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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 4 years ago

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Fic: What We Don't Know Can't Hurt Us

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Librarian!Reader (cishet female) meet-cute

Warnings: No warnings really, some language and mention of masturbation and sex. Reader doesn't like kids. Yearning. Frankie is a TOTAL DILF SWEETHEART. Sad ending.

Summary: Reader is a librarian who has to temp at the kids' section desk from time to time which is a pain because she doesn't like kids. And who is a regular if not a very hot, scruffy-looking dad with the very polite and mild-mannered daughter? Sparks fly but some things maybe aren't meant to be.

Words: 5,155

a/n: Just to be clear, this one doesn't end well. I just wanted to write something sad, I guess.

Oh, shit, there he is again. The Hot Dad.

You straighten a little in your chair and once again curse the fact that you’re working in the children’s section at the library: the only desk that isn’t adjustable. You prefer to do your service desk duties standing up, not only for ergonomic reasons but because you hate how patrons look down on you – literally – when you’re seated by the desk. Also, you tend to slouch and it’s not an attractive look. And at the kids’ section, you’re all supposed to work on the same level as the little tykes. And you’re not particularly keen on those.

You are, however, keen on hot dads. God knows you only get them once in a blue moon and if they show up, it’s usually in tow of a whole clan of children and a wife. But this dad has been in once before when you’ve had desk duty and you saw him stop at the shelf for picture books about divorce and pick out a few. You also heard him tell his little girl that she shouldn’t bring the books she chose to her mom’s. Divorcee, so fantasizing was even more allowed – although he probably had a girlfriend. Guys like that always do.

“You don’t want to lose them, sweetie,” he had explained patiently to his daughter. “You can keep them in your room at my place but if you take them to your mom’s there’s a risk you lose them and that means I have to pay for them. You see, we’re only borrowing these books, that’s what you do in a library.”

You had smiled an inwards smile when listening to him. There was nothing you loved more than parents who actually seemed to understand that all the material in the library was free at one simple condition: return it in time, in the same condition as you borrowed it. A lot of people did not seem to grasp this and made a huge deal when they failed to meet these conditions and were faced with late fees or even had to compensate for lost books. But when parents who knew how to use a library include their offspring, explain how it all works for them, well, that’s how you foster a new generation of good library patrons.

This dad did just that. And he was very careful with the books, prompting his daughter to be the same. Every book she pulled out of the stacks, he helped her put back in the right place. That’s practically marriage material right there and it was enough to make you weak at the knees, to be honest. After almost ten years working in a public library, you were disillusioned about people in general and their intelligence in particular. Sure, you liked your job enough to not cry in the mornings when you had to leave bed, and you did enjoy the work itself (mostly), but… having to deal with people was exhausting. Having to deal with little people even more so, and the worst was having to deal with adult people who had little people with them. Parents.

Hence your absolute obsession with Hot Dad who was soft-spoken, really good with his kid, understood to appreciate the library and its services, nodded his hello to you when passing by the desk, didn’t make a mess, clearly read to his kid regularly and encouraged her to read for herself. You just didn’t get to see people like that so often, and it triggered your interest. You allowed yourself to daydream about him.

Francisco Morales. You remember his name from his last visit, when he and the kid came up to the desk with their haul. You always encouraged patrons to use the self-service check-out (the less you had to do deal with them, the better), but for this guy you were more than willing to go the extra service mile, even with the kid staring at your every move from across the desk as you registered all the loans. You silently gave her plus points for not trying to “help” like some kids did, and for the quiet but clear Thank you she gave you without prompting from her father.

You’re busying yourself with the returns, loading them onto a cart, when you hear a soft, deep voice go Excuse me behind your back. You twirl around and see Morales, pulling his baseball cap off his head to reveal curls that would make any hair model cry of envy.

“Sorry to bother you,” he offers. Take me now, you think to yourself but instead, you give him your brightest customer service smile, the one you rarely give patrons.

“No worries, how can I help?”

“We’re looking for picture books about farm animals. You don’t happen to have those separated? I noticed you have some subject areas separated.” He gestures back towards the picture book stacks where his daughter is quietly perusing.

“We don’t, but I think we have some Julia Donaldsons available, let me come and have a look.”

You don’t always offer. With most patrons, you’d tell them to look under D for Donaldson and then smile sweetly and ask them if they’re okay to do it themselves. You can’t do everything for everyone, that way they’ll never learn. But for Francisco Morales and his well-behaved little girl, you’re absolutely willing to make an exception.

There are some Donaldsons that the girl, whose name you learn is Sofia, eagerly accepts when you present her with them.

“I love fawm animals,” she sighs happily as she browses the first one. “Do you?”

“Who doesn’t love animals?” You make the effort to small talk although communicating with kids usually makes you awkward.

“What’s youw favowite? Mine is bunny. And howses. And lambs.”

“Goats! I love goats, they’re so cute and sweet and playful.” You almost add something about goats being the devil’s favorite animal as well but manage to stop yourself in time.

“Is there something else you want to ask the librarian?” Morales asks his daughter. “If not, I’m sure she has a lot of work to do, and we shouldn’t keep her any longer.”

“I’m here to help,” you shrug and give him a little smile: not a polite, impersonal one that you’d give a patron, but a more intimate one. A flirty smile. “You just need to ask.”

The smile he gives you back is warm and grateful, and you realize that he doesn’t have different facial expressions for different people. He doesn’t work in customer service because if he did, he’d know the difference. Not that you ever thought he worked in retail or anything like that, well, maybe a hardware store, but no. He just doesn’t seem like the type. The way he moves his body suggests something a lot more physical.

Oh, you’d like to get physical with him, alright…

All the sucky library-themed pick-up lines flash through your head. Can I check you out as an overnight loan? Can I insert my private collection into your empty stacks? My reference desk or yours? Am I being too loud, well, you’ll just have to shush me with your lips. You’re like an overdue library book because you have fine written all over you.

Worst part is, if Hot Dad Morales tried any of these on you, you’d probably forgive him and go for it. Maybe. You’re really not that simple, but a girl can dream, right?

The kid thanks you and you return to the relative safety of the desk and the mundane task of alphabetizing returns. You need to calm the fuck down and act professional. Daydreaming is fine but you’re barely toeing the line.

God, you need to get laid. As if that’s something that one can remedy just by walking into a store and ordering a medium dick with a side of hands and tongue.

📚📚📚

The next time you see Francisco and Sofia Morales, you’re taking your lunch break in the small park outside the library. It’s a sunny day and you didn’t fancy sitting in the breakroom with your salad, listening to colleagues talking about who cares what. So you took your lunch box, fork, and water bottle, and went to sit on the park bench the furthest away from the swing set and sandbox. The weather is nice and you enjoy yourself and your break from the library’s chat service. You never know what you’re gonna get when you work the chat: a stupid question about opening hours which anyone could google the answer to, or something more complicated like requests for books with partial or no titles, rarities, or subject areas that you don’t know much about. That’s when you get to use your whole competence and really dig deep, think outside the box, solve problems. You love it but it’s challenging at times, and takes a lot of energy. Your outdoor break is welcome.

“Hi!”

You hadn’t noticed the girl walking up to you and the greeting startles you.

“Oh, hi.”

“We’we wetuwning the animal books,” Sofia informs you seriously. You have to smile.

“Good job. You want more of those or something else this time?”

“Mowe. Will you help me find some?”

“I’m not working the desk at the children’s section today but my colleague there will absolutely help you. Just ask her.”

Now you see Morales walking towards you from the swing set, carrying the large, flowery canvas tote that says “book bag” he always brings to the library.

“Hello,” he nods with that warm smile that he definitely gives everyone. “Sofia, don’t disturb the lady on her break. I’m sure she wants some peace and quiet before she has to go back to work.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How does this man just know shit like this?

“I’m sowwy,” Sofia immediately offers. “I wanted to say hello.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” you allow, although technically, he’s not wrong. “I’m almost done. It was nice to see you. I hope you have a good visit to the library.”

“Thank you!” She skips along and Morales chuckles as he takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head, swipes his long locks out of his forehead, then puts the hat back on.

“You’re her favorite, you know,” he tells you. When you raise your eyebrow, not comprehending, he hurries to elaborate. “Of the librarians. She says you’re the best.”

“Thank you, but whatever for?” You know you do a good enough job at your usual position and that your regulars appreciate you, but you are also very aware of not being at your finest in the kids’ section.

“You have to ask her,” Morales grins as he looks out for his kid, who has returned to the swing set and is pumping her legs on the swing, brows knitted in concentration. “But she’s very taken with you. I think it’s because you’re very calm and focused with her.”

Calm and focused??? You almost laugh out loud. That’s everything you’re not when you’re at the kids’ desk.

“Thanks,” you manage, because you have to say something.

“She’s also really interested in your tattoos and I definitely think she wants to get her nose pierced now,” Morales goes on. “I told her that we don’t comment on people’s appearance, but just a heads up, she might ask you about those.”

Ah, the unpredictability of children.

“I appreciate it.” You really do. You don’t mind talking about your tattoos or the septum ring you have but if a kid suddenly asks about it, you’d rather be prepared.

“Anyway, sorry to intrude on your lunch.”

“No worries,” you reassure him. “You can… sit down for a while if you want to? I have ten minutes left.”

Your heart beats faster at your proposal. It’s not exactly appropriate but you just want to enjoy his company for a moment. And discreetly sniff him because he smells so fucking good, woodsy and smokey but with a hint of… vanilla? You’re terrible at recognizing smells but it reminds you of some aroma reeds you had a couple of years ago that smelled like a wood cabin with vanilla sugar spilled on the floor. You loved it but like everything you love, it was discontinued.

Morales looks over at his daughter before nodding, the book bag slipping down from his shoulder as he places it next to the bench.

“If you’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

He likes your straightforward answer, you can tell from how his eyes crinkle a little and how relaxed his body language is when he sits down.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, like he just remembered that introductions are a normal part of human interaction. He extends his right hand to you and as you accept it and tell him your name, you can’t help but marvel at how huge his hand is. Big, warm, slightly damp but not in a weird way.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie.” Frankie. Francisco Morales is Frankie. It suits him better than Francisco, to be honest.

“And that’s Sofia.” He points to the girl who seems content swinging by herself. You realize you’re expected to say something nice about her to the proud dad.

“She seems sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome. And she loves coming to the library, it’s all she talks about when I have her.” He clears his throat and adds: “Her mother and I got divorced quite recently. I only get her five days every other week.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Shit, it’s divorce and custody talk from the start. You have no idea how to respond to that.

“That’s life,” he shrugs, “but I figured that going to the library every time I get her could be a good routine to ground her. And then we have books that we can read together for her entire stay.”

It’s definitely a good routine as far as you can tell.

“When I was between nine and thirteen years old, my dad would take me to the local library every Monday evening,” you tell him, smiling at the memory. “My dad never opened a book in his life but he patiently read the auto and tech magazines while I collected half the kids’ section with me. When I went to tell him that I was done, he always pretended to object to the amounts, but then he’d help me carry it all to the car.”

As you tell him this, you’re looking at him, no, staring at the patchy, grey-splashed beard he’s sporting. It’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. What’s the story there, why doesn’t it grow evenly? Is this a thing? You don’t have enough experience in the field of facial hair. Is it genetic? Is it always like this?

He keeps looking at his daughter as he listens to you with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying your little anecdote.

“That’s lovely,” he says, turning his attention back to you when you’re finished. “Dads and daughters, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You pick up your phone to check the time. Shit. You have to return to the chat.

“I gotta go. Lunch break’s over.”

You collect your things and stand up, brushing off your skirt. Frankie stands up as well and picks up the book bag.

“I’ll see you in there?”

“I’m not a the desk today.”

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, his eyes flickering from you to the ground. “That’s too bad.”

“And the kids' section isn't my primary department.”

“The bad news just keep on coming, don't they,” he jokes as the two of you start to walk towards the entrance. Sofia jumps from the swing and comes running.

“She's not at the desk today, daddy,” she tells Frankie precociously.

“I know, mija. We'll have to ask someone else about the animal books, okay?”

Sofia doesn't seem too happy with this solution but nods. You take your leave before she has the opportunity to ask about your body modifications, and disappear through a door marked “Staff Only”.

📚📚📚

The following weeks you seem to see Frankie everywhere. You run into him at the supermarket and get drafted into advicing him on what cereal to buy for his kid. “Something healthy, but good so she'll actually eat it.” How the hell should I know? you want to scoff, but you're simping for him enough to help him choose something you'd never in a thousand years touch yourself. You see him in town one afternoon when you're running errands and he suggests you grab a coffee - holy hell, in your book that's a fucking date - but you decline as kindly as you can, citing a busy schedule when in fact you're mostly just scared out of your mind. The daydream is becoming a little too real and you're absolutely not ready for that, especially not because of the kid. If it wasn't for Sofia, you could have dared the leap, but dating a guy relatively fresh out of a marriage, and with a kid to boot? No, that's asking for trouble and you don't want trouble.

One afternoon at the kids' desk, you once again get to help Sofia find books, this time on sharks.

“She went from farm animals to sharks in one week,” Frankie confides in you when the girl is sitting quietly in a reading nook, carefully studying every page and occasionally widening her eyes at what you suspect is pictures of shark teeth. “It's sharks this and sharks that. She asks if there are sharks in every body of water she sees, from the pond in the park to the ditch outside my parents' house.”

“Have her watch Jaws and she will never want to think about sharks ever again,” you suggest, earning a laugh although the idea was probably a little bit on the morbid side.

“Maybe, but that would probably scar her for life. I actually want her to learn how to swim.”

“Then best not.”

You pick up a couple of books someone else left behind on a table and make a gesture that says I have to re-shelve these, come with and Frankie follows you to the right shelf.

