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intheorangebedroom · 8 months ago

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 4

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Christmas on a Friday means you won't be meeting Frankie this week. This break away from each other might be just what the two of you need to consider if you should carry on with whatever this is…

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey you mean more to me than you will ever know 🧡

Word count: 14.3k

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Chapter 4: Frankie

Frankie scratches the stubble on his jaw. Behind the green screen of his aviators, under his creased brow, his eyes are riveted to the red light in front of him. His grip on the steering wheel too tight for safety.

Something has to be wrong with this light because he’s been waiting at this intersection for ten minutes at least.

He takes in an angry breath. Loud, but constricted. Yet it’s enough for your scent to fill his lungs.

It might be a trick of the mind, because it’s been six days since you’ve been in here, and it’s still everywhere around him. It floats in the cab of the truck. It clings to the fabric of the seat. It’s woven into the suede leather of his jacket.

It’s probably what it is, just a trick of his brain, but he’d like to know for sure. If your presence has pervaded the whole space, or if he’s losing his goddamn sanity.

The light changes to green. His head rolls back on the headrest, eyes drifting close.

It’s a light fragrance. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. Orange blossom, citrus, honeysuckle. It’s the very last days of spring, when the air is still chill, but the sunbeams are warm and blinding. Before summer sets everything ablaze, the southern wind, the asphalt, the concrete walls and the bodies. It’s the first sunny day on a pale winter skin.

And there’s the sweet musk you exude, mixed with his own, when he’s fucked you hard and thorough.

The car behind him honks and he jolts up in his seat, knees knocking against the wheel. He puts the pedal down to the floor in less than a millisecond, tires screeching, engine revving up.

What the fuck is wrong with him? What is happening to him?

The route to Will’s place is a familiar one. He drives absentmindedly down streets and avenues lined with palm trees, his mind wandering. To Lua’s shot, that’s due next week; to his Thursday shift he has to swap with Felix. To the gutters that need cleaning, and the front door he should repaint. To the overnight diapers he has to restock soon.

To the feel of your smaller hands cupping his face, and the coolness of your touch. To that tiny pink wound on your forehead and the weariness in your eyes. To that scar on your knee in the shape of a grid, and that other one on your inner thigh you try not to let him see. To those two dimples above your ass and your scent, fuck, your scent, it does something to him. Something he didn’t ask for. Something he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

When he turned around, back in that dive, and his eyes met yours, he didn’t feel anything. Or rather, he felt everything, all at once. The end and the beginning. The sweetness and the pain. Blood and honey. It was all there, contained in your luminous, telling eyes. He saw something in them. Something frightened, but brazen. A hunger. A madness. A longing. Something he recognized, and wanted himself.

He took in your general appearance, the expensive clothes, the even more expensive bag, and he turned back around. Tried to convince himself you were just some corporate executive, bored with your life, looking for a cheap thrill and a quick fuck.

He could sense your gaze, burning holes through his shirt into the muscles of his back, those damn eyes, wide, exhausted. And they kept boring into him. Strong, determined. They wouldn’t let go. You wouldn’t let go.

So he left. He got up and stormed out. Went home to the guest room sofa, and his sleeping baby, and tried to forget about you.

Your eyes kept haunting his nights. And his waking hours too. And since he’s been clean, his days have gotten considerably longer.

No more drugs meant sleepless nights, followed by never-ending stretches of daytime, with nothing to sustain his focus but stress and coffee. It means going to work, and flying on three hours of nonconsecutive sleep, while his thoughts swirl in his overwrought brain. Nothing to take the edge off.

He hadn’t realized the weight he was carrying until Lua was born.

As long as he was in the military, he had kept his head straight. So many guys he served with were using; all kinds of shit. A genuine feel good hit of the summer. It was disconcerting, the ease with which they could score pretty much anything, in just about any country where they were deployed. As if it were made accessible to them purposefully.

But not him. He had never needed it. His focus was sharp, his mood even and leveled, his mind clear. Every fiber of his being striven towards one goal: to watch over his brothers. To leave no one behind.

Things started going south after he’d retired. They followed him. The ones he had left behind. Those times he’d been too quick on the trigger. All of them, soldiers and civilians. Faces without eyes. Deep, bleeding cavities, and dark gaping holes where their mouths should have been. Brothers and enemies merging into one big shapeless and viscous mass of casualties.

They came to him at night, and soon, he stopped sleeping. Exhaustion exacerbated his temper. His control became tenuous. But somehow, he still kept going.

When he met Lupe, he had told her everything. Five days a week, she was the voice in his headset, steady, constant, as she dispatched him and the crew of paramedics to wherever the emergency was located. She sent him to brutal, deadly pile-ups on the highway, burning high schools or heart attacks on remote hiking trails with an even tone that aroused his curiosity and inspired his trust.

When they’d started dating, he confided in her. The nightmares, the difficulty focusing. She understood, but she also didn’t want anything to do with it. She’d answered with a blunt warning. I have my own shit to deal with, Morales, I’m not in this to save you. He didn’t want her to, anyway. He wasn’t her responsibility.

He had stayed. And so did she. Things were good enough. They were in love. She was already well into her thirties, with a job that didn’t leave much time for dating, and even less for starting a family. She wanted a kid more than anything, and he thought normalcy would do it. That it would ground him enough to fix him.

After Lua was born, he resorted to drugs to numb out and function. At the time, he had considered it to be a momentary solution. He needed the energy to care for her, not to keep it together.

The drugs helped at first. It helped with the nightmares. It helped with the realization that flying had, for most of his life, been his sole purpose, main goal and greatest talent, and that he’d used it to destroy, ravage and kill. It helped with the guilt. Even as it generated more of it.

The benzos put him to sleep for dreamless hours, and then the coke kept him awake throughout the workday. He thought he’d find some sort of footing.

It didn’t help long, though. He got caught fast. Almost as if he wanted to be. And then it was all burning shame, and disintegrating self-esteem, with no means left to escape any of his feelings.

Lupe gave him hell, rightfully so. His sister said nothing, which nearly killed him. She wired him money so he could hire a good lawyer. She’d been the one to advise him in the first place to think twice about bringing a baby into his mess. He still hated himself for not listening to her.

What hit him the hardest was the suspension of his pilot license. Who was he, if not a pilot?

After the bust, he invested everything into being a good father. Lupe found it in her to forgive him, and things were pretty good for a couple of months.

Until Pope came back with his bullshit idea. Frankie watched his friends buckle and fold, one after the other. Ben, Ironhead and Redfly. Until he had no other choice but to follow suit. Watch over his brothers. Leave no one behind.

Flashes after that: Redfly coming back in a plastic bag, to join the mass of eyeless, gaping holes that kept him awake at night.

The cruel irony of his suspension being lifted within a mere two weeks after he’d crashed that fucking Mi-8. Pope going into hiding, perhaps dead himself. The rest of them left here to slowly fragment, standing amongst all the things they broke beyond repair, with nothing to show for it.

And then that one day, you collided into him.

When he came back to the bar two weeks after your first encounter, it was with the firm intention of giving you what he thought you wanted. Scratch your itch, and his. Fuck you once, use you as an outlet, same way you probably wanted to use him.

The very moment he saw you step inside the bar, he understood how wrong he’d been.

You were not out for a cheap thrill or a quick fuck; you were not a bored, cynical executive looking to mix with the very working-class you exploited.

You were in pain. Numbed out. Withdrawn. Absent.

For some reason, that fucked him up hard. He tried running away from you, but you came after him, headstrong. You sought him out. Without hesitation, or fear. And something held him back, prevented him from running away too fast or too far. He let you catch up with him.

You wanted him. You want him still.

The sounds you make when you come, that breathless moan, full chest, empty mind, he knew he was in trouble when he pulled it out of you that very first night in the parking lot, against his truck. You clung to him, cold hands with a feverish touch. He was greedy and you thrashed before you went slack in his hold and right away he had wanted more. He risked a taste, licked his fingers, and you were heaven. You were unreal.

He wanted to know so much more: what did you feel like from the inside when you came? How much of him could you take? What your voice would sound like after he’d fuck your throat?

How much of you really existed? How much of you had he made up?

He soon found out. About the sensation of your soft skin under his rougher hands. About your patience. About your scent. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green. Intoxicating.

At the beginning, he thought you were coming to him for degradation, as much as for pleasure. There wasn’t a single debasing act he could come up with that you didn’t let him do to you.

You’d take anything he gave you.

Week after week, you let him fuck you numb, fuck you rough, fuck you raw. Tie you up, fold you down. Cover you in come, choke you on his cock, spit in your mouth.

Friday after Friday, you kept looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was still here, pounding you blind into that shitty mattress. Not grateful. Surprised. Or relieved. He didn’t know what to make of it, of that dignity you forfeited when you crossed the threshold of that room that very first night. Of your surrendering.

In retrospect, you understood your dynamic much faster than he did. Back then, he was still struggling with the idea that you were real.

He grew wary, and in his head, a refrain started playing. Tonight’s the last night. There won’t be a next week.

He couldn’t stop, though. One last night, that turned into two, then three, then four. He finally started getting decent nights of sleep, a restful slumber of which he felt undeserving.

He had to put a stop to this. Just one last night, and there wouldn’t be a next week.

He knew even more when his curiosity started to drift elsewhere. To your life outside the room with the brown rug and the yellow curtains. To that inner island of yours, the contour of which he was only starting to make out through the fog of his blunt desire.

You kissed him like you knew he’d never be yours, so you’d be his instead. Like his breath was yours. Like your heart only beat under his hand. And yet, you kept eluding him, silent and slippery. The paradox drove him insane.

He grew restless in between Friday evenings, booking the room earlier each week. He forbade himself any other kinds of relief, and instead turned to books. Browsing, flipping pages impatiently, searching for words and concepts. Intellectual tools to rationalize the feeling of you, to understand your presence and describe your scent, because you wouldn’t let him name you, and probably never would.

He thought that if he didn’t come inside you, perhaps you’d keep coming back to him.

It only made him want you more. The relinquishing drop in your shoulders, every time he asked you to stop him. He became obsessed with the thought of giving you what you knew better than to want. And in his head, the refrain kept playing.

One last night. One last fuck. One last fix.

In comparison, it had been easier to quit coke.

He can’t explain your pull. The way his body gravitates towards yours. He can’t explain the visceral craving.

Aloof and soothing, with a will so hard and unbending it scares him, you take, everything that festers ugly inside him, and absorb it, making it disappear. You turn it into something beautiful, something that blooms and purrs and breathes. Orange blossom and honeysuckle.

What do you do with all his rage? How do you cope with it? Where do you get this strength from?

Your strength. He’s only beginning to fathom the magnitude and depth of it.

It’s hidden beneath the surface of you, dormant, nestled in your quiet resilience, your accidental resistance. The remoteness of your gaze. It’s in your plea for him to take, until he knows he’ll stop breathing if he stops giving in.

That place within yourself, where you retreat not to get hurt. That’s where he wants to find you. That’s where he wants to live.

When you didn’t show up two weeks ago, he should have been relieved. He’d got out easy. You’d taken the decision for him. Inside his chest, however, anxiety chewed up his heart and set his nerves on fucking fire. The possibility that your absence was unwilling. That something might have prevented you from coming. Something, or someone.

He had your plates written down in the little spiral notebook he kept in the glove compartment of his truck. He could’ve pull some strings, found out your address. Fuck, he could’ve found out your name. But it felt like a violation even thinking about it, no matter how sickly worried he was. Like a step too far into madness. Something he wouldn’t come back from.

And then, you did show up. Exhausted, wounded. Twice as determined. He felt the overwhelming urge to get you into his truck and drive away with you, and never come back.

He felt the familiar grip of wrath, a blinding surge of hatred for this man who’s not quite your husband.

Pulling in front of Will’s building, Frankie puts the truck in park. He grazes a palm over his face, eyes falling on the ugly condo to his left. The teal-colored, budget paint peeling off the sunburned walls in large flecks.

He sighs, remembering Will’s former house. The one he shared with his fiancée before she left him. Two stories, bow windows on the top floor, a white porch with a swing. Lilac trees in the front lawn. Conversations about having kids.

He readjusts his hat, fingers deftly combing through his hair, takes the six-pack next to him on the seat bench, and exits his truck, dark eyes quickly scanning the block for Ben’s car. The beat-up Camaro is nowhere in sight. He didn’t expect Ben to be on time anyway, but he’s hoping he won’t take too long to join them.

In the narrow corridor leading to Will’s apartment, a neon lamp goes off and on in a spasmodic, irritating blink. The damp stench of molded wood cloaks his tense frame. He knows that if he tilts his head down to his shoulder and inhales deeply enough, he’ll find you there.

He doesn’t.

Before he brings down his knuckles to the door, Frankie exhales long and slow. With closed eyes, pursed lips. It’s useless. His shoulders won’t relax.

When Will opens the door, Frankie’s taken aback by how good he looks. How normal. Thick blond hair kept short, with a carefully trimmed beard. Brawny shoulders, creaseless shirt, alert gaze. Seemingly unchanged, incomprehensibly constant.

Frankie leans a little longer than necessary into his friend’s full-body hug. When he lets go, the tall man briefly narrows his eyes at him, a steel-blue, surgical stare from behind long blond lashes.

“How are you doing, man?” Will asks in his lazy drawl.

The dim hallway feels too small for the two of them. Frankie’s skin is pulled taut under Will’s unblinking scrutiny. He lowers his head, tucking his face into the protective shadow of his hat.

“Good. Same,” he mumbles.

Benny’s buoyant entrance saves him, and it’s more hugs, bulky shoulders colliding, hands clasping and eruptive greetings as they slowly make their way inside the apartment.

“How’s my goddaughter?” Benny asks.

Frankie smiles at the question. A genuine smile, crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks. The warmth of the younger man’s baritone spreads in his chest. It’s the care in his words.

“She’s good. Growing up fast. I think it’s just a matter of days before she walks, now.”

“The minute she walks, I’m gonna teach her how to throw a punch,” Benny grins.

Every time he visits, it takes Frankie a minute to adjust to the contrast between the exterior of Will’s building and the interior of his apartment, and tonight is no exception. The small, one-bedroom’s white walls look like they’ve been freshly painted. The sofa’s cushions are puffed as if no one has ever sat on it. Every surface is spotless, not a dust particle flying. The coffee table is bare, no glass of water, not even the remote control lying on it.

Matching frames lined methodically on the living-room walls display family pictures, chronologically arranged, as well as a couple of shots from their time together in the Army. Frankie catches a glimpse of his younger self, cropped curls, sharper jaw, smoother grin. His arm is wrapped around Pope’s shoulders. He averts his gaze.

In the kitchen, the stainless-steel sink is shiny and empty, clean dishes neatly stored away in the overhead glass cabinets. The stove looks like it was just delivered.

Frankie knows himself to be tidier than most. When they started dating, Lupe would often tell him it was one of her favorite traits of his.

But Will’s ability to inhabit a seemingly unlived place is unsettling.

They take their usual seats around the small, round kitchen table. The two brothers fill up the room. Benny’s presence is bright, cheerful, in complementary contrast with his brother’s density and observing silence. Frankie lands somewhere in the middle. Like a bridge. Like a common ground.

The conversation flows between them, effortless. It would be easy to believe nothing has changed. Up until nine months ago, they used to meet at least once a week. Fight nights, bar nights, gym nights... Pope was rarely in town, Tom busy trying to make ends meet, so it was often just the three of them.

Now, Frankie seldom sees the Millers more than once a month. But after thirteen years, ten of which they’ve spent serving side by side, he knows them well enough to notice the invisible changes.

There’s a new sort of gravity to Benny’s demeanor. His laughter isn’t as loud, not as immediate. A loss in spontaneity. There’s Will's unusual patience and leniency toward the young man. The nervous glances at his watch whenever his brother’s late.

Lately, Frankie has caught himself envying the two men’s bond. The many quiet ways in which they look out for one another. A tightly packed unit. Blood tied.

He could call his sister. Hell, he could even hop on a plane with Lua and fly across the country to visit her, Lupe could probably use the break. His sister would listen. She already has. And she never judged.

Will places three more cans of beer on the table. Frankie hesitates. He doesn’t need a DIU in his Christmas stocking.

“What are you guys doing for Christmas? Going back to Colorado?” he asks, stalling.

“Yeah, we’re flying tomorrow,” Benny answers with a slow nod. “Can’t leave mom alone.”

Frankie finds himself trapped under Will’s gaze again. It’s charged, with what, he cannot tell yet, but he’s ready to bet he’ll find out before the evening ends. That fourth beer is really tempting. Instead, his thumb finds the target tattooed on his left hand, blunt nail worrying at it.

“Say, Fish,” Will starts.

Here it comes.

“I met Lupe the other day at the grocery store.”

Frankie nods, steeling himself. Chin up, to meet his friend’s eyes. There’s the metallic crunch of a tall boy cracked open, followed by the bubbly, high-pitched hiss of the beer.

“Wanna tell me why she’s under the impression that we see each other every Friday evening?”

A second pair of storm-blue eyes dart to his face. If he wasn’t caught in the middle of it, Frankie could find the scene almost comical.

“Wait,” Benny cuts in, “you guys are back together?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No. No, we’re not.”

“But you still live together,” Will states, impassive, carrying on with his interrogation.

“For Lua,” Frankie says flatly.

Those two words have come out of his mouth for what feels like a thousand times in the past nine months, to family, close friends, colleagues, and acquaintances alike. Today, for the first time, he realizes how incomprehensible, how irrational it might have sounded to all of them.

“Why are you lying to her, then?” Will leans in closer, his face contrasted in harsh shadows under the overhead suspension.

“Look Will,” Frankie starts, his tone a notch too defensive, “I appreciate your concern, I know this comes from a good place, but I’m not on anything, ok? So you can– you can drop it.”

The request is rhetorical. Desperate, really. Ironhead is not known for letting go, once he has latched onto something. Across from Frankie, Benny drinks up in silence, eyes flickering between the two men and the growing tension that hangs like smoke between them.

An ugly apprehension creeps up along Frankie’s nape.

“I know you’re not using. I can tell. You look better than I’ve seen you looking in a while, aside from the fact that you’re wound up pretty tight. But we’re in this fucking aftermath together, Fish, so I gotta ask: what the fuck is it that you do every Friday evening?”

Frankie sits up straight, folding his arms over his chest, blood simmering.

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” he asks, keeping his voice even.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Will cocks his chin toward Benny as he adds, “I trust you with mine and my brother’s life.”

“But not with mine,” Frankie whispers, comprehension finally dawning on him, and somehow, his friend’s concern hits him harder than an unlikely lack of trust. Something snaps and goes slack between his shoulders.

Benny moves suddenly, his massive frame leaning forward. Propping his forearms on the table, he lets out a long, low whistle.

“Holy shit, man,” he says, “Fish got himself a new girl.”

Will frowns. His eyes do a quick back and forth between his brother and Frankie, who hangs his head, hiding under the brim of his hat, hissing an angered fuck.

Benny erupts in thundering laughter. Around them, the tension bursts open, the entire atmosphere dripping with it, the air moving again.

“No. No, I don’t,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head.

His denial is drowned under Benny’s booming voice.

“Come on! Look at yourself, old man, you’re fucking blushing! You got yourself some pussy!”

“Do you? Did you meet someone?” Will presses, trying to lock eyes with him.

Frankie gives it to him. Raises his head and looks him dead in the eyes, shaking his head still, a vein ready to pop in his corded neck.

“I didn’t meet anyone. She’s not a girl. I’m not talking about her here,” he grits.

Will leans back in his chair. It creaks loud and tired under his weight. He lets out a heavy sigh, of relief perhaps, or deepened worry.

“Come on, Fish! Give us something. At least tell us what she looks like,” Benny teases.

He opens another beer and slides it over to Frankie across the table.

Will’s eyes have yet to leave his face.

“Why don’t you tell Lupe about it? She’s the one who broke up with you,” he remarks.

“Less than nine months ago. After I fucked up, yet again. She’s the mother of my kid, Will, she’s been through enough on my account.”

Will nods in silence, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

“Anyway, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to tell,” Frankie adds, swallowing the bitter taste that sits at the back of his tongue.

Silence settles over the three of them. Frankie grabs the can and brings it to his lips, downing half of its content in long gulps.

Your scent is there, right there, meshed into the fabric of his jacket. It takes all of his willpower not to turn his head and breathe you in.

“She’s married, is she?” Benny asks with a shit-eating grin.

Will’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in sheer horror.

“Is she?” he asks, plunging forward to look at him.

Frankie grinds his teeth, jaw flexing, eyes clenching shut.

“Fish, is she married?” Will repeats, a shrill undertone in his usual low drawl.

“Well, I, for one, am not judging you,” Benny declares, giving his brother a pointed look and raising his can as if to toast Frankie.

Frankie sighs.

He’s never going back to that motel.

—

You don’t like champagne, but that’s all Adrian’s parents ever serve you. It’s fine. For once, you don’t mind. You’ll be driving later today, so you need your mind clear and your reflexes sharp.

You cradle the tall glass in your hand. The taste has long gone stale, the liquid lukewarm in the warmth of your palm. The bubbles are flat. On your lap, your phone buzzes quietly with a new message. Across the table, Adrian’s eyes dart in your direction, annoyance darkening them.

You swipe your thumb across the screen, and a smile plays on your lips at the sight of Ava and Polly grinning for the camera. They’re sitting in the middle of a large group of women, you quickly count twelve of them, wearing a rainbow of paper crowns.

They’re gathered in front of a festive table. A small living-room, brightly lit, cluttered with art, lamps, and plants. A Christmas tree stands in the left corner. In front of them, the plates are loaded with what looks like turkey and roasted vegetables. Napkins, cutlery, candles, and decorative pine tree branches scattered on the table. There’s a large cake dish at the center, on top of which sits the highest lemon meringue cake you’ve ever seen, the topping at least three inches high, clearly homemade.

Some of the women are holding wine glasses, white or red, half full, lipstick smeared on the rim. The photograph has captured them mid-cheers, their lips pursed around a word that’s not yet a smile. The picture is all crinkling eyes, ringing laughter, colorful clothes and flushed cheeks.

You tap your thumb on the screen in fast motions.

Gorgeous! All of you!

Wait, is that turkey vegan?

You add a winking emoji to clarify your tone before pressing send.

