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kaciidubs · 1 year ago

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Ass or Tits?

❣ Summary: The question of 'ass or tits' never truly mattered when you had a group of men who loved all of you. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 6.4k ❣ Warnings: Poly! OT8 x Reader, smut, humor, fluff, light Dom/Sub dynamics, creampie(s), squirting, cum play, referenced after care ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Usual first name + pet name references for the members, Reader is referred to as Baby, Mommy, Miss, Princess, Good Girl, Bunny, Bub, Kitten, Jagi, Noona, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Hey, Hyune?”

The artist hummed as he sketched away at his desk, “Yeah?”

“What do you like better, ass or tits?”

He froze, dropping the charcoal pencil as your words ran through his head on repeat.

“Your ass or tits?”

There was no way he was about to get caught in an infamous partner discourse, not after years of being immune to other futile debates brought on by a certain freckle-faced fairy.

You scoffed out a laugh, rolling onto your stomach from your resting place on his bed, “I mean, I’d hope you’d be talking about my ass or tits, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin whipped his head toward you, eyebrows pushing to his hairline, “W-Well how am I supposed to know!? This is one of the questions every person dreads! You’re expecting me to pick one or the other on one of my favorite people in the world? What then? Are you going to ask me ‘acrylic or charcoal’? Because I’ll have you know, those are two very different mediums and-”

“Hyunjin, baby - it’s just a question!” Stifling a chuckle, you shook your head, “It’s not like I’m going to ban you from sex if you pick something I didn’t expect - I’m just curious, you know? All of you have different preferences and even though after two years I can kind of make a good guess, I wanna hear it from the sources.”

His shoulders relaxed, visibly slumping in his chair and running his cleaner hand through his short hair, “You’re stressing me out, muse! Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m so sorry, my little drama queen - now, pick!”

Dark eyes scanned your figure, his head cocking to the side and if you looked closer you could’ve seen the gears turning in his brain.

“Mm… Tits.”

“I knew it.”

“Wha- What’s that supposed to mean?! Are you calling me basic?”

“No, my prince, I’m calling you predictable,” getting off of the bed, you walked toward him and pinched his cheek lovingly, “you grope Changbin’s chest like it’s your job, and there’s rarely a moment your hand isn’t on my chest when we’re cuddling. Now, go wash up - we’re meeting in Chris’s room.”

With a quick kiss to the crown of his head, you walked out of his room with your phone in hand, thumbs typing away in your group chat.

|❣️: Chris’s room asap 💋

“So… Is there a reason why we were summoned? To Chan’s room, no less?” Minho hummed inquisitively, picking up a small souvenir from the eldest’s dresser and turning it in his hands.

“If this is an intervention about League, I swear I didn’t mean to yell that night - I honestly didn’t think anyone heard me!” Came Felix’s whine of defense, already making himself a home on the California king bed, “Seungmin was throwing the game on purpose and I was losing against this stupid-”

“That’s crazy.” Seungmin gaped, faux shock on his face as he purposefully rolled on top of the Aussie, a muffled groan getting caught in the midst of it all. “I told you not to put too much trust in me!”

“Lixie, hate to break it to you, but this definitely isn’t an intervention, but we’ll come back to that point later.” Clapping your hands, you took in the rest of the members who either piled onto the bed, doubled up in Chris’s computer chair, or stood against the door frame. “Anyways - I called you guys here because I have a question!”

“I’d peel a pineapple for you if you asked.”

The room went silent as all eyes shot to Jisung who was currently seated in Minho’s lap, a triumphant smile on his pretty lips.

“I… No, Jisung, it’s not that question, but I’ll remember your answer when I do ask.” Willing away the confused looks sent your way, you cleared your throat, “The actual question is; which do each of you like better - my ass, or my tits?”

The room broke into an uproar, various voices speaking over one another as some questioned the validity of the question while others argued their respective points.

“Noona, you really think we can just pick one thing to like about you?”

Minho scoffed, “I can - her ass, easily.”

“Oh… Shit, you’re right.”

“Jeongin?! Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t pick?!”

“Hyung, that was before I was reminded of how her ass looks in her pajama shorts - you can’t tell me that’s not the hottest sight.”

“I can because I chose her tits!”

Felix laughed, holding his hand up for an air high-five, “I was gonna pick her tits too, Jinnie!”

“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever heard,” Seungmin mumbled, throwing an arm over his face, though it did nothing to cover the redness of his ears.

“Bunny, you know you’re more than just your body parts, right?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Binnie, I’m well aware - I’m just asking for the fun of it, it’s nothing deeper than that!”

Changbin hummed, fluffy curls shifting with the movement, “In that case, I’m team ass - it’s just so cute and round and-” He lifted his hand, squeezing the air as if it were your ass cheeks with a dreamy sigh, “-god, I love it.”

“Okay but, what if we can’t pick?” Jisung piped up, a soft pout puffing his cheeks, “There’s no way I can just choose one - look at you, you’re fucking sexy, Jagi!”

“The oral fixation says boobs, Han, there’s no way out of it.”Felix deadpanned from his place on the bed, his head turned to nail the man with a mischievous glint, “Trust me, I know.”

The latter’s eyes flicked to your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts in the loose fabric with ease. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right - her tits are amazing.”

“Alright, Chan and Seungmin, you two are the only ones left - make your choice!” Hyunjin demanded lightly, gesturing his hand toward your body from his seat next to you, “Tits or ass? Ass or tits? Which one is it?”

“I’m not playing this game,” the youngest of the two mumbled, his position unchanged.

“Oh, come on, Seungmin! She said it herself, it’s just for fun, she won’t take any offense to what you choose,” Felix prodded, wiggling his body next to his boyfriend, “and we won’t make fun of you if you pick something we didn’t expect.”

“Yeah, puppy,” reaching down, you threaded your fingers through his black hair, “whatever you pick is fine with me, and if anyone makes fun of you for it, they won’t get anything from me for a week.”

That roused a small chuckle from him as he moved his arm, looking up at you with soft eyes, “Really? You think you could go that long?”

“For my Seungmin? Of course. Now, which is it, baby?”

His lips quivered, struggling between forming words and keeping his solitude until he finally murmured, “I like your thighs.”

“That wasn’t even an-”

You quieted Hyunjin with a glare, “Finish that sentence and that’s the only thing you’ll be finishing near me, Hwang.”

“Aw- I wanna change my answer, her thighs are fucking amazing too!” Jisung all but wailed, practically having a full on meltdown, “When you’re eating her out and she wraps them around your head like earmuffs - they’re so warm but you can’t hear her moans when she does it so it’s just a horrible, beautiful curse!”

“No changing your answer, Sungie, you’re still team tits.”

Now, all the attention was directed to the only one left; Chris, still leaning against the doorway of his room with an embarrassed flush on his face - nothing preparing him for this conversation that pulled him from the sanctity of his laundry run.

“Well, Chris? What do you like?” You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, knowing full and well that everyone already knew what their boyfriend would pick.

“Ah- You’re seriously going to make me say it?!”

“Come on, Chan, we all said ours, no matter how obvious,” Changbin sent a side eye in an unbothered Minho’s direction, “some of ours may have been.”

The eldest sighed, dropping his head before bringing it up once again, “I like your ass, baby.”

Scoffing, Felix crawled across Seungmin to get closer to you, “I don’t understand how you guys can pick her ass over these,” his hand quickly found home over one of your breasts, gently squeezing the mound over your shirt and earning a shocked gasp in return, “like, how could you not want to suffocate in them?”

“Especially with how sensitive her nipples are?” Hyunjin chimed in, claiming your other breast with his larger hand, jiggling and watching the ripples from your shirt in response.

“Oh my god- The sound she makes when you suck on them?” The bed dipped with a new weight, Jisung making his way onto the bed, causing Jeongin to crawl over and straddle Seungmin. “You guys are seriously missing out.”

Changbin groaned, “It’s not like we don’t like them, we just love her ass more, there’s a difference, Ji.”

In the meantime, you couldn’t help the small sighs of pleasure escaping you as the duo continued to fondle you over your shirt, Jisung taking the hem into his hands.

“Can we, Jagi?”

You nodded happily, “You can, Sungie.”

Hyunjin and Felix pulled back as he lifted your shirt up and off, tossing it off the edge of the bed without a care in the world - why would he, when your tits were on display for him and the men that admired them?

“Why don’t we all take the chance to really admire our favorite parts about you, my muse?”

Hyunjin’s sultry voice easily floated through the air, the hidden implications more than enough for the atmosphere to ignite with lust.

“Are you ready, angel?”

You blinked up at Felix with dazzling eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Of course, Lixie.”

In the background, you could hear the familiar sounds of panted breaths and the rustling of clothing, but you wouldn’t dare to turn your head from the scene in front - or, rather, above you.

Hyunjin took the role of straddling your torso while Felix and Jisung kneeled at the sides of your head without even a hint of the clothing that once covered their bodies.

“Innie, can you pass me the lube?”

Jeongin broke from Seungmin’s lips with a groan, narrowing his eyes, “Why can’t you just spit on it, Hyung? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Because I asked you to? If I felt like spitting I would’ve done it already,” Hyunjin spoke matter-of-factly, catching the glimpse of Jisung guiding his dick into your mouth from the corner of his eye, “don’t be a smartass!”

“Smarta-”

The youngest was unceremoniously flipped onto his back, the black haired singer reaching into the nightstand and tossing over a bottle of lube with a huff.

“Seriously, it was never that big of a deal, you brat.”

Snatching up the tube, Hyunjin wasted no time in squeezing a generous amount between the valley of your breasts, humming out a small apology when you jumped at the cold gel on your skin.

“Forget what I said,” Jisung moaned softly, watching the way your cheeks puffed and hollowed with each drag of his cock, “your mouth is my favorite part.”

Pulling off of him with a pop, you pumped him with your right hand and tossed him a teasing smirk, “You’re still team tits, Sungie.”

Turning your head, you eagerly welcomed Felix’s dick with an eager tongue lapping at the precum beading the tip before taking him in one fell swoop.

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that your mouth is fucking amazing, sunshine.” Felix groaned, bringing a hand to cup your cheek as he lightly thrust into your leisurely bobs.

“Especially for the fact that we’re here for these.” Hyunjin’s lube covered hands squeezed your breasts around his length, the swells positively shining as they sandwiched his cock in an unparalleled warmth.

It wasn’t long until an unplanned rhythm was found between the four of you; alternating between blowjobs and handjobs for the sunshine twins while a certain artist busied himself with a simple rhythm of humping your chest.

In the meantime, Changbin managed to swap positions with Minho for the chair, sitting the second eldest in his lap and littering slow kisses paired with sharp nips along the length of his neck while he watched the show before them.

“Chan, you’re not going to just stand there the whole time, are you?” Minho mused with a raised eyebrow, noting the way the eldest hadn’t even moved a muscle from his spot near the door.

Chris hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, “No, but I’m doing laundry - I don’t wanna get sidetracked and forget about it in the wash, you know?”

There was a disinterested hum followed by a huff he knew all too well, and he found himself pushing off of the doorway with a breathless laugh.

“You have such a way with words, you know that?”

Smirking, Minho shrugged, “I know, it’s a talent.”

Standing in front of the two - and inadvertently blocking the once flawless view - Chris planted his hands on the armrests of the chair before leaning down to catch Minho's lips in a slow kiss, just to part a moment later to do the same with Changbin over his shoulder.

“A-Ah- Tighten your hand a little, Jagi.”

“You have hands,” Hyunjin panted, licking his lips as he watched his pink tip repeatedly disappear and reappear, “help her out- fuck, Lix…”

The blond hummed against his neck, licking at a blossoming hickey, “‘M sorry, just feels so good.”

“Hyune, move your hand a bit.”

Abiding the request, Hyunjin slid his hand to the outer swell of your breast while Jisung licked his fingers before easily finding their way to your nipple, gently rolling the nub between his finger and thumb.

The moan you let out was instantly muffled by Felix’s cock, which in turn made him grit out a shivering groan, “F-Fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

“M-Me too,” Jisung nodded frantically, eyes trained on the way his hand enveloped yours as he fucked your fist, “gonna paint those pretty tits of yours, Jagi.”

It only took a handful of strokes before Felix was drawing from your mouth with frantic breaths, Jisung slipping from your soiled hand to take over the rest of the job as they both aimed for your chest.

“God, look at how gorgeous they look wrapped around Jinnie’s dick.”

“They were just made to have a dick between them, huh?”

You groaned helplessly, bringing your hands to cover Hyunjin’s and squish your breasts together more, “C-Come on, show mommy how much you love her tits.”

If there was one thing to get them to fall, it was that title - and, like a harp string being plucked, they both came with a sharp gasp and a guttural groan, cum spraying across your breasts and a few drops even landing on your fingers.

Hyunjin shivered above you, eyebrows drawing together with the silver eyebrow piercing catching the glint of the light.

“I can see you’re close, Hyune,” squeezing his hands lightly, you watched as Jisung and Felix flocked to him, hands wandering his chest while lips danced along his shoulders and neck, “come for Miss, my prince, make a mess of me.”

A choked moan fell past his lips as his hips stuttered before he lifted himself onto his knees and came against your breasts, his cum joining the mess of the other two with ease and creating an intricate pattern of white along your skin.

Jisung dipped down to lick a fat stripe through the cum, collecting as much as he could onto his tongue before pulling Felix in for a beautifully messy kiss above you - then repeated the process with Hyunjin, leaving you in a state of horny awe.

“Seungmin, you’re up next.” Felix called happily, swiping his thumb along your breast before presenting it to your lips and watched as you eagerly licked it clean. “You’re so kinky.”

You stifled a laugh, giving the pad of his thumb a soft kiss, “You’re one to talk.”

The trio moved away to make room for the thigh connoisseur, watching as he untangled himself from Jeongin and shuffled between your legs - your pajama shorts and underwear having already met the same fate as your t-shirt moments ago.

“I… I don’t think I’m gonna last long,” he mumbled quietly, a strawberry blush turning his ears as he nudged the leaking head of his cock against the plush of your inner thigh. “Might’ve pushed it a bit too close with Innie.”

“That’s more than okay, pup,” reaching your hand out, you grabbed the lube before handing it to him, “if it bothers you, you can always have a round two later, okay?”

Seungmin nodded dutifully, taking the lube from you while tapping your legs, prompting you to lift them both and lean them on his chest; pouring a generous amount of lube in the palm of his hand to coat around his length.

With a bit of maneuvering, he had both of your calves resting on his right shoulder with his dick nestled in the tight space between your thighs and just above your pelvis - if you focused hard enough, you could feel the heat of his balls against the lips of your pussy.

“M-Mm, fuck…” Wrapping his right arm around your legs, his left hand went down to grip the outside of your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he jutted his hips forward with a quiet moan.

You watched on as he fucked your thighs in quick, sharp thrusts, brown eyes fogged and unfocused as he began to chase the high that was undoubtedly close.

“Good puppy, my good puppy - love my thighs so much, hm? Maybe one of these days I should get you to hump one, would you like that?”

You could clock the faint twinkle in his eye from a mile away, catching the subtle pout of his lips as his body rocked against yours without rhyme but with the sole reason of finishing.

His blush now crawled across his face, tinting the apples of his cheeks as his eyes found yours, “Really?”

Humming, you flexed your thighs, “Really, pup, I’d love to watch you ride me.”

He whimpered, blunt nails digging into your skin as his head dropped to nip at your ankle, “W-Want that, bub - want it so bad.”

“Then it’s yours, Minnie. I’m all yours.”

The next thrust forward had ropes of white streaking up the length of your stomach, breathless moans hidden behind firmly pressed lips as Seungmin shook against your legs, tensing and shaking with each wave until he finally relaxed with a shaky breath.

“You okay, pup?”

Nodding, he gave you a soft smile, “Yeah, but you better not forget your promise.”

You laughed, accepting a kiss to your ankle as a parting gift as he moved away from you and into the arms of a lounging Hyunjin - the comment of him being “disgustingly sweaty”, and Hyunjin’s response of “Then get off of me!”, not going unnoticed in the process.

Turning your gaze to the ceiling, a knowing smile grew on your lips, “Do I even have to ask who’s going next?”

“Nope!” Sliding into view came your darling bread, a smug grin on his lips as his face hovered over yours, “You don’t even have to guess, I’m already here.”

Bringing your hand to his jaw, you lightly scratched your nails under his chin, “Of course you are, maknae - so, how do you want me? Doggy style? Reverse cowgirl? Some secret third position I have yet to learn?”

Judging from the sparkle of his eyes the instant the second option left your lips, he had his decision already cut out and you laughed at his inability to be discreet.

“Alright, I guess this is to make up for slacking on leg day, isn’t it?”

Jeongin rolled onto his back, watching as you straddled him with ease, “You’d have to ask Changbin Hyung about that, Noona - you were the one who suggested it anywa- ah!”

You didn’t need to waste time in teasing yourself as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, lining it up with your severely neglected pussy before sinking down in one fell swoop - a satisfied moan leaving your lips.

“O-Oh god, maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Oh? And what makes you say that, baby?”

Of course, you already knew the answer judging from the way his calves tensed, his toes curled and - less externally obvious - the way his dick twitched inside of your warm walls.

“Noona, please-”

“Have a little too much fun with Minnie, huh? Got yourself all excited while you were waiting?” Clicking your tongue, you rolled your hips teasingly, “I bet you were touching yourself while Seungmin was having his turn, weren’t you, baby boy?”

He whined, tossing his head back with a groan, “Just- Just give me a minute, I swear I’ll last!”

Humming, you waited a few seconds before shaking your head, “Sorry, Innie, if you come early then that’s just how it is - just lay back and enjoy the view, okay? This is what you wanted, remember?”

With no other choice, the sounds of your joined moans soon filled the room as you rode him with one goal on your mind.

“Fuck, look at that view…” Neither one of you were aware of Changbin’s sudden presence beside the bed as he leaned beside Jeongin, basking in the sight of your ass jiggling with each bounce. “I’ll never get over it.”

“I-” Jeongin whimpered, short huffs of breaths escaping him, “T-This is the first time-”

“-she’s ridden reverse cowgirl?! IN-ah, what were you waiting for?!”

“It’s not that he was waiting,” you laughed breathlessly, though the clench of your pussy earned a moan in its wake, “he was just too excited to try everything else that normal positions were at the bottom of his list.”

“What a shame, wasting his chance like this.”

Lifting your head, you were now met with the sight of Minho directly in front of you, keen eyes unblinking as he took you in with a smirk.

“Is it a waste, Min?” Slowing your bounces to languid strokes, your head tilted prettily to the side, “I’d like to think of it as an introduction to what future chances would be like.”

This time, his smirk reached his eyes, brown irises sparkling with amusement, “You naughty kitten.” His hand cupped your cheek as he dipped down to steal a kiss, nipping at your bottom lip in the process.

You preened at the sensation, but the moan that followed came from the firm grip on the swell of your ass cheek, the hand and the pressure stemming from two different forms of familiarity.

“See? What did I tell you?” Changbin smirked, squeezing his hand over Jeongin’s to tighten his grip on your ass, “You can watch all you want, but the real fun is in touching.”

The younger groaned out a desperate sound, “‘M g-gonna-”

At the hint of his confession, you forfeited the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours for the opportunity to go back to bouncing on Jeongin’s dick without abandon, fisting the sheets to distract from the unyielding burn in your thighs.

“-a-ah- p-please- N-Noona, oh god, I-” He cut himself off with a choked gasp, hips canting as his orgasm took him by storm.

A hum of satisfaction vibrated past your lips as his warmth filled you, stilling to spare him the overstimulation for the time being. “Feels so good baby, you never disappoint.”

Once the incessant twitching of his cock died down, you lifted yourself off of his lap, shivering at the sensation of his load slowly seeping out of you and dribbling back onto his spent dick.

“So,” you breathed, looking between the two men currently surrounding you and shooting a glance toward Chris, “who’s next?”

The answer to that question was a very smug Minho, excitement thrumming through your veins as he nodded his head toward the edge of the bed - the silent command leading you to find yourself to where you currently were now.

“Minho!”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, the mattress rocking along with your body as the black haired man fucked into you like a man possessed.

“It’s only fair that someone gives you your first orgasm of the night, kitten,” he drawled, thumbs digging into the small of your back as he held you impossibly tighter, “why wouldn’t I make sure that it’s me giving it to you?”

Your body couldn’t decide between attempting to run away from his powerful thrusts, or submit yourself to the fiery pleasure that hoped to consume you, until you felt the warmth of his hands sliding up your back, past your shoulder blades, and along your forearms.

Like a slab of clay for him to mold, he maneuvered your arms behind your back and pinned them with one hand, the other going back to its home on your hip as he aimed long, precise thrusts to a spot he was well acquainted with.

The side of your face melted into the mattress, tears of pleasure blurring your vision, as any sound you’d hoped to make dissolved into hiccuped breaths and encouraging mewls.

Minho grunted, clenching his jaw as he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm begin to shine through, “That’s it, kitten, give it to me.”

Your legs trembled, pussy fluttering and clenching with each passing second until your body tensed with a cry of his name falling from your spit-shined lips.

He welcomed the new wave of arousal coating his dick and adding to the already sloppy glide of your cunt, wet slaps sounding through the room as he fucked you through your high with a breathless chuckle.

“There it is.”

Grip tightening on your wrists, his hips met yours a number of times before he pulled out with a gasp, jacking himself off with his free hand and coming along the curve of your ass and thighs - much to your delirious chagrin.

“Why…?” You whined breathlessly, wiggling your hips for further emphasis - not that he needed it.

Minho released your wrists to land a swift smack to your unsoiled ass cheek, a satisfied smile curling his lips from the squeak you let out. “Because I wanted to - you still have two people to fill you the way you wish, kitten, let’s not get too greedy, hm?”

There was a slew of giggles and chuckles from the onlookers, and you tried your best to send them your best glare, though your efforts were in vain as you felt a pair of hands caressing your thighs.

“Get up on the bed for Binnie, bunny.”

You obeyed with no hesitation, already knowing which position you would be set in for the remainder of the session as you turned to tuck a pillow under your chin, bringing your knees up and out to sit your hips high in the air and dip your spine into a fine arch - pretty and presentable.

“God,” Changbin groaned, scrambling to fill in the space behind you as fast as he could, “I’ve been waiting so long to get you like this, bunny, you would not believe.” His firm hands instantly went to cup your ass, spreading your cheeks further and sucking in a breath at your glistening hole. “So fucking pretty…”

“Binnie.”

Your insistent, warning whine hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, and he wasted no time in notching the fat head of his dick to your fluttering walls.

“Alright, bunny, deep breaths for me.”

Of course, you already knew the drill, having grown custom to the mind numbingly delicious stretch only he was capable of giving you, but the reminder never failed to stir the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

With a deep inhale, your slow exhale was followed by him sinking past your walls, each inch slowly stretching your cunt around his girth.

It wasn’t long until he was fully seated inside of you, and with warm hands kneading the flesh of your ass, he drew his hips back before snapping them forward, punching a moan from the depths of your lungs.

Even if you were still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you were still begging for more with each whimpered moan and choked gasp as your body seemed to melt deeper into the arch you had set.

“Look at you, can’t get enough of us, can you?” Changbin goaded, though his tone was soft and warm, “It’s okay, we can’t get enough of you either, bunny.” He lifted his hand to slap the swell of your ass, before gripping the flesh, “You and this ass of yours.”

A shiver shot down your spine as his hand slipped, his thumb caressing the inside of your cheek and just barely grazing your asshole - a temptation that had shown its face among a few of the boys before, but was never fully dwelled on by them nor yourself.

“I’m curious, bunny,” he hummed, slowing his fast thrusts for laxed, deeper ruts, “would you ever let one of us use this other pretty hole of yours?” Sliding his hand further, he pressed his thumb against the tight ring just enough to burn the fantasy into a possible reality, “Would you let Binnie fuck this pretty ass?”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping onto the poor pillow below you, “Y-Yes! Yes! I-It’s all yours, Binnie - want it so bad!”

His signature, triumphant laugh filled the room as he tossed a glance to his boyfriends, “Hear that? I get first dibs.”

“You can’t just ask her questions like that!” Jeongin groaned, a stern pout set on his lips, “She agrees to anything if you fuck her long enough!”

“Yeah, how else do you think Felix managed to stay up late enough for his Apex tournament that one time?”

“How am I always being brought up here?!” The blond scoffed as he lightly shoved Hyunjin, crossing his arms over his lithe chest, “But, I mean, yeah - three orgasms can get you a pretty good deal.”

Jisung hummed inquisitively, before narrowing his eyes, “But did you win?”

“He won,” Minho huffed, a smirk curving the corners of his lips, “and he gave her head the next morning, I could hear her moans from the kitchen.”

Muted thumps of the headboard began to grow in frequency until a low groan interrupted the riveting conversation - Changbin hunching over your body as his muscles tensed, shivering while he filled you with his seed.

“God, fuck,” he hissed, rolling his hips against yours while your walls fluttered around him, clenching from the orgasm that was just moments away. “You’re too good to us, you know that, bunny?”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, stifling a moan as his hands massaged your lower back out of its arch for a moment of respite, “I-I’ve been told once or twice,” turning your head, sultry eyes landed on the final man of the hour, “but you guys are worth it.”

Chris flushed under the heat of your gaze, just barely catching Changbin’s teasing “Don’t break her back, Chan.”, as he climbed onto the bed and took the space previously occupied by the rapper.

“Think you can stay in this position one more time, baby?” He mused softly, caressing the warm skin of your back before gliding his hand down to the curve of your ass.

Without answering him, you spread your knees and tucked yourself into a deeper arch, wiggling your hips to further entice the man behind you.

“Yeah,” Seungmin chuckled, lazily crossing his arms over his chest, “he’s blowing her back out, it’s over.”

As much as you wanted to turn your head to respond, your train of thought flew out the window as you felt the bed dip slightly, before the pressure of Chris’s blunt tip nudged against your cunt, bumping against your clit tauntingly.

“Alright, princess,” he breathed, dragging the tip along your slit, “why don’t you give them a show for daddy, hm?”