“You know, she talks about you as her friend at the library.”

Now, some people would find that adorable but you don't. You're not friends with this kid, you're in a position where you could possibly influence her keenness to literature and literacy but you will always risk critique from her guardians. Being a children's librarian is like a hybrid between being in customer service, and being a teacher. You get to form young malleable minds but you are always subjected to criticism, even when you've done nothing wrong. Kids are patrons, like adults, and to have them see you as friends is only going to complicate things.

“That's nice,” you reply carefully, not really sure what else to say. It's so hard to talk to parents sometimes, one wrong words and you're basically Satan, you can't know because you don't have kids yourself, how dare you not worship the ground my offspring just vomited all over?

“You're definitely her favorite librarian.”

That you can take. You have a couple of adult patrons who come in regularly and prefer to get their reading recommendations from you. They always have time to discuss literature and they bring you a box of chocolates for Christmas.

“Well, she's easy to help. She always knows what she wants and she's polite. And quite easy to please,” you smile, meaning every word. You don't mention that the only time you like kids is when they're like Sofia is right now: reading quietly in a corner, handling the books with care.

“You're my favorite librarian as well,” Frankie adds, and now that sweet smile he's always wearing when you see him is shy. There's definitely a red tinge on his cheekbones as well and it makes you want to lean forward and kiss him on his goddamn mouth with that goddamn full lower lip that he sometimes sucks into his mouth or fucking licks...

“How many librarians do you know?” you ask and manage to sound easy-going, or at least you think so. The laugh Frankie produces is low and rolling and it makes your stomach coil in on itself. Fuck him and that deep voice he rode in on!

“Got me there. It's basically you and Mrs Wilkerson, the school librarian who scared the shit out of me when I was in elementary school. She made sure I didn't step foot in a library until, well, now.”

“Oh, I so wanted to be a librarian like that when I was a kid!” You grin at Frankie's horrified expression. “No, no, hear me out! I always had this idea that those librarians led these super rich, fulfilling lives as night-time vigilantes or that they were actually millionaires who spent their free time floating around in pools with fancy drinks in hand.”

“Were you... a normal child, besides these illusions?” Frankie teases you and before you can stop yourself, you're slapping his arm playfully. Like a girlfriend would. Or someone more intimate than a Favorite Librarian, at any rate.

“I'll have you know that the voices in my head are saying that we had a very normal and healthy childhood,” you reply with as much dignity as you can muster, while desperately wishing for the phone to ring or another patron to ask for your help. But no, the ones present seem to be managing on their own - except for one mom who seemed to have overheard your joke because she is now staring at you with hesitation in her eyes.

It's Sofia who comes to your rescue with her request of being taken to the bathroom. By the time she and Frankie are done there, your colleague has come to relieve you of your duties at the children's section.

📚📚📚

You knew of course that it was coming. You may not be that experienced in the terms of dating and relationships but you weren't stupid and you had some experience: Frankie was going to ask you out. It had to happen. Technically, it had already happened that afternoon in town when he asked you out for coffee. He maybe didn't see it as a date, but you certainly did.

It happened when you had just started your shift in the children's section and it was a fucking mess. A class of kindergarteners had just left and the teachers hadn't bothered to keep them in check, so there were not only books on every available surface, they were also put in the wrong way and in the wrong places. Your colleague who you were relieving stayed behind to help you, feeling too bad to leave it all to you.

That's when Daddy and Daughter Morales showed up. You weren't really happy about the existence of kids in the first place but made an effort for Sofia, who brought you a drawing she had made in preschool that day. It featured some figures in green, slightly reminiscent of animals and one human but you wouldn't be able to tell. Luckily, Frankie explained it to you.

“She's waited all day to give you this drawing of you with goats.”

“Wow,” you manage. “Thank you, Sofia, this was so kind of you.”

The girl is beaming with pride. “Will you put it on the wall?”

“Super probably!”

“I can see you're busy,” Frankie notes and ushers Sofia along. “We won't distract you. Come on, honey, let her do her job now and maybe you'll get to talk to her later.”

You nod your thanks and focus on cleaning up the entire department before you colleague leaves and Frankie and Sofia come to the desk to borrow this week' picks. Sofia seems uncharacteristically giddy.

“Do you want to come with us to the awbowetum?” she asks with a wide, expectant smile. Fuck shit ass hell.

“We're going on Saturday,” Frankie fills in, “and we were both hoping you'd want to join?”

Saturday. Thank goodness.

“Sorry, I work on Saturday,” you say, trying to sound rueful. It's true and you're relieved about not having to lie. “But thanks, it's sweet of you to ask.”

Sofia is clearly disappointed and so is Frankie, but he masks it better.

“Some other time, yeah?”

If it were only him, you'd tell him it wasn't a good idea. But you can't say that with the kid right in front of you. You may not like kids but that doesn't mean you want to scar them for life.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You loan them the books and as they leave, Sofia waves happily at you and Frankie shoots you one last smile that makes you press your thighs together in your seat.

Come Saturday, you're by your usual desk in the section for adult fiction and you almost fall off your chair when you see Frankie come up the stairs and straight up to the desk.

“Hi.” He's had a haircut and a shave and looks different. Still good, but very different. The dark locks of his hair are more tamed. The mustache is still there but you miss the patchy beard.

“Um, hi? Where's Sofia?”

“In the car, with a friend. We're going to the arboretum.”

“Right. I hope you have a good time, the arboretum's lovely.” You still don't understand what he's doing here and he seems to have some difficulty in telling you. Moving his weight from one foot to the other, he scratches his neck and looks down - why does he have to be so freaking cute? - before looking up at you.

“About that... I wanted to apologize. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to ask you to come with, but Sofia was so persistent. She likes you so much. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry.”

“That's alright,” you brush it off because there's not really anything else you can say. “Don't think about it, just go have a good day.”

“I also wanted to ask if you wanted to go grab a drink with me. Just me. Maybe next week when Sofia's at her mother's.”

Fuck, there it is. His hopeful face makes you hate yourself for the answer you have to give.

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Frankie,” you begin carefully. “I'm really flattered, but you're... recently divorced with a kid. That's a lot of baggage and things could get complicated. I don't want to get caught up in that.”

You've practiced this speech at home but it still breaks your fucking heart because Frankie is so good-looking, kind, funny, and sweet. You would've asked him out yourself already if it wasn't for the baggage. Fuck, you masturbate to the thought of him, for crying out loud! You imagine what it would be like to be with him, to make dinner together and watch movies and go to bed and wake up in each other's arms. You think about sex with him a lot. You make an effort with your appearance those days you know he'll show up at the library, you don't even mind the kids' section that much anymore because you get to talk to him.

You are fucking in love with him, or at least the idea of him because you don't know much about him, only that he used to be a pilot in the special forces but now he trains new pilots, he has best friends who are like uncles to Sofia (and who have been asking about this mystery librarian she always keeps talking about), he likes cooking and loves baking with his daughter, he hates working out but knows he should take better care of himself, hell, you even know what brand of milk he buys.

He's clearly disappointed but keeps a brave face, one that you can see right through because he wears his heart on his sleeve.

“I understand that,” he says quietly, mildly. “I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you.”

Jesus fucking Christ can this man not???

“No, don't worry. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answer you wanted. It's just... not a good time.”

Shit. You shouldn't have said that. Now he might think it could be a better time later.

Frankie nods and smiles sadly. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He clears his throat and nods. “I better be going. You have a good weekend now.”

“You too.”

He shoots you one final smile before he turns around and leaves. As you watch him go down the stairs to the exit level, you just want to call his name, do your run through the airport and hurry after him, throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, Jesus, imagine that somewhere there's someone who'll get to kiss him some day, tell him that you made a huge mistake and you want to go out with him, you want to have drinks with him and dinner and breakfast and lunch for the rest of your lives because nothing would make you happier than making him happy. You want to be the reason his eyes crinkle and his cheek displays that little dimple that makes you lose your train of thought every time you see it.

But it's not for you. People with kids need to prioritize their kids and you know that you can't be anyone's number two. You don't want to get caught up in custody disputes, you don't want to be "your father's new slut", you don't want to be anyone's stepmom. You don't want to have to spend five days a week in the same house as a five-year-old. Being in a relationship is difficult enough as it is and if you can make choices that avoid some of the problems, you're going to make them, no matter how much it hurts.

And it hurts. A lot. But so much in life hurts and you've made it through before.

He must already be out the door, probably in the car. Does he say something about this to his daughter and friend? Is it a female friend? No, it must be one of his army buddies, probably one of the brothers.

You pull up Frankie's profile in the library database and see his phone number. You could call him anytime. Or send a text. Keep talking to him, flirting.

Shit. It's a bad idea.

A patron approaches the desk and you force yourself to look mild and service-minded.

“Hi, do you have Hate To Want You by someone called... Ray, I think?”

“Please hold a moment, I'll check.” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape you and hope that the day will be busy so you won't have time to think about Francisco Morales again.

#my fic #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

Note

Given your love for the character, have you read Arkham Asylum: Penguin? I think it's one of those great stories, that has done more harm than good to the character in the long run.

Hmm, yeah, definitely got thoughts on that one.

It's not a stretch to say that Joker's Asylum: Penguin has been the one Penguin story that's most heavily shaped every other story told with him since, for better or worse and, sadly, for the worse. It's the one with the really famous moment where it describes how he ruined a chef's life so throughly that he commited suicide just because the chef happened to laugh within earshot ruining a romantic moment for Penguin, and it's this moment that really got kicked around as some kind of revelation, to people who went "oh shit, Penguin is scary, I can finally take him seriously now".

It's also something that showed up prominently in Penguin: Pain and Prejudice, which is a comic I have really mixed feelings on and tend to like a little less with time, and it's also led to some really, really ugly scenes in other stories. Nowadays, "completely ruining people's lives over incredibly minor slights" is Penguin's "thing", the thing that usually allows him to see any serious usage as a villain at all. I hate it, obviously, I hate how unimaginative it is that, despite everything he's always had going for him as a character, this is the only thing that writers can think of to make him "serious", along with making him a diet Kingpin. Throwing their hands up and giving up on making him work as a supervillain so he's just going to be a crimelord who dresses fancy and occasionally does really horrible things, really no different from a Rupert Thorne or Sal Maroni or any of Batman's regular gangster villains who only exist to showcase how superior the supervillains are by comparison.

The two things I hate the most about this story are not that though, because for what it's worth I do think this story had the right idea in showcasing not just how petty this is (to the point Penguin keeps a detailed journal of all the lives he's ruined) but also how it ruins his chance at building a relationship when she finds out. Unlike other stories that just use it for shock value or even as just "wow scary" moments, in Joker's Asylum it was a substantial part of the story so I'll grand it that.

No, the two things I hate most are, respectively, the scene where we learn Oswald as a kid murdered all his birds with a baseball bat, which is completely fucking stupid and painfully out of character and thankfully it's never been brought up again, and the end, where it's revealed that Penguin ended up selling the trafficked girl he was trying to date back into sexual slavery, caging her right where he rescued her, which isn't really ill-fitting for the story's central idea (that Oswald is a vile monster no better than anyone who's ever tormented him, who will always ruin the things he tries to love), but it's just, such an disgustingly vile thing that it kinda just ruins the character's likeability (not that the story affords him any) without offering anything truly substantial in return other than I guess a slap in the face for you expecting an evil man to be anything better? Is that really it? I get that this kind of thing has it's place but I grow so weary of fiction that tries to tack on realism and "real" evil and ends up just tiresomely reminding us of the misery of reality, that treats the act of showing you how it really is like it's something impressive and profound and not just an exercise in futility.

It's just a big example of a trend in comics where villains who are silly or otherwise have reputations for being silly are forced to pivot into sadistic baby-murderers. Not that I mind Oswald being horrible and vicious to contrast his goofy appearence, but again, balance. Penguin in particular's suffered from this in the 70s when he and Riddler sort of became the sacrificial lambs to appease Batman fans insecurity towards the Adam West show, and every now and then it crops up again.

I actually think it could be better if Penguin was a rare example of a supervillain who actively avoids killing. Not because he's morally opposed to it or afraid, not in the slightest, but because it's ill-befitting a gentleman, and he's got so, so many clever ways to mess with people and ruin their lives or manipulate them into doing what he wants, that he ultimately doesn't need to kill, and it makes it that much harder for Batman to pin anything on him, because Oswald knows how to get away with everything he does legally. Not resorting to murder becomes one of the ways in which he strives to prove himself superior, and if it fails, oh well, he played it fair as long as he could, time to get the murder-brellas ready.

#replies tag #batman #the penguin

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

Text

Malaise. Yan Fugo x Reader [Implied x Giorno]

word count: 6.3k warnings: implied sexual relations, angst later on notes: i wouldn’t say there’s super heavy yandereness going on here, but given the context i figured yandere would play out a bit differently. it’s more like slight yandere if anything ...

Interacting with someone so close to your own age shouldn’t be this miserable. Bucciarati is far easier to converse with, it’s not even a close competition. He’s a pleasant conversationalist, humoring your ideas and offering valuable input. If you had it your way, you’d only be speaking to him and not… this bratty teenager who turned his nose up whenever you were around. As if your mere existence is the highest insult to his own. You’ll never forget how he looked from you to Bucciarati with a quirked eyebrow when you were introduced, the awkward encounter forever burned into your mind.

You blow a strand of hair out of your face, nose scrunching up at the current dilemma. Bucciarati had asked, more like softly nudged you, to get along better with Fugo. You’ve been trying, ever since he introduced you two that fateful day. In the back of your head, you wonder if the same task was assigned to Fugo in private. Though seeing as he’s remaining nose deep into his book, sitting as far as humanly possible from you on this couch, you doubt it. The phrase “avoid like the plague”, doesn’t even scratch the surface of Fugo’s attitude towards you. He’d sooner embrace the Bubonic Plague than you, should prior encounters be recalled.

