

“Yeah, but gladly”

[slimybeth69]

a small spark vs a great forest

frankie morales X +18 lady reader (no descriptions but has background) warnings: excplicit/smut (Minors DNI) toxic relationships (not frank), alcohol/smoking mentioned and used, twin flame connections, unhealthy obsessions, the use of little girl or Niñita (with no real defied age gap), other sad shit :(

A/N: this is my first time posting smut on here so i'm sorry if I fucked anything up or didn't do it right. this is being cross posted from my ao3 account and if you'd like to check it out, the link is in my bio.

Summary: Meeting Frank outside the bar that night hadn't ever been apart of your plan... and what the hell did he just say to you?

chapter 1 of ?

There isn’t much that you wouldn’t do for a cigarette right now– but you quit. It wasn’t easy and it’s not a habit you’d like to have to drop again, so you just pace outside of the bar you’re also not going to go into. 

Fuck. 

This isn’t how you expected this night to go—fighting with your boyfriend, Cooper. Ex-boyfriend. You’re single. Freshly single and wanting to go inside and have a drink but, that’s something else that you’re just not sure would be a good idea right now. 

Not that you have a problem. You get sad when you drink and you call anyone on your phone who will listen to you drunkenly cry at three a.m. 

PSA, it’s not many. So, you just avoid that whole situation and decide maybe you should try to find some weed. That’s never been an issue and you’d… love to eat whatever you can get your hands on and then sleep for a solid nine to ten hours. 

The music inside is pretty inviting though and someone in there probably has weed. Someone has to have it. They’ve gotta. 

Your phone rings and you almost don't answer it when you see the caller I.D. and Cooper’s picture. He still has things of yours though so you have to speak to him. "Hello?"

"Hey..." He sounds apologetic and like he's got more to say. He sounds like he has his tail between his legs instead of a dick. "Do you think we could...I dunno, talk sometime?" He asks meekly. 

"No, I don't wanna talk to you. I just want my stuff back." You whisper, the tears burn at your eyes and you feel that sting in your sinuses. 

He chuckles and his tone changes drastically. "You're not getting your shit back until you come fucking talk to me, bitch. So... fix your fucking attitude and get over here... come talk to me."

You roll your eyes even though he can't see you. He wants to play a tough guy now? "Oh, did you grow a pair all of a sudden?" You're smirking but his next reaction startles you. 

"You think you're fucking cute? Get your stupid ass over here and talk to me or I'll burn your shit, you stupid cunt. Do you think I'm playing around? You think this is a fucking joke?" He's snarling through the phone. 

"Excuse me? You fucked MY friend and you expect me to just drop---"

"I. Do. Not. Care." Your ex-boyfriend cuts you off and snorts gently. "I let you leave to cool off but quit fucking around. Get here now, or I'm coming to find you." He warns. "You forget I know where you live-- I know where you work? You think that this ended because we fought?" 

"Come here, I fucking dare you. Show up at my job, please show up at my job. Do you think the guys I work with would let you even get through the door? Do you forget that I've got at least fifteen pounds on you? You scrawny fucking---" You're snarling now, right back at him.

"I'll fucking ruin you, you stupid fucking whore. Watch me. Watch me burn all your shit. I'll burn your fucking apartment down. I'll ruin your fucking life." 

You snort at his response. "I'd love to see you try, Coop. I really want to see you try." You whisper into the phone before hanging up.

You...fall apart while his words resonate in your head. He has never spoken to you like that before, there had never been threats made like that and now...you're not scared... you're...tempted to call him the fuck back? What? Why do you wanna go talk to him now? After he said all those terrible things? Is he really that broken up over you guys not being together? 

No.

You know that's not what this is. He's toxic. He's abusive, apparently?

You need to stay away from him. You can get new stuff, you can buy new clothes and shoes. You don't need to see him ever again.

You wipe your cheeks hastily, trying to banish the evidence of your vulnerability. No more tears for him. Not now. Not ever again. You want to scream and go find a dark corner to crawl away and hide in. This doesn’t really seem fair. Not fair at all.

Your right hand is on the door handle and you’re about to pull the door towards you when it’s forcefully slammed into your knuckles by someone inside pushing the door out. 

“Fuuuck.” You groan and blinding pain shoots up your hand and into your wrist. You turn around while you cradle your wounded hand gently against your chest. “Fuck fuck fuck.” You hiss under your breath. 

If there was ever a sign to go the fuck home right now? This was it. 

“Oh shit!” A man's voice from behind you cuts through the haze of pain and the next thing you know, you have hands on your shoulders and are being spun around. 

“Get the fuck off of— oh…” You trail off when you’re face to face with chocolate brown eyes that are wet and bloodshot from whatever he had been drinking. It smells like tequila. 

“Sorry…” The unnamed man apologizes for injuring you. His eyes drop down to the hand you have clutched to your chest. “You ok?” He asks, his voice soft but still deep and velvety. 

You stare at him for a moment; lost in the wrinkles around his eyes. His lips are full and look so soft, you’re thinking about what they’d feel like pressed against the nape of your neck while his hands move down your shoulders—

“Get off me!” You snap at him, realizing he has his hands on your shoulders and you should be alarmed and angry at this stranger touching you like this. 

This guy's hands fall to his sides and he stands tall, towering over you now that he’s not hunched to inspect your not-so-serious injury. He’s a lean, solid mass in front of you now. His dark hair is tousled lightly and curled from underneath the brim of his baseball cap. His skin is sun-kissed. He’s got a faint scar on his left cheekbone.

“Sorry. 'M a little buzzed.” He chuckles with words that have what sound like nerves laced all around them. “Frank.” He holds out his right hand for you to shake. Your eyes drop down to his hand and then back to his eyes. 

Awkwardly, with your left hand, you give him a weird handshake-hand-hug thing for less than a second. You don’t respond to him because… you’re not interested. Not at all. 

You just got out of some dumb shit and you’re not trying to let new dumb shit inside you. 

“Thanks for… I dunno, I’m fine. Have a good rest of your night.” You start off in the direction of your apartment but his footsteps behind you make you pause and then so does he. 

“I’m not following you. I also live this way.” Frank’s tone is serious and honest– almost urgent. 

“Okay. You go first, then. Not taking any fuckin’ risks…” You wave him past you with your left and watch as he walks from behind you and you give him ten steps before you fall in line behind him. 

This is dumb. The further you get away from the bar, the darker it gets and the more opportunity he has to turn around and grab you and steal you away into a dark corner. No…that you’d mind? He’s so big and so strong and…the complete opposite of the fucking loser you’ve been seeing for almost the last year.

No. You would mind being abducted by this handsome, dangerous stranger, very much! You’re not that kind of person. You’re going home to lick your knuckles like a cat and cry about your stupid ex-boyfriend. You’d let Frank lick your knuckles if he asked. You’d let him strip you down naked and lick every inch of you.

Fuck. Stop thinking like that!! You’re barely out of a relationship with your maybe ex-boyfriend and you’re thinking about what Frank’s tongue feels like. You’re getting too ahead of yourself.

“Do you live around here?” he asks without turning around or even turning his head. 

“Why?” You question. You don’t live close but you're not too far away. Why does he wanna know? What is this strange, handsome man planning?

“Are you okay getting home by yourself?” he still doesn’t turn around, or even slow his pace at all to get closer to you. 

“I’ll be fine.” You glare at the back of his head and his broad shoulders that look so strong and sturdy. Your tone must match the way you’re looking at him because Frank scoffs. 

“I was just askin’, Cariño.” The word rolls off of his tongue. Your pussy– which must have a mind of her own, throbs, and your lower stomach flutters. 

You don’t even know what that word means and you’re already leaking. He could have just called you a cunt and honestly, it would not have mattered to you. You’re on the verge of speeding up your pace to walk alongside him when he speaks again. 

“Relax..."

What the fuck did he just say? All the anger, the pain in your hand and his bullshit is too much. You snap and can no longer even pretend to be nice. “Fuck you.”  You’re berating him when he turns around to look at you. “How dare you? Do you know how fucking scary it is to be a woman today?” He’s still walking, but backwards and more slow. “To walk home alone from the bar—”

He holds his hands up innocently and glances over his shoulder as he continues to walk backward. “S’why I offered to walk you home, Hermosa. No harm intended.” 

“It’s creepy.” You glare at his handsome face now that he’s looking at you. His mustache is thick. The facial hair on his cheeks is slightly patchy, but dark with a little gray speckled throughout. You’re trying not to smile at him for being so handsome. 

He winks at you and then turns around.  “You’re still following me though.” He says to the empty street in front of him. “I’d feel bad if somethin’ happened to you and I could have prevented it…” You watch as he shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. 

“Or… you wanna be the bad thing that happens to me. ” The tone in which you say this does not reflect the fear you have in your heart— it makes your lower stomach twirl inside you when you say it; like it was something naughty. A tone that mirrored something else inside of you that was not fear. 

“This is me.” He stops outside of an apartment building, turning now to look at you again. “I’m not bad.” He smirks at you and then walks towards the door that will take him inside. 

You both stop and stare at each other right before he walks in. 

“I'm only bad when you beg for it, Niñita.” His voice is honey-dipped as he gives you another wink. Then he slips inside without another word and you’re left on the sidewalk wondering why you’re a miserable bitch. 

You could have had a good time tonight. You wanted to be a bitch to the one handsome guy that didn’t give off serial killer vibes within the first ten seconds of meeting him. 

It’s so quiet as you wait for him to come back, grab you by the hair, and pull you inside. You want him to do that so badly. You think you might need it. 

You cannot remember the last time you had an orgasm from sex. It’s been embarrassingly long— about as long as your most recent relationship… so…like seven or eight months. 

Fingers and mouths and toys? Sure, yeah. 

It’s not the same! 

Frank seems like the kind of guy who would make you come. He seems like the kinda guy who wouldn’t come until you did. 

Fuck. 

It’s fine. You don’t need that bullshit anyway. You need to focus on yourself, your happiness, and your peace. 

Frank didn’t seem like peace! He seems like trouble– like standing outside his apartment at three a.m calling him several times to let you in. 

The walk back to your apartment is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. It takes you fifteen minutes, but you arrive safely. Once inside you strip down to your undies and crawl in bed. 

You should have just come here in the first place and never even went to the bar– even though you didn’t go in. Now you’re minds consumed with thoughts of this guy Frank. 

Frank and the thing he said. 

“I'm only bad when you beg for it, Niñita. ” 

What could that mean? You know exactly what it means and you want it. You want him to be bad and you want to beg him for it. 

You want him to put his boot on your throat— that’s what you really want. Is for him to completely control you so that you don’t have to do or think about one single thing. 

Being an asshole to him was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. 

Why couldn’t you be an asshole to your ex-boyfriend when you met him!? You loved right up on that piece of shit and he’s a soft, pussy bitch! Up until tonight, aparently when he wanted to call you a cunt and threaten to burn all your things. You spent seven months trying to make him feel like he was worth something only for him to go be worth something inside your friend Chelsea. 

That made you feel sooooooo good. You loved that. You loved that you poured every ounce of yourself into a man who didn't deserve you. Who, throughout the seven months you were together never once did anything nice for you! Never made you feel special or cared about.

You used to be someone YOU liked. Someone YOU didn't mind being alone with but now it was like every single moment you had to yourself was filled with thoughts of self-loathing and how you're an idiot and this is the worst thing you could have ever done. 

How could you do that? Let your guard down and let someone hurt you that way? Seriously? After spending so many years building up those bricks. Carefully scraping off the access mortar so that you had a very neat and beautiful brick wall built around yourself and then some weak-dick asshole who cried talking about the Civil War broke your heart?? Really?? Some guy that got drunk off two whiskeys and wanted to talk about history and cry over it?

Perfect. 

You should go fuck one of Cooper's friends. 

If they weren’t all absolutely disgusting you would. You’d tie your ex to a chair and then fuck one of his friends right in front of him. Maybe even orgasm for once and show him what it looks like when a woman comes with a dick inside of her. 

They are all disgusting, though, so you’ll just lay in bed and think of Frank.

It’s the next night when you see Frank again, and the only reason you do is because you take the long way home around his apartment building from work. Thankfully Cooper didn’t show up at your job today.

Frank’s walking out of his building with his head down. His face is almost completely hidden by his baseball cap. He's walking in the direction you're coming from, looking at his phone as you pass him. His head flicks to the side as you walk by and you hear his boots shuffle on the pavement. 

“Cariño?” His voice makes you shiver and you get goosebumps on every single inch of your skin. You bite your lip and take a deep breath to compose yourself before you look over your shoulder, and you don’t stop walking. 

“You talking to me?” You ask casually, acting like you don’t remember him even though he has not left your head once since last night. 

“I sure am.” Frank is walking now in the direction you’re going instead of the way you came from. “So you got home safe last night, Hermosa?” He asks quietly. 

“Clearly.” You roll your eyes and cannot keep the miserable bitch contained. She is right there– always front and center to keep your soft, delicate insides protected from guys like Cooper and Frank.

Frank snorts and shoves his phone into his pocket, his steps sync up with yours mindlessly– but you notice and you can smell his cologne now that he’s so close to you. It’s spicy but sweet at the same time; with notes of sweet vanilla and rich tobacco. It’s intoxicating and completely new to you. 

“Niñita—” 

You had googled what that meant when you got home and now that you know what it means, your pussy is throbbing again and you’re two steps away from telling him to take you upstairs to his apartment and fuck you until you’re crying.

You don’t. 

“Stop calling me that. You don’t even know me and you’re what— what do you want?” You’re short and tense with him even though you don’t mean to be. 

Frank smirks and with his right hand he pulls the baseball cap off his head and with his left hand, he runs his fingers through his hair before replacing the hat back on his messy curls. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Your heart aches and you don’t even know this man. “No, I’m sorry.” You utter in frustration. “I’m just having a shit month.” 

“Let me take you out sometime, try and cheer you up or something?” Frank offers and while you’re walking the outside of his hand brushes against yours for a moment. 

You do your best to not look down at his hand lingering against yours and you keep your eyes forward, not looking up into his face either. “I’m all set, thanks. I’m not really looking for anything—”

Frank’s hand is gone from beside yours but it’s because he’s in front of you now, looking down at you as he blocks your path on the sidewalk. “I’m not looking for anything either… just a good time.” 

“This what you want?” His words are strained and his breathing is labored. Frank's teeth find your collarbone and they graze across the sensitive skin.

“Cariño?” His voice rips through your erotic daydream and now you could cry. Your thighs are rubbing together mindlessly and you can feel the sweat forming on your brow. You need to have a real orgasm but you're so fragile right now that you're not sure if you can handle being with someone else. 

You'd become infatuated with him like an idiot! You’d become obsessed with him and make him think you were crazy! He’s the most rugged and handsome man you might have ever met.

“I have to go …”

Frank pinches his brows together as his gaze scan down the length of your body, watching you fidget uncomfortably and then he looks into your eyes again, taking a step closer. “I didn’t mean–”

“I need to go home.” You cut him off because you’re about to drop to your knees right here and take him out of his jeans and slobber on him in the worst way possible. You are desperate for something, someone who isn’t your ex and Frank is so fucking hot. 

The top of Frank’s tongue darts across his bottom lip and he takes another step towards you, your legs feel like they’re going to give out at any moment. “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?” 

You stare up at him, partially drooling at the way he speaks to you. It’s so gentle but so demanding of the answer. “I don’t know.” You whisper. 

He takes one more step and closes the distance between you two. “Just tell me… I’m not gonna bite.” 

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, “I want….” You whisper, lost in his eyes and his intoxicating scent. “I need….” You trail off because you want him to bite you. You want him to tilt your head to the side and bite down on the soft flesh where your shoulder meets your neck. You whine softly in the tension you're creating for yourself. You could give in. Let him do whatever he wants to you but you're so fucking scared of the place your heart is in. 

Frank's eyes go wide and he smirks, his hand reaching for you. “I could do anything, Hermosa…” He whispers down to you, his fingers brushing against yours. That small contact is all you need to pull you away from whatever hypnotizing force he’s using. 

You instinctively pull away and gasp quietly. “Stop,” your shaky voice deceives you as you try to push him away. But he leans in closer, his chest brushing against. Your heart pounds against his, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body as he whispers.

“Who cares if you know me?” Frank suggests in a seductive tone that makes you melt on the sidewalk in front of him. His breath on your lips? You’re a puddle, an angry one, but a puddle nonetheless. Who does he think you are? An easy lady who just sleeps with the first hot guy she sees?

There are so many different things going on inside your head right now. How badly you want him, how frustrated you are that your ex will not give you your things back. You’re not on the verge of tears anymore, you’re so angry. So incredibly filled with rage that you could spit on Frank. 

You shove him away from you gently but his hands find your wrists and grasp them tightly. Your eyes flick down to his hands on you like this and fear tingles down your spine. He’s strong, so much stronger than you, and if you wanted to fight him off… you don’t think you’d be able to. 

“Stop…” You’re so angry but you’re acting so timid, so meek and mildly mannered, but if anyone else ever did this to you? You’d give them a nice strong knee to their balls. How dare he? 

You’re not doing anything to stop Frank, though.

With his hands still gripping your wrists, he leans in and whispers against your lips, “It feels like you want someone to put you in your place.” You’re vibrating from anticipation. “If you want me to put you where you belong, Hermosa, just say the word…” 

“Let me go…” You whisper, filled with trepidation but your eyes are watering with the need for something. You don't even know what it is, but everything about him is making you tremble in a way you haven't in so long. His eyes flash devilishly and something even darker somehow, something that sends a thrill down your spine.

“Let you go?” he echoes, his voice low and teasing. "Really?" You stare up at him, unable to respond to his question. Your pulse races, caught in a mess of desire and anger, desperate to break free from both his hold and the bullshit that had become your life. His grip tightens, but not in a way that feels threatening. More like he’s anchoring you; like he can sense your unease in the heartbeat in your wrists against his fingers. “Just say it again,” he urges, and then his voice drops an octave. “Use your words and I'll let you go." 

You’re brain stops working. “I-I…” You stammer, your breath hitching.