This time, your reply came in the form of an elongated moan as he sunk into your heat, the stretch coming with ease after Changbin’s size, yet the length making your toes curl.

“Oh, god-”

There was no opportunity for a pause, not when you were miles beyond prepped and ready; the orgasm Minho previously gave you, paired with the second one Changbin gently guided you toward yet kept from tipping over, leaving you with a bubble that was ready to burst within minutes.

“F-Fuck, daddy,” you keened, pressing your hips into his own in feigned hopes of getting him impossibly deeper, “please, please fuck me.”

Chris ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes glued to the way your pussy wrapped around his length, as he nodded, “Hands, baby.”

A shiver of excitement shot down your spine and you complied almost immediately, using the pillow to keep your head propped up as you worked your arms behind your back, the warmth of his hand easily finding your wrists and pinning them.

With you set up to his liking, he slowly pulled out just about halfway before driving his hips forward with force, the added balance of his right foot planted on the bed adding to his power.

He was definitely going to blow your back out.

It didn’t take long for him to find the perfect rhythm, nor did it take long for the room to be filled with your high pitched moans and gasps, and the slap of your ass against his thighs - the ripples slowly, but surely, turning your limbs to jelly.

“Our perfect girl,” he gritted out, the grip on your hip and wrists tightening marginally, “letting us admire you for the beautiful gem you are - take turns with this gorgeous body of yours.”

It wasn’t news that they were constantly in awe of you, with and without your clothes on - you were the brightest star in their night sky, you were the puzzle piece they finally found to complete their lives separately and together - and they never failed to remind you of how loved you were.

“But, you know you’re so much more than that, don’t you, princess?” Chris tilted his head to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes fogged and unfocused, lips parted with endless moans tumbling through, “You’re so much more than just your body to us.”

“C-Chris!” You managed to choke out between a whimper, his loving sentiments paired with the unyielding strokes of his cock to your deepest, sweetest parts turning your brain to mush, though your body responded in the best way it could.

He hissed at the telltale clench of your walls, a shiver running down his spine as he nodded mindlessly, “Already? It’s alright, baby, you can come for me - don’t hold back, yeah? Give it to me - give it all to me.”

Your body reacted faster than your mind could at his command, your orgasm barrelling toward you at a speed that had your hands balling into fists; every muscle in your body tensing and clenching until the thread snapped with one more well angled thrust. Mouth falling open with a silent scream, the only sound you were able to hear was your own heartbeat as your vision went white.

The first thing to return to you was your hearing, the muffled thumps of your heart fading out into loud, heavy pants - though you knew for a fact that breathing wasn’t just you. The next sense to return was touch, the slightly damp sheets underneath you grounding you back to reality as your eyes fluttered open only to land on an unexpected face.

“Sungie?”

“Jagi, if I swap to ‘Team Ass’ can you do that for me, too?” Jisung’s face was ripe with blush, though his eyes were wide and wild with lust that had your abdomen clench almost painfully.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you frowned lightly, “Do what?”

“You squirted, muse,” Hyunjin murmured beside him, awe laced in his tone, “that was so fucking hot.”

Oh.

It wasn’t until you went to move your arms that you realized Chris was still keeping you pinned - and a second later you realized he was still inside of you.

“Channie?”

“I-I’m okay, I-” Relinquishing his hold on you, his hands instantly went to your hips, thumbs tracing nondescript shapes against your skin, “I just… I need a minute, ‘m sorry.”

“No, no, baby, it’s okay, take your time.” Working yourself onto your hands, your lower back eternally grateful for the relief, you took a quick scan of the empty room, “Where’d everyone else go? Did I genuinely pass out?”

“No - honestly, you were only out for like, a minute, but after you, uh, came, we started the aftercare checklist.” Hyunjin’s hand reached out to wipe away a hint of saliva at the corner of your lips, “Hannie and I are on talk-down duty, Felix is running you a bath, Jeongin’s getting you a washcloth, Seungmin is getting you water while Minho’s starting on dinner, and Changbin is getting the laundry Chan was too fucked out to get himself.”

“I’m not fucked out,” the eldest groaned as he lazily turned his head toward the artist, “it was just a really intense orgasm, alright?”

With enough energy worked up, he pulled his hips away from yours as his softening dick slipped from your pussy, a shared hiss of overstimulation escaping you both in the process.

“Holy shit… Intense is a fucking understatement, she’s dripping so much.”

You bristled at Jisung’s words, though you could feel the reality of the situation currently oozing its way down your clit and undoubtedly landing against the stained bed sheet.

“Fuck, it’s like a river… Am I allowed to be jealous right now?”

“Han, please.” Chris groaned, embarrassment evident in his tone, “We get it, I come a lot, but I really don’t know what you have to be jealous about.”

Ducking your head with a barely contained laugh, you shook your head before meeting Jisung’s stare, “Next time, you’ll be the one almost folded in half and stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, okay?”

“I got the water, but it’s gonna cost you-” Seungmin stopped in his tracks as he rounded the bed, his eyes locking onto the mess between your legs, “What- You turned her into an overstuffed twinkie!”

“Seungmin!”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @broken-glowsticks, @j-onedrabbles, @dawninnie, @junglyric, @piercedddriver, @sometimesleeknows, @mahklathekpopqueen

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #Poly! Stray Kids #Poly OT8! SKZ #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #yang jeongin x reader #ot8 x reader #ot8 skz

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capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

Text

The boyfriend act, part 12: "The one when nothing happens" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Emma is in town, and it’s Benny’s birthday. Just a simple night out at the bar—or so you think. But the space Frankie has carefully placed between you stirs something unexpected. WC: 18,6k

Pd: This is for all of us, we lost our husband yesterday so I hope this brings you joy ❤️‍🩹 #ripJoelMiller I will always love you.

A/N: heheh *rubs hands together like a mosquito* Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You didn’t step back. He did.

The silence between you had always been there, in your dynamic, a familiar presence in the room, but this one carried a different kind of weight. Not heavier, necessarily—just changed. Altered somehow.

The days folded in on themselves. A quiet rhythm took over—early mornings filled with emails and half-drunk coffee, afternoons swallowed by errands, small domestic rituals. No Frankie.

On monday, Bill stopped by. He brought you a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin with a paper napkin tucked under it like it mattered. He told you about an idea he couldn’t shake, a proposal: books in the coffee shop. Not a whole bookstore, just shelves. Corners of stories.

It started with Juliette, apparently—she’d been in one afternoon, tucked into the window seat with a paperback and a mug of hot chocolate, and later at home, she told him, casually, “You should have books. So people can read if they want.”

That one sentence stayed with him. He couldn’t let it go.

So now he wanted your help. What do people like to read while they’re alone but surrounded by other people? What kind of books feel like company without requiring too much of you? Should there be poetry? Cookbooks? Art? He talked about adding narrow shelves along the wall near the tables, maybe even building them in himself. It might take a while, he said, but it was doable. Manageable. And lucky for him, you lived next door.

He asked if you’d make the list. Choose the books. He said he’d buy them from you—of course he would—and he’d pay for your time, too.

“Thinking and curating isn’t free,” he said, when you teased that maybe he could just pay in muffins and coffee. Not that he’d ever really charged you properly anyway.

So you said yes. You kept a notepad beside your computer, filling it with titles in between emails and phone calls, between folding laundry and watching the sun move across the living room floor. You took naps on the couch beside Mr. Darcy, made simple dinners, rewatched old movies where the endings still made you ache.

Still, no Frankie.

Because he didn’t call. And he didn’t write to you either.

And you told yourself it was fine. Normal, even. There was no real reason for him to reach out. Except, of course, there was. A quiet reason. One that lingered in the corners of your thinking, never quite announcing itself, but never really leaving either. At the same time, there was also a reason not to reach out. An equally plausible, equally logical reason. So you chose not to dwell on it. You folded the thought in half and tucked it somewhere you didn’t have to look at.

Another week passed, almost unregistered by your body. No Frankie.

No messages lighting up your screen. No phone calls. No familiar knock at your door. The silence began to feel structural. Built-in.

You saw Santi on tuesday night over dinner. He brought empanadas and a bottle of wine, and you ate on the couch while a movie played behind your conversation. He didn’t mention Frankie. You waited, half-listening, hoping for some accidental update, some passing reference. But it never came.

Instead, he talked about the skydiving. Said he was still stunned you’d gone through with it, and then launched into a long, slightly theatrical complaint about not being invited. You laughed. Promised to go again with him next time. He made you swear it.

Then, more cautiously, he asked about the situation with Frankie. The two of you. The fake relationship.

You didn’t lie. You told him the truth—or a version of it. That things were going well. That you and Frankie had found a sort of rhythm. That you were getting along better now. That was technically accurate.

He looked at you for a moment like he was trying to read between your words, but he smiled eventually. Told you he was glad to hear it.

You almost asked about him. You nearly said, Have you seen him? Has he said anything? How is he?

But you didn’t. You changed the subject. Something about work, or maybe the movie. You can’t remember now.

The rest of the week slipped by in the same quiet way. Bill kept you busy. There were lists to write, catalogues to browse through.

On thursday you met Juliette, finally, at the coffee shop.

She was clever and observant, in that way some people are from a very young age, like they’ve always known how to listen carefully. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and enormous green eyes that didn’t seem to miss much. She had her mother’s sharpness, according to Bill.

You liked her. She liked you too. That shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. There was something grounding about it, as if her approval—casual as it was—validated something inside you that had been unsteady for a while.

Emma arrived on friday. You saw her car pull up in front of your house, the familiar dent on the left side of the bumper, the same soft pop of the door as she got out. You didn’t wait. You ran down the steps and into her arms, almost tripping over the welcome mat in your rush.

She smelled like citrus perfume and coconut shampoo, a scent so distinctly hers that it made your throat catch for a moment. Like summer and high school and safety.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual. Turned the sign, locked the door, didn’t even pretend to feel guilty about it. You both went out for pasta—her favorite place, the one with the mismatched chairs and the faded mural on the back wall. The waiter already knew your order.

You already knew the basics, of course. She’d told you everything over the phone, in a string of late-night calls and voice notes sent during walks to work or while she folded laundry. But face to face, everything hit different. The tone, the pauses, the way her hands moved when she talked. It all filled in the spaces her words had left empty.

She told you about the divorce—not dramatically, just plainly.

Yes, it was real. Yes, it was happening. But no, it wasn’t awful. They were still friends, weirdly. Comfortably, even.

You liked Luca. Everyone did. He had a warm, easy energy and a really nice laugh. Emma had met him on a summer vacation a few years ago—something casual at first, then not casual at all. It had been fast, she told you once, in that breathless way people do when they’re still stunned by their own feelings.

He was kind. Charming. Funny in the kind of way that didn’t try too hard.

But it hadn’t worked out. Not because they fought. Not because they stopped loving each other. But because of something bigger, something she couldn’t control, something neither of them had the language for at first.

Irreconcilable differences, she said lightly, sipping her wine. Then she clarified, smiling in that half-sad, half-resigned way she had: irreconcilable differences being that he fell in love with the Michael, the bartender at the place they used to go to every other friday. The place where he went more often than she did.

It hadn’t been messy, at least not in the external sense. No shouting. No broken plates across kitchen counters. Just quiet revelations and truths that had been waiting patiently beneath the surface.

She said she wasn’t angry. Not really. More shocked than anything. There’d been signs, small ones, that she’d ignored. Not out of naivety, but maybe out of self-preservation. You understood that. Completely.

And when he finally told her—haltingly, kindly, honestly—she had listened. She had nodded. She had said it was okay, even if it wasn’t. Because she loved him.

You took her to one of those rage rooms on the edge of town. The kind where you wear safety goggles and throw ceramic plates against concrete walls. You both paid extra to smash an old television with a baseball bat.

You screamed until your voice cracked. She laughed so hard she had to sit down. It wasn’t therapy exactly, but it helped. It was something.

And that night, when you lay side by side in bed, hair still wet from the shower, your fingers brushing in the dark, she whispered, “I think I’m going to be okay.” And you believed her.

Emma was doing better now. You could see it in the way she moved around your living room, humming absently while waiting for the kettle, not checking her phone every five minutes. Luca had been out of the house for a couple of months, and the divorce, as far as divorces went, was being kind. Quiet. Almost courteous. Like two people respectfully folding their shared history into neat piles and placing it in separate drawers.

He hadn’t said anything about Michael and their relationship status—not explicitly. And she hadn’t asked. That was part of the new understanding between them: leave certain truths alone. Let them breathe in their own time.

His family still didn’t know. She said that with a shrug, like it was someone else’s problem to solve. Maybe it was.

That night, the plan had been to go out for drinks. A real friday outing, just the two of you, reclaiming your twenties like responsible women who still owned good heels. But somewhere between deciding where to go and actually leaving the house, you ended up under a blanket in bed, her phone screen glowing against the sheets. A tiktok was playing softly on her phone—something about baked chicken with cream and garlic—and neither of you moved to pause it. You fell asleep like that. Her phone still in her hand.

The next morning, you woke to a text from Benny.

[Ben]: Birthday celebration. Tonight at Ogham. Last minute, so sorry if you already have plans, Santi told me you'd probably be busy. No worries!!!

You read it aloud while Emma stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like it had personally wronged her. She was wearing a pale blue robe, the fluffy kind that made her look like a very elegant cloud. Her hair was messy but artfully so, a short blond cut that would’ve looked awkward on almost anyone else but framed her face like it had been designed specifically for her cheekbones.

“I think we should go,” she said, without looking up, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“You think?” you asked, skeptical. “I thought you wanted us to go out dancing. A proper club night.”

“I did. But I think I’d rather go to Ogham now,” she said, lifting her mug toward her mouth, one eyebrow raised. “Frankie’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

“I guess so.”

“Then... let’s go.”

You gave her a look, unimpressed. “I’m not sure.”

“But it’s Benny’s birthday! We like Benny!”

“Oh, you definitely like Benny.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be like that. Can’t a girl look at someone?”

You laughed, opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off before you could.

“And don’t even try to turn this around on me,” she added smoothly. “You know Frankie’s going.”

“I know. I just don’t know if he actually wants me there.”

“I think he was pretty clear when he told you not to stay away.”

You exhaled loudly, let your head drop back as you leaned further against the counter. The marble edge pressed into your lower back. Something about the discomfort felt appropriate.

“How clear, though?” you muttered. “Honestly, every time I replay the conversation in my head, it gets blurrier. Like, the more I think about it, the less I actually understand.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because he spent most of the conversation listing all the reasons he shouldn’t be near me. And then, like, right after that, he kissed me. Just... he kissed me. And I’m left wondering what the hell I was supposed to take from that.”

Emma closed her eyes and gave a small nod, thoughtful. You’d already walked her through the entire thing the day before, over half-eaten pasta and the last glass of wine. Right after she told you about seeing Luca again—with his lawyer, no less.

“I mean, it sounded like a last kiss,” she said eventually. “Like something you do when you know it’s the last time. Which is kind of romantic, if you think about it in a tragic, messy sort of way.”

“I guess. But I don’t know if I’d call it romantic. It felt more like emotional whiplash. Like... what does he expect from me now? He kisses me, walks away like he’s done with it, and then just vanishes.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but not at you. More like at the general emotional incompetence of the male species.

“I already told you. He’s probably spiraling. I mean, remember how he acted after the wedding? The whole thing where he said he didn’t talk about it because he assumed you forgot? That wasn’t chill. That was full-blown internal meltdown. He’s probably lying in bed somewhere, overanalyzing some ridiculous thing.”

You tried not to smile, but your mouth gave you away.

“Or,” you offered, “he’s just being logical about it. Maybe he’s finally sticking to the boundaries we talked about. Maybe now that we have no excuse to be in each other’s lives—no wedding, no birthday party—he doesn’t see a reason to stay close.”

“I thought he was going to help you with the list?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Right. The list. You mean the one that includes kissing a stranger and the New Year’s kiss?”

She smirked into her coffee. “That’s the one.”

“Yeah, I don’t see either of those things happening anytime soon.”

“What about the rest of it?” she asked. “The non-kissing parts.”

“There are a few things left,” you admitted. “But we haven’t talked about any of it. Not since.”

“Well, maybe the ‘kiss a stranger’ part is closer than you think,” Emma said, tilting her head toward you, raising her brows with theatrical enthusiasm. “We’re going to a bar tonight, remember? And it’s saturday. Statistically speaking, that place is going to be full of very attractive, emotionally unavailable men.”

You made a face. “Oh, yeah. Everyone's going to be there. My brother’s going to be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes like this was the most irrelevant detail you could have offered.

“Santi’s practically middle-aged, all of them are, and you’re almost thirty. Your knees pop when you stand up too fast. What are you, thirteen? He’s not going to care.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay, fair. But still, not happening—”

She cut you off. “That whole thing about Santi? It’s kind of a childish excuse, if you think about it.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The Frankie excuse,” she said, with a small shrug. “The one where he says, oh, you’re his best friend’s sister so it’s all off-limits or whatever. Like, okay, sure. But also, what does that even mean?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not that it’s bad exactly, but it feels... off. If things went south, it would be uncomfortable. A mess.”

Emma looked at you like she was trying to be patient, but barely succeeding.

“Babe, you guys already hated each other for, like, multiple years. You once threw a dart at his actual head. And now you’re worried it might get awkward? We’ve already been to weird. We set up camp in weird.”

“That was different.”

She smirked. “You two are addicted to excuses. It’s almost romantic in how tragic it is. Like, see, there’s an attempt at honesty. But it’s half-hearted. ”

“Okay, Atticus Finch,” you snorted.

Emma set her coffee down on the counter and turned to face you more directly, her expression suddenly more serious.

“Alright, what if I went out with Santi?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, hypothetically,” she said, tilting her head with mock innocence. “Say something... unexpected happened. Would that bother you?”

You pressed your lips together, unsure whether to laugh or actually consider the question.

“Well... first of all, he’s engaged.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. I said hypothetically. If none of that were true. What would you think?”

“I—I don’t know. I think it’d feel kind of strange, I guess. You’re my best friend. My person. It’d be like two parts of my life suddenly... touching in a way they weren’t supposed to.”

“Would it bother you?”

“Maybe a little. I think I’d feel... weird about it, at first.”

Emma nodded like she was filing that information away.

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a difference between ‘this would be strange’ and ‘this can’t happen.’ You know?”

“I think so.”

“But you’d accept it,” Emma pressed.

“I guess I would.”

“Why?”

You exhaled, your arms crossed loosely over your chest.

“I dunno. Because I love you both, maybe?” You lifted your shoulders, more in question than statement. “I mean, I’d hate it if you turned into one of those people who completely change when they start dating someone and suddenly start leaking your friends’ secrets over wine.”

Emma gasped, hand to heart. “I would never.”

“I know,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

She tilted her head. “So? It wouldn’t really bother you. You’d get used to it. Eventually. Sooner or later.”

“Yeah. Okay. Probably. But why are we even talking about this anyway?”

“Because,” she said, with the slightly smug tone of someone who had been quietly assembling an argument and had just reached her favorite part, “I think Santi would say exactly the same thing. You two—God help us—you’re very alike. Which is precisely why I think what Frankie said is just a really well constructed excuse.”

“He never actually said Santi would disapprove. He said he felt weird about it. That he didn’t know how to navigate it. And anyway, that wasn’t even the main reason he brought up.” Your voice softened. “There were... other things.”

“I know,” Emma said, hands up in mock surrender. “And those things are valid, okay? I’m not saying they’re not. I’m just saying... he’s hiding behind the most convenient reason because it’s easier than admitting something else.”

You looked down at the tiled floor, the words catching somewhere between your chest and throat.

“Well,” you muttered, “you’ve made your point.”

“Thank you. I do try.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “I missed you.”

Emma's face softened into something honest and unguarded.

“I missed you, too.” she said. “Good thing we’re friends, and that I’ll be by your side tonight. In fact, I packed a super cute dress that I’m really hoping to wear. It’s got, like, criminal levels of leg.”

“Oh, I’m sure Benny will appreciate that.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Ha, ha. The pot calling the kettle black.”

“Mmm, the old Ogham’s fries,” Emma said as the two of you stepped inside, her hand pressing against the bar door.

The bar was packed. Conversations overlapped in warm bursts, threading themselves into the clatter of plates and the low hum of music playing from unseen speakers. Yellow-gold pendant lights floated above each table like small suns, casting soft pools of light that made everything look a little kinder, warmer. The exposed brick walls were cluttered with vintage beer ads and fading whiskey posters, all half-charming, half-forgotten.

You hadn’t given much thought to what you were going to wear. Emma had insisted on a few outfits—held them up with dramatic gestures and persuasive arguments—but in the end, you went with a black skirt and a fitted black tee. Simple. Uncomplicated. You did let her do your makeup, though. Something subtle, she’d said, brushing color onto your cheeks. Just enough to bring out your beautiful features.

“They’re in the back,” you said, already looking past the tables, even though the view was fractured—shoulders, raised glasses, blur of motion. You reached out and took Emma’s arm.

“I’m ordering fries the second we sit down,” she whispered.

You walked forward slowly, weaving through the narrow aisles. Benny spotted you first. He lifted a hand in greeting, grin already forming on his face.

“Hey!” he called. “Must be my lucky day.”

You smiled back instinctively, even as your eyes swept the rest of the table. Will was in the corner seat, leaning into his beer. Next to him, Benny, then your brother—who was already rising to greet Emma—and Yov, who met your glance with an easy smile. Tom wasn’t there. You remembered he was out of town for work. And Frankie—no sign of him. You weren’t sure if that absence meant anything. Maybe he was late. Maybe he’d decided not to come.

You gave everyone a quick hello and slid into the empty seat beside Yov. Benny was in rare form, practically glowing. He insisted it had nothing to do with his birthday. According to him, it was the win that mattered.

“Billy Spears,” he said, raising his glass, “talked more shit than anyone I’ve met in a ring. Said I’d be down in the first round. That I didn’t have the heart for it.” His voice curled into something close to laughter.

Will chuckled. “You taught him a lesson. That much I believe.”

Benny nodded, still smiling, his knuckles red and fading to purple at the edges.

“Four rounds,” he said, almost to himself. “Twenty minutes of him trying to take my head off. He didn’t land anything clean. Not once. He’ll think twice before running his mouth next time.”

He kept talking, something about the final clinch or how the ref had almost called it early, but your attention slipped. You rested your chin in your hand, elbow braced on the table, and let the noise of your friends wash over you like static. You weren’t really listening. You were thinking about who wasn’t there—and wondering why it mattered.

“Everything okay?” Yov asked, her voice low. “What have you two been up to?”

Emma shifted closer, the side of her arm brushing yours as she leaned in.

“Talking,” she said, and her eyes flicked between you and Yov. “Talking is never enough. Honestly, I could talk forever and still feel like I haven’t said half of what I meant to.”

Yov laughed, the sound genuine.

“You’re one of mine,” she said, like that explained everything. “How long are you here for?”

“Just until tomorrow. It’s a short visit. I have to get back to work.”

“But you missed Austin?”

“I missed everyone. Family. Friends. I’m not even that far away, but distance does its thing anyway.”

You took a small step back. Yov’s attention stayed on Emma.

“It’s the daily things, right?” Emma said. “Even when the drive isn’t long, it still feels like a whole production. There’s no room for the unplanned anymore.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Yov nodded. “I used to make last-minute plans with people all the time. Now I have to book something two weeks in advance, and even then it might fall through.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma added, mostly to herself, “life tends to get in the way.”

Yov gave a small sigh, like she was admitting something without saying it directly.

“It does. I’ve got a routine now, and I like it, mostly. But sometimes I miss being able to just say, ‘Hey, meet me in an hour,’ and know it could actually happen.”

Santi turned around in his seat at that. “What do you miss?”

You laughed lightly, pushing your chair back in that awkward, careful way people do when they’re trying not to interrupt anything.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you said, already half-standing. You looked at Emma. “Want me to order your fries?”

She nodded, still smiling up at you from her seat. “Yeah—do you want me to come?”

“No,” you said, your hand already brushing the back of your chair. “Stay. I’ll be back in a second.”

But a second had stretched into something longer. Not dramatically so, just enough that you noticed it. You were still at the bar, your back lightly pressed against the stool, one elbow resting on the counter as you waited—first patiently, then just passively—for your drink and the cheddar fries Emma had been craving.

The place had a menu designed to satisfy people who ordered with beer already in hand. Everything felt intentionally greasy and generous. Good for soaking up alcohol. On saturdays, though, even the kitchen struggled to keep pace. And ever since The Crow had closed for renovations, Ogham had absorbed the spillover crowd. It was louder now, more chaotic. A sort of charming disorder, if you were in the mood for it.

Grian caught your eye from behind the bar. He was mixing a drink with the weary rhythm of someone who's already halfway through a long night. He gave you a look that said “I know, I know” without saying a word. You liked him. He was tall and had pale ocean eyes. He always wore cool graphic tees. Tonight, his shirt read: I hate Woody Allen.

“Your food’ll be up in a sec,” he said, tone apologetic as he slid your gin and tonic toward you. His smile was almost embarrassed.

You nodded and gave him a small smile in return, dipping your head slightly in that way you did when you were trying not to make someone feel worse for something out of their control.

“No worries.”

You reached for your purse, your fingers brushing the zipper just as the bar door opened behind you. Just a flicker of motion. You didn’t even hear it, not over the music and the voices, but you felt it—a small shift in the room’s atmosphere. Some part of your mind, the part that noticed things before you let yourself notice them, turned toward it.

Your eyes followed a beat later. The door had swung closed again. And he was there.

Frankie.

White t-shirt, dark pants. No cap tonight. No jacket, either. You saw him and then, just as quickly, looked away. Back to the counter. Back to Grian, who was holding your glass a little closer to you now, like he wasn’t sure you were really present.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” You took the drink, brought it to your lips. “Tastes great. As always.”

He grinned at the compliment, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Thanks. Sorry for the wait. I’m on my own tonight. Kat's in the kitchen.” He gestured vaguely behind him, where the chaos of orders buzzed from the kitchen. “Can you believe it? On a saturday.”