“Was there something you needed?”

Speak of the devil. He must’ve seen fit to grace your presence with his most sacred articulation, filling the tense air with some much-needed conversation. The words aren’t malicious on a surface level, seemingly a reasonable inquiry considering you’ve been staring at him for a solid ten minutes. It’s how his voice is strained, knuckles whitening as he grips the book tighter, which gives him away. Fugo’s too easy to read at times, the same can’t be said when it comes to dealing with him. This might be the most difficult task Bucciarati ever assigned to you.

“Need isn’t the word I’d use,” you decide to ignore the not-so-subtle irritation on his features, pushing your strained luck as far as it can go. Linguistics aside, you put your cards on the table. “But, I was hoping to get to know you better.”

With the ball now on his side of the court, all you can do is wait, for whatever rebuttal Fugo decides to dish out. When Bucciarati isn’t around, Fugo’s preference is to act like you’re no more than a fly on the wall. Buzzing around his head and making it impossible to focus on anything that he does in his rare downtime. Honestly, he can’t comprehend why Bucciarati felt so desperate as to pluck you from whatever hole he found you in. You don’t even hold a candle to his own intellect, taking a naive, happy-go-lucky approach to life. Sure you’re a Stand user, and while it’s not a useless Stand, Fugo couldn’t picture you making the choices necessary in a fight to stay alive. The fact you haven’t been reduced to a bloodstain on the pavement is the only thing he finds impressive about you so far.

His eyebrow twitches at your pesky insistence, face settling into a grimace. “Am I right in assuming that if I don’t humor this pitiful attempt, you’ll continue to stare at me and disrupt my otherwise peaceful evening?”

You place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition, before nodding your head. “It looks like you’ve got a better understanding of things than I expected.”

Fugo lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. So be it. He’ll wait until you fall asleep to finish his book, mentally noting the page number and setting it by his side. The act of surrender takes you off guard. You were fully anticipating a snarky one-liner, or for him to disregard you in some other way. Instead, he looks at you with disinterest, arms crossed over his weird swiss cheese shirt. You learned never to mention your inner critiques of his fashion sense, as it once earned a plate of parmesan being narrowly dodged at Libecco. Scary stuff.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” Fugo winces at this like he heard nails on a chalkboard, “What do you like to do? Y’know, hobbies and stuff.”

It’s as good a start as any. Finding out a person’s interests unravels the essence of who they are, what they believe is worth their time and effort. Fugo gives your question an unexpected amount of thought, probably sensing you’ll call him out for a lackluster answer. Which you would, of course. For all his stubbornness, he’s gotten good at reading you. Maybe you should try shaking things up a bit to rattle him, keep him on the edge of his seat…

“Honestly, you couldn’t pick something more original…? I don’t know. I read, and I can appreciate a good movie.”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment, considering his words. A very safe, Fugo-like answer. It didn’t take a seasoned detective to assume Fugo liked to read, but the movie detail is a new bit of information that you will take full advantage of. He strikes you as the type to be snobby about his tastes in movies. Most likely only watching them if they’re popular with critics and saying the general population has no appreciation for the fine arts, too busy consuming braindead action flicks instead of true cinema. Not that you have any intention of voicing this conclusion to him, seeing as you’re trying to worm your way into a friendship.

Fugo snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back into unfortunate reality. Maybe that statement earlier this morning about you zoning out too much holds some merit. Before he can berate you as he’s taken an apparent liking to, you speak up. “That’s good and all, but I need specifics.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“With pleasure,” you lean forward, waving your hands enthusiastically to emphasize your point. You get the sense that Fugo regrets asking for clarification, but neither of you are willing to back down now. “How about this. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which would you pick?”

“Is this some kind of job interview?” Fugo murmurs to himself, massaging his temples. You shrug your shoulders and offer a bright smile, and he knows sarcasm isn’t gonna cut it. “It’d need to be something interesting… maybe The Silence of the Lambs.”

He somewhat defied your expectations, not listing some obscure black and white flick filmed on a Blackberry. Maybe you jumped the gun on your initial assessment of Fugo Pannacotta, and he isn’t as grandiloquent after all. This confrontation is going better than you ever anticipated, and you almost feel guilty for selling him too short.

That is, until he sees fit to present an unnecessary addition to his previous statement. “Was that bit of English too much for you?”

So much for that. Once an asshole, always as an asshole. Shakespeare may have said something similar, but your reimagining is far more of a pinnacle in literary achievement. You deflate back into the couch, huffing at his indignant comment. Well, might as well burst his bubble now. It may be the only bubble Fugo has that you’re capable of the aforementioned bursting, so you’re going to savor every second of it. The entire reason you’ve never mentioned this facet of yourself is that you never viewed it as imperative. Bucciarati knew, you knew, that’s all that mattered. Until Fugo decided to dig under your skin and rub salt on the wound in one fell swoop. Figures he’d do that.

“Fugo.”

“[First].”

“You know English is my first language, right?” Your voice is more of a deadpan than anything, tilting your head to the side as if it is the most logical conclusion. The hypothetical cogs in Fugo’s head begin turning. There was that time you stumbled over a Naples exclusive dish, sfogliatella, Bucciarati kindly offering the proper pronunciation after you stumbled on it. Or how you have the slightest of accents, sometimes referencing pop culture that goes beyond him. He always wondered why muttering “cazzimma” to you only earned a light reprimanding from Bucciarati, and never offended you as more common insults would. He just thought you were some type of misfortune idiot. Whoops.

Not willing to throw in the towel yet, Fugo takes a posture of defense. This is a hill he’s willing to die on, you have to be playing some kind of cheap trick. “I don’t buy it.”

“Should I start reciting the entire Star-Spangled Banner by heart, or talk about how much I love fast food and baseball? Did you think my Stand would be a bald eagle that shot out apple pie? If that’s the case, you’re fresh outta luck. I’m living in Naples for a reason.” you respond in fluent English, flexing your hypothetical muscles. Fugo recalls his English classes from years prior to roughly translate some of your words, scowling at the realization you’ve proven him wrong. By god do you wish you had your phone with you to snap a picture, print it out, frame it in every room of this apartment, make it your lock screen, and send it to Bucciarati.

You’ll settle for drinking in the moment instead, Fugo muttering curses underneath his breath. Much to your surprise, from this moment forward, Fugo earned just an ounce of respect for you. Not that it says a lot, seeing as the cup of [First] respect was drier than the Sahara desert until recent times.

It’s still a step in the right direction.

ii.

Neither of you says a word.

Coming down from your individual highs, you feel how your hair sticks to the sides of your perspiring face. Your bare chest heaving with every labored breath, Fugo in a similar state of disarray next to you. Now that it’s all said and done, you’re unable to look at him out of embarrassment. Instead, you seek solace in staring at your ceiling, thoughts scrambling to rationalize the previous events.

It all started innocent enough. The two of you had been growing closer, becoming more comfortable in each other's presence. Even Narancia, who could be notoriously poor at picking up on subtleties, could sense your connection and even pointed it out. Until Fugo told him to knock it off (in far more vulgar language), saving you the shame of saying it yourself. You felt content with the state of things with Fugo, after months of getting him to come out of his shell with you. His words were still pointed, but not full of ill will. Even when three more additions were brought to your little group, Fugo remained the person you prefer the most. It might be wishful thinking, but you think he feels the same towards you.

Tonight had been like all the ones that came before. The two of you sitting on the couch, talking about pointless endeavors. Mista and Narancia were out at the time, leaving you all on your lonesome. For such a sizable couch, you didn’t realize how close Fugo was sitting next to you. Your thighs practically touching, occasionally brushing over one another. To combat the summer heat and mediocre air conditioning in your apartment, you were wearing short shorts and a tank top. Seeing as everyone else could walk around shirtless at their discretion, no one ever made a point to call you out on the less than modest choice. Even if they felt the itching, you’d shut them up without a second thought.

Fugo found himself focusing less on the words coming out of your mouth, and more on your glossy lips. He could smell your strawberry chapstick, the choice so tempting he found it offensive. Mixed with the chocolate gelato that you stole from Mista’s “hidden” stash, Fugo was bewitched on a level that shouldn’t be possible. Your skin, slightly glistening from the summer heat, eyes full of passion as you explained why you hated pretentious movies. At a certain point, you must’ve noticed how Fugo stopped responding to your impassioned rant. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you, to feel every inch of your body.

So he did.

It was far from suave, an amateurish clashing of teeth and tongue. You let out a surprised noise at the unexpected events but melted into it. While the kiss didn’t go as smoothly as he pictured in his head, you seemed to savor every second of it. He still remembers how eagerly you responded to his every desperate touch, how you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him even closer. The scent of your floral perfume and the sweet noises that left your lips almost made him drool, prompting him to go even further. Fugo’s brain almost shut down when you lowly whispered into his ear to come to your room, bodies soon falling onto your bed in a heated embrace.

You feel sore, but it’s not so bad.

Fugo’s the first to speak up after some painstaking thought, breaking the silence that’s resonated ever since he climbed off of you. “Are you… are you okay?”

It’s so unlike him to be this unsure, not knowing what to do or say. His heart still pounds in his chest, cheeks flushed and lips bruised. Suppressed emotions came crashing down over him like a tidal wave, drowning him before he could make sense of it all. You didn’t push him away or seem offended by his advances as he’d feared you’d be. Instead, you accepted all of him. Allowing him to carry out his pent-up yearning for you, in a state of bliss by how you called his name out.

Shameful as it may be, Fugo had envisioned this scenario in his head numerous times. He’d always hated himself for it, thinking he’s no better than a common pervert for the way he thought of you. All the ways he pictured you, in all the lascivious situations, only to see you bright and early for breakfast the next day. When you smiled and told him good morning, all he could do is look away in disgrace. Not that you ever knew about this, or that you ever needed to find out.

You let out a carefree, light giggle at his serious inquiry. Fugo’s eyebrows scrunch together into a scowl at your sudden laughter, finally working up the courage to look at you again. Any frustration melts away like winter snow in the spring at how breathtaking you look, your skin iridescent and eyes softening. They aren’t softening just for anyone, it’s for him and him alone. Does he deserve to be the one you look at with all this adoration? And should he even bother with the self-deprecating thoughts, when losing himself with you is so much better?

“S-sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, the skin underneath your eyes tightening from the wide smile. “I never took you for the sappy, pillow talk type.”

Fugo’s nostrils flare, huffing without any malice at your teasing. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s doing, improvising as he goes. Everything that happened, every shared touched you shared, felt so surreal. Cheesy as it may sound, it was like a dream come true. What is there to say after a passionate encounter like that? He’s still rushing to get his bearings, hating the sensation of being this out of control. How you make his stomach erupt into a swarm of butterflies with every action, from the simple fluttering of your eyelashes to the cute way your nose scrunches up when you’re concentrating on a task. Fugo knows what this could be, in the back of his head. A quiet, hard to push down voice tells him what he’s been dreading to hear. That he’s a fool, deep in the throes of love.

It takes a few minutes for you to calm yourself down. Fugo’s observant, much to your chagrin, having picked up on your nervous tick of laughing when you’re unsure of what to do. It’d make sense, seeing how you just slept with your teammate who frequently called you an idiot a few months ago. You prop yourself up, bedsheets covering your bare chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He looks away, despising how your revealed skin makes his face flush a bright red. Even without looking at you, he can picture the knowing smile on your angelic face at his embarrassment. It’s the same smile you have when Narancia tells a particularly funny joke, when Mista goes on a silly tangent about his latest concerns, when Bucciarati says you’ve done a good job, or when Abbacchio chooses to sit down next to you when everyone else is being too annoying. Most importantly, it’s how you always look at Fugo, even when he didn’t think he deserved it.

You poke his cheek, murmuring his name. Fugo’s violet hues flicker back to you at the unprecedented action, perplexed countenance betraying his inner thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. That the occupation you two are involved in is too dangerous to sustain a relationship, and that death is a possibility every day. It’s too late for him to nip these feelings in the bud -- that opportunity passed long ago, as he let it -- but he can’t allow it go past the point it already has.

Fugo lets out an inaudible gasp when you make yourself comfortable against his bare chest. Here he is, being torn on the inside between desire and duty, and you’re snuggling up without a care in the world. It’s the stark contrast that separates you, the same one that has him so hopelessly enamored. You have no intentions on making this easy for him, do you? He knows the answer when he sees your eyelids closing, threatening to fall asleep.

All is comfortably quiet until he hears your muffled voice speak up. “You didn’t push me away.”

“Huh?”

Fugo’s own response isn't the schooled, thought-out string of words you’ve come to expect. It’s a kneejerk reaction to a confusing observation, that he’s having trouble rationalizing in his head. While never the most forthcoming with his emotions, he was essentially ravishing you like a man possessed a few minutes prior. You can’t be that dense, can you? Scratch that, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Even if not many got to see that side of you, there are still insecurities that weigh heavily on your heart. In the same way he struggles with self-worth, you fight a similar battle. The thought tugs on his heart, lips set into a deep frown. Everyone’s got something to deal with.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fugo responds in a harsher tone than he intended. When he feels you tense against his chest, he curses himself, intentionally softening his next set of words. “But, uh, do you really want me to stay? The others might be back soon.”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment at his concerns, promptly waving them off. It’s not like Narancia and Mista are capable of sneaking into your shared residence, it’s ridiculously loud when they come home. “Just a few more minutes.”