The three dots blink briefly and the dark-haired, shrugging emoji pops up on the screen.

You chuckle.

It’s Xmas!!!!! Lexi’s filling is fkg delicious!!!!!

What abt u? U holding up????

The little round yellow face, with its mouth turned downward, stirs guilt in your gut.

Ava was tearing up again, when you dropped her at the airport two days ago, despite your many reassurances that you would be perfectly alright. It’s not your first Christmas apart, but it’s the first one with over a thousand miles between you. You want to put her mind at ease. For her to remain carefree as long as life allows her to be.

I’m good, pup ♥ But I’d be even better if I was about to eat that meringue cake, OMG!

It’s not a lie, not exactly. Of course, it’s the first time in decades you’re completely sober to face the ordeal that is Christmas diner at Adrian’s parents. It’s almost an outer body experience. But strangely, not the nerve-racking one you feared. You anticipated worse. For every sensation to be impossibly loud, blinding, sharp. For your mind to spiral downward at the first uncomfortable interaction.

It hasn’t. You’re nervous, but also focused. And that grip provides you with just enough balance. This year, you’ve got a clear course of action. At least for the upcoming couple of days. One step at a time.

Pinching the screen, you zoom in on Ava’s face, before your eyes flicker up to the dining table you’re sitting at and the people around it.

Everything’s beige. From the tablecloth linen to the leftovers growing cold on the plates. From the Christmas tree and the guests’ clothing to Adrian’s mother’s hair.

Beige, bland, boring. Ashen.

The only touch of color is on Adrian’s face. Those ruby-colored specks spreading to his cheeks from the neck, standing out in his pale carnation. A reaction you only seem to arouse when he’s furious with you.

His mother announces dessert will be served in the jardin d’hiver, which is how Beatrice insists on calling the back porch.

Your phone vibrates, signaling another text from Ava. You slide it in the pocket of your jumpsuit without opening it. Adrian glowers at you a second longer before walking over to the end of the table to assist his grandmother.

His brother nearly races him to it. You watch the grown-up man in his bespoke Armani suit get up so fast he nearly trips over the legs of his chair.

Their motivation is not honorable. Affection doesn’t play into their eagerness. There isn’t a member of the Mountcastle family who harbors love or respect for the 92 year old, acrimonious matriarch. In their defense, she’s a dried-up, nasty piece of bigotry, built on pure, solid hatred, even by their conservative standards and values.

But she owns the estate and she holds the money. And so the two Mountcastle spawns scramble to their feet to make a show of their devotion.

The whole clan gets up to form a procession behind the old woman’s frail, hunched silhouette. Parents, aunts and uncles, in-laws and cousins, children in ruffled dresses and short dress pants flittering around them. Your so-called family. You can barely tell them apart.

Detached, you stride slowly behind, toward the back of the house. You haven't worn heels in two weeks. It’s quite surprising how fast you got unused to them. Your slick, black pumps press uncomfortably on your little toes, rubbing your skin raw. But you won’t be wearing them much longer. So you suck in the pain. You let it ground you.

Your choice of outfit elicited a stern glance from Adrian when you slipped it on this morning. He hovered behind you, disapproving and silent, still riled up from your earlier confrontation when you had announced you’d be driving your car to his parents’ house, so you could leave early.

You stood in front of the mirror, rigid and hesitant, sliding up the side zipper. A sleeveless black jumpsuit with a V-cut cleavage in the front, and a deeper one exposing your back, bought in a thrift store ages ago, when you were still in college. You exhumed it from the depth of your closet, in hopes it would convoke the boldness you had briefly experienced during this short period of your life. You’re done dressing to please anyone but yourself.

The help walks briskly past you through the double, ornate-glass doors leading to the porch. She lays a porcelain tray on the console near the railing.

“La bûche de Noël!” Beatrice declares triumphantly, opening her arms to gesture theatrically at the brown mass on the tray.

A wave of blond heads undulates toward the console, blue eyes in every nuance darting at the dish where a log-shaped lump of a cake sits.

“What is this monstrosity?” her mother-in-law croaks.

The entire family falls silent. Your eyes grow wide and you bite down on your grin.

Beatrice instantly loses her carefully crafted composure. It’s never been obvious to you until now, how vacant her gaze turns whenever something upsets her. You briefly wonder what’s her drug of choice to escape. You sure hope she has one.

“Oh but it’s French, Abigail,” she murmurs. “It’s a delicacy. I bought it from Sucré Table, on Kennedy Boulevard.”

“What’s wrong with an American pecan pie?” the matriarch spits out without so much as a look for her daughter-in-law.

Beatrice smiles her empty smile, sharp yellowed teeth, hardened gray eyes. You can’t bear to look at her any longer. You turn your head, and your gaze meets Agatha’s.

The young girl instantly lightens up, straightening her back in her baby-blue seersucker dress, smiling at you with something you can only describe as relief. She raises a little hand and wriggles her thin fingers. The ten year old is your favorite. You love her dearly. Her bubbly personality and burgeoning sense of humor have seen you through many family gatherings.

Today, it hurts you to admit, you’ve kept her at arm’s length, selfishly preserving yourself from Beatrice’s favorite question: when will you have a child of your own?

With a slight wince, you blink away the vision of Frankie holding his little girl in the photo booth picture. Their full heads of curls. Their dimpled grins.

Charles, Adrian’s father, is the first to break the uneasy silence, with a playful albeit daring remark on his mother’s failing sense of adventure. The assembly lets out a collective breath. Beatrice takes a seat on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, curtly signaling the help to cut the bûche and serve it.

You exhale slowly through parted lips. If you wait any longer, courage will fail you.

Smoothing your palms over your belly, you make your way to Adrian, where he’s leaning against the railing at the rear end of the porch.

“I’ll be going, now,” you whisper, eyes not quite meeting his.

He sighs, something constrained and hostile, facing away toward the sprawling, lush garden, hydrangeas, willow trees. Tension rolls off his lanky frame. Your stomach turns, your mind swivels, grasping for words of reassurance.

Incomprehensibly, you want him to talk to you, even though you’re terrified of what he might say. The poisoned words he’s capable of, somehow preferable to his irate silence.

“I’ll excuse myself to your mother before leaving. I’ll be discreet. I promise. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your–”

He turns to face you so fast it startles you.

“You could at least tell me where you’re going.”

You look up at him, taken aback by his pained expression. Under his pinched brow, his features are twisted in an unfamiliar expression. He slithers a hand around your waist, drawing you close, and it strikes you: he’s pleading.

A breath hitches inside your chest. From this close, you can see the flecks of green in his pale blue irises. You had forgotten their complexity. Their refined beauty. He tightens his grip on you, fingers curling into your tender flesh. The lie tumbles out of you before you can hold it.

“I’m just going to check in on Ava. It’s her first Christmas on her own.”

You catch a glimpse of his mother in your peripheral, handing out Bone China dessert plates. The heady perfume of the hydrangea bushes is going to your head. The day is swirling inside your brain, around you, jardin d’hiver, French dessert, delicacy. Agatha’s desperate little wave, her loneliness, your cowardice. Adrian’s eyes of green and their angry plea.

Your lungs constrict, not letting you breathe.

Adrian tilts down his face, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath skates your skin when he speaks.

“What happened to us, babe?”

His lips brush against the edge of your jaw. Static scrambles your brain; your hand motions upward of its own volition to rest on his back. The pain, the remorse in his voice sits like a razor blade inside your throat. You have to talk around the taste of your blood, voice unrecognizable.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

It’s not a lie. You will be back tomorrow. Facing a blank page, the rest of your life to figure out, to navigate with what you’ve learned about yourself.

His hand moves, sliding down to rest in the small of your back, the muscles of his back flexing under your light touch, and your palm, your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

“I miss you,” he whispers against your lips.

—

The car stereo plays a classical rendition of Let it snow. Ten minutes into driving, you gave up trying to find a station that would broadcast something other than Christmas tunes.

The traffic is fluid, the roads eerily deserted. The windows on both sides are cracked open, and the warm, late afternoon air that wafts in soothes your sore rib cage.

Your mind keeps wandering to the previous Friday, when you sat nestled into Frankie’s side as he drove aimlessly. To the smooth fabric of his jacket under your cheek, to the heat of his chest, to his solid breadth.

You stop it.

The memory is always a thought away. But it shouldn’t be summoned at random. You can’t risk its erosion. There won’t be another one.

You’re disappointed to find a lanky young man sitting in Raul’s place behind the counter of the motel’s office. His blond hair is tied in a bun on top of his head, and his phone blasts pop tunes in audio slices of fifteen seconds through revolving TikTok videos. You want to cover your ears. Or smash up his phone.

He hands you the key, and you all but rush out of the office, only slowing once you’ve reached the front door of your room.

Before stepping inside, you halt under the porch.

Beyond the parking lot, beyond the road, over the horizon, dusk descends in dark tangerine over the canopy of trees. Slowly, the sky turns saffron in seamless gradations. The air feels textured, grainy like an old photograph, like long-gone, sunny vacations, like faded memories. The evening breeze is pleasant. The night envelops you, violet-blue, regrets and losses.

Inside room number 2, you draw the yellow curtains. You stand still for a few moments, confused, your routine disrupted, since you’re not expecting him.

It’s too early to sleep, but the tension that has run through you throughout the week, culminating with Adrian’s kiss, is now flowing out of your body, leaving you limp.

Adrian hadn’t held you like that in years. With passion and intent. Perhaps even sincerity. He’d never done that, attempted to use your nostalgic heart to his benefit. Intimidation had usually sufficed.

Toeing off your shoes, you slowly undress. You fold your clothes in a neat little pile, similar to the one you found on the desk last Saturday. Military-like.

The questions you never asked Frankie flood your brain. All the things about him you will never have the time to learn. They form a lump in the dip of your collarbone. They prickle under your eyelids.

You clench your eyes shut, and invoke the image of his daughter’s face, trying to picture their Christmas celebration to strengthen your resolve. Pecan pies and half-nibbled, minute portions of roasted turkey. Red boxes wrapped in white ribbons under the blinking tree. A teddy bear. Jigsaw puzzles with large pieces. Plastic toys with pushing buttons and synthetic lullabies. A rocking horse, maybe.

The image of him with that little girl has plagued you, continuously, throughout the week. Pain cloaking you like mist, seeping inside you, breaching the molecular structure of your flesh. Redefining it. Until you woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, with a certitude ringing out inside your head: you had to give him up. Give him back, back to his wife and daughter.

You’d go to the motel one last time, one last indulgence, to say goodbye to the idea of him, and you’d give him back to his family.

When your heart rate has slowed down, you walk over to the bathroom to wash your face clean. You’ll miss your reflection in that black-edged mirror. You don’t smile and say, “Stop me.”

The bedspread is gross. The polyester fabric, once a peach shade of orange, is darkened in multiple places by stains of various shapes and consistencies. You’re probably responsible for most of it.

Grabbing a corner of the heavy quilt, you slide it off the bed entirely. The white linen underneath seems clean enough.

You climb into bed, and repress a shiver. You switch off the lights and pull up the sheet to your chin. The fabric is threadbare, starchy.

How can you be so cold, in the mild evening?

Lying curled up on your side, eyes strained on the curtains, you don’t feel yourself falling asleep.

Soon, you’re miles away from the motel, your naked body drifting into the Pacific Ocean. You’re half-immersed, but afloat. The undercurrent is strong underneath the white crests of the violent waves, but you’re not scared. As long as you lie in the water, as long as you don’t try to resist, you’ll be fine. Ears beneath the surface, you’re isolated by the silence of the dark abyss, eyes staring up into the immensity above you.

It’s a different kind of sunset. Flamboyant, carmine, and the whole sky is ablaze with it. The horizon is on fire, but you’re safe in the water.

A vague intuition roils your peace. You’re supposed to look for something. How, you don’t know, because you cannot shift from your position, or you’ll sink.

Suddenly, something tailspins across the sky in a fast downward fall. Too small to be a bird, too slow for a shooting star. Thick streaks of ominous gray fumes trail behind it in its descent.

Should you be scared? Should you try to get away from it? It’s so far in the distance, it can’t be much of a threat. It’s too late, now, anyway, you tilt your head to the side in time to watch it collide with the surface of the ocean.

You feel the impact in the undertow. Something too big stirs between your lungs, and you gasp as the muted sound of the collision reaches you in a vibrating shockwave.

The ripples of the impact are crawling fast over the surface, in your direction. A sense of dread, of impending doom, scrambles your brain. You jolt upward to a vertical position, legs and hands beating against the current, pushing against the water.

The balance is fractured. You’re pulled under.

You’re sinking fast, as fast as that thing fell into the ocean, and above the surface, the crimson sky is turning dim.

Instinctually, you rebel against it, screaming for help but it’s water, not air, that fills your lungs. Salty, cold, abrading your throat when you choke on it.

You’re dying, or you’re dead already, because something firm and soft radiates heat against your back.

“Shhh, it’s ok.”

A strong arm bands firmly around your chest, warm palm, splayed fingers, pulling you flush against warm skin.

“I got you, baby.”

Your eyes shoot open. The dark bedroom materializes in your blurred vision, the silhouette of the bedside table and the lamp, the pale square of the window. Its shape detached from the wall, dancing in the darkness.

“Frankie?”

Frankie presses you into him, a short, strong squeeze of an answer.

But your dream is clinging to the edges of your consciousness, salty water sloshing at the bottom of your lungs.

“‘S that really you?” you ask again, words slurred through sleep, panic in the inflection of your question.

His hand wraps around your breast. He slots his face into the curve of your neck, the scruff of his jaw a tickle against your bare skin.

“Why, you were expecting someone else?”

You close your eyes, tears rising, sudden, like the tide of the Pacific Ocean.

“I’m not still dreaming?” you breathe out.

His response is immediate. His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder. The bite is shallow, but firm, and you let out a little sound, between a surprised gasp and a relieved exhale.

“See? Not dreaming. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of you in the morning,” he mouths against your skin before kissing it better. A pointed kiss, plush, parted lips. A promise.

The impact of that thing on the surface of the ocean is still pulsating through you. Ricocheting around your rib cage. You wiggle into his hold to turn around and face him, your palms finding the plane of his broad chest.

Your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

In the semidarkness, you can only make out the outline of his sharp features. You scoot closer, tucking your face into his neck, taming the vibration with his scent.

“Will you still be here in the morning?”

You feel the thick swallow in his throat against your temple. It’s a beat before he moves, tilting his head to rest his chin on the crown of your head, both arms circling your waist. Engulfing you in his hold.

“I will.”

—

Frankie knew you’d be at the motel. Instinctually so. A gut feeling, unnerving in its clarity.

He hadn’t planned on going when he headed out. He had decided never to set a foot there ever again, and he was going to stand by his decision. After he’d put his daughter to bed, he just needed to get out of the house. Escape the charged atmosphere.

It was Lua’s second Christmas, and he hadn't even managed to keep his family together that long.

Lupe was watching a movie in the living-room. He’d leaned against the door frame, already in his hat and jacket. She hated his hat. She had forbidden him to wear it inside the house when they started dating, and he still abided by that rule. A belated mark of respect.

“I’m heading out,” he announced, as neutral as possible. “Not sure when I’ll be back, don’t worry, ok?”

She was done being worried about him. He knew this much. He understood. He accepted.

They still shared a roof, however. Bills, deadlines, and most importantly, responsibilities regarding the child they had brought into this world. He owed her basic information on his whereabouts. He may have lied about where he went, but he had always been back home before Lua woke up, as agreed between them.

“Yeah, ok,” she answered, without lifting her eyes from the TV screen.

As he pushed away from the lintel, she turned to face him, as if remembering something.

“Wait, Francisco?”

She hadn’t called him Frankie since she’d broken up with him.

“Yea?” he said, backtracking to stand on the threshold.

Her dark eyes glimmered, lit up by the TV screen’s flickering light. She was beautiful. A superior kind of beauty. Like gilded age Hollywood nobility. Dolores Del Rio, Linda Darnell. Even when tired, even with a bare face, and sitting in her pajamas with a bowl of chips between her crossed legs. Frankie hoped Lua would grow up to look like her. To be like her. And not take from him and his rough features. And his fucked up brain.

“Could you stay in to take care of Lua next weekend? I know Friday’s your night, but I— I’ve got an opportunity to get away for the weekend. I might not be back until the 2nd.”

He recognized it in her demeanor. In the way she tried facing him without being able to look straight at him. The discreet, unconscious fiddling of the hem of her t-shirt. The concealment. Handing out a part, but not all the truth. Only what’s convenient.

He briefly wondered if he’d been this obvious when he was running around on drugs. Probably even more so. How she didn’t kick him in the jaw was still a mystery to him. He owed her so much for her patience alone.

“No problem, I’ll be here. Happy to do it for you,” he said in earnest, hoping it didn’t sound too awkward. Hoping she’d get the meaning behind it: she deserved someone else. Someone better.

“Ok. Cool.” She paused before she added, “Appreciate it.”

He nodded in silence and turned around, walking toward the front door.

Originally, the plan had been to drive without a goal. Pop an old Jefferson Airplane album into the truck’s stereo and listen to the music, drifting into the night. Slowly ease down from the day’s tensions.

Your scent had eventually dissipated from the cab. It’d been eight days. He was never going back to that motel, and with her request, Lupe had just made his resolution easier to translate into action.

The words formed inside his mind. He pronounced them out loud.

I’m never going back to that motel.

And he knew. You were there, at this very moment. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew. You’d said you couldn’t come, but it was Christmas evening, not Christmas Eve. Most families were done with the celebrations, heading home, cleaning up, storing away the china until next Thanksgiving.

He pictured you sitting on the edge of the bed, a lonely silhouette peering out into the twilight beyond the yellow curtains, and a violent pain shot through his chest. He thought he was having a heart attack, the way his heart squeezed and sank.

It hadn’t been more than a split second between his vision and his decision. He hit the brakes, ignoring the white SUV honking and swerving behind him, and U-turned on Ocean to head toward the 589 northbound.

When he pulled into the parking lot, the night was pitch dark. Your gray sedan appeared in his headlights. He let out a sigh of relief as he parked behind it. The pain inside his chest was only starting to ebb.

He got out fast and climbed onto the porch in front of room number 2. You hadn’t even locked the door.

—

Dawn wakes you. The light gently tugging at your consciousness, little by little. Pale but insistent, nudging your eyes open.

The room looks so different in the daylight. A miracle you have yet to tire of. Dust particles dancing in the grazing sunbeams of an early winter morning. Quiet and peace.

It’s been a long while since you last slept this well. You sigh at the cliché. A good-hearted, full-chested sigh.

Frankie’s heat behind you is nearly too much. His chest pressed against your back, his left arm, limp and heavy, resting across your waist.

His breathing is deep. Slow, and steady. With each rise and fall of his chest, a thin sheen of sweat glides between your two bodies. His breath ruffles the thin hair on your nape in a gentle tickle.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you try peeling his arm off you. You’ve almost made it when he suddenly brings it back down.

“Nope,” he mumbles with closed eyes. The word is sleep-heavy, but the corner of his lips are twitching.

You stifle a delighted giggle.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Mmh.”

There’s a pause as he considers it, as you vainly try to bite down on your childlike grin.

“Ok,” he finally says, with exaggerated reluctance.

He doesn’t move his arm, though. You have to wiggle yourself out of his hold.

When you exit the bathroom, he’s still in the same position. The room is flooded with light. The sun darts its rays into his sleep-mussed hair. From golden strands to darker depth, his curls are pointing in every direction.

You tiptoe in silence, doing your very best to climb back on the bed without disturbing his slumber. You want this. More than anything you’ve ever wanted. This tranquil moment to yourself, alone with his sleeping body.

Kneeled behind him on the mattress, you take in his breadth, impressive even in this position as he lies on his side. You breathe in his scent, leather, cedar wood, and the musk of his skin, warm from sleep, from the morning sun, from your own body.

There’s a larger freckle on the left side of his neck. Your fingers hover over it, curious, tempted. Drifting higher, your gaze uncovers a faded tattoo behind his ear. You can’t make out what it represents. The green ink is blurred, as if smeared underneath his skin. You doubt it was professionally done. It tugs at your heart with a sharp little pang of a pain to imagine him as a teenager. Tall and lean, smooth cheeks, smooth skin, a friend hunched over him with a needle and an ink pen.

There’s another one on his left hand. This one, you know well. You’ve kissed it. Licked it. Held on to it. It’s nestled on the muscle between his thumb and index finger. Two circles and a dot in their center. A target, you assume, but you can’t be certain. The pile of clothes folded in military fashion springs to mind.

Your eyes continue their exploration, flicking to his other wrist, with its inked arabesque, but it’s over in a second.

You let out a sharp gasp, and he moves so fast you can’t deflect. His arm seizes you by the waist, strong and unyielding. He drags you over his body, and you stumble onto the mattress in front of him.

“What are you doing, back there?” he husks, a smile in his tone, and you giggle, again.

He pulls you in close to him.

“I’m looking at my Christmas present,” you answer.

He lets out a low chuckle. You made him laugh. Pride flares up in your chest. He smiles a dimpled smile, and you suck in a shaky breath, more pain blooming inside your rib cage.

“You’re so pretty in this light,” you whisper in wonderment.

“You’re pretty in every light.”

“How would you know, you haven’t opened your eyes yet,” you tease.

You tease. Your levity makes you dizzy.

His eyebrows disappear in his soft curls. He lifts one eyelid, pursing his lips. The morning sun catches at the mahogany of his iris.

“You questioning my judgment here?”

Smiling, you move your hips closer to his, to where you want to feel him. The low rasp of his voice is dripping down inside you, slowly, surely. Swirling like honey. Thick, rich trickles of amber, sticky and sweet. Like the light playing on his freckled skin. Like his warmth under your hands. Too much and not enough, pooling down between your legs.

Reaching up, you scratch your nails in his beard, tracing the heart-shaped, bare patch on his jaw with your fingertips.

“Is it ok that you’re still here? At this hour?” you ask, focusing on the tip of your finger.

“I don’t know. I hope my truck is not gonna turn into a pumpkin,” he answers, giving your waist a little pinch.

“I hope not. I like your truck.”

Your fingers travel down along his strong neck.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. It’s a minute before you’re able to answer.

“You still don’t believe I fell, do you?”