Frank chuckles softly, the sound reverberates in a low rumble through the chest you’re pressed against. “You what, Hermosa?” His eyes are so intense that they threaten to swallow you whole. "You want to have fun with me but you're depriving yourself?" 

“I—I… I can’t...” You shiver under his touch, and everything inside you is screaming to leave. 

“Why?” His voice is barely above a whisper and his grip never wavers. "I've never seen you around before... now two days in a row? Unlikely. You came this way on purpose... you wanted to see me again, didn't you?" 

That this is the worst idea you could ever have. He’s going to hurt you worse than your ex-boyfriend. He’ll break you into one million little pieces if you let him in.

Frank's breath smells like cinnamon gum and weed and you're so tempted to just let go of everything telling you to fight back. You want him to kiss you. "You come this way because you wanted to see me again?" He questions you again like he can visibly see your walls and self-control crumbling inside of you, because yes, you did want to see him again.  

“I don’t know what I want...” You whine softly and feel something stir deep inside of you. It’s a reckless urge to forget everything else—even the heartache still festering in your chest.

“I know what you want, Niñita. Let me help you.”

[annahanover]

i'm watching lempicka so i'm gonna put my thoughts here as they come ( @allieswithbenefits cause you reccomended this to me)

review: fucking beautiful. i don't have the words to describe it right now, but. oh my god. what a beautiful show.

this got a lot longer than i thought it would!! live reactions under the cut :)

act 1!

the music is all very pretty!

i'm a lightning nerd :) i really like the lighting

"do the bruises show? he can never know-" SHE FEELS SO GUILTY I'M GOING TO BE SICK

"what did you do to get me out?" "shh..." FUCK

"a painting is not a woman." "but i'm painting a woman?"

uh oh!! lesbianism?

LESBIANISM !!

"she's just a woman who's- pretty." uh huh yeah she is <3333

"won't rest 'til i have her- portrait." yeah ok, whatever you say ;)

BETH LEAVEL JUMPSCARE!! /aff

"a poet and a faggot, i don't know which i hate more." omg

once again!! lights!!

"you'll be surprised where a pretty smile can- take you... no, no, you don't have to smile for anyone." jesus christ i'm gonna be sick

"i had to become different from who i was. become steel to survive." "yeah. know all about that." i really love this conversation.

i wanna bite this audience /neg

i love Amber Iman actually

me too girlie. the audience going wild for a solid ten seconds yeah i would too

THEY KISSED !!

fucking. hate. this audience.

oh no slurs!

sobbing my eyes out right now demon what have you done to me

act 2!

"the world is changing. women like us are changing it." "it can always change back. and if it does, they will come for you."

this is staged so well!

this is starting to remind me of Cabaret

"you have other women, why shouldn't i?" one of my favorite lines ever actually

i love this dynamic so much actually. they still clearly love each other, they just... have others, too. they're doing great (<- hoping that this doesn't come back to haunt him)

"my husband, frank." "but francine to my friends." TRANS?? OR A DRAG QUEEN?? OR BOTH??

anyway song about loving women <33

small demon child

polyamory wouldn't fix them but it would be fun

i can't do this the music is so pretty it's killing me

these fucking sapphics

noooo the dynamic went wrong :(

"when?" "when the world is not in flames." "when will that be?"

hi beth leavel <33 it's really nice not seeing her in a heavily comedic role! obviously, in the prom, she was a hillarious character, and in bandstand, she had deeply serious moments, but seeing her in a role like this is... really special.

i'm crying 👍

and people didn't like this show??? broadway hates lesbians /hj

you coulda killed me and it would've hurt less /pos /pos /pos

[sushisocks]

cmon you cant just say how queercoded sean is and then not expand on itผ(•̀_•́ผ)

/lh

My need to constantly talk about Sean MacGuire is really being indulged lately jnhbvbjnbh Thank u dear anon <3

oKAY so like, anon, I will be the FIRST to admit that me calling Sean queercoded might've been a strong choice of words all things considered (especially compared to ACTUALLY explicitly gay Bill Williamson which could go for queercoding considering it's only really explicit if you look for it or catch it). I read Sean as queer in a lot of ways, and that is probably in no small part because I'm queer myself. BUT in my defense, what am I supposed to take away from the developers cuffing Sean's jeans like that?? His queer little swagger???? The outfit with that haircut?????? That is a BISEXUAL MAN if I've ever seen one!!!

^me rn fr (always, about Sean and Lenny in particular. My gay Lenny headcanon is a lot more solid though, I'll be frank, and I'm honestly waiting to go the fuck off about it properly here some day lmao)

On a more serious note though, I definitely think Sean's admiration for Arthur can be read as a little bit of a crush in certain instances. Not that I particularly ship that pairing, but certain ways Sean responds to Arthur has always had me 🤔🤔 For example (and I'm really gonna out myself and how often i rewatch his missions here) in pouring forth oil, when Arthur gets mad forreal for a sec and threatens Sean (after Sean has a tantrum abt not being invited along which.... come on), and Sean laughs, there is DEFINITELY a crush-related way of reading that interaction & Sean's response. Not to mention the lil lookover Sean gives him I mean COME ON he's not even that subtle!

Not to speak of the fact that the first thing he does after being rescued from bounty hunters is ask Arthur for a hug - how many of yall Arthur Morgan horny ppl wouldn't die to do the same? Sean was ahead of the game. He's one of you, I swear.

I think Sean being queer makes sense with his personality too, as the sort of laid-back and easy-going one. Though I also think, given the time and the fact that I think he's bi, it's probably not smth he's ever thought very hard about? You know, heteronormativity etc etc, him and Karen having their messy thing going on etc etc, but Sean WOULD kiss a homie and not really have a problem with it. He'd just -- not think about it much harder, you know?

It's that same attitude he has, which leads me to believing if given the chance he'd be very gnc. I know I've said it before but I do headcanon that modern au Sean would def fuck around with skirts and makeup and nailpolish, and have a very loose relationship with his gender as a man at best. It makes sense to me, for someone who is both that easygoing, and has that sense of interest in societal issues, to at some point have the realization of 'oh gender roles are made up' and act accordingly, you know?

And then I'm also taken with, and sort of speaking from, this sort of perspective of the gang at large as very queer. Speaking of it in that academic way, as a sort of rejection of normative society - heteronormative society in particular - there's absolutely an inherent queerness to this entire gang of outlaws doing as they will. When being queer has always meant being ostracized from society, it is easy to read characters ostracized from society as queer; in this way, and in my opinion, the queercoding is inherent to this game, and these characters. It's there at the very foundation of their situation and way of living, and it's why I personally am never going to argue against any type of queer headcanon (and why I'm a proponent of many of them myself lol). Me seeing queerness in Sean and Lenny, is no different from me seeing it in Arthur and Charles, or Sadie and Karen, or Hosea and Dutch, or literally ANY other gangmember.

I feel like I went on a tangent here, again, as I am prone to do, BUT my main point is: Sean MacGuire is so so queer bcz I said so, and becuase why the fuck else would he be like that?

[inflamearc]

initially when i started writing laura, my main course of action was Get Her Out Of Twin Pea/ks --- because at the time neither i nor dana NOR syd could really see a way for her to be home AND safe AND [reasonably] happy. i knew she'd be homesick forever but i just did not trust anyone with her at that time. she was faking her death and dana's audrey and syd's coop were gonna be the only people who knew. i still like a lot of the writing we did then, and i still value the dynamics fostered during that period, but the longer i write her, the more i know laura doesn't truly work anywhere else: not because it's all she's ever known, or because her mom is there, but just because for better and for worse, the town is so much a part of her And She Loves It So Much.

sure, she fantasizes about leaving in her diary sometimes --- one, that's just how growing up in a small town is, and two, she's got a lot of immediate danger to run away from --- and i do want her to get out, travel, Experience Life, See Things, but i know she'd always want to come home. she likes being a big fish in a small pond. she likes that everybody knows her and that she knows everybody. she likes the routine in always knowing where she's going to eat and shop and party. she likes that she knows where everybody's at, even the elderly mostly-strangers on her meals on wheels route.

she doesn't like being out of control of what people know about her --- that's always been an issue (obviously) --- but the thing about laura that you should understand, that i should have understood much earlier, is that she won't back down from a fight, ever (i do not mean physically, okay; physically she's going to talk shit and get hit, but METAPHORICALLY,).

(we're going to cut this because 1. it's already long and 2. i'm about to get to the part that you may or may not want to opt out of, i.e. the aftermath of fire wal/k with m/e --- nothing graphic, ever, but frankness is my only real way, so.)

like, yeah, it's going to be fucking awful. the news will be tactful --- as it probably was in canon, officially, with her dead --- but everybody's still going to know. and beyond the news, there's the rumor mill, and while it's not like anyone has All The Answers, what they're dealing with is "local man commits suicide in police custody following the rape and attempted murder of his daughter", so it's safe to assume there are going to be a lot of solid guesses. and she's still going to be processing the events themselves and having just admitted to herself that her dad ever was her [primary] abuser to begin with. and then dana and i are letting audrey out ben as the other and he's going to die, too :-) which is great news, but is also yet another Thing To Whisper About :-)

but laura is a proud, proud little person. she is also a very spiteful little person. she'd appreciate it if you'd just [daxna vc] be normal, or at least upfront, but she's not her mother: she pays attention, and if you make her feel weird about continuing to Exist In Society, she's going to call you out. if she feels like you've got something to say to her but you're Being Polite, she might say it for you. it would not be accurate to say she doesn't care: she cares a lot! she hates the thought of not being accepted! it's something she's always struggled with! she will probably cry about it! but not until she's alone and has embarrassed you so incredibly badly that you will, hopefully, consider becoming a hermit yourself. this is her non-city. her home. she's not going to be humbled and she's not going to transform into someone new because of what's supposedly been taken from her. she is incapable of making herself small.

she's a lot to deal with. she's always been a lot to deal with. knowing What She's Been Through (or thinking that you do) might give you some context to better understand her, if you know her, but it's not going to change much, unless you end up in one of the prior camps. without the constant threat of danger, she's bound to be less volatile, and if you react to The News in a way that's encouraging and not patronizing, she is bound to handle you with more tenderness, but otherwise she's largely just ... laura. she is miserable, she's ecstatic, she's full of love and righteous anger, she's stubborn, she's brash, she's sullen, she's kind, she's unfortunately never recovered from being the weird horse girl in your fourth grade class and it has never once even occurred to her that she would be made fun of like this.

she is so annoying. and she is also the best girl in the world. and also, i wish i didn't feel i have to say most of these things? it's not because i assume You, The Mutual don't intuit them: if i felt that way about you, you wouldn't be here. but i also know, incredibly well, that if i don't state my intentions very clearly regarding arcs, they might get muddled and they might be misunderstood. i do not like angst for angst's sake. i am not here to make myself sad. i am here to do justice to laura, which means dealing with a lot of misery, but my end goal will always be to let her live her life without shame and with, well, i guess a manageable amount of fear. i would like for her to be defined by and remembered for the person she actually is, or was, or whatever the fuck.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

okay so after i saw the announcement of a stranger things animated show, i looked into it just for more context and found out that this year, a stranger things stage show opens in london, and as a british theatre nerd, i may have fell down a rabbit hole.

to preface, i have not studied drama since i was 16. i did not pursue further it as much as i wish i had. i have, however, seen many many plays and musicals, both amateur and professional. i know at least a little more than the average person.

so if youre remotely interested in hearing amateur analysis of what we know of stranger things: the last shadow, welcome:

"take theatrical storytelling and stagecraft to a whole new dimension"

so in one article, i found this quote. i couldnt find who said it exactly, just someone associated with the play.

i'm hoping, this is just marketing; i really hope its just marketing. because this feels a bit insulting to uh, a lot of people who came before. such as augusto boal who founded theatre of the oppressed or konstantin stanislavski or bertolt brecht or antonin artaud who founded theatre of cruelty.

i mention artaud because im expecting some elements from theatre of cruelty. if you look up any artaud plays or theatre of cruelty plays on youtube, youll probably get why.

but anyway, as you might have gathered, this hasnt inspired confidence in me. and i already wasnt confident because it is very difficult to translate film or tv to theatre, and vice versa. look at phantom 2004. i dont believe the duffers would be able to do this; this isnt even a knock on their writing, i dont think most writers could do this without practice.

and so i went to their website to see who else was involved

now is probably a great time to mention how inaccessible their website is. in the background of their website, there are small flashing lights all over the screen. theres no warning for this.

it literally triggered a migraine in me and i had to take my strongest medication for it. fuck you website designer.

(also, just gonna mention it here, i do like the poster and some of the website design, ignoring the stupid lights, but i cannot find the artist ANYWHERE on the website, which as an artist, fuck you)

anyway, first thing i did was look at who is writing it, and im in two minds about it. there are four writers credited: kate trefry, duffer brother 1, duffer brother 2, and jack thorne.

if you recognise jack thornes name, its probably because he wrote the awful harry potter play.

HOWEVER, hes actually quite a competent writer like 90% of the time. his plays tend to get at least 3 out of 5 stars. looking through the reviews, his best regarded plays are bunny, hope, solid life of sugar water, and his adaptation of let the right one in

that last one is very promising because he drew both on the book and film in adaptation. jack thorne does know how to adapt media into different mediums. he has also won an adaption award for his adaption of a christmas carol. his adaptation of the film after life has also be commended for being a good adaption.

this is not to say his work isnt without criticism. i mean, he wrote cursed child. he also has been criticised for slow pacing, shallow writing and one of his more recent plays, sunday, apparently had a "hello fellow kids" vibe. he is now in his 40s afterall.

so a bit of a mixed bag, but a good sign in terms of it not being simply terrible due to lack of understanding of medium.

i also have to mention that jack thorne is disabled and is an advocate for disabled folks in the dramatic arts. when he wrote the solid life of sugar water, he dictated that one character should always be played by a deaf actor. he does also write many disabled stories. his impact is a net positive.

(hes also frank skinners brother-in-law which is fun)

now, the other three writers have never written for stage, which uh, yeah, no, that does the opposite of inspiring courage in me. it is a very different process than writing for films or tv, and none of them have any writing credits for stage work.

on the poster, kate trefry is credited as the main writer which could go either way. shes not written much for screen. she has at least written stranger things episodes so shes not going into it blind.

honestly, i just hope they use jack thorne and his expertise more than they need to. hes the wise old man in their group and i really hope they listen to him and dont just try and do it all themselves.

now onto the director: stephen daldry. ive never seen his work live, but when i was studying drama, i really wanted to.

to give you an idea as to why, when david hare was working on via dolorosa, he had daldry as a co-director and when daldry responded no to hare asking if something was over the top, hare said "your top is situated some hundred yards above everyone else. ive seen your productions."

do you get why i want to see one of his productions asdfdesd his work tends to be very expressionistic and vivid. his directing style has been described as consistent stylised helming. hes won a lot of awards and he tends to get 4/5 stars at the very least on his works.

hes also helped to adapt the billy elliot movie (which is both fantastic and directed by him) to stage and it was fantastic.

hes also gay <3

the set designer is miriam buether. ive never seen any of her work live so i cant speak for the atmosphere it creates, but her setwork looks fine. shes versatile and doesnt need to go over the top with spectacle for her sets to look good.

in particular, i really enjoy her sets for earthquakes in london. the colour work there is *chef's kiss*

unfortunately, theyve kept it all very under wraps as to the tone the stageshow is going to take so i dont know how either buethers set design of daldrys directing is going to translate.

by combining them, i would expect a very expressionistic, very brightly coloured show, which, theres some cognitive dissonance round the corner.

also the premise is about young!hopper, young!joyce, young!bob and henry creel, with some kind of mystery. id expect a more naturalistic approach with this premise, but daldry isnt exactly known for that. so im in two minds.

however, one of his best regarded shows is his adaption of an inspector calls. ive only seen a naturalistic version of that and it very much reads naturalistic. daldrys was the opposite, even going as far as swapping out the fancy dinner hall for the blitz. so if anyone is gonna make it work, it would be daldry.

in terms of light design, thats jon clark. once again, ive never seen any of his work in person so im going off of photos but oh my fucking god i love his work with shadows. hes won many awards and he fucking deserves them.

sound design is the same. ive never heard a paul arditti sound design show in person and bootlegs dont have the best audio. hes award-winning, however, so it seems like thats in good hands.

one thing i was very interested about was how they were going to translate the upside down and the monsters. the show relies on cgi which obviously, you cant really do cgi on a stage; it would just look kinda shit.

their solution seems to be hiring two illusion designers.

i couldnt find much on the first, chris fisher. hes a member of the magic circle and hes done a lot of work so he seems accomplished.

the second one, im honestly kind of excited about. the second is jamie harrison who is the co-artistic director for a company called vox motus WHO ARE SO FUCKING COOL.

there is no mention of his partner in vox motus, candice edmunds, but that could mean nothing.

instead of trying to explain what vox motus do, im just gonna copy two quotes from their website:

"ours is a theatre of story-telling visuals, transformational design, magic, comedy, music, physical performance, puppetry, multi-media and most importantly thrills."