He expected an answer like that and still has trouble relaxing. Truth be told, Fugo would prefer to lay here with you forever. To see what you look like when you sleep, to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest in sync with his own, to kiss your forehead and whisper goodnight. In an ideal world, that’s how it would be. Reality is a lot less forgiving, and there’s too much on the line. Being this close to someone else is vulnerable, painfully so. To hurt and be hurt, the opportunity now having the room to manifest. He knows all this, and he still can’t bring himself to mention the full force of his anxieties. Would you hate him? Think he was using you and then ditching you?

Fugo decides to be selfish, more so than usual. While there’s no way to push down all of these emotions, looking at you puts him at ease. His fingers ghost over an area on your neck he learned was sensitive, almost smiling when you lean into the touch. The way he feels with you is addicting. From your quick wit that matches his own, never being afraid to challenge his positions, it’s like he found his match. While he’s always found you begrudgingly cute, even when he was colder to you, it’s evolved into something greater. More serious and heartfelt. It’s horrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” you ask what’s been troubling you, hearing how Fugo’s heartbeat ramps up in speed. It’s a rational conclusion, seeing how comfortable you two are with one another. You don’t know if what you feel is love, not just yet, but you want to give whatever this is a shot. Fugo’s hesitation says all you need to know, though you wish it isn’t like this.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” Fugo answers honestly, the words so quiet you struggle to pick them up. It’d be a lie to say you’re not disappointed, though you don’t want to push him into anything he’s not ready for. Fugo has his own emotions to work through, and the last thing you need to do is jump into a relationship and ruin everything. So you lift yourself up, looking him deep in the eyes, Fugo blinking at the abrupt movement.

“Then I’ll wait.”

He doesn’t notice how close to crying he’s been this entire time. The world through his view goes blurry, a lump forming in the back of his throat. Fugo takes deep breaths to steady himself, and instead of berating him, you wipe away his tears with the pad of your thumb. Whispering reassurances into his ear, combing through his tousled hair with your fingers. Fugo wipes at his eyes furiously, cursing himself for breaking down in front of you of all people. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude when you decide not to comment on it further, to save him the embarrassment. Your words echo within his head like a holy mantra, a promise that he’ll hold onto.

If there were ever a reality where you looked down at him with disdainful eyes, he’d hate himself.

iii.

Wandering aimlessly isn’t the worst part.

No, that’d be letting himself off too easy. It’s not the sleepless nights, tossing and turning while his stomach churns, or even the tear-stained pillowcases. When walking around Naples, all he can do is submerge himself to the shadows. There’s shame in the act of hiding, and it’s all he’s come to know. Seeing the light of day feels too good for someone like him, someone who had been abandoned by everyone he cared about and was too cowardly to prevent it. It’s a suitable punishment to wallow in his own self-pity and loneliness, cursing his entire existence for the mistakes that haunt him every day.

It’s always a mistake to come to this café. This is your favorite café, and on days like this, all he can do is watch from afar. There are times he stares at the spot you frequent for hours, waiting to see if you decide to stop by that day or not. In a way, it’s almost better when you don’t. He doesn’t get a taste of what he’s missing out on, a forbidden fruit that he’s too ashamed to reach for. Most of the time you come here alone, with your favorite pastry and coffee, scrolling on your phone or laptop before leaving. He’s seen you meet with Mista a few times, even Trish once, but it’s mostly Giorno who accompanies you.

Today you’re on your lonesome, speaking to someone over the phone and then hanging it up with a smile. Fugo can’t help but wonder, who is it that makes you smile like that? As he sits from afar, drowning in his anguish, it’s what plagues him the most. That used to be the smile he saw on a daily basis, the one that made him fall head over heels in love. Now he’s too afraid to approach you, in fear of what you may say, or do. Even what you wouldn’t do would hurt. Would you look at him in pity, or curse him for his cowardly actions? Condemn him for not joining you on that boat, or ignore him all together?

Is it possible… that you’ve simply forgotten all about him? It has been almost two years since the worst day of his life. While he’s caught up in the past, you’ve moved into a brighter future. He doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Surely you deserve any happiness you can get after all the suffering you went through, but the thought of you being happy without him stings. It digs talons into Fugo’s heart, ripping it out of his chest. One of these days, he tells himself, he’ll work up the strength to speak to you. Even if it’s but a moment.

Though some part of him knows he’ll never be able to face you. Not anymore.

It’s early in the afternoon. Chatter from other patrons reverberates off the tastefully decorated walls, in a restaurant that Fugo’s been to numerous times. This particular visit is different than the ones years ago. Instead of the bustling atmosphere he’d grown used to, there are only two people at the table. Where laughter and lighthearted conversations before work used to occur, there’s nothing but silence save for some polite discussion. Fugo’s throat feels persistently dry, no matter how much water he gulps down.

Giorno sits across from him, legs folded and nursing a glass of iced tea the waiter brought seconds prior. Maintaining eye contact with the revered Don of Passione is no simple task. It’s a daunting experience, regardless of Giorno’s insistence on no formalities being necessary when interacting with one another. Fugo holds immense respect for him, otherwise, he wouldn’t be willingly sitting here right now. Still, his mouth is set in a straight line, leg bouncing underneath the table. Respect isn’t enough to snuff out the uncomfortable memories that appear up in this room, suffocating him from the inside out.

“Is there a reason I’m here?” The words come out more forcefully than he intended, Fugo’s eyes darting around his familiar surroundings, looking for something he won’t find. Someone he won’t find. He’s grateful to Giorno for his benevolence, as speaking this way to someone who’s technically his boss isn’t advisable. Someone as sharp as Fugo knows this better than most, but he also knows Giorno. While not understanding him entirely, his actions make logical sense in the grand scheme of things.

Being in Giorno’s position means being busy. Every second of the day has to be taken advantage of, whether it be discussing with other mafioso about recent happenings or plans, making multiple phone calls, and plenty of other headache-inducing tasks. So it doesn’t make much sense to Fugo why Giorno called him this morning, asking to meet him in person for lunch. While the two aren’t on bad terms, he doesn’t feel deserving of the specially allotted time. And in his gut, he feels there’s a hidden justification for the meeting that he’s yet to uncover. A few unpleasant theories come to mind, but they only serve to unnerve Fugo further, so he stuffs them down.

“I wasn’t sure of the best way to deal with Purple Haze. Your Stand… you’re already aware of the potential consequences it could’ve posed, so I won’t rehash it more than necessary,” Giorno begins to offer his insight into the matter, finally revealing the true reason Fugo was called out here today. “There were a variety of methods that could’ve been used, with varying degrees of success, but I took a gamble. Ultimately, she didn’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Fugo feels his heart drop, jaw slackening despite his best efforts. “Who… who do you mean?”

At this, Giorno quirks an eyebrow up. As if to wordlessly say, you know who.

“It might not be my place to delve into your past,” Giorno continues with a serious air, contrasted by his closed-mouth smile. Fugo never knows for certain what Giorno’s plotting behind that smile, and a part of him wants to remain oblivious. “But for you to overcome it, and in turn gain total control over Purple Haze, it must be addressed.”

He can guess where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. Giorno gives him a moment to consider the words, briefly glancing at his buzzing phone and then returning his attention back to Fugo. It’s a subtle change in body language, how Giorno’s shoulders stiffen just slightly as if he’s anticipating something. Fugo loosens the tie around his neck, the pair returning to tense silence. While the Don made valiant attempts in loosening him up, it only served to make Fugo more suspicious. All of his fears are confirmed when he overhears two voices from the room over, one of them sending his heart racing.

That’s… that you and Mista speaking to one another. He knows your voice better than he knows any other sound on the planet, even if it’s been years since he’s heard it up this close. Fugo still dreams of you, the way you used to stumble over certain Neapolitan lingo, or how wonderful it sounded when you graced his ears with a laugh. Now, he’s unsure of what to feel when hearing the muffled conversation between you and Mista. The sound grows closer, and with it, his dread. After rejoining Passione at Giorno’s behest, Fugo knew this reunion couldn’t be avoided. Nothing could prepare him for it.

There’s a telltale gasp when you turn the corner, spotting the back of someone you haven’t seen since you were a teenager. Someone who you used to hold in high esteem, who practically fell off the face of the earth after betraying the old boss. While Mista had hastily given you the details on the car ride over, it still felt too surreal, like a cruel joke. There’s a lot that weighs down on your heart, like stones wrapped around your ankles, dragging you into the depths. The details Giorno gave you about Fugo’s whereabouts were purposefully vague, most likely in consideration of your past feelings.

“Fugo…?”

You’re by his side before he can even process it, bending down and wrapping his stiff shoulders into a warm embrace. He doesn’t reciprocate it or stop you, his thoughts not capable of rationalizing what’s going on. Fugo can’t bring himself to look up at your countenance, in fear of what he’ll see staring back at him. That you’re even hugging him means you must pity him, viewing him as a scared little boy who was too weak to do what was necessary. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to him, and why he can’t return your affections. While it’s no longer his place to desire anything from you, not after all his shortcomings, he silently prays. That there may be some part of you that still cares for him, in the same way he has loved you from afar.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back.” you sniffle, emotions swirling and enveloping you. You lift your hand, using your finger to swipe away forming tears. That’s when Fugo sees it. It doesn’t hit him at first as one would expect. No, it’s a prickling sensation that starts from his chest and spreads throughout his body like a virus. His body feels ice cold, like a corpse clinging onto shreds of life, consumed from the inside out by sorrow. Nausea comes in waves, tempting him to flee from this heart-wrenching scene and never look back. Your hand falls back to your side, and Fugo’s eyes follow it with precision, unable to look away.

There’s a rose gold band on your ring finger.

Of course. Looking at you here, it makes sense why this would happen. Your body has filled out, beauty like that of an angel. The ability to draw people in and befriend them like a glowing aura has always been your strong suit, it was warm enough to thaw the ice around Fugo’s heart. It’d be a fool’s prayer to beg God to keep you for himself, and still, he had tried. Now that leaves the burning question, who? Who was the person that erased himself from your mind, taking the place that was carved out specifically for him? He looks at your beaming face, searching for answers he won’t find outright.

Your perfume is the same as it was before. Light and floral, but mixed with a hint of something new. Of someone new. It sickens him, the scent dizzying as it taunts him. Where has he smelled this before? It’s on the tip of his tongue, fizzling out before coming into fruition. The words you speak next are drowned out by Fugo’s throbbing head, too absorbed with dark thoughts to process them. He needs to know. He has to know. Fugo looks over your shoulder to Mista in search of answers, the gunslinger holding an uncharacteristically grim expression. They hold eye contact, Fugo staring at him with potent intensity.

Give me a hint. Anything, please.

Not everyone gives Mista the credit he deserves for being observant. Fugo must’ve looked like he’d seen a ghost, Mista swallowing at the pale complexion and vacant eyes. Believing that his intentions weren’t clear enough, Fugo almost looks away. Before he gets the opportunity, Mista offers a slight inclination of the head. Fugo closes his eyes, all his strength going into holding himself together. Picking up the shards of glass that maintain his emotions, hands growing bloody in the process. It’s a subtle movement, though there’s no denying in what direction it went, as much as Fugo wished otherwise.

Towards Giorno.

You move towards your seat, realizing Fugo must be going through a lot of emotions of his own. The last thing you need to do is suffocate him when it’s clear he’s processing the unfolding events. “I don’t know the last time you came here, but they recently added more desserts. I’m partial to the zeppole… it’s so light and fluffy.”

Mista walks over, taking a seat next to the befuddled Fugo, and speaking up to ease the uncomfortable silence that resonates in the room. “I’m starving, haven’t had anything to eat all day. Let’s get the waiter over here.”

While he flags down a passing employee, Fugo’s eyes follow your form. The table is different than how it used to be. Abbacchio would be sipping on wine, no matter the time of day. Bucciarati wouldn’t always be sitting down for long, seeing as he had lots of work to do, but he always made time for a good meal. Narancia loved conversing with you, seeing as you had lots of knowledge of the English music he was so partial to. You always sat next to Fugo, who’d lightly reprimand Narancia for being more passionate about rap than his studies, or telling Mista to knock it off with the unappetizing conversations he loved to start.

Now, you take the chair next to Giorno, who had pulled it out in kind when you walked over.

You said you’d wait for him, and Fugo fooled himself into believing that statement would last a lifetime. He always had regrets about not joining his team on the boat that day, too many to count. A new one has sprouted up like a weed, strangling his heart. If he had joined you, would it have been him you’d have married? Would it be him that you’d look at with that dazzling expression instead, the one that he had grown used to seeing? Now that he knows the full extent of the truth, Fugo wonders how he could have ever been so blind. Even Giorno -- who often smiled just for show -- had unmistakably lightened up as soon as you entered the room.

This… This is Fugo’s despair.

The rest of lunch goes as smoothly as it can. He forces himself to speak when spoken to, Mista kindly filling the room with conversation to prevent any awkwardness. This can’t end fast enough. He needs to get out of here, to excuse him before he does something truly stupid. A serpent whispers temptations of evil into his ear, and he doesn’t want to tune them out. Not anymore. Now isn’t the time to pull any idiotic stunts, so he remains still as a statue. When all is said and done, Fugo can’t get up from the table to dismiss himself any faster. He pays the necessary respects to his Don, swiftly offering his goodbyes. With his back turned, he hears your voice call out to him in the darkness.

“I’ll see you later, right?” you ask in between bites of your dessert, the words meaning more for him than you. He doesn’t know. He’s not certain of anything anymore, even after making up his mind on returning to Passione. The situation has taken a turn for the worst, in a way he couldn’t stomach any longer. So for now, he’ll offer up an unconvincing response, not capable of looking back at you.

At the reminder of all his failures.

“... Of course.”