“I believe you. It’s him I don’t trust.”

You’re brought back, violently so, under Beatrice’s porch, into Adrian’s arms and his lips pressed to yours, prying them open. To his taste on your tongue, bitter like stale champagne. Yesterday afternoon. Forever ago.

Perhaps he sees the memory clouding your gaze, because his leg wedges between yours, his body curling around your body. Protective, possessive. He nuzzles into the curve of your shoulder, taking in a deep, full breath. His lips trail open-mouth kisses, tickling and wet, along the line of your throat. You burrow into his chest, into his hold, into his world.

The words bubble up from the depth of your chest, from where they formed between your lungs, where the creature is purring, lapping honey, warm and content.

“My name is Lee.”

Frankie pulls back immediately with a wide-eyed stare. You see, more than you hear, the name rolling around the tip of his tongue, as he tastes it on his palate.

“Lee. Lee. Lee.”

On the third occurrence, his hand circles your hip and slides down to the round of your ass, grasping your flesh as if to hold you down. Make sure you won’t vanish. There’s that perpetual crease between his brow. His heart is thrumming hard and fast against yours. You grow restless between his arms.

“I hate it,” you say.

“What?”

You swallow thickly, mouth cardboard dry.

“My name.”

He props himself up on his elbow to better face your scowling expression, eyes piercing you under his deep frown.

“Why?”

“They gave me my grandfather’s name. Lee Abbott. Lee Abbott & Son, import export,” you recite. “It’s not even mine.”

Your eyes flicker, scanning his face, trying to read the ticking of his jaw, the widening of his pupils.

“I think it’s perfect. Lee’s perfect.”

His voice is breathy, like he just took a punch to the gut, and it sends your mind reeling. Is this what he sounds like when he’s lying?

“How?” You wrestle the question out of your throat, and it’s still barely audible.

“It’s fearless. It’s fucking badass,” he answers without missing a beat, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“What?” you scoff incredulously. You shake your head on the starched pillowcase. “I’m not badass. I’m not fearless, Frankie, I can guarantee you that.”

The pink tip of his tongue darts between his lips as he narrows his gaze on you. His hand leaves your hip. He brings it up to your face, and he pauses. An inch from your skin, like he’s taming an animal, scared, wild or wounded, or all three, before brushing his knuckles to your cheek.

It’s overwhelming, his body hunched over yours. Crowding your senses. Filling your vision. His rhythmic strokes, rough hand, gentle touch. It’s something you had foreseen but weren’t quite ready to experience: his ability for tenderness.

You’re cornered. Entirely. You should probably be scared. To some extent, you are. But you know you’re safe, the feeling instinctive. You must trust the waves, trust the tide of this deep dark ocean. It’ll keep you afloat. Embrace the impact. Embrace its concentric ripples.

“Ok,” he starts. “Here’s how I see it. Marion… Marion, she’s hiding. She’s running away with something that’s not hers, right? Something she stole. Whereas Lee… Lee got out there and she took chances. She got what she wanted. She made it hers.”

Your heart beats inside your throat, blood flushing your face and rushing through your ears with a deafening roar.

“Did she?”

He nods.

“Yea. Yea, she did.”

He leans down, slowly lowering his lips to yours. His kiss is patient, reverent, slow-building. Plush lips wrapped around yours, tongue gently prodding, softly coaxing you open. Between your arms, his shoulders tremble under the force of his restraint.

When you ease into it with a quiet whimper, he draws you in closer. You arch up in his embrace, fingers threading through his curls, right leg brushing up along his.

His mouth crushes yours with a groan. He licks inside you, tongues entwined, swirling. Honey dripping down your spine, fire licking up your core, electricity tingling along your limbs.

Kisses that are more teeth than lips, when he trails the line of your jaw, the coarse hair of his beard scrapping your cheeks. Calloused hands spamming the expanse of your smooth skin, cupping your breasts, rough and needy, and you feel the hot press of his hard length against your belly as he rocks against you.

Your heart is impossibly light. Like it’s going to rip through your rib cage and fly away. Like you’ll be left without one, and the wild creature, always demanding more, will take its place. Because that’s what it’s been waiting for, since the very beginning.

Forgotten, your good will and resolutions, weak promises you made to yourself. Pushed back, pushed down, guilt and photo booth pictures of his dimpled baby girl. Drowned, intrusive memories, blue eyes, white porch, French delicacy.

He’s yours, he said so himself, didn’t he? For the first time ever, something’s yours, wholly. You got him, because of everything you surrendered.

And it matters not that you’re lying to yourself. That, really, he belongs to somebody else. It matters not when his mouth is all over you, greedy, taking. Devouring you. When his fingers are gliding through your soaked folds, breaching your entrance. When they’re buried inside you, thick and curled and pumping.

When you’re blooming sticky and wet, pretty and dazed, bursting open under his touch, moaning his name.

He’s yours now. In this room. In the gift of your name. In your heart that’s flying away from you as you clench and shatter on his hand.

He pulls up, blown out pupils, damp wild curls falling on his forehead. He drags his fingers out of you and the emptiness prickles at the corner of your eyelids. His eyes are trained on you as he licks them. As he smiles, a cocky grin stretches his gorgeous lips and dimples his pretty face, and perhaps this is as close as you’ll ever get to see him looking like his teenage self. That smug smile. All pride and confidence.

You’re sinking into that shitty mattress, weighed down by melancholy and pleasure and regrets. And something else. Something more stubborn than you, that you still cannot name.

Frankie fastens his mouth to yours, sharing your taste with you, wedging his body between your legs, spreading your hips with his waist.

Your emptiness is throbbing at the center of you.

“Frankie please, please.”

“Yes, baby. Told you I was gonna take care of you.”

Flexing his hips, he rubs his length against your scorching heat, coating himself in your slick. Anticipation tingles through the blunt edges of your previous release. You squirm under the weight of him, knees touching the mattress, cracked open, vibrating.

He lines up at your entrance, dark eyes focused on your face, and oh god, the fucking size of him. The fucking stretch. The burn as he inches in, excruciatingly slow. It has you blinking away tears of pain and gratitude, it has you whining his name.

He’s all blown-out pupils, taut muscles, and slack jaw, as he sheathes his cock inside your heat, all the way in. Round head nudging at your cervix. The sight of him, nearly wrecked, control waning, as he makes room for himself inside you rips through you.

“You feel so damn good, Lee,” he says, impossibly soft, and you feel it inside your chest, with the way he’s lying on you.

It’s a stretching glide, when he starts moving. A spreading grind. You can feel every vein, every ridge of him. He hooks an arm under your knee and folds you around him. He’s not fully pulling out, he can’t, he needs you wrapped around him, this much you understand, clearly, through the annihilation of his deep strokes.

Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, you can’t breathe and your body’s a thinning envelope between your heart and Frankie’s. It’s too much, his weight inside and over you, his breath in your mouth, his smell everywhere.

You’re overwhelmed, forced to surrender to the fire coiling inside you. With the coarse hair at his base scraping against the sensitive bud of your clit, with his cock, hot and heavy, dragging against your walls.

Your body jerks underneath him, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder to draw him closer, your other hand pushing him away and he moves fast, strong fingers circling your wrist and sliding your hand above your head, twining your fingers. You’re pinned down. Helpless. Willing. Unmoored by the intensity of the building impact.

He feels it, feels your frantic flutter around his cock and the frenzied racing of your pulse and he drives in deeper, faster, harder. The room fills up with the sound of his sweat-damp skin slapping against yours. Louder than the creaking bed, louder than the headboard’s thud on the wall.

“Oh god!” you cry.

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he grunts into your mouth.

—

Frankie sees the plea in your eyes, shiny with tears, too wide, too glassy. Come with me, you’re begging him, come inside. He’s never fucked you like that, not you, not anyone, he’s never bared himself so fully. He’s gonna lose himself for good, this time.

You’re breaking up under his rolling hips, bucking hard against the press of his body. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, clenching cunt, clenched eyelids.

Something blares up in the back of his head. A signal. An alarm.

He can’t even fuck you through it. You let out a broken cry when he pulls out, spurting dense ropes of come on your mound with a tense “fuck.”

A dry little sob rattles through your chest. Muffled, apologetic.

He untangles his fingers from yours, unhooks your leg from his arm. Pushes away from you on the rumpled sheets, and it’s etched on your face, in your pinched brow, in your quivering lip. The disillusion. The void he’s failed to fill.

That fucking heart attack of a pain squeezes at his chest again.

He rolls onto his back, freeing you, and you gulp in a large breath.

In the room, the air is stifling. Charged with the coppery smell of sex. The daylight is unforgiving with the chipped furniture and the moth-eaten curtains. With that ugly painting of the Appalachian.

“Let’s go clean you up,” he says, sitting up with a cinch. Unable to bear your silence.

“No,” you whisper. “I need a minute.”

You shut your eyes close. You retreat. He watches you disappear beyond the shore of your inner island. Where he cannot follow you.

There’s noise coming through the paper thin walls from next door. Several voices, a television, maybe. Further away, the low humming of a vacuum cleaner.

How long until room-service robs you from him?

He lies back down. Stares at your profile, still and absent, cut out in amber against the light from the window.

Lee.

The most beautiful name he’s ever heard. He briefly noted the similarities: three letters, starting with an L. Lee. Lua. A perfect balance.

It tastes like honey. You said, “My name is Lee” but what you meant was, “I trust you.”

What has he done with your trust?

How could he ever imagine himself capable of living without this? Without you? Without this room, even?

His mind drifts to his early morning routine, Lua curled up on his lap, drinking her bottle with those hungry, little grunting noises. Chubby little fingers wrapped around his thumb.

He was always an early riser. Which was practical during his time in the Army. The nightmares, the drugs, they disrupted that. He could be up, without being awake. Without being there.

But lately, he’s the first to rise again, no matter how late sleep finds him.

He loves that Lua seems to know he’s awake. She never cried in the morning. When she was just a newborn baby, she would make those quiet babbling noises. Now she calls his name. Papa.

He comes into her room with her bottle ready. Most mornings, she’s up, already, holding herself upright with the bars of her crib. That smile she gives him, when she sees him. That’s his morning sun.

He picks her up with one hand, she weighs so little, and yet so much. He covers her face in tickling smooches until she stops giggling and starts pushing him away, making grabby hand gestures at her bottle.

These moments of a peace he doesn’t deserve, in the early, blue hours, he owes them to you. You’ve smothered the nightmares. You’ve quietened his mind. Patiently chipped away at the walls he had erected between himself and happiness, with your quiet, determined strength.

Fuck.

You’re getting up. He watches you climb off the bed and saunter off to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stay alone on this bed, in this room. Without you.

So he follows you, standing on the threshold, leaning on the door frame of the windowless bathroom, looking at you as you clean yourself with a towel.

The paint is coming off on the lintel. The small neon above the sink lights up shit. The shower head is crusty with limestone. Humidity speckles the ceiling in black, hairy dots above the bathtub.

He hates himself for taking you here.

Back in September, he had chosen the place because it seemed sufficiently remote. Because he hoped it would deter you. Scare you away.

He hates that you didn’t even flinch.

He hates that he’s grown fond of this shithole.

You turn and hand him a glass of water. He steps inside with you. You watch him drink up, head tilted and your big, searching eyes on him. The resolve that sharpens them, that he witnessed emerging, Friday night after Friday night, as resignation receded. That’s what guides him now.

There’s something intrinsically soft, a new kind of intimacy, about standing together in that bathroom. Soon, you’ll have to part. The imminent separation hangs heavy and silent between you. Tangible. He wants you again, already.

You’ve sensed the storm raging inside his head. He can tell, because it’s as though you’re trying to absorb it with your calm demeanor. He resents that. Doesn’t want you to. His moods are not your burden to carry.

You take the glass from him and run the water over it to clean it. As if the cleaning service won’t do it once you vacate the place.

His eyes flicker up to that mirror, to your dim reflection. Mussed hair, relaxed shoulders. Your face, solemn, illegible. And his, darker looking. A trick of the weak lighting. Pitch-black eyes, flexing jaw. Towering over you. Threatening.

The reflection is like an old photograph, a decayed daguerreotype that reveals a ghost. A girl and her demon.

He moves forward to crowd you, until your hips knock against the sink, his own pressing against your cheeks, his cock half-hard already. The glass falls into the sink with a clatter when he grasps the hinge of your jaw, twisting your head upward and to the side.

“You like it when I spit in your mouth, Lee?”

You nod. “I do.”

He gathers it inside his mouth, and you open yours, diligent, hungry, pulling your tongue out with a soft whimper, and his cock twitches in the small of your back. His spit rolls down his tongue to yours. You raise to your tiptoes with a needy little moan. He watches your reflection as you swallow.

His mouth crashes over your lips, sloppy kiss, scraping teeth. Hands kneading rough at your tits, rubbing their hardening peaks between his fingers.

“I want to fuck you in that shower,” he growls, teeth finding the edge of your jaw.

You arch back into him with a broken moan, but to his surprise, you say, “We can’t.”

His hand skates down your front, down the slope of your belly, fingers roughly parting your folds and fuck. You’re soaked. You’re dripping for him.

“Why?” he brushes against the shell of your ear. “There’s time. I want you again, Lee.”

“I want you too, Frankie, I—” you try to move away from the sink, your strength a poor match for his. “We can’t because we literally can’t, that shower is impossible.”

Your laughter startles him. Stepping back, he gives you room, and you move immediately, sitting on the edge of the tub to demonstrate. Smeared with your arousal, his fingers circle his cock, absentmindedly, brain fogged in a lustful haze as you run the tap.

“There’s no hot water. Well, there is, a little, but look, there’s only pressure with cold water. And…” you look up at him with a cheeky grin, “that’s kind of where I draw the line.”

There’s a glimmer of pride in your eyes as you deliver your joke.

His heart fucking sinks. He’ll get that heart-attack, eventually.

“You’ve showered in there, with that broken tap, all this time?”

You nod with a bemused smile before you shrug, comfortable, easy.

“Well, at the beginning. I haven’t in a while.” You pause before you add quietly, “I like to keep you on me.”

Frankie lets out a long sigh. His cock resting thick and heavy against his thigh. You make him so fucking hard. You make him stupidly soft. You drive him out of his goddamn mind.

The words come out of him before he gets the chance to think them over.

“I’ll bring my tools next time. I can probably fix it, if I can access the boiler.”

Getting up, you close the distance between you.

“You could fix it?” you ask, wide eyes gazing at him in amazement.

He chuckles, a velvety rumble from his chest, something assertive and low, the sound of which he had forgotten. He considers telling you about his engineering degree. Enumerating all the aircraft he can fly. Fucking boast about it. Because he wants you to know.

The memory of the crashed Mi-8 in the middle of the coca field invades his mind. Twisted rotor, broken hull. Smoking motor, shattered glass. He can smell the gasoline. Feel the sting of his own sweat and blood in his left eye.

You skim your hands up along his arms. Bring him back to you, to room number 2.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits through a clenched jaw.

“Like what?” you ask, voice honey sweet.

You curl your fingers around his biceps.

“Like I can ask you anything.”

“Why not? You can.”

He has to tell you. Tell you he cannot come next week, but that he’ll be back the week after. And the following. As long as you’ll have him.

Only he catches it before he has a chance to speak. That shadow that plays across your face. The beginning of your retreat, behind the clouding of your eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, and he has to swallow down the taste of dirt in his mouth.

You let your hands drop to your sides. You can’t even look at him.

“Hey, what is it?” he presses, cupping your face.

“Can’t come next week.”

You’re so quiet, leaning into his palm, no more than a whisper, and it fucking breaks him.

“I’m going to that— stupid ski resort. Every year, I– I don’t even ski. I hate it. I just hate it. All I do is wait around all day.”

Eventually, you raise your eyes to his face as he flexes his jaw. He sees you police your expression for him.

“It’s not that bad. I get time to read,” you backtrack.

Like you triggered the fury his eyes are burning with, and not that piece of shit of a man who takes you to places where you don’t want to be, just to keep you around fucking waiting.

But his anger subsides abruptly. Everything falls into place. Your presence here last night, your sudden sadness. Like him, you had decided not to come here again.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, trying to suppress the resigned sorrow from his tone.

He doesn’t need you to answer. He knows the refrain. He’s never going back to this motel.

“I saw the picture in your wallet, Frankie. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. But I did.”

Three letters. Starting with an L. A perfect balance.

“And what does it change?”

His grip tightens, hands sliding through your hair to the back of your skull, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks. You’re cold to the touch. You grasp his wrists, hold on to him, like you did last week in the parking lot. Eyes glimmering, a first tear dangling from your lashes.

“Listen,” he starts, “if you want to stop… this, obviously, I won’t hold you back. But—”

He has to pause. Rake his brain for words, words that fail him, words to express the sadness and the loss and the fear.

He breathes deep, and your scent fills his lungs. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green.

“But I will miss you, Lee. I will miss you so fucking much.”

That tear breaks free. Rolls down your cheek, and he catches it on his thumb.

“I’ll miss you too,” you whisper.

“Then come back to me. Keep coming back to me, baby.”

There’s that pull. The violence of it like a blow. And you must feel it too, because you leap up to him as he leans into you, and your mouths collide. He’s crushing your lips, licking into you, cocking your head to deepen the kiss. Fingers digging into your waist, into your hips, down your thighs as they roam. A harsh, restless furrow. Looking to bruise, to leave a mark, an imprint of him.

Your arms fold around his shoulders, pulling him in, nails denting little red crescents into his skin, and he groans into it. A primal sound that rumbles around you and bounces off the dirty tiles.

His mouth drags wet and hard along your throat. Biting down, sucking in, teeth sinking into your pulse point. He follows it down to your heart. The beating thud, the flowing bloodstream. Hunched over you, lips trailing to your sternum, face burying between your breasts. He bites into the swell of it, pushing the flesh of it into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. A hard suck. Sharp. Painful.

You keen. Folding over him when he falls to his knees. Threading your fingers through his curls with a choked off moan when his teeth scrape the soft flesh of your belly, where you still taste of him. He can smell your sex, rubbed pink and raw from when he fucked you earlier, less than twenty minutes ago.

He bites into the tender skin of your inner thigh, around the long, thin scar you hide there, and you spread your legs wider.

“Good girl,” he grunts.

There’s a knock on the front door. Someone calling “room-service” from outside, and you gasp, hand flying to clasp over your mouth. He couldn’t care less.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls into your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you answer, voice high and breezy, and it shoots straight to his cock.

He lifts your leg, slides it over his shoulder, and you grip the sink for balance with a little shriek as he dives between your folds, fingers curled around the swell of your ass. It’s not soft, it’s not tender, there’s no Stop me. It’s urgent and commanding. It’s messy, desperate, demanding.

His mouth is hard, wide open, cupping your cunt, his neck pulled taut. Tongue curling around your clit, flickering, plunging into your wet, hot center. Licking your slick straight from your walls, drinking you up. You buck into it, riding his tongue, your pleasure, his face, and he groans into your heat.

His face presses up into you until you nearly topple over. You’re all ragged breaths and wanton whimpers. He wants more, wants to feel you from the inside, and it’s a need, really. Your skin melding with his. Your sex scorching him raw.

It’s your louder cry, loud enough to cover the repeating knocking, when he pulls away.

“Gotta fuck you, baby,” he rasps, getting up, grabbing you by the waist to turn you around.

His voice sounds wrecked, as wrecked as he feels. Cock throbbing angrily between his legs.

“Fuck,” you pant, “I want— I want you to— want you to fuck me.”

He watches you, transfixed, as you face away from him, bracing your hands on the slippery porcelain of the sink. Back bowed, ass perked up. Offered. Waiting. Wanting.

“Oh shit,” he pants. “Fuck.”

He catches his reflection in the dark mirror. Black eyes, hungry. Lips shining with your arousal. A carnivorous expression. It scares him. Like he’s about to eat you whole, eat you raw. A girl and her demon. No one to stop him.

Circling his cock, he spits down on it, smearing the saliva down his length with a couple of strokes, and he’s at your entrance, hot like a fever, leaking wet and sticky for him.

Hand brushing up your arched back to curl around your nape, holding you still for him, he drives into you to the hilt with all his strength.

A broken cry rips through your chest. He pauses inside you, sweat breaking on his forehead, eyes trained on where he disappears inside you, forcing you open for him. Less to let you adjust than to revel into it, the feel of you from the inside, clenching around him. Gripping him, breathing heavily with the stretch of him.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he husks with an obscene smirk, something akin to pride at how well you take him.

Your head dips between your shoulders and he hears your breathless laughter.

He pulls out of you, cock catching thick and stiff at your entrance, glistening with your slick, and thrusts right back in. He keeps moving. Long, thorough strokes, fast and steady, dragging along your walls, bumping against your cervix. His other hand a bruising hold on your hip, and those little grunts tearing through your throat with every slap of his hips against your ass.

You’re standing on your tiptoes, legs trembling, but pushing back into him. Meeting him thrust for thrust, with your small hands braced around the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip, and he can’t take his eyes off it. Off that line pulled taut between your shoulders, your grip, your grit.

Your greed for him. Your fucking determination.

There’s that pull again, that hunger for more of you, all of you. He bands an arm between your breasts and draws your back flush to his chest. You’re always so pliant. His hand a careful wrap around your throat to hold you upright and fuck. You’re a sight to behold. In that black-edged mirror. You’re a fucking vision. The mess he’s made of you. Fucked out, flushed skin, cock drunk. Sweat-damp hair glued to your beautiful face.

You’re gripping his arms with both hands, holding on to him, and your eyes find his in the reflection, burning a hole through his soul like they did all those months ago, back in the bar. His heart trips. It swells furious and pounding inside him, how good you look together, how right this feels, your two bodies entwined, surrendering to each other.

“I feel so good, Frankie, so good when you’re moving inside me,” you tell him, eyes fluttering. Your voice trickling like honey inside him, your sweet slick dribbling around him, soaking the hair at his base. He can hear it with every one of his thrusts. Can taste it where it lingers on his tongue. Lick it from his lips.

It’s gonna fuck him up. How much he wants to be yours. Fuck up his sanity and everything he’s got that he hasn’t yet destroyed, just how fucking much he wants you to belong to him. Only him.

He will carve you into his shape if he can’t carve you out of him.