“Where’s Bianca?”

“She quit,” he said, grabbing another glass from the shelf. “Had a fight with—”

But you’d stopped listening.

Because Frankie was somewhere behind you now, in the room. And even though you weren’t looking, you knew exactly where he was standing.

“Hey, Morales,” came a voice from behind you. Male. Confident in that casual, too-familiar way. You didn’t recognize it.

You turned slightly, just enough to see. A man, maybe in his forties, with a receding hairline and cool red prescription glasses. He clapped Frankie on the back, and he greeted him easily, a handshake and a half-laugh, like this sort of thing happened to him all the time.

You turned back to Grian, catching his eye again.

“That’s too bad,” you said. “I like Bianca.”

He made a face—part shrug, part agreement. “Everyone likes Bianca. But Tim's a jerk.”

You raised your eyebrows. Grian, sensing your curiosity, leaned in slightly like he couldn’t help himself.

“She wanted to go take care of her mom. Something in L.A.—family stuff. Last weekend.”

You nodded.

“Tim told her no,” he continued. “Said she had to be here. She told him to fuck off, more or less. He threatened to fire her, so she saved him the trouble.”

You exhaled through your nose.

“Anyway, we don’t get paid enough to put up with this shit,” Grian added. “I’m thinking of just stealing liquor at this point. Like, genuinely. One bottle at a time.”

You laughed. “Start with the Jameson. That one’s mine.”

He gave you a mock salute, but before he could respond, a voice came from just beside you.

“First wine and champagne, now whiskey,” he said, with something like amusement tucked under the words. “You’re turning it into an art.”

You didn’t turn around right away. The voice was low, smooth, unmistakably his. Your pulse jumped once.

Then, slowly, you let your gaze shift, your shoulders following.

Frankie stood beside you. His hand was resting casually on the edge of the bar, the other on the back of your stool like it had landed there by accident. He wasn’t touching you. Not really. But he was close enough that you felt the heat of him in the space between.

His t-shirt clung a little to his chest, and his skin looked flushed from the walk or the weight of the room or maybe something else. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, and under the flickering bar lights they caught the glow—like sparks rising too fast from a match.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re late, Dante.”

Grian paused to glance between you and Frankie. “Should I get the first aid kit ready?”

Frankie didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on you, the corners creased just slightly. “No, but I’ll take a beer.”

Grian gave a little shrug. “On it,” he muttered, already turning away.

A small exhale left your chest, almost inaudible.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he’d been. About his week. About what had kept him busy or distracted or too preoccupied to send a message. But before a single syllable left your lips, he spoke.

“I could smell your perfume when I walked in,” he said, voice quiet enough that only you could hear it.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “I hope that’s a good thing. Some people have very strong opinions about perfume.”

“It’s good.” He wasn’t smiling but his expression had softened. “I like yours.” Then, after a beat, he added, “I smelled you before I saw you.”

You let out a short laugh, raising your glass toward your mouth again. “That sounds like something a well-trained dog would say.”

He actually laughed at that—low, unguarded.

“How long’ve you been here?” he asked.

“Do you mean at the bar or waiting?”

“Both.”

You sipped your gin and tonic again, letting it linger before answering. “I got here nearly an hour ago. Been waiting… thirty minutes, maybe more.”

He took a moment to scan the room. “It’s packed.”

“It is. The guys are in the back.”

“I figured. You came with Emma, right?”

You nodded, smiling now, almost involuntarily. You weren’t sure when his voice had started to do that to you.

Grian returned, setting a beer in front of Frankie. Almost immediately after, a plate of cheddar fries appeared beside you, steaming and glowing faintly in the low amber light.

You stood up, the legs of the stool scraping softly against the floor. Frankie reached for the plate before you could, holding it carefully.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and you looked at him for a second longer than you meant to, then followed him through the crowded bar.

You made your way back to the table, weaving through the mess of chairs and limbs and low laughter. Frankie moved ahead of you, greeting Benny with a hug that involved too much back-slapping to be casual. Emma caught your eye as you approached, her expression bright with unspoken commentary. Her mouth curved up, conspiratorial. You could practically hear the teasing words she hadn’t said yet.

You sank into the seat beside her. Almost immediately, her fingers found your forearm, tapping once, then staying there, her touch unhidden.

Frankie took the seat across the table, one spot over—not directly in front of you, but close enough that you became aware of his presence each time he shifted in his seat or lifted his glass. His gaze drifted past you occasionally, never lingering, never quite settling. Still, you felt the flicker of it every time.

Two hours passed this way. A blur of drinks appearing and being drained, plates stacking up in the middle of the table like lazy little mountains of comfort food. At some point, four more plates of fries had arrived—no one had actually agreed on ordering them, but no one had stopped it either. You were already on your second gin and tonic.

The conversation at one end of the table had splintered into something you only half-registered. Will was explaining something about a car he was working on—something about a part he couldn’t track down, maybe something to do with a carburetor, though you weren’t sure what a carburetor even looked like.

On your side, Emma had shifted her full attention to Yov and Santi. She was asking about the wedding—venue, dress, guest list—and Yov, for her part, answered with the kind of practiced cheer people use when they’ve been asked the same questions too many times. Her fingers played with the edge of her napkin as she spoke, a little nervous.

You leaned in to hear them better, but your mind kept wandering. To the weight of Frankie’s presence at the edge of your vision. To the warmth of Emma’s hand still near yours. To the fizzing sensation in your stomach.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, letting your gaze wander around the bar, detached from the thread of conversation at the table. There was something soothing about observing other people living their lives—temporary characters in a play you weren’t invited to join. At one table, a woman tilted her head, laughing, her mouth open too wide, one hand resting possessively on the arm of the man beside her. At another, two friends spoke directly into each other’s ears, their voices drowned by the music. Just to your right, a couple was mid-argument—low-voiced and tightly contained, the woman’s expression tight, her hand slicing the air with every sentence.

Your eyes landed on Grian at the bar. He looked mildly distressed, his brows drawn together as he listened to a man gesturing wildly in front of him, as though urgency alone would guarantee better service. Grian’s hands were on the bar, long fingers tapping against the wood, waiting for a break in the monologue.

“... but I know that's because she likes Fish,” Will said suddenly, pulling you back to the present.

You didn’t turn your head right away. Your ears tuned in instinctively to the rhythm of Will’s voice, but your eyes stayed fixed on Grian—on the way he finally reached for a glass, as if grateful to have something to do with his hands.

The guys laughed, that light, familiar cadence of friends teasing each other.

“I told you it was just a matter of time,” Benny added, grinning around the rim of his drink.

“That… that’s not true,” Frankie murmured. The tone of his voice was quiet, uncharacteristically so.

Will leaned forward a little, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I offered to take her home, she said no. But with him? Tam didn’t even blink.”

Something tightened inside your chest. It was so slight, it barely registered—like your body skipped a beat only to recover by beating twice as hard. You glanced toward Frankie. He was rubbing his temple, elbow on the table, eyes trained on Will with a tired sort of focus. Your cheeks grew warm.

“I just took her home, that’s all,” Frankie said. His gaze flicked toward you. A second, maybe less. But it was enough.

“Hers or yours?” Benny grinned.

“Man, fuck off.” Frankie’s voice cracked a little under the weight of it. His face flushed, and he dropped his hand from his temple to fold both arms tightly across his chest. “You always do this.”

Santi was laughing.

“Right, leave him alone,” he said, looking from one to the other, clearly gearing up. “He’s not exactly a free agent anymore, is he?”

Will raised his eyebrows, smiling. “What, is he married to a cockpit now?”

There was a pause—small, fractured—and then Santi just came out with it.

“He’s like, like my brother-in-law now,” he said, tipping his head toward you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This son of a bitch is dating my little sister.”

Yov’s face lit up with amusement. She turned to look at you, her cheeks tinged pink, lips parting like she was about to ask something—though she didn’t.

Will and Benny burst into laughter, their reactions immediate and slightly performative, like they thought it was a joke. A ridiculous, funny story. But after a few seconds, the sound tapered off. Their faces stilled. The mood shifted by degrees. It was in the way their smiles froze, how their eyes flitted between you and Frankie like they weren’t quite sure what they were looking at now. Was it a joke?

Frankie didn’t say anything. He just shook his head slightly, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His eyes were on you. You didn’t meet them. But you felt them. The way one feels heat even when there’s no visible flame.

You smiled, just a little—tight-lipped, like you were amused in theory but not particularly entertained. You looked at Santi instead, not needing to say anything at all. There was something deeply satisfying about letting the silence stretch.

No denial. No clarification.

Will’s eyes widened gradually, disbelief taking up space in his expression. “Dude. Are you serious?”

"No, he isn't," Benny said, half-laughing.

Santi raised his glass. “Ask Helena. She’s thrilled.” He drank, and beside him, Yov reached over and smacked his arm, not too hard, but enough to say, what the hell are you doing?

“There’s no way you’re not joking,” Benny said.

“I always knew there was something there,” Will added, pointing at Frankie with narrowed eyes, grinning like he’d just uncovered a well-kept secret. “Right from the get-go.”

Benny looked at you then, frowning slightly. “You threw a dart at him once.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You gave me the dart.”

“I remember the dart,” Will said, shifting in his seat to face Frankie more directly. “You remember the dart, Fish?”

Frankie exhaled hard through his nose and covered his face with one hand. When he pulled his hand away, his cheeks were flushed and there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, I remember the dart. Still got the damn scar.” He pointed just above his brow, where the skin had once split open under the wrong end of a bad decision. He glanced at you for a second—not bitter.

“That was the crush,” Santi said casually.

Benny turned to you again, then looked at Frankie, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? That logic—‘if you hate each other, you secretly love each other’—works on tv, right, sure. But not with you two.”

Frankie laughed quietly, without looking up.

“Call my mom,” he said. “Ask her what she thinks.”

Benny shook his head, eyes wide. “No. No way.”

“You want to date my little sister too, Ben?” Santi asked, tilting his head in Benny’s direction with mock suspicion. “You’re starting to sound a little too invested.”

Emma groaned dramatically next to you and covered her face.

“Please don’t take this away from me,” Benny said, leaning forward again, his eyes exaggeratedly mournful. “Watching you tease Frankie is one of the only joys I have left. I’ve got more darts. I can restock.”

“I’m sorry, Benny,” you said, lifting your shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Shit, Fish, tell that to Tam, then,” Will said, his tone flattening slightly as he looked across the table at Frankie.

Tam. You blinked. Who the hell was Tam? Why were they suddenly talking about her? Had Frankie taken her home? Was that what this was about?

The mood shifted just enough for everyone to feel it. Emma pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and Yov looked vaguely guilty, like she'd laughed a little too long. Santi just leaned back, watching everything unfold with that unreadable look he wore when he didn’t want to interfere but also couldn’t look away.

“What should I tell her?” Frankie asked, his voice light, lips curved in something that looked like a smirk.

Will turned to you then, as if your reaction had suddenly become important.

“I think he’s free to hang out with whoever he wants,” you said, your voice too even. You turned your head, eyes locking with Frankie’s. “As far as I’m concerned, Francisco, you can do whatever you want. That much is clear.”

Benny shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable now. His earlier jokes had evaporated into a fog of uncertainty.

Frankie was still watching you. “I’m not sure about that.”

You let out a short breath. “Ask Tam.”

Benny turned his confusion into a muttered, “I don’t understand this,” directed at Santi.

Your brother raised his eyebrows and shook his head, offering nothing.

“There’s nothing going on with Tam,” Frankie said. His voice was quieter now, but steady. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes not moving from yours. “I just gave her a ride home. It was late.”

You tilted your head. “That’s how it starts.”

You didn’t know if it was the gin and tonic, or the music, or the strange heat blooming under your skin, but everything in you was beginning to feel looser, like your words might start slipping past the filter.

Frankie kept his eyes on you. A full second passed, maybe more. Then: “Do you really—”

“Alright,” Santi cut in suddenly. He held up both palms like a referee in a game no one had agreed to play. “We’re done. I take it back. It was a joke, a dumb one. Not true. None of it.”

You let out a laugh and rolled your eyes. You turned toward Benny and Will, who were both watching you now like you were a page in a language they didn’t speak.

But Frankie’s eyes hadn’t left your face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benny asked, confused, almost indignant.

Will laughed quietly beside him, like he had only just realized he was also confused.

“It’s not real,” you said, your voice lighter now. You smiled. “Frankie and I aren’t dating. We faked it. That’s all.”

Will blinked. “What? Why?”

Frankie leaned back in his seat, his shoulders sinking a little into the booth. There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it didn’t quite hold—it felt more like muscle memory.

“For convenience,” you said, your voice even. “It’s a long story.” You lifted your glass and took a sip that felt like punctuation.

“My family still thinks it’s real,” Frankie added, his eyes scanning the table. “So if you run into any of them, I’d appreciate it if you just… didn’t say anything.”

Benny let out a short laugh, disbelieving. “Right—why?”

“Jesus, man,” Frankie said, exhaling sharply. “I’ll explain later. It’s not some big dramatic thing. It just is.”

Will slumped against the back of his chair with an exaggerated sigh, folding his arms across his chest like a sulky teenager.

“Well. That’s disappointing. I had hopes, you know.”

Santi made a strangled sound in his throat. “You really thought this would actually work out?”

Will gave him a look. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Yov cut in, shrugging as she swirled the last of the ice in her glass. “Unless your only objection is that he’s your friend. Which, okay, fine. But opposites attract, baby.”

Santi narrowed his eyes like he was personally offended by the phrase.

“Not in their world.” He turned toward you then, leveling you with the kind of look only older brothers can get away with—half teasing, half invasive. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your type is more like, like brooding academic or something like that. The ones who look like they teach ethics at liberal arts colleges and that shit.”

You let out a breathy laugh, somewhere between surprised and exasperated. “What are you even talking about?”

Santi was already laughing, his face flushed with alcohol and mischief.

“Come on, you know what I mean. Like your new guy. What’s his name again? That one you’ve been hanging around with lately.”

Emma perked up beside you, clearly enjoying the new direction. “Oh, right. Bill?”

“Bill. That’s the guy,” Santi said, nodding like he’d cracked some sort of code.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“He’s not my guy, and he’s definitely not a brooding academic, if that’s what you were picturing.”

You could feel Emma grinning next to you without even looking.

“Well, he’s very attentive,” she said, turning her words to Santi but clearly directing them at you. “And, I mean, he sells coffee. That’s like... ideal, if you’re someone who sells books.”

“I don’t know about ideal,” your brother said. “But his donuts are damn good.”

“Bill who?” Benny asked, glancing between the two of you with genuine confusion.

“He owns the coffee shop next to the bookstore,” you explained, feeling suddenly very aware of how small your voice sounded in the room.

“He’s really cute,” Emma added, despite never having met him. “He’s doing renovations right now, and she’s helping him out.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t correct her. “He just wants to add a little library area. Somewhere people can sit, read and, yeah, just that. He asked if I could help him pick out some books. Maybe design the shelves, that sort of thing. That's it.”

There was a small pause, just long enough for your face to betray you again, your cheeks warming.

From across the table, Frankie shifted. He was half in shadow, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze found you and didn’t let go. There was something unreadable in his expression. Maybe a smirk trying not to be a smirk. You weren’t sure.

“That’s sweet,” Yov said. “Yup. I get it. I see the appeal.”

“And he has a little daughter,” Emma added like she was dropping the final piece of the puzzle. “She loves to read too, apparently. I mean, come on.”

You exhaled, more sharply than you meant to. “I’m just helping out. That’s all it is.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s lovely. And he clearly likes you.”

You shot her a warning look. “Emma.”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’d like more free donuts,” Santi muttered under his breath.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yov laughed.

“I think Bill is exactly what you need,” Emma said, her voice pitched slightly higher, like she wanted to make sure everyone could hear her.

You turned to look at her, eyebrows drawn together in a way that felt automatic, like your body was trying to shield itself from where this was going.

She went on, undeterred. “A man who knows what he wants. Someone with actual follow-through. Who doesn’t play games. Who’s not afraid to show you how he feels.”

There was a beat of silence—something in the air growing taut, or maybe just your own pulse pressing hard behind your ears.

Frankie stood abruptly. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Anyone want anything?” His voice was calm.

Nobody answered. Or maybe a few people shook their heads, you weren’t really paying attention. He pushed back his chair and stood. Then he turned, and walked off in the direction of the bar.

There was something in the way he moved. A tired walk. You tried not to follow him with your eyes, but you did.

Thankfully, Will spoke up, saying something about Bianca not being there tonight. You latched onto the change of subject the way someone might grab the edge of a table during an earthquake—knowing it won’t help much, but needing something to hold on to. It was obvious he was fishing for sympathy, or maybe absolution. According to what Santi had told you, there had been something between them. Casual, inconsistent, but still something.

Still, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Your gaze wandered to the bar. Frankie was standing there, leaning into it with one elbow, his body slightly hunched. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just staring at something in front of him you couldn’t see. Grian, behind the bar, was finally moving like someone at ease, as if the worst part of the night had passed.

You hadn’t seen Frankie in nearly two weeks. Fourteen days where the thought of him would drift in and out —at the sink, at work, just before sleep. You wondered if he’d been working too much. If he was taking care of himself. If Helena had asked about you. If he’d told her anything at all.

And the only thing you’d learned about him in all that time was that he'd apparently been driving Tam around. That—and the fact that Will seemed to think she liked him.

You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap, and suddenly wished you had something to do with them.

You had no right to feel anything. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a fact, like something printed in a textbook or carved into stone. He’d been clear, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have that kind of relationship. Not with you. And maybe that was the part you’d skipped over—the with you. As if the problem wasn’t in the thing itself, but in the person he might share it with. Maybe it wasn’t relationships he was avoiding. Just the one that included you.

That thought lodged somewhere deep, somewhere soft. It made your stomach feel unsettled, like the air had shifted slightly and now everything was just a little off balance.

You hated that. Hated the way your body betrayed you over something that, by all definitions, was nothing. Because what even was this? It wasn’t real. It wasn’t defined. He hadn’t promised you anything, hadn’t even implied it. And yet here you were, trying not to think about what it would mean if he looked at someone else the way he sometimes looked at you.

Emma’s voice pulled you out of your own head. “Hey, wanna go to the bathroom?”

You nodded wordlessly, grateful for something to do, and followed her through the press of people standing near the pool tables, their voices loud and overlapping like waves hitting the same shore.

The bathroom was cooler, quieter. Emma closed the door behind you with her hip and turned toward the mirror, digging into her purse.

“Why didn’t you go with it?” she asked, glancing at you through the reflection.

“What?”

“Bill. Why didn’t you play along? It was working. You could’ve just said you liked him too.”

You leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely across your chest. “What did you want me to say? That I’m in love with him?”

Emma laughed quietly, smoothing a fresh coat of gloss over her bottom lip. “You didn’t have to lie. Just... lean into it a little. It was making him mad.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

She looked at you through the mirror again, meeting your eyes this time. “Frankie.”

Your chest pulled tight, like the air had been snatched out of the room too fast.

“He looked pissed,” she said, turning to face you now. “Not jealous-jealous, but... you know. Close.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were trying not to feel the thing you were already feeling.

“I don’t think that’s why. He was already upset before the Bill thing.”

Emma frowned, tugging at a piece of hair near her temple. “Yeah? Why?”

You shrugged. “Because of the guys. Because Santi opened his mouth and made the whole fake-dating thing sound like a joke. Tam, probably.”

“Who even is Tam? Do you know her?”

You gave a tiny shake of your head, almost embarrassed by the answer.

“No. Not really.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, it shouldn’t bother you anyway,” she said lightly, but then her tone sharpened just a touch. “Still. I know a jealous man when I see one.”

You scoffed, looking down at the floor tiles. “Frankie’s not jealous. He was the one who tried to convince me Bill was into me. When we went skydiving.”

“Okay, but that was before you told him how you felt.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

She let out a small, frustrated sound and rubbed her temples like you’d given her a migraine.

“You are infuriating. Like, truly. I love you, but you make me want to scream into a throw pillow.”

You gave her a crooked smile, something caught between guilt and defensiveness.

Emma checked her reflection again, smoothing down her dress and fixing a small smudge near her eye.

“Come with me to the bar, will you?”

You squinted. “You want another drink?” It wasn’t accusatory, just surprised—Emma wasn’t a big drinker. Two beers, that was usually her limit.

“Yeah,” she said with a grin that felt just a little too rehearsed. “I’m feeling festive.”

You stepped out of the bathroom together. Bowie’s China Girl was playing on the speakers, a little distorted through the sound system. The air was thick with the layered scent of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and deep-fried potatoes.

Emma grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd. Frankie was still at the bar, leaning against it. When he saw you approach, he shifted—barely.

You slipped into the space beside him, Emma sliding in between you.

“Emma,” Frankie said, his voice low and even. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, cocking her head, playful. “Though the sound of your car’s hood slamming shut is still echoing through my skull.”

Frankie let out a soft laugh and made a half-dismissive gesture. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile that softened just slightly. “I hear you’re redeeming yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

Before you could say anything, a voice called out from somewhere behind you, and Emma’s hand was instantly on your shoulder.

“Oh my God, Devon!” she said, and turned toward the voice like it was magnetic. Then she glanced at you, amused and breathless. “Tragic, I know, but I have to go say hi. Order me a beer, okay?”

She winked before disappearing into the crowd, her pace just fast enough to suggest she was escaping something.

You stayed where you were, eyes flicking toward Frankie. He didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t move either. Just stood there, the space between your arms barely an inch.

Grian came over and placed Frankie’s drink in front of him, the glass catching a glint of amber under the overhead light. You gave him Emma's order without looking up. Just a beer.

“Santi is drunk,” Frankie said. His voice was neutral.

You nodded, fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “I noticed.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The bar hummed around you—music, laughter, a burst of ice clattering into a metal bin. You watched the way your nails pressed against your palm, the thin crescent marks they left behind. Frankie exhaled beside you. Not loud, not theatrical. He shifted his weight.

You turned to look at him.

His jaw was tight. Not clenched, but contained. He wasn’t watching you—his eyes were fixed on the bottles behind the bar, neat rows of color and glass and labels. His brows weren’t furrowed, but there was tension in the corners of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He glanced down at you then. His eyes dark. “You want to get out of here?”

“What?”

He turned toward you more fully now, eyes scanning your face with something like uncertainty.

“If you want to leave. With me.”

He sounded earnest, a little hesitant—like maybe the words had gotten ahead of him. Your lips twitched with a hint of a smile, the kind you didn’t mean to show.

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked over his shoulder toward the table where the others were sitting. “Wherever you want.”

You followed his gaze. Santi was leaning dramatically against Benny’s shoulder, mid-laugh. Yov was talking animatedly with someone you didn’t recognize. Will looked tired but was laughing anyway.

“What about them?” you asked.

Frankie turned back to you.

“They’re drunk,” he said simply. “And a little unbearable, to be honest.”

“And you don’t care if they see us leave together?”

“No,” he said, shrugging. “I think they already made up their minds about us. Impossible, they said.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Emma? I’m not leaving her here alone.”

His lips curved slightly. “So that’s a yes.”

“What?”

“That you want to come with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just turned to look at Emma again, now laughing at something Devon was saying. Her body language was loose, comfortable.

You looked back at Frankie, raising your index finger. “Give me a second.”

He nodded, watching you walk away.

When you reached Emma, she looked up with a knowing expression already blooming on her face.

“So?” she asked. “What did he say?”

“He asked me if I wanted to leave with him.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m fine. Devon’s driving me home soon. And I have the spare key in my bag.”

You touched her arm. “Text me when you get in?”

“Obviously.”

When you returned to the bar, Frankie was sipping from his glass while Grian spoke to him about a fight that had broken out the night before. He nodded at something Grian said, then turned when he saw you.

“Okay,” you said simply. “I’ll come with you.”

“You have everything?”

“Yeah, just my bag.”

He finished the last sip of his drink and set the glass down. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He pushed off the bar and gave a nod toward the exit. Grian gave you a small, knowing smile. You waved at him, your hand lifting instinctively, and then you followed Frankie toward the door.

Outside, the air had shifted—lighter now, cooler. It wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt cleaner somehow, like a layer of noise had peeled away with the door behind you. Frankie stepped up beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that your arms might touch if either of you leaned just slightly to the side.

At the corner, you turned to look at him. The amber streetlights caught in his eyes, making them look brighter than usual. He looked back at you, a tender expression there. Neither of you said anything, and for a moment it felt like those hours in the bar had existed in some other version of reality. This felt like a different moment. Him, here. You, here. No noise. No laughter. No Emma nudging you beneath the table or Santi trying to make a joke.

Out here, he looked different. Or maybe he just looked more like himself. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. You imagined it would feel soft if you touched it, and then tried not to imagine that.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

You hesitated, but only for show. “Whatever I want?”

“You sound like trouble. Don’t make me steal anything tonight.”

That made you laugh, too quickly. You looked down at your shoes, pretending to consider the question, even though you already knew your answer. The gin still warmed your veins, made you feel bolder than usual, like the version of yourself who didn’t overthink things to death.

You looked up again. “Can we go to your place?”

Frankie smiled—an uneven, vaguely suspicious sort of smile, like you’d just proposed something illegal and mildly intriguing.

“You want to go to my place?”

You nodded, unfazed. “You've been to my place several times. That I can remember. I, on the other hand, have no idea where you live. For all I know, you sleep in your car like a cryptid.”

He tilted his head. “Wow. A cryptid?”

“I said like one. You’re far too clean to be an actual cryptid.”

“Thanks,” he said, deadpan. “Really heartfelt compliment. I’ll treasure it forever.”

"You're welcome."

He laughed, the sound low and genuine, and ran a hand through his hair, which only made it more chaotic than it already was.

“Aha. So this is about fairness,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re calling me out on a hospitality imbalance.”

“Exactly. Basic domestic justice.”

“Alright. Full disclosure, though—no cat.”

You narrowed your eyes, pretending to reconsider. “That can be arranged. I know a guy.”

He laughed. “You’re gonna get me a cat?”