"we are drawn to stories that explore extremes of behaviour and taboos in the contemporary world: often unbelievable true tales that delve into the bizarre, glorious, exhilarating and macabre."

look up their stuff, its so fucking cool. there is also definitely some elements of artaud in their work. it gives me a lot of confidence for the show being enjoyable even if the writing is bad, because spectacle can go a long way.

i genuinely kinda want to go see this show now because i really want to see their work, and id get a chance to see a daldry play.

so like a tl/dr for this part: im not confident in the writing but i dont necessarily think itll be bad. i think the worst itll be is sufficient and mediocre, if they listen to jack thorne. i do have a lot of confident in the visual aspects and spectacle; even if the writing is shit, it will look good.

now im going to be an annoying disabled person and point out some accessibility stuff:

as i mentioned before, the website has small flashing lights all over the background. theres no warning for this. it triggered a migraine for me which was the best three options considering they could have also triggered visual disturbances in my eyes (aka seeing things that arent there due to my iih) or epileptic symptoms due to brain damage.

the theatre itself does have wheelchair access at the side of the building it also has accessible toilets. there is no onsite parking which does make it more difficult for wheelchair users.

they have said they will present captioned, audio-described and british sign language performances, but the dates are not yet set. they instruct you to keep checking . im a little intrigued about this and a little concerned considering its currently may 9th and it opens 17th november.

if you need accessible tickets, you need to have atg access membership. this is a third party company. to have this, you have to show paperwork or documents to prove that you're disabled which is often not possible for many disabled folks. i dont have a written diagnosis for anything besides my adhd diagnosis because i was diagnosed in person or over the phone. luckily, i receive pip so i qualify but its a ridiculous standard.

in the faq, theres a question about being aware of any potential trigger warnings; the answer to this is copy and pasted from the question above which asked about age rating and parental guidance, apart from them adding that there will be flashing lights in the show.

and finally some extra details:

there is a £3.80 transaction charge on top of ticket purchases

you cannot book over the phone

they are all e-tickets

currently, you cannot buy group tickets or student tickets, and you can only purchase a max of 6 tickets.

they are planning a weekly-lottery for late-release tickets, and this will be announced closer to the first show

there is not a confirmed runtime

they have no current plans to move the show outside of london

the age rating is 12+. this means under 16s must be accompanied by adults and under 5s are just not allowed in. not entirely sure how it works if youre age 6 to 11.

the most common ticket price i saw was starting at £45 (about $57). the second most common was starting at £75 (about $95).

there were some tickets starting at £20 (about $25).

i might actually buy a ticket and see it. i would have to save for it but i could do it and then tell you if its shit or not lmao

[companionwolf]

Toy Soldiers Ch 1

The Commander has little these days, after the invasion, after the tank. But they have a small house they've built in the wilderness, and what passes for a bed, and a tiny garden with a well. 

They're on the edge of an old city, one they venture into only to find what they can't make or forage. They've recovered a sewing machine, books, crafting applies, and most days are spent in the silence idly passing time. 

Some distant part of them asks if they will ever fulfill their title again. Wonders if they might be better off serving what little resistance there is to ADVENT's occupation. 

The Commander shakes their head. 

They've already run that course. That person died in 2015. In the tank. What they are now is something transient-- waiting for the end of all things as quietly as they can. 

They find the first, a 6-inch articulated action figure of a soldier in the city, in the overgrown weeds of a park near the edge of a murky lake. 

He's caked in mud, little uniform dirty. There's a miniature assault rifle on his back. The Commander, who is here to forage for anything edible, gathers him up in their hands, rubs the mud off his cheek. 

"Hi," they murmur. 

(Any louder than a whisper and they'll attract the not-human-anymore that roam somewhat aimlessly around, or worse the ADVENT patrols that still way their way through the city sometimes.) 

The soldier doesn't say anything. That's OK. Sometimes things don't talk immediately, or at all. 

They tuck him into a pocket and return to their gathering. When they're done, near sunset, they trek across the city back toward home as far as they can in the fading light, holing up silent in a decrepit apartment as the not-humans-any more groan in the dark below. 

The Commander ducks into the bathroom of the apartment, pulls the door shut. They take the toy soldier from their pocket and set him sitting on the sink counter. 

"Gonna clean you up, okay?" 

He doesn't speak, but as they pull the assault rifle away, gingerly start to remove the little clothes, they sense trepidation from the toy. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay," they say. "Don't have any water to spare on you -- I'll do that when we get home proper-- but the least I can do is get the dried stuff off you. I'll put your clothes back on in a second." 

The unease under their fingers pitches down a bit, as they hold the now naked figurine closer and pry gently at the caked on mud with dull fingernails. It's with what they think is hesitant curiosity. He's asking who they are, they realize. Why they're doing this. 

What happened to the world. 

"Were you asleep?"

Sometimes once they've woken proper, in the way that sparks consciousness, they fall back into a half unawareness if left alone. The Commander has always theorized it's a way to cope with the reality of being a sentient object, that to be fully aware the whole time would drive anyone mad, but they're never really asked anything about that to confirm it. 

Yes, says the soldier. The voice-coming-in is analogous to an older, rougher human's, sounds slightly hoarse, is blurred like static interference around the edges. This one hasn't spoken in a long time. 

"Me too," they say, which isn't exactly true, but it seems to set the toy at more of an ease. "Short of it is aliens invaded, took over the planet. They fucked up the cities, left them uninhabitable. People still came back, but..."

Do you know my human? 

The Commander shakes their head. "I'm gonna be frank, I don't know how long you'd been sitting there, but I don't think your person's around anymore." They grimace. 

The soldier is quiet for a while. The Commnader brushes the crumbles of mud they've managed to remove off the counter, start humming oh so quiet as they comb a finger through his hair to get the dirt out. "You need a proper bath," they say. "So do your clothes." 

You never told me who you are, the solider says. 

"Neither have you," they answer.

My name is Central. 

"Hi, Central," they say. "You can call me the Commander."

The toy's interest piques. You're military? 

"Was," they say, gently blowing a huff of hot breath into Central's hair to free any remaining debris. "I don't do any commanding anymore." 

Central asks something that doesn't parse exactly through his transmission to them, but they get the gist-- did you get defeated? By the aliens? 

Is it that obvious? 

They nod, rubbing a thumb against his cheek again. They get a transmission of the human equivalent to frowning. There isn't dirt there anymore, he says.

"I know."

Is humanity gone? 

"Nah, but we will be," they say, mind drifting to the tank, of what they saw. "Nothing to do but wait." 

Why don't you try to stop it? He sounds almost annoyed, indignant. It's your job, right? Was your job? 

"I'm not that person anymore," the Commander says. "Besides, ADVENT is bigger than I could ever be. I'm happy to just... live while I can."

Central is quiet again. The Commander shakes out the tiny clothes before redressing him. "We'll get home tomorrow, if everything goes well," they say. 

The toy solider says nothing. The Commander shrugs, slides him back into their pocket and brushes themselves off as they exit the bathroom and lie down on the ratty couch in the middle of the apartment. 

The silence stretches in the dark. Then: "Hey, Central?"

Commander?

"It's nice to meet you. Being alone kind of sucks." 

He doesn't respond for so long the Commander thinks he won't, but then they pick up: Yeah, it does. I'm glad to meet you too. 

A pause.

Even if you're a deserter.

"You're not real miltiary," they mumble, "you can't say that like it's personal." 

I know loyalty. I know duty.

"And I know when those things mean nothing," they answer. "You dont know my whole story, anyway."

Then tell me it. We've got time. 

So they do.

[zepskies]

@kaleldobrev Oh my God, so first of all, this is AMAZING. Thank you so so much for reviewing the whole series like this!!! 😭😭💓💓💓

Lmao it's absolutely a trip, and I'm so glad you enjoyed the ride!! I'm so excited to dive into your comments, so here we go:

Prologue:

AS SOMEONE WHO WORKS FOR COUNTY GOVERNMENT THIS HIT HOME

LOL yeah I could very much imagine that! 😂

Chapter 1:

^^ This whole fucking exchange was SOLID GOLD - the completely fabricated line was just PERFECT & poor M.M <3

"Solid Gold," you say? 😏

Her friendship with Annie is super cute. I love that Annie is genuinely interested in who she is as a person (as you pointed out)

I felt like Annie would be the first one to readily embrace another woman in the group!

Really excited to read more about her relationship with her sister. I love that reader is doing everything in her power to try and help out her sister get the best freaking education that she can <3

Yeah I modeled this reader as a kind of "female Dean" with certain personality traits and background, so even though you don't see Louisa too much, her "presence" is felt in how the reader makes her choices/motivations.

Chapter 2:

Love the fact that she decided to sing a song that her grandmother used to sing to her when she was kid <3

Sentimentality, family, nostalgia -- these are all themes I played with in this, and as you saw, it later plays in with Ben's background and hidden sentimentality.

^^"He couldn't even pick me up himself? Lazy." - This line made me freaking wheeze

😂 Ben really thinks he's a little king of his own castle, so to speak. Just hand-picking girls to come service him. Little does he know, he's gonna get more than he bargained for. (But really he knows exactly who she is, and is sending her to his room intentionally.)

^^RUH-OH *nervously chuckles*

Yeah Ben's an asshole, but he's not that much of an asshole, if you catch my drift.

Chapter 3:

Oh, Ben's definitely loving her sass. Her fiery personality is probably half the reason he keeps her alive, tbh.

And lmao Butcher was definitely outvoted. The rest of the team likes her too!

Chapter 4:

“Bad girls get punished. Is that what you want, sweetheart?” he asked.  ^^ Oh...no...please don't punish me Ben... ;) ^^ Please punish me though

🤣🤣 Girl same tho. And he was SO long-suffering about having to save her ("being inconvenienced" is exactly what I was going for). But he already likes her spirit.

Chapter 5:

I sense a friendship between her & Frank coming!

Oh yes! Creating the reader x Frank friendship was definitely one of my favorites in this series. 🥲 I actually really took my by surprise how much everyone loved his character (and Loco and Saul).

^^Just really loved this section. Like I said before, even though she got kidnapped by him and his men, Ben seems to be really interested in who she is as a person. "Whatever was keeping him awake, he seemed to crave the company as you rifled through the pantry." This line really spoke to me for some reason

Bottom line: Ben is lonely and suffering PTSD and doesn't want to admit it. She's interesting to him and he doesn't want to admit it. He wants to figure her out and doesn't want to admit it. 😂

The fact he wasn't even fazed when she walked in on him xD

Oh he has absolutely no shame. 😂 In Spanish we call that (and him), "sin vergüenza."

FINALLY SOME CLOTHES THAT FIT HER

IKR? Poor girl. 😂

Chapter 6:

Oof, this one's a doozy.

I'm living for the Frank & Loco dynamic!!! <3

I'm so glad, especially living for the "wishing these guys were on the show" compliment, because that warms me every time I hear it. 🥹🥹 I loved creating Ben's group of henchmen.

Lmfao the "hemorrhoid" line was probably my favorite to write for this chapter.

Ben being super sweet with her at she was almost SA'ed like broke me. This line specifically: You wouldn't know how that small gesture affected him as he carried you out of the kitchen

It's a turning point for her and Ben, for sure. It's a bridge of trust that forms between them, and what we call a "save the cat" moment, showing us that Ben's not as big of an asshole as we thought he was.

And it's a turning point for her and Frank as well, when he opens up to her so that she'll let him treat her wounds and check her out medically.

And then the "cooking together" scene -- I call it their Beauty and the Beast "Something there that wasn't there before" moment. 😂😂

Chapter 7:

^^No words. Just...no words...<3

Not gonna lie, I gave myself secondhand embarrassment several times writing this chapter, but thank you!!! 😂😂

I like the fact that even though he wants to fuck her, he's not pressuring her in any way. He may be "an asshole," but at least he doesn't push

And here's my reasoning on that. Ben grew up in the 30s/40s, a much more conservative time overall, societally. Arguably more "respectful," if rigid in societal roles between men and women.

But also, I think it would be a point of pride with Ben -- that he doesn't "need" to push, because why should he when he can have another woman in a heartbeat? (Or at least, that's how he might justify it to himself. Not because he respects her and genuinely likes her or anything. 😘)

^^Loved that he acknowledged this and tried to fix it right away, making sure that he wasn't hurting her (because that's the last thing he wants to do because deep down, he really does care about her even if he's not outwardly saying it)

Exactly. There's a lot of things he won't "outwardly say" before the end loll, but it starts here.

I loved their whole sex scene. It was a good mixture of sexy and humorous

Thank you!! I had fun with it, even though it was challenging for me, as every smut scene is for me. 😅 I like how this one came together though, so I'm glad you did too! 💕

Chapter 8:

^^Looks like they're starting to fall for each other <3

Ahh yes, though neither one would admit it if their lives depended on it. 😂

I really loved the dynamic between Ben and her in this one. I liked that there's some push and pull between them. Giving them little glimpses, but at the same time, still hiding certain things because of the vulnerability that it provides. I especially loved when he shared his favorite thing about his mother - her voice. I think that's why he's very intrigued by reader (at least that's the impression I'm getting)

There's a lot of give and take right? Thank you for mentioning "vulnerability," because that's what they're dipping into here, two steps forward, one step back. And I'm glad you like the connection with his mother and the reader, as that's probably one of the only people in Ben's life that he truly loved. So it's subliminally drawing ties for him from the reader to his mother -- especially through her voice.

Chapter 9:

Oh ALL the mixed feelings in this chapter, I get it. 😂 Who tf do you root for in this situation?

And yes, Ben is seriously catching feelings and his actions show it, even if the reader can't tell just yet.

Chapter 10:

^^This made me a lot sadder than I thought it would. Cause she made such a connection with him and here he is in a cooler DEAD. And Ben is just sitting here like, "oh yeah they're...busy...." cause Ben sure as fuck knows that she's gonna be so freaking upset if she finds out

You get it! Exactly. 😭😭

^^BECAUSE SHE'S FALLING FOR YOU, YOU IDIOT

Facts, girl. And Ben's a huge dummy in this chapter. 😂 But he's hurt and lashing out, as injured pride does.

Ben walking in on her sleeping and see her basically fighting for her life when she was dreaming just broke my heart

Ugh, it was hard to write that scene tbh. I debated whether I should have her wake up and find him in her room, but I liked the idea of him comforting her without knowing he was there.

I think it gives us as readers more heartbreak when she remains icy with him later on in the plane, and Ben seems to be his usual asshole self about it. Like "we know how you really feel motherfucker. Why are you being like this?!"

Meanwhile, Butcher had appeared on the tarmac. With a rocket launcher, naturally.  ^^laughed out loud at this one

Lmfao I loved writing Butcher in this, tbh. He's a gem of a character. (And by "gem" I mean deeply fucked in the head, just like SB.)

Chapter 11:

Jon is father of the year honestly (sarcasm obviously)

Ugh, Jon was the worst. I based him off John Winchester, though obviously a much worse one, with far more physical and psychological abuse up his sleeve.

They may be in prison but at least they have each other!

Right? 😂 They're totally fucked, but at least they're together.

I'm gonna miss Frank <3 he was one of my favs

Hehee. 😏

Their little fucking jokes to each other killed me xD

Hahaha I love that you loved it!! I had so much fun with that part, esp the "6 afraid of 7" joke.

When he asked her to sing *SWOON* he truly does love her voice. I love the fact that singing is something that seems to make him feel better cause that's what he remembers his mother doing <3

Thank you so much for shouting out this dynamic. 😭😭 This was one of my favorite things about their relationship and connection.

Chapter 12:

^^I couldn't agree more. Yes he may be an asshole at times but he's not a bad guy (maybe a little misguided sometimes but he's not an awful person). From what I learned through school and my job, people react to trauma differently

So this is just my take on Ben's character, but I think his trauma (tortured for 40 years) actually softened him. I think before 1984, he was probably a massive asshole. Literally the original of asshole supes, selfish, prideful, violent (i.e. Black Noir), male ego at its worst.

The entire Payback team was scared of him. They didn't want to get on his bad side (or "get in his way"). He strut around like the king of his own kingdom, the big swinging dick in the room at all times.

...And yet, he let himself be manipulated by Vought because he enjoyed the fame and the money and the false power it gave him. (Hence Stan Edgar's "true power" monologue with Annie.)

But I think those 40 years gave him a lot to think about. And I think the reader's sympathy and relating to him gave him a reason to soften for her.

“Suck on my balls, sweetheart,” he retorted. He cocked his head to the side.  “Oh wait, you did. Last Tuesday.”  You glared at him with a hot blush spreading across your face. That was not, in fact, last Tuesday. But you didn’t rise to his bait. ^^I almost spat my fucking drink out xD

LMFAO and then we have moments like this. 🤣🤣

I'M SORRY FRANK?! *hello plot twist!!!!*

Hahahaa yess, I love a plot twist! 😜

Frank: "I ain't dead yet!!"

Chapter 13:

“Young lady. I don’t like that,” she said, with all due side eye.  “You don’t like anything, Mother,” you quipped. ^^busted out laughing at this

Lmfao the classic "conservative mom."

Frank huffed. “I think the kids are calling it Frenemies with Benefits.”  ^^Gotta love Frank "trying" to help

Hahaaa oh Frank. He really gives no fucks. 🤣

Chapter 14:

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.” ^^ANOTHER GREAT FUCKING LINE

LOLL "Alert the media" was probably my favorite for this chapter. 🤣

Ben and her had such a lovely morning together getting it on in the kitchen and now they're arguing about the logistics of kid supes being a threat or not because they're supes (Ben you are a supe too my guy, people would consider you a threat - that's real "the pot calling the kettle black")

Oh majorly! But that's kind of his point. He's a supe and he knows he's dangerous. Supes are fair game to him, in a sense, which is part of the reason why he's taken pains to control his strength with her. It's a double standard she calls him out on.

^^I don't know why, but this section really spoke to me

I'm so glad it did! Even now, Ben's struggling to figure her out and how she sees him.

Chapter 15:

Cigars have such a special place in my heart. Even though I hate the smell of cigarette smoke, I like the smell of cigar smoke because my Pop Pop loved his cigars and the smell or mention of them always reminds me of him <3 so this little piece of Ben and her "sharing" the cigar got me all warm and fuzzy <3

Aww I love that so much! Cigars are nostalgic for sure. 🥹

Chapter 16:

This is the first time I've genuinely felt bed for Jon. I'll give him credit, he really did try and fix things in the end (but it was little too late sadly). Happy that he admitted that she was strong "in spite of him" <3

Yeesss I'm glad I was able to achieve that (for the drama of it all). but yeah it was very "day late dollar short." The "in spite of him" line was probably my second favorite line for this chapter, just for how it highlights what the reader as overcome in her life (her inner strength vs. Ben's).