#fugo panacotta #fugo x reader #fugo panacotta x reader #yandere fugo panacotta #yandere fugo #giorno x reader #giorno #yandere fugo x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere #Jojo Part 5 #my stuff #not sfw

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tuanhood · 5 years ago

Text

lambda

pairing: frat!mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, enemies to lovers (kinda), smut, fluff

warnings: 18+, language, cringey frat stuff, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), explicit sex.

word count: 11,400+

summary: your last choice was renting a room at a frat house over the summer, especially after you told yourself you were done with anything frat related, but when your ex ditches you last minute its your only option. now... if only you could stop dreaming about the president of lambda chi.

a/n: surprise again! mark won the poll!! but like I said i think i’m going to continue doing a frat one shot for each member. so it’ll be like a little anthology series!! but i have no clue when i will write the other once so please bare with me :) Also if there’s some frat stuff in here that doesn’t make sense just let me know in my ask or if you have any questions i’ll be happy to answer!

“Who do you know here?” you found yourself being asked before even fully stepping onto the property.

The douchey guy with his backwards baseball cap and muscle tee – sporting his letters of course – looked you up and down as if trying to place you.

“No one actually.”

He looked confused, “wait seriously? You’re just going to admit that right off the bat? Usually people try to make something up.”

“See I’m not here to play games… Kyle? I’m guessing your name is Kyle. I have the unfortunate pleasure of living here over the summer, because this was the cheapest and most last-minute housing I could find. Now I’m just going to go up to my room and mind my own business while you and your brothers throw this stupid party that better be over before midnight.”

“You could have just said you live here…” the boy mumbled mostly to himself, “well welcome home and congrats on moving in! I’m Bambam by the way.”

He thrusted his hand forward to you, almost forgetting about the mob of people behind you waiting to get in and see if they pass the “vibe” check to get past the front door. You were sure in any other circumstance you would not be passing the vibe check.

“Wow Bambam…” you said to yourself considering the name. He looked delighted as if you were so enthralled by the unique quality of it. You were however, thinking about how Bambam was even worse than “Kyle.”

“And you are?” he asked.

“Dude can you stop flirting and keep the line moving! I’m trying to get wasted before 11!” someone yells from deep in the line behind you.

“Hey! I’m the one who says how fast or slow this line moves! Fuck off man or you can go find your own kick back,” Kyl- Bambam yelled.

Snorting, you rolled your eyes, “you call this a kick back?” You gestured to the full house behind him, deciding to leave out those who were sitting on the roof.

“If the normal school year isn’t in session and the house isn’t over 50% occupied with members, then it’s a kick back. Chapter rules.”

“Would love to see that rulebook, if you have it handy,” you laughed, joking. Somehow, Bambam didn’t get it and cocked his head to the side absorbing your comment, “you really want to see the rules? I mean I could bring it to you later if you-”

“That’s fine Kyl-Bambam, I’m good. I’m just going to go inside now.”

“Bet, see you later.”

The way he said it makes you think that he means he’ll see you later at the party. That would however be completely wrong, because there was no way you were going to hang out with these disgusting egocentric heathens that just want to fuck and get drunk.

Fraternity housing hadn’t been you first choice for this summer. In fact, it probably hadn’t been your last choice either, but this is what you were stuck with. Staying at school over the summer had been a very last-minute choice – for reasons you weren’t ready to discuss – and by the time you were searching for housing, everything that was cheap and decent had been taken. Instead you were left with cheap and… chaotic.

“Whoa watch out!” You heard being yelled by some douche in a bucket hat as soon as you stepped into your new home.

It had been a week since you moved in, but you hadn’t made any effort to get to know any of the other people staying over the summer. Regardless of whether they were in the same predicament as you or if they were actually members of the org, you weren’t particularly interested in face to face time. After the Spring Quarter you had, you needed alone time and this summer you didn’t plan on making friends with your housemates… Especially if they were in a frat.

Your first week had actually, however, gone somewhat okay. No one had tried to interact with you – in fact you had barely seen anyone else in the house – and there had been no disturbing sounds or noises… It almost didn’t feel like you were living in a frat house, besides the urinals in the bathroom and the boxes of energy drinks that lined a few of the hallways. You were pleased to say the least, until you turned onto Greek row and heard all of the noise from the corner.

Please don’t be Lambda. Please don’t be Lambda. Please don’t be Lambda. Please don’t be Lamb-

The silent prayer in your head clearly hadn’t been heard as you had grown closer and closer to the house you were staying in. Lo and behold you had been met with a very large line of people waiting to get in, loud music and trash all over the lawn. What had you been expecting by choosing to live in a frat?

The bucket hat guy’s warning didn’t faze you. As soon as you process his words you placed your hand up to smack the Styrofoam football he had thrown to the ground. You weren’t in the mood for an obstacle course, you just wanted to get to your room and put in earplugs so you could rest before work tomorrow morning.

“Whoa you got mad fast reflexes. Do you play?” he asked grabbing the object off of the sticky floor.

You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious or not. But judging on the way he eyed you up and down, there were other things that were actually on his mind.

Side eyeing him, you snorted, “yeah… I’m not doing this,” you motioned your hand at him in circles and turned to head towards the main stairs. His words stopped you, “wow are we heading there already? Just give me a minute to tell my brothers I can’t watch drinks table anymore.”

Instinctively you cracked your knuckles, bucket hat guy found himself clearing his throat noticing the small detail that showcased your frustration. Turning around, it takes everything in you not to slap him, but more likely than not, this guy probably lived with you as well. Although you didn’t care for being friends with your housemates, it probably wouldn’t be a good look to be the housemate who slapped the people she shared a home with. So instead of a physical reaction, you simply clenched your jaw and went with the most basic response.

“I live here. I’m going to my room.”

Instead of showing any kind of shame or embarrassment for his very wrong estimate about where the situation was going, bucket hat clicks his tongue – almost in a disapproving way.

“Just watch out… we’re using the rooms on the second floor for hookup space. Or wait was it the third?”

As if you couldn’t have been more annoyed.

“What the fuck? How can you guys use the rooms up there when people are renting them out? How can you even use them when they’re locked?”

Bucket hat started to blink too much as if considering your very real query, “The President has a master key to all the rooms. What do you expect deciding to live in Greek housing for the summer?”

If you had known how much this frat didn’t care about personal space or just basic human rights, you would have never chosen to stay at Lambda Chi. In fact, you would have never chosen a fraternity at all – cheap price or not.

“Is it the second or third floor?”

“Don’t remember,” he hummed, no longer paying you any mind but twirling the football in his hand and eyeing a group of girls who had walked by.

Groaning, you snapped your fingers to regain his attention, “It makes a difference so remember.”

He shrugged and looked at you with an annoyed look on his face, “listen you’re kind of bringing my mood down… And I think I hear someone calling me from the kitchen so…” he pointed his thumb somewhere behind him, “I’m just gonna do that instead.”

Bucket hat guy leaves you standing in the main foyer, squished amongst other people, without another word. Although, you swear you heard him mutter something about you “not passing the vibe check.”

Left without a clue of what to do, you figured that the only viable option you had was to go find the President. Luckily bucket hat gave you one sliver of useful information.

Whipping around, you go to ask Bambam where exactly you could find the President, but he’s too enthralled in a conversation with one of the girl’s waiting in line to get in. It probably would do you more harm than good to get involved in that.

Searching around the space in the front of the house, you look for another brother who could perhaps help you with your task.

Right… Shouldn’t be too hard. Just look for someone who’s confident enough to think they’d be able to get out of a DUI.

A loud laugh caught your attention, it comes from a guy holding a Grey Goose bottle and letting random girls take pulls out of it.

Perfect.

You approached him, placing a gentle hand on his arm that holds the bottle to get his attention. He took notice of you immediately, giving you the same exact look bucket hat had given you earlier. What was up with these guys? They weren’t even trying to be subtle.

“You want a pull?” He asked with a smirk, shaking the bottle in his hand at you.

Shaking your head, you cleared your throat, “I’m looking for the President… Where would I find him?”

Grey Goose bottle guy wiggled his eyebrows at you. Gross. “Ah I see… you want Mr. President. I think he’s in his room.” You wanted to be cordial, but these people just weren’t making it easy.

“What room is his again?” You asked, batting your eyelashes in the most normal way possible – as if that was normal for you.

Grey Goose placed his hand under his chin and tapped it as if deep in thought. He paused and smiled, “I’ll tell you if you take a pull.”

Where were you right now? In what dimension was this actually happening to you? If you told your friends back home about having to take a pull from a bottle of Grey Goose in order to find the President of a fraternity to get him to stop maybe letting people hook up in the room you’re paying for, they wouldn’t believe you. You didn’t believe it.

Sighing you brought your hand up, in a “give it to me” motion. Grey Goose smiled proudly and brings the bottle up, tipping it into your mouth once you have your head leaned back and lips parted. It felt like forever by the time he finally brings the bottle up from your mouth. The burning sensation in your throat makes you want to throw up, and for a moment you think you are, but somehow you manage to take a deep breath and control yourself.

“That was awesome! I think you took like a shot and a half.” I know, you wanted to yell at him, but you bit your tongue. Usually pull meant a swig, not 66 milliliters of vodka.

Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, already feeling lightheaded, you repeated your earlier question, “what room is his?”

Grey Goose nodded, “he’s on the third floor. There’s a huge sign on the door that says President with the chapter’s crest, you can’t miss it.” If it truly was that easy, maybe you should have just gone looking yourself instead of being blackmailed into consuming alcohol the night before you had to work.

“Thanks,” you muttered to him, not bothering to wait and hear a response. You found yourself back at the main stairs, taking two steps at a time until you reached the third floor. It wasn’t long before you realized Grey Goose was right, his room wasn’t hard to miss.

Usually you were a rational thinker. You liked thinking out your thoughts before you turned them into actions, but in this case, you couldn’t stop yourself from knocking on the door as soon as you’re in front of it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

There’s no answer. Was it possible he wasn’t in his room anymore? You tried again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time your ears catch noise behind the door. There was someone inside, but they were just choosing to ignore you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time the noise was clearer and you can make out specific words being said.

“Maybe they’ll just go away.”

Before you could stop your usual logical mind, you’re reaching for the doorknob – annoyed by this “President” who was trying to make you leave. To your surprise, the handle turns and you swung the door open slowly, being met with a mostly dark room aside from one bedside lamp being on.

“What the fuck?” The deep voice startled you as if you had been expecting no one to actually be on the other side of the door. What the hell were you doing?

Your eyes landed on the large bed in the middle of the room and you really wished you hadn’t. The two half naked figures on top of one another looked at you with wide eyes, the girl immediately grabbing the comforter to cover herself pushing the guy, causing him to fall off the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” the guy asked you from the floor, “get the fuck out!”

You felt frozen in your spot, your hand still on the door knob and unable to break your gaze from the boy on the floor. It was like you were a virgin again based on the way you were staring at his toned chest and muscular arms. You were certain if he hadn’t been sitting and crouched on the floor, you would be eyeing the black boxer briefs that rest on his hips.

“What’s wrong with you? I said get out!”

It’s almost as though his second demand for you to leave is what woke you up, suddenly mumbling a “sorry,” and shutting the door closed.

Opening the door to someone’s room without approval wasn’t something you typically did – you had simply done it as a reaction to the stressful situation you were in. Openly staring at a frat boy definitely wasn’t something you typically did either. It was like your brain had shut off and you weren’t going to let it happen again.

You continued standing in front of the door, unsure of what to do. Should you wait for him to… finish? Was that even the President? Maybe this was your sign that the third floor was the hook up floor. If so, then you were in the clear to go back to your room… so why didn’t your feet want to move?

“Mina come on! Don’t leave! We can keep going!” This time the voice behind the door is much louder and clear.

“You were dumb enough to leave it unlocked! I shouldn’t even be doing this anyways… my loyalty lies with Sigma Chi.”

“What? Just because they’re Phi Mu’s affiliate frat? That’s bullshit!”

“My sisters will kill me if they find out I was with a Lambda,” you heard her say, her voice becoming louder signaling she was approaching the door.

“I don’t understand why that has to stop us from fucking though!”

The door swung open and you find yourself taking a step back, looking away to pretend like you weren’t eavesdropping. The girl glanced at you and rolled her eyes before ignoring the boy behind and heading down the hallway to go downstairs.

While pretending to be fixated on the wall’s chipped paint, you glanced out of the corner of your eye to see the guy in his doorway, clearly annoyed at the situation. He ran his hand through his hair out of frustration and you can’t ignore how fluffy it looked. You watched him run it through three times, before you make yourself look away.

“You,” he grumbled pointing at you, “Here. Now.” He quickly turned, going back into his room, leaving the door open for you to follow. You think that maybe you shouldn’t follow him, but judging on the way he looked back at you with an intimidating stare, it was probably the right choice.

You awkwardly stood next to his desk and watched him reach into his closet to grab a robe to throw over his naked torso, shielding his body from you. As he tied it and sat down on the bed, leaning forward, you’re able to see a sliver of his chest and collarbone where the robe hangs down. It confused you as to why he wouldn’t just put his regular clothes back on, but you found yourself not being annoyed in the slightest at the display of skin.

His eyes bore into you, and it’s almost as though he’s waiting for you to speak first – to say something to make up for your invasion of his privacy.

“Are you the President?”

He looked at you as if you were insane, “what the hell does it say on the door?”

All of the annoyance and frustration that had fueled your fire downstairs, making you a woman on a rampage had dissipated. For some reason standing in front of this guy, you felt like a small child being talked down to. In any other situation you would fight back and show him you weren’t going to take his tone, but for some reason you couldn’t find it in you.

“I was just making sure… okay?”

Mr. President cracked his knuckles, “Why the hell did you barge into my room?” You don’t answer him. You were trying to think of what you would normally say or do to a guy like this, but your mind went blank once again. “You just cost me a hook up tonight, so speak.” His tone is a mixture of aggravated and bored – if that was something that was even possible.