“I think you should have one,” you said, shrugging. “Otherwise, who do you talk to at 2 am?”

“I talk to my plants.”

You tilted your head, charmed despite yourself. “What do you say to them?”

“Mostly, ‘please don’t die.’ Sometimes I play them old records. I’ve been told it helps. Mai told me, actually.”

You grinned, already imagining it. Frankie watering plants while Johnny Cash plays in the background.

“Well, I still think the cat’s a good idea anyway.”

Frankie grinned, mouth twitching at the corners like he was trying not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Alright then. Come to my tragic, cat-less apartment and make your judgments.”

“Gladly. But just so you know, if there’s even one lava lamp or a poster of Scarface, I’m walking out.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you in if I had a lava lamp.”

“Fair,” you said, and the two of you started walking again, your shoulders nearly brushing.

“Don’t fall. Watch out.” Frankie’s hand wrapped around yours as you stepped out of the Uber like he'd done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not going to fall,” you said, frowning at him playfully, though you didn’t pull your hand away.

Then you looked up.

Frankie’s house was—unexpected. Clean lines. Neutral tones. The place stood neat and self-contained at the end of a quiet street. The facade was light wood, almost golden under the porch light, and the gabled roof above it was the color of charcoal. Everything about it looked clean and measured. The symmetry of it was almost uncanny—the central porch framed by white columns, the wide double door with its glass panes catching bits of amber light from inside.

On either side, windows glowed softly, as if someone inside was still awake. But you knew that wasn't true, and that Frankie probably left the lights on to create the false impression that someone was inside. The garage stretched to the left, its doors darker wood, with small square windows at the top like little eyes. The front yard was impossibly tidy. The grass was cut to an even length, the edges trimmed. There were rows of low shrubs and just enough flowers to make it feel like someone cared, but not too much. The path was poured concrete, no cracks, no weeds creeping through.

You stared for a beat too long, and he noticed. “I have a gardener,” Frankie said, his voice close to your ear. You didn’t answer.

He unlocked the door with ease, and then stepped aside to let you in first. You brushed past him, closer than necessary, and he didn’t move.

The room felt too exposed, like something you weren’t supposed to be witnessing. Not because it was messy or chaotic—quite the opposite—but because it was composed in a way that revealed too much. Or maybe it just felt that way because it was Frankie, and you had never really pictured him inside a space like this.

The living room was lit by two lamps, one on each side of a deep gray sofa, casting the kind of glow that made everything look softer than it probably was. The fireplace across from it wasn’t lit, its matte black surface blending into the wall, with a television mounted above it, silent and blank. On the mantel sat two houseplants in identical white ceramic pots, flanking a pair of simple photo frames.

A coffee table, scratched at the edges, stood in front of the sofa. He had left a mug there, half drunk. There was also a book turned face-down and a lighter next to an open pack of cigs. Two armchairs filled the remaining corners of the room. One had a navy cushion, the other black.

The air smelled like laundry detergent, the faint bitterness of old coffee, something earthy and clean. And beneath it, him—his cologne, maybe, or the scent of his skin. It was subtle but persistent. Like if you stayed here long enough, it would cling to you.

“Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?” His voice came from behind you as he moved toward the kitchen, his steps quiet on the hardwood floor. You didn’t follow him.

“Tea’s fine,” you said, almost to yourself, wandering over to the fireplace. You leaned in to look at the photos. One showed his dad standing alone on a pier, sun hitting his face. He was grinning, the lines around his eyes deep and familiar. He looked so much like Frankie it startled you—same smile, same jawline, same thick, full hair. You imagined his voice would be similar too.

The second frame was filled with women. His mom, his sisters, all of them laughing at something just outside the frame. Frankie wasn’t in the photo.

You kept walking, a little slower now, taking in more than you should have. A sweatshirt tossed over the back of the sofa. Headphones folded carefully on the coffee table. Three plants lined up on a chest of drawers by the window, each one thriving in a different shape of pot. To the left, a piece of mid-century furniture caught your eye. A record cabinet, filled almost to overflowing. A closed record player sat on top, the glass lid dust-free.

You leaned in, reading titles out loud in your head like they were clues: The Stooges. Fleetwood Mac. Busy Bee Starski. Alice in Chains. The Clash. Eagles. Marvin Gaye. T. Rex. The sleeves looked worn, loved, pulled from the shelf again and again.

“Wanna hear one?” Frankie’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard him come back.

You turned toward him. “T. Rex?”

He grinned. Not smug—more like pleased. He placed two mugs down on the table and crossed the room to join you. You held the record sleeve while he powered up the record player. Electric Warrior. His hands were steady, practiced, and within seconds, Mambo Sun filled the room.

“My dad loved this album,” you said, not really looking at him. “He’d play it on sundays while fixing stuff in the garage. The volume was always too loud.I really love it.”

You rested the sleeve behind the record player carefully and turned around. Frankie was already on the sofa, holding his tea.

“T. Rex in the garage on a sunday,” he said, lifting the mug to his mouth. “Sounds like your dad had his priorities in order. Shit—careful. It’s hot.”

You sat beside him, your hip brushing his just barely. “I like it hot. So hot that one sip burns my heart out.”

You smiled at him then, sideways.

“So romantic,” he murmured, head leaning back against the cushion.

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. The silence wasn’t awkward—it felt chosen. Mutual. Like you both knew that if you said anything right then, it might undo the atmosphere you’d stumbled into. So instead, the music filled the space. The vinyl hissed softly beneath the track, that low, velvety warmth that you always loved.

By the time Cosmic Dancer had reached its halfway point, you lifted your mug, took a careful sip, then let it rest in your lap, your fingers curling around the ceramic. You were perched on your knees, your legs folded beneath you, spine tilted just slightly toward him like your body had gotten used to the idea of being near him again. You kept your eyes fixed on your hands.

“I missed talking to you,” you said. “Just a little.”

The words felt like they slipped out more than they were offered.

You felt him turn, could feel the weight of his gaze move from the record player to your face. Your cheeks warmed under it, uninvited.

“You did?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“Just a little,” you repeated, and finally let your eyes meet his, your lips tilting into something that tried not to be a smile but failed.

“Ah, thank God,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch with a kind of theatrical relief. “I was starting to get worried.”

You laughed, soft and breathy, your eyes dropping again to the mug in your lap. There was a pause. Not uncomfortable. You shifted a little closer and rested your head on his shoulder like it was a pillow you’d always used.

“So,” you said, “what’ve you been up to?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could tell he was thinking.

“Work. Rest,” he said finally. “I bought a new coffee the other day.”

“Oh yeah? Is it any good?”

“It is. I’ll give you some.”

“That’s generous of you,” you said, your tone feather-light. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “What else… I went on a few walks. Tried to cut down on smoking. Not sure if I actually managed to.”

Your gaze flicked to the coffee table, where a pack of cigarettes lay in plain sight.

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding toward it. “There’s your progress.”

He gave a short, stifled laugh that vibrated faintly beneath your ear. “I’m trying.”

You reached over and patted his thigh twice. “Good boy.”

He exhaled a laugh, head turning slightly toward you. “That again?”

“I haven’t forgotten. My theory still stands.”

“It’s a weird theory,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “A praise kink? Really?”

“It’s not weird, actually.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding with mock solemnity, eyes dancing. “It’s not. So,” he went on, “that’s what I did. Oh—helped Will with his car. We spent the whole day on it.”

“A whole day?”

“Well. Two hours, technically. Then we gave up and made ribs in the backyard.”

“Ah. The whole day.” You laughed and leaned into him again. “Two hours.”

He laughed again, then lifted the mug to his mouth. You were about to say something else, maybe something meaningless, but then the thought came back like a door left ajar in your mind, something drifting through.

“So, Tam,” you said, casually enough that it surprised even you. “What about her?”

You felt the change in him instantly. A shift in posture. A tightening.

“She’s a friend of Will’s,” he said, voice level. “They met a few months ago. She sold him a bike.”

“Oh.” You nodded once, your eyes on the handle of your mug as your thumb traced over it.

You didn’t add anything.

A few seconds passed. He swallowed. “There’s nothing going on with her. I just…” He paused. “I just—”

“Frankie,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I just drove her home. It was late.”

You smiled. “That was nice of you.”

“Mm.” He shifted again, resettling into the cushions beside you. Your head was still resting on his shoulder, and neither of you moved to change that. “That was it.”

You extended your empty mug toward him, and he took it from your hands with an ease that made something inside you soften. He leaned to place it gently on the small table beside him.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to glance at him from your position. “Do you think what Will said is true?”

“What?”

“That maybe she likes you. Or something like that.”

“Will just likes messing with me. He sees something and runs with it. That’s kind of his thing.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, fingertips trailing until they found the little freckle near his wrist. You pressed lightly there, then traced the edge of it.

“It was just that, you know?” he said, his voice more certain now, like he needed you to hear it. Like he needed himself to say it out loud. He looked at you, but your gaze didn’t rise this time.

You exhaled slowly. “Even if it was something else, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to explain.”

But still, he reached for your hand, the one that had touched his skin. He folded his fingers around yours, his thumb brushing softly along your fingertips.

“I just got the sense that it bothered you,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I—”

“As far as I know, you’re a single man. And if you meet someone you like, and they’re kind to you… I think that’s your business.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding your hand.

Then, “We’ve talked about this already.”

“I know,” you said, your voice even, “but these aren’t things you can always control, right? You can have the whole thing mapped out in your head—what you want, what you’re ready for, what you’ve decided not to touch. You can feel so sure about all of it. And then someone comes along who completely rearranges the blueprint, and maybe you weren’t prepared for that. Maybe it’s inconvenient, maybe it’s terrifying. But what are you supposed to do with that kind of thing?”

You paused. “Sometimes it just... arrives. Like timing that sneaks up on you and lands exactly where it should, whether you’re prepared or not. And honestly, Frankie,” you added, eyes steady, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Or anyone.”

He didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing beside you, that quiet rhythm, the way his chest moved beneath your head, like he was sorting through something inside himself. For a moment, you worried you’d said too much, crossed into a space that wasn’t yours to step into.

Then, finally: “I get it. But I don’t like Tam.”

You let out a soft exhale. “I wasn’t really talking about Tam,” you said gently. “I meant anyone.”

Your eyes dropped to where your hands rested together. His thumb was brushing against your skin again, the motion absent-minded but oddly grounding.

“I think it’s just one of those things people can’t plan for. You try, but then it happens anyway. I think it’s okay to take your time, to be cautious, to move at your own pace. But I also think it’s not weakness to let yourself be caught off guard by something good.”

He tilted his head slightly, enough to look at you. “You think that’s possible? That it can be a good thing?”

“I think it’s the most human thing in the world. Letting yourself feel something fully. Letting it lead you. Even just a little.”

Frankie gave a half-smile, not the kind that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Bad things have happened when I’ve done that before. When I’ve let myself get too carried away by what I was feeling.”

You looked at him. “Right, but what were you getting carried away by? What kinds of feelings?”

He let out a short laugh, more tired than amused. “It’s been a long, long stretch of darker ones, baby.”

Your gaze dropped again, back to your joined hands. You studied the place where his fingers still cradled yours.

“Then maybe that’s the difference,” you murmured. “You don’t have to follow the dark ones. Not if there are brighter ones. I mean, it sounds corny but... you know.”

“Uh-huh. Like what?”

“Well, I dunno,” you said, and your voice carried that hesitant tone people use when they’re trying not to sound too sure of themselves. “I know you said you don’t like Tam. But say you did. Say you met someone who made you feel a little more okay just by being around, someone who was gentle, real, not out to ruin your life. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Frankie’s laugh came out a little too fast. “They could absolutely crush me. Like, destroy me. Again.” He tried to make it sound like a joke. “Break my heart. And you... you’re not afraid of that happening again? Not after what Harry did?”

You nodded slowly, still looking down. “Yeah, I am, sometimes. Maybe more than I admit. But I don’t want that fear. I don't like it. I don’t want to be afraid of something as good as love just because someone misused it. Falling in love is... still one of the best things. It's fun, it's nice. I’m not going to let him take that away from me.”

Frankie leaned his head back against the couch. “It usually ends in a disaster, though. It rips you apart. It doesn’t just hurt, it—it just... Yeah, it fucking hurts.”

“I know, I’m not pretending it doesn’t.”

“And you still want it?”

“Still,” you murmured. “Even after everything. And I get it, right? Like, you promise yourself you’ll never be that open again, never leave the door even slightly cracked. But then someone comes along and you find yourself doing it anyway. You stop noticing how carefully you were guarding yourself, and suddenly you’re not anymore.”

Frankie was silent for a beat. Then:

“Someone like Bill?”

You frowned faintly, but didn’t lift your head. “Bill?”

“Yeah. I told you—I could see he was into you. And he seems decent, doesn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“And Emma likes him. And she's your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. If he’s the way she says... I guess I just think—I think—”

“He is,” you said, cutting gently across his sentence. “He is exactly like she says.”

“Right.” He paused. “He is exactly like she says.”

He just sat there, still as furniture, the heat from his side warming yours. Your fingers moved slightly, brushing his knuckles before curling around them—just barely, just enough to feel it. The shape of his hand in yours felt familiar.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” You whispered. You waited. He didn’t reply. “He’s not who I want.”

Shit. Shit. The words echoed in your mind long after you said them.

Next to you, Frankie stiffened — not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Enough to make your body react instinctively. Your hand, still tangled with his, turned cold at the fingertips, and you let it slip out of his. It didn’t feel right to keep touching him.

You adjusted your posture, putting space between your bodies, lowering your feet to the floor as if reclaiming a version of yourself that wasn’t so recklessly leaning into him.

A pause stretched between you. You reached over to your purse and fished out your phone. The screen lit up instantly with a message from Emma, timestamped ten minutes earlier.

[Em🐥 ]: I'm home <3 let me know how everything is going, I'll stay up a little longer

You replied with a few quick words — something casual, enough to reassure her you weren’t unraveling, even if a part of you might have been. You told her everything was fine, that you’d be back soon. You slipped the phone back in your bag, your hands quieter now.

“Um,” you said, eyes trained somewhere around the coffee table, anywhere but his face. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah. Down the hall. First door on the left.”

He hadn’t moved. His back still pressed against the couch, his eyes on you, hand resting exactly where yours had been, like he hadn’t quite registered its absence.

You stood and made your way to the bathroom, maybe a bit too fast. The light flicked on and for a second your eyes narrowed against the brightness. The space was neat — not sterile, just… simple. Everything in its place. No clutter.

You leaned your weight against the wall and exhaled, the sound more fragile than you expected.

Goddamn gin. You hadn’t even had much, just enough to loosen the seams a little. You weren’t drunk — you were just... like this, around Frankie. Words always rushed out like they were being pulled from you. Like he had some quiet gravitational force you hadn’t learned to resist.

And now you’d done it. You’d said too much. You’d pushed him again, out of his comfort zone, out of reach. He’d already been at arm’s length — why did you keep trying to pull him closer? He was probably right to stay there.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look wrecked, at least. Your lipstick hadn’t faded, your eyeliner hadn’t betrayed you. That was something. A small win. Thanks, Emma.

You stayed there longer than you needed to, buying yourself a few more seconds before stepping back into the atmosphere you’d unsettled. But eventually, you knew — you had to take responsibility for what you’d stirred.

You opened the door. The music was still playing, Marc Bolan’s voice floating like a ghost through the room.

Frankie stood by the record player. One hand hovered near his mouth, fingers resting lightly against his lips, the other braced at his hip. He looked like he was studying the motion of the record as it turned or the color of the vinyl.

You stayed where you were, watching his back. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

He didn’t turn fully, just twisted at the waist, his profile barely visible. “Yeah—okay. Or I can drive you, if you’d rather.”

You shook your head before remembering he couldn’t see you. “It’s fine. I’ll get an Uber.”

He nodded once. Not arguing.

You could tell he wasn’t drunk, not really, but you both knew there was just enough alcohol in your systems to complicate things.

He turned back toward the record player and reached forward, stopping it with a practiced motion. Then he carefully lifted the vinyl off it and slid it into its sleeve, his fingertips pressing softly at the edges like he was handling something fragile. He was.

“Thanks for the tea,” you said, watching him. “And for letting me come here. It’s like uncovering a mystery.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a breath—and turned to face you.

“And thank you for showing me your records,” you added.

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

He looked down at the record in his hand, hesitated, then glanced back up at you.

“I know you don’t have a garage or anything,” he started, “but... here. Take this.” He stepped forward and held it out to you. The record, now tucked neatly in its cover, extended in your direction. “I saw your player. In the bookshop.”

Your fingers closed around the edges, brushing briefly against his.

“Are you sure? It’s yours—”

“You’ll enjoy it more than I do. Really. And maybe you can listen to it at work. Or whenever you want, I mean. ”

You looked down at the cover, letting your eyes trace the artwork, the worn corners. You smiled, and lifted your gaze back to him.

“Thank you,” you said, and you meant it more than he probably knew.

Frankie smiled again. There was peace in his face, but not joy exactly.

“Well,” you said quietly, turning away as your fingers curled around the strap of your purse. “I’ll get a car.” You pulled the phone free, the screen lighting up in your hand. “What’s your address again?”

You glanced up, expecting him to speak quickly, but instead he stepped toward you. Just two steps but enough that the air between you changed. His presence drew up close to yours like heat in a narrow space.

“Um,” he began, eyes flickering down to the phone in your hand. “Two-two-one-one… Hartford—Hart…” He stumbled over the words, his voice catching as if his mind had exited the room entirely. His brow creased, lips parted, eyes still on your screen, but not really seeing it. He ran his hand through his hair, nervous.

Then he looked at you. You should have said something. You felt it building in your chest, a sentence that never came. You thought, briefly, that you might speak. That you might ask if he was okay, or if maybe—

But you didn’t.

Because he was already there. His hands lifted to your face, gently. And his mouth was so close you felt the first brush of it before you realized he’d leaned in at all.

Your eyes shut instantly. A reflex. A surrender.

His fingers curved along your jaw, thumbs soft at your cheeks, touching you like he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss wasn’t demanding — it was brief, tentative, something barely born.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you, his gaze darker than you’d ever seen it. Full.

He slipped the vinyl from your hands —carefully— and placed it down on the couch without breaking eye contact. You let your phone fall there too, not bothering to look at it again.

Then his hands were on you again, firmer this time, his grip less cautious. And he kissed you like he’d run out of patience, like he couldn’t talk himself out of it anymore. You met him with the same urgency.

Your heart was thudding, loud and uneven, as if trying to match the rhythm of his. You looped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, tilted your head to let him in. His tongue slipped into your mouth without hesitation.

You made a quiet sound against his lips, and he responded by pulling you tighter. You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through it, gripping soft strands like you needed something to anchor you to the ground.

You hadn’t even noticed when it happened, not fully — just the subtle shift of his body, the press of his weight, and then the cool firmness of the wall behind your back. One moment you were kissing him like you couldn’t breathe without it, and the next you were pinned, his hands moving down your sides, rough with want but tender with care. His fingers found your hips first, gripped tightly, then slid down, tracing the shape of your thighs, your ass — pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you.

Your breathing was uneven, catching at the top of each inhale, and his matched yours. You were flushed everywhere, skin hot and tingling, like something inside you had been lit and was now burning recklessly out of control. The closeness wasn’t enough — not nearly. You wanted more of him, all of him, everywhere.

He broke the kiss and moved to your neck like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His lips grazed the skin beneath your jaw, warm and searching. Then he bit softly — just enough to make you gasp, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt. The sound you made seemed to light something in him, because he groaned against your throat, low and needy, the vibration of it sinking straight into your chest.

You opened your eyes, breath shuddering out in fragmented sighs.

“Frankie,” you said, barely above a whisper, not even sure if it was a plea or a warning or both. You tugged gently at his hair, needing him to hear you, to see you.

He lifted his head, his mouth deep pink, eyes heavy and full of something that looked like reverence and hunger all at once. His face was flushed and gorgeous in that ruinous way people look when they’ve stopped pretending.

“I don’t know if you want this.” Your voice didn’t sound like yours — it was fragile, shaky, almost not there at all.

His expression shifted, like something cracked inside him.

“I do,” he said, the words scraping out of his throat. “I do,” he repeated, eyes locked on yours. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every damn day. I—” He shook his head like the sentence was useless. “Fuck it.”

Then his mouth was on yours again — hard, urgent, no more waiting. He kissed you like he was making up for every second he hadn’t, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifted you without hesitation. You wrapped your legs around him, your arms tightening around his shoulders, everything in you pulling him closer. The wall disappeared behind you. You didn’t know where he was carrying you, and it didn’t matter. Your eyes were closed and your thoughts had blurred into sensation — pure, overwhelming.

You kissed him like you were starving. Like the world outside this moment had ceased to exist. And then, just as the pace of everything threatened to consume you entirely, he set you down. Carefully. Your back met a soft surface — a bed, you realized. Your chest rose and fell, breathless. The room was dim, nearly pitch dark, until Frankie turned and switched on a lamp beside the bed. A small circle of golden light spread over the sheets, over the shape of his body as he looked at you.

You kicked off your shoes in a clumsy rush. You barely looked at the room itself — barely noticed the furniture, the walls, anything. Your attention had narrowed entirely to him.

He climbed onto the bed, over you, his knee sliding between yours. He kissed you again before you could say anything. Your hands trembled slightly as they moved to his belt. You fumbled, but not out of hesitation — out of the sheer urgency coursing through you. You got the button open, then the zipper, just as his mouth moved to your throat again, this time biting with more certainty, less restraint.

The pain flared, beautiful in the way it folded instantly into pleasure. You moaned, head tilting back, hands still on his waist, and thought briefly, this is happening, and thank god.

You reached for him without thinking, but he was already moving, shifting his weight back onto his knees. A frustrated sound broke in your throat at the absence of his body on yours. But then you saw his hands at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in a single motion and tossing it somewhere behind him, careless with everything but you.

You sat up automatically, drawn forward, and placed your hands on his bare abdomen. His skin was warm, soft under your touch, and you could feel the tautness of muscle beneath the surface. Quiet strength, the heat of him, the way desire seemed to radiate outward and settle in the pit of your stomach like something molten.

He guided you back, pressing you into the mattress again. His palms slid down your body, finding your skirt. You bent your knees, lifting your legs to help him, and he removed it with a practiced kind of ease, the fabric sliding down and away.

You sat up again, wordlessly, unthinking, and peeled off your shirt, letting it fall from your fingers to the floor beside the bed.

Frankie reached for you once more, his hands firm. He pushed you back again, settling over you with a kind of certainty that made you feel both cherished and undone. His face hovered just above yours — eyes dark and focused, mouth curved in the faintest smile — and then he kissed you, briefly, almost teasingly, before pulling back a little.

One of his hands pressed into the mattress above your head, steadying himself, while the other moved to your shoulder, tracing the strap of your bra with his knuckles before easing it down your arm. Then the other. His fingers found the center clasp and worked it down, peeling the fabric away until it rested around your waist, leaving your breasts exposed to the room, to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your skin buzzed beneath the sudden coolness, your nipples already tight, your whole body reacting before he even touched you again. He looked at you like he was seeing something private and sacred, something he wanted to memorize. Then, finally, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his weight pressing into you as his tongue explored your mouth with aching intensity. You tasted want and something else you didn’t have words for.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbones, across the soft hollow between them. Every part of you he touched felt heightened, more awake. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching toward him as if your body had made the decision for you.

You reached up and cradled the back of his neck, anchoring him to you, your fingers sliding into his hair as he circled his tongue over the sensitive skin. The sensation pulled a reaction from you so swift, so undeniable, that you barely recognized the sound you made — a moan that felt like it had come from somewhere deeper than your throat.

He moved to your other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, fingers firm and careful, and your body responded again, a rush of heat pooling between your legs. It was impossible to stay still beneath him.

Frankie let go of you with a wet sound that echoed in the quiet of the room. His mouth trailed lower, over your stomach, leaving behind a warm, glistening path of kisses that made your skin tense beneath him. You felt the brush of his lips against the top of your underwear — the softest press — and yet your hips lifted toward him, needy and instinctual.

His breath hit you there, unsteady and hot. You could hear it—uneven, rushed—against the cotton that separated his mouth from your skin. His hands came to rest around your thighs, thumbs pressing into the softness just above your knees.

And then his mouth was on you. Just the thin barrier of fabric between his tongue and your flesh. The pressure made your back lift off the mattress, your body responding with a gasp. Frankie groaned into you, low and raw, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and vibrated through your body like it belonged to you.

Your fingers found his messy hair and gripped, not knowing what else to do. He pulled back then, just enough to reach for the waistband of your panties, and you didn’t wait for instruction. You raised your hips, legs bent and ready, and he slid them down your thighs in one clean motion.

For a beat, everything went still.

Your knees rested lightly on his shoulders, the bones of your legs brushing against his collarbones. He looked down at you, eyes glazed with something heavier than lust. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven rhythm. He looked like someone caught between prayer and ruin.

One hand slid along your leg, palm smoothing over the bend of your knee. The other traced the length of your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of heat. Then, without a word, he opened you. And he saw you.

You watched his face change—eyes widening slightly, mouth twitching. You could feel his gaze on you like contact itself, like pressure, like he was touching you just by looking.

But it wasn’t enough. Your body screamed for more, impatient and pulsing. Still, he stayed there, fixed between your legs, studying you like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Then he moved.

His hands slid lower, securing your thighs in his grip. He leaned in and kissed the inside of your left leg, just above the knee. His mouth wandered downward, closer and closer, and you propped yourself on your elbows to see him—to see all of him, hair mussed and lashes shadowing his cheeks as he kissed his way down like he was following a map.

And then he reached your core.

There was no hesitation, no warning—just his mouth on you, all tongue and lips and intention. You cried out without sound, your mouth dropping open, your head falling back against the bed. Every nerve inside you lit up, over and over again, as if your body had been waiting for this exact touch your entire life. You trembled under him, every muscle drawn tight, and the sensation rushed through you in waves so intense you weren’t sure whether you could bear it or beg for more.