The fact that she has a piece of rebar in her should and she's the one asking are you okay made me laugh so fucking hard like girl (to be fair, I'd the same way xD)

Lmao ever the "giver" mentality. 😂

^^"What would the love of my life do in this moment" is just icing on the cake for me <3

Haha oh Ben, he's trying at least! 😅

“You are strong. You can do anything you want, you know,” you said, smiling wryly. “Including, being a better man.”  ^^No...I'm not crying....(yes i'm tearing up)

And that one was my actual favorite line to write for this chapter. 🥹🥹🥹

PS. Yes, I did catch your Captain America reference <3

Hahaa yesss!! ❤️💙🤍

Chapter 17:

Love a little Hughie & Butcher moment <3

I had to include it! 🥹 I love their broship.

^^It started out as character development and then turned into, "I need to save the woman I love" and I don't know how to feel

You were meant to be conflicted there loll. 😂 On one hand, great that he's actually thinking of her wishes. But also he doesn't want to let her die. He's trying to make the best of a bad situation, before Frank hits him with the ultimate choice...

HE'S DONATING HIS BLOOD TO HER HOLYYYYYY

You are a hero Ben <3

Isn't he though? Holding up the Tower was just Part 1 of his hero test. this was the true ultimate test: what he's willing to sacrifice (letting a public hospital have his DNA so he can save her life).

^^MY HEART. I just *heart eyes* They really are going to be living that apple pie life together uh? <3

They really are! ...Well, after they get some emotional relationship hurdles jumped in the last chapter. 😅

The Epilogue:

^^BEN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CALL HER YOUR GIRLFRIEND

IKR? What a dick. But he has his reasons as you saw (understandable ones, but not excuses that he can't overcome for her sake).

The fact that she asked if he even loved her cause he hasn't said in once in the entire time they've known each other really breaks my heart cause like he truly, really does love her. But what kills me is he thinks that buying her stuff is what love is (at least from what I'm reading) also breaks my heart cause like, that's what he's used to growing up in such a rich household. Love is more than buying things for someone and living with them

Absolutely! 😭 This is the crux of it. Ben's learning that love is more than just your actions, and it's not just material or where you live. It's your words as well.

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.” ^^See, MM gets it xD

And he just about sums up the whole series! 😂😂

^^There's a lot to unpack here before this statement: I can see his point because in his own weird way he did love Crimson Countess and she royally fucked him over. He thought that she loved him back and she didn't, out of fear/fame (like you had stated and the show clearly showed as well), and his father also told him how much of a disappointment he was so he really didn't know what actual love was until he met her. And I think that really scares him, that someone actually does love him despite everything that he has done and actually gave him a fucking chance. Someone that knows there's actual honest to God good in him

"He didn't really know what love was until he met her." <- That's exactly it. And it does scare him, that she genuinely sees him for himself, and wants to be with him anyway. He realizes now what a massive thing it is for someone to love him. And he's just as scared to lose her one day.

^^This fucking got me xD also, the idea of Ben wearing a condom makes me fucking laugh and I have no idea why

Because it's preposterous. 🤣🤣 Ben's got literally no shame, and don't give a fuck. But she knew what she was getting into with him. 😂😂

Final Thoughts:

This whole series was a fucking roller coaster and I enjoyed every single minute of it. The way you write Ben just seems so organic and really true to his character. The character development didn't seem out of nowhere. There was actual reasoning toward the way he feels and the actions that he did. You could see how slowly the two of them started to feel comfortable with each other and how they were both hesitant to do so.

Thank you, my love!! 💞💞 I started writing Ben with "Checkerboard." But I didn't truly feel like I had my interpretation of the character solidified until maybe chapter 4 or 5, to be honest. I revised these chapters so many times I lost count of the versions, all to try and make sure I had his voice, his characterization, his mannerisms as close as possible to what we saw on the show. And the pacing of their slow-burn relationship as believable as possible in the "enemies to lovers" dynamic.

One of my favorite character developments was him giving her a blood transfusion instead of the Temp V because he knew that was something she wouldn't have wanted. "He respected her wishes," I think was the line, and it made me happy to see that. They may not have the most perfect relationship but no relationship is perfect.

Yes that was the line! And that was what I thought his ultimate test of realizing what the reader was trying to tell him in Chapter 9, about collateral damage and taking responsibility for his strength. And if you care about her, prove it.

Their relationship is "perfectly imperfect." Perfect for them and what they are together as deeply flawed people.

You really made me wish that Frank & Loco were characters on the TV show because their vibes were just perfect. They really fit in <3

Aww thank you, lovely!! Like I said, I absolutely love this compliment, and it's high praise for side characters. One of my favorite writing tips I've ever gotten is "write minor characters like they are the protagonist of their own stories." So that's what I try to do. 🥰

And I'm also happy that not only Ben and her got a happy ending but Frank did too as he was finally able to go home to his daughter <3

Yes! Absolutely proper closer for Frank. Because let's be honest, he's the real hero of the story. 🤣🤣

Thank you again for reading and reviewing this massive beast of a story. It's one of my favorites that I've been able to create on here, and I'm so fucking glad you enjoyed it. 💓💓💓

Series Masterlist - Break Me Down

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

AN: For those of you who enjoyed “Checkerboard,” here’s the requested prequel series! It’s gonna be a long road to get to that version of Soldier Boy. Technically this is an AU set post-season 3.

Series Tags/Warnings: **Rated M. (18+ only.) Enemies to frenemies to lovers. Angsty, messy, moral quandaries galore. This is a romance, but it’s a dark world with morally gray and dark characters, including Soldier Boy, of course. **Smut, language, misogyny, violence, and other chapter-specific tags.

Chapters:

Prologue

Part 1 - The Game Begins

Part 2 - You Move Me, Baby

Part 3 - Somewhere Down Below

Part 4 - On the Inside Out

Part 5 - Morning, Night & Day

Part 6 - A Hot Meal

Part 7 - Until Midnight

Part 8 - Something in the Way

Part 9 - Breach

Part 10 - Caught in the Balance

Part 11 - The Lion's Den

Part 12 - All Your Wicked Ways

Part 13 - A Generous Deal

Part 14 - Safe House

Part 15 - The Tower

Part 16 - Soldier Boy

Part 17 - More Than Words Can Say

Epilogue - All My Living Time

Series Complete!

Read More In the BMD-Verse:

Not done reading this version of Soldier Boy x Reader? Well, there's more to their story.

(**Denotes 18+ only)

Love Actually** Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 - Complete

Checkerboard** You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.

Strong As Blood** - (Soldier Boy x Reader) After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

Part 1 || Part 2 - Complete

Moodboard below created by @chernayawidow:

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged on future one-shots in this series! And want to be tagged on more stuff (like everything Soldier Boy)?

Here's my Tag List.

[chrisevansredbelt]

The Game

I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE,,, TURNITUP

pairing: dadsbestfriend!frank castle x reader

warnings: dads best friend, reader is of age (18+), SMUT. car sex. palming. nude pics. jealous frank. spanking, oral (f receiving), fingering, lil bit of praise kink, PIV, kinda public sex?

summary: you’ve been secretly seeing frank for a while now. the only problem is he’s your dads best friend and he’s lives in the house right across the street. he’s also always at your house and since that leaves room for getting caught, you’re often forced to leave him high and dry. during a get-together that your dad throws for a few neighbours and his other close friends, you make frank jealous and suffer the consequences of this built up frustration.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

You fall against Franks warm, solid chest, whining softly as the last of your orgasm courses through you.

As you shut your eyes for a moment, catching up with your breath, Franks hands rub and caress your hips, sliding up to your waist. You’d told Frank this before, but if you were to only wear one thing for the rest of your life, it would be Franks hands. Now if you were to sit on one thing for the rest of your life-

You place a blissful kiss to his pec before bringing your chin up to rest in the middle of his chest. You smile up at him lovingly, almost a silent ‘thank you’ for the orgasm he just gave you.

Looking up now, you notice how the windows of Franks truck are covered in a sheen of condensation, most definitely from the heavy breathing of you and Frank in contrast to the cold temperature of the outside, “Hey, look.”

Frank looks up at the window and watches as you bring a finger up against the glass, drawing a small love heart.

He huffs and playfully rolls his eyes, laughing a little, “So cheesy it’s painful.”

You cut your eyes at him in playful offence, “You draw something then.” He shifts his body a little to reach the window comfortably and you have to restrain yourself from whimpering, feeling the movement with his cock still inside you. You avert your attention back to his drawing and scoff loudly as he draws a penis, “Wow, it’s like I’m actually fucking someone my age now.”

It’s Franks turn to glare at you now and fake laugh, tickling your side, making you squeal loudly and clench around him- half an accident, but half on purpose by the way it makes him twitch inside you.

-

Gripping onto the banister of the staircase a little tighter than you normal would have, you step down the stairs softly. Normal steps just worsened the soreness in your pelvis.

As you descend the last step and turn into the entrance way of the living room, you smile to yourself. You never thought you’d be so happy to see the back of someone’s head, but here you are.

Hearing your Dad in the kitchen and knowing your Mom was at her pilates class, with your light steps you snuck up behind Frank, covering his eyes with your small hands.

“Hey Princess,” Frank laughs, removing your hands from his eyes and placing kisses to your fingers.

The action tickles your fingers and you giggle quietly, eyeing the other doorway to the living room just to make sure your Dad isn’t silently standing there in shock at the intimacy of his best friend and daughter.

“Hi Frankie,” You whisper in his ear, kissing the side of his face.

He groans, cheeks turning a light peach as he leans back against your shoulder, “You can’t do that to me,”

You smile innocently, reaching a hand down to softly palm his semi-hard (but definitely hard now) through his pants, “But I like watching you squirm.” He gasps in your hand, but at the sound of your Dads footsteps approaching from the kitchen, you swiftly move a pillow from the other side of the couch and over Franks lap to cover his boner. Just in time, you distance yourself a little from Frank and smile up at your Dad, “Hey Dad,”

“Mornin’ hun,” He smiles, taking a seat in his armchair, “Got any plans today?”

You hum, slowly heading for the kitchen, internally smiling when you feel Franks stare burn through your ass that’s most likely hanging out of your booty shorts, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go shopping.”

“Don’t you have enough clothes?”

You roll your eyes- you know he wasn’t exactly serious, because he said it every time, “I need something for the barbecue.”

The ‘barbecue’ that was coming up was actually just a little get together of some of your Dads closest friends (Frank obviously included) and a few of the neighbours to watch the Super Bowl.

Your Dad had this big projector thing that he would set up in the backyard every year and invite all his friends over-sometimes their sons would join too. As well as their wives, but they didn’t exactly watch the game, they kind of just sipped wine and gossiped with each other and your Mom under the gazebo.

And you, well you just looked pretty for it. Mostly for Frank but every now and then, someone’s son would approach you. Plus, you kinda loved the attention you always got from it. From the wives telling you how much you’d grown and how gorgeous you looked, to their husbands ogling at you behind their beer cans.

It was fun.

-

Coming back from your little shopping trip with Natasha and Wanda, you’d basically dived into bed and stayed there ever since.

You were pretty successful in your shopping trip, actually managing to buy an entire outfit for the night despite the fact that you barely had any part in it at all.

It was just a comfortable, lounge dress. It wasn’t too revealing, it reach your ankles and it even had sleeves! But it showed a bit of cleavage and was skin tight and boy, did it look good.

But the shopping trip itself was exhausting. There’s a lot of drama going on with Wanda and Nat and their boyfriends (Nat and Steve in particular), plus having to walk in circles around the mall for a good 4 hours was finally kicking in. It never registers in the moment because you’re too caught up in gossiping your heads off, but once it kicks in… God, save you. And! Don’t forget the way your lower half already hurt from last night…

“Dinner’s ready.” Speak of the devil, the familiar voice announces at the door of your bedroom.

It wasn’t unusual for Frank to join you and your family for dinner. He hung out with your Dad a lot, of course, and by the time it reached dinner your Mother would usually just cook for him without even asking. He only lived right across the street anyway, so it wasn’t like he was being completely held against his will.

Plus, more time to spend with you- even if it was just playful, one-off stares across the table.

You basically roll out of bed and shuffle towards Frank. Noticing your slight discomfort, he extends a helpful hand out for you to take- and that at least lifts your mood a little.

Once you take his hand in yours, he pulls you into his chest and keeps you both at bay in your doorway. Moments like these are really the only times that you and Frank can get alone time throughout the day, upstairs, out of sight and earshot from your parents.

You internally gawked over how warm you felt wrapped in his big, strong arms. How badly you wished you could be in this position every minute of every hour of every day… among other positions.

Craning your neck up to him, you pour your lips to request for a few kisses which he gladly offers. As the kisses slowly turn into one, and deepens by Frank sticking his tongue down your throat, his hands also move to slap your ass.

“Ow!” You jolt in his arms, removing yourself from the kiss to look up at him stunned. He just stares down at you with a sly smile and you smack his chest in retaliation before removing yourself out of his grasp completely, “Asshole.”

“Payback.” He just shrugs, following after you down the stairs.

You’re not actually mad at him and he knows that. He knew how much you liked a bit of spanking and how soaked he’d probably gotten you. But hey, that’s what you get for making him hard this morning for a good hour.

“Dad! Franks bullying me!” You protest as you enter the dining area where your parents are getting the table ready for dinner.

Frank enters behind you, innocent as ever as he goes and helps your Mom with the plates.

“Stop annoying him then.” Your Dad just shrugs, familiar with this ‘cheeky’ relationship you had with Frank. That’s what he’d called it. Idiot. You look over at Frank who just proudly smiles and you make a mocking face in return, fortunately enough for you, your Dad sees, pointing a finger, “Case in point.”

You take your usual seat at the side of the table, Frank across from you and your parents at either end. You liked it this way- it was probably the closest seating arrangement that you could get to Frank- unless, of course, he was sitting beside you. The distance would prove to be rather beneficial for you tonight… not so much for Frank however.

You all dig in, the three of them quickly engaging in conversation you didn’t care for. You simply just ate your food, every so often looking up when Frank spoke. You blocked out what he was saying, but you just admired him discreetly.

It isn’t until about the 5th time that you’ve done it that Frank catches you. He knows you do it, can feel your stare burn right through his skin- specifically his nose and hands because that’s where you stare the most. But it’s fun when he catches you because he gets to see how increasingly flustered you’ve become since dinner had started.

When he next feels you stare at him, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and slowly sucks on each digit- cleaning them from nothing really- it’s mostly just for show… for you.

You shift a little in your seat now, your breath hitching in your throat as he makes eye contact on the last digit he sucks. Thank God you hadn’t been eating or drinking in that moment because you for sure would’ve choked.

Luckily, neither of your parents catch on, despite your very clear signs of agitation. Taking a sip of the wine your mother had poured you, you allow the flamboyancy of the wine to settle you.

You know you started this little game, so it was all the more reason to win it.

You wait it out a little at first, hoping to strike when least expected to keep him on edge and to let him enjoy his last moments of thinking he’d one the battle.

You quietly slip off your slippers, your feet now bare and a little cold as they rest against the tiled floor. Nonchalantly, you adjust in your seat so that your legs are closer to Franks.

He eyes you off as you move, smiling softly thinking it’s a result of his previous actions still having an affect on you. You smile back, both to mock him and with genuine anticipation for how he’s going to react to your next trick.

Underneath the table, you lift your foot up and extend your leg so that it settles right in between Franks spread out thighs, right over his crotch. Completely unexpected, Frank lurches at your intrusive foot, his knee coming up and colliding with the underneath of the table.

Both your parents furrow their brows in concern and it takes absolutely everything in you not to smile, “You alright?”

Frank just nods, a fake breathy laugh covering the fault in his voice, reaching down to rub at his thigh in further fake reassurance, “Cramp.”

“Too much working out.” Your Dad cackles, nudging his shoulder before beginning a conversation on work outs.

This forces Frank to include himself in the discussion, even more vulnerable to your teasing because he’s unable to just silence himself as you continue caressing him with your foot.

For the rest of the dinner, you relentlessly continue your teasing. He seemed to like when you’d stroke up the side of his calf, thigh and especially over his crotch. The third time you’d felt over that area, you were actually a little surprised at how hard you’d made him.

You couldn’t the smile on your face, bringing your wine glass to your lips to hide as Frank bore his glare into your eyes. Oh, he was mad.

As dinner wrapped up, you helped your Mom wash up. Frank offered to take over for her, probably to get some much needed alone time with you but your Mother just shooed him out of the kitchen and your Dad had taken him his man cave down in the basement where they’d probably play 2K and drink beer.

You almost felt a little bad, having seen the slight pain in Franks eyes as he was whisked away from you. Your Dad was his best friend, no doubt about it, and going into that man cave and playing video games and drinking beer was like in his top list of things he’d want to do if he had 24 hours to live.

But God, he fucking need to fuck you. Or his hand. Anything! He needed a release. His boner had thankfully disappeared after 30 minutes into playing, but the need for release lingered.

He couldn’t even sneak into your room before he left because your Dad had literally escorted him all the way to his house on the other side of the street.

Not exactly taking defeat yet, he entered his home, headed for his bedroom and pulled out his phone, immediately texting you.

Frank: Come over.

You: mom and dad are still downstairs

Frank: So sneak out.

You: they’ll hear me

Frank: Then just say you’re going to Wanda’s or something

You: im so tired, frankieeeee…

would it help if i sent pics? <3

Frank: Not really but send them anyway.

Okay, now he was taking defeat. Switching his phone from his right hand to his left, he pulled his dick out of from his pants and waited for you to send the pictures.

It was a complete lie that your parents were downstairs. They weren’t. You were tired, that was the truth, but you’d never be too tired to turn down a hook up from Frank. This was all just part of the game you had just won.

You did feel a little bad, having caused Frank a bit of frustration but you hoped the pictures of your bare boobs and pussy were enough to satisfy him until your next hookup. Which you were very much looking forward to, knowing he wasn’t going to let you get away with everything you’d done.

-

As you descended your steps the next morning, the open window of the foyer allowed you to see your Dad in conversation with a few of the neighbours that would be coming over later tonight for the game.

You made your way into the kitchen to fix yourself up some breakfast, but paused momentarily in the doorway when you saw Franks back turned to you as he sat in one of the high chairs at the island.

Having being woken up from your Mom starting up the car and most likely heading to the grocery store to buy some last minute food for tonight, and having just seen your Dad in the front yard, you keened in excitement at the idea of being alone with Frank once again.