“I mean you’re the one who left the door unlocked…” you mumbled to yourself, but the anger on his face signals that he heard. He threw up his hands, “That still doesn’t give you the right to just walk into a room that’s not yours.”

That really got you. You felt the flame within you being lit once again. “Look who’s talking.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the one who’s letting people’s rooms be used for sex without their permission. Invading their privacy!” you growled.

Mr. President blinked at you blankly and judging on his reaction, it almost seemed like he didn’t know what you were talking about. Oh… he’s good.

“Excuse me? What kind of place do you think this is? This isn’t an authoritarian regime.”

You took a step forward to where he sat on the bed, waving your finger, “then explain to me why one of your little minions downstairs told me that.”

“I have no clue who would tell you that… or why.”

“Bucket hat… football,” those are the only two words you can think of to describe him, but you hoped that would be enough. Almost instantly he nodded, “Ah Jaebeom… Yeah he was definitely just fucking with you.”

You took a step back out of shock. This was all a joke? These idiot Lambda Chi boys had been playing you? “So, I took a pull from Grey Goose guy’s bottle for nothing? I came up here for nothing? I walked in on you and Ms. Phi Mu for nothing?”

He ignored your comment about the girl’s sorority, a clear admission that you had been listening through the door, “Grey Goose? Do you mean Youngjae?”

The last fifteen minutes had filled you with enough inconveniences, stress, annoyance and embarrassment to feel like a lifetime… and this was only after one week of living in this house. How were you going to last the entire summer? Deal with all of the parties… the douchey boys objectifying you and treating everything like it was a funny joke. Not to mention their chapter’s President who seemed bitter and rude. Surprisingly attractive… but bitter and rude.

Instead of confirming Mr. President’s suspicions that Grey Goose guy was indeed this Youngjae person, you nodded solemnly towards the direction of his door, “I’m going to my room.”

“Wait… you’re living here over the summer?”

When he asked the question, you begin to feel the alcohol you had consumed earlier. Instead of feeling drunk it made you feel dizzy, tired and heavy. It made you feel even more defeated than you already felt from your sudden reality that this was your life for the next three months.

You threw up an unenthusiastic thumbs up and slowly made your way to the door. He looked at you stunned for your sudden disengagement in the conversation you were having. Although to you it didn’t feel like a conversation. Conversations were meant to be constructive, collaborative… Whatever this was, wasn’t that.

You’re in the doorway when he speaks again, “It’s Mark by the way… for when you dream about me later.”

Clenching your fists, you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back no matter how much you weirdly want to. To see his fluffy hair, bounce as he shakes his head from side to side, that golden tanned skin, his huge-

That’s enough.

That night it takes you nearly two hours to fall asleep. You spend the first hour with a pillow over your head, trying to drown out the party downstairs. The second however, is spent thinking about one… Mr. President. It makes you feel nauseated and when you finally wake up for work the next the morning, all you can remember is the fluffy hair in your dream.

Four days had passed since the party and you hadn’t run into any of the brothers since then. No Kyle, no bucket hat, no Grey Goose. Or Bambam, Jaebom and Youngjae… or whatever. And no Mark. Not that you had been thinking about seeing him again.

Those four days felt peaceful – normal almost, that was until now. Those calming four days came to an end when you came home from your afternoon shift at work, the guys all sitting on the front porch with beers in their hands.

You were quite aware of “porch” culture amongst the fraternities at your school. The members would drag ratty old indoor furniture such as loveseats and armchairs onto the porch near the front door and sit there for hours. They’d drink their beers, play their loud music and shout things at people walking by. Yes, you knew porch culture very well… It was how you had met your ex-boyfriend.

“Well look who we have here!” Jaebeom – sans bucket hat – shouted as you began walking up the path to the porch, “haven’t seen you since the party sweetheart.”

“Shut up man you can’t say that stuff anymore. Feminism and all that,” Bambam said hitting Jaebeom’s shoulder. If you were held at gunpoint and forced to pick a favorite out of them – it would probably be Bambam. He had done the least to annoy you thus far, but you weren’t holding your breath.

“I’m going inside,” you hoped your emotionless tone is enough to get them to leave you be and just get into the house. You’d rather not spend any more time than you have to with the guys – especially during porch time.

“Heard you got history on the row Y/n,” Youngjae’s words made you stop in your tracks. This was the last thing you wanted to talk about, especially with them. You gave Youngjae a death glare, trying to communicate with him to keep his Grey Goose filled mouth shut.

The way Mark looked up at you behind his IPA doesn’t go unnoticed by you. In his mind he was trying to be discrete. He tried to present a look that was a mixture of intrigue but also indifference, even though in reality he was eager to hear his friend’s story about you.

“Some Sigma Chi history to be more specific,” Youngjae wiggled his eyebrows and you have to stop yourself from slapping the smile off of his face.

If there was anything you truly knew about frat guys, it was that every action they did or thing they said was all meant to get a reaction out whatever person they’re torturing. Acting like you didn’t care was going to bring the stakes down for Youngjae and he would ditch the story altogether. Clearing your throat, you shrugged your shoulders, “yeah so what. It’s history and history is in the past so… that’s all that needs to be said.”

He looked at you with the same stupid smile and it doesn’t falter at all. You must have shown too big of a reaction in your response.

“You dated Ryan for almost a year – I’d say that’s a record for someone at Sigma Chi,” him and the boys laughed – all of them except Mark who’s still looking at you, but pretending not to.

You tell yourself not to get upset, not to get angry or cry – because that’s what they wanted from you. Here they were treating the “relationship” you were in like a joke and you had to remain a stone wall, unaffected. Well fuck that.

“Yeah it was a record for me falling for the stupid and douchery of the typical frat guy who was actually fucking other girls the entire time unbeknownst to me because in actuality he never considered us together. But hey what can you do when you’re dealing with guys who have big egos and small dicks?”

The boys stared at you with blank faces, you swear you see Mark smile behind his bottle.

“Is she talking about us too?” Jaebeom whispered to Bambam, “Dude… I think maybe.” Without another word, you pushed open the front door aggressively, making sure it closes behind you loudly.

You don’t know why you thought your “relationship” with your ex-boyfriend was going to work out. The two of you had met because you had been passing by his house during porch time and he cat called you. What the fuck were you thinking? Even at that point you had thought guys in fraternities were terrible, but for some reason that day you just went along with one of them objectifying you… And you fucking made him into your “boyfriend.” That day you had been feeling insecure and low – that was the only explanation you had for your out of character actions.

Being with Ryan only continued your influx of out of character actions. You spent all you free time with him when you weren’t in school or working. Apparently however, all of his free time hadn’t been spent with you. The truth came out after you had planned on staying with him over the summer at his family’s lake house. It had been something you two had talked about for months and when you were only a month away, he had hit you with a bomb.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this live together thing over the summer. Samantha might get mad.”

To which you had asked, “who’s Samantha?” Then the guy who you had thought was your boyfriend went on to explain how the other girl he was seeing – Samantha – would get jealous if he brought you to the lake house instead of her. The next thing to come out of your mouth was a big “fuck you” and “I never want to see you again.” Hence why your decision to stay at school over the summer was so last minute and you were forced to stay in a fraternity house which was so much like the one your heart had been broken in only a month earlier.

You should have known Ryan wasn’t serious about you – no frat guy at your school would ever be serious with an unaffiliated girl like you. The sex should have told you how serious he was. It would always be the fast, rough kind of fucking where he mostly had you in doggy position or with your mouth around his dick. There was none of the lazy, slow passionate sex that came when you were actually serious or mesmerized by someone.

“What the hell is up with Sigma Chi getting all the hot girls?” you heard Jaebeom ask from the porch. The idiots had left the front window open so anyone could hear what they were talking about – but there weren’t really any boundaries when it came to brotherhood. Instead of leaving and going upstairs, you remained frozen in your spot with an ear positioned to the window. For some reason it seemed like living in this house was turning you into an eavesdropper.

“Guys don’t talk about her like that.” The chiming in from Mark surprised you, he had been so silent outside when you had been present that you didn’t really expect him to defend you.

“Oh really, why?”

“She’s not just a hot girl…” Mark paused for dramatic effect and you can practically hear all the guys on the edge of their seats, “she’s a super-hot girl.” You rolled your eyes as he finished his thought about you, the guys all giving him high fives and verbal agreement.

“So, what do you say Mr. President? Gonna try to hit that?”

Mark didn’t answer the second question, “Mr. President?”

Bambam laughed, “Oh yeah I overheard her on the phone the other night and that’s what she called you.” Okay maybe Bambam was no longer your favorite, “Mr. President and his fluffy hair.” You aren’t sure if you should be embarrassed because of him exposing you or offended because of the voice he uses to mimic your own. You did not sound like that.

Once again, all the guys laugh, but this time you can’t hear Mark’s own stand out giggling in the mix. For some reason you wished you could see his face right now. That’s when you decide it’s probably best to go upstairs.

“Take it, take it all,” Mark growled into your ear as he thrusted into you at a brutal pace. You couldn’t respond to him; your mind was too hazed over with pleasure.

“Wow my cock’s that good that you forgot how to speak? I know you think you’re smarter than me, but it looks like you’re wrong. All it takes is for me to be inside of you for one fucking minute for you to act like you don’t even know your own name.”

He’s right. He’s so right and all you can do is agree with him.

He brings his hand down between the two of you to rest on your clit, tapping his finger at the same pace he pumps into you at. “I know you think I’m a dumb frat boy who’s only good at drinking and partying, but how about now, hmm? Don’t you think I’m good at fucking this tight pussy?”

You awake with a gasp. You’re covered in sweat and your hand has somehow found its way underneath your shorts and underwear. Why the fuck were you having a sex dream about Mark? It felt like your entire body was on fire, even your fan being on the high setting wasn’t going to help you in cooling down.

Getting out of bed, you decided to head downstairs to the kitchen. What you needed was a popsicle and a bag of ice. The ice was to help how hot you felt, the popsicle was a distraction from thinking about whatever the fuck your subconscious had just come up with.

“Hello?” The voice coming out of nowhere causes you to jump as you swing one of the freezers in the large kitchen open. You attempted to squint your eyes in the darkness to make out who the voice belongs too, but it’s too difficult to see.

“If you keep your eyes like that, you’re going to ruin your vision,” the lowness of the voice takes you back to only moments ago in your room when you had been hot and absolutely bothered. It was the same voice from your dream.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, moving your head around the space, still unable to properly see him.

Suddenly, Mark’s face comes into view as he stepped closer to you so he could be seen in the light of the freezer, he’s so close, you hold your breath, “what? No hello?”

You scoffed, “I usually don’t when people are just down here sitting in the dark.” Mark doesn’t respond to your comment about him lurking and positioned his glance to where your hand was placed in the freezer, “feeling hot?” Your eyes went wide, “w-what?”

He pointed to you hand resting on the box of popsicles, “the popsicles…” Laughing awkwardly you pulled one out from the package and go to reach for an ice pack, “oh… yeah.”

Mark nodded his head, “it’s pretty hot tonight… That’s why I came down here. You know heat rises and all that stuff… I’m on the third floor so…” he drifted off and his tone sounds off, unlike when you had first met him. He almost sounded nervous?

“Listen… I want to apologize for the guys on the porch the other day. They brought up all that stuff about you and your Sigma Chi dude… and it wasn’t cool.” You don’t think about the fact that he called you super-hot and laughed with all the guys, but instead you focus on how surprisingly genuine Mark sounded.

“I’m sorry too about coming into your room and ruining your night.”

“Nah you didn’t ruin my life,” there’s a weird pause and it makes you look away from him, but he’s quick to continue, “I mean that girl was just some stupid Phi Mu bimbo.” Without thinking about it, you hit his arm and he flinched at the pain, “ow!”

“You can’t call a woman stupid or a bimbo just because she wouldn’t sleep with you!” He placed his hands up in surrender, “Sorry, sorry! I’m still learning.”

Mark reached behind you into the freezer and grabbed a popsicle himself. When his arm brushes your shoulder and he gets close enough that you can feel his breath on your face you feel the same pulsing in your core from your dream.

“You should probably eat that… It’ll melt,” he motioned to the popsicle in your hand once he’s back in his original spot, “and close the freezer.”

“Right…” you nodded. It felt like you suddenly lost all intellect when you were around this guy, what was happening to you? It had happened with Ryan… but not on this scale at all.

Shutting the freezer, you’re both met with the darkness of the kitchen. This time you’re able to focus in on Mark’s face despite it being pitch black, both of you opening the wrappers of your icy dessert.

“Besides…” Mark began, going back to the previous topic, “from what I’ve learned… sorority girls are trouble. Not really what I’m looking for. I’d much rather be with someone unaffiliated.” His words caused you to choke on your popsicle, coughing until you feel like there’s no breath in you. Mark’s thankful for the darkness, otherwise you’d see his smile at you being so caught off guard.

“Are you okay?” He asked patting your back, just as you’re at the end of your coughing fit.

You nodded your head, but then realize he probably couldn’t see your gesture at being fine, “yeah I’m okay… just… went down the wrong pipe, ya know?”

“Oh, I know.” The way he said it almost suggests something, but you try not to think about it. Otherwise your panties were going to get more damp than they already were from earlier.

Mark takes a deep breath in and sighs after a moment, “I know you think I’m a dumb frat boy who’s only good at drinking and partying-” he began, but you cut him off immediately when you recognize his choice of words.

No fucking way.

They were the words from your dream. You felt your heart beat out of your chest and you became worried. You really didn’t want to hear what he was going to say next.

“I’m going to bed!”

“What?” Mark feels confused at your sudden announcement and the way you quickly rush out of the kitchen, the sound of your feet running up the stairs the only reply to his question.