Frankie’s tongue moved in steady, circular motions, like he had studied you before this moment, like he knew what would make you fall apart. He groaned against you, the sound low and guttural, and the vibration shot straight through your core.

“Oh my God, Francisco,” you gasped, the words tumbling out of you as your head dropped back onto the pillow. Your eyes squeezed shut. You felt almost outside yourself, like you were watching this happen from somewhere else in the room.

Your hips began to shift, restless with urgency, but his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored to the bed. His breathing had turned heavy, matching your own, and there was something increasingly frantic in the way his mouth moved on you — like he couldn’t get enough, like he wasn’t just trying to make you come, but to taste your undoing, to drown in it.

It had never been like this. You had known pleasure before, of course, but not this kind. Not the kind that seemed to steal the thoughts from your head and replace them with static. Frankie moved like he could feel every nuance in your body, like he could sense exactly where you were breaking, and pushed just a little further.

You felt it rising inside you, a tension that curled tighter and tighter. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, a movement so quick it almost startled him, your hand finding his hair again and tangling there, tugging with a force you didn’t know you were capable of. He groaned again, louder this time, and the sound rattled against your skin, your ribs, your bones.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a fierce, uneven rhythm. Heat spread through you like fire licking at every corner of your body. Frankie pulled you closer, his tongue moving with a rhythm that felt built for you and no one else. You cried out — not words, just sound — and your head tipped back as the wave overtook you, crashing over your body in a torrent that left you gasping. Every part of you clenched and released, like your body was unraveling and rebuilding all at once.

But he didn’t stop.

Even when your fingers pushed at his hair, even when your body jolted with overstimulation, he kept going — licking, kissing, breathing you in. You whimpered, twisting beneath him, your hand pressing at his forehead until he finally lifted his head, lips wet and eyes dazed.

You were shaking. Completely unmade. Your chest rose and fell in sharp breaths that didn’t feel like enough. And still, he looked at you like he wasn’t finished.

He moved back up over your body, settling on top of you with that same heat still written across his skin. His mouth found yours again, this time soft, almost careful, like he knew you needed a moment.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

You smiled, eyes almost closed. "Yeah. That was... Yeah." You caressed his face, your fingers running over it as if you wanted to memorize it.

Frankie smiled. Then he moved to your neck, kissing the place just below your jaw, again and again, like he knew you loved it. Or maybe he just wanted to stay there for a while.

Your hand trailed back down his chest, each movement deliberate not in pace but in purpose. His skin was warm under your fingertips, the faintest ridge of muscle beneath the softness. You brushed past his navel, past the band of his boxers, and without pausing, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric. The hair there, and then—further down—you found him.

Hard. Large. Hot in your palm.

You opened your eyes. The ceiling was a blur, the room spinning softly around the edges. Frankie let out a sound into your neck and it curled around your spine like a fuse catching fire. The sound did something to you. You didn’t have a name for it, but it made your breath catch and your body ache.

“Please,” you whispered, hoarse, sure what you were asking for. Just more. Just him.

He stilled, his breath uneven. Then he shifted, pulling away from your body with effort, like detaching two pieces of something that had always belonged together. He rose from the bed without saying anything, and you stayed where you were—sprawled across his sheets, boneless and burning—watching him silently.

Frankie bent to remove his shoes, then his jeans. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, as if witnessing this needed the reverence of attention. When he pulled off his boxers, you went still.

There he was. Completely bare. Standing in the amber light of the bedside lamp like a statue half-finished, chest rising with every sharp breath, cock full and thick and impossibly beautiful in the dimness. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you with that expression again—like he was still trying to believe you were real.

He climbed back onto the bed, one knee between your legs, one hand stroking himself with an absent-minded kind of urgency. You felt your mouth go dry and wet at once, your body too aware of every inch of him. The sight of him touching himself in front of you was almost too much.

He opened the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out a foil packet. You sat up, instinctively, and reached for him, your hand wrapping around his length. You moved your palm up and down, gentle, reverent. His breathing fractured.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, the words barely audible.

He tore open the wrapper with shaking fingers. You let go and watched him carefully as he rolled the condom on. You leaned back, your skin hypersensitive, your nipples prickling with the faintest movement of air.

Then he was over you again, his body shadowing yours, arms bracketing your head like he needed to keep you beneath him. His mouth found yours—not ravenous, not frenzied. Just… kind.

He kissed you like he meant it, like he had all the time in the world to taste you. Lips brushing yours with a softness that felt dangerous. Like this could be something more than heat and breath and tension. Like this might break you open if you let it.

And you let it. Because you were already breaking.

You felt him there, right at the edge of you—his body so close it was hard to tell where yours ended. You tilted your hips toward him instinctively, something inside you guiding the movement without thought. Frankie’s mouth brushed yours again, and he smiled—barely, just enough for you to feel it. His left hand planted itself above your head, steadying. His other hand shifted between you, grounding you in a way that felt both gentle and firm.

Your arms went around his neck. You couldn’t help it. You needed to hold him. Needed to feel every inch of him pressed against you.

And then he pushed inside.

The stretch was exquisite, each inch of him invading you in a way that made your lungs forget how to work. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just air, caught in your throat. He stopped halfway in, his breath faltering, forehead nearly resting against yours. And then he drew back, not completely, just enough to make you ache, and slid in again. This time deeper. A shiver ran down your spine.

You moaned—soft at first, involuntary. When you opened your eyes, his face was right there. His expression was undone, like he’d broken apart and hadn’t figured out how to reassemble himself yet. He was looking at you, but it wasn’t just about sex. There was something else in his gaze.

Then he kissed you again—messier this time, more urgent, like he needed your mouth the same way he needed everything else. He moved inside you harder, hips shifting into a rhythm that felt like a storm brewing just beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the pressure or the depth—it was the way it built, how it stole your breath more with every thrust.

The noises that came from you weren’t delicate. They were raw, real, rising in pitch as his body collided with yours. The slap of skin, the creak of the bedframe, the heavy breath between both of your mouths—it all blurred into one sound, constant and deafening and perfect.

He groaned into your ear, a low, shaken sound. Your hands clung to his back, nails dragging across his skin as if anchoring yourself to the moment. You felt him respond to the sting of it—his hips snapping forward harder.

He was driving you deeper into the mattress with each movement. You felt it in your ribs, in your thighs, in your soul. The wall behind the bed thudded in rhythm, the room echoing back the chaos you two were making.

Your chest heaved. Your face was flushed. There were tears pricking behind your eyes for no reason you could explain—just too much sensation, too much want. A buzz built beneath your skin, sweet and dizzying, until it filled your whole body like electricity.

You bit him.

You weren’t thinking, not really—your teeth found his shoulder, his neck, like you needed something to hold onto or you might disappear. And he let you. He groaned again, a sound that went straight through your body and took up residence somewhere deep inside.

And still—he didn’t stop.

His moans shifted—deeper now, full-bodied. You opened your eyes and ran your hands over his back, tracing the dip of his spine, the tension in his shoulders, the thickness of his arms. You adjusted beneath him, tilting your hips in a way that made your intent unmistakable. He paused just enough to register it.

So he moved, wordlessly. Rolled off you and onto his back, hands already on your hips as if his body had anticipated yours.

You climbed over him in one fluid movement, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your center brushed along the length of him and your breath caught like a thread pulled tight in your chest. His hands remained on you.

You pushed the hair from your face and let one palm rest on his chest—warm, firm, rising and falling beneath your touch. Your other hand moved between your thighs, guiding him toward you. And then, with both hands braced on his chest, you sank down onto him.

Your head tipped back. Your mouth opened in something between relief and reverence. He filled you completely. Every inch of him belonged inside you and your body knew it instinctively.

At first, you moved gently—learning the rhythm, feeling every part of him stretch and press inside you. But the pressure built quickly, rising in waves, until your hips began to move with more urgency. Up, down, again, again. The bed shifted beneath you, groaning with each motion. Frankie’s hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping you tightly as he began to move with you, helping you take him deeper, harder.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on either side of his head. His eyes were glazed with heat. He let out a sound—low, strained—and then bent his head just enough to capture one of your breasts in his mouth. Your hips stuttered. The contact made you gasp.

You were unraveling. Melting over him, against him, around him. Every nerve in your body lit up, overwhelmed by sensation. The room filled with the echo of it all—flesh meeting flesh, your breath hitching and breaking, the slick sounds that made your whole body feel like it was vibrating.

Then Frankie growled—a dark, guttural sound that you felt more than heard. He grabbed your waist and pressed you flush against him, arms aroung you, lifting his knees for leverage. He began thrusting up into you, hard and purposeful, meeting you with a rhythm so perfect it felt like your body had been made for this exact moment.

You pressed your hands to his shoulders for balance and looked down at him.

He was stunning. Absolutely undone. Hair matted to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his lips parted, damp and pink. His eyes met yours—dark, shining—and you felt like you could drown in them.

You leaned down and kissed him, a shaky moan caught between your mouths. He was still moving beneath you and it was almost too much. Every thrust scraped against something inside you that made your vision blur.

You broke the kiss and gasped against his cheek. Your fingers dug into his skin, holding on like you might fall apart.

Your mouth found his again, and this time you bit down softly on his lower lip, just as you felt the wave crest. His hips stuttered beneath you, erratic now, almost frantic. You heard the shift in his breath—the sharp intake, the strangled exhale—and then you felt it. His release. The moment his body surrendered entirely, muscles tightening, his grip on you fierce and unthinking.

Your vision blurred as your own pleasure surged alongside his, crashing into you in a way that made your hands clench around his shoulders, your spine arch, your thighs tremble where they straddled his hips. Frankie groaned—gutural and right against your neck—and the sound felt like it was stitched into your skin.

When it ended, he didn’t move right away. Just held you there, still connected, one hand splayed across your back, the other resting on your hip like a tether. You let your forehead fall into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like skin and sweat and something warm that you couldn’t name but never wanted to forget.

After a few breaths—his still uneven, yours catching on the edge of a sigh—you lifted your face. Your eyes met his in the half-light. It felt impossibly quiet. Like nothing else existed outside that room, that bed, that look.

You raised a hand and touched his cheek with your fingertips. He turned into your palm like it was instinct. You kissed him once, soft and lingering, and then began to shift off him, your body aching in the best kind of way.

But before you could fully roll away, his hand caught your arm. He pulled you gently back against his chest, like he wasn’t ready to lose the weight of you yet. His other hand came up to your face, brushing over your cheekbone with careful tenderness.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was low, raw. Like it had been scraped out of him.

You nodded and kissed him again. “I'm okay. You?”

Your head settled on his chest, and your hand moved across his skin in idle strokes. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, strong and steady, the rise and fall of his breath slowly evening out.

“I’m okay, baby,” he said, barely above a murmur.

No consequence felt significant in that exact moment.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline @crayolacraycray @wencontre @peepawispunk @berryispunk

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krosiefics · 1 year ago

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would you like that? • bang chan

M D N I 18+

WC: 1.4k

Summary: Bang Chan is having too much fun teasing Stays on Bubble while he’s supposed to be working, he suddenly starts teasing you as well and that escalates to well…

A/N: lmfao I honestly called us (stays) out for writing shit on the internet but I like to think of it as ‘creative writing’ Also this isn’t proof read so, sorry abt any typos or mistakes :P

Tags: afab!reader, softdom!bangchan, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), grinding, overstimulation, ass grabbing(?)-not ass play), teasing, pet names (babe, baby, good girl, pretty, etc), breeding kink, I’m prob forgetting some so sorry

Chan giggled at his phone as he saw the flow of flustered responses to his latest Bubble message. “You’re teasing them too much.” You shake your head, peeking over his shoulder reading all of Stay’s responses. “No I'm not.” He scoffs, “They’re far worse than you could ever imagine.” It’s true and you know it, Stay’s write all sorts of things about the members online.

(a/n ;-;)

As one of Stray Kids’ managers, your job is to handle their social and music media, so you’ve seen things…things you probably shouldn’t have. Chan knows this and so he uses all these teases towards Stay as an advantage. “Let’s see, what should I say next?” Chan ponders to himself as you sit down on the sofa that sat behind his desk, you open your computer and as you’re about to start working on a new draft a loud giggle startles you.

Chan is curled up in his chair, kicking his feet giddily while looking at his phone. Growing annoyed at the man who is supposed to be working with you on new lyric drafts, you get up from your spot and snatch his phone gently from his hands. “Hey!” Chan pouts as you read the screen. Your face immediately heats up as you read the highly suggestive comment he left on someone’s post about pudding. “Chan, that's highly inappropriate!”

Chan was going to snap back but then noticed your face’s sudden change of color and he smirked. “Would you like that?” He teased, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite tell. It’s not abnormal for you two to playfully tease or flirt with each other, it helps ease the awkward moments of silence that sometimes fall between you. But this…this was different, it was as if he was testing you, to see if you’d give in to all of your playful remarks you’ve made over the past few years of knowing each other.

“What?” You breathe out shakily. Chan licks his lips, his eyes flickering down to your soft plump lips. Oh what he would do to feel them against his. Chan knows he shouldn’t think like this, especially since you’re one of his managers…yet he still craved you, there was just something about you. Chan’s hands crept up the sides of your legs, gripping at your hips and tugging you closer to him.

Due to the sudden tug, you almost topple on top of him, you hold yourself above his head on the headrest of his chair. Your face felt so hot, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the way your stomach fluttered, the way your breathing became hitched…all because of this man’s sudden change of teasing. “I’m not kidding.” Chan sighs, leaning his face into your neck. You could feel his breath fanning across your skin, it sent chills down your spine.

The sudden touch of his lips to your skin instantly made you jolt, but he held you in your place not wanting to let go of this moment. “Please.” Chan whispered as he continued to pepper your neck with wet kisses.

You didn’t know what was happening anymore, it all went so quick. His teeth grazed over your collarbone and you gasped in response, your hands flying to his hair. Now with the loss of support from the headrest, Chan easily sits you in his lap, having you straddle his lap. Your breathing fastens as you feel him nibble at your skin, biting your lip not to let any sounds come out.

Chan’s hands snake around towards your ass and grab it, massaging the flesh. You let out an accidental moan at his action, you bury your face into his neck out of embarrassment. “It’s okay baby, it’s just us here right now, it's too late for anyone else to be here. So you can be as loud as you want, yeah.” Chan starts leaving kisses on the top of your head.

You whimper at his noises and he chuckles, as he adjusts his seating position you feel something hard poke at you. You pull away from his neck to look down at what it was, your face turns even redder. The outline of his hardened cock bulging from his jeans.

Your mind filled with the possible outcomes on what could happen if you stop this or if you let this continue. There were too many risks, but so many benefits. You wanted the man underneath you, you always have. Chan’s overall personality is what attracted you to him initially, but the more spent time with him the more you realized that this guy is insanely hot, handsome, talented, caring, and a billion other positive things. You knew you couldn’t have him though, it was wrong.

But right now, you didn’t care. You didn’t care how wrong this was. You let your lust and desire take over you.

You experimentally rolled your hips against his, Chan responded with a low groan, his grip on your hips tightening. “Fuck that feel good babe, don’t stop.” And you didn’t. You rubbed against him until his breathing was fast like yours, his eyes screwed shut from the pleasure, and his face red and hot. Then you stopped.

Chan whined softly, his eyes fluttered open as he stared up at you. You carefully removed yourself from his lap. “Wait.” Chan simpered, lifting his body to get up after you. You simply placed a hand on his chest to keep him seated there. You walked over to the door and locked it, even though there shouldn’t be anyone here at this hour, it still didn’t hurt to be careful. Chan was about to beg you to stay when he saw you walking away, but he stopped as soon as he saw you lock the door, excitement flooding through his body.

“One time.” You pointed with your finger as if to make a statement, “This is only happening one time.” You quickly slide your shorts and underwear off which reveal a wet patch on the pantie liner from your arousal. Chan stared at you in awe as he saw your glistening cunt, he was quick to follow suit in taking off his jeans and sliding his boxers down as well.

You swing your leg over his lap sitting hovering above his hard cock. “Pretty girl I’ve gotta stretch you out first or it’ll hurt.”

“You’re not that big Bang.” You poke, it was a lie he was big, not super massive but definitely above average to the point where it probably might burn.

You grab his cock which makes the messy haired boy hiss, aligning up to your entrance before sinking on to it. It did burn, but it was tolerable, you just focused on the fact that it’ll feel better soon. To distract you from the pain Chan started rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs, he shushed as you started moving your hips in circles.

“Oh fuck.” Chan moaned after you finally adjusted, your hips letting up before smacking back down. “I’m gonna fill this pussy up so much right baby. You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up.” You throw your head back as Chan helps you with lifting your hips. You hum, nonsensically agreeing to whatever it is that Chan wants at that moment.

“Yeah, you’ll fill me up so good.” You moan.

Chan suddenly starts forcefully thrusting up into you, directly hitting your g-spot. “Oh fuck!” You almost scream, you quickly catch yourself by biting down onto Chan’s shoulder. He groaned as your teeth sunk into his skin, but he wasn’t complaining, cause now he’s gonna have a mark that reminds him of right now.

“C’mon babe, I’m almost there…shit,” Chan pushed your hips down as he rutted into your leaking cunt. You held onto him as the feeling of that familiar knot in your stomach started tightening, “Me too.” You shut your eyes as you allowed your orgasm to come putting down over you, you slumped against Chan’s chest as he continued plummeting into you.

You cried at the overstimulation, “I know baby, I’m sorry- I’m cumming.” Chan buried his face in your neck as he spilt inside of you.

The warmth of him filling up your insides. Chan carefully pulled out and cleaned you up with the small box of tissues that was at the corner of his desk. . And as if nothing, the two of you both went back to working on the lyrics. Occasionally sparing lustful glances at one another. Chan realized he’s not gonna be able to tease Stay again without thinking of you.

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warrioreowynofrohan · 5 months ago

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Character Analysis – Edmund Bertram

I have a better opinion of Edmund Bertram than much of the Jane Austen fandom has, and I am going to try to explain why. It comes down to several things:

1) He probably makes more sacrifices for people other than a woman he is in love with than any other Jane Austen hero.

He has to sacrifice a great deal of the economic condition he would normally expect in order to enable Tom’s debts to be paid, and Tom doesn’t even care about this or feel guilty for it. At no point does Edmund show hostility to or resentment of his brother over this, nor does he ever bring it up to Tom to guilt him, not even when Tom is doing something Edmund considers immoral and disrespectful to their father; Edmund makes his arguments against the play on the merits, as best he can. Nor does he bring it up to Tom when the (relative to expectations) small income he can expect is one of the principal barriers to him marrying the woman he loves.

He goes out of his way to be kind to Fanny from the start (seriously, how few 16-year-old boys would take the time to listen and be kind to and help a ten-year-old girl? Most 16-year-old boys are dreadful, from my experience of high school.)

He sells one of his horses to buy one that Fanny can ride, when riding is recommended for her health. This is no small thing, given how frequently-used horses were in that time. This isn’t like, say, selling one of your three cars; it’s more like choosing to give up either your computer, tablet, or cell phone, and never (or, well, for many years) have a replacement again. Lending the horse to Mary Crawford for a couple days is a fault, but to me a fairly minor fault in light of this.

He is determined that he will live in his parsonage rather than – as would be done by many members of the clergy in that day – live at Mansfield Park and ride over once a week to preach. It is important to him that he do his job well and live among the people he is ministering to, and he is not tempted to try to modify his parsonage into a much fancier house when Henry Crawford tries to talk him into it. Nor is he willing to pursue a career that Mary Crawford would be more favourable to. He genuinely cares about his vocation as a pastor, and is willing to make sacrifices both of love and of comfort in order to do so. I don’t generally have a high opinion of the 19th-century Anglican clergy, Edmund is genuinely dedicated.

He tends to Tom gently and fairly continuously when Tom is sick, despite Edmund having plenty of worries of his own. The book says, “when able to talk, or be talked to, Edmund was the companion he preferred.” Edmund put off a proposal to the woman he loves in order to tend to Tom – and that tending is a duty that would, I think, usually have been considered as one for the women of the family. It really highlights how Edmund is the only Bertram with real feeling and care for his family members.

In light of this, I think that some of the things readers heavily criticize him for, like losing track of time one afternoon when he’s on an outing with his girlfriend, are comparatively minor and forgiveable. Edmund seems to me to put more concerted effort into doing the right thing than most other men in Jane Austen.

2) His ability to act is constrained relative to most other Austen heroes by the fact that he is a younger son, living at home, with two parents and an aunt still living. He does not have the authority to spend Sir Thomas’ money, and filial duty means he cannot outright denigrate Mrs. Norris to Fanny. The only other Jane Austen heroes who do not have their independence are Edward Ferrars and Henry Tilney (and both of them have rather different relationships with their family).

This means anything he does for Fanny, he has to do at his own expense – as when he sells one of his horses to buy one for her; as when he offers to stay with his mother while the others go to Sotherton so that Fanny can go. It’s the most effective way he has of addressing the way they treat her: oh, so you think it’s okay if this happens to Fanny? Well then, it’s happening to me instead. In the case of the Sotherton expedition, it quickly flips people to seeing that as unacceptable, making them bother to find another (fairly simple) solution that they hasn’t cared about finding before.

In a few ways, Edmund is placed in a more feminine role in the story than any other male leads: his principal good qualities are a strong moral sense and the provision of emotional support and care; he’s the bedrock of his family in the same way that Elinor Dashwood is for hers; he’s held back from the person he loves by economic precarity; and he seems to have a limited social circle outside his family (the drinking-and-gambling habits common in young male society among students of his class and time likely didn’t suit him).

In short, Henry Crawford does not care for and value Fanny Price more (or nearly as much) as Edmund does; his financial and familial position simply make it easy for him to do things, at insignificant cost to himself, that Edmund cannot do without behaving in a way that would, in his time, be deeply disrespectful to his parents and aunt. Edmund knows Fanny far better, understands her far better, and when he gives her gifts (like the necklace) it’s ones she likes and appreciates.

3) I don’t blame Edmund for being in love with Mary Crawford for much of the book because, frankly, she’s an appealing person, especially given Edmund’s narrow social circle. The combination of wit, liveliness, comsistent good humour, interesting conversation, and beauty (plus harp-playing) that she beings are not something the Bertrams encounter every day. He wants to think better of her than she is because her other characteristics are so appealing. I think that’s a very human reaction when in love. (Elizabeth Bennet falls for Wickham and makes excuses for him based on little more than good manners, good looks, flattery, and a mutual dislike of Darcy, and people don’t criticize her nearly as much.)

By the same token, I don’t blame him for being oblivious to Fanny’s love for him because absolutely everyone is and Fanny is very deliberately and determinedly concealing it. And given that, liking to spend somewhat more time with your girlfriend than your bestie is also, I think, quite forgivable in a young person.

4) On one area of frequent critique, that Edmund doesn’t listen to Fanny on several notable occasions (mainly about the Crawfords), I think their dynamic over several years is an important consideration. It’s somewhat a flipped version of Emma in that you’ve got a mentor-mentee relationship between the leads, but in this case it’s the mentor who is mistaken and the mentee who is right. Edmund has been supporting and advising and encouraging Fanny for many years, and many of those times he was right. For example, she was afraid of learning to ride when she first started with a pony, and Edmund encouraged her and comvinced her to do it, and she came to love it.

“Ah! cousin, when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good; – (Oh! how I have trembled at my uncle’s opening his lips if horses were talked of) and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of my fears, and comvince me that I should like it after a littl while, and feel how right you proved to be, I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well.”

Fanny also, in another conversation, describes herself to Edmund as “foolish and awkward” and he insists “you have not a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly.” The narrative is clear about how consistent and important his care, sympathy, praise, and advoacy have been for her, for many years:

Edmund’s friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for Oxford made no change in is kind dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunities of providing them. Without any display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing too much, he was always true to herinterests,and considerate of her feelings, trying to make her good qualities understood, and to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being more apparent; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement.

Kept back as she was by every body else, his single support could not bring her forward, but his attentions were otherwise of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself…he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgement; he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

The nature of this relationship also helps explain some of Edmund’s reaction to Henry Crawford’s proposal: while Edmund is very much at fault for disregarding her doubts about Henry Crawford’s morality, he is very used to Fanny being nervous and anxious about things that, once she is used to the and no longer afraid of them or uncertain of her abilities, she enjoys. (Such as riding.) So he is seeing her reaction in part through that frame.

The basic difficulty in Mansfield Park that affects perceptions of Edmund is that it is occurring at a moment of transition: the first time Fanny has been eclipsed in Edmund’s life, combined with a transition from him being a mentor and guide to them becoming equals, and her in fact surpassing him in perception and being willing to go against even his opinion in her choice to reject Henry Crawford. It’s the story of Fanny growing up, whereas Edmund (the mentor) is put in the place of Emma (the mentee) in Emma, in being mistaken in key assessments of people, and biased into seeing what he wants to see. This reversal is what allows them to be on equal footing, and for Edmund’s benefit from Fanny’s companionship to be as apparent or more apparent, to everyone, as his from her.

However, this means that for most of the novel we’re seeing Edmund and Famny’s relationship at the weakest point it’s ever been, which can’t help but affect readers’ attitudes to him; and I do think it’s a flaw that we don’t get an actual conversation at the end between Edmund and Fanny that deals with his recognition of his errors in judgement and the value of her perception and principle.

#jane austen #mansfield park #edmund bertram #fanny price

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moody-alcoholic · 6 months ago

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On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 10 - They Say the Truth Set's You Free

CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, suicidal thoughts, vomit, mentions of injury's, near death experience.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

It’s like a dream.

You wake, your body dragged into the room, strapped to the table or the chair. It’s always Graves and one of his shadows. You’ve stopped listening to them, you just sob or scream. Anything to get your energy out, you’re scared you might slip up, say something just to get them to stop. You tried begging when it was John and Simon, they didn’t listen to you, they didn’t believe you. Why would Graves be any different?

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

‘What do you think Riley would think of you now?’

‘141 left days ago. Left you here to suffer and you still keep your mouth closed?’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, at this point you’re just delaying the inevitable.’