“Ghee, you live here now?” You ask jokingly, making your presence known as you come up beside him and place a few innocent kisses against his jaw. When he completely ignores you, too purposely engrossed on the small TV on the kitchen counter, you furrow your brows, “Frankie,” You’re surprised the use of the little nickname only you got to use didn’t even break him. Pulling out the big guns now, you playfully nip on his ear lobe, tongue darting out a little to kitten lick at his skin as well, “Stop ignoring me.” Nothing. You think to yourself for a second, concluding to just throw in the towel because you hated this silent treatment torture, “Frank, I’m sorry I gave you blue balls.” You at least thought that would do something. But no, he just takes a sip of OJ and continues looking straight ahead at the TV, making you huff in annoyance and leave his side, “Fine. Be like that.”

You head for the fridge and grab out a container of chopped fruits you’d prepared earlier before storming up to your room and angrily eating your ‘breakfast’ there.

Fine. You had happily ended the game last night. But clearly, someone wanted it to continue.

-

You sighed in exhaustion after exchanging greetings with the final guest for the night. It was only 5 and you were ready to cuddle up in your blankets. But Frank was giving you enough eye candy to stay awake. Even though you guys were ‘fighting’ right now, that didn’t make him any less attractive to you. To be honest, it probably made him hotter. You would’ve been scared had this been an actual argument, but he was just being a bitch about last night. He would get over it eventually- probably later tonight when you make up the excuse to go to Wanda’s and instead just sneak over to his house.

Until that time came, you had Natasha, Steve, Sam and Bucky to keep you company. Apart from Natasha- who’d just come as a plus one for Steve, and also as your best friend, everyone else was here because of their fathers connection to your father.

They came every year so it was never awkward or anything. You’d easily flow into conversation about who was gonna win the game, what they’d all been up to lately, any gossip between our mutual friends. This year, however, you couldn’t help but ogle a little longer at Bucky whenever he spoke. He’d grown his hair out from when you last saw him, it reached his shoulders now and… it looked good. Plus he had it slicked back a little. And you’d be daft to say you didn’t notice his gaze fly to your cleavage every time you’d purposefully squeeze them together or lean over.

Your mother had always encouraged the idea of getting with one of them. She really liked Steve and was actually a little heartbroken when you’d told her he was with Natasha. But that still left Sam and Bucky. You innocently flirted with them each year, mostly for your own person satisfaction, but also to get your mother excited. And, in recent years, rile up Frank.

Usually, despite the game having started, Frank would tear his eyes away from the screen every few minutes to glance over at you. It was even worse if he’d hear you laugh, his head would basically spin off his neck to see the source of your laughter- blood boiling whenever it was one of the boys, who’d be shamelessly starting at your tits as they bounced slightly due to your laughter.

But tonight, you don’t think Frank even looked in the direction of your vicinity. Not even when you’d come downstairs after getting changed into your outfit for tonight. Not when you’d playfully greeted each of your Dads friends with too-friendly hugs and totally unnecessary cheek kisses. And not even now as you whispered in Bucky’s ear.

“Awe, honey, look,” Your Mom grabs the attention of your Father, who follow her line of sight.

“Alright, Barnes!” Your Dad nods over at George, Bucky’s father, “Your boy better not be trouble.” At the last comment, nearly every man- including Frank- had whipped their heads to where your parents were looking. Your hand interlocked with Bucky’s as you lead him inside the house.

Your Dad was never that protective, ‘no boyfriends until you’re 30’, type of Dad. And you were glad. No, your Dad was pretty chilled out with, really, everything that you did. However, that being said, you doubt he would be chill with you fucking his best friend, which is why you kept that part of your life secret.

Frank fulfilled that protective role for you though. Could go as far to say that may be the reason why you’re seeing him in the first place, to satisfy that craving for overprotection that your Dad had never provided you with, but we’ll save that for another day. Frank was sex on legs, he was sweet and he knew his way around a woman’s body and for now, those are the only reasons why you’re sleeping with him.

You and Bucky both laughed sheepishly as you entered the house, having heard the commotion from outside. You however, were a little more giddy- having finally felt Frank’s attention on your for the first time that night… no, that day, considering he had ignored you all morning too.

Oh, how you wished he would’ve seen the lead up to you taking Bucky into your house. How you’d shifted closer and closer to him, rested your head on his shoulder as he told you a story, laughed loudly and wrapped your hand around his arm… you knew Frank heard it from the way he’d uneasily shifted in his seat.

But that wasn’t enough for you.

So, after a few minutes of contemplation, spurred on by Bucky’s lingering hand resting over your thigh and Natasha’s encouraging smirk, you turned and whispered in Bucky’s ear.

“Wanna go some place more quiet?” You whispered, making sure to make your voice as sultry as possible as you flicked your eyes over at the house.

Bucky’s eyes had lit up and his dick probably hardened as he gleefully accepted your offer, taking your hand as you led him towards the house.

George Barnes smiles pridefully as he watches you and his son disappear inside your home, turning to your father, “He’s missing the game for her, I don’t think it gets any more head over heels than that.”

All the Dads laugh, while their wives and your Mom swoon over the possible bloom of a relationship. Frank, on the other hand, had wrapped his hand so hard around the neck of his beer bottle it’s any wonder it didn’t shatter in his grasp.

-

The game had quickly come to an end and so had your time with Bucky. He was called downstairs by his father as all the men were getting ready to leave after one last final tour of your Dads man cave.

You’d bid your goodbye to Bucky, a sneaky peck on his soft lips that left him blushing like crazy as he descended the stairs, to which caused quite the commotion as his flustered appearance was taken in by his father.

You changed into some more casual clothes now, a baby tee and some sweats as you dolled yourself up a little for the more exciting part of your night.

Just about everyone had left by the time you descended the stairs, the only person left was Frank… who you’d knew was going to stay back and help clean up the aftermath of the gathering.

You found your Mom in the kitchen, wrapping up the leftovers of the charcuterie board she’d prepared. Frank entering just in time to wash his hands from cleaning up all the beer cans.

For the first time that night, Frank had made eye contact with you. His expression was unreadable in that very short moment that he did look at you, but it was something.

“I’m gonna go see Wanda.” You announced to your Mother, but it was mostly intended for Frank. ‘Wanda’s’ was basically code for Frank’s house, “I won’t be long, I’ll be back later.”

You never had to ask to go anywhere- it was usually always just telling them, knowing the answer would always be yes.

So when your Mom grabbed your arm with a smile and pulled you a little closer to her so that Frank wouldn’t hear, you were a little confused.

“Hey, how was Bucky?” She whispers with a wide smile. Your eyes quickly dart over to Frank, who- though he’s got his back turned, stops washing his hands for a second.

“God- Mom-“ With a scoff, you pull yourself out of her grasp, not exactly keen on sharing the ‘details’.

“What? I just wanted to know!” She yells out as you head for the front door.

-

Hearing the opening of Franks front door had to be music to your ears. You lost track of how long you’d waited for him ever since you left your house.

Using the spare key to his home that he’d given you, you’d made yourself comfortable up in his bedroom while you waited. If he was over at your house, it would usually take no longer than 5-10 minutes before he’d be able to join you, too caught up in conversation with your Dad.

So when it passed that 10 minute mark, you were a little annoyed. Of course, your dad just had to babble on. Pulling out your phone, you texted Frank just to make sure he was still alive in there.

You: waiting <3

Read 11:27pm

He read it almost instantly, and you waited eagerly for a response. But nothing. Not even those three dots.

You: ???

Read 11:27pm

You: fake a yawn, he’ll let you go

Part of you wanted to believe that he was being held there against his will and not purposefully punishing you once and for all. Because if so, it was working.

Read 11:28pm

I mean, what? Was he just going to leave you here all night? He’d have to come hone eventually, right? Unless, unless he’d sleep in the guest bedroom… but why would he do that? Plus, what would his excuse be? He’s too drunk to walk 10 metres to his own house? Actually, that would be something your Dad would coax him into doing.

Fuck.

You weren’t going to take it any further than what you’d already done tonight, but seeing as you had grown increasingly frustrated and knowing this was probably the only thing that was going to get his attention, you did it anyway.

You: r u coming or not? just tell me so i can decide whether i should take bucky up on that offer

Delivered

You cursed him for finally ignoring you once and for all, not even bothering to read your messages anymore.

You sighed against his pillow, groaning to yourself as you realised what you just got yourself into. You really didn’t mean to take it that far with Bucky and you hoped this wasn’t the end of your relationship with Frank.

But apparently not.

You sit up off his bed when you hear him ascend the stairs. Your heart beats slightly faster and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous.

You stand now and make your way to the door of his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe when he comes into view, “God, what took you so long?”

“Did you fuck him?”

Though he scarily towers over you, jaw clenched and fists tightened, you have to contain your arousal at how attractive he is when he’s angry, knowing this probably isn’t the time. You roll your eyes a little, “Frank-“

“Did you?”

“No.” He doesn’t bother to hide his relief and you grin mischievously, stepping a little closer and bringing your hand up to twiddle with the strings of his hoodie, “Did I make someone jealous?”

“Are you gonna date him?” Ignoring your question, he glares down at you.

“I don’t know.” You hum, and you kind of feel bad when you see a small frown grace his face, “Maybe I’ll just keep him around to get Mom and Dad off our scent.” He sighs a little, figuring he can’t argue with that, “Don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You lean up on your tippy toes and peck a loving kiss to his lips, to which he reluctantly returns. It was so nice to finally feel his lips against yours- it’s been one day too many.

“I don’t trust him.” He sneers, “Why is his hair so long?”

“More for me to grab?”

You can’t contain your smile as you look up at him, your lip coming between your teeth as he grinds his jaw. He steps closer to you now and you almost try to walk backwards before his hands reach behind your thighs, “You’re in a lot of trouble, you know?” He lifts you up to wrap your legs around his waist before laying you down on the bed, “I wouldn’t push it.”

You let out a hearty laugh, pulling him down to connect his lips to yours. Your hands find their way to the sides of his face, pulling him impossibly closer, afraid that he’ll leave you if you let go.

With your legs still loosely wrapped around his hips, you also pull that part of his body closer to yours, his crotch rubbing against your clothed core and you groan into his mouth at the friction.

Leaving your mouth, he sinks to his knees before you, bringing your pants down with him as he sheds you of all the clothing from your bottom half.

You gasp softly with hooded eyes as you watch him admire your bare pussy, spreading your legs further apart to observe every inch of you.

You swallow thickly as he plants soft, teasing kisses to each thigh, getting closer and closer to your core, but retreating every time you think he’s going to dive in.

You know what he’s doing. You know this is part of your punishment. So you let him have his way with you.

You clench around nothing each time he brings his face closer and closer to your hair, almost passing out when he presses a kiss to your folds, right above your clit.

Unable to resist, your hands fly down to his hair, tugging softly on the short strands and massaging the scalp- hoping he’d spare you a little mercy and give you what you so desperately need.

Instead, he just lifts his head to look up at you now, resting it against your thigh as he speaks, “My hair long enough for ya’?”

Remembering what you’d just said about Bucky’s hair length, you roll your eyes, “Shut up. I love your hair.” You fluff your fingers through it to somehow prove your point. You’d experienced many stages of Franks hair growth, but your favourites definitely had to be either the short strands that you could still run your fingers through, the faded sides with shorter hair on top, or the long, fluffy strands he grew out on occasion.

As a reward for your compliment, he lowers his mouth closer to your cunt and laps up the arousal that had since pooled from when he started kissing your thighs. He hums against your clit, the taste of your slick meeting his tongue and you buck your hips up as the vibrations course through you.

Just as you think the teasing was over, he removes himself from your clit, “You think he could eat you better than me?”

You whine at the loss of contact, and at his stupid question, “Frankie, please.”

“Do you?” You quickly realise that he’s not moving a muscle until you give him the answer he’s looking for.

“No,” You practically whimper, “No one could tongue fuck me as good as you.”

Slyly smiling up at you, satisfied with your answer, he presses one last final kiss to your thigh, “Good girl.” You almost started gushing out cum right then and there at the praise, but his tongue fucking into your hole distracted you from doing so.

You throw your head back against the pillows and arch your back as his tongue expertly devours your cunt, switching from fucking your hole to flicking and sucking your clit.

He makes sure to show more love towards your throbbing clit, knowing how quick that got you to cum. As much as he would spend eternity and one day buried in between your thighs, he loved the taste of your cum more. He survived off it.

Kneading the soft flesh of your thighs and ass, he grounds you back to reality, keeping you in place from squirming underneath his hold.

You clench your eyes shut as he unexpectedly eases two fingers into your cunt, his saliva mixed with your juices making it easy for them to insert. You moan loudly as they curl up to reach your g-spot and his tongue continues his assault on your clit.

Feeling the way you clench around his fingers almost instantly, Frank knows you’re close, “Cum on my fingers.” He encourages, thrusting his fingers in and out of you even faster as you whimper loudly, one his favourite sounds, “C’mon, pretty girl,”

With shaking thighs, you attempt to close them in around Franks head as a result of your nearing orgasm, but Franks strong hold keeps you still.

“I’m gonna cum,” You announce in a hush whisper, your moan overtaking you as the coil in your stomach threatens to unfurl, “Oh my God, right there, Frankie,” You clench around his fingers even harder as he fucks them up into you at just the right angle to consistently hit your g-spot, all the while wrapping his mouth around your clit and sucking harshly, simultaneously flicking his tongue around the little bud.

The room instantly blurs as you cum hard. You let out a loud moan that echoes all the way down the hall, your walls fluttering and pulsing around his fingers as they slow down to ease you off your high. He slowly pulls them out now and they’re drenched in your slick before he licks them clean. Eyeing your shining cunt, he dives back in to drink up the rest of your juice that’s leaking out of your pussy, not letting a drop go to waste.

By the time he finally detaches himself from your cunt, you smile blissfully as his chin shines with your cum.

Pulling his face closer to you, you wipe away the excess from his chin, bringing it up to your mouth and having a taste yourself. 

Wrapping a hand around his neck, you pull him down to praise the soft lips that had just brought you to orgasm, moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You definitely tongue fuck me better,” You start, nails dragging across the back of his neck as he sucks little kisses to your neck, he grunts in satisfaction, and you smile wickedly, “But I’m not entirely sure if you could fuck me better than he could?”

His head retracts from the crook of your neck, looking down at you with intense hardness. Oh, he’s mad.

“Is that so?” He asks, his jaw ticking when you doe your eyes up at him.

“I mean, you’re just so old- do you even still have it in you?”

His eyes darken instantaneously, a large, secure hand wrapping itself around your waist as his body cages you in beneath him, “Oh, you’re gonna fucking regret that.” He mutters into your ear through gritted teeth and for the first time since you’ve hooked up with Frank- you’re terrified… but you don’t wanna stop.

He flips you around so that you’re laying flat on your stomach and brings a hand down to collide against your ass cheeks in a harsh spank.

You whine into the bed sheets, the skin stinging even as he softly kneads it. You assumed that was the end of it, that he was just testing the waters and showing you what he was capable of but no. It’s only until about 10 spanks later- accompanied with an abundance of filthy words, a mix of degradation and praise, when your ass is now a bright, cherry red and your hands grip the bed sheets so tight it hurts, that he stops.

“Think I still have it in me now?”

Swallowing thickly, you nod weakly, “Yes,” You squeeze your thighs together in hopes to soothe the painfully good ache that inhabits your cunt, “Please fuck me, Frank.”

When you feel him adjust your position, lifting up your hips so that your ass hangs in the air, you sigh gratefully, “Since you asked so nicely,” He massages the sore flesh of your ass once more, spreading your cheeks apart simultaneously and observing the slickness of your pussy.

He can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across his face at the sight of your glistening cunt as a result of his spankings.

Quickly shedding himself free, he lines his cock up with your pussy from behind and begins a rough, hard, and absolutely relentless pace that has you forgetting your name. Bucky’s name long forgotten in that case, which is all Frank could ever ask for.

-

“Honey, honey-“ Your Dad whispers to your mother as he lingers by the window of their bedroom, just about to draw the curtains closed before a little something caught his eye. As your Mom joins his side, following his gaze over to Frank’s bedroom window, “Filthy fuckin’ Frank.” The pair watch shamelessly as Franks silhouette can be seen through his curtains, along with another that he’s seemingly fucking into oblivion, “No wonder he was itching to get outta here!”

Your Mom just smiles softly, wrapping an arm around your Dad, “Do you think it was someone from the party? I had a few single friends over.”

“He was checking his phone a lot.”

“Awe,” She coos, “I think it’s cute. We’re like matchmakers… He better thank us next time he sees us.”

“All thanks to the game.” Your Dad shakes his head, continuing to observe his best friend fucking whatever lucky woman managed to find her way into his bedroom, “He’s such a doggy kind of guy!”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

taglist: @chemistwy @andrewgarfieldsbae

DHJSSH is writing that last part about the parents weird??? idk i thought it was fun, also,,, don’t come at me but for some reason i always imagine the dad for dbf!frank ti be brock rumlow 🤭 IDK WHY he just has that look

ANYWAY i hope u enjoyed!!! i think this fic is like in my top 3 bc i fucking loved writing it so much.

dbf!frank >>>>>>

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Stitches // 4

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Summary: Frank’s worst nightmare is playing out right before his eyes, again.

Warnings: knife & gun violence, blood, broken bones

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 BONUS

I really didn't mean for this chapter to cross 3k words, got a little too carried away , whoops! I wrote this in one sitting as a way of celebrating my small wins in my final grades 😊

MASTERLIST

----

Y/N’s POV

“Josie another round please.”

Typical Friday night with the Nelson and Murdock foursome, we’re all grabbing a few drinks to unwind from the stressful week of work at the firm. Me, however, I’ve been more stressed in the past couple days than I ever have been in ages. 