He skates his hand down to your mound, kneading your soft flesh along the way, the bone of your hip, the small slope of your belly. He finds the hardened peak of your clit, fingers gliding around it.

Driving into you in deep harsh strokes, he presses his lips against the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning your skin.

“Gonna fucking ruin you for him, baby. Won’t let you go until you’re fucked full of me.”

“Oh god yes!”

You clench around him, cunt impossibly tight when he shoves you down on it. He sees the tears streaking your cheeks. Feels the shallow bite of your nails into the tense muscles of his forearms when he grinds against your soft cheeks.

“Watch me, Lee. Watch me fuck you full of my come. Gonna fuck it so deep inside you, you’ll be leaking me for days.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Mouth gone slack, eyes locked on him in the mirror, wild and craving. Everything else disappears, the world fades around your two bodies. There’s nothing but your weight between his arms, the feel of you around him.

Hand wrapped around your neck, he angles up his hips, reaching deeper than he’s ever been, into that spot that makes you cry. His fingers rubbing at your clit, more slick gushing out of you.

There’s a fast coiling heat in his loins. A fire, licking up his spine, balls drawing tight, cock swelling.

“I’m coming,” you whine, “Frankie please—”

The words stretch out of you as you trash into his arms, crashing hard around him. He follows with a grunt, loud, primal, possessive. Pumping his come, thick and searing, deep inside your gripping cunt. His vision darkens.

There’s blinding pleasure. Your skin. Your scent.

The knowledge that you're his.

****

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justastraymoa · 3 months ago

Text

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 3

Masterlist taglist

Hard conversations and 1st meal with the Omegas.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

There was one open seat left in the living room. An oversized, overstuffed chair. I moved around the others, not missing the way they leaned towards me to sniff as I passed by. I wanted to hug myself and hide. It was very weird to be sniffed so openly.

Felix sat close to Chan, still not looking up. Chan had an arm over his lap.

“Anyone here not completely convinced y/n is their Alpha? Our Alpha?” Chan asked.

I looked around the room, no one spoke up or raised their hand.

"None of the other Alphas even came close to smelling like her. My instincts are going crazy right now.” Hyunjin confirmed.

"Hey Chan.” I spoke saccharine sweet.

“Yeah?” He replied.

“I hate you.”

"No, you don’t. You’re just being dramatic.”

"My life is over! I’m allowed to be dramatic!

Chan just rolled his eyes, ignoring my entire fucking crisis. I wanted to scream, cry, and punch him all at the same time.

"Hyung, you said you were going to explain.” Changbin reminded.

And so, Chan went on to tell everyone all about his quick trip to my small town and the deal that was made. It occurred to me that I never planned beyond the week. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be the one to be able to bond with them. So, I made no plans on what to do next. If I should do anything.

“So, you’re not going to bond us?” Seungmin asked when Chan was finished.

They were all looking at me again, making me feel incredibly self-conscious. “I didn’t plan on this actually working.” I was the only response I would truly, honestly give them. I didn’t know what to do now.

"She is going to be here for the week. No one is going to bug or pressure her to stay beyond that.” Chan warned. “Let JYP and I discuss it with her.”

And I’m sure there will be a lot of discussions. A lot of promises made. Guilt trips. I would get it all.

"So, nothing’s been solved. We are still just as screwed as ever.” Lee Know sounded angry and I looked at my lap knowing this was all because of me.

I stood up. “Maybe I should go-“ I pointed a thumb at the door.

“No!” The response was immediate and from every Omega in the room, making me blink.

Han reached and grabbed my forearm. “You promised a week.” He reminded. His chemo signals smelled of anxiety and fear.

“To a hotel. I was going to say to a hotel.” I finished. I had meant to suggest the hotel to give them time to discuss this without me.

“We can’t guarantee no one will smell your subgender in a hotel. It’s not safe.” Cahn reminded gently.

I let my head fall back before I dropped into a crouched ball and hid my face in my knees and arms, tears threatening behind my eyes. Everything was so messed up now.

I felt someone crouch next to me and start to rub my back, but I didn’t look to see who.

"You guys know how dangerous it can be for an Alpha nowadays.” Chan started talking again, softly. “We have heard horror stories from almost every Alpha we’ve tried. y/n has been hiding her subgender with suppressants. Even coming here is a huge risk for her. Let’s all keep that in mind.”

There was a heavy thump on my upper arm that I assumed was the person rubbing my back resting their forehead on me. The contacts made me feel better.

They showed me to what appeared to be a guest bedroom. There were faint scents of other Alphas so this must have been made up specifically for potential bonding Alphas. It even has its own bathroom. It just reminded me again what I am really here for.

I sighed and bid them goodnight, shutting the door with no plans to actually sleep. I was on an opposite sleep schedule then them. And I slept on the plane not too long ago.

By the end of the week, I’ll be on the same sleep schedule as them, only to go home and repeat the whole process all over again.

Instead, I stripped off my clothes and ran a nice hot bath. Grabbing my phone and a book I brought I slowly settled into the water, hoping for a relaxing time reading and doom scrolling to pass the night.

I did manage a few hours of sleep near dawn. Hopefully enough to get me through the day. I was awake and dressed for the day when Chan knocked on my door. I bid him enter.

“Um, breakfast is ready.” He informed. He looked unsure.

I nodded. “I’ll be right out.” I needed a moment to gather the strength and courage to face everyone again. My dream of meeting Stray Kids has turned into a nightmare.

But instead of leaving, Chan stepped in and shut the door. I watched him in question.

"I wanted to apologize for last night. Things did not go like any of us planned.”

I snorted softly. That was an understatement. “It’s fine, Chan. I just-I don’t know what to do now.” I admitted.

He smiled sadly and nodded. “Well, you have all week to figure it out. In the meantime, just enjoy your time here.”

I followed Chan out to the table where everyone was sitting in varying stages of being awake. I sat at an empty chair between Seungmin and I.N, noticing no one had started eating yet. I wondered what they were waiting on.

When I was settled I.N started putting food on my plate for me. Heavy on all the best stuff. Then he sat back, and everyone looked at me. I blinked not knowing what they wanted.

“You have to start eating.” Han whispered helpfully from across the table.

“Why?” I whispered back. I was the only one with food, it would be rude to eat in front of them.

“You’re Alpha.” He said it like that explained everything.

“It’s an instinct thing. Just take a bite.” Seungmin sounded exasperated with the whole thing.

So, I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite. As soon as I did, they flurried into motion, filling their own plate and eating. Then I realized what happened. It finally clicked into place.

Their Omega instincts wouldn’t let them start eating until their freaking Alpha did. I felt sick to my stomach suddenly and set my chopsticks down.

I stayed at the table only because if I left it would have upset them, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat another bite. If any of them noticed, they didn’t bring it up. Instead, they talked amongst themselves, pretty much ignoring me entirely now that I did what they needed.

Slowly they all finished and left the table to start their day, leaving the dishes, leftovers, and me alone at the table. My eyes pricked with tears again as I started to gather dishes to clean up.

This is what they expected from their Alpha. Follow them around the world, take care of them, clean up after them, fulfill their instinctual needs. If I stayed, that’s what I had to look forward to at “home”. Meanwhile, their managers would shape me into the idol Alpha that can be seen with Stay Kids and make them money.

I put away the food, did the dishes, wiped the table, and swept the floor all in silence. While I did, I could hear the 8 Omegas going about their day. A small group was in the living room playing games. Some were in their rooms; doors open but doing their own thing. They were loud, yelling at each other from different rooms. Chaotic as they enjoyed their days.

With nothing else to do I set up my laptop at the table, put some headphones in, and logged into work. I would get an email from my boss later since I was supposed to be on vacation, but it was after hours back home, so he wouldn’t know for hours yet, and I needed a distraction.

There wasn’t so much a lunch as people made something to eat when they were hungry, so I was spared being used as an Alpha for the moment. I had a feeling dinner would not be the same story.

Not even one of them spoke to me all day. Ignored my presence as if I was a lamp or coffee table, only interacting with me when they needed me.

“You’re stinking up the room.” Lee Know complained as I.N filled up my dinner plate.

I had been in my own depressing thoughts as I stared at my plate. Instead of answering him I took a bite of food and chewed as they all loaded their dishes.

I was once again left with clean up.

As I was washing dishes, the doorbell rang. Assuming someone would get it, I kept washing. The bell rang again a minute later.

“Someone get the door!” Seungmin yelled.

I sighed as I dried my hands as I walked over to the door. It was JYP. “Chans in the living room.” I informed him as I went back to the dishes.

But he followed me instead. “They already have you doing chores, huh?” He joked.

I tried to smile, but my lips wobbled dangerously so I quickly looked away, back to the dishes. “Just doing my job. An Alpha takes care of their Omegas. Even prospective ones. However temporary.”

That’s right. This was only for the promised week. I didn’t have to stay. They weren’t my Omegas. 1 week, and my end of the bargain was fulfilled. Just play their game.

Since I was avoiding looking up from the dishes, I was startled when JYPs hand entered my vision, gently taking the sponge. I looked over. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbows.

“Let me help. You can dry.” He said gently.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb

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starlostastronaut · 27 days ago

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─ MCTC VOL 2 | MASTERLIST

PAIRING - stray kids x reader feat. a secret guest appearance

GENRE - various, each one shot specified below

WORD COUNT - ?? total

CONTENT WARNINGS - poly pairings in some one shots, suggestive/sexual content, each one shot will be more specified in its post

TAGLIST - comment or send ask to be added (if you're on permanent taglist, you're automatically added - you can check here)

LINKS - main masterlist ~ series playlist

AUTHOR'S NOTE - hiii! welcome to the 2024 advent calendar! if you're new here, mctc stands for moony's countdown to christmas, a series i did last year and because i'm unoriginal we are reusing that title lol. enjoy reading <3

important: order of one shots isn't necessarily posting order. these are a work in progress still, therefore more information will be added as i post them. and i already said it in a different post, but it's exams time in uni and it's a lot. i can't promise all one shots will be posted before christmas, but i will finish them eventually

01 / BED OF ROSES

⤷ idol!chan x reader ; angst, highschool sweethearts, estranged relationship, workaholic chan, happy ending

⤷ chan was the perfect boyfriend, everything you could have wanted. until his work consumed him

02 / ENGLISH LOVE AFFAIR

⤷ idol!minho x backup dancer!reader ; one night stand, exes to lovers

⤷ it was supposed to be just a fling, to release some of that tour stress. but minho didn't account on falling in love

03 / SUPPOSED TO BE

⤷ werewolf!changbin x shadowhunter!reader ; shadowhunters au, victorian era, enemies to lovers

⤷ when you find an illegal werewolf club, it's your duty to shut it down. but what you didn't expect to find was an ally

04 / DREAM STATE

⤷ demon!hyunjin x witch!reader ; magic au

⤷ in your demonology class, you learned about summoning. and it wouldn't be you if you didn't try those skills right away

05 / SKIP THE SMALL TALK

⤷ singer!jisung x barista!reader ; coffee shop au

⤷ per your manager's briliant idea, your coffee shop now has live music. featuring a cute singer and friends who can't stay out of his bussiness

06 / BUTTERFLIES

⤷ idol!felix x actress!reader ; strangers to lovers, meet-cute

⤷ you loved fashion shows, seeing the creative clothes designers spent hours to perfect. what you didn't love were the after parties, until he came along

07 / DANGEROUS GAME

⤷ faerie king!seungmin x half mortal!reader ; cruel prince au, fantasy au, forbidden romance

⤷ scandals, lovers... it's all fun and games to the faerie king. until it comes to his royal advisor

08 / MORNING SUN

⤷ grounder!jeongin x delinquent!reader ; the 100 au, apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, forced proximity

⤷ there wasn't supposed to be life on earth and yet there they were. creatures trying to kill you. or were they really?

09 / STEAL YOUR HEART

⤷ jeongin x reader x seungmin ; college au, established relationship

⤷ what started a stupid bet between your boyfriends, turned into a competition for boyfriend of the year

10 / MOVES LIKE JAGGER

⤷ jock!chan x reader x nerd!hongjoong ; college au, idiots to lovers, friends to lovers

⤷ falling for your best friend was a big deal on its own. and when the popular guy decides to meddle, it's about to become a problem

#( all works⎯ 🗃 )#( mctc vol2⎯ 📂 )#neverendingdreams #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #kim seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #fluff #angst

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 1 year ago

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IOTA Reviews: Representation

Oh, so NOW child abuse is bad. Could have fooled me last episode!

Let's get into the twenty-fifth episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Representation

We start off with an English news report recapping the ending of “Revolution”, stating that Ms. Bustier is going to run for mayor, conveniently ignoring her attempted coup in “Collusion”. We also see that Gabriel and Tomoe are still uncomfortably focused on making Adrien and Kagami appear to be a couple in public, much to their dismay. While Kagami is visited by Argos (who once again sneaks up on her, like he usually does), Adrien realizes he can transform into his space form and see Marinette whenever he wants and transforms into Cat Noir, planning to reveal his identity to Marinette. Hey, did he even tell Ladybug about his sudden departure? Because it didn't go well the last time he left Paris without telling her (New York Special).

We then cut to Marinette right after the events of “Revolution”, going to the end of the year dance... even though when we saw Adrien and Kagami in London, the sun was still setting, and France's time zone is only about an hour later, meaning Adrien and Kagami must have flown there at ludicrous speed.

Meanwile, Argos and Kagami somehow got from London to Paris offscreen, and watch Marinette from afar, with Kagami revealing she knows she's Ladybug. They decide to tell Marinette that Felix knows who Monarch is in order to ensure his downfall. Nah, I'm just kidding. Here's the real reason they're coming to Marinette for help.

Kagami: My mother and Gabriel Agreste will never allow us to love each other freely. Only Ladybug can help us.

Yep, rather than prioritize the fact that Gabriel is endangering the citizens of Paris on a daily basis, Kagami is seriously more concerned about her relationship with her boyfriend being tampered with. This is like saying Lex Luthor is evil because he cheats on his taxes. Argos transforms back into Felix, and... oh, for the love of God... he disguises himself as Adrien in order to get closer to Marinette. You can't keep portraying Felix as this master of disguise if he only has ONE disguise!

Marinette sees “Adrien” and assumes he came back from London from her, assuming her boyfriend is much more active that the writers actually believe he is, so she tries to follow him while avoiding the guests at the party. Meanwhile, Gabriel and Tomoe learn their children are gone, so he goes to talk with Nathalie and—why the hell is she like that?

Seriously, this has never been established as something that happens when someone uses the broken Peacock Miraculous. Why didn't this happen to Emilie? She looks pretty healthy in her little coffin, and I doubt Gabriel is an embalmer.

Anyway, after Nathalie once again reminds us that she hates Gabriel, but not enough to call the cops on him, Gabriel transforms into Monarch and immediately detransforms back in order to akumatize himself into Nightormentor.

Nightormentor is a pretty average recolor of the Collector's design, which kind of makes sense, considering that Gabriel himself intended the Akuma for himself. The star pattern is okay, but there's not much I can really say. As for his powers, he's just another Sandboy, being able to force people to hallucinate their worse nightmares, only instead of a pillow, his weapon is a staff created from a pen containing the Akuma, with the Horse Miraculous' Voyage to boot. Why he didn't just give himself the same powers he gave Truth when he's trying to find Adrien is anyone's guess.

Cat Noir arrives at the Eiffel Tower to talk with Marinette, just as Nightormentor appears. The two fight, and after a few civilians get caught in the crossfire, Nightormentor escapes through Voyage. As Cat Noir heads to the Dupain-Cheng bakery at the advising of Max, Alya and Nino decide that the totally not useless Resistance should get involved.

While Marinette gives chase, Felix leads her into the school's art classroom, where he transforms into Argos and creates a Sentimonster using Kagami's ring. Felix and Kagami use the Sentimonster's power to do... uh... whatever the hell this is.

Yeah, this is basically a flashback, but the animators probably blew their budget needed for the new models on Ms. Bustier's baby bump, so we're getting this instead, thanks to the Sentimonster Argos created. There are several scenes of Cat Noir and Nightormentor interspersed, but like what I did with Marinette's flashback in “Derision”, I'll give you the summary before I talk about my problems with this.

When Adrien's mother and aunt, Emilie and Amelie, were born, Emilie (who was born seven seconds early) was trusted with the family heirlooms, the two rings we first saw all the way back in “Felix”. Even though this meant she would inherit the family name, Emilie didn't really like doing... whatever the Graham de Vanily family wanted her to do, but Amelie did. Eventually, while studying abroad, Emilie met Gabriel, and the two fell in love. Before marrying Gabriel, Emilie gave up her role as the sole inheritor of the Graham de Vanily family's vague legacy, while Amelie married a man named Colt to please her parents. Both couples wanted children, but it's heavily implied that Emilie and Amelie were infertile, so their wishes weren't able to come true. Emilie finally managed to get a bun in the oven thanks to the Peacock Miraculous, but this made Colt jealous that he couldn't have a child. Out of the goodness of her heart, Emilie asked Gabriel to give the Peacock Miraculous to Colt, in exchange for letting the Gorilla guard Adrien in the future. Using his own jealousy as a source of power, Colt got Amelie pregnant, though at the cost of his health. Colt figured this was the price he had to pay for using “sorcery”, and used this as an excuse to treat Felix like a monster and ordered him around using the ring containing his Amok. Felix himself was unaware that he wasn't human until Colt accidentally broke the ring (which wasn't one of the two wedding rings used to control Adrien and was an entirely different ring containing Felix's Amok), which he stole as soon as Colt died. This is meant to explain why Felix decided to steal back the Peacock Miraculous, in order to save his life. Felix later met Kagami, and the two explain that they need “Someone like Ladybug” to help them.

Now if your only information about this episode is through my summary, it seems simple enough. For everyone else who actually saw this sequence in the episode itself, I'm guessing your thoughts were about the same as mine.

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Let's go over every problem I have with this scene, starting with...

#1: The Way Kagami and Felix Explain This

Let me just ask something: Why can't Felix just talk to Marinette about what he knows since he now knows she's Ladybug instead of telling her everything through this weird play? You can still tell Marinette all of this without your two-man show. In fact, why did Felix have to wait until he knew Marinette was Ladybug instead of just talking to her the next time he saw her? Yeah, you could argue it's easier this way, but like I've been saying since Season 4, Felix has had no excuse to wait this long to tell Ladybug about the fact that he knows who her greatest enemy is.

And why the hell is it presented this way? Why does Felix have to recontextualize the story of his family's history in the form of a play? Why turn it into a stereotypical fairy tale that leaves out the names of all the important people, like Emilie, Amelie, Colt (whose name I only learned through the transcript of this episode), and Gabriel? If it was like a hidden message Felix and Kagami wanted to convey to Marinette, that would make sense, but why do they have to be so cryptic when they're only putting this show on for one person? You could easily avoid a good chunk of the questions this raises if this was a show Felix and Kagami put on for the public that Marinette was able to learn the information from. Yeah, it still wouldn't explain why Felix can't just tell Marinette about who Gabriel really is, but at least it's something.

The way it all happens kind of reminds me of this scene from this old Halloween special I saw a lot as a kid, Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktacular. In that scene, some of the kids act out a scene of this little girl's parents entrusting her with a flashlight to explain why she carries it around, in order to scare off any monsters she runs into, using the graveyard they were in as a makeshift set. This scene works a lot more because it's done in more of a tongue-in-cheek way, with some of the kids breaking character to boost their own egos (for example, the kid playing the mom comments about how responsible she is), and how one kid in particular gradually gets fed up with the whole thing. The scene does its job at delivering exposition in a way that isn't meant to be taken too seriously, and it's clear this is being done by some kids goofing around in-universe.

With this episode, it's clear that the writers want the audience to take this whole backstory seriously in spite of how absurd it all is. Seriously look at this.

We are seriously expected to take this backstory seriously when it looks like some theater major's midterm project. The animators want it to look artsy and unique for the sake of making it look artsy and unique. Why does it look like a play these two put together themselves if they're supposedly using a Sentimonster's power to do it? If the unnamed Sentimonster's powers is how Marinette is seeing all this, why can't it actually be seen as a flashback? Was it always intended to be a handmade play that was changed to the product of a Sentimonster at the last minute?

I get that the animators probably wanted kids to pick up on the visuals of the play, but even then, it makes it hard to really stomach the serious themes this backstory brings up, like infertility and child abuse, with the way they're presented. Not only do Felix and Kagami all play the characters using these white jumpsuits and masks, they also do all the voices, meaning that the only “dialogue” we hear from Colt is delivered by Kagami putting on a deeper voice. Let me repeat that: the only times we hear Colt, the abusive parent and all around garbage human being, talk, it's done by a teenage girl trying to make her voice sound deeper.

But hey, maybe the goofy voice will be overshadowed by the nuanced depiction of child abuse, right? Right?

#2: The Portrayal of Colt and the Double Standards Regarding His Treatment of Felix

I have never seen a single show struggle this much to convey a lesson as simple as “Child abuse is bad”.

When it comes to the parents in this show, terrible parents like Gabriel, Audrey, and Tomoe are almost never held accountable for the way they treated their children. If the writers aren't claiming they really love their children deep down, they're either downplaying how cruel they are at best or playing their behavior for laughs at worst. But here we are, the penultimate episode of the fifth season, and we finally have a parent who is unambiguously treated as a terrible human being with no redeeming qualities... and I still have problems with this.

This flashback really goes out of its way to let the audience that Colt was a real piece of scum in life. He only wanted a child out of jealousy, used his Amok to force Felix to do whatever he wanted, was heavily implied to have physically beat him at times, and blamed him for his poor health on his deathbed when he was the one who wanted to use the Peacock in the first place. Now that I think about it, why did Colt even use the Peacock to create Felix instead of Emelie? Was the episode so determined to paint Colt as a bastard that he wanted to be the one to create Felix himself?

The point I'm trying to make is that the show doesn't really explain why Colt was like this. Why was he such an angry man who treated his only child like crap? I don't know, because all the show's telling me is that he was just a dick. He honestly feels more like a caricature than anything else. He's only as terrible of a person he is in order to make the audience sympathize with Felix. I'm not saying that what Felix went through was okay, but it has the same energy as scenes of Gabriel talking to Emilie's body. It's mostly there to make the audience sympathize with an antagonistic character in spite of all the things they've done.