What is the inevitable? Death? You used to be scared of death, you don’t fear it anymore, now you know there is someone waiting on the other side.

When Graves comes back you don’t bother holding your breath anymore while water is poured over your face. By the time they’re finished and pulling the rag away you can barely breathe.

It’s one of those days again, you’re shivering water drenched over your body. Your throat is raw and your stomach is heavy with water.

“Price trained you well.” Graves says as he dunks the rag back in the water. You can barely focus on him, you can’t think straight. you‘re worried if you open your mouth you might say something you don’t mean, admit something that’s not true then it would be over.

He presses the rag over your nose and mouth. There's no water this time, just his palm over your mouth and his thumb and forefinger pinching your nose.

Your body involuntarily squirms. Your lungs burn, your head swims. He’s not letting go, maybe this is it.

You hope there's a heaven you would like to see Simon again.

…

“It’s been 3 days, this has to be enough.” Kyle says, slamming a folder down.

“We get one shot, we should collect everything we can. Leave no room for error.” John says he agrees with Kyle but rushing in could do more harm than good. “Laswell will be here in a few hours, we’ll go then.”

“That’s a few hours too long.” Johnny says. He’s been the most quiet, sitting behind a laptop or stacks of paperwork. It’s not the same, he’s not the same, none of them are.

“Why don’t you go check on Simon, get something to eat.” John suggests.

“Not hungry.”

“Coffee then.” Johnny looks over at John. It’s less of a suggestion and more of an order. He sighs, getting up, closing the laptop and walking over to the door. When Johnny opens the door he almost jumps. The doctor from the hospital is standing there, his fist clenched like he was ready to knock.

“I wanted to speak to Captain Price.” He says, Johnny frowns moving to the side. John stands up nodding him in.

“I want to help. I had no idea this was going to happen. I thought it was because you took the helo. I told her it was supposed to stay.” he says, Johnny stands behind him crossing his arms.

“I didn't know he was going to torture her. She’s not a traitor, I can vouch for her.” The doctor says, he seems genuine. John sighs, sitting back down. He’s fidgeting, seems like he really didn’t know how fucked things were. His word isn’t worth much but at least there’s more people in your corner and he can definitely get access to the hospital computers. At least then that makes it easier to prove your movements. The doctor's pager goes off and he turns his body to look.

“Can I?” He asks, pointing at the phone on the table. Price nods, rubbing his chin. Anything to get you out quicker, Johnny was right making you wait a few more hours is a few hours too long.

“Is she breathing?”

Something makes the hairs stand up on the back of John’s neck, he looks at the doctor, something feels wrong.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” The doctor puts the phone down.

“It’s the custody wing. You might want to come.” The doctor says. John is on his feet in an instant, he doesn't need to order Kyle or Johnny. He knows they’re following.

…

You wake to pain on your chest. You cough, spluttering as someone grips your face forcing your mouth open. Bile rises in your stomach and before you can stop yourself you vomit. Someone pulls your body on its side. Your vision is still blurry, as your heave emptying your stomach of all the water you’ve ingested.

‘What the fuck were you thinking!?’

‘Your job was to get intel, you almost killed her!’

Your body shakes hands run over you. You blink trying to clear your vision, it's not working.

‘Christ! What’s going on!?’

You recognise the voice. It’s John. Graves said they’d left you. You force your body to turn on your stomach, someone is trying to stop you. You groan out trying to drag yourself to the open door.

“Hey, don’t move okay?” It’s Dr. Sand's hands trying to stop you from moving.

“John?” You call out your throat raw as you reach out to the door. There's movement in the doorway, you squeeze your eyes closed again.

Warm hands press on your face, you open your eyes looking up at John bent down in front of you. You look up into his deep blue eyes. His thumb rubs your cheek.

He didn't leave you. He’s still here, you try to smile but you don't think you can.

“Captain, I can explain.” That’s the General’s voice.

His hands leave your face and your head slumps on the floor.

“Soap, Gaz stay with her. The General and I need to have a chat.” There's hostility in his voice. He’s angry.

Johnny bends down by your head. His arm comes round your back.

“Don’t move her too much, medics are on their way.”

“Hear that lass, we’re getting you out of here.” Johnny says.

“Simon.” Your voice is barely a whisper. Johnny frowns at you.

“General-”

“Stand down Graves.”

“Sir-”

“Did you not hear him? Back off.” There’s a scuffle, boots dragging on the floor, you keep looking up at Johnny, he’s trying to keep your attention on him. Tears are streaming down your face. Your whole body hurts your chest is the worst.

“Gaz! Leave it, stay with Soap.”

“Johnny..”

“You’re okay lass, just relax.”

You don't know what happened, the last thing you remember was Grave’s hand over your face. You hear more commotion it makes your head spin. They’re trying to move you onto your back but it hurts.

Your eyes droop closed before you can stop them, going limp in Johnny's arms.

“No, none of that lass. C’mon.” He shakes you forcing your eyes to snap open. You can feel fresh tears run down your cheeks. You try to keep your eyes open but you can’t, it’s just too hard.

______________________

“Obviously we can both agree that Commander Graves has gone too far.” The General says lacing his fingers together and leaning forward on the desk. John doesn’t say anything, he keeps his arms crossed. Too far is putting it lightly.

The General swallows, blowing out a breath. Clearly John is not giving the reaction he wanted.

“I think that we’re both in agreement that we can put this all behind us.” He picks up one of the folders John slammed down in front of him. He had read them in silence, scanning his eyes over every piece of paper that exonerated you. “You have done a thorough job Captain, I don’t think there is any further need to suspect her.”

Price just hums pressing his lips together. He doesn’t take his eyes off him, staring him down. He’s scared, Graves almost killed you, he did kill you for over a minute. If you died Graves could have lost everything. The General would be making frantic phone calls to whoever he needs to, you were tortured and died on his watch he let it happen. There’s a knock at the door interrupting John’s thought process.

The General calls in whoever it is leaning back in his chair. John knows who it is, he stands up moving to the side so Laswell can walk in. The General frowns, tipping his head to the side.

“Good to see you again.” She says walking up to his desk, John moves out the way for her. “Torturing an innocent army medic.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“For 3 days?” John says, it’s a low blow, he doesn’t care. She puts down a piece of paper.

“The DOD will cover your ass, you’ll be dishonorably discharged but you won’t face prison time. No one ever needs to know what happened.” She explains. He scoffs, like he has a choice.

“Or, there’s a British General a few hours away who would love to sit down and have a chat with you. After John of course.” The General's eyes flick to him standing at the back of the room, there’s a faint smile on his lips. There won’t be much talking.

He sighs looking down at the paper.

“C’mon, let’s give him some time to think.” John says walking to the door. Laswell follows silently, she did good, as always. He lets her walk out first before taking one look back then closes the door behind him.

“Think he’ll take the deal?” She asks as they walk away.

“If he’s smart.” He replies. His tone is short, his words laced with anger. It’s not over yet.

“What now?” She asks stopping outside the room he commandeered as his office.

“Now I'm going after Graves.”

______________________

You smell the familiar scent of disinfectant and alcohol wash before you open your eyes. The repetitive beeping of machines behind your head, the dulled pain. It almost feels wrong being back in a safe sterile environment after what you’ve been through.

You look round, the lights are low, it’s dark out. Johnny is asleep in the chair next to the bed, his head slumped over on your arm, his fingers laced with yours. So that’s why your arm is numb. You reach over with your other hand, you push your fingers through his hair.

He jolts awake, like he’s just been electrocuted, his hand squeezing yours. “Hey lass, I’m so sorry it took us so long.” He’s on his feet wrapping his arms around you. A stabbing pain shoots through your chest, your head is still swimming.

“Ouch,” you wince.

“Sorry, sorry. You’ve got a broken rib.” he says, helping lay back down. You try to think back to what happened. It’s still foggy, you don’t even know how long it’s been.

“Simon.” You say before you can stop yourself. It brings tears, tears you can’t stop as you think about him being dead.

“He’s fine, woke up yesterday. Being his usual demanding self.” Johnny smiles. You frown almost not believing the words out his mouth. Maybe this is still a dream, he raises his eyebrow as you gawk at him.

“Graves-” his name catches in your throat, your voice is hoarse. “He said Simon was dead.” Johnny lets out a breath bringing your hand up to kiss it.

“Want to see him?” He asks. You nod, a bit too enthusiastically. Johnny insists you take a wheelchair, you don’t care, you just want to see him, feel him. Tell him you’re sorry. It feels like the short trip across to the ward is taking forever. When you turn into the room and see him sitting up in bed talking with Kyle.

When he sees you he stops talking, Kyle turns to see you too. He smiles and comes over, throwing his arms round you as you groan.

“Shit sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” Kyle says. You smile at him. Johnny pushes you round to the side of the bed. Simon watches you the whole way in silence, his eyes dark. You don’t know what to say, you don’t think he does either.

You reach out and take his hand, you’re moving slow almost like you’re not trying to spook him. You lace your fingers with his and he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing yours. This time it’s happy tears that fall. You look up at him, you could swear you see his eyes welling up too.

You stand up out the chair, your legs feel like jelly but you don’t care leaning against his bed.

“I forgive you Simon.” You look right in his eyes, it’s almost just saying that forces him to relax. You don’t let him talk, just lean over and kiss him. His hand slips out yours and goes to your waist holding you steady. You break from the kiss taking a breath in.

It feels like a weight has been lifted. You thought he was dead and you were ready to die with him. He’s here, he’s real and he’s safe. Johnny’s hands come up to support you.

“Shift over LT let her get in with you.” Johnny says. Simon doesn’t hesitate shifting his body over and pulling the bedding back. You slip in beside him, he reaches his arm around you pulling you up against his chest. You don’t care about the stabbing pain where your rib is broken.

You relax against him as he gently squeezes you.

“Had to get shot too huh? Couldn’t let Johnny have all the glory.” You say, he hums kissing the top of your head. It feels right being back in his arms, Johnny and Kyle nearby.

“Can’t have that ego of his getting any bigger.”

“Na, he just wants a matching scar.” Johnny says scoffing. You smile, closing your eyes and breathing Simon in. You can feel it, in the back of your head. The memories, the pain, graves face bending over you. The water, holding your breath until your lungs burn and you’re forced suck in air only to have water fill your mouth and nose.

It’s different this time, you’re not alone. It wasn’t the people you love who hurt you, now you can heal together you hope. You open your eyes, you’re safe. You’re in Simon’s arms, he’s okay he’s not dead.

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“Beating Graves to a pulp probably.” Kyle says. You smile at him as he reaches over to pull the blanket further up your chest. “He’ll be here soon. You should get some rest. I’ll go find him, tell him you’re awake.”

“I’ll join you, could use a coffee.” Johnny says. You smile as you watch them leave the room. Simon holds you tighter in his arms, his hand running up and down your side. You’ve missed this, missed him.

You close your eyes, relaxing against him. “I love you Simon.”

“I love you too.” He says kissing the top of your head. “This will never ever happen again. I promise.”

“Make that promise once Makarov is dead.”

“Only if you promise to come back and help us put a bullet in his head.” You chuckle, like he’s in any position to haggle you.

“Promise.”

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seokmn · 4 months ago

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OPTION ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader wc: 1.8k words warnings: reader wears earrings; mention of ways to die (in a “comic” way)

“lucky i’m in love with my best friend”

If there was something you never gave up on was to find love. From toxic relationships to pointless dates, you never thought that love wasn’t for you, it was probably because you always thought that the Universe was on its way to finally make you meet your soulmate.

Someone followed you closely during this journey, your best friend, Wonwoo. You always counted on him for everything and vice versa.

You both had differences, but the most important one was the fact that you were constantly trying to find your soulmate, while Wonwoo seemed to not even try. You lost count of the number of times you went clubbing together and you kept pointing at pretty people, telling him to make a move on them, just to have a ’Nah, I’m good’ as a response.

“Alright, what do you think about this outfit? It’s nice, right? Not too much to not make him think that I’m desperate to show myself off and not too little to make him think that I’m being forced to go on a date with him and I’d rather be at home eating lamen.” You positioned your phone on your desk and took a few steps back and gave a little spin to show your outfit to your best friend.

Wonwoo’s gaze left the computer and went to his phone, analyzing your outfit. “I guess it’s fine, you know I’m not the best person to ask about this. To me, you’re fine.”

“But do I look just fine or do I look fine fine?”

“You look fine fine, Y/N,” Wonwoo chuckled and looked at his computer once again. “By the way, where is he taking you?”

“You know that small and cozy restaurant near a private school? My date will be there,” you said as you put on your earrings. “People say the food there is delicious, maybe you should go with your date one day. Oh, wait, you don’t have a date!”

“Ha ha ha ha, very funny. I can go by myself if I want to.”

“Right, Mr. Lonely. I’m gonna go now, wish me luck!”

Wonwoo looked at his cellphone screen and gave you a small smile as he saw you all dressed up and excited for your date, waving at him before ending the FaceTime call. He sighed and looked back to his computer screen, getting his attention back to the game he was previously playing.

You probably went to more dates than an average person with the same age as you, but all of them were purposeless because of your high standards. It’s not a bad thing to have high standards, you really should have the love that you think you deserve and do not settle down for less. But your standards were very specific when it came to how the guy should treat you and how he should see life. You didn’t even realize, but Wonwoo made himself your standard over the years, and it was extremely hard, almost impossible, to overcome him.

This date wasn’t different, you found yourself bored and wishing that a piano would fall right on your head just so the date was over. The guy in front of you clearly didn’t meet your standards, in fact, you bet he didn’t meet anyone’s standards.

You excused yourself and went to the bathroom. You took your phone out of your purse and called Wonwoo.

”Hey, you busy?” “Yes,” you could hear a background noise. “I’m watching a movie. Why? Weren’t you supposed to be on your date?” “So…” “Let me guess, he’s a dickhead, isn’t he?” “Everytime he opens his mouth I wish someone would shoot me in the head with a bazooka,” you sighed. “Help me out, Wonu, please.” “What do you want me to do? Just say the word and I’ll do it.” “Call me in ten minutes, okay?” “And say what?” “Anything, you can say anything or even nothing at all, I’ll handle it. Just call me, please.” “Got it. See ya.”

You hung up, changed Wonwoo’s contact name to ‘Auntie 💞’ and left the bathroom, getting back to the table you and your date were. You kept pretending to be interested in him and in his jokes that hid a hint of misogyny, just wishing that those 10 minutes would pass in a blink of an eye.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your phone rang and the name Auntie 💞 was on display. You frowned, faking surprise and worry.

“It’s my aunt, sorry, but I gotta answer.” The guy just nodded with a smile on his face and kept looking at you while you picked up the phone.

“Auntie? Is everything alright? I’m actually in the middle of something… What?” You shifted in the chair, your face darkening even though there was a complete silence coming from the other line. “You fell? No- it’s okay, where are you?”

“Meet me at our favorite convenience store.” The silence was finally broken, Wonwoo’s voice was low and calm as always.

“Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t you dare move a single inch, auntie.”

You hung up and looked at the guy with an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry, my auntie fell off the bed and she has no one to help her, she hit her arm and-“

“It’s okay, we can continue our date another day, right?”

You gave him a small smile, little did he know that the first thing you’d do after getting back home was to block him on every social media. “Right, thanks for understanding. We’ll talk later and thank you for your time, it was really good getting to know you.”

And with that, you left, letting out a deep sigh as soon as he wasn’t able to hear you anymore because of the distance. You smiled to yourself, feeling free that you were far away from that guy, and walked towards the convenience store you and Wonwoo love.

Getting there, you found Wonwoo sitting by himself with two lamens, one he was already eating and the other was closed with chopsticks on top.

“Is it for me?” You smiled and sat beside him, already taking the chopsticks and opening the lamen, only to find out it was actually ready.

“Since your date ended earlier than expected, I thought that you might be still hungry.”

“Well, you were right. I’m starving! Thank you for the food~” You started to eat, not caring about Wonwoo watching you.

He watched you eat for a few seconds before looking at his own lamen and eating it as well. The only thing that could be heard was your humming, signaling that you were finding the lamen delicious, and the noise from other clients.

“Hey,” Wonwoo finally broke the silence. “I have a question.”

You looked at him, waiting for him to keep going and ask his question.

“This might be the seventh time I help you to leave a boring date. Why do you still try so hard to go on dates?”

You nodded and placed down the chopsticks, your arms rested on the table as you looked at him with a small and hopeful smile on your face. “Because I still believe in love. I still think there’s a guy out there that is my soulmate, that is the one for me, and if I don’t go after him, I will never find him. You can’t find your soulmate if you don’t go out and meet new people, Wonu.”

“You’re saying like I don’t believe in love.” Wonwoo chuckled and shook his head before eating again.

“And do you believe in love? I never saw you going on dates or trying to pursue someone.”

“I do believe in love and try to pursue the person that I have feelings for, but the person is quite difficult.”

“What?!” You shouted and soon lowered your voice in a whisper. “You like someone and I never knew about it? Who is it?”

Wonwoo ignored you and kept finishing his lamen.

“Jeon Wonwoo, who is it?”

“Guess.”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll delete all the progress you made in that silly game at my place.”

Wonwoo looked at you as if you threatened him to kill his entire family. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“You know I would. Now tell me who you like, please~” You pouted and looked at him with shiny eyes.

“I’m looking at them.”

You laughed. “Yah! that’s not fun-“ you stopped laughing and your expression turned into a serious one. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Why would I joke about such a thing?”

You swallowed hard and started to think about your best friend’s words. Everything started to make sense, there was a reason behind all of his romantic yet very subtle gestures that you were only able to see that they were romantic at that moment.

“For how long have you been liking me?”

“For quite a while now. I’ve always tried to look available to you, but you never chose me. I didn’t want to be bold because I don’t know how you feel towards me, so it’s better to have you beside me as my best friend than not having you at all.”

“How could I ever choose you if I never knew you were an option?! Ya-“ you groaned in frustration. “You could've flirted with me or something like that!”

“I did, but in a subtle way.”

“Well, but now I know! What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he looked at you, his eyes held so much love and hope that was almost overwhelming to look at. “What do you want me to do about this?”

“Ask me on a date?”

Wonwoo smiled and cleared his throat. “Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“I mean, I guess so. Maybe you’re my soulmate, who knows.” You tried to act cool.

“Great, I’ll think about some good date ideas and I’ll let you choose which one you like the most.” He sighed happily and took your lamen from you, using his chopsticks to eat it and ease the tension. “Wah, why is yours better than mine?”

“Asshole, you ate yours and now want to eat mine?!” You tried to take the lamen away from him, but he didn’t let you and laughed while eating it. You stopped trying and looked at him with a frown. “If you don’t give my lamen back, I won’t go on a date with you.”

Wonwoo’s laughter died and he immediately pushed the lamen to your side. “I- huh.. I’ll buy myself another one then. Wait here.”

You smiled and got back to happily eating it, you glanced at Wonwoo trying to pick a lamen and your smile turned into a grin. You felt your heart getting warmer and you felt a feeling you’ve never felt before.

Maybe your soulmate was right in front of you the entire time, but you were too blind to see it and were looking for affection in all the wrong places, forgetting about the only one that felt like the right one, emotionally and rationally speaking.

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girlgenius1111 · 1 year ago

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to be worthy.

and impromptu mother's day fic in the sol-verse it's a difficult day. and a weird day. but it's also a day for family, and for people stepping up to take roles they didn't have to. a day for love, really. angst. but also sickeningly fluffy.

You’d never second guessed yourself more than you were in that moment, parked outside the flower shop, watching people enter and exit the building. It was barely 7am, and you had been there for almost a half hour already. Just sitting. Just thinking.

Mother’s day. It hadn’t ever been your favorite day. No matter what you did or bought or made, your mom was never very happy with you. She didn’t want anything you could give to her. She didn’t even really want you around. She wanted Ingrid with her on the day, and she always made that very clear.

This year was obviously… very different. Different because you weren’t speaking to your mother, and you didn’t have to get her anything. You didn’t have to write lies down in a card about how much she meant to you, or buy a gift she’d throw out in a few days anyway. You didn’t have to do any of that; there was no pretending this year, and you weren’t really sure what to feel about that.

It was suddenly a day with no obligations, but then again… not really. Because if anyone in the world deserved to be celebrated it was Ingrid, and it was Mapi.

Ingrid was your sister. Mapi was your sister's girlfriend. You knew this. It just felt… inexplicably wrong to let the day pass without acknowledging all they had done for you, all they were doing for you. There was no… older-sister-acting-as-your-parental-figure-day. You were left with this sunday in may, a day that already made your heart ache. Now, you were terribly anxious, too. You didn’t want to overstep, nor did you want to… understep? Too little, too much. Not enough.

Logically, you knew that Ingrid and Mapi would probably be completely fine with anything you chose to get them. You weren’t feeling very logical, though, so you grabbed your phone, and called someone you knew would be.

“Hi älskling,” Frido greeted, suppressing a yawn. It was quite early for her to be answering the phone, but she wasn’t in the business of not answering calls from you. If you were calling, it was important.

“Frido, does Ingrid like flowers?” You asked, nervously cracking your knuckles.

“Flowers? Everyone likes flowers, Solstråle. Why?”

“I just… I wanted to get her and Mapi something, and I don’t know what to get. I don’t want it to be too much or too little, or ugly or stupid or something they don’t like and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable but-”

The words rushed out of your mouth like someone had turned on a faucet, and Frido sighed, now understanding what you were so stressed about.

“Hey, Solstråle, relax.” She interrupted. “Flowers are good. Ingrid likes daisies I think. And Mapi loves pink roses. It’s not weird, it’s not too much, or too little. They’ll be happy with anything, really. Don’t overthink it.”

“Right. Okay. Daisies and pink roses. I can do that.”

“I know today isn’t the easiest for you, but just try to remember-”

“I have to go Frido, sorry. Thank you, I appreciate you.” You said quickly, not really wanting to get into that at the moment. The Swede sighed, hoping you’d relax a bit as the day went on, and as you got a good reaction to your gift.

------

Dropping the flowers off at home, along with the cards you’d gotten, and fleeing hadn’t been your best idea in retrospect. The idea of being with them… when they say what you’d gotten for them and when they read their cards… was nauseating. Sickening. Horrifying. You wouldn’t be doing that.

You set everything up on the counter, grabbed Scout’s leash and Scout himself, and headed out the door, intending to spend the morning at a cafe just down the street. You had your computer and some school work to finish, which seemed like as good of a distraction as any.

Back home, Ingrid was lying awake in her bed, as she had been for a few hours. It was only when Mapi rolled over into her, her head clunking against Ingrid’s shoulder, that the Norwegian realized it was probably past time to get up.

“Morning.” Mapi grumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin of her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Good morning,” Ingrid replied softly. The single word, dripping with anxiety, was enough for Mapi to lift her head and blink groggily at the other woman.

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“It’s mother’s day.” Ingrid whispered, tears inexplicably clouding her vision. Mapi was sitting up in a flash, pulling the younger woman into her chest. Ingrid nuzzled close to the soft t-shirt Mapi was wearing, inhaling the comforting scent of the woman she loved.

“Mi amor,” Mapi sighed. “I know, it’s a hard one right now. You don’t have to call her, though. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can cancel lunch with my mom, stay here with Solstråle. We can pretend it isn’t mothers day.”

Ingrid shook her head, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “No, your mom deserves to be celebrated. We’ll go to lunch. I want to give Solstråle some space today, but I’m worried about her. And I don’t want to call my mom. That would be like… betraying my sister. I don’t want to speak to that woman. She doesn't deserve it.”

“Okay.” Mapi agreed, running her fingers through Ingrid’s thick hair. The Norwegian’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, and she relaxed into her girlfriend once again. “We’ll keep an eye on our Sol, and we’ll be quick at lunch. And you can have as many hugs as you want.”

“Can’t I always?” Ingrid asked with a small smile.

“You have a point.” Mapi chuckled. “I am going to go make you a coffee, be right back.”

With that, she rose from the bed, pressing a quick kiss to Ingrid’s lips, heading for the kitchen. Ingrid stayed in bed, worrying about you and how you’d act today, until she heard Mapi call out for her in a strangely choked voice. She was out of bed within a second, rushing down the hall towards her girlfriend.

“What?! What is it?!” Ingrid shouted, sliding in her socks on the wood floor into the kitchen, looking around frantically.

She saw Mapi first, staring with tears in her eyes at a little card that had the Spaniard’s name on it. She saw the two vases next, sitting precisely in the middle of the counter. One with daisies, one with pink roses. There was a card with Ingrid’s name on it on the counter, too, and it wasn’t hard for Ingrid to connect the dots. Her first concerns were with her girlfriend, though, who’s lip was wobbling dangerously, as she blinked rapidly down at the card in her hand.

“María?” Ingrid murmured. “Baby, are you-?”

Mapi blindly reached a hand out towards Ingrid, a hand that the Norwegian took. Gently, Ingrid rubbed her girlfriend’s back, reading the card over her shoulder when Mapi tilted it slightly in her direction.

María,

It’s mother’s day, and it didn’t feel right to let today go by without telling you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You allowed me into your home without a second thought. You met my stubbornness and hostility with love and kindness, and I will forever be grateful to you for that. You love Ingrid so deeply, and I couldn’t wish for a better partner for my sister. I think I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be as good of a person as you are. I hope you like your flowers, and I hope you know how much you mean to me.

Love, Solstråle.

By the time Ingrid had finished reading, Mapi had turned in her arms, burying her face in the crook of Ingrid’s neck, and was sobbing quietly. They were happy tears, Ingrid realized. Emotional, but happy. Ingrid couldn’t do much but hold Mapi tightly to her, and press kisses into the top of her head.

“She means every word, you know? And she’s right. You are the best person I know, the kindest, the most loving. You deserve the flowers, María.”

That set off another round of tears, bringing a small laugh out of Ingrid, always astounded and impressed by how emotionally… healthy her girlfriend was.

“Damn you Engens. Making me cry.” Mapi huffed, using Ingrid’s shirt to wipe her tears away.