Since I saw Frank almost a week ago I haven’t heard from him. Even though he told me that there would be absolutely no contact between us until he put Billy down and sorted out the mess with the people after him and Amy, Madani made sure to keep me in the loop but she hadn’t sent any updates or came to see me for two days. Now I’m out with my friends trying to have a good time but I can’t, knowing that there’s a possibility that Frank could be fighting for his life out there.

“You alright Y/N?” Matt nudged my shoulder with his, pulling me out of my haunting thoughts. I’m sure he’s alright, he better be.

“Yeah, just a rough couple days. Speaking of which, I should call it a night.” throwing back the shot of tequila I pushed myself up to my feet, slinging the straps of my hand bag over my shoulder.

“You’re leaving already, it’s barely seven o’clock?” Karen pouted watching me put my money on the table for the drinks. 

“I’m really not feeling it tonight guys, I’ll see y’all around. Have a good night.” 

I really wasn’t in the mood to sit there any longer, pretending that I was having the best time of my life when all I wanted to do was sleep the days away until Frank shows up. Stepping out into the cold night, I fished my phone from my bag, pulling up Madani’s number.

Ring….ring.…ring….beep 

Great, she declined my call

He’s okay Y/N

Locking the device I continued walking to my apartment which is no more than three blocks away, thankfully. I need a shower and sleep, not like I have much hope for the latter, I can’t get relaxed enough to get a solid hour of sleep. 

“I’ll come find you when this is all over, don’t worry about me sweetheart.”

Easier said than done Castle. 

Home, sweet home. Unlocking my front door I quickly stepped inside and shut it behind me, flicking on the lights I jumped, heart dropping to my stomach.

Billy Russo was sitting on my couch, the glock I had stashed in my room lying on the coffee table, his mask next to it. Shaky I stayed put, daring not to move a single muscle. Billy’s face was just as ugly as his insides now, the scars Frank left him with made sure that he would have to live with that ugly truth for the rest of his miserable life.

“My buddy Frank really knows how to pick ‘em.” 

“What do you want, Russo?” 

“You.”

That was the last thing I heard before being hit upside the head. I fell face first on the ground, vision hazy from the blunt strike, I faintly made out Billy walking over to me as I slipped off into sweet unconsciousness.

—---

“Wakey wakey princess.”

Gasping I finally came to my senses, the bucket of cold water jolted me awake. My arms were secured above my head, my toes barely scraping the floor beneath me. Frantically my eyes scanned the dimly lit space, Billy and a few other men in masks were surrounding me as I hung from the ceiling.

I’m so fucked and not in the way I usually enjoy.

“You’re a beautiful woman Y/N, I’d also like to think that you’re equally as smart. Who am I kidding, Frankie boy is smitten with you so you must be.” 

“I’m sure you once were a smart man Billy but I have to say, kidnapping me was a dumbass mistake ugh-” one of his goons gut punched me knocking the wind out of my sail.

“Feisty, I love it.” standing in front of me he steadied my dangling body, I didn’t see his fist swinging at my face until it hit me square in the jaw.

“Where is he?” 

“How the hell would I know jackass?” grunting I spit out the blood that pooled into my mouth onto his boots. Another blow to the face, this time it was to my nose. Holding onto my cheek he stared into my eyes, anger boiling within his.

“I’m in no mood to play games and plus, me hurting you only hurts me. So do us both a favour and tell me where I can find the son of a bitch that did this to my face!” 

“I don’t know where he is and even if I did, I still wouldn’t have told you.” 

“Fine, have it your way then.” as he moved further away from me his crew came closer

This is going to hurt like a motherfucker, goddamn it

“Boys you know what to do, I want her breathing!”

That was all they needed to hear before they started using me as their human punching bag. Fists came at me from every direction, I could feel the burn of my skin being sliced open on my arms and legs. My screams of pain and agony echoed throughout the space as they continued their brutal assault.

“Not so tough now, bitch.” one took a hold of my shirt collar, holding me somewhat steady as he repeatedly delivered blows to my face. There was a sickening crack from my nose after his third or fourth blow and my throat was sore from all the screaming. I mustered up whatever strength I had and kicked him in the balls, headbutting him when he doubled over howling in pain.

“You bitch!”

“Fuck!” he stabbed me in my thigh, the agonizing pain was enough to send me into shock. Everything around me started getting blurry again, my vision going in and out as these assholes got the best of me. 

—--

“Princess, come on, let me see those beautiful eyes of yours.” a hand slapping my cheek brought me out of my unconscious state. I struggled to get air into my lungs, pain flooding through my entire body.

“See, it pains me to see you like this. Hey, hey, look at me.” I could barely see out of my right eye, the left one was completely swollen shut. Blood ran down my chin, coating his finger that was there.

“There she is, you may or may not know what hole he’s hiding in but it doesn’t matter. Once he sees this, which I know he will, he’d be coming to find you, I just have to wait.” he pulled his mask back on and stepped to the side, a camera was hooked up to a laptop on the table ahead. 

“When he gets his hands on you, you’re going to wish you hadn’t touched me.” weak from all the bloodloss my head tipped to the side. Scoffing, he turned to face the camera, his goons still surrounding us.

Stay awake Y/N, be a fighter

“This is a public address to my buddy Frank Castle.”

—----

Frank’s POV

“No, no, no, no, no.” Amy started freaking out, eyes glued to the screen of her computer.

“Kid?” She immediately brought the device over and placed it on the table. My blood boiled more the longer I stared at the news broadcast on the screen.

He’s a dead man

“I have something you want buddy, she’s a tough one to break brother hence this alternative to get you out of your spider-hole.” 

Y/N’s bruised and beaten body was restrained by chains that hung from the ceiling, she was fighting to stay conscious while this asshole was caressing her bloodied cheek. The door to the trailer opened and Curtis and Madani entered. 

“You guys need to see this too.” 

“I’m sure you know where to find us Frank, you better hurry by the way, your girl doesn't look too good.” A faint laugh came from her as she looked over at him.

“You poked the beast, hooray, you’re all dead when he finds me.” 

“If I were you I’d keep my mouth shut princess.”

“It’s a free country so don’t tell me what I should do. I’m the least of your worries Billy Russo, he’s coming and you’re going to lose the same hand you’re touching me with.”

“I like her, that mouth she’s got is the only reason she’s still alive. So, like I said buddy, you know where we are, come find me.” Amy shut the laptop as the video cut and in less than two seconds I had Madani pinned against the wall.

“Frank!” 

“You got her into this!”

“I’m sorry, Frank please let me go!”

“I swear to God Madani if she dies it’s on you and you better pray that I don’t find you because I will kill you!” my grip on her jacket tightened, her eyes filled with fear.

“Frank let her go man!”

“She better be alive when I get to her.” with that I dropped her to the floor, Curtis rushing to her side. I am beyond pissed right now, reloading my weapon, I ignored the three people in here with me.

“I know you want to get her out of there but that’s a trap.” Curtis tried levelling with me but my mind was solely focused on one thing right now. 

Billy already took Maria and the kids away from me, I refuse to let him repeat the same pattern with Y/N. I don’t care how many sons of bitches I have to kill to get to her, I know the moment I set foot in there his men are going to be the one fighting me while he escapes. Doesn’t matter if he does tonight, I’ll catch up to him soon enough, my only priority is to get my girl out of there.

I’m coming for your head Russo.

—---

Y/N’s POV

“We can always have some fun with her before he gets here. What do you say baby, wanna have some fun, might be your last.” 

Is this guy serious right now? 

I glanced at Russo who looked on, he tipped his head to the side. The fucker started feeling me up and I kneed him in the balls, kicking him in the stomach just as quickly. His men were about to start beating on me again but Billy stopped them.

“You deserved that.”

I assume it’s been almost six hours since this clown kidnapped me, I don’t doubt that Karen, Foggy and Matt saw the broadcast and is most likely wondering what the fuck is going on. I never told them that Frank was back or about our ‘relationship’. I wanted to pass out so badly but I won’t, especially in this room full of men one nod away from killing my ass.

The lights went out leaving us in complete darkness, my lips turned upwards in a smile

He’s here

Russo and his men left to go deal with Frank leaving me chained in the middle of the room. They’re so screwed.

—----

Frank’s POV

The man struggled in my chokehold as I dragged him behind some crates, the satisfying cracking sound was music to my ears. Dropping his dead body I made my way towards the other guy who had his back towards me, repeating what I’d just done.

Two down, more to go. The fun’s just getting started.

Holding up my weapon, I stealthily maneuvered my way further into the building, keeping my eyes sharp for any movements the moonlight allowed me to see. Gunshots rang out and I immediately took cover behind crates, I exchanged fire from my position taking out the three men. 

One groaned in pain trying to reach for his gun as I got closer to him, I aimed for his head and pulled the trigger stepping over his body to get to the adjacent room. Someone tried to grab my gun to disarm me but failed, I shot him twice before being hit on the head. He wasted no time in knocking the gun from my grasp, landing two punches on me. Latching onto his arm I twisted it until I felt the bone break and slammed him down to the floor, bashing his head into the concrete repeatedly until his body went limp.

Bullets whizzed past me, I used the body as a shield as I walked closer to the shooter, his gun clicked, someone’s out of bullets. Taking hold of my knife, I dropped the dead weight and took hold of the shooter’s arm, pulling him closer. I slit his throat, blood splattering everywhere as he choked. 

I’m almost there sweetheart, hold on for me.

—

Y/N’s POV

The lights came back on blinding me for a couple seconds, gunshots were still ringing on the other side of the wall until it stopped.

“Y/N!”

“Frank!”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I cried. Relief washed over me, I have never been so happy to see Frank covered in blood until this very moment. He took the key from the table and rushed over to me, undoing the restraints.

“I’ve got you sweetheart.” I clung onto him for dear life, he gently rocked me in his arms, pressing his lips to my temple.

“He got away.” 

“I don’t care about that right now, I’ll find him again but right now I just want to get you out of here.”

Sirens wailing in the distance got louder as they came closer to the building. He has to go before they get here. Letting go of him I moved to step back, Frank lifted me off my feet and started walking towards the exit.

The bodies of the men that held me captive laid in their own pools of blood, faces hardly recognizable. I laid my head against his shoulder, letting him take me out the building that smelt of gunpowder and blood.

“What are you doing, you should get going before Mahoney cuffs you?”

“You’re my main priority right now Y/N, I don’t care what happens to me.” 

 “Castle, put her down now!” Speaking of the devil, Mahoney aimed his weapon at us. Frank made no attempt to follow his order. 

“I’m not putting her down unless it's on a stretcher!”

“Put her down and get on your knees!” 

“I don’t see a stretcher!” Mahoney gave the medics the green light to get me out of Frank’s arms.

“Frank.”

“Shh sweetheart, I’ll be alright, you just focus on getting better for me.” he placed me on the stretcher and watched as the medics secured me, his hand still holding onto mine. They started wheeling me away, our hands slowly letting go of each other.

“She’s on the stretcher now Castle, toss the gun aside and get on your knees!” With his eyes still trained on me he unholstered the gun and tossed it to the side, slowly lowering himself to the ground.

The last thing I saw was Mahoney securing his handcuffs on Frank as the medics put me in the back of the ambulance. 

How does one get out of this? I don’t know but I’m sure Madani is going to put in some words to get him out of those cuffs.

—--

“Can we have the room please?” The nurse attending to me finished bandaging my arm laceration before leaving. I can’t deal with him right now.

“You alright?” 

“You know, for someone who got beaten and stabbed while hanging from a ceiling, I’m doing just fine detective.” 

My head is pounding, my face was completely swollen, I have multiple cuts and bruises that went on for miles on my body. Cracked ribs, busted lip, swollen eyes, the lovely list of injuries continues. 

“Stupid thing to ask, I know.” 

“Then why’d you ask?”

“I know that you’re in a lot of pain bu-”

“What do you want Mahoney, I already gave my statement to the other officer.” he sat on the chair next to the bed, a heavy sigh passing his lips.

“Why are you not afraid of Frank?”

“He’s not a bad person, detective. Yes, he’s done bad things but that doesn’t define who he is as a person.”

“Are you saying that murdering all those people doesn’t make him a bad person?”

“Tell me Mahoney, what would you do if your family was murdered right in front of you? Would you just sit by and hope that the cops catch the bastards that took away your happiness or would you want to get the justice that you and your loved ones actually deserve?” for once he didn’t have a comeback so I proceeded.

“Frank didn’t get the chance to process what was happening when Billy murdered his wife and two children. Someone he trusted, loved, considered a brother in arms, destroyed his entire world and you all expected him to sit and wait around for the NYPD to solve the case.”

“You made a point but the right thing to do is let the system-”

“Ah yes, the system. The same system that refused to acknowledge the man that was left with nothing, the man that had his world torn apart. They labelled him before even hearing his justification for doing what he did, besides, people don’t trust the system anymore because of corruption.”

“He murdered people.”

“Answer this for me, were any of his victims clean? They were all criminals ranging from repeated sex offenders and members of the cartels. None of his victims were innocent, he doesn’t go after those who have never committed a crime before, it’s not who he is.” With all that off of my chest I stared at the ceiling tiles above me as he tried to piece together a proper sentence.

“You know him quite well, how’s that?” 

“I got to know him while Nelson and Murdock were his legal representatives during his trial.” he nodded, not buying into the ounce of bullshit I just tried to sell him, he knew there was more to mine and Frank's relationship.

“Well, Madani got me to release him so I hope that he finally catches Billy Russo and hands him over to us.”

“You still believe that after Billy kidnapped me from my home and had his goons beat the shit out of me while chained to the ceiling, Frank is going to let him live to see another day?”

“You have a point there but I'm hoping he does come to his senses and hand him over to the NYPD.” 

“Optimism, I love it.” Mahoney stood up eyes never leaving mine

“I should leave you to get some rest.”

“Yeah, you should.”

With a final look my way he left, the nurse returning to complete the job of cleaning my wounds. I need to sleep, my eyelids slowly closed with each passing second as I was slipping into a peaceful sleep.

-----

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[elsecrytt]

Party of Two (Satan)

Devilgram Spoilers for: Demonic Pyjama Party

[gn AFAB reader, reader is penetrated, light dom/sub, reader and satan are both switches, light voyeurism/fear of getting caught]

You don’t know why his idiot brothers chose the messiest, most claustrophobic and cramped room to throw a “party” in.

Especially without an invitation, and no actual plans for what to do, but you’re pretty sure by the time you and Satan get in bed that it was a deliberate act of sabotage.

Maybe you were lucky. Maybe it was because the bed was so small that none of the three stooges managed to stumble into it and pass out there.

If circumstances were different, you’d be happy to be here. It’d be a good night.

Except now, Satan is right next to you in that stupid cute onesie, looking at you like a kitten begging for cream, and he’s so fucking hot you want to pin him down and eat him right there.

But his brothers are there. This may be hell, but like. You have class.

No way Satan would be in the mood to fool around. It’s not sexy. Right?

Warm air rushes past you as he pulls the blanket carefully above you both. His body radiates warmth.

“…Feel free to come even closer.” You hear him murmur, “It gets quite cold at night.”

Satan’s words send your heart racing, and your body leaning into him without a thought.

Still, you can’t overdo it. You definitely can’t turn to look at his face…

You can’t feel it, but Satan’s own heart is racing to match yours.

He has you now, all snuggled up to him. Your back pressed against his chest, reminding him that you’re here, with him, in his bed. That you chose to be.

Does he dare ask for more?

“Would you mind… if I held you?” Heat blazes across his cheeks; especially with you so close, the cold night has grown almost unbearably warm.

The thud in his chest, almost unbearable. Even with his brothers there, it feels like the room is dead silent. All Satan hears is the blood pounding in his ears in the pause before you answer.

You can’t help it; you melt for him.

How he speaks, so hesitant and softly, as if he’s trying to coax a cat he fears might jump up and run away at any moment. As if he’s afraid of asking for too much.

“…Okay.” You say, your heart catching in your throat.

The moment his arms envelop you, the nerves settle. His embrace is tender and steady, the comfort of his solid presence behind you seeping into you like liquid warmth washing over all the tension.

Satan holds you flush against him, fitting the curve of your back against his chest, where his muscles are just defined enough for you to feel them through the fabric.

You feel his head shifting on the pillow, smooth hair and the soft fabric brushing up against your head. Nuzzling into it before he tucks his chin over your head, in the crook of his neck.

“…I’ve been waiting ages for this.” Satan says it like a confession, and the nebulous heat inside you grows stronger, pools in your lower half.

“We’ll have to do it more often, then.” You blurt out, and instantly feel self-conscious.

“You think so?” His response is quick, almost hurried, as he shifts behind you. “I’d like that.”

The frank sincerity in his words makes you smile.

A lot of things about Satan make you smile. You feel his head move as he rubs his cheek into your hair, breathing deep. Hehe.

“Do I smell nice?” You tease, bringing your arms over his. They’re strong, powerful, pressed tightly around your waist.

You can hear his smile in return. “Good enough to eat.”

As if to prove it, lips brush soft against your temple, chaste and quick.

Chaste isn’t a word you’d use to describe the slow swell that’s started to make its way between your legs, the way it pulses as you run your hands over his, so close.

“I want to hold you even closer…”

And he does. His arms tighten around you, hands twining with yours, fingers long and elegant and the immediate, intrusive thought strikes –

Those would feel fucking fantastic on your clit.

You swallow hard – and if he is, you can’t feel it through that damn onesie.

What if Satan starts to think you’re some kind of sex-crazed nymphomaniac who can’t keep your hands off him? It’s not like that!

You’re not weird! Anyone would have a hard time keeping their hands off him! He just… he looks like that.

The desire to see his unbelievably pretty face is overwhelming. It bubbles in your chest, rising up, up, expressions flitting through your awareness, his beautiful features, talented lips –

His voice, smooth in your ears.

“Having you here, but not being able to touch you is beyond frustrating.”

The longing in his voice has you aching. Every part of you.

You take a breath as he buries his face in your hair, clutching you close, clinging to you as if in need and –

Why why why aren’t you kissing him now?

Twisting in the bed to face him, you snake your own arms around his waist, swinging a leg over his side and pinning him down instantly.

It earns you a surprised oi! but Satan quickly smothers the sound.