You were strange… that was for sure. But he kinda liked it.

Smiling to himself, Mark finished up his popsicle in the darkness and headed upstairs to go to sleep.

“Mark fuck… please fuck me.”

“Oh, is that all you want from me? Is that all I’m good for?”

You aren’t sure what to say, what you need to do to convince him. “N-no.”

“Then tell me… what do you want from me... Really?”

The quick racing of your heart awoke you from your dream. Fuck… not another one.

Should you go see a therapist? Why was this happening to you? It was the third night in a row you had woken up to a Mark Tuan sex dream. This one however, felt different. Unlike the two before it where he was rough with you – this one it seemed like dream you wanted more. Of course, dream you wanted to still be fucked senseless by him – aka the frat boy way – but she was also holding back. She wanted more. She wanted something else. But what?

Climbing out of your bed, you trail down the hallway to the bathroom.

During normal term time all of the bathrooms were for the guys living in the house, but luckily for you they made a few of the bathrooms in the house “ladies only” for the few girls living in the house over the summer. You pushed the door of the bathroom open, being met with the now familiar poorly drawn and weirdly sexual woman stick figure picture taped over original sign.

Expecting to see an empty bedroom, you felt your jaw drop to the floor at Mark’s naked figure in the shower. He hadn’t even bothered closing the curtain.

You felt like you couldn’t move, you felt like you couldn’t think. With his eyes closed under the stream of water, your eyes trailed down his muscular shoulders to his toned abdomen, slowly going down to his length. The same one you had been dreaming about for the last three nights and your fantasies certainly didn’t do it justice.

Before you could truly comprehend the creepiness level of what you were doing, you heard Mark yelp in shock.

“What are you doing!” he yelled, grabbing the curtain from the side and moving it over the lower half of his body.

Your mouth went dry, “I-I-” You attempted to say something, but you felt your eyes watch the droplets of water that cascade down his skin.

“Y/n!” His words snapped you back into motion and you look up at him. It was difficult to say whether the redness on his cheeks were coming from the heat of the water or from his embarrassment of the situation. Mark himself wasn’t sure.

“I- this is the girl’s bathroom. Why are you in here?”

“This bathroom has the best water pressure in the house… I thought since it was so late no one would come in,” he stuttered.

Even though you’re supposed to be having a conversation with him, you find yourself still thinking about how he looked when you first walked in. How long and thick his cock was.

Still recovering from your dream and the peep show you had just been exposed to, you find yourself moving closer to the shower, “you didn’t even close the curtain… It’s almost like you wanted someone to come in here and find you.” He doesn’t say anything, but you make no mistake of noticing the way he grips the curtain harder against his body and the way his breathing gets heavier.

“Did you want someone to find you?” You’re so close to him now that you can feel the steam from the shower opening your pores.

Mark licked his lips, “maybe I wanted you to come find me.”

“Maybe or you did?”

“You know… you do kind of owe me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. What was he talking about? Weren’t you guys being all sexy? Weren’t you about to do something?

At your nonresponse he smirked and dropped the curtain, revealing all of himself to you once again, “you cockblocked me, so now it’s time for you to make up for it.”

Just like that with your core beginning to throb almost painfully at how much it wants to be touched, you’re set into motion. You join him in the shower, not even caring about getting your pajamas wet. It’s almost as if no logic matters in this moment to you, instead it’s all about you and Mark and your desires for one another.

He pulled you into a heated kiss, pulling you flush against his soaking wet body. You feel his length pressed up against you and you moaned instinctively at the feeling. Your hands roam up and down his body, feeling those muscles you had been obsessing over since your first encounter, stopping when your hand reaches his hardened member.

Instantly Mark groaned out at the feeling of your hand slowly stroking him. He had already felt sensitive and worked up as he had already been thinking about having you under him before you had entered the bathroom.

Mark’s noises send you into another moment of not caring about reality as you kneeled down before him. In any other situation you would be disgusted at the fact that you were willingly on your knees on the floor of a frat’s shower, but this wasn’t any other situation.

You plunge yourself onto him, mouth wide and your tongue lapping at his head. The sudden and almost vicious sucking nearly caused Mark to lose his balance and slip. You pay no mind to the water cascading down your back and beginning to weigh down your hair as you feel yourself be spurred on by the grunts and moans leaving Mark’s mouth.

As you moved more him into your mouth getting a mixture of pre-cum and water dripping from the corners of your lips, you felt Mark buck his hips into you further. The sudden fullness in your mouth until his head was at the back of your throat made you choke around him, Mark bringing his hand to the top of your head to stroke your hair.

“I know how good you are at choking. I know how much you love it, keep fucking going.”

The vibrations from you moaning at his words caused Mark to throw his head back, “show me how much you want my cum. Moan for me, show me.”

Bobbing your head up and down his length, you make no mistake as you continue your noises around him – not for his benefit, but you genuinely felt turned on at just giving him head.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” before he finished his thought, you felt his warm release in your mouth and you make sure to swallow it instantly.

The sounds of the shower running and Mark’s heavy breathing, coming down from his climax fill the bathroom. It feels like you could just stay here on your knees forever listening to the sounds and you would be fine.

Once Mark catches his breath, he leant down to grab your hand and lifted you up off the wet – and probably filthy – ground. He pulls you into his arms and placed a kiss on your forehead, “damn what the hell am I going to do with you?”

It’s like his words mean more than what he’s going to do with you in the bedroom and somehow that is the thing that finally snapped you into reality. It’s not seeing him naked; it’s not kissing him; it’s not getting down on your knees and suck him dry and it certainly isn’t swallowing his cum. What the hell am I going to do with you?

What the hell was he going to do with you? And what the hell were you going to do with him? The two of you didn’t make sense and you had to remind yourself that you were in a frat house… doing things of a sexual nature with a frat bro. You were not going to find yourself trapped like you were with Ryan. You had sworn off the kind of guy Mark is. You needed to leave it here… no matter how wet and turned on you were right now.

You took a step back, away from Mark and out of his arms, “I- um I should get dry.”

Mark took a step forward and you took another back. He cocked his head to the side, “well… let me help you.” His seductive gaze doesn’t go unnoticed to you, but you have to think with your head for a second. You had already gone against your own “no more frat boys, they can’t commit” beliefs once, you couldn’t do it a second time. You had to quit while you were ahead.

“I’m going to head to bed,” you stepped down from the shower and onto the bathroom tile. Mark lost for words at your sudden distance, “what? Why? Let me take care of you… You haven’t-” Waving your hands, you cut him off not wanting to hear it, “Mark… Don’t. Let’s just leave this at this. Me blowing you because I owed you one…” when it comes out of your mouth, you realize just how ridiculous it all sounded.

Mark took a step toward you, also coming out of the shower and reached to grab his towel, wrapping it around his waist. “Leave it at this? Y/n… I don’t think you understand, I-”

“Mark, I know the kind of guy you are. It’s who your friends are, it’s who all the guys living in this house are, it’s who my fucking ex-boyfriend was. I really can’t do another guy who’s just going to fuck me like I’m an object and be under his charming douchey spell, thinking that he’s all mine. I already did it once and if I did it twice, I think it would kill me. I’m sorry if I led you on or whatever by sucking your dick and making you think that we were going to fuck… and as much as my body wants to, I know it would be smart for me.”

Despite the seriousness of your words and confession, Mark found himself chuckling at the end of your monologue. He’s laughing at your word choice of “sorry if I led you on or whatever by sucking your dick,” but you don’t think about it that way. You think he’s laughing at all of it.

Typical frat guy, you think.

When he noticed the way, your mouth turned into a frown, he feels his heart leap out of his chest. He didn’t want to see you upset… ever. If he could just take some time to talk out how he was feeling to you, then maybe you’d understand how he was – “Goodnight Mark. I’d ask you not to tell you friends about this, but I know you will.”

And just like that you’re gone.

Two weeks and there had been no words exchanged between you and Mark. He had tried countless times to get your attention and talk to you, but you acted as if he didn’t exist. It didn’t go unnoticed by the other people in the house. Bambam prided himself on picking up on sexual tension and when he saw the way you and Mark acted around each other on that day on the porch, he felt it. Sure, the two of you hadn’t said anything, but Bambam could feel the pull between the two of you.

Although previously you didn’t talk to Mark that often in general, Bambam could sense something had happened – something wasn’t right between the two of you. It made him upset to see his brother so down, so… emotional.

“Guys… We have to do something about this Mark and Y/n situation,” Bambam said as he watched Jaebeom and Youngjae practice their beer pong aim in the backyard.

Youngjae looked at him confused, “what do you mean Mark and Y/n situation? There’s something going on there?”

Bambam felt like he wanted to hit him. How Youngjae could be so clueless? He wasn’t sure. “Do you not understand basic human emotions?” The older boy blinked at him mindlessly, before going back to throw the ball at the cups on the other side of the table.

“So anyways… I was thinking we could-”

“That was two! That was two! It totally hit the side of the other cup before it went in!” Youngjae yelled, interrupting Bambam’s big idea.

“Are you kidding? No way. Just take the one or I won’t even give you that,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes, he had enough of Youngjae’s cheating.

“What do you mean you won’t even give me that one? It went in!”

“Guys!” Bambam yelled, interrupting their bickering over the trivial game. They both looked at him with wide eyes, “Can you listen to me? I have a plan.”

Yawning, you decided it was probably time to head in for the night. It had been another long week of trying not to think about Mark.

You barely knew anything about the guy… but for some reason you had this weird pull to him. Deep inside your stomach you had this feeling telling you that this was the guy for you, he could be the one. You pushed it all down, your mind was just playing tricks on you – you were delusional thinking he could be the one.

Heading down the hallway to the bathroom – yes, the same bathroom – to brush your teeth you spot Youngjae coming down the corner. You tried your best to avoid his gaze, it was better safe than sorry to just proceed by ignoring Mark’s friends too.

Out of the corner of your eye as you pass one another, you notice the strange way he stares at you. It’s almost in a diabolical way… but that wouldn’t make sense, right?

Weird.

You’re probably on your sixth yawn when you finally head back to your room, reaching the door and going to turn the handle. Except… the handle won’t turn and your door won’t open.

No, this can’t be happening right now…

Trying again a few more times, you realize it had somehow locked on you. And you… like the idiot you are, left the key inside when you went to the bathroom. Was God playing some kind of sick joke on you? How were you supposed to go to sleep tonight?

That’s when it dawned on you that there was only one option.

The President has a master key to all the rooms

Jaebeom’s words flashed in your head over and over again. You tried to think of something else that could get you back in your room and under your warm covers tonight, but you come up short. You had to go up to Mark’s room.

Slowly going up the stairs to the third floor, you find yourself on the borderline of passing out at how completely nauseous and lightheaded you feel. The only way you could truly make this out alive was if you just pretended to be confident.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door swung open immediately after the third knock, Mark looking surprised to see you at his door.

He felt his hands grow clammy, “Uh… What’s up?”

“I-I locked myself out of my room… And I heard the President as the master key so… here I am.” Mark felt his heart fall at the reason for your visit. Some stupid part of him had thought that maybe you were here for him and not a key to your room, “yeah… just give me a minute.”

Mark stepped inside and you reluctantly follow him, letting the door shut behind you with a bang. Both of you jump at the noise and softly laugh when you notice.

“I get scared easily,” you mumbled.

Mark snorted, “I can tell.”

Crossing your arms, you moved towards him, “What’s that supposed to me?”

“What do you think? That you’re too scared to explore anything you have with someone, because you got hurt once. Tough, Y/n but getting hurt and let down is a part of life,” he looked at you once as he fumbled through his drawer, looking for the key.

“It’s not just that I’ve been hurt. You’re a-” He cut you off, rolling his eyes done with your overdone argument, “I’m a frat guy, I get it. We’re all the same, blah blah blah. Save it for your dissertation on how I’m scum for your Psych class or whatever.”

“I don’t think you’re scum,” you said softly.

Mark shut the drawer, unable to locate the key in this part of his desk and turned to you, “then why do you hate me so much?”

You shuffled in place, unsure of what do with all of these pent-up feelings that not even you were sure how to describe – and you were the one feeling them. “I don’t hate you. In fact, that’s the problem… I like you so much, I’m so attracted to you and I barely know you! I’ve had so many dreams about you that it’s made it all even worse.”

Before you could stop him, you felt Mark’s lips on yours and you find yourself being suffocated again – sidetracked from your original intentions of forgetting him. However, the way his mouth moved against yours and the way his tongue slipped past the crease of your lips made you not care. But of course, he was a good kisser, he probably did this all the time to all the girls.

You felt his fingers grip the hem of your top. He bunched the material just below your breasts as his hands splayed across your ribcage. He allowed you to pull away, your chest heaving and your eyes closed, before he tugged the material of your top up and over your head. The two of you looked at each other, as if absorbing what the two of you were doing.

When he dropped the fabric onto the floor, he moved his mouth to your neck. He can’t help himself as he marked your collarbones with his teeth, every inch of you is practically covered with marks when he’s done. While your mind is caught up in the feeling of his lips on your neck, his hands moved to cup your breasts.

He made you feel so damn good, you didn’t care anymore.

“Mark,” you breathed as you shifted your head to give him better access, “d-do whatever you want. Fuck me however you want. Just do something.”

You could feel the vibrations of Mark’s laughter against your neck as he reached around your back to unsnap your bra before he pulled away to watch the material fall to the floor. His eyes glued to your chest for a moment, his pupils darkening with lust, before he returned his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

Your hands dipped beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. You allowed your hands a moment to roam, before you break the kiss and tugged the material of his shirt up and over his head. Once again you feel hypnotized by his chest, just as you had been the first night you met him. You wanted to trace your finger over every muscle, every vain and every inch of skin. Mark helped you out of your pajama pants and returned his lips to your neck.