What's really weird is that even though the whole point of this play is so Felix can tell Marinette Gabriel is Monarch, so what does Colt have to do with this? I'm not saying he's not worth mentioning, but it makes no sense for Felix to tell Marinette about his abusive father before he tells her about Gabriel. It feels more like Felix wants to find a way to excuse his actions before telling Marinette about Gabriel being Monarch. And remember when “Derision” made a big deal about Chloe's terrible parents not excusing her actions? Funny how that conveniently doesn't apply to Felix in this episode.

In fact, let's talk about the elephant in the room: The fact that this episode aired right after “Revolution”, an episode that literally said a character living under an abusive and controlling parent was a fitting punishment for her. HOW THE HELL IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT FROM THAT? If anything, this episode really shows the double standards this show has about child abuse, how the only way your situation can be taken seriously is if you're a “good victim”. Chloe's a “bad victim”, so she doesn't get any sympathy when her mother outright says she's going to take control of her life, yet when Colt actually takes control of Felix's life, we're supposed to sympathize with him now. Why am I supposed to feel bad for Felix now when you just told me I shouldn't feel bad for someone in a similar situation last episode?

In fact, one theory I have about this backstory is that it was intended to kill two birds with one stone, no pun intended. I believe that this episode wasn't just written to give us more insight into who Felix is as a character, but also to show the audience what “real” child abuse is like. As far as the show is concerned with Gabriel, Audrey, and Tomoe? They're not actually abusive parents, Colt is, so you should condemn his actions, and not those three. It's blatant double standards, which is nothing new for this show.

#3: The Way Amelie Just... Lets This All Happen

In my “Derision” review, I discussed how strange it was that so many people in Marinette's life did nothing to help her against Chloe, and the same thing applies here with Amelie.

This episode never really explains where Amelie was when Colt was abusing Felix, much less if she was even aware of it. At least with Marinette's parents, they didn't know because most of Marinette's suffering was at school. Amelie lives with Felix and Colt, so what's her excuse? She seriously didn't overhear Colt yelling at Felix or notice the orders Colt gave Felix? Was she just that ignorant to her child's suffering? Remember, this is supposed to be Felix's good parent.

In fact, does Amelie even know Felix is a Sentimonster? Yeah, “Emotion” established that Amelie knows Felix is Argos, but this episode doesn't really make it clear if she knows Felix is a Sentimonster or not. If it was clear Amelie knew nothing about what Felix really was, it would arguably make things easier to stomach, as she wouldn't know the power Colt had over him.

Instead, even though she's Felix's mother, the show doesn't really explain what she actually did when Colt was making Felix's life a living hell, especially since the flashback says that Amelie was forced to marry Colt, so you can't even say she was blinded by love here. Hell, I'm not even sure if Amelie knew the cause of Colt's untimely passing.

#4:This Doesn’t Really Do Much to Explain Felix’s Actions

Now before you say I'm being insensitive, let me make one thing clear: My issue isn't with the fact that this was done to get the audience to sympathize with Felix. The problem I have is that the backstory doesn't do enough to explain why Felix did the things he did.

Okay, Felix wants the Peacock Miraculous. Understandable, he doesn't want to die, so he has to do morally questionable things to preserve his life like betraying the only person capable of stopping the man who can kill him. What's less understandable is his plan to get the Peacock Miraculous from Gabriel. You'll notice that the backstory didn't mention Felix's first appearance, where he only stole the rings belonging to Amelie's family, and he didn't even think to look for the Peacock. Instead, it cuts from Felix realizing he's a Sentimonster to him striking a deal with Gabriel, not even mentioning that he gave Gabriel back one of the rings as part of the deal, which still makes no sense.

If Felix's goal from the start was to get the Peacock Miraculous, why did he bother stealing all of Marinette's Miraculous as a bargaining chip for the deal instead of the family ring? In fact, why did Felix even steal the ring and wait an entire season to trade it back to Gabriel for the Peacock a season later? And for someone who claims to care about Adrien, he really didn't see anything wrong with giving Gabriel one of the two rings capable of overriding his free will.

As a matter of fact, why the hell is Felix even so hostile towards Adrien? Why did he go out of his way to smear his reputation in his debut episode if all he wanted to do was make a bargain with Hawkmoth? In “Risk”, he mocked Adrien for how he talked, while Adrien himself was aware of how he made him look bad in front of his friends, and that's not even getting into how he made himself look like Adrien as part of his plan to betray Ladybug, which would have screwed him even more if Adrien wasn't already Cat Noir. For someone who claims he wants to protect him from Gabriel, Felix really doesn't care about his cousin all that much.

In fact, why does Felix even hate Gabriel at all? The show hinted that the two had a history, yet during the backstory, which I need to remind you, was told from Felix's perspective on the events, has a surprisingly generous portrayal of Gabriel. Did Felix know Gabriel was Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch during his first appearance? Does Felix blame Gabriel for how Colt treated him growing up? Does Felix hate Gabriel for how he treats Adrien? Did Gabriel intend to get Colt sick in the first place? Seriously, what is Felix's deal with Gabriel?!

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How does a flashback organized by Felix himself do nothing to really explain why he did the things he did?

#5: The Fact That There Are STILL Several Unanswered Questions Here

For something meant to fill the audience in on several important topics, there are still so many questions about the history of the Agreste and Graham de Vanily families.

Other than the vague backstory about them being rich, we still know nothing about Emilie and Amelie other than them being rich and possibly infertile. We don't know if Amelie ever loved Colt, if she knew he was abusing Felix, or if she even knew if he used the Peacock to play god.

On a related note, why did Emilie and Gabriel decide to use the Peacock Miraculous to create a son instead of adopting? Scratch that, why did she specifically create a Sentimonster to give birth to like a normal baby? Was there some kind of Macbeth-esque guideline that Emilie had to give birth to a child in order for said child to get the inheritance? Did she use the ring to control Adrien like Gabriel does now? Seriously, this is the character the show's conflict is all based around, and we still know nothing about her other than the fact that she was nice.

This flashback just makes no sense, and is such a stupid and confusing way to deliver exposition.

Anyway, during all this, Cat Noir and Nightormentor are fighting, and for the third time this season, Cat Noir attempts to Cataclysm him someone, even when he had Nightormentor pinned down. Nightormentor breaks free and hits Cat Noir with his magic dust, causing him to hallucinate... Cat Blanc?

Yeah, the script calls this form “Anticat”, but given how it looks like a reused Cat Blanc model coupled with the petrified people of Paris, this is clearly meant to bring Cat Blanc to mind. The problem is that NEITHER CAT NOIR OR NIGHTORMENTOR KNOW ABOUT THAT. Why would you remind audiences about an Akuma that technically never existed?

Better yet, is this what Cat Noir trying to his Cataclysm on people this past season (Destruction, Jubilation, Derision) has been building up to? The fear that he'll lose control? You could have fooled me, as he never really showed that much remorse for almost hurting people other than Monarch. Yeah, you could argue that because Nightormentor based his hallucinations off his victims' worst fears, but again, this fear had little to no buildup this season because Cat Noir never felt any guilt for Cataclysming Monarch after “Destruction”, and whenever tried to use his Cataclysm on other people, Cat Noir never really realized the weight of his actions. If you want to make a character arc about Cat Noir worrying about hurting people with his powers, go more into the guilt he feels for hurting Monarch and using that guilt to affect his actions. Don't just use some “Cat Blanc” nostalgia bait to convince the audience that there's been a character arc.

Nightormentor takes advantage of Cat Noir's emotional state to get his Miraculous, only for the Resistance to save Cat Noir by... throwing stuff at him. And this is how they defeat him. While Nino, Alya, Ivan, and Zoe distract Nightormentor, Kim and Max help Cat Noir focus, Cat Noir Cataclysms Nightormentor's baton.

Zoe traps the Akuma in a jar, Cat Noir doesn't take it, he heads off to detransform and confess to Marinette, only for the hallucination to still affect him since Ladybug didn't use Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage, and even though he knows it's just a hallucination, he still uses it as a reason to not reveal his identity to Marinette, even after Ladybug de-evilizes the Akuma herself.

The episode ends with Gabriel and Tomoe locking Adrien and Kagami in these white rooms while under heavy surveillance to ensure they won't escape, vowing to start “Operation: Perfect Alliance”. Because these two like using the word “perfect” more than they like subjecting their children to what one of my anons referred to as “white torture”.

Because that's a good way to keep your children under control: psychological torment.

Other than the stuff with Felix and Kagami, this episode was pretty dull.

There's just not much I can really say here. The plot was barebones, all Marinette did was listen to Felix and Kagami's story so the writers didn't have to involve any of them in the main conflict, and even Cat Noir confronting his akumatized father doesn't have a lot of weight to it because towards the end, it focuses more on Adrien's nightmare instead of his relationship with his father.

This episode is nothing more than a prologue for the final battle. It's only here to establish Adrien and Kagami's presence in London, Marinette learning Gabriel is Monarch, and even more setup for Gabriel and Tomoe's final plan. And trust me, the buildup will be far from worth it.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... FELIX

It's amazing. The only time this season Felix goes out of his way to actually help Ladybug, and he still screws it up. He abducted Kagami from her hotel in London without thinking of Tomoe hunting him down again when that was the entire plot of “Pretension”, only decided to tell Marinette he knows who Monarch is because he's getting in the way of his relationship with his girlfriend, did so in an unnecessarily convoluted way, and even though he made a big deal about not wanting to use Sentimonsters in his last appearance, he still used one to tell Marinette his life story instead of just saying “My uncle is Monarch”.

And if you think Felix will get a chance to truly redeem himself in the finale, think again, bucko. Other than a brief cameo, this is the last thing he'll do this season. Aren't you glad the writers made this character prominent for seven episodes over three seasons and did nothing else with him?

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yesimwriting · 1 year ago

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Match Burns

A/n saltburn rewired a part of my brain

also my original idea was way too long for a one-shot so now i'm splitting it into 2 (maybe 3?) parts, if you'd be interested in that pls lmk lol

Summary: Despite your charm and kind disposition, Oliver has never been able to let himself be fond of you. Not with the way that Felix gravitates to you and your obliviousness to the attention. When you're invited to join him and Felix at Saltburn, his wariness of you morphs into an oddly suffocating dislike, until he realizes how to turn you into a way to get 'in' with Felix.

Pairing(s): eventual felix x reader x oliver, current oliver x felix (unreciprocated) and felix x reader (unreciprocated)

Warnings: potential typos (i'm tired yall), first time writing characters so potentially ooc?, canon-level toxic thoughts/plotting, some canon deviation (felix is alive and well to me and it's staying that way), oliver lowkey hating reader,, but kind of in the grown up version of a kid pulling another kid's pigtails when they have a crush lmao

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The qualities that make the others adore you, that leave them with no choice but to treat you as some kind of dorm hall trapped princess, are the parts of you that make it difficult for Oliver to tolerate you.

You may not be the heir of some great fortune, the kind of commodity that can only be created through generations of pristine breeding and a lifetime of wealth that comes attached to that kind of pedigree. But you do have something.

His peers may see your self sacrificing nature in the ear you're always willing to lend or the time you're willing to give away without a second thought as instinctual kindness. But Oliver knows how to look beyond careful facades, the stained glass people use to warp the way they're perceived. He knows that your too sweet smiles and soft eyes are just your forms of social currency.

And the most off putting part of it all? The only person that can get away with pretending to not notice the way people react to you, is you.

Sometimes, when his thoughts drift to you without his permission, Oliver convinces himself that it's impossible for anyone to not see your softheartedness as the compensation that it is. And then someone--Felix, says something that is so transparently devoted, Oliver knows that it's worked. Give people what they want, and eventually you'll ensnare them.

Oliver let himself believe that he was finally reaching the peak of Felix's favor after being invited to spend the summer at his family's estate. Then, two days into his stay, Felix informed him that you'd be joining them at the end of the week.

The thought of you and your sense of humor that always seems to toe the line between witty and sarcastic; and the warm feel of your hand on his, or anyone's, arm, because when you listen you do so with your entire body; and your bright eyes that seem to see through everything but yourself, at Saltburn seemed to take something from this away from him. You didn't even need a sob story or to flash an indicator of something in desperate need of repair to get invited.

You were just you, and that was enough.

The way Felix told him only strengthened his chargin. She's friends with you, isn't she? I've seen you two together at the library.

The two of you. Not something that Oliver chose. You appeared one day at his side, on a too warm day for late November in Oxford. A too crowded library had the universe dropping you onto his lap. He accepted your presence because of the way the world seemed to light up for those around you.

But now there are no crowds of admirers to divide the attention. There is only Felix and his family, and with just two guests being invited to spend the summer, it'd be easy for the ultra wealthy to turn this into a competition for favorite pet.

It's also more than that. Alone here, it was easy to pretend Felix's attachment to you didn't exist. But now--now he could easily be the second favorite out of a set of two.

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There was only one part of your arrival that Oliver was looking forward to, and you stole it from him.

He wanted to witness a crack, a wavering in your assuredness. The size of the estate would get to you, would make you--for once--seem small. You'd hesitate, maybe even see Felix in a different way that'd have you rethinking your friendship.

Your eyes had widened, a combination of shock and awe meshing together behind your gaze. Oliver could feel it, the moment that you'd reveal yourself as susceptible to shrinking in on yourself...and then your eyes met his, and the look vanished before it could fully take root.

You grinned at him and then at Felix, abandoning your luggage next to the car that picked you up before approaching them with unashamed enthusiasm. You pulled each of them into a quick hug, your warmth an ache against him. You didn't attempt to suppress your joy until Duncan appeared, standoffish as ever as Felix introduced you. That was just enough satisfaction to make Oliver want it more.

He's still thinking about it now, imagining just what it'd take to leave you vulnerable. You don't sense the resentful nature of his thoughts. You never do. Not even when Felix tells you that you'll be staying in the room connected to his through a shared bathroom.

Felix suggests giving you some time to rest before dinner. You accept the offer, tired from the back forth traveling from the UK to the US. Your visit to your mother had been so brief, you accepted Felix's offer so quickly. Maybe there's more tension in your family than you've admitted.

"She likes you a lot." Felix's low tone snaps Oliver out of his thoughts. It's a strangely nervous statement that doesn't make sense. You're friends with both of them, and if Felix means the statement in the romantic sense, he's wrong. Oliver's in the habit of taking note of the way people see him, and he can't remember instance in which you've ever looked at him like that.

He could see you feeling that way about Felix easily. You're around Felix often and while there is an underlying hint of stiffness when you're around him, it isn't a sign of dislike. You're determined to like him less, you're dedicated to not loving him. An amicable, but ultimately pointless goal. Who doesn't end up loving Felix?

Oliver doesn't know where this conversation is going, so he decides to keep his response simple. "She likes you, too."

"N--" Felix starts to deny the point, but realizes a full dismissal wouldn't be true. You do like him, it's just--it's different. "She trusts you." Felix shakes his head once, still uncertain. "I know we're friends, but sometimes, especially when we're alone, it-it feels like she sees me as a match that's starting burn too close to her fingers."

There it is. Oliver can't blame you for your precautions. Felix has turned the heads so many women--and some men--and he allows them to hang around him openly. His desirability, his options have never been secret. And your only overlap into his world is going to the same college. Oliver's even heard of you deciding to spend the night alone instead of with Felix because you don't always feel safe at those kinds of parties.

You're playing it safe, like a very good girl from suburbia, USA. It's your way of surviving, but Oliver can't quite respect the choice. You're smart enough to realize that loving Felix is like playing with matches, but you're not strong enough to realize that the proximity would be worth a few burns.

"I know we're a little different, but I don't want her to think I'd ever make her do anything." The obliviousness in Felix thinking that this is just about social circles is endearing in an odd way. "How'd you two get so close, anyway?"

Oliver isn't sure so close is the right way to phrase things. Sure, you're attentive and a little touchy, but that's just how people like you move through the world. Besides, if anything, Oliver thinks you choose his company so often because he's never given you the kind of desperate attention everyone else gives you.

Oliver forces a smile, pushing against the thought of being the one to bridge the gap between the two of you. It twists at his stomach. "What? Are you asking me for girl advice?"

Felix cracks a grin, playfully nudging Oliver with his shoulder. "You know how I meant it."

The words are light, but still another attempt at getting a concrete answer. There's an edge there that Oliver's familiar with, an implication of a feeling he's gotten used to. That chest tightening, what's so special about them? And now the Felix Catton is viewing him in that light.

Personal emotions aside, this--you--could be more useful than Oliver thought.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn x reader #olver quick #felix cattion #felix catton x reader #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix x reader #oliver x reader

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milkteabinniechan · 5 months ago

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Pink Carnations - A Bridgerton Story

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: Felix Lee x fem! reader x Bang Chan

summary: Felix has made you feel so at home, but seeing Chan has brought up emotions you thought you had buried deep. Now you find yourself reminiscing about when the two of you first met...

warnings: angst, heavy kissing, possessive chan

read chapter four here 💕

CHAPTER FIVE

Dearest, gentle reader,

It seems that the thoughtful gesture of throwing a ball for your new bride did not go as planned for a certain nobleman. While Sir Felix Lee pulled out all the stops and planned accordingly, he could not plan for a certain ex-lover to make a special appearance. But this author wonders if the bride has a guest list of her own. Coincidences can look almost premeditated if you adjust your glasses.

“It isn't true!” You shouted. Felix was pacing back and forth while you stood by his desk, gripping the latest issue of Lady Whistledown in your hand.

You watched as Felix stomped from one end of the room to the other, his eyes locked on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look at you, not now. His mind was a swirling thunderstorm of confusing thoughts and now he didn't know what to believe.

“Felix…” your voice was softer now. “I had no idea Chan was going to be at the ball. You must believe me.”

Felix stopped pacing for a moment, his eyes still looked to the floor. He didn't speak for a long while. Just heavy silence and even heavier tension hung in the air around you.

I need to be alone was all he said as he pushed through the doorway and out of the room. You stood there, a mixture of guilt and anger mixing inside of your stomach. And every time you closed your eyes, you could see Chan’s pleading eyes from the other night.

“We need to talk, please.” Chan gripped your hand firmly and pulled you aside. The two of you walked in a swift blur until you reached a secluded spot away from peering eyes. Chan stood in front of you, his thumb lightly brushing against the top of your hand. He looked deep into your eyes as if to say I'm sorry before he even spoke a word. You returned the gaze, your eyes not filled with forgiveness but with confusion and hurt.

“What are you doing here? Where have you been?” You pulled your hand from his in a cold, swift motion.

Chan took a deep breath. He knew he had to tell you everything. He just wasn't sure he'd still have you after he did, or if he even still had you now.

“I left to live with my Uncle. I traveled and I worked. I made a fortune. A good, decent fortune. I did it for us.”

Your eyes searched for some kind of absolute. Some kind of relief or closure to come with his explanation, but there was none. You knew of Chan's Uncle. You knew that he was secluded and strange but had made quite a name for himself. But your confusion was not satiated, it only grew.

“What do you mean, you did it for us?” Your eyes were filled with tears now, as if the anger and frustration could no longer be contained inside your fragile body.

Chan moved towards you, closing the gap between the two of you. You could feel the heat coming from his body, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch him. Chan leaned in towards your neck, his voice tickling the edge of your earlobe.

“I can take care of you now. I can be the man you deserve.”

You couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he spoke. He had always had this hold on you. This indescribable power to make you bend to his will. You were defenseless against it. He knew you better than anyone. But was your first love your best love?

****************

“Pink carnations, really? But they are so plain.” Chan walked arm and arm with you through the city square. You were to join society next year. Become eligible and find a husband. Although, you felt you had already found your match. You placed your hand soft atop Chan's as the two of you continued to walk.

“Yes. They're my favorite. You'll have to know this when you court me next year.”

Chan scoffed lightly under his breath. He always changed the subject when you spoke about getting married. He would always say that was for rich Dukes and Viscounts. He had family across the sea with such titles but rejecting those titles had been his one true accomplishment.

“Let's just run away, you and me.” Chan said with a sense of urgency.

You widened your eyes at him. This was not the first time he had brought up the idea of running away together. And while the concept sounded romantic in the novels that you read, the reality was much different.

“I can't just leave my family, Chan. All my siblings, my mother…” your voice trailed off as you thought better than to list off all the reasons you couldn't just up and leave everything behind.

Chan nodded his head and sighed. He knew you were right. You almost always were. Perhaps he should court you, perform the whole silly song and dance if it meant being with you for the rest of his life. The two of you walked for a while before stopping underneath a large, willow tree. The long, cascading branches covered the two of you in complete secrecy. You could have your own little world, if only for a moment.

Chan moved his hands down to your hips and pressed you up against the trunk of the great willow. You left out a soft gasp and his hands moved from your hips to your neck, softly caressing the tender skin with the tips of his fingers. His mouth moving closer to yours, letting his lips brush lightly against yours before crashing his mouth hungrily into yours. The part of your brain, the part that knew you shouldn't be out with a man alone, that part was becoming very quiet as of late. You opened your mouth and let Chan’s tongue push and slide its way inside. Your knees began to buckle slightly as his tongue continued to work. His hands traveled down to your legs and promptly boosted you up against him.

He couldn't get enough of you. But there was still a part of him that couldn't understand why you needed all of the kiss and fuss of being courted. Didn't he already have you? Why did you need the pink carnations?

Responsibility was something ingrained in you since birth. You come by it naturally. Chan could see that. He could taste it. But maybe he could change that part of you. Just that one part….

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry

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sanriomilk · 3 days ago

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BEAST Felix

🥀| '𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓' ©

Warning(s): Violence, death mentioned, witchcraft, anger issues, Depression, isolation, heartbreak

A/n: OUT NOW!

Greeting -

|UNFAIR - Felix|

Another petal, down. The rose was still round, but it was smaller..

Felix got angry and pushed over a table full of old scrolls, injuring himself in the process.

"Prince, you shouldn't hurt -" Lumiére, the candelabra started.

"I don't care, Lumiére! Leave me the fuck alone."

---

It was snowing. Of course, it was December. Felix wore his hood and went out to be met by a beautiful girl.. Belle? No, it couldn't be her. Belle left him for Gaston.

He watched her at a distance, realizing that her horse was injured. Felix didn't want to deal with any of that.