Or it’s smothered by how you pull yourself close to him, face to face, to watch the beautiful blush that creeps him his cheeks as his bright eyes widen at your closeness.

He’s so beautiful.

He’s so fucking beautiful, and his eyes are all on you, breath held in eager anticipations of what you’ll do next, his powerful body shivering beneath you in eagerness.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to touch you.” You whisper to him as the heat soars through your veins.

Reaching, grasping, clutching at his sides, up his chest; your hands claw over him, holding as much of him as possible until they find more to snatch.

Strangled noises warble out from him as you shamelessly grind your hips against his, feeling him harden deliciously beneath you.

Face to face; you don’t know how you haven’t kissed him yet.

Somehow, you whisper, “You’re so pretty. I want you.”

And you do.

You want to kiss him. You want to lick him. Taste him, everywhere. You want to eat him up. You want to touch his pretty face.

To feel every gorgeous dip and curve of it to feel his beautiful body and his lovely cock.

Pressing down, you feel your clit catch against his hardness perfectly and chase the feeling in quickened drags, rocking at an angle just to roll your clit over where his cock throbs.

Pleasure sparks in your lower half with every thrust. He’s so hot.

You want to take him inside you you want to fuck him until his dick falls off you want to touch him hold him feel him in your hands and you want to watch him fall apart while you do all of it, because he's so fucking beautiful, eyes gleaming at you like bright emeralds, his smooth, angelic face curving in delight.

His hands find their way onto your hips. When Satan speaks, it’s in a breathy whisper above the soft rustle of fabric where you grind.

“…They might wake up. I don’t know if we should…”

You grin maniacally, teeth bared, adrenaline soaring in your veins as you chase the fantastic friction between your sex and his.

Each rut has you quivering now, sparks growing into an intense heat that tickles all over your lower half, a release you inch towards.

“Sure,” You purr lowly, “Just sit pretty for me while I use you, then.”

Bracing your hands on either side of his head, you push yourself back, away from him, and ride him in earnest.

Pleasure mounts quickly between your legs, and you don’t realize how you look on top of him.

Crazed, face flushed with desire, back arched to draw your sex against him, eyes bright and wicked as they gaze down upon him, as you grind harder and harder still, determined to find release.

His master, consumed with lust, taking your pleasure from him.

“P-please,” Satan’s voice cracks, shattering your chest with his pitiful expression, “Please, I need you to touch me. I need you.”

With every fiber of your being, you want him. You want to feel him. You want to move and to feel him move, to feel him flex and writhe beneath you, and you want to watch it.

In an instant you crash into him.

You can’t stand it can’t take it can’t fucking take this, you slam your hips into his impatiently, into the glorious rise of his arousal that’s still clothed, whining impatiently until Satan’s lips cover yours.

Lips pressing, opening, devouring with a fervor that matches yours.

You want to feel him feel all of him he’s right here for the taking he’s all yours and he’s so beautiful –

There is no further thought, only sensation. Fingertips brushing over his soft hair, pulling forward to cup his cheek as you kiss passionately, his tongue slippery and playful as it darts in.

“Mn…” The sound is soft, yearning.

Your hands roam further, suddenly desperate, cold without the heat of his body to warm them.

His soft throat, pulsing with blood and bobbing with his breaths, burning to the touch.

Cloth, shoved aside to bare precious collarbones straining against skin so smooth to the touch.

Reaching down, under the cloth, greedily stretching fingers over supple skin that sears to the touch. It’s damp with sweat and heaves upwards into the press of fingers, chasing the contact.

His ribcage expands beneath his skin. Ghosting over it, hands curving over his sides, following them down to the narrowing of his waist until the cloth tears under your insistent reach.

Every place you can feel him is hot and toned, muscles you can feel moving beneath his skin as he labors beneath you, strong and sinuous as your fingertips flit over him.

Over and over, everywhere, stroking, feeling him at every angle, every tender curve and chiseled angle, every piece of him that belongs to you, all of him.

Looking down at Satan’s lean form; torn shirt revealing his toned chest, abdomen, magnificently defined.

His needy little noises as he bucks upwards, panting.

Pretty lips spread wide, pretty eyes blown with lust, cheeks pink as his cute tongue peeking at you from that open mouth.

You’ve never seen such a delectable spread in your life. It makes your mouth water.

An ecstatic trill runs through you. Your cheeks hurt but you can’t help it, the urge to grin is wild and feral as your saliva pools on your tongue, and you lean in close, feeling him pant against your cheek.

His eyes focus on you and his face brightens as he angles his head for a kiss, and you open your mouth just above his, letting your slip drool out from your tongue, straight into his opened lips.

He blinks for a moment, eyes fixed on yours, on the fervor in your face until the drop of wetness coats his tongue, the taste of you.

Satan’s beautiful eyes don’t leave yours for a moment. You catch the bob of his throat as he swallows, and nearly scream.

You want to bite his throat and eat him so he’ll be yours yous all yours and only yours forever –

It’s his touch that brings you back.

Large hands trail down your waist, down, over your jerking hips.

One hand slips between your legs, teasing at the inside of your thighs before he traces your slit with a satisfied hum as he finds your clit, rubbed raw, with delicate fingers.

He dips them inside you to wet them, earning a sharp whimper as your legs lose their strength, lowering you back onto him to feel the bliss of his bare skin against yours.

When you meet his eyes now, they are full of fire, intense, brows drawn tight with focus. As if you’d whet an appetite now ravenous, erasing thoughts of anything besides being sated.

Satan humming at you while he lets the other trace over the curve of your hipbone, stroking up over your belly, sliding to your waist, then cupping your breast.

His expression draws tighter, fingers quickening as he touches more more, more until his eyes boring into you seem to glow with an ethereal light.

Bright, neon green that subsumes your vision until you tear up, refusing to tear your eyes away from his face because he’s so beautiful, and he’s all yours.

Something squirms under the blankets, and then – a sound, the ripping of fabric. His cock springs against you, just as hot and throbbing as you knew it would be.

A gasp rips, almost breaking in your throat, at just how fucking good it feels.

Finally, finally, slippery and hot against your cunt, rounded tip tapping over your clit as precum dribbles out and Satan groans the need you know you both feel.

There’s nothing stopping you, now.

“Ah… No, wait.” Satan’s fingers ignore his words, groping tenderly against your breast, and you moan helplessly, even as you struggle to get more of that perfect stimulation on your clit.

His cock feels sinfully good between the lips of your aching slit, and you nearly sob as his hand reaches to thumb circles against your clit while he lines himself up with you, even as you buck back into him impatiently.

Nipping at his neck to calm yourself, tasting the salt and the yielding flesh above his windpipe.

“If you do that,” He’s breathless, as full of desire as you want to be of him, “I won’t be able to stop…”

That’s the idea. Your envelops just the tip of his cock, wetness dripping over your thighs, coating his length from your rubbing, sliding home in one smooth, easy movement.

Your breath leaves you at the way he parts your walls, throbs inside you, swelling like the lust that builds deep and heavy in your lower half.

The sheer want coursing through you, the need you have to feel him pounding, heavy and hard with all the strength you’ve felt in his refined musculature.

Something wraps around your back, too hard and flexible to be his arm, looping back over your chest and twisting up between your breasts, curling around the one he isn’t caressing, and tightening to hold you up.

His other hand leaves your clit to grasp your hip, and you’re grateful for the way he raises your body up.

The loss of his cock has you whining, the slow, wet drag of it out of your clenching cunt sending you whimpering around your bite over his neck, until his chin nudges you to release him and look up into his eyes.

You meet his feral smile with one of your own his eyes are so pretty and shivering in anticipation, and Satan’s heart races as he rushes to obey the urge to slam you back down –

“Nh…m-hm…?”

Satan knows your every sound like he knows his own tail, and that noise isn’t one of them.

No. No way. No FUCKING way.

“Ugh… I’m parched. Need water….” A heavy swallow, and then a second, both of you frozen as Asmo rises to get a drink.

Slickness stringing between your sex and his, his head still twitching maddeningly at your entrance.

Air escaping your chest only in halting exhalations, frozen in place, feeling the coolness of the air, before Satan quickly yanks a blanket over the two of you.

The heat is unbearable, sweltering with your shared sweat, but not as unbearable as the pounding in your cunt, the trickle of wetness down your thighs, how your cunt quivers in need.

You lose any ability to hold yourself up, collapsing, falling against him, and it’s only his hand on your hip and his tail slipping down below your waist keeping you from driving yourself back on his cock.

A whine, which you have to stifle, curls up in your throat. Satan rubs his face into your hair, stroking your back as he holds you primed, carefully.

You wait there, together, frozen in tight anticipation as he stumbles back into the undignified pile of blankets he’d passed out in.

“Phwah…. Zzz…”

Wow. You can’t believe it. He didn’t even have the dignity to leave the room, did he?

Your fingers clutch tightly, viciously, and Satan obeys your wordless need, lowering you back down onto him, a rush is already coursing through your veins.

The relief so serene that you nearly melt into him, lust simmering heavily in your core.

His tail gently flicks the blanket off your backs and you sigh at the cool air.

“…I think my heart just stopped.”

“Definitely not.” You murmur; your head had been against his chest the entire time.

“Pfft!” Satan smiles down at you, his eyes full of wry, warm affection, “You don’t seem to have fared any better. I can hear yours pounding like mad.”

His cock throbs between your legs, and he’s still smirking at you like that one time he’d caught you staring at his ass in the library.

And he’s being so loud.

“…And your face is bright red, too.” Last time you’d smacked him on the ass; this time, he’s beneath you, and Satan’s still being a smug little shit.

“Do you want to wake him up again?” You whisper furiously, wandering hands and impatient legs sending you squirming on top of him.

His smile bares a fang, and he shoves his cock up into you with one solid thrust, hitting a spot that makes you swallow a keening noise, “I suppose this is the sort of thing he’d be into…”

You’re about to snarl at him when his tail lifts you up by your midsection, tugging you away from his cock, and slams you back down.

But not before he sneaks a hand between your legs to coax your swollen, needy clit into a tight knot of enflamed desire.

With the next thrust he hits the very same spot, robbing you of any ability to form words; his own next ones come between breaths.

“And I…” Another shove, hot and heavy, he pulls up and down on his cock like you belong there, “I’d love to show them just who you belong with.”

He lifts your chest up even as he keeps fucking you against him, and there’s no helping how your hips rock into his fingers as they rub tenderly at your clit, helping him slam in, again, and again, and again.

“Then again,” Satan’s eyes narrow, bright green, his expression eager and predatory in a way that makes you quiver all the way down to your cunt, “I suppose I should thank them for allowing me to see you get so flustered.”

Heat races up to your face, heart fluttering in your chest as you struggle to maintain his gaze between each heady stroke of him inside you. Was this how you made him feel earlier? Ahh...

Satan takes you in and softens at the sight. Your lovely face, your gorgeous body trembling above him.

The telltale clench of your walls around him, how you shiver with wide eyes and clutch at him with that expression that swears you’ll get back at him later and he’ll like it, and his heart is flooded with warmth.

To say nothing of how his cock twitches, the oncoming bliss light and airy as even his tail swishes intently, wrapping just tight enough around you to leave marks.

Better than any of it is your face; eyes glazed with lust, lips parted just barely as the release laps at your core, features going slack as euphoria overtakes you.

And still, you don’t look away from him, fingers clawing at his chest, as if for dear life.

Ah. You love him. You hold him because you love him, and he loves you so, so much, and it’s with that thought that his own climax sends him groaning, curling around you as he holds you as close as he possibly can.

Pressing you against him so you know, so you feel him. He’s here. He wants you.

Satan can only ever hope you know. But he will never go tired of showing you.

“Let me kiss you again…” The lazy murmur escapes him, as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

He takes his time doing it. It doesn’t have to happen now. You rest against him, the slow rise and fall of your chest against him lulling him gently through the light, airy feeling of his own release.

His tail unwinds to make you more comfortable, instead draping itself over your leg, the tip swaying in time with your heart and his.

Your hands slide gently on his shoulders as your weight shifts, wordlessly, and Satan knows to settle you against him so your curves align with his, so your head tucks into the crook of his neck just how you like.

So the two of you are still joined below, with him buried half-soft inside you, where it’s warm, wet, and welcoming.

Both of you are far too hot for blankets. Your cooling, sweat-coated bodies will need a nice, hot shower in the morning, and for now you’re warm enough just from him.

Wrapped in one another’s embrace, bodies flush and hot; it’s hard to tell where his flesh ends, and yours begins.

The thought sends a primal purr of delight right down his spine, tail twitching at the very tip, but he holds himself steady, lets himself relax, for you to better rest against him.

And he steals his kiss just before settling his head back against the pillow, feeling you nuzzle into his neck and curl up into his warmth.

He spares himself a secret, spiteful grin as he whispers a quiet sleeping spell over you, ensuring you’ll get a good night’s rest.

…And it wouldn’t be that bad if his brothers were to see you like this, either.

It’d certainly make them think twice about entering your room again. And if they did… well.

Some performances really did deserve an encore.

[whileurmine]

And it did, it did help, her hand over his chest, present and solid and soothing. It helped in a way that was hard to put into words. It helped like that was the solution he had been waiting to get all this time. He could feel his heartbeat gradually sync to the movement of her hand. "Siberia would fucking suck, baby." Frank said, with a small shaky laugh. "Visiting your family is all the proof I needed to know I wasn't made for the cold." And he would still go, same as her, if she wanted to move for Siberia for some god forsaken reason he would go. "I wanted to be an astronaut did you know that? When I was a kid. Like thirteen. Before grades got hard and I got tall. I'm one inch above the height limit for astronauts." Frank chuckled. It was always hard to point out when the panic subsided, always easier to find himself on the other end of it than it was to realize it had ended. He leaned in a little closer, if that was at all possible, rested his forehead to hers. Allowing himself a moment to breathe. "Do I need to tell my therapist about these nightmares?" It felt like he did. And then, without a warning, "What did you wanna be? When you were kid? Have you always wanted to do art?"

Tisha rests her palm flat on his chest, rubbing a spot over his heart like somehow touch could ease the weight on it. “I know. I know you are. But there is nowhere I want to be more than right here. Actually,” she props her chin on her hand “even that’s not really true. There’s nowhere I want to be more than with you. It could be anywhere. We could be in… Siberia. Lost in the middle of the outback. On the international space station.” Tisha punctuates each one by pressing a kiss to another part of his face. “You’re it. If it takes forty years for you to stop having that feeling, that’s how long it takes. I’ve got time.”

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

[f0rever15elf]

A Place to Come Home To

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 4,846 Warnings: Swearing, blood mention, cannon typical depictions of injuries, food mention, drug mention, car bombing mention, death mention, gun mention

Summary: Frank used to frequent your home when the injuries got too much. When the world learned he was still alive, he vanished. You’re sure he’s dead, until one day he shows back up in your hospital ward. 

A/N: I just binged the Punisher in the course of a week. I am currently obsessed with Jon Bernthal so... have fun with this! 

Masterlist Directory | Marvel Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on Ao3

He always just showed up. Never really gave you a warning before he was tumbling through your window or pounding on your door like he didn’t have the key to your apartment that you’ve given him on three separate occasions now. The first few times, each visit damn near gave you a heart attack. Frank Castle is not exactly a small man, and seeing as he typically operated at night, meetings were usually fueled by adrenaline. 

His first late night visit was… eventful. Hearing the crash and swearing from your kitchen having already put you on edge, seeing a hulking, looming figure backlit by the streetlight wrapped in the cloying smell of blood triggered the fight response in you. The sound of your wooden bat connecting with human flesh was followed by a slew of swears from a familiar voice as he crumpled to the kitchen floor.

“God dammit Frank! What the fuck?! You have a front door key!” You dropped the bat and bent over to help pick him up off of the floor where he had crumpled after the solid smack to his already injured side.

“Forgot,” he gritted out between clenched teeth and all you could do was sigh as you led him back to the bathroom, blood dribbling behind you. Thank God you didn’t have carpet. 

“Dumbass.”

That became a regular occurrence, minus the baseball bat. After learning that a bat was all you had for self defense, Frank’s next visit was at a much more reasonable hour to deliver you your very own 9 mil, small enough to conceal. It was paired with a very strict “I swear to God if you shoot me I’m going to kick your ass, are we clear?” Now, you know that Frank’s old man had taught him to respect women above all else, but you definitely believed that he would make good on his promise.

A year’s time and countless visits since the first time he had stumbled through your window, the news had been broken that Frank was still alive and kicking, his face plastered all over every media outlet. No longer a ghost, the world was suddenly far more dangerous for him to be living in, and that meant that he came by less and less, until one day it seemed that he stopped completely.

Every worst case scenario ran through your head with each passing day once the year mark of not hearing from him passed. Had his luck finally run out? Was he dead in an unmarked grave? Tossed off the pier? Shipped overseas where no one would ever find him? Would you ever know? Did you want to know? You aren’t so sure, really.

There’s really no option, when faced with loss, other than to continue on doing as you do, and living as you can. So that is what you did. You got a new job as a nurse at a hospital out in the burbs, a house following not long after, and you’re grateful for the change of pace. Less time spent in traffic is a godsend in this town. But just because it’s in the burbs, doesn’t mean you don’t still see your fair share of brutal injuries.

There are still stabbings and shootings and gang violence that bleed out from the borders of the city proper. Every time they come through, you’re reminded of the nights spent patching up Frank in your little bathroom, chiding him for being stupid enough to get shot in the ass. How did he plan on sitting for the next month while it finished healing? He would laugh and then wince as your hooked needle pulled the skin tightly together, and before the sun ever even began to kiss the horizon, he would be gone again. Your lips curl into a smile at the memory until a set of fingers snap in front of your face, breaking you from your trance.

“Anyone home in there?” Your boss has that bemused look on her face that she gets when she sees you spacing out. A look that tells you that she knows exactly where you go, because she’s been there too. “Can’t have you sleeping on the job right now, newbie. They need you down in the ER.”

“ER? Why?” You stand from the office chair you had managed to snag for a quick nap. It’s not often you’re called down to the ground floor, typically only when there was a major accident or holiday stupidity.