Ingrid took her girlfriend’s face in her hands, carefully kissing her lips. “Because we love you very much.”

“Cut it out, Ingrid.” Mapi complained, though she was smiling shyly. “Open your card, I want you to cry.”

Ingrid laughed, reaching for her own card, though she hesitated before opening it. Mapi had moved to get the coffees going, but turned to glance at Ingrid when she fell silent.

“Open it.” Mapi encouraged, turning away to give Ingrid space to read.

It was another little card, in your big handwriting, a bit longer than Mapi’s. Ingrid took a deep breath, trying to stave off tears before she even started reading.

Ingrid,

Mother’s day is weird now. It kind of always has been, but I’m sure it’s weird for you now, too. I hope today isn’t too difficult for you. You are a lot more to me than a sister. I’ve always looked up to you, always seen you as a role model. And I still feel that way. Now, though, you’ve taken me in and been so patient with me. More patient than I deserve. I feel safe here, with you. For the first time in a really long time. Safe and loved, in a way I had kind of forgotten existed. Ingrid, you changed my life. You saved my life, too. I’ve never felt very worthy of love or care, but it’s so readily available here. And if someone as good as you thinks that I am worthy of your love, your time, your attention, then I must be. At least a little bit. There aren’t enough flowers in the world to express how thankful I am for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you Ingrid. Really, just thank you. I love you very much, even if I don’t always show it or say it.

Love, Solstråle.

And now Ingrid was crying, and Mapi was abandoning the coffee to pull her into a tight hug, and you were walking in through the front door at just the perfect time. You had just barely unclipped Scout’s harness before you were being forcibly pulled upright into some kind of suffocating group hug.

And normally, something like this would have probably made you uncomfortable. You felt yourself melting into the hug, though, before you really knew what you were doing. Embarrassment flooded you. Regret flooded you. Because even though the hug was nice, you felt dangerously exposed. Dangerously vulnerable.

------

You insisted that Ingrid and Mapi go to lunch with Mapi’s parents and her brother, without you. Both girls tried to explain, while respecting your privacy as much as possible, why you had stayed home, although Mapi’s mother was rather insistent that she wanted you at lunch, too. You were part of the family, after all.

It was only when you were home alone, curled up on the couch with Scout, that the reality really hit, that questions you didn’t want to consider really started to flood into your brain.

Had they really liked the flowers? The cards? There wasn’t much time to talk, as they’d had to get ready for lunch, and both of them had clearly been crying. Maybe… maybe they didn’t really like what you had to say? Maybe you were putting pressure on them to be something they weren’t. It was so easy for you to spiral into self doubt when you were left to your own devices.

Should you have called your mom?

No matter how much time passed. No matter how many times Ingrid and Mapi told you that you hadn’t done anything wrong, that she had been the issue. You were pretty sure you’d always blame yourself, at least a little. You’d spent so long thinking you were at fault, and that kind of thinking was hard to break out of. Knowing that you weren’t to blame, and really believing it were two different things. And something was easier about blaming yourself. Safer.

Maybe you should have called. Maybe you should take the first step. She was your mother, after all, and you only had one. You couldn’t help the guilt that began to suffocate you, the insecurity, the self hatred.

You wished you could just hear Ingrid and Mapi tell you that they loved you, that you were a good person, and believe it. You were kind of afraid, though, that you’d never fully believe that.

The best thing to do, the most logical thing, was to shut yourself in your room for the rest of the day. So you took Scout and some snacks and buried yourself under as many blankets as you could, tucked away in your room. A closed door between you, and the avalanche of emotions and feelings you’d let out earlier in your cards.

Too vulnerable. You’d been too vulnerable, and there was no taking it back, and that was terrifying. Being vulnerable in the first place wasn’t easy, but not wanting to die afterwards was even harder.

-------

Ingrid and Mapi returned from lunch to find the house dead silent. Your bedroom door was tightly shut, and when Ingrid peaked her head in, you had been pretending to be asleep. So, she headed for the living room, tucking herself into the corner of the couch, thought after thought running through her head.

Had she been too emotional with you earlier? Had you not really meant what you’d said in your letter? Were you just trying to be nice? Ingrid had learned not to push you before you were ready for something, and she felt like today, she had. She should have played it cooler, not made it as big of a deal.

And, fuck, she should have called her mom.

She shouldn’t have, but she should have, and there was no correct answer in her head. Either decision made her feel like she was being bad. A bad daughter or a bad sister.

And now she was being a bad girlfriend, because Mapi had been trying to get her attention for several minutes, and she’d been too spaced out to notice.

“Ingrid!” Mapi said again, this time reaching out to grab onto her girlfriend’s hand and squeezing.

“Sorry, sorry. I was distracted.” Ingrid said. “What?”

“I checked on Sol. She seems upset. You should go up there and talk to her.”

“No, no, today has been a lot for her, she has to process her emotions.” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “She doesn’t want to see me right now.”

Mapi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly. The two of you were both hyper aware of the others’ feelings while simultaneously being too afraid to actually talk about said feelings. You needed each other, today, and Mapi was done trying to get you to figure that out yourselves.

“Enough of this. Vamos.” She stated decisively, standing up from the couch, grabbing Ingrid’s hand and pulling. Ingrid groaned her annoyance, but went somewhat willingly.

Mapi dragged her up the stairs, knocking on your door before entering upon your response. You were still on your bed, trying to hide the evidence of your almost constant tears, when Mapi entered the room with Ingrid in tow.

“Alright. Both of you need the other right now. Sol, Ingrid isn’t mad at you. Ingrid, Sol isn’t mad at you. Everything is fine. Stop overthinking.” And with that, paired with a small shove to Ingrid’s back, pushing the Norwegian in your direction, Mapi looked between you two expectantly.

You looked very cautiously, but also somewhat hopefully, up at your sister.

Ingrid looked at you similarly, taking a hesitant step closer to the bed. “What do you need, Solstråle?” She asked, determined, at least, that you get better about asking for what you needed. If it was space, she'd respect that. And if it was a hug? Well. Good. Because she really needed one too.

You shifted slightly, lifting one of your arms in a half gesture. “Sit with me?” You requested.

Relief flooded Ingrid’s face as she all but launched herself onto the bed next to you, instantly pulling you into a tight hug. You were relieved, too, that you hadn’t been too much for either of them. That your love in return wasn’t too much. Your mom had always made you feel like it was suffocating, the way you tried to get her to pay attention to you and love you.

Ingrid and Mapi never did that. They just… gave you what you needed, without a second thought. Before anything else. As you sat squished in between the two of them, listening to all the details from the lunch you’d skipped, you realized that all you’d needed today was Ingrid. Being with Ingrid and Mapi made your head go quiet. There wasn’t room for doubt when they were on either side of you. Mapi trying ridiculously hard to make you laugh. Ingrid combing her fingers through your hair without a second thought.

You fit here, in this family. With them. They told you you fit, that you were wanted, and that was something that was getting more and more believable as time went on. You had a family, and even if you didn’t really have a mother to celebrate today, you had two people who put you before anything else. People that loved you more than your mother had. You had a family, again. And that was really something to celebrate.

------

:) happy mothers day to everyone who celebrates, and to everyone that doesn't.

however you feel is valid. if today is hard, or if today is easy, there will always be tomorrow, and tomorrow will be even better.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #platonic reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #🍓☀️

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lavender-twilight23 · 5 months ago

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IMPROMPTU FANFICTION TED TALK

I’m gonna address something that I have thought about recently and then also give a little pep talk to anybody else that might be feeling this way or in a similar way:

Fanfiction is a valid form of expression and it’s okay to write fanfiction, no matter your age, no matter your life circumstance!

Recently, I’ve had doubts about whether or not I should still be writing fanfiction. I’m in my second semester of college, pursuing film, and I have plenty of original stories (three novels, four screenplays) floating around in my head that I keep telling myself I should get back into. But I still find myself feverishly writing fanfiction and pouring heaps of creative energy into that. And especially with how much fucking fanfiction I’ve written in the past six months, (over 201,000 words worth) I’ve had tons of thoughts like:

“You’re pursuing your passions, looking toward the future into your career ambitions, AT COLLEGE, and you’re STILL writing fanfiction?”

“It’s ridiculous how much fanfiction you’re churning out with all the original stories you have sitting in the back of your head that need to get written.”

“You’re wasting your time writing fanfiction, you should be investing your time into your original works, y’know, the things that are ACTUALLY gonna get released into the world one day.”

“You not gonna get paid for writing fanfiction– put more energy into writing the stories that you’ll actually end up getting paid to write rather than spending your time writing things that will only ever seen the light of a social media website.”

And shit like that. So I have thought recently: Why are you still writing fanfiction now that you’re taking active steps toward pursuing your dreams? Why are you writing THIS MUCH fanfiction when you should be spending your creative time working on your films/original novels?

Yep. So I guess some sort of guilt, or self-deprecation about writing fanfiction. And not just about the fanfiction writing itself, but also about HOW MUCH fanfiction I’ve been writing, to a point where I either 1) always have a project going, something I’m in the middle of, 2) always something next on my queue (I literally wrote a whole fanfic queue and color coded it to organize it for future fanfics and I have a huge-ass note on my phone/computer dedicated to recording/brainstorming ideas), or 3) spend more time in my fanfic-planning journal than taking notes for my college classes.

I’m doing well in classes and all that shit, but still, I find myself feeling bad that I write so much fanfiction, so to both combat that, and to give validation to others who might be hesitant about writing fanfiction as I've felt in the past:

IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY, IT’S VALID, AND YOU SHOULD KEEP DOING IT.

If it brings you joy, it has a purpose in your life. Fanfiction is just yet another way to express love for something you like, something you love, and that obsession comes out as passion, which has to be expressed, and it’s no different than drawing fan art, making edits, or even any hobby that ISN’T directly tied to a fandom.

If writing fanfiction is how you prefer to spend your creative time, then it has a place in how you live your life.

If it makes you happy and brings you joy, then it has a reason for being in your life.

Fanfiction has a purpose in your life, let it fulfill that purpose.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Carry on. ❤️🩷🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

#writing #fanfic #creative writing #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #creative process #creative arts #creativity #inspiration #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #on writing #writers

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toomanyfandoms04 · 3 months ago

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To Be Loved (Yoonho Baek x reader) 2

Under 18 and ageless blogs DNI.

Trigger Warnings: Panic Attacks, shitty people, loss of apetite, no sleep

We get to see more interactions between Baek and reader in this one.

Chapter 2

Tears are streaming down your face as you race home, taking off your heels to run bare foot on the streets. You grab your gym bag, a change of clothes for work, and your work bag and make your way to the gym.

No one is at the desk to greet your distressed face. You run into the locker room, stripping your clothes and throwing them into the trash. You sob as you look in the mirror, you still feel the hands on your body.

A shower will make me feel better.

It didn’t. The hot water running over your body just made you cry with more force, the stress of your relationship from the past several months finally crashes down on you.

Does Logan love me?

After your shower you feel restless. You change into your matching leggings and top, throwing on your white trainers, taking note of your raw feet from the concrete. Leaving your phone in the locker room on do not disturb. The only call you allow through is your boss, just in case he needs you. The distraction would be welcomed.

You start on the treadmill, then move onto the stair master, then onto the weight racks. You want to feel something other than the lingering hands on your body. You stay in the gym until the sun rises.

Your body is weak with hunger, but the rage and disgust in your mind removes your appetite and need to sleep. You change for work, a grey pantsuit with black pumps for today.

You leave everything but your work bag at the gym and make your way to the coffee shop. A croissant sits in front of you. Your stomach churns as you stare at the pastry. The only thoughts that run through your head is the man touching you as Logan stares at you in disgust.

He acted like I was the person in the wrong.

He acted like I wanted that man to assault me.

Bile rises in your throat, but you resist the urge to throw up.

I need something else to think about.

You place Mr. Baek’s coffee order and watch other people come in and out of the shop.

No one knows what you went through, just as you don’t know what they are going through. The old man that just walked past you could have lost his child. The tall blonde man might be working a corporate job even though he is leading an unfulfilling life for the money. The siblings that walked in, both with pink hair and a noticeable age difference could be have the best day of their lives.

No one knows what happened to you, and no one needs to know what happened to you.

You make your way to the office, two hours earlier than your required arrival time. Mr. Baek always gets to the office around this time, Jean arrives sometime between then and your arrival time.

Well not today.

You drop your bag off at your desk and sign in to your computer. Mr. Baek isn’t in his office yet.

You sit and run through emails acquiring about different weapons and armor conventions, new connections to make, and other spam emails. The workload engrosses you, your mind finally forgetting about what happened.

“Good morning.” Mr. Baek greets you, standing there shocked at your early arrival.

“Good morning, sir. I have your coffee.” Standing up, you grab the hot cup and walk over to your boss. His fingers graze your hand and you give him his coffee.

“Thank you. May I ask why you’re here so early?”

No one needs to know.

“I had a rough night sleeping, decided to get a head start on today.” You smile, hoping your facade isn’t see through.

“I see. Do I still have that 10:30 meeting with the security company today?” You look up to your boss and smile. He can see you’re tired, your mask isn’t completely fool proof.

“Yes, Sir. It will be in the third conference room today at 10:30.”

“Good, make sure you are here after I get out of that meeting. If all goes as planned, we will be traveling to the United States.” He smiles down at you, moving towards his office.

You stand dumbstruck. Your body turns to ask a question, but Mr. Baek is already closing his door.

Well that was random.

Sitting back down at your desk, you shake your head.

Focus on your work.

Jean comes in about an hour late, her iced coffee shaking in her hand. She stands and looks at you for a moment, noting your shaking hands and messy hair.

“Hey girl. You’re here early.” You nod your head, engrossed in your work to pay attention to the woman sitting gingerly at her desk. Jean turns on her computer and takes the time to look at your tired eyes. They’re blood shot and seem to be staring at one spot on your monitor.

She sighs; your date didn’t go well. If it did go well, you would be chatting her ear off about your wonderful and amazing boyfriend.

Instead, you’re silent. The bags under your red eyes show you didn’t sleep at all.

Jean rolls her chair over to sit by yours. You don’t even flinch as she bumps into your chair.

“How did your date go?” Jean watches as your eyes shift left and right, trying to come up with an answer. You open your mouth to say something, but your memories keep you quiet.

No one needs to know.

“It was fine.”

“No it wasn’t.” Your throat constricts, the hands are back on your body.

Jean notices how you freeze in your seat. Your breathing becomes rapid and short.

Jean guides your body to stand and navigates you both to the restroom.

You lean against the counter, the events of last night play freshly in your mind. You’re unaware of Jean quietly fixing your hair, she wipes away the tears that run down your face.

She may talk a lot of shit about your relationship, but she cares about you. She considers you one of her close friends.

“It’s okay to cry, honey. You don’t deserve a man like him anyway.” You finally snap out of your haze at her words. Your chest constricts as a sob runs through your body.

Jean holds you close to her as you cry, unaware of the actual reason for your distraught tears.

“Did he show up? Was he drunk? Did he even appreciate your body?” Jean’s last question makes you freeze up. She pulls away from you to see your face.

“You didn’t get laid, huh?” Jean’s knowing smirk is wiped from her face from your response.

“He let another man touch me.” Your voice is a horse whisper. Jean pulls you back into her embrace as you cry.

You and Jean stay in the bathroom until you run out of tears. A numb feeling comes over you, exhaustion is quick to follow.

“Honey, where did you go last night?” Jean help you fix your hair and clothes, making you presentable again.

“I stayed at the gym until I came in.”

“You slept at the gym?”

“No, I worked out until the sun rose. Then I got ready to come in.”

“You need to get some sleep, honey.” Jean guides you out of the bathroom.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment.”

“Honey, you did nothing wrong. Besides, you own the place.” You sit down in your chair, Jean handing you a bottle of water.

“My name is on the lease.”

“You pay the rent.”

“You’re right.” You pause, taking a long drink of water. “I don’t want to see him, Jean. He was angry at me because the man touched me. He was drunk and- I don’t know.” You rub your face with your hands.

It’s 10:45. Mr. Baek is in his meeting. You just have to stay here until your boss talks to you.

Jean sits at her desk with a very mean look on her face. Her frustration is taken out on her poor keyboard.

Yoonho Baek enters the lobby to his office, observing his two employees. Jean is absolutely fuming, anger radiating off her body. You are sitting at your desk, your head in hand as you stair off into space. You are tired- no- exhausted.

He walks over to your desk, setting a fresh cup of coffee on your desk.

The movement makes you jump. You look up at him, your gazes locked.

“The meeting with the security company went as planned. We will be leaving for the United States tomorrow morning. I’ll send a car to pick you up at the airport.” Jean stops smashing her keyboard, waiting for your reaction.

Your shaking hand reaches for the coffee and you take a sip.

“I’ll be ready. What time is the car coming for me?” Your stomach growls as the coffee enters your system.

“2:30.” You close your eyes and nod your head.

You sit at your desk, closing down your software. You’re not going to get any more work done. Might as well finish your coffee before leaving for your apartment.

Your chest tightens at the thought of seeing Logan again.

You miss the questioning look sent to Jean, who simply shakes her head.

“I’m going to the gym. Your dismissed for the day.” You nod your head in acknowledgement.

Jean walks over to your desk as Mr. Baek leaves the building.

“Honey, do you want me to come with you? You don’t need to face him alone.” Jean leans over your desk.

You shake your head.

“I need to do this on my own. Logan is my boyfriend, I need to deal with what happened.”

“Honey, there is no coming back from what happened.” In the back of your head, you agree with Jean.

I love my boyfriend.

“I-“ The words never leave your mouth.

I want to have faith in my boyfriend.

“You can keep me company until I get done with my work.” Jean pushes your chair to be next to hers, the coffee staying in your hands.

The rest of the day blurs by, Jean chatting your ears off about anything and everything. You sit and observe her. Her blonde hair was pin straight today. She is in a red skirt and a black top. Her blue eyes are behind her pair of clear glasses. Jean effortlessly breezes through emails, phone calls, and forms.

She is so pretty. Why doesn’t she date?

I bet she can stand up for herself when someone-

“Earth to hot ass woman? It’s time to go.” Jean already has her purse over her shoulder.

You nod your head and stand up, your legs shaking from the exertion you put on them last night. Step by step you follow Jean out of the building until your roads split.

“My offer still stands if you want me to come with.” Jean grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze.

You stand and look at your apartment building in the distance. The cold January air hits your already numb face.

“Thank you, Jean. But I can take it from here.” You squeeze her hand before dropping it. She nods her head before turning her back and walking away.

You follow her leady and make your way to your apartment.

When you open the door, the sight that greeted you was not one that you wanted to see. Your boyfriend was on the couch with Toji and Frank. All three heads turn towards you as you close the door.

Logan stands up and walks towards you, his face unreadable. You talk first.

“I’m going back to the states for a work trip in the morning. I’m getting picked up at 2:30.” You hold your bag close to your chest as Logan looks at you with disgust.

“Who are you going with?” He sneers.

“My boss, Mr. Baek.”

“You’re going with the S-Rank hunter?” Toji sneers. You hate the way he is looking at you.

“You better not do anything funny on that trip.” Logan steps to get closer to you, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I could say the same thing.” You whisper, moving past your boyfriend and into the bathroom.

The three men in your living room proceed to get back to yelling at the TV, drinking or whatever they do at 3 in the afternoon.

You look at yourself for a while. Your clothes are stripped off your tall body. The person in the mirror looks nothing like yourself. Your eyes are sunken in and red from crying. Your skin is pale and flush, sickly looking.

Your toned stomach and waist look a bit too thin for your liking.

Probably from not eating.

You quickly shower, throw on your robe, and lock yourself in your bedroom to pack. You pack a minimal week’s worth of clothing, your boss not giving you the amount of time you’re going to spend in your home country.

Your suitcase and work bag are packed and waiting by the bedroom door. An alarm is set to go off at 2 so that you don’t keep the driver waiting.

You lay in your bed, mind racing too much to think of sleeping.

What gives him the right of telling you to not do any funny business when he acted like- like—

Like he didn’t care about you last night.

More tears fall from your eyes, the only sign of your emotions. The time slowly ticks by before your alarm signals.

You dress in sweatpants and a sweatshirt for the flight. You take your bags and walk out to your living room to see your boyfriend asleep on the couch, the TV blaring.

You look over the disaster of your apartment and boyfriend.

When you get back, you will have your mind made up on whether or not to break up with Logan.

You still love him. But does he love you back?

Chapter 3

#baek yoonho #baek yoonho x reader #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling fanfic #fanfic #solo leveling #eventual smut #anime #second pov #toomanyfandoms04 writes #Baek total does karaoke

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Countermeasure 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Jake Jensen

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Jensen and Nano.

Summary: work and personal blur together as an employee takes a special interest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The last thing Jake wants is to cause her pain. It’s not really him hurting her. He’s just helping her see through the smokescreen.

He just needs the opportunity. He’s always alert, always aware of the ins and outs of her day. His desk is at just the right angle to see her office door.

His phone buzzes. Again. He sighs.

Jake never meant to take on the role, he only made suggestions and the others went along with it. No one else had any other idea so now, he’s the unspoken leader. He books the community room for their meetings and he moderates the discord.

There’s been interest in adding new members but he’s starting to think there’s more than enough. Some of the guys even weird him out.

He ignores the vibrations. He knows without looking it’s them. They can wait. He has a top priority mission.

His eyes dart over as a figure struts past the other developers. Hm. It’s Fowler. He looks at his phone as he walks. His eyes are slitted in intense concentration. He isn’t in Nano’s calendar...

Fowler stops at her door and knocks. She calls for him to enter. They exchange terse greetings. She’s been unhappy. The nights haven’t gotten better. Her husband is later and later. And Jake has figured out why.

He just needs her away from her computer. That’s it. She usually goes off for a coffee by now. He’d offer to get her favourite; vanilla latte, half-sweet, but that would be contrary to his end game.

“Today?” She marches through the door as she pulls on her long blazer over her dress. “Fowler, you said next week in the email.”

“Timelines change,” the dark-haired man says nonchalantly.

“You couldn’t get Isaacs?”

“He’s on vacation.”

“Mm,” she hums with the same disappointment as when her husband rolls over, soft and useless.

Jakes leg bounces under his desk. He stills it and watchers her go. She continues to chide the man who disturbed her peace. If she could even find that any more.

Wine and her ebook. Those seem to be her only solace. He could be so much more than that. But first...

He doesn’t want to do it like this. He should wait for things to unfold but Andy is smarter than he seems. He is a lawyer. He probably picked up a few tricks from the criminals he deposes. Fucker. Literally.

It wasn’t easy. Embarrassing really. Jake dug out his old bike courier uniform and strolled right into the law building. Those suits are so important, they don’t notice a minion like him. As proud as he could’ve been for his efficiency, he felt rotten about the results.

His suspicions were confirmed easily. Andy and an intern. She’s young and bubbly and fits perfectly under his desk. He regrets putting in the mic because some of the noises make him sick. He doesn’t need to keep watching, does he?

Alright, here he goes. He’s done it before but never felt bad. He only ever peeked at her schedule, nothing too intrusive. Just keeping track. That’s all. She is his boss and he wants to his job well. He can’t do that, if he doesn’t know what she has on her plate.

He goes into her files. He needs to put it somewhere obvious but not too obvious. Maybe disguise it as something else... He can make the icon look like a spreadsheet but then the video would open. Is it too much? That is her husband. Would she believe anything but the truth in front of her?

Her mirrored desktop bings. Shit. It’s him. She’s logged into WhatsApp on her PC. That’s not responsible use of a company device. Not his business.

He reads Andy’s message; ‘you still mad?’

He wants badly to click and read it all. No, he has lines. He watches but there are some things that are even too much for him. He leaves the file and exits out of the window. Another message blips up as he hovers over the button to confirm his exit from remote access.

‘Let’s go on a trip. Just us. Together.’

Huh. That’s a development. He clicks confirm and his access ends.

He looks around, face hot, hands tingly and cold. He swipes up his phone and locks his computer. He sets off for the bathroom. Hopefully Duncan didn’t get the Taco Bell breakfast again.

He shuts himself in and presses his thumb to the censor. He quickly goes into his cloud app. He scrolls through the files and selects this morning’s recording. He plays it at double speed as he chews his thumb.

The usual. The intern brings in the coffee, smiles, wiggles her hips, and goes back to her own desk. Andy waits until she’s gone and his hand disappears under his desk. Then, about twenty minutes later, she comes in with a file full of blank paper and closes the door.

This time doesn’t go the same as the other days. He slows down and turns up the volume.

“When?” She demands.

“Honey, I told you, it’s complicated,” he reaches for her.

She slaps his hand, “I’m not fucking you again until she’s gone. People are starting to catch on. I’m gonna get canned once Nancy catches wind.”

“You won’t. People wouldn’t believe it. They know me.”

“Oh yes, you’d never do anything wrong like cheat on your fucking wife,” she scathes. “It’s just that slutty intern coming on too strong--”

He shushes her, “keep it down.”

“No, make up your mind. I’m young but not that young. You tell her you’re leaving or I will--”

“You fucking won’t,” he steps closer, hands in fists. “Do you hear me, you little fucking slut? You’re exactly right. No one will believe that it wasn’t you. So you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll go to HR right now and tell them a story they’ll believe. I’ve been ADA for long enough, the will know which truth is best for optics.”

She gasps. Jake almost does too. She steps back then towards him again. She slaps him and it echoes. He touches his cheek and growls.

“Fine, I fucking quit.” She spins and storms to the door. “And I’m going to fucking tell her anyway.”

Jake stares at the phone, as dumbfounded as the man on screen. Huh. Seems he’s just as premature as Andy. All he has to do is wait and watch.

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #countermeasure #watchers anonymous #drabble #series #au #the losers

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capr1pengu1n · 1 year ago

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Twist the knife like it's something to do

Summary: When Nightwing asks you to stake out The Riddler in his warehouse, you come to realise you've played right into his hands

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), fingering, rough sex, kidnapping, slight dubcon (just to be safe, reader is hesitant but is into it), hair pulling, teasing, Edward being an ass

Words: 5.7k

Notes: So this was an anon request for a vigilante!reader/riddler smut fic but cause i'm useless with technology I accidentally deleted it. Hope you like it anon!