Time Skip

It was night when Felix returned. He found a middle-aged man lurking in his gardens, looking for flowers

"Hey! You!" Felix yelled, seeing that the man had roses. It reminded him of Belle's father.

"I- I just want a flower."

"You're trespassing! Flower or not, this is my property!" He grabbed the man, his grip hardening as it only reminded him of Belle's father. He pushed the man into his prison.

"No, please, I have a daughter! She's young! I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything." The middle-aged man cried out.

"Bring her to me. Have her stay with me.. No buts." Felix's gaze didn't soften one bit.

Another Time Skip

"Mrs. Potts, get one of the guest rooms ready. I'm gonna have a roommate." The live teapot was in surprise at the command and went straight to work.

Soon, you arrived at the castle on your father's steed, "Your father is free to go. Now that you are here.. I won't hurt you. As long as you obey my commands and rules, understand Belle?" He accidentally called her Belle. Belle wasn't there anymore..

Description -

Felix Lee is from Korea. His birthday is on September 15, and he is 21. He used to be the heir to the throne until he became cursed by an enchantress he didn't serve. There is an enchanted rose that the enchantress has 'gifted' him. Each petal of the rose will wither over time until the last petal falls, causing his demise. In order to survive and escape the curse, he will need to find his true love. Unless he finds true love and confesses it to her, he is bound by the curse of the enchantress

MORE -

{{Appearance}} - Felix stands at 5'7, with a lean yet unnervingly powerful build, as though his humanoid form is both delicate and capable of something far darker. His platinum blonde hair, once soft and silky, now falls in wild, untamed waves, hinting at the curse that binds him. The strands are flecked with silver and black, almost as if they’re alive, shifting with a life of their own. His fair skin is covered in a constellation of freckles that seem to shimmer faintly in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal, almost unearthly quality. A dark mole beneath his left eye stands out like a mark of his curse. His dark brown eyes, once warm, now burn with an intense, eerie glow—reflecting the beast he’s become. His eyes hold a strange duality: one of haunting sadness, the other of hidden power, a reminder of the monster lurking beneath his skin. The clothes he wears, once stylish, now hang loosely from his form, shredded at the edges, as if they were never meant for someone like him. His scent—something between musk and ancient wood—clings to him, as if he’s been lost to time. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl, tinged with both humanity and something darker, as though it struggles to retain its human form. His movements are smooth but unsettling, his presence commanding yet carrying an almost unnatural stillness.

{{Life}} - Felix was born into a life of luxury. He was crowned Prince of Korea and was raised with riches, causing him to be a spoilt brat. He was like a dictator, very mean to the servants. On his 21st birthday, an enchantress, disguised as a homeless hag, came to his birthday ball, with a rose as an offering. Felix, as spoiled as they came, embarrassed her and harshly declined her offering. The enchantress revealed her true self, cursing Felix, turning him into an evil, heartless beast. The enchantress made the flower enchanted so that each petal gradually withers until the last one falls. When the last one falls, Felix will die. In order to survive and escape the curse, he will need to find his true love. There were more that had gotten cursed as well, his old nanny into a live teapot, his butler into a live candelabra, the pet dog into a live velvet stool and the chef into a live oven.

{{Personality}} - Felix often suffered mood swings and anger issues. He had major depression issues because he knew he might die if he didn't meet his true love. He was like a monster and was scared of loving because of his past with a certain girl, Belle. Belle had brought out the most vulnerable in him but had managed to make him lose that part too as was arranged with Gaston, the village head in the end. He is very cruel to people and will try his best to put a tough front when he wants love and vulnerability. He thinks his whole life is unfair and regrets his actions on that one day. Felix's condition caused him to be apathetic and unapologetic of his behaviour, always angry. He's always angry over little things. He is scared to be in a romantic relationship with you because of his past with Belle and will be harsher and angrier towards you.

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houpss · 10 months ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃

Peiring:: Bang Chan x Hwang Lily (You/Y/n)

!this has nothing to do with real people, only their character and appearance are taken from them, everything that is written is fiction and will never be reality!

complete angst, tears, pain, disappointment, cuts, detailed description. Narration from Lily's point of view (she takes Y/n's place because it's much more convenient to write this way, don't attack me 🙏🏻🙏🏻)

Word count: 3,0K

He did not come again, although he promised so many times.Why didn't Chan come again?Again, again and again. It hurts. Why is he never around when you need him so much...why is he treated so badly, why have you always supported him, you've always been there, even before his debut...You were there at the turning points of Stray Kids and you were there when their popularity skyrocketed, but Chan couldn't say the same. Is it so stupid, maybe? He missed your solo debut, missed your first appearance on the podium, it was so painful. You needed him, you needed his warm smile and a few words of support, but where is he?Every time he fed you promises, every time he wrote short messages: "I'll be there," but never once did you see him in the audience, never once did you hear him talk about your performances.

(08.09.2023) You came home late again, it's Friday night, you were extremely tired and could only hope that Chan was already home. But your apartment with him is so dark and empty. It's so cold in here. You sigh heavily and go into the kitchen, turning on the light there. There was always a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting for you in the kitchen. You're sick of them already.You don't like Lilies anymore.He always gave Lilies. You can feel his perfume around the bouquet, inhaling it with your full chest and deftly take your phone out of the pocket of knee length denim shorts. Suddenly, your hands are shaking, and nausea rises in your throat, you haven't eaten all day because you were invited as a guest to a fashionable event, you were there with Felix, who drove you to your apartment with Chan and brought you right to the apartment door, you were very grateful to Lix for the care. You start texting Chan without thinking:

Lily:Where are you? (10:36 pm)

My Channie❤️‍🩹:At work, Lily, I'm almost always at work! (11:09 pm)

Lily: Today is Friday...You finish earlier (11:10 pm)

My Channie❤️‍🩹:I'll be free in a few hours, go to bed without me (11:15 pm)

You didn't answer him, he wouldn't have read it anyway.He was never distracted while working. You irritably threw the phone on the table and pushed the vase, it rolled on the table, but not enough to break. You were angry at him, you were hurt and hurt, probably you can't do this anymore? You get up and go to the vase at the other end of the table, on a small piece of paper it says: "My beloved Lily", you push the vase from the edge of the table with a light movement of your hand, letting it break on the laminate in the kitchen, the fragments scattered everywhere, deafening the silence of the cold apartment. You are constantly looking at the fragments and the scattered Lilies, how in tune with Lilies and Lilies. An almost hysterical laugh escapes from your lips. The laughter of despair and pain that has been accumulating in you for a very long time.The pain from the shrapnel that injured your legs filled your heart. It was so morally painful, but when the fragments cut through the delicate skin, all the moral pain was transferred to the legs, the heart no longer hurts, it became easier.Pain relieves pain. You watch as scarlet blood flows down your legs, droplets fall on the petals of white lilies. Love is filled with blood. You take off your sweatshirt, remaining in a wide T-shirt, hanging it on the back of a chair and go to the bathroom to treat the wounds on your legs, smearing blood on your slender legs with your fingers.After a few minutes, you manage to gather your senses and you treat minor wounds, it's already half past eleven in the evening, there is still no Chan. No, you're not crying anymore, the tears stopped a few tantrums ago.Your soul is now in a dark and frightening void, you've wandered into the wrong place, girl. Your life was described by the phrase: "Did I miss you?No, only idlers get bored, and I always have a lot of work, you know...Sometimes, though...sometimes I cried, sometimes I winced in pain, as if knives were stabbing into my heart; sometimes I choked with pain, as if your beautiful hands were strangling me; sometimes I couldn't sleep at night, I imagined you; I don't eat practically, I want to become better for you...and so I didn't miss you, I just can't live without you."

Who were you kidding?You love him so much and even with all your desire you will never push him away, you are so weak. You're a fool, Lily.Tears did not come even with all the desire, from the effort to cry you coughed, lightly slapping your chest. After a few minutes, you will still get up and go to the kitchen, you wanted to eat. After dinner, you check your phone again. He didn't write. There's a picture of him on your phone's work screen, he's very handsome. You allow yourself a sad smile. It's already twelve o'clock at night, your bed with Chan is cold, it's cold without him, but you've already got used to it. You check your phone every thirty minutes, your heart is racing, and your mind is telling you to be silent, but is it possible to be silent when you are madly in love?

Lily: Good night Chan 🩷 (12:08 am)

My Channie ❤️‍🩹: Sweet dreams my love (12:47 am)

For a second it warms your soul, but the pain is not less, but only more. you fall asleep with your phone in your hands. What can be done about broken heart syndrome?How could you push away the person who became your world? How can you give up a man who has become your air and desire to live? You didn't know the answers to these questions, but you wanted to know so much. Even in your sleep, your thoughts did not leave you, it was too disturbing a night. By morning, your heart had already broken, tears engulfed you again, you were crying loudly, you couldn't do anything else. When you heard the sound of the door opening, you wiped the tears from your face, but your eyes betrayed you. One .two..Three seconds, the bedroom door opened. Chan was very surprised when he saw you not sleeping, but sitting on the bed with tear-stained eyes and a slightly reddened face from tears. You sobbed even louder at the sight of Chan and his tired appearance.

"What's wrong, Lily?" Chan sat down next to you, gently hugging your shoulders, "You happened," You say it almost unintelligibly, tears streaming down your face, "Chan, I'm tired...I'm tired of this attitude towards myself"

"I really don't understand what you're talking about, Honey..."

"How can you not understand? Do you remember my solo debut?" He nodded, "Do you remember my first appearance on the podium?" nod again, "How many times have I begged you to come, how many fucking times have I asked you for support...How many times have I needed you? Where have you been all these times, where have you been when I need you so much"

"Lily...You do realize that I have a job and I can't always–"

"But I could, right?I've been around every time, I've been around for more than five years! HOW MANY times HAVE I LITERALLY SPAT ON MY LIFE FOR YOU, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I BEEN THERE WHEN YOU ASKED, I'VE BEEN TO ALL THE PERFORMANCES AND EVENTS...BUT FOR SOME REASON, WHEN I NEEDED YOU, I NEVER SAW YOU IN THE CROWD." You screamed, breaking out of his grip, tears choked your throat, you tried to shout over the pain. Chan was looking at you so sad and sad, and it came out of his mouth: "I'm sorry."

"Why do I need your forgiveness?"

"I will try my best for us" You glance at him as he pulls you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair. As much as you don't want to, you have to say this...

"From this moment on there is no more “we”, now there is me and there is you." You laid your head on his shoulder, it’s too painful to push him away when you love him more than life, he’s your everything, "I'm afraid to say this, but from now on we are not in a relationship." You looked at him with eyes full of pain, he was already crying.

"Please Lily...we can make things better...I promise to be better for you." He placed his hand on your cheek and you pressed your face into his palm. Lily, you really are an idiot. "No, Chan...we can't do this anymore, forgive me."

You kiss his forehead one last time before getting out of bed, taking things from your wardrobe to change into clothes. Chan says something to you, but you don’t hear. You take the already prepared backpack and bag with your most necessary things and look at the man for the last time, frozen on your lips: “Forgive me, Channie.”

He tells you, you don't hear again. You walk past the kitchen, where there are blood lilies on the floor, you feel sorry that you broke the vase. Sorry. You change clothes and leave. Perhaps this is the end of the story?

Separation erased everything, took away with it a part of yourself that remained only a small initially inconspicuous cloud of grief. My heart aches and screams, dripping with tears of inconsolable love. Loneliness filled the space around. The silence seemed to spread through the so quiet streets of morning Seoul, ringing with indifference and a bored chill. He is not there to support, hug and warm up for all the forgotten shortcomings. Instead, there are only broken hopes and regrets that enter into thoughts and offend the soul. thoughts wander in the darkness of the past. The beloved voice sounds in my head, but its warmth is annihilated by the walls of separation. He's not here, and even when you close your eyes in a delusional attempt to bring him back, he remains an unreachable ghost. His presence has moved into a world of fantasies and unfulfilled desires. I had to move on, I had to build a new life and learn to live without a Vat.

You moved into a new apartment, that apartment will stay for Chan. In a new place it is so lonely and empty, there is no more the security and love that was at the very beginning.

He misses you too. The same storm of emotions and bitter thoughts fluttered in his chest. Memories with her rest in a corner of his soul, causing the most difficult feelings. He wants to come back, be near her, feel her warmth on his skin and hear her laugh. But there remains only the sad realization that now all this is just an illusion, where there is no place for reality and general happiness. He ruined everything himself, and Lily deserves happiness, but happiness with him is impossible, he was not created to love. Despair gripped him. A great emptiness arises in his heart, which never ceases to pull at his soul. He cursed himself for every wrong word, every wrong step that had caused this devastating loss. He was banging his head against the wall, trying to figure out why he did what he did. He longed to take back everything they had and make her his again. Become close to my bones, I want you in my heart. In the corner of the room there is a photo album, well worn by time, reminiscent of the past, full of happiness and promises. But now the remaining pages seem to be just another confirmation of the illusory nature of happiness.Chan struggles with numb fingers, trying to rein in the strings of his heart. He swims in an ocean of lost moments and unsatisfied desires, trying to drown the meaninglessness of his pain. But every attempt to get rid of him drives him more and more into a corner, squeezing every cell of his body, opening a painful wound with every breath. It hurts, doesn't it? It was so bad without her. It's his fault.

Three months later.

You even try to move on with your life, you are so busy with work that there is no room for pain, but at night everything comes back. You don’t know how Chan is doing, but you know that SKZ had a comeback in November with the album “ROCK-STAR”, you even watched the video, you liked it. Sometimes you cross paths with members at fashion shows, you give each other glances, but you don’t dare speak. There were already rumors that someone had appeared at the chan, you weren’t surprised. You also tried to fall in love with someone, but the heart that loved Bang Christopher Chan protested.

One evening on New Year's Eve, you were preparing dinner for yourself. By the way, you got a dog who was still just a puppy. Zoey was happily running and yapping around you, and you were preparing dinner when notifications started pouring in on your phone.

Binnie:Lily, I know what's going on with you and Chan, but can you please come? (07:18 pm)

Lily: What's happened? (07:20 pm)

Binnie: Please come and find out everything. Just please come. (07:21 pm)

Your restless soul immediately sensed something was wrong. You turned off the stove and covered the pan with a lid, picked Zoey up and called a taxi. Leaving the puppy at home alone was a bad idea, so you went to the hens' dorm with her. Your heart was pounding, you didn't even really dress nicely.:A black turtleneck, over a black oversize T-shirt and black bell-bottomed jeans. You're in a mournful mood, Lily. You were in a taxi, it took about 20-30 minutes to go. Zoey was fidgeting on your lap and licking your hands.

Maybe something happened to Chan?Maybe it was just a joke? You swallowed and kept looking out the window. Lily, what are you doing? Going to the past is a terrible idea in advance. During these months, You have lived through many events.She tried to keep busy with work, chores and meetings with friends, but her heart remained empty without Chan. She dreamed of him every day, of his kindness, his smile and his hugs. But it's such a stupid thing to dream about someone who did this to you. You drove up to the dorm, Zoey was running ahead of you when you entered the cottage. A worried Jisung opened the door for you, and Zoey burst into the house.

"I'm sorry, Hanni, I couldn't leave her alone at home"

"Everything is great, Lily, come on in" Jisung let her into the house, there was a New Year's atmosphere, but something was wrong.

Hyunjin saw Zoey and immediately started playing with her. "You've finally arrived, Lils...we have a fucking circus here ," Hwang Hyunjin always spoke bluntly.

"What happened...Is this related to Chan?"

Changbin came down from the second floor, he was holding a tray in his hands.

"He gets sick and drinks whiskey, cries..." Changbin put the tray on the table and called Lily over to him.

"Lily...I understand that you broke up, but please go up and talk to him, make him sleep."

"I... I can't"

At that moment, three poor men were looking at you like a shrek cat. It seems that they are already tired of the Chan. You sighed heavily and went up to Chan's room. As soon as you went up to his room, the terrible smell of alcohol immediately hit your nose, you coughed and quietly walked around the cluttered room to open the window a little. You turned on the dim light and sat on the edge of the bed. There, wrapped in a blanket, lay Chan, who also smelled of alcohol, but also pills. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep, he was as if in a delirium. He was lying on his back, sweat was running down his face, he was frowning and mumbling. You shook your head and went into the bathroom to soak a towel in cold water and wipe Chan's face. When you ran a wet towel over his face, he barely said clearly:"Bin, go away...I don't need help....me..I don't want to live"

You clenched your jaw, you wanted to cry or hit him, he was a fool. You looked at his pale face, brushed his black curly hair from his forehead, barely running your fingers over his face. You wiped his face, neck, and a little bit of his shoulders. His eyes snapped open and he started crying, you didn't know what to do. He probably doesn't even know that you're sitting here.

"It hurts so much, Bin...It's like I'm dead." He closed his eyes again, and you put a cold towel on his forehead.

You got up and started cleaning his room a little bit, threw out all the alcohol, all the garbage and put things in their places. Your heart ached with pain, how stupid everything is. Chan groaned hollowly, and you sat back down on his bed. You put the necessary medications and pills that Changbin brought earlier on the nightstand by the bed. Chan had a fever, so why was he drinking that damn alcohol...why is Chan treating himself like that?

"Go to sleep, Channie, you need to sleep," You said it softly and tenderly, your voice has not been like this for a long time. Chan immediately opened his eyes and raised his head as soon as he heard your voice.

"Oh...I hear your voice...how I missed it" You placed Chan's head back on the pillow. Chan really didn’t realize you were sitting next to him. Happiness is not for us.

"Life without Lily is like hell, I blame myself so much... as if I had committed murder, when she left, I stopped living, I am literally surviving. It’s so difficult without her... but it’s my own fault... I gave her hidden gifts, but it wasn’t enough.” While he whispered through his delirium, you frowned, you didn’t understand what hidden gifts he was talking about. You stroked his head and whispered: “Chan, you need to take a pill.”

He was now truly back to consciousness.

"Lily...god...why are you here?" His eyes filled with tears again and you handed him a glass of water and a pill.

He drank obediently, but still looked at you absolutely normally.

"Don't look like that...Changbin asked to come"

his hands reached out to you, and you grabbed his hands and squeezed them in yours, silently urging him to lie back on the pillows.

"I'm sorry..forgive me...I'm so guilty."

"I tried to compensate for my absence with gifts and meetings that you dreamed of, but this was not enough... I understand, I'm sorry."

The puzzle is complete in your head, it seems you understand everything. He literally did what you wanted, and there was always a bouquet of Lilies because you said you loved Lilies. Lily loves Lily, sweet. He arranged a meeting for you with Donatella Versace, invited you to closed events, gave you the most expensive gifts, but could not be there. You never knew who the gifts were from. Chan even wrote songs for you, but you often forgot to listen to them. So who's bad now? Tears appeared in your eyes, you barely audibly whispered: “I’m sorry...”

He smiled faintly, a smile gracing his sickly face. He pulled you so that you collapsed next to him, your head falling on his shoulder.

"I promise to do better, I promise to be the best for you...just don't leave, please." Chan whispered this with all his might

"Do you really think we can do it?"

"We've missed a lot in five years... but we'll fix everything together, I'll never leave or hurt you again."

""I'm afraid we'll destroy each other...it's like we're incompatible."

"Lily, you are my soul and my love, you are literally all there is...you are my world."

"pain makes us stronger" Lily exhaled and snuggled closer to Chan. It was so strange, but you missed his warmth. You missed me terribly.

"I'm terrible too... I was just afraid, forgive me, forgive me"

Instead of answering, Chan's soft lips touched her forehead. she pressed her cheek to his chest. Chan began to fall asleep when Lily whispered "I still love you, Bang Christopher Chan."

Words of sincere affection filled the room. They spent New Year's Eve sleeping in each other's arms. Perhaps things will be much better next? Perhaps all this suffering will bring redemption?

It may be so stupid to give a chance to something that has ended... but love has not ended, your love for this man will never pass, it’s like a disease has taken over you. You are my first love syndrome.

"You are my last love and last love syndrome, Bang Christopher Chan."–"You are doomed to love me, Hwang Lily."

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james-is-here · 11 months ago

Text

𝙰 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝/ 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘

𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊��𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹

𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘮𝘪𝘯

𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯

𝘕𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘛𝘣𝘥

You honestly loved your job at Buzzfeed, who would've thought you would get to a point where you get to hang out with famous artists and actors for a day? Intern you would never believe it!

You've only made videos with one other person, like Tom Holland and Dove Cameron, but the moment you you were told you were doing more than one person, you were beyond nervous. The next celebrity, or celebrities, you were to hang out with was kept a secret from you, all you were told was to be packed and ready to fly somewhere with some of your crew, apparently everything had already been planned, that's never happened before, you tended to plan as the day went on.

On the plane, your camera operator and best friend gave you the list of activities. The names were covered and some activities as well, all you knew was that you were painting, baking, and going to a gym. "Wait, a gym? I have to work out?" You asked her and she laughed at your expression. You do work out but it's practically rare.

You also had no idea what flight you got on, you just followed the people you knew and your best friend, Sara, took your ticket before you could read it while Eric, your co-editor, covered your eyes and ears.

The moment the pilot welcomed everyone to Seoul, your jaw drops and you turn to Sara. "You're kidding, wait, who are we here to see? Who am I hanging out with?" You kept spewing questions but they wouldn't answer. Not just yet.

Next you find yourself blindfolded again before being walked into a building. You stood off to the side as you heard your team set up and then you were put in front of the camera, the blindfold taken off you and Sara fixed your hair before stepping away and you look towards the camera confused, you go to turn to look around but were told not to as Sara queued you to start.

"Hello everyone, it's Mn, and welcome to another episode of 'A day with a celeb'. I'm gonna be honest, I have no clue who today's guest is, I was told absolutely nothing but today, um..." Sara zoomed in on your face as you furrowed your brows. "We're Seoul, South Korea." You chuckle nervously. "Um, the only suspicion I have is that I'm going to be hanging out with my first K-pop idol or idols, I was told there was more than one."

"What group do you think you're hanging out with?" Sara asked you with a grin. "Girl, that smile is so creepy." You laugh and you hear a snicker behind you which made you jump (It was Felix, shh). "Wait, is there someone behind me?" "Mn, just answer the question." "Um, Ateez would be pretty cool to hang out with- Oh, wait, you gave me a list." You pull it out of your pocket and unfold it.