“There’s a...stubborn...patient who was picked up passed out on the back step of the building. He looks like he was beaten within an inch of his life, and he’s still kicking now that he’s woke back up. And kicking hard.” That piques your interest, your heart speeding up in your chest, and you have to calm yourself down to rationalize that it’s probably just some methed out junkie running on adrenaline and amphetamines. Which means you’re gonna end up with puke on your shoes. Again. “He clocked the only other available floor nurse, who is now nursing a broken nose in triage. So I need you to step in.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll head down and help out.”

Your boss steps aside, letting you pass by. Your shoes squeak against the linoleum, the lights buzzing in your ears the whole way as you try not to get wrapped up in your head.

Just a meth head.

Just a meth head.

Just a….

Frank.

You freeze just outside the curtained off bed, the image of the man you were sure was dead damn near knocking you off of your feet. “I said let me GO!” The livid ex-marine thrashes on the bed, the other nurses trying to subdue him enough to sedate him so they can treat his injuries. “Get off a me!”

“Frankie!” you snap, muscle memory launching you into action as you move to his bedside. Frank freezes, eyes locking on to you. His eyes go wide, like he’s seen a ghost when he realizes it’s you. It’s almost comical. “You gotta calm down before you hurt someone else.” Your voice is authoritative, and it takes a moment but he sits back against the pillow. The nurse beside you pulls the syringe out of his scrubs, but you grab his wrist and shake your head when he looks at you like you’ve grown a third eye. “I’ve got this, Jackson.”

“He broke Duke’s nose….”

“I know. It’ll be alright. I got it from here. Go check on Duke.” Jackson hesitates, but a glare from you has him setting the vial on the metal tray next to the bed before stepping out, following the trail of blood to find his injured coworker. Two other nurses hover at Frank’s bedside, poised to jump if he gets out of hand again. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” You sigh, grabbing a set of Nitrile gloves and snapping them on. “You two can go too.” You don’t even look at the other nurses as they scurry out, eyes focused on the ghost on your bed. It’s… not the worst you’ve seen him, but it’s definitely not good. 

He’s been beaten to hell and back, no two ways about it. There’s blood everywhere, matting the shaggy beard and locks he’s grown out since you last saw him. His lip is busted, and so is his nose, dark bruises setting in under his eyes. There’s cuts all over his face, like it had been slashed by broken glass. His knuckles are swollen and split, and there’s blood soaking his tattered shirt and jeans, and you’re not quite sure how much of it is his. Without another word, you grab the scissors to start cutting through the shirt. It’s quiet, save for the hustle and bustle of the ER, and you can feel his eyes burning into you as he watches you remove the strips of fabric from his body.

Under the shirt is just as bad, bruises and gashes everywhere over old scars; some familiar, some foreign. Your name on his lips is the only thing that brings you pause as you start cleaning him up, but the hesitation is short lived, and you resume your work without so much as offering him a glance. “Can ya look at me?”

“I’m working.”

“Hey.” He reaches up and grabs your wrist, halting the gauze pad where you’re cleaning an angry looking gash on his shoulder. How it didn’t sever the tendons there, you have no idea. Your eyes flick up to his and dammit he’s making those puppy dog eyes of his again. Those stupid fucking puppy dog eyes that could get him anything he ever wanted from you. Your heart stutters in your chest, full of a warmth you haven’t felt in months.

You aren’t sure you like it.

“Let go.” Your eyes drop back down to your work, pointedly looking at the much larger hand holding your own at a stand still.

He doesn’t move, not for several moments before his grip slackens and he drops his hand back by his side. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you with that same intensity he’s always had. The same way he had every time he came to your doorstep looking just as bad, if not worse, than this.

“I thought you were dead.”

He lets out that breathy little chuckle of his, followed by a soft groan as you wipe a sanitizing pad over what is clearly a stab wound before reaching for the sutures. “I’m harder to put down than you give me credit for. Fuck!” You haven’t rubbed any numbing gel on the wound yet, electing to just start working on him. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. “Easy.” 

“A year and a half.” You pull the first suture tight, hooking in the next one. “A year and a half and not so much as a word from you. I thought you were dead.” You grit your teeth, your jaw flexing as you finish up the last stitch on the stab wound, snipping the thread and dropping the needle into a bowl before moving on to cleaning the next wound. At least it doesn’t look like there are any bullets. This time.

“It was better that way.”

“So you get to make my decision for me now, is that it?” He winces when you press down just a little too hard on an abrasion on his chest and you sigh, pulling back for a moment. You close your eyes, centering yourself. He’s hurt, and you’re a nurse. You can’t let your personal feelings get in the way here. It goes against everything you stand for. “You shouldn’t have made that decision for me,” you whisper, wiping at the wound far more gently this time.

“You think I didn’t want to stay?” God, you’ve missed that quiet gruffness of his voice. “Think I wanted to up and leave my whole life here? Nah, I had Homeland on my ass. My best friend with a gun to my back and a rogue CIA operative intent on ending my whole ass career. I had to leave. They’ve taken enough from me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, taking deep breaths through your nose as you try to bite back the tears. You have no reason to be as upset as you are. Maybe it’s a combination of things. Relief that he’s alive, the stress of seeing him beat to hell, the longing that never really went away every time he walked out your front door. But he’s here and he’s alive and you can feel his heart beating under your palm and it’s strong and steady as ever.

“Hey…,” there’s that softness again, raspy and concerned. A finger rests under your jaw, gently lifting it to look at him. The glassiness of your eyes must give you away, his face only softening further. “Look.” He swallows, voice thick with something you can’t place. “Look, I know it’s been rough. And I’m sorry I disappeared and I’m sorry this is how you had to learn that I’m alive. But I’m okay.”

“Actually, you look like you’ve been through a meat tenderizer. But you’ll be alright in a while.” You reach up and grab his hand from under your jaw, holding it for a moment. His fingers curl softly around your own and your heart throbs with longing in your chest. “I’ll patch you up. Make sure you don’t have any broken ribs or anything that needs to be wrapped. Send you on your way like I always do to wherever you need to go.” His grip on your hand slackens.

“I, uh… I don’t have anywhere too go. My van it… it’s shrapnel back in the city.”

It takes you a minute to connect the dots before your eyes widen. Two days ago there had been a car bombing in the main city that made headlines, no bodies found in the wreckage, but it damn near leveled a city block. The less critical patients had been shipped to your hospital. “Jesus Christ Frank, the car bombing?”

“It wasn’t me,” he’s quick to assure, hand tightening around yours again. “You know I don’t mess with that shit.” He looks away, shaking his head. “Someone was comin’ after me. Got the jump on me. But I-”

“Put him down.” You sigh and nod. “I know how you operate, it’s alright.” He’s quiet, but nods, leaning back against the bed again as he lets go of your hand. You drop your gaze and resume working stitching up the last of the larger gashes before moving to medicated gauze and butterfly bandages for the others. “Look…. I have the space. Come home with me after my shift. I’ll put you up for a while. Give you a chance to heal up before you go make your next dumbass decision.”

“Nah, I can’t do that to ya.” You glance up and he’s staring at the ceiling with that far off gaze he gets sometimes when he lets the past come running through his conscience. The weight of every sin that he carries in his soul. “You’ve already put up with enough of my shit.”

“I’ve thought you were dead for over a year, Frankie, this is really the least you can do.” The playful tone in your voice has him lifting his head, looking down at you as you press along his rib cage to check for breaks. He winces at the bruising, but nothing gives, so you figure it’s nothing more than that. “Seriously.”

“You get involved with me, that puts you in the line of fire, okay? And I ain’t doin’ that.” 

“That why you stopped showing up on my doorstep? Afraid I couldn’t hold my own?”

“No, it’s not that-”

“Then what, Castle?” Your eyes snap up, a fiery glare of indignance lighting them. “Didn’t want me slowing you down? Didn’t want me getting in your way?”

“That ain’t why and you damn well know it!” His nostrils flare, leaning forward enough to get in your face. “He was comin’ after the people I cared about. Karen, Curtis, everyone!” His shoulders heave, his brow low as he scowls at you. You match his stare, refusing to back down. Eventually, he crumbles. “Everyone,” he rasps, sitting back. “Nobody was safe. Bill took my family from me. I couldn’t let him take you too.” He bites his cheek, looking everywhere but at you. “Not you too.”

You close your eyes with a soft sigh, your shoulders slumping as you discard the bloody gauze in your hand, reaching for more. “I get it,” you whisper, eyes focusing back in on your work, and you take a moment to revel in the familiarity of the whole ordeal. “I get it, Frankie. But what I choose to get involved with is my decision, not yours.” Your eyes flick up, finding him watching you before you look back at his chest. “I want to help you. Come back to my place. Have some food, get some rest and a shower. Heal up some. Then we’ll talk about what’s next. Because I can’t live with not knowing, Frank. I can’t live with not knowing whether you’re alive or dead, praying that every DOA isn’t you. I can’t do that again.” Your voice breaks at the end, your shoulders trembling as you press the medicated patch to the abrasion over his heart. 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away the tear that had managed to escape and trace a path down your face, and you close your eyes. You tilt your head into his hand just a touch, letting it remind you that he’s here, and he’s alive. “...Okay,” he concedes, voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

It’s late when the two of you get home, and you feel dead on your feet. Frank had asked to go and pick up what little gear he had stashed away in an abandoned warehouse before coming home, and now you have a small armory in his duffle bags by the front door. “There’s a guest room,” you yawn, reaching over your head to stretch before groaning in relief at the loud crack it makes. “It’s all yours. Take as long of a shower as you want, alright? There are fresh bandages in the med kit under the sink.” You look over your shoulder up at him to find him scoping the place out, brow still set in concern. “Frankie?”

“Got it.”

Your brow furrows but you relent, too tired to try and work more out of him after the events of today. “I’m off tomorrow. Can take you to do whatever you need once I’m up. G’night, Frank.”

“Night.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you head to your bedroom all the way until the door shuts behind you. The sigh you let out as you slump against it is world weary, and a dull ache is starting to bloom behind your eyes now that the adrenaline of the day has finally worn off. Pressing your thumbs to the spot between your eyes does little to dull the ache that is slowly being matched by the one blooming in your chest.

He’s alive.

A year and a handful of months and he turns up in your hospital ER, alive. Beat to shit, but alive and kicking and every bit the man you watched walk out your door every time you patched him up. You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. At the same time. The way he had talked about you like you were as important to him as the family he lost has been on your mind since he first brought it up, but you’ve tried so hard not to think too hard about it. Getting your hopes up like that just feels… tasteless. Especially knowing how he feels about his family, how he’s never really stopped grieving.

With a groan, you push off the door, shucking your scrubs directly into the bin you reserve for work clothes. A decent night’s sleep is what you need. It’ll help to come at whatever tomorrow holds with a fresh mind, capable of thinking at least a little bit logically. At least, until he uses those big brown eyes of his again like the weapons of mass destruction that they are, and has you crumbling right into his hands. Putty to do with as he pleases. But that’s tomorrow you’s problem. Right now, you’re falling into bed with a thud, drifting to sleep with the sound of the running water in the guest bath.

Blood.

There’s so much blood.

The average person has around five liters of the stuff, but the amount around you; on the floor, on your scrubs, on your hands seems like so much more. The smell is stifling, mixing with the tang of sweat and gunpowder.

“No,” you manage to garble out, your voice thick with desperation. “No, please no.”

You’re shoved aside amid screams from the nurses, battered around like a leaf on the wind as the gurney rushes past you. A large hand falls from under the white sheet, blood dripping from it in a steady stream, leaving a trail along the linoleum. It doesn’t move.

Dead On Arrival.

You wake with a scream in your throat, your heart pounding against the confines of your ribcage as you sit up ramrod straight in bed. “Whoa whoa whoa, easy there. Easy, easy.” A heavy hand rests on your back, warm and comforting and grounding. “Easy, it’s alright. It was just a dream.” Your wide eyes turn to find Frank sitting on the side of your bed, his face half lit by the dull red glow of the alarm clock. Red. Red, just like the blood in your dream. Just like his blood. The sob lodged in your throat breaks free, your face contorting up as tears well in your eyes, and you launch yourself into his chest. He lets out a quiet groan, but his arms quickly come around you, holding you securely to him as you bawl into his chest. It had all felt so real.

“I gotcha sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in a soothing gesture. “You’re alright, I gotcha.”

It takes many long minutes of  stuttered sobs and whispered soothings for your cries to finally stop. When they do, you pull back, still sniffling as you wipe your swollen and tear stained face. You’re thankful for the cover of darkness at this particular moment. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks, voice soft and gravely in the night, on hand staying on your upper arm, thumb rubbing at it soothingly.

You sniffle again, lips tugged down in a sharp frown. He doesn’t press you any more quickly than that, letting you take the time you need. “You died.” Voicing those words into the night does little to abate the stone in your gut. “DOA. At my hospital.” He doesn’t move for another moment after that, just watching you as you stare down at your hands resting limply in your lap.

“Do you have that dream often, sweetheart?”

You think about shaking your head, but decide it best not to lie. He would call you out on it, anyways. “More often than I’d like. The longer you were gone, the worse they got.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, and he looks away. An uncomfortable silence settles over the both of you, an unspoken game of chicken as neither wants to be the first to speak. But Frank is used to hard decisions. Used to saying the hard things that need to be said. “It’d be easier, wouldn’t it?”

You could swear your heart stops beating for a moment. “What?”

“If I showed up dead one day. It be easier.” His head is on a swivel, looking around the room at anything and everything. Except for you. “At least then you wouldn’t be wonderin’. Wouldn’t be losin’ sleep over me. I ain’t worth it, sweetheart. I ain’t.”

“Fuck you, Frank Castle.” That gets his attention back on you. “Not worth it my ass. Not worth it. Not wor- do you hear yourself?” You bring your knees under you, getting in his face. He doesn’t back down, his whole body going rigid, his jaw tensing and nostrils flaring. “Easier if you were DOA? Yeah, ok, I’d know where you are every day. In the goddamn ground. And and and then what? Huh? What happens then, you in the ground and me in my hospital where every time I see the name Frank I think of you? Every time I see a big nose I think about how many times I set yours? Every gruff voice reminds me of every time you said my name? And then what? Huh?” He looks away, unable to keep your gaze. His tongue darts out to pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he processes. You should back down. He’s a grenade, poised to explode, all you need to do is pull the pin. “What then, Frank? You live that life already, thinking about someone you love in the ground, so then you go and wish that on someone else?”

The pin drops.

You can count the heartbeats of silence before he’s turning his head oh so slowly back to you. There’s a fire burning in those brown eyes of his, one that surpasses your own. He rises off the bed, staring you down, chest puffed out. The words came out before you could think better of it. It was a low blow. A really, really low blow.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” That growl…. He’s never used that growl with you before. He’s never been that harsh before. 

“Frank, I-”

“No. No you don’t get ta back peddle outta this one.” He turns away from you, hands on his hips, the tension so thick you can cut it with a knife. “I can’t bring ya into this. I can’t. I won’t.” You’re quiet, letting him work through wherever his mind has run off to. “No, no I can’t.”

“Forget I said anything,” you whisper, shrinking back down on the bed as he turns to stare at you over his shoulder. He licks his lips before turning to face you full on.

“You wanna know why I left? Why I really left?”

“You already told me.”

“Nah, that was just part of it.” He sighs, looking to the ground. “Sure, Russo, Homeland. All of it was one big clusterfuck, but I handled it. I did.” You watch every possible emotion flash across his face before his arms drop to his side, shoulders sagging. “I left cause I was starting to care too much.” A heartbeat as he lifts his eye to catch your gaze dead on. “About you.”

Another heartbeat.

“About me?”

“Yeah.” It's a raspy whisper, barely there as he drops his head again, staring at the ground. “And the people I care about… They get hurt. They always get hurt.” He’s breaking. You can hear it, feel it. That strong exterior protects a man with a heart too good for this world, that carries more pain and grief than anyone should ever have to. 

You slowly shuffle off the bed, your night shirt brushing your knees as you make your way over to him. “I’m not gonna get hurt, Frank.”

“You can’t know that, you can’t.” You’ve never heard him… so broken. “You can’t.”

One hand reaches out to take one of his, while the other reaches up to ghost your fingertips along his bruised cheek before coming to rest along his strong jaw. His eyes are clenched closed up until you whisper his name. “Look at me, please.” When he does, you feel like you could cry seeing how glassy his are with unshed tears. A broken man. “I’m not gonna get hurt.”

“You can’t be sure about that.”

“I can. Frank, I’m a nurse. Whatever happens, I’ll be ok.”

“And when someone I cross comes for you to get to me?” His voice breaks on the last word, your heart with it. “What then? What happens if I have to put someone I love in the ground again?”

“We can’t dwell on phantasms of the future, Frank. We can’t see the future, and we can’t live life afraid of it, because that’s not living.” He doesn’t reply to that, reaching up to take your hand and pull it away from his face, but he doesn’t let it go. “Is it time to start living again, Frank? To stop chasing ghosts and running from phantoms?”

“I ain’t lived in a real long time, sweetheart. Not sure I remember how.” His thumb runs over your knuckles and it sends a shiver through your body.

“No time like the present, yeah? And look.” You drop his hands, reaching up to cup his face with both of yours, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “I’m not asking you to stop doing what you do. I’m not asking you for any sort of… emotional commitment. I’m asking for you to give me the chance to give you somewhere to call home… and someone to start coming home to again. Okay?”

He swallows, his eyes desperately searching for something in yours while tears threaten to spill over. Whether or not he finds what he’s looking for, you don’t know, but he eventually nods, reaching up to pull your hands away again before turning to press a kiss to the inside of your right wrist, eyes staying focused on you. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

A smile splits your lips, soft and sweet at the gesture, your heart fluttering in your chest. You’ll address that when you’ve both had a little more sleep. For now, this will be enough.

“Okay.”

~~~~~

@dopeqff  @phoenixhalliwell  @booksandlatenights @heressss-jordan @mstgsmy @haley-the-comet @toomanystoriessolittletime​