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Irritating.

If there’s one word you’d use to describe The Riddler, that’s what it would be. Irritating…irritating…and so goddamn all consuming. Being a vigilante, you were used to people trying to get under your skin; some sleaze trying to make you uncomfortable when you catch them, some of the big-name criminals beefing up security and trying to learn your tricks. But something about The Riddler was different, a different sort of irritating.

It started the first time you tried to stop him, Nightwing had made you promise to go in through the back and stay put to ensure nobody tried to make a hasty getaway. But you were curious, reckless even, and went in regardless. Little did you know it was Edward’s plan to get caught, but during the commotion he saw you. The look on his face was the picture of curiosity, but at the time you’d figured it was due to the fact you’re a female vigilante. Next thing you knew the lights were out, when they came back, he was gone.

That’s when you started to get named in his riddles. Small at first, little taunts to you as well as the police or Batman after his latest heist or extortion of a wealthy politician. However it heightened when you started to solve them. While trying to track where he’d kidnapped a GCPD officer, you followed the clues addressed to you, which ended in a bouquet of flowers at the end of the trail, attached to the key to the bomb around the officer’s neck. Another time, it led to a phone call with him where he shamelessly asked riddles where the answers were ‘attraction’ and ‘desire’ before revealing where the latest Monet painting he’d taken was hidden. Honestly you didn’t know how much more you could take, how many more times you can hide the blush, or the slight tremor in your voice. It makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, not a vigilante trying to apprehend a dangerous criminal mastermind.

Balancing on a loose beam, you watch as Edward snaps at his goons, mocking them as they fail to give him the responses he wants.

“Anything?” you hear Nightwing say in your earpiece, causing you to climb up so you’re further out of earshot of the villain below.

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Good, I’ve got three of Penguin’s weapons caches I need to neutralise, the last thing I need is riddle freak on my ass.”

You sigh, knowing you needed to get something to prove yourself as you climb back down, a million thoughts rushing through your head. You were instrumental in the latest hit to organised crime in Gotham; you managed to find and take down a major part of Roman Sionis’s drug operation, even subduing him for the police. He was released on a technicality of course, but it was still a major blow to his criminal dealings. But better than that, it made you feel good. Made you feel like you were making a difference, that Nightwing wasn’t wrong to train you. But that’s when you realise, Edward isn’t talking anymore. He’s just…smiling? Smiling at his computer screen. With grace you manage to get to the upper level of the warehouse, glancing at the other- wait, where did his goons go? You frantically try and look around the warehouse, keeping close to the ground but it’s no use. All you can do is curse yourself, there’s no way he’ll say anything useful about his plans now. However your thoughts come to an abrupt end when your earpiece comes back to life.

“Hey, are you still in there…something-“ A sharp static suddenly bursts through your ear, causing you to yelp softly in pain and pull the earpiece out. The noise continues until it cuts out, followed quickly by the lights. Shrouded in darkness, you slightly panic, standing to your full height and adjusting your suit sleeve, trying to turn on the built in flashlight.

“I can keep you alive, but prevent you from living, what am I?”

The lights kick back in, and your head turns to the side. The Riddler stands there, his self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face as he twirls his revolver in his hands. You stand there, frozen before you register he’s waiting for you to answer.

“Adrenaline?”

“Fear, but close enough. Did I scare you?”

He steps forward, but your limbs don’t seem to want to move. Towering over you, his eyes trace over your face in a curious way as all you can do is shake your head softly.

“Oh, I didn’t? Well isn’t that something…I’m sorry to have cut your boyfriend off there but, well, can’t have him ruining all my fun can I?”

Jab to the elbow crease, kick to the groin, down up round and a swift punch to the back, all ways you could easily take a guy like The Riddler down. But caught under his gaze, something seems to lock you in place as your breath comes a little heavier than before.

“Come now pretty girl, didn’t you like all my presents? I knew you’d be the one to be here…I planned this all for you.” He delights at your puzzled expression as you stare at him, bringing his revolver up to trace it over your jawline.

“I wanted the bat’s attention, hell I’d have even taken the limited mental capacities of the latest boy blunder he drags around with him. But then…all of a sudden there you were. Even now you’re curious, you aren’t even trying to defend yourself.”

You couldn’t stop the blush even if you tried, because you know he’s right. You know you’re holding back, but then again, you’ve been holding back this whole time because-

“You like it, don’t you? You like my attention.” He murmurs, before smirking. “Oh don’t look so embarrassed darling, you think I don’t like having yours? It’s certainly been thrilling…”

A buzz in his pocket interrupts him, causing him to curse under his breath.

“Well I’ll have to speed this up, come on.” He says quickly, grabbing your arm and putting the revolver against your lower back. “Don’t try and run, I’d hate to test if that suit of yours is bulletproof from this range.”

Pulling you to another part of the warehouse, you feel a sharp prick on your neck before you start to stagger, his breath hitting your ear and making you shiver.

“Sorry sweetheart.” Is the last thing you hear before blacking out, going limp in his arms.

Irritation, that emotion bubbles up in you again as you come to. You sit up on a sofa, your fingers feeling the puncture mark on your neck. You can’t believe you let The Riddler drug you, god you’re gonna hear hell from Nightwing when you get out of here. Glancing around, the apartment you’re in seems oddly cozy, fluorescent light beaming through the windows from a billboard outside. Art on the walls, hardwood flooring that looks polished and waxed…hell you even notice the blanket around your waist. It all looks so surreal, so normal.

“What were you expecting? Not this?”

You jump at the voice, glancing around at him. You stand up, before he sighs and shows the revolver in his hand, indicating for you to sit back down.

“Come now sweetheart, I was nice enough to not tie you up.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“…that’s a matter of perspective. Think of it as a sabbatical of sorts.”

Stalking over, he takes a seat on a chair facing you. The way he sits, so relaxed with his legs spread and that stupid smirk on his face forces you to glance away. Despite the effort it must have taken to transport you here, his suit remains remarkably clean. Less garish than what you’ve seen him wear previously, just a crisp emerald green with a purple tie. His gloved hand messes with his revolver, seemingly unbothered, but you know better. Everything is controlled with Edward; he won’t enter a scenario unless he’s completely sure what he’s getting himself into.

“Like my apartment?” he asks, “One of several of course.”

You try not to scoff at his barely concealed brag, looking at him.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” you bite back, causing him to bark out a laugh.

“Why? Is it working? Can’t imagine being a vigilante pays that well, does the pretty boy give you tips?” he smirks, taunting you about Nightwing. You scoff again, shaking your head.

“No? Shame, I bet you don’t even take a bit off the top of those dealers you take down. No, you’re too much of a good girl for that.”

God that stupid phrase really forces you to try and hide your blush, but Edward catches the slight change in your breathing.

“You know, conversation is much more stimulating when the other party actually responds.”

“Screw you.” You can’t help but say, causing his laugh to ring out again.

“Feisty thing aren’t you? After everything I’ve done to you, maybe all I want is a little chat. Perhaps even a little gratitude.”

With your pause he leans in a little, his eyes scanning over your face.

“You do know it was me…don’t you?” he states, before getting up and picking a newspaper off the nearby table, throwing it to you. Quickly grabbing it, you look at the headline ‘New female vigilante helps take down Black Mask.’

“Convenient wasn’t it? The first thug you interrogate is the one who manages to lead you right to the heart of the operation. The thug who just happens to be in the area you usually patrol on Tuesdays.”

You can’t help but stare at him, bewildered. He paid the thug…he knew you’d catch him dealing and try and interrogate him to reveal where him and the rest of Black Mask’s gang were operating from. “So you…why? Why would you help me?”

“Why do I do anything sweetheart?” he counters, sitting back down. “Sionis was irritating me, that I won’t deny. But being able to manipulate those rats, as well as the pretty girl who’s been solving my riddles? Christmas came early.”

His smug tone causes your breath to come deeper, regardless of his motives he’d…helped you. That realisation causes a swirl of emotions to bubble inside you, unsure which one you should be feeling.

“What? No thank you? I realise you did much of the heavy lifting but…well I did help, didn’t I?”

“You used me, that isn’t helping.”

“Used? No no sweetheart…helped. I think you should say thank you.”

His tone wasn’t demanding per say, but stern. A challenge visible in his eyes. You know you shouldn’t, putting on a dismissive face to hide the slight arousal running through you at his voice.

“Come on…I know you want to. Say thank you.” He says, his voice softer but no less decisive. His foot taps on the hardwood floor, the revolver makes a small noise when he spins it, his eyes bore into yours; it’s all too much. With a shaky breath, you say it.

“Thank you.”

The smile on his face is worth a thousand words. “You’re very welcome sweetheart.”

You blush, in spite of yourself. The praise of a murderer is not something you should be getting flustered over, but here you are. Picking awkwardly at your sleeve, you watch as he adjusts himself.

“You know…this cat and mouse game is fun, don’t get me wrong. But I’ll confess to getting antsy, and I think you feel the same. Don’t you?” he states, before placing the revolver on the floor and kicking it away. “There…no force. Why don’t you come over here?”

Your eyes dart to the gun, realising this is your chance. You can run, beat him to a pulp, leave him for the police to find, look through his apartment for evidence of whatever crime he’s planning next. And then your eyes trail back to him, the way his suit clings to him, the slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Why?” you ask, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Because I want to look at you…see you up close.” He replies, his voice matter of fact. So, against your better judgement, you stand and slowly walk towards him. He grins and gently traces your waist, feeling the ridges of your suit. “I’ve thought about this…tell me. Have you?”

You swallow, knowing you can’t lie to him. Your mask may cover the area around your eyes, but you know he can read your expression like a book regardless. “Yes…”

“Intellectual stimulation is often a powerful aphrodisiac, at least for the more intelligent of the species.” He murmurs, gently holding your hip and pulling you down, causing you to perch on his thigh. He never breaks eye contact as he speaks. “You know you can’t feel that…excitement, with anyone else. The thrill of being the only one to figure out my challenges, being the only one to come close to my brilliant mind. Apart from the bat but…well…I don’t think he’d be as eager to sit on my lap as you now, would he?”

You know your cheeks are on fire as you look down on him, your lips parted in a way that’s oh so tempting for Edward. His fingers trail to your back, with ease unclipping your utility belt and letting it fall to the floor. Not once does he look away from you, even when you do. He tuts, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Eyes on me. I want you to see, to know who’s touching you.”

How could you forget? You almost feel sick as you just let The Riddler feel you up, his fingers running along your thigh, before running back towards your ass. Perhaps you could try and kid yourself, that he’s just coercing you or forcing you, but the thought of that lie makes you feel even sicker. Because the truth is, you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. And he’s barely gotten started.

Looking down at him, you watch as he brings his gloved hand to your mouth, his finger against your plush lips. His eyes were expectant as you gently tug the glove off with your teeth.

“I conduct better without.” He says, his voice a little lower than usual as he makes you repeat it with the other glove. He praises you in a sickly manner as he folds them and places them on the arm of the chair, and you’d laugh at his neatness if you weren’t trying to focus on not whimpering at any small touch he graces you with.

“A ruler’s unthinkable action, a condemned man’s last action, a religious man’s daily action. What am I, pretty girl?” he says into your ear, running his hand up to tug the hair tie out of your hair. Swallowing, you try and think as his fingers gently scratch at your scalp, before he sharply tugs.

“I expect an answer. Don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy, or should I give you a clue?” he teases darkly, giving another tug and causing a soft whimper to escape you. “It’s something I’m sure you’ve thought about.”

You blink softly, before stammering out. “Kneeling…”

“Correct.” He gives you a condescending pat on the cheek. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You really need to leave now, really need to just take him down and find a way to contact Nightwing. But Grayson isn’t who you’re thinking about, isn’t whose hands are currently putting pressure on your shoulder, guiding you to the open space between his legs, who’s grasping at your jaw and tilting it upwards to look down at you.

“Oh sweetheart…do you know how much I’ve thought about this? If I were a lesser man, my thoughts of you might have forced me to just ask you out directly. But isn’t this better?” It’s unclear whether he’s complimenting you or himself…or maybe a warped version of both, but either way all you can do is look up at him, your thighs squeezing together. Tracing a path down to the top of your suit, he gives the small zip a soft tug before pulling away.

“Won’t you show me more? You can even keep that silly mask on if it makes you feel better.” He prompts, clearly staring at your body and making no attempt to hide it. “I’ll be inclined to reward you if you do.”

This is it. There’s no going back from this, and you both know it. Stripping for a criminal, it would ruin your credibility, your morals, everything. And he’s getting off on it.

“Come on pretty girl…it’s just me and you. How it should be, how it ought to be. Nobody can challenge you like I can.” He goads you, his fingers stroking your cheek. “When’s the last time a man has touched you hm? Or even a woman?”

You’re clearly embarrassed to admit the truth, that with your life suddenly shifting to being a crime fighter you haven’t exactly had time to go on dates, but you can see he wants to hear you. “It’s been a while…”

“Oh I can tell…such a shame.” He smirks, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “So beautiful, and so intelligent. You’re wasted on the fools of this city.”

You’re sure your breathing is audible now, your mind slightly hazy as you listen to his words. Just once…can’t hurt, can it? You can lie…tell Nightwing you were kidnapped but fought your way out. Nobody would know. Apart from him.

“But you won’t be wasted on me. I deserve you sweetheart. You know it.”

He deserves you. You’re beautiful and he deserves you. You start to unzip your suit, shrugging out of it before you can even comprehend what you’re doing. He deserves you.

“Good…good girl. That’s it.”

While great for stealth and combat, you curse yourself at the complexities of your suit as you strip in not the most elegant way. Although it doesn’t look like he minds, his eyes drinking in the feast that is your body. You end up stripping into your simple bra and underwear, to which he hums in satisfaction.

“Aren’t you a picture, I knew you would be.” He praises, although he doesn’t move from the chair. You blush as you can guess what he wants, eyeing the bulge straining against his suit trousers.

“Now I want you to touch yourself.”

The bluntness of his request was certainly not what you were expecting as your eyes snap up to meet his.

“What?”

“You heard me doll. I want you to touch yourself. The way you do at night, when it’s just you. Don’t be shy.”

“Easy for you to say...” you mumble quietly, causing him to smirk. Somehow the thought of giving him a blowjob was less embarrassing than pleasuring yourself between his legs.

“Alright you make a fair point. Here.” He starts to unbuckle his belt, gently placing it on top of his gloves before unbuttoning his trousers. “Start touching, and you’ll see more.”

You nod slowly, reaching down to your underwear and gently feeling how wet you are. His eyes narrow slightly as he watches, before looking at your face again.

“Tell me, have you thought about me? In general…when you weren’t solving my riddles?”

“Yes…” you breathe gently, before you can stop yourself.

“When did you start?”

“After you…started to address me in your puzzles.”

“Ah…” he laughs a little, deep and throaty. “Did you like the flowers darling? They were expensive.”

Your fingers rub circles over your clothed clit, nodding a little. “That night was when I first went home and researched you properly…”

It was true, Nightwing had given you intel on all the major players of the Gotham underworld when he first started training you. You were familiar with The Riddler, but that night was different. You could almost hear his voice when you read his riddles back, hear the taunts and the condescension.

“What did you find?” he murmurs, stroking your jaw.

“Watched a video…when you hacked GCN Central and broadcasted from their studio.”

Edward smirks, remembering the day well. “Oh? And did you like it? What I did? Did it excite you?”

You whimper in pleasure and embarrassment because he was right. You did. You can’t forget how your face felt like it was burning when he was mocking them, his voice cascading down your spine and causing your body to react.

“Yes…I liked it. I liked how in control you were.” The words spill out of your mouth before you can register what you’re admitting to, but Edward looks like he’s on cloud nine.

“Oh you filthy girl, did it make you wet? Seeing how scared they were? The people you fight every night to protect?” he taunts, but the slight breathlessness of his tone portrays just how much this is all affecting him too. You nod, ashamed and oh so aroused as your fingers dip inside your underwear, the throbbing of your clit nearly unbearable.

“That night I thought about you too.” He states, his eyes drawn to your pleasure. “Thought about what it might look like to have you all to myself. Thought about tying you up, seeing how much pleasure you could take before you cracked. Seeing how many of my riddles your mind could take before you begged for me.”

His words only further fuel the fire of your desperation, your fingers speeding up. Small moans escape your lips, your mind foggy as the only light that cuts through is him, his voice, his small touches. In response he lets out a quiet groan, his hand tugging at your hair again.

“You’ve been on my mind for so long, so much of my mental energy has been wasted on these fantasies with you. You’ve nearly ruined me.” He snarls, like it’s your fault. But it only makes you whine louder, your fingers bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

His eyes are like a hawk, not missing the way you’re trembling, the way your breath is coming out sharper, so he suddenly speaks. “Stop. Don’t you dare cum yet.”

The pitiful sound that escapes your mouth sounds foreign to your own ears, as he pulls at your arm to ensure you can’t pleasure yourself anymore. “It was a cute show doll, but when you cum you’ll be damn sure I’m the one doing it to you.”

You nod, as he finally frees himself from his trousers to relieve the pressure as you gaze down at him. Slightly above average, but it could have been three inches smaller for all you care, the need for him overwhelming. He smirks down at you, pumping himself a few times as you watch.

“On the sofa.” He demands, and you’re quick to comply. Not that he really lets you, as he manhandles you quickly so you’re bent over for him, pulling your underwear down sharply. “God you’re drenched. Who knew Gotham’s newest vigilante sweetheart was such a slut for criminals.”

“Just you…” you say without thinking, which causes the groan that escapes him to sound almost like a whine.

“Just me doll, that’s right. Nobody else can get you like this…nobody.”

He can’t resist plunging his fingers inside you, feeling your warmth around his digits as he moves them deliberately. Pushing your head against the cushions, you moan to muffle the sound before he pulls your head back by your hair yet again.

“Oh no no no… I didn’t go through all the trouble of helping you, of showing off all my goddamn brilliance for you, just so you could hide your pretty noises from me.”

His tone leaves little room for argument as you shiver and moan for him. Eventually it’s clear he just can’t take it anymore, pulling his fingers out and starting to position himself at your entrance. He taps at it, catching your clit deliberately.

“Ask me nicely…tell me I’m what you want.” He demands, but it almost sounds like a plea. Either way you’re helpless against him.

“Please…I need you. I want you; I only want you.” You beg, and finally he does what he’s been wanting, what you’ve been wanting for months. He pushes into you, savouring every second as he takes you for himself. You both moan, his hands gripping at your hips, your waist, your ass, almost like he’s overwhelmed with having you. He doesn’t waste anytime once he’s sure you’re adjusted, pulling back and snapping his hips forward.

“God look at you…moaning like this for a criminal. You like it? Like The Riddler fucking you sweetheart?” he taunts, his mouth seemingly not being able to stop running even as he fucks his desperation into you. Still, you nod and breathlessly tell him what he wants to hear, causing his grip on your hips to tighten.

“That’s right, of course you do. It’s a privilege to have me fuck you, have me be interested in you. I could have just taken you out.” He threatens, but it’s hard for him to sound as dangerous as you know deep down he is when the breath is being punched out of him with every thrust. “But who else can I…fuck…can I mentally challenge, and then fuck them like my own goddamn pet?”

You swear your eyes almost cross as he rails you. It’s everything you need from him; sharp, desperate and unbelievably pleasurable. He unhooks your bra, placing it by your side as he grabs at your tits; the action eliciting a sharp gasp from you. His thumbs circle your nipples, slightly clumsily from the pace he’s maintaining with his hips. Clawing at the sofa, you grip on to anything to keep you stable. Any doubts or second thoughts in your mind are being fucked away with every punishing thrust inside you.

“So pretty…thought a girl who looks like you would have nothing going on upstairs. Although I suppose right now you don’t.” he laughs before groaning as you tighten around him. He grabs your throat and pulls you so your back arches and he can look down at your face. “Bet I’m fucking you dumb, aren’t I doll?”

You make a noise that almost sounds like a yes, but Edward wasn’t looking for a straight answer anyway. He knows he is, can see the vacant and dazed look in your eyes as he continues to ravage you with everything he has. Eventually he growls and pulls out.

“Turn over sweetheart, need to see you.” He says, and who are you to deny him. Once you’re on your back he pushes in again roughly, placing a pillow underneath your hips. He starts thrusting at the same pace as before, placing your legs on his shoulders as he tests your flexibility.

“That’s it, taking me so well. Knew you would, knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” He states, his hands groping at your chest again before one comes up to grasp your neck. He doesn’t apply pressure, just keeps you looking at him. “Such a sight, you’re a vision like this.”

You whimper and look at his lips, and luckily, he gets the hint. Lips collide frantically, his tongue completely dominating your mouth in a messy kiss. Saliva connects both of you as he pulls away, but neither of you seem to care, going in for seconds. You bite at his bottom lip softly, causing him to groan and snap his hips harder against you, your cry satisfying him as he pulls back to look at you.

Your fingers grip tight onto his shoulder, before frantically pulling at his tie. Luckily he gets the hint, pulling at the fabric and shrugging off his jacket. Despite his pace he still manages to somewhat neatly place them on the floor, before you hastily unbutton his shirt. Dragging your nails down his exposed chest causes his body to shiver, a soft noise escaping his throat as he grabs your wrists and pins them down.

His hand leaves them to trail up to your cheek, his finger brushing against your mask. Every rational thought still left in your head is screaming at you not to do it, but you’re already in this deep. So with a moan, you reach up and unclip your mask, letting it fall to the side. It’s not like you’re anyone famous, just a waitress trying to do some good in the world. At least that’s what you were doing, before you let a supervillain rearrange your insides.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes looking at your face in its full glory as his pace slows. Finally, he utters one simple word.

“Beautiful.”

Those three syllables make you feel more pleasure than all of your exes combined, the tone of his voice causing your pussy to throb as your hips twitch. He grits his teeth as he feels you, fucking you harder again as his fingers quickly rub at your clit.

“Need you to cum around me…think you can give me that? Give me your gratitude for helping you?” he murmurs, smirking as you nod eagerly. You know it won’t be long, his pace even and punishing inside you. “Yeah I know you can doll, I know you can cum for me. Do it.”

After a minute longer, you scratch at his shoulders as you feel yourself let go, finishing the hardest you have in your entire life. Your orgasm almost knocks you out, eyes squeezed closed as the noises stream from your throat like running water. The tightening and pain from your nails cause havoc for Edward’s self-control, a few moments later pulling out and pumping himself before spilling over your stomach. You both catch your breath, the intensity of your encounter something neither one of you expected to be quite so strong. After a few moments, he gently strokes your cheek.

“So lovely, all for me.”

You can’t even deny that the possessiveness of his tone doesn’t make your chest feel fuzzy, gazing up at him. For a moment you don’t see The Riddler, the man who terrorises Gotham, you just see Edward. Although that thought flies away when his fingers dip down between your thighs, feeling your juices and playing with you. You whimper, slightly overstimulated as he smirks.

“No no, don’t run away from me.” He says lowly, gripping your hip with his other hand to keep you still and stop you squirming. “I know you can give me another one doll.”

Your cunt makes embarrassingly wet sounds as he plays with you, stroking your clit before pushing his fingers inside you again. You gasp and grasp at his arms, causing him to pull out for a moment to manoeuvre you. Laying with your back against his chest, he plays your body like an instrument, groping at your chest before going back between your thighs. One hand digs his nails into the meat of your thigh as the other sinks two fingers deep inside and curls them.

“There we go, good girl. Just moan for me, let me turn off that brain of yours completely. I’ll do the thinking for us both.”

His breath tickles your ear as you writhe against him, whimpering as you feel not just his fingers inside of you but his cum drying on your stomach. You can feel his grin as he collects his cum on his fingers, before tapping your bottom lip. Obediently you part your lips, letting him press his digits on your tongue, tasting him.

“You’re so good, better than all my fantasies combined.” He whispers, his fingers speeding up inside you, your thighs shaking. Moving his one hand to your tits, he gently pinches just to watch you squirm more. You can’t control the sounds pouring out of your mouth, your hips chasing the pleasure he’s giving you. After everything, it isn’t long before you feel another orgasm creeping up on you, your walls tightening.

“That’s right, cum again for me. Let a criminal make a mess of you.” He taunts before gently sucking on a spot below your ear. It only takes a few moments more before you’re cumming again, crying out his name as your back arches. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, pulling his fingers out slowly before licking them clean himself. You feel boneless, sinking back against him as the tension leaves every fibre of your body.

“Aren’t you something. If I wasn’t so spent from before I might have felt inclined to take you again.” He says, his hands stroking up and down your arms. “Did you enjoy yourself sweetheart?”

The way he speaks, his soft tone makes you forget about the circumstances behind what you two had just done. All you can do is nod softly, basking in the afterglow of the two best orgasms of your life. You’re not sure how long you lie against him, but your eyes start to flutter closed. He laughs softly and strokes your cheek.

“When’s the last time you actually slept through the night?” he asks, to which he laughs again at your dissatisfied noise. “Just sleep sweetheart.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Nightwing says, holding your arm as he looks at you. “Couldn’t connect to your earpiece, when I found it on the floor I assumed the bastard got you.”

You quickly shake your head, trying to reassure him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry. He got the drop on me, but I managed to get away.” Technically not a lie, although you had to wait until nightfall after you woke up lest someone see Gotham’s newest vigilante leaving an apartment fully suited up in the middle of the day.

“Good.” He murmurs angrily, “I don’t want you doing anything like that again without backup. Don’t argue.”

You sigh as he interrupts before you could protest, before his stupid smile comes back on his face. “He flirt with you again?”

Your expression falters, which causes a cheeky laugh to escape him. “As if he even has a chance.”

“You have no idea.” You reply with a small laugh.

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Hope you enjoyed it x

#the riddler x reader #riddler smut #dc fanfic #dc smut #edward nygma #edward nygma smut #dc x reader #riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #the riddler

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