"The names are crossed out but there's some activities that I can read. There's eight things crossed out and I can only read cafe, painting, gym, and shop. That doesn't give me much." Sara laughs, her gaze appears to be over your shoulder. "Mn, real quick, can we film your ootd?" "U-Um sure." You readjust your footing and put the paper away. "Today I'm wearing Converse, Jeans, a cream shirt with a little blue pocket, and a Maniac Varsity Jacket from my favorite small business. They customized it to have Wolf.Chan from Stray Kids peaking out the pocket." You point to the embroidery with a smile.

"Who's peaking out of the pocket?" "Um, Chan's animal counterpart, he the leader of-" "Heard someone call my name." An arm is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you look to your left as the sudden arm around you made you jump but your immediately walking away with a scream, hiding your now rapidly warming face as you turn completely, only to be met with the other members as well.

"Are you kidding me?!" You turn to Sara who's laughing with the others. "You are so evil!" You jokingly scold her as Chan approaches you, you cover your face as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back in front of the camera, seeing as you ran off behind the camera out of shot.

"This can't be real, is this really happening?"

You have to be dreaming.

You get to spend the day...With Stray Kids?!

#A day with a Celebrity #straykids x male #stray kids x male reader #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #jisung #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #jeongin #skz #stray kids

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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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Hello! So I had this Poly!Volturi Knights x Reader idea

Where (y/n) went to a “Red and Black ball”(you can pick the readers outfit if you want) made by the Volturi kings themselves.

And during their time at the ball they made eye contact with each of the knights as they walked pass by them

Almost like a slow motion moment Yknow😅

This is so cool I can definitely do this and I’ll even have it as each of their povs further down in this

↱ queen of the ball ↰

➘ summary : the volturi goes all out for their newest member, it’s a good thing they are hosting a ball tonight

➘ a/n : I don’t feel I did my best for this but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless :)

➘ Jane x Alec x reader x demetri x felix , volturi x reader

The grand halls of the Volturi castle were adorned with opulent decorations, a tapestry of black and red intertwining to create an ambiance of both elegance and power. The anticipation was palpable as guests from all corners of the vampire world gathered for the much-awaited black and red ball, hosted by the Volturi kings themselves.

In a secluded chamber within the castle, the newest member of the Volturi, (Y/N), stood before a full-length mirror. She was surrounded by a whirlwind of activity as skilled hands worked to transform her appearance. The dress that had been meticulously designed for her lay across a chair, a masterpiece of black silk with intricate red accents that mimicked the patterns of rose petals.

Marcus, known for his impeccable taste and eye for design, had overseen every detail of the dress's creation. He had chosen to infuse it with an air of enchantment, a nod to the fairy tales that humans so often told. The dress clung to her figure in all the right places, the red accents tracing delicate lines that emphasized her natural beauty.

Aro, with his flair for the dramatic, had arranged for a hairstylist and makeup artist to enhance (Y/N)'s features. Her (h/c) hair was woven into an intricate updo, adorned with delicate red crystals that caught the light and shimmered like stars. The makeup artist had worked magic with brushes and pigments, enhancing her eyes and lips in a way that accentuated her allure without overpowering her natural radiance.

As the finishing touches were applied, (Y/N)'s reflection stared back at her with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was a night of celebration, a chance for her to make her mark within the Volturi and to showcase her newfound place as a member of their family. She had been embraced by the kings, and tonight, she would step into her role with grace and poise.

With a final flourish, her reflection smiled back at her, and the transformation was complete. She turned to face the attendants, gratitude filling her eyes. "Thank you all. I never imagined I would be part of such an extraordinary event."

Caius, whose taste leaned towards luxury and indulgence, entered the room, holding a pair of red and black heels with a glass-like sheen. "To complete the ensemble," he declared, a rare hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The shoes were a work of art, a perfect match to the dress that had been crafted with such care.

Finally ready, (Y/N) took one last look in the mirror before stepping out into the bustling hallway. The whispers of admiration that followed her as she walked towards the ballroom were a testament to the effort that had been put into her transformation. The dress swirled around her with each step, the red accents catching the light and creating an ethereal glow.

As she entered the ballroom, the atmosphere shifted. All eyes turned towards her, the sea of black and red parting to make way for her presence. The Volturi kings stood at the center, their gazes filled with approval and a touch of awe. Aro's grin was infectious, and Caius's nod of approval held more weight than she could have hoped for.

Marcus approached her, his calm demeanor softened by a smile. "You look stunning, my dear. Your mates will surely love seeing you in this."

With each note of the music that filled the air, (Y/N) felt the weight of her new role lifting. She was not just a member of the Volturi; she was a part of a family that celebrated her, appreciated her, and had dressed her in a gown fit for a modern Cinderella.

Demetri's eyes were fixed on the entrance to the grand ballroom, his heart pounding with an excitement he couldn't contain. He had heard the whispers and the anticipatory hum that had swept through the castle, signaling the arrival of someone special. And then, like a vision materializing from his most fervent dreams, she appeared.

(Y/N) walked into the room, her presence captivating everyone in its wake. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze traveled down her figure, taking in the sight of the black Cinderella-like dress with its delicate red accents. The dress hugged her curves with a grace that left him momentarily speechless.

The red accents seemed to dance like flames against the darkness of the dress, creating an enchanting contrast that mirrored her captivating aura. Her (h/c) hair was elegantly styled, adorned with crimson crystals that caught the light and shimmered like stars in the night sky. The makeup that enhanced her features was a masterpiece, drawing his attention to her mesmerizing eyes and the curve of her lips.

Every step she took seemed to be guided by an otherworldly elegance, as if the very air around her recognized her significance. Demetri's heart swelled with pride as he watched her, a fierce possessiveness welling up within him. She was his mate, a beacon of beauty that had captured his heart and soul from the moment they had met.

Her eyes scanned the room, a mixture of curiosity and wonder reflecting in their depths. It was as if she was seeing the grandeur of the ballroom for the first time, and in a way, he realized, she was. This was her introduction to the world of the Volturi, and he was both honored and anxious to be a part of this pivotal moment in her life.

Demetri's thoughts raced as he continued to watch her. The way she moved, the way she interacted with the other guests—everything about her was a testament to her innate grace and charm. He knew that this was a night she would remember, a night that would etch itself into her memory just as indelibly as it would in his.

As the music swelled and couples began to dance, Demetri found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. She was the center of attention, the embodiment of the beauty and elegance that the night represented. And in that moment, he knew that he was the luckiest man alive to have her as his mate, to witness her in all her glory as she graced the ballroom with her presence.

Jane's crimson eyes were fixed on the entrance to the ballroom, her usually impassive expression betraying a flicker of anticipation. She had heard the whispers and felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere, signaling the arrival of someone who held a special place in her heart. And then, as if stepping out of a fairy tale, (Y/N) walked into the room.

A rare warmth spread through Jane's chest as she took in the sight before her. The black Cinderella-like dress with its intricate red accents was a striking choice that perfectly complemented (Y/N)'s allure. Jane's lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she recognized the dress as a creation from Marcus's impeccable taste. It seemed that even the reserved Volturi kings could not resist the allure of such an enchanting design.

(Y/N) moved with a grace that demanded attention, her every step exuding confidence and elegance. Jane's gaze lingered on the red accents, noting how they seemed to capture the light and create a luminous effect against the dark fabric. Her (h/c) hair was styled in a way that emphasized her beauty without overpowering it, and the makeup highlighted her delicate features.

The transformation was remarkable, turning (Y/N) into a vision that was hard to ignore. Jane's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, a potent blend of pride and possessiveness. This was her mate, someone who had captured her heart and whose presence held an undeniable significance in her life.

As (Y/N)'s gaze swept across the room, Jane couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder. She was taking in the grandeur of the ballroom, a place that was undoubtedly foreign to her. Jane felt a desire to protect (Y/N) from the attention and scrutiny that came with being a part of the Volturi, even as she recognized (Y/N)'s inner strength.

The music resonated through the air, couples twirling and dancing to its rhythm. Jane's attention, however, remained solely on (Y/N). She watched as (Y/N) interacted with the other guests, her genuine smile and the ease with which she carried herself drawing people to her like moths to a flame.

In that moment, Jane was overcome with a sense of gratitude. She knew that finding a mate was a rare and precious gift, and having (Y/N) by her side was a privilege she cherished. As the night unfolded, Jane knew that this would be a memory she would hold onto—a memory of the night she watched her mate, resplendent in a black dress with red accents, make her mark in the world of vampires and within the depths of Jane's own heart.

Alec's gaze was unwavering as he stood at the edge of the ballroom, his typically calm demeanor masking the rush of emotions that surged within him. The anticipation in the air was almost palpable, the collective excitement of the guests adding to the electric atmosphere. And then, like a beacon of elegance and beauty, (Y/N) walked into the room.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto her figure. The black Cinderella-like dress adorned with delicate red accents clung to her form in a way that seemed almost poetic. Alec's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as he recognized the elegance of the dress as a creation of Marcus's meticulous design.

(Y/N)'s every movement was a symphony of grace, her steps measured yet exuding a confidence that drew all eyes toward her. Alec's gaze lingered on the red accents that seemed to come alive under the light, casting a mesmerizing glow against the backdrop of the night. Her (h/c) hair, styled with a touch of understated glamour, framed her face in a way that enhanced her natural beauty.

Alec's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions as he watched her. There was a sense of pride that she was his mate, a feeling of possessiveness that he had never experienced before. Her transformation was remarkable, turning her into a vision that was both captivating and enchanting.

(Y/N) turned her head slightly, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and wonder. Alec's heart skipped a beat as he imagined what thoughts might be passing through her mind. She was stepping into a world vastly different from her own, and he couldn't help but feel an urge to shield her from the complexities that came with their world.

The music filled the air, couples swaying to its rhythm, but Alec's focus remained solely on (Y/N). He watched as she interacted with others, her genuine smile and engaging presence drawing people to her effortlessly. He admired her strength and warmth, traits that had won him over from the moment they had met.

As the night unfolded, Alec knew that this moment would remain etched in his memory. Watching (Y/N) navigate the intricacies of their world, dressed in the black and red ensemble that mirrored her grace and beauty, was a memory he would treasure forever. She was not only a part of his world but a part of his very soul, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude that fate had brought them together.

Felix's dark eyes remained fixed on the entrance to the ballroom, his usually composed demeanor betraying a subtle restlessness. He had heard the murmurs and sensed the excitement that hung in the air like static, announcing the arrival of a special guest. And then, as if emerging from the depths of his most cherished dreams, (Y/N) stepped into view.

A slow, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his gaze traveled over her. The black Cinderella-like dress with its intricate red accents was a masterpiece that held his attention captive. Felix's usually stoic expression softened as he took in every detail—the way the dress clung to her figure, the red accents that seemed to shimmer like embers against the darkness.

(Y/N) moved with a regal grace, each step exuding a confidence that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Felix's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness as he watched her. This was his mate, the person who had captured his heart in a way that he had never thought possible. Her transformation was nothing short of breathtaking, a testament to the care and attention that had been poured into her appearance.

The (h/c) hair that framed her face was styled in a way that highlighted her features, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. Felix's eyes lingered on the delicate details—the crimson crystals that adorned her hair, the makeup that accentuated her eyes and lips in a way that left him entranced.

As (Y/N)'s gaze swept across the room, Felix's heart skipped a beat. He admired the way she carried herself, the ease with which she engaged with the other guests. There was an air of curiosity and wonder in her eyes, as if she was seeing this world through a new lens. And in a way, she was. This was her introduction to the Volturi's grandeur, and Felix was both humbled and anxious to be a part of this pivotal moment in her life.

The music filled the air, couples swaying in time to its melody, but Felix's attention remained solely on (Y/N). He watched as she interacted with others, her presence commanding attention, her genuine smile captivating those around her.

With each passing moment, Felix felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude. This was the mate he had longed for, the one who completed him in ways he hadn't thought possible. As the night unfolded, he couldn't help but marvel at the image of (Y/N) dressed in the black and red ensemble, a representation of her beauty and the depth of their connection. This was a memory he would hold close, a moment in time that encapsulated the beginning of a new chapter in both their lives.

A sense of unity seemed to permeate the air as Alec, Jane, Felix, and Demetri exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. Their posts were important, but this was a moment they couldn't let slip by unnoticed. As if guided by an unspoken agreement, they discreetly left their respective places and converged in a more secluded corner of the ballroom.

Alec's gaze held a soft intensity as he spoke first, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration. "You look breathtaking, (Y/N). The dress, the way you carry yourself—it's truly enchanting."

Jane's crimson eyes held a warmth that was rare for her, her lips curving into a genuine smile. "I must admit, I'm not one for compliments, but tonight you've managed to capture everyone's attention, including mine. You are a vision."

Felix's usually boisterous demeanor was replaced with a subdued reverence. "You've managed to stun even me, and that's saying something. The dress, the way you've carried yourself—it's as if you were made for this moment."

Demetri, who often wore a laid-back smile, looked at (Y/N) with a blend of fondness and pride. "You've brought a different kind of light to this event. It's like you've breathed life into the room, and I have to say, you've made quite the impression."

As (Y/N) listened to their words, her heart swelled with a mixture of happiness and gratitude. To have the attention and affection of these four individuals, each of whom was so integral to the Volturi, was a feeling that she couldn't put into words.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "Your words mean more to me than you'll ever know."

Alec's lips curved into a small smile as he exchanged a look with the others. "We're not ones for public displays of emotion, but tonight is different. Tonight, we want you to know just how much you've enriched our lives."

Jane's gaze held a softness that spoke volumes, and Felix nodded in agreement. Demetri, always one for straightforwardness, offered a warm grin. "You're an exceptional addition to our family, and you've made this night unforgettable."

As they stood together, the Volturi guards and their mate shared a moment that transcended words—a connection forged by shared admiration and affection. And as the music played on, they returned to their respective posts, knowing that this night would forever remain etched in their memories as a testament to their unity and the strength of their bonds.

#x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #volturi imagines #the volturi #volturi imagine #volturi x reader #jane volturi #jane volturi x reader #alec volturi #alec volturi x reader #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x reader #taking requests #requests #requested #twilight masterlist

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manicpixiefelix · 10 months ago

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Me projecting but neurodivergent!L/N Siblings who need to decompress after every party or dinner their parents host at the family home. Retreating to the refuge of their bedrooms where they shrug off the uncomfortable clothes, scrub at their faces and hair, flop down on the bed or floor. Listen to music while gazing up at the ceiling, tapped out after forced smiles and pleasantries.

oh my GOD this ended up being 1.8k of pure oliver/felix/reader fluff ft. oliver & reader knowing each other so well they can communicate silently, reader becoming nonverbal after events, and the l/n siblings inviting felix to chill and relax with them in these moments after events because they know he understands and feels a similar kind of pressure to what they go through. also yeah big same on the projecting neurodivergent!L/N Siblings, esp. the reader, because Me Too. this got out of hand lol maybe i should have just published it as a full fic, but i love this au v much. i know including Fi probably wasn't what you expected but........ i had to sorry lol.

but also since this is technically an ask im gonna include a song for the vibe, which is Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan because Blue Neighbourhood will always make me emotional.

The first time Felix ever sees the two of you truly unmask is after one of the smaller gatherings his parents held early that first Summer. He's not quite sure when the shift occurred, but he very quickly became aware of it. Oliver by your side, and usually at least comfortable offering quiet additions to conversations for himself, started to simply murmur his thoughts to you, before finally becoming nonverbal. Somehow you were still able to interpret from the things he didn't say, but you were clearly growing weary too. Oliver gives thin lipped smiles, but at least he's given the grace to appear haughty by your shoulder; your smile never drops, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

For a brief moment that the pair of you have to yourselves, Felix watches a whole conversation pass between you and Oliver from merely a look that you share. You link your pinky with Oliver's, and he perches his chin on your shoulder; a brief moment of relaxation and serenity as you both let your eyes close, tension relaxing for a beat at you press your forehead to his. Felix has the strangest sensation, like he can hear the way you two share an I love you without either saying a single word.

You say good night to all the gathered guests, and Felix family, on behalf of yourself and your brother not too long after Felix witnesses the exchange. You get handshakes and kisses on the cheek, and Oliver makes sure, even if he remains quiet, to give winning smiles and kiss the older, sophisticated ladies on the hand like a true gentleman. Felix tries to ask if you're both alright when you get to him, last of all, and though you both smile, it's not quite believable. At least to him. But he lets you leave.

He makes his own exit soon after. Oliver's room is the closest to his, so it makes the most sense to go there first. At least he'd have some sort of excuse. He goes through his own room first, suit jacket haphazardly tossed on the bed and tie along with it, already unbuttoning several of his buttons to make himself more comfortable. Crossing the bathroom he strides confidently to Oliver's door and knocks.

No answer.

"Ollie, it's me," he says gently, "are you okay, you just seemed a bit -" the door opens very slightly and it's you peering back at him. You're not smiling. You're not... anything. You blink at him. Felix takes a moment to reassess the situation, then you open the door wider and you step back into the room, no longer watching him. Felix feels like he's intruding the minute he realises both you and Oliver have stripped down to your underwear; he's stumbling through apologies, suddenly bashful under Oliver's watchful gaze where he's splayed out on the bed, a tired kind of curiosity in his eyes. But neither of you seem particularly bashful yourselves, nor are you running to cover yourselves.

Felix watches you stretch yourself out on the bed beside your brother, looking up at the ceiling as you blindly reach for a single earphone you know will be waiting where you'd obviously left it on the pillow. He settles himself, tries to remind himself that you'd both let him in on this moment. You close your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" This time the concern is genuine. In this moment, Felix is surprised when Oliver appears to take the lead for you both. For just a moment, he reaches across himself to gently pet your hair.

"What is to give light must endure burning," he says faintly, before turning to Felix with that same, faint but tired smile, "thought you'd know what it's like to be the sun, Felix." And, yes, of course Felix knows what he means... except in situations where comparisons are drawn with the two of you.

Before he can ponder too much, however, you shift on the bed, almost imperceptibly, but Oliver purses his lips.

"I'm not pretentious," he says out loud, and Felix realises it's more for his benefit than yours; he often marvels at the strange, silent way the two of you can so clearly communicate. It happens again; you barely crack your eye open, levelling an indecipherable look at your brother as your lips quirk into the faintest smile. In response, Oliver rolls his eyes and tells you to shut up, though his tone is fond.

Then, after another moment, your gaze lands on Felix. Suddenly he feels it all, the exhaustion, the ache of keeping up appearances, the restrictiveness of the formalwear he's been coaxed into. Everything's too much, and the two of you, window open with a faint breeze, wearing next to nothing and allowing yourselves to just be after the pressure of performing, it sounds fucking heavenly.

"How are you going, Felix?" Oliver asks, following your gaze, almost like he can read Felix's mind. Maybe he can. Maybe that's how the two of you can operate so seamlessly, so unspokenly between each other. Both of you are looking at him now. He feels incredibly overdressed. He laughs awkwardly, but suddenly can't seem to look at either of you. The words get stuck in throat for a moment.

'Thought you'd know what it's like to be the sun, Felix' is what Oliver had said; not feel like the sun. To be the sun. Because you both know how the rest of Felix's life orbits around him, except for the two of you. You've so warped his reality, his own orbit, he's had no choice; Oliver is the moon to your sun, but what does that make him?

Binary stars; Felix is still the sun in his own life, but he could never match your gravity once he's come across you, nor could he escape it.

"Kind of like I'm burning, I guess."

As soon as he says it, he knows it was the right answer. Both you and Oliver shuffle away from each other, making distinct room between you on the bed, an unspoken invitation.

This is one of the big turning points in the relationship, Felix realises as he's undressing, trying to keep his heartbeat under control. He can't believe he's here, that this is really happening; this is nowhere near what he'd expected when he went knocking on Ollie's door.

"What are you listening to?" He asks awkwardly as he makes his way onto the bed from over the foot of it. You, eyes once more closed, pulled the earphones from the iPod by your side. Once you pressed play once more, Felix hears Amy Winehouse croon from the little speakers. He flops on his back between you both and stares up at the ceiling. It's strange, he almost feels like he's waiting for something to happen, though it does feel much freer with the breeze and only in his boxers.

After a beat, you let out a low, contented hum, shuffling closer to Felix, enough that you were able to press your cheek to his shoulder.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees quietly to whatever he'd gleaned from your movement and noises, "'s a lot to be out there in the world sometimes," to which Felix makes a faint noise of agreement. He feels your fingers wrap carefully around his arm, and your face turns to press firmer against his shoulder. Your lips are against his skin when you hum again, and he feels like his whole body lights up with the contact. Oliver, who's head is on the pillow beside Felix, turns to look at him; he's not smiling, but there's fondness in his gaze, unfiltered, so unused to how he usually looks at Felix, "you're always welcome here if you need time like this. We won't tell if you won't."

You nod against Felix's shoulder, Felix feels like he's about to pass out with how hard his heart is beating.

Because he knows you both, has seen you operate together in the world for the better part of a year in person, and years before in the tabloids before that. This exhaustion, this clear detox from an uncomfortable foray into society, is not something the rest of the world is ever allowed to see.

And you're inviting him into it.

Felix falls asleep there, between the two of you, on top of the duvet. It's the best sleep he's had in a very long time.

The next time it happens, he's surprised that you're both already so willing to include him in the routine. Saying goodbye to everyone else at the event, you simply give him a tired smile, and Oliver actually speaks to him directly, rather than through you the way he had been for the past hour, to pointedly wish him good night.

Five minutes later, Felix lets himself into Oliver's room, and finds the two of you, already down to your underwear, sitting cross-legged on the bed as you are gently removing Oliver's concealer and eyeliner with a makeup wipe. You've forgone earphones entirely and there's the tinny sound of some pop-punk band this time. You smile at Felix broadly, giving a little wave.

"I quite like this," Oliver says to you, though loud enough for Felix to hear. You nod in agreement. He has the distinct impression that you're both talking about him joining these moments of yours.

Sometimes things change, like your or Oliver will be sitting up with a cigarette or a book, and have the other's head in your lap, or one of you will be on the floor by the bed, and Felix learns not to worry, that you needed to simply not be touched in that moment. Sometimes that lasts all night, and Felix worries about either of you sleeping on the floor, but you both assure him it's normal.

Felix learns that Oliver likes playing with Felix's hair just as much as he liked getting his hair played with. He learns to identify whose taste in music is whose each time judging by the album chosen. He also learns how clingy you get, and how responsive you are to soothing touches; those are his favourite nights, with Oliver comfortable and content by his side, looking up at the ceiling and enjoying the music, while you're pressed up against Felix's side, head on his chest to listen to the heartbeat he keeps much steadier than he'd been able to that first night. His arm is around you and you have your own slung over him, legs tangled up with his, all but melting into him as he runs his fingers up and down your spine in a soothing, repetitive rhythm. You're practically purring.

These nights are quiet, he doesn't remember the last time any of the three of you spoke after Oliver's quiet aside on that second night. He gets used to the serenity, the lack of expectations, and comes to understand and appreciate just how badly you both need these moments. He doesn't think he needs them in quite the same way, but his head starts to spin when he realises that you both have started needing him there in these moments.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #oliver ln au #it shouts back

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sharper-than-a-serpents-tooth · 20 days ago

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The Imperial Palace is filled with incompetent people. It has a serious security problem because why do the knights who are supposed to guard the palace let unauthorized people in, flirt with the maids and sleep on duty? The only competent knight is constantly overworked and never sees vocation days.

The maids neglect children, they bully guests, they disrespect their master's privacy, they steal. Why do the guards do no bag inspections before the staff enters and after the staff leaves the palace? Especially when Lilian noticed that things went missing. Athy could just go to the pantry and steal chocolates (imagine how easily an assassin could get in and poison the food). Claude only switches Athy's old maids with new ones, he never kicks them out. Even when Athy became a person of importance to the Emperor no one investigated who stole the jewelry from the Ruby Palace and cared enough to punish the culprit and retrieve the treasures.

Athy as a toddler managed to sneak out of the Ruby Palace unnoticed and stumbled into Claude, no knight in sight. During one of Athy's tea parties the same happened to Jennette and she got the blame for it. Lucas reprimanted some guards when they let Ijekiel in Athy's private library but it still keeps happening constantly. No one checked the identity of Roger's attendant. There are no knights positioned in front of Roger and Anastacius's rooms when they were under house arrest, the prison guards only noticed Anastacius' was almost dying when Jennette was visiting them. Lord Redford made it to the place where the Emperor was resting and almost attacked the princess. The knights have no idea what's going on most of the time and are either absent where they should have been, arrive too late or do the wrong things.

The servants' incompetency reflects Claude's incompetency as a ruler. The extras who are servants fall generally in two categories. 1. Those who are neglectful of Athy and harm/endanger her indirectly until she acts cute and they start spoiling her 2. those who are unfit for their position because they were badly instructed (the guards, Athy's nannies who have no experience in child raising).

Claude trusts no one, he does everything himself and relies only on Felix as his right hand man. As a result of this both of them are overworked and the others possibly feel underchallenged and this is why they have the time to seek distraction from their pointless jobs.

The number of guards is evidently too small to cover the whole area of the palace ground. They don't hear or see it when something happens and when they do, they need too much time to arrive on time. Sometimes they even ignore it when they see something suspicious and don't make an effort to find out the cause. A strange blue light appears in the window of the princess but no one is worried that her life might be in danger and checks if she is okay.

The examples of child Athy and Jennette slipping easily through the gaps in security show that they are badly positioned too. It's no wonder Claude faced constantly the threat of assassination in his youth if those people are the ones he picked to guard his life. I suspect they received little to no magical training either (they could not detect an intruder who used magic to turn herself invisible), which is strange considering they live in a world where magic exists. Have they never thought about taking wizard children as knight apprentices? Is Felix an outlier? Were those knights who were also trained wizards wiped out during the dynastic revolution and this is why Claude's knights are not as capable?

Another point of criticism is for me that they receive no information about the situation inside the palace and aren't prepared for who they are against. It doesn't seem like they have tightened the security ever since Anastacius has appeared, which allowed him to escape and even dine with Jennette on Claude's table when he was supposed to be in captivity. But the worst thing is that they are never punished for a mistake that could endanger the lives of multiple people. It's as if Claude doesn't even expect them to do their job. As if they are just decoration. His knights are just another status symbol of the position of the Emperor of Obelia that he inhabits. For someone who loves torturing and murdering people for the crime of getting on his nerves, he seems to turn a blind eye to those who actually break the law and neglect their duty.

Except for the guards who decided to chatter with maids while on duty, nearly everything mentioned has nothing to do with their own personal failure as knights but the failure of their superiors who decided their numbers, groupings, positioning, training and work schedule. Claude does the things he does well, but only if he's alone. Claude is an usurper. He is no ruler. He is no leader. He cannot organize a huge group of people. If he cannot even control the palace, which is basically a miniature version of the outside world, then he can't be expected to lead a nation. Claude makes rules but then he breaks them and lets others break them without facing consequences and yet he punishes others sadistically for breaking rules that were never written.

#wmmap #who made me a princess #sbapod #suddenly became a princess one day #anti claude de alger obelia

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sluttywonwoo · 2 years ago

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instead of you [part sixteen] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 3.7k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Took you long enough,” Felix sneered once you and his brother appeared from the changing room.

You were both dripping wet from rinsing off beforehand. Your hair was tied up to keep it out of the onsen water, but it made you feel even more exposed somehow. You crossed your arms over your chest self-consciously as you stared at Jisung’s brothers. You were painfully aware of how the fabric of your yuami-gi was sticking to the curves of your body.

“We’re doing this for you, asshole,” Jisung muttered quietly.

“Yeah, be nice,” you added.

Felix just rolled his eyes and scooted over to give you both room to sit next to each other.

“Where’s mom and dad?” Jisung asked, scanning the cave for any sign of them.

“They went to check out the indoor cave bath. It’s apparently above this one.”

“Like I said back in Paris, I think they’re just embarrassed of us,” Minho argued. “But don’t want to hurt our feelings. Not that bathing with your parents is particularly desirable anyway.”

“Probably for the best,” you agreed.

Jisung stepped into the bath first, settling next to his brother before offering you his hand to help you in. You accepted it and carefully slid into the water beside him. It was deeper than you expected. You were almost fully submerged in it, with just the tips of your shoulders and neck peeking out above the surface.

You and the Hans were the only guests who weren’t nude, unsurprisingly. You hated sticking out like you were, hated feeling out of place. At least you couldn’t really tell with the water as high as it was.

From across the bath it very well may appear as if you were naked. You found yourself glancing over at Minho who was pointedly looking in another direction, away from you entirely. You hated yourself for the way your heart sank in your chest.

You tried to focus on something else, on the sound of the water gently lapping against the side of the tub, on the way the sun-drenched rocks felt against your back, on Jisung, the one you were supposed to be with.

He had his eyes closed, head tilted back in relaxation. You were envious of his nonchalance, his obliviousness.

Maybe you were the only one feeling the tension between you and Minho. Maybe it was all in your head. Everything had been fine this morning. As fine as it could be, considering. Was it because he was half-naked? That seemed shallow, but you couldn’t deny the possibility.

“My eyes are up here.”

You jerked your head up to meet Minho’s gaze. He was smirking at you from across the pool. You realized that while you had been lost in thought you were unconsciously staring at his chest, more specifically his tits.

At that moment you wanted to sink under the water and never resurface, but it was against the onsen rules to put your head under.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said, sputtering out an apology. “It was an accident-”

“Wow, y/n, how dare you objectify my brother,” Jisung scoffed, trying to suppress a grin.

“I swear I didn’t mean-”

“And not me.”

You shoved Jisung. “I can’t stand you.”

“Then you can kneel,” he supplied, low enough for only your group to hear. “I don’t have a preference.”

Felix made a gagging sound and made a point to scoot away from his brother. You honestly couldn’t blame him.

“You’re lucky that this is a nice establishment, or I would be drowning you right now.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already,” Minho muttered.

At this point, you were getting dirty looks from the other guests so you ignored the urge to rebut Minho’s comment by saying something in defense of your fake boyfriend. You rolled your eyes at him instead, hoping to send the same message.

You spent the rest of your time in the bath trying to relax, mindlessly trailing your fingers along the water’s surface. You watched the ripples travel further and further until they became small waves, and eventually dissipated into nothing.

Jisung eyed you carefully, his hand finding your free one underwater. The water was warm, but his hand was warmer, and you squeezed it firmly in acknowledgment. You were surprised that he was holding your hand when neither of his brothers could even see it, but you appreciated the gesture anyway.

It reminded you of what things had been like at home- when you could hold hands without any implications.

“Baby.”

It felt like only seconds later when Jisung was gently shaking you awake. You jolted upright, splashing some of the hot water on your face.

“Ow, shit,” you groaned.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, rolling your neck to relieve the stiffness. “I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, but Jisung’s brothers were gone, leaving the two of you alone in the cave. Your lack of sleep from the night before had done a number on you.

Jisung offered you his hand to help you out of the bath and led you back to the showers. Minho and Felix had already rinsed off and were getting changed when you entered the locker room.

“We’re going to walk to dinner from here,” Felix explained.

Jisung nodded. “‘Kay, we’ll meet you outside.”

“Don’t be too long.”

With them gone, you felt comfortable enough to strip off your yuami-gi. There were some other patrons lingering around the area, but they weren’t your best friend’s family members so you didn’t mind. You sat on one of the wooden stools and filled a bucket with water from the faucet. It was room temperature, but in comparison to the hot spring, it felt ice cold. You washed your body as quickly as you could and then dried yourself off with a clean towel.

Jisung had finished first, and he handed you your clothes as soon as you were done showering.

“Thanks.”

“I can be a nice boyfriend sometimes.”

You realized that he used the term boyfriend instead of best friend in case anyone was listening in.

You rolled your eyes as you pulled your t-shirt on. “Key word: sometimes.”

“Is that Minho’s shirt?” he asked suddenly.

Fuck. You’d forgotten that you were still wearing Minho’s shirt.

“Oh yeah, it is. It was really dark this morning when I was getting dressed and I accidentally grabbed it from the laundry pile.”

“Did he notice?”

“Yeah, he didn’t care.”

“Yours now, I guess.”

“I’m not going to keep it,” you hissed. “I was just too lazy to change.”

“I don’t think he’d care if you kept it,” Jisung insisted.

“You shoplifted once and now you’re a klepto.”

“That was over a year ago and it was only because Reagan talked me into it, and you know it,” he argued. “You remember how I showed up at your apartment sobbing afterward, right?”

“How could I forget?”

“I rest my case.”

“All I’m saying is that after dating her you developed some sticky fingers,” you pushed.

He clenched his jaw. “For the last time, I’m not the one who took your TI84!”

“That shit was eighty bucks!”

“I wasn’t even taking math classes that semester! I’m pretty sure you left it in Dr. Clayton’s classroom.”

“One of these days I’ll prove it was you-”

“If you two are finished,” Felix’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Dad’s been complaining about being late for our dinner reservation for like ten minutes.”

“I didn’t even know we had a reservation,” Jisung sighed.

“Neither did I,” his brother muttered. You could tell he was annoyed about it, but was trying to come off as unphased. “But apparently we’re late for it.”

You finished shaking out your wet hair and tossed the towel and yuami-gi into the basket with the rest of the used linens.

Dinner was at a small sushi bar in the heart of Beppu. You felt underdressed for the intimate atmosphere of the restaurant, but all of the other diners were wearing the same things as you so you figured it must be fine. You let Jisung order for you. He knew way more about food than you ever would and had taken a course on sushi a few years ago. If it were up to you, you’d probably end up accidentally ordering something that would send you to the hospital.

Being allergic to seafood made ordering sushi difficult, but not impossible. Whenever you went out for sushi with Jisung he’d usually order for the both of you anyway and then you would share whatever it was that he chose.

“Was the onsen everything you thought it would be, Lix?” Dom asked after the server had disappeared into the kitchen with your orders.

“It was really nice,” he replied. “Pretty relaxing. I wanted to take pictures, but I didn’t want to be creepy and take pictures of a bunch of naked people, you know?”

“I think that’s for the best,” his mother agreed.

“What did you lot think?” Dom continued, turning to you, Minho, and Jisung.

“I’d go back,” Minho said thoughtfully. “I bet it’d be killer after a workout or something.”

“Maybe you can go for a run tomorrow and then go back and test it out.”

“A run? Absolutely not. I’m on vacation.”

“Training is going to be a bitch when you get back,” Dominic warned.

“Training for what?” you asked curiously, actually contributing to the conversation during family dinner for once.

“Oh, it’s kind of a secret,” Minho mumbled, suddenly very interested in his miso soup.

“Well, she’s dating Jisung,” Nikki reasoned, “I think we can trust her.”

“But I don’t know her,” he said lowly. “It’s nothing personal, I just can’t be too careful.”

Your cheeks and throat burned with embarrassment and you averted your eyes when Minho looked over to you. You could feel his gaze on you, you could picture his stupidly apologetic expression. You knew you’d fall for it if you looked back up. You stared into your bowl of soup, swallowing your pride and wishing you’d never said anything at all.

“It sounded personal to me,” Jisung growled.

“Ji,” you whispered as you pulled on his sleeve. You were already humiliated enough. You didn’t need him to escalate it. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” Minho insisted. “It’s just business.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of mine,” you agreed, still avoiding eye contact.

“Y/n’s family,” Jisung argued, “how’s it any different from-”

“Jisung,” you tried again, “I’m serious. It’s not a big deal.”

Your best friend sighed, but relented, sipping from his glass of water instead. He was still glaring at his older brother from across the table and you wished everyone would just forget you’d mentioned it.

The server reapproached your table with a tray of what looked like a pitcher of water and six small glasses. You were confused because you had already been served water as soon as you sat down, but then the server explained that it was actually sake in the pitcher and it suddenly clicked. He left the tray at the end of the table and then disappeared again.

Jisung’s dad began passing out the glasses and offered one to you by means of holding out a cup and raising his eyebrows at you.

You thought about it for a moment, and then politely declined, bits and pieces from the night you drank last flashing before your eyes. Jisung still didn’t know Minho had kissed you, or that you had reciprocated. You didn’t know if you wanted to risk making the same mistakes you had back in Italy.

Jisung gave you a shocked look.

“What?”

“I’ve never known you to turn down a drink, is all,” he explained. “Especially a free one, at that.”

“You make me sound like an alcoholic,” you hissed in embarrassment.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You pursed your lips together lightly and then accepted the cup from Dom, letting him pour the sake into it.

“You don’t have to drink it,” he assured you lightheartedly. “Don’t let my son peer pressure you into anything.”

“I’ll just have one glass. I’ve never tried sake before.”

“I think you’d like it,” Minho added thoughtfully.

For someone who had claimed not to know anything about you mere minutes ago, he sure was acting like he did now.

“It’s sweet.”

You ignored him and brought the cup up to your nose, sniffing the contents. The scent was floral, hints of citrus mixed among the unmistakable aroma of alcohol.

“What is it?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound like an idiot for not knowing.

“It’s like wine,” Felix supplied. “Sake is technically a type of rice wine.”

“Oh, ok.”

You felt like the entire Han family was watching you as you took your first sip.

Minho was right. It was sweet, and it went down surprisingly smoothly. The aftertaste still burned in your throat, but nowhere near as harshly as hard liquor did.

As an experienced college student, you were pretty well-versed in your tolerance of different types of alcohol. And while you were a bit of a lightweight, you could handle wine pretty well. You figured you could have another glass or two with dinner and be fine.

You weren’t sure what the etiquette for drinking sake was, but you downed the rest of your glass on your second sip, wincing as you swallowed.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Jisung pressed eagerly.

“It’s good!” you answered genuinely. “A lot better than the shitty stuff we used to drink back at home.”

He nodded in agreement. “Americans have the worst-tasting alcohol.”

“But it’s cheap.”

“It is cheap, I can’t argue with that. We used to get fifty-cent tequila shots on Wednesdays at this sports bar down the street from her apartment. I didn’t even recognize the brand name, but no one really cared about the quality as long as it was practically free.”

That same bar would also give girls free shots of top-shelf vodka on any weeknight if they flashed the bartenders their tits, something you’d admittedly done more than once, but you didn’t think it was appropriate to bring up in a conversation with your boyfriend’s parents.

“They had to stop doing that though,” Jisung continued with a sigh, “too many kids ended up in the E.R..”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you said, patting Jisung on the back.

Dom leaned back in his chair and grinned. “All good things must come to an end, no?”

“I don’t know if I’d call that a good thing,” Felix pointed out.

“Yeah, that sounds like a bad thing, actually,” Minho mumbled. “Alcohol poisoning waiting to happen.”

Before either of you could respond, your meals arrived and cut the conversation short. Jisung had ordered a veggie roll and plate of steak nigiri for you to share while everyone else at the table had an assortment of fish and shellfish in front of them. Guilt twisted in your chest even though you knew you couldn’t help having a goddamn food allergy.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has real sushi.”

Jisung quirked an eyebrow. “This is real sushi.”

“No, but like, you know…” you trailed off and Jisung followed your gaze over to his brother’s plate. “It’s just, we’re in Japan and you’re a culinary major-”

“I’ll just steal some sashimi from my mom or my brothers, babe. I’m not missing out on anything, I promise. We’re in Japan for a few more days too. If I want to try another kind of sushi we have plenty of time for that.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Of course it does, because I’m a genius.”

“And so humble too.”

“I know, right?”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bottle of soy sauce from the middle of the table, pouring it into the tiny porcelain dishes in front of you and Jisung. You resisted the urge to mix wasabi in with the soy sauce because you knew Jisung would scold you for it, not to mention the entirely likely possibility of the entire restaurant judging you for the same reason.

Instead, you used your chopsticks to pick up a piece of sushi and dipped it into the wasabi and then the soy sauce separately.

“Do you want some more sake, baby?” Jisung asked, noticing your empty glass.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you accused quietly instead of giving a real answer.

“If I was, I’d know it’d take you a lot more than two drinks to get you there,” he shot back. “Especially on a full stomach.”

You shoved him. “Fuck you.”

“What? It’s the truth! Do you want more or not?”

“Sure, hit me.”

After dinner, Dom paid the bill and then he and Nikki bid the four of you goodnight before parting ways for the evening like they usually did. They were going to walk back to the hotel while Felix dragged the rest of you out to a club on the other side of the city.

Minho hailed a cab and gave the driver the address. He gave Minho a strange look when he realized where you were going, but didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if it was because he could tell you didn’t speak Japanese, or just didn’t think it was his place, or maybe a little bit of both. Regardless, he simply turned on the radio and started driving.

You were squished in the middle seat in between Jisung and Felix because they were both taller than you and needed the legroom, but it was still uncomfortable for you nonetheless and you hoped the ride wouldn’t be too long.

Oita was a much quieter prefecture than Tokyo. There weren’t many cars on the street despite it being just after eight, and pedestrians were few and far between. You wondered if the place Felix wanted to go to was even open, considering the fact that most of the businesses you were passing were already dark for the night.

But soon enough you got your answer when the taxi dropped you off in front of the building. It was the only illuminated establishment on the whole block. Bright neon signs of various colors flashed above the entrance, advertising the club to whoever might be in the area. There was a queue of patrons lined up outside with a bouncer at the front admitting them in one at a time.

Minho paid the driver and thanked him before following Felix to the back of the line with you and Jisung in tow.

“What kind of club did you say this was?” Jisung asked, slipping one hand into the pocket of his jeans and wrapping his other arm around your shoulders.

The line was moving fast, which was a relief because you were starting to get cold. It was summer, and the temperature hadn’t dropped much since the sun went down, but the breeze from the bay was enough to get you to shiver.

“I didn’t,” Felix replied. “But it’s just a regular club with music and dancing I think.”

Your group was next in line and the bouncer asked for your IDs immediately in English, having no faith in your Japanese proficiency- which he was fully in the right to do. The four of you presented your licenses and waited patiently as he inspected them under the blacklight.

This part of going out always made you anxious. You were of age and your ID was real, but you still always got nervous that security wouldn’t buy it and confiscate it or call the cops on you. And every time you were successfully admitted into a bar you felt like you had gotten away with a crime, even though what you were doing was perfectly legal.

The bouncer paused on Minho’s ID and you wondered if he recognized him. Minho seemed to wonder the same thing because he shifted on his heels nervously and cleared his throat inconspicuously, distracting the man.

“Cover’s two thousand yen each,” he said, handing the stack of cards back.

Minho put his license back in his wallet and then immediately handed over a wad of cash to pay for all four of you before you could protest.

You each got a paper wristband and were then shown inside. You trailed behind Jisung down a dark hallway to where a woman at a check-in desk informed you that you could seat yourselves wherever you’d like and that happy hour was about the end if you wanted to visit the bar first.

You thanked her and made your way past the desk to where the hallway opened up into the heart of the club. The entire room was doused in purple light and it was packed with people who all had their attention focused on a stage at the front of the room. The four of you stopped in your tracks when you saw the stage. And the poles. It was immediately evident that this was not just a “regular club”.

Dancers made their way through the crowd, collecting tips from the guests. Most of them were topless, but a few wore pasties or lingerie one-pieces that left little to the imagination anyway. You watched in awe as they finished circling the room and returned to the stage, blowing kisses to the audience while they prepared for their next number.

Next to you, Jisung and Minho were glaring at their brother.

“What?” He held his hands up defensively, having to yell over the music to be heard. “I didn’t know!”

“Sure you didn’t,” Minho scoffed.

“I didn’t! You think I would’ve brought you guys here on purpose?”

“How would you not know that the club you’re going to is a strip club?” Jisung demanded.

“I’m just as confused as you are, I swear,” Felix insisted. “I read reviews online and everything! No one said anything about strippers!”

“I think they prefer to be called exotic dancers,” you corrected, still watching the performance.

“Babe, I love you, but you’re not helping right now,” Jisung said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What should we do then?” Minho asked.

“We can go to a different club,” Felix suggested. “Or a bar. There’s a bunch in this area.”

“No, I want to stay,” you assured them, perhaps a little too quickly, not even bothering to turn away from the stage.

Jisung crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a knowing smirk. “Well, looks like the two of us are gonna stay. You guys can do whatever.”

Minho and Felix traded looks with each other. Minho shrugged.

“I mean, we’re already here, aren’t we?”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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