“As much as I would love to do fuck you until you feel me in every single part of your body, I want to take my time. To show you just how beautiful you are, just how much I want you.”

In your sex induced brain you have a moment of clarity to consider his words. Take his time? Weren’t frat boys supposed to be rushed, quick and just be rough with you? You had not a doubt in your mind that Mark would be able to deliver on that, based on how he had first acted around you… but slow? Sensual? Was he even capable of that? You weren’t expecting him to be so… soft and delicate. It wasn’t a part of his brand.

This time when Mark brings his lips back to you, they’re much softer – he kissed you at an unhurried pace as if he had all the time in the world with you. He gently nudged you to lay on your back, your fingers going to tangle themselves in his fluffy hair. He brings his fingers to curl at the waistband of your panties, “is this okay?” he breathed against your lips. You feel yourself begin to grow more wet at his ask for consent.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your eyes closed and your hands tugging at his hair, “more than okay.”

With your permission, Mark slipped his hand into your panties. Brushing your folds lazily, his fingers gentle and unhurried as he allowed you to pull away and catch your breath. When he brushes your clit and felt yourself jolt in surprise beneath him. He attached his lips to your neck and began pressing kisses along the column of your throat.

No words are spoken as you moved one hand from his hair and gently squeezed his hardening cock over his sweats. Mark moaned against your skin and moved his fingers a little quicker but not changing his lazy pace as he worked to rile you up. It doesn’t take long as he slipped a finger into your heat and hears you release a content sigh at the feeling.

“You’re so gorgeous usually,” he whispered against the column of your throat as one of his hands go up to pay attention to your breasts, kneading them gently. “But, fuck, you’re even better naked.”

At that you laughed, “You’re not so bad yourself Mr. President, you know for a frat guy and all.” He smiled at you, capturing your lips in another kiss, nudging his sweatpants and briefs down.

The continual strokes of his fingers, working you open along with his hand on your breast makes you feel dizzy. You attempt to focus your attention elsewhere, pressing kisses to his heated skin as he rubbed your clit with his thumb.

You could feel Mark shifting above you, reaching for the stash of condoms next to his bed, before he ripped open the foil packet and pulled away to roll the latex onto his length. His slowness practically drove you to insanity, you just wanted him inside of you now.

“Mark please, I want it.”

Smiling at you, he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead, “princess you’re going to get it all.”

Mark returned his lips to yours as he sank into you. His pace is slow, lazy and soft, as he began fucking into you. You had always thought that slow and sensual sex was the best kind of sex, but maybe you were wrong. With Mark it felt like your whole body was on fire – it was pure torture. The way he jutted his hips into you at a rhythm had your core aching for more. It was like all of your senses were heightened, everything felt so much more pleasureful with the way your body was hanging on every thrust.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck and groaned as he felt you tug at his hair again. You felt like you were going to go insane and you needed something to grab onto. For you, Mark was willing to do or be whatever you wanted – something he had never remotely thought of doing for anyone ever, including the guys in the fraternity. He was ready to be at your beck and call, to take you like this – making you feel every single stroke, every single time pump into you.

Mark brings his hand between the two of you back to your core and circled your clit once again, allowing you to fall over the edge. “I know you’re going to look so pretty when you cum, please cum for me. I’ve been thinking about it since that night in the shower.”

His mention of the shower brings you back to thinking about how good it felt to have him in your mouth, how good he tasted when he came on your tongue, how much you’d like to be on your knees for him again. These final thoughts have you clenching around Mark, his groaning getting more consistent telling you that he’s close. He nipped at your skin and sucked the spot under your jaw at the same time he thrusted himself at a semi-faster pace, hitting your g-spot. That finally makes every part of your body go numb, and you feel your hips buck forward involuntarily, everything in you spasming.

As he watched your strong release and felt your walls throb around him, Mark began falling over the edge himself. You felt his hips stutter, his breathing shallow, and his hand clenched your hip firmly as he spilled into the condom and you found yourself wanting the moment to last forever as he remained on top of you. You feel him everywhere, warm and solid and entirely him. He pressed a kiss to your lips, another lazy peck, before he pulled away to tie the condom, tossing it somewhere on the ground of his messy room.

“Are you really just going to throw that on the ground?” you laughed. Mark shrugged, “what if you forget about it later?”

He smiled, wrapping his arms around your naked body and brings you as close to him as he can, “nah there’s no way I would forget this.”

Two Months Later

It was hard to believe that summer was finally ending and the new school year was right around the corner. No longer would be stuck in what you once considered was your own personal Hell – the Lambda Chi Alpha house.

The personal Hell had somehow shaped itself into one of the biggest blessings of your life. It had given you Mark Tuan.

“Finally, you’re home!” Mark smiled, patting the open spot next to him on the love seat at your return from work.

As soon as you plopped down, Mark pulled you close to him, resting one arm around your shoulder and the other on your thigh, “want the aux cord?” he mumbled into your shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head against it.

“No! She always gets aux cord when she’s porchin’ it up with us! It’s not fair! She plays that weird K-pop stuff and makes us the laughing stock of the whole street!” Jaebeom whined.

You laughed, “Don’t knock it until you try it!”

“I have tried it and I hate it,” Jaebeom quipped back, crossing his arms to show his firm disagreement on the matter.

“Fine let’s do One Direction this time.”

“Like that’s any better!”

“Can you guys shut up I’m trying to think of something to say to that girl,” Youngjae grumbled in annoyance at your bickering with Jaebeom.

You looked to see a girl walking by the house. Judging on her large backpack, casual clothes and tired face she had been at the library. You doubt she would be up for any unwarranted cat calling. “Don’t say anything!”

Youngjae looked at you confused, “what… I’m trying to shoot my shot.”

“As a girl, please trust me when I say don’t.” Youngjae pursed his lips in thought, “not even if I just tell her she has a nice smile?” You look at the girl frowning, “she’s not smiling and no not even that.”

“Get a load of this guy,” Bambam said as a guy in Phi Kappa Tau letters walks by – most likely to his house. Judging on all of the times you’ve spent on the porch with the boys now, you knew what was coming. Standing up, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “PHI KAPPA TAU SUCKS.” The guy turned to the porch, eyeing Bambam and flipped him off.

Sitting down, Bambam shakes his head, “it’s because he knows it’s true.”

“Will you ever listen to me and realize that it’s stupid to shout at another frat?” you asked.

Bambam shook his head firmly, “you can’t just get rid of tradition Y/n.”

Mark firmly nuzzled his head into your shoulder again, kissing the side of your neck, “pay attention to me.” A clingy boyfriend might be annoying to some people and at one point in time you also thought that way, but with Mark you couldn’t get enough of it. The way that he was so dominant and attentive in the bedroom, but then so needy and clingy when it came to being in public. Especially when you were with the other guys.

“Anything for my number one frat star,” you cooed, pinching his cheek.

“You know I hate it when you call me that!” Mark whined, “you pay more attention to the guys then you do to me.” As he pouted you leaned in to give him a peck, but instead he brings the hand resting on your thigh up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss. Youngjae, Jaebeom and Bambam all groan.

“Y/n?” Your name being called breaks you out your bubble with Mark. The bubble that made you feel like you two were the only people in the world that existed. Pulling apart from his lips, you both turned to see who the culprit is that ruined your moment.

“What the hell are you doing at Lambda?” Ryan asked. It doesn’t hurt to see him again; it was just annoying.

“Back from your lake house I take it Sigma Chi?” Mark asked. You had told Mark everything about what went down with you and Ryan – and if looks could kill… Ryan would already be in his grave.

“I’m not talking to you,” Ryan rolled his eyes, “what the hell are you doing at Lambda?” He asked again.

Without thinking about it, you find yourself standing up and cupping your hands around your mouth just as Bambam had done earlier, “SIGMA CHI SUCKS!”

Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes, he stood there blankly on the sidewalk in front of the house, “what? Very funny Y/n… I know you don’t mean-”

You do it again, “SIGMA CHI SUCKS!” The boys on the porch with you begin to laugh.

Ryan pointed a finger towards you, waving it in the air, “now just wait a minute-”

“SIGMA CHI SUCKS!”

Your ex-boyfriend clenched his jaw, “You weren’t even a good fuck anyways!” The words should hurt you, but they don’t because you know it’s not true.

“Uh… Yeah she fucking is,” Mark retorted, standing up next to you, “why don’t you go home Sigma Chi?” And just like that, you and the guys on the porch have your second middle finger of the day – this time from your ex-boyfriend.

As he walked off in the direction of the Sigma Chi house you all laughed at how blatantly offended, he was at just the fact that you had said his frat sucked. It was middle school taunting, but of course it would work on someone like Ryan. Ryan was a special breed of asshole and it makes you feel stupid to think that you had once grouped Mark with him. All of the Lambda boys.

Mark kisses your shoulder, “what are you thinking about?” His smile melted you – it always does. He was one you had been waiting for and somehow your body and subconscious knew it before you did.

“Just how happy I am to have you by my side Mr. President.”

“I’m happy to have you by my side too,” Mark hummed, but soon he pauses, “unless it’s during beer pong… because you really suck.”

“Mark!”

#got7 fanfic #got7 smut #mark tuan fanfic #mark tuan #got7 #mark tuan smut #got7 drabble #got7 one shot #got7 fic #got7 blurb

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figonas · 4 years ago

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Twilight Re-watch Notes Pt. 1 - A Contest for the Worst Movie Quote in History

I'd like to think I'm funny so please enjoy my scene-by-scene notes from a recent Twilight Saga re-watch.

Hey Catherine Hardwicke, opening with the death of an animal was probably not the best choice but go off I guess??

There is a lot of general Bella awkwardness that I'm skipping over here but the scene in gym class is so horrifically, painfully uncomfortable that I almost passed out from the second-hand embarrassment.

Jessica trying her best to be fake nice to the human embodiment of a crumpled soda can: "Aren't people from Arizona like....really tan"

Bella with all the cadence of a child who just found out Santa isn't real: "yeah..I guess that's why they kicked me out"

Mike clearly just trying to get his dick wet: "HAHAH you are funny"

no mike she is not.

I'm not gonna go into the biology class scene because god knows tumblr has beaten that particular horse to death. BUT the scene in the administration office immediately after that is a TRIP. Edward has one of his most dramatic lines here when they won't let him switch classes: “I’ll just have to endure it” ?!?!?!?!?!?! This is INSANITY, he sounds like he's going to burst into tears like Edward please chill you aren't even being a little subtle.

I will never get over Bella trying to put Ketchup on her burger and then just???? giving up???? when it doesn't come out after she limply shakes it approximately once.

“HOW YOU LIKIN DA RAIN GIRL” Is our first contender for the worst and most unnatural line in movie history, and trust me there are plenty more.

Bella accusatorily saying “you were gone” to Edward as if this dude who she met for approximately 30 minutes 2 weeks ago owes her even a PALTRTY SCRAP of an explanation about anything???????

Actually, this whole scene is a horrific nightmare of awkward intrusive conversation:

“You’re asking me about the weather” HOE WHAT ELSE ARE YOU GONNA TALK ABOUT YOU DON’T KNOW EACH OTHER

“hey did you get contacts” WHO JUST ASKS THAT?!?

and of course; “it’s the fluorescents” [RUNS AWAY]

Charlie and Bella have the only organic-sounding dialogue in the entire movie. Any awkwardness they have is BELIEVABLE father-daughter awkwardness and not like "I'm being forced to film this against my will" awkwardness like every other exchange in this film series.

Bella asks Edward ALL OF ONCE about him saving her from the truck and Edward gets so haughty and smug thinking that Bella won't figure it out

“you’re not gonna let this go are you?” “no” “then I hope you enjoy disappointment” [storms off] MY DUDE LITERALLY 2 SCENES LATER SHE FIGURES IT OUT IN 3 GOOGLE CLICKS

“I had an adrenaline rush, it’s very common you can google it” contender number two for the terrible dialogue award.

Edward saying “if you were smart you would stay away from me” AFTER HE APPROACHED HER LIKE FUCK OFF [skeleton throwing its own skull gif]

Kstew got a lot of flack for her performance in this movie but when she has a good partner to exchange lines with she SHINES. The scene with Angela and her at the beach where she tells her to ask Eric to prom is GOOD. EVERY scene with Charlie in THIS ENTIRE FRANCHISE is GOOD. It is nothing but pure misogyny that Rpatz didn’t catch any flack for his truly, horrifically awkward performance

I cannot believe Stephanie thought it would be a good idea to have Edward save Bella from potentially getting gang r*ped like I get it girl is about the drama but still this is just a TOOOUCH too far

“your hand is so cold,” WHO SAYS THIS TO SOMEONE THEY BARELY KNOW COMPLETELY UNPROMPTED???

SHE TRIES TO REFUSE CARRYING BEAR MACE WHEN SHE WAS ALMOST R*PED NOT 4 HOURS PREVIOUSLY LIKE SIS CARRY A KNIFE?!?!?!?!?

The “you’re impossibly fast & strong” monologue is so bad I want to barf

“I’ve killed people before” “doesn’t matter” BITCH YES IT DOES WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

“MY OWN PERSONAL BRAND OF HEROIN” IS SO BAD. Like we all recognize how bad this is right? Especially when one considered the target demographic for these films, i.e. teenage girls, have NO FUCKING FRAME OF REFERENCE FOR THIS WHAT.SO.EVER.

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb” YOU’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR ALL OF 3 SECONDS I CAN’T WITH Y'ALL. AT LEAST THE BOOK HAD SOME BUILD-UP JESUS GEEZUS

Who thought this meadow scene was a good idea, they need to be sent straight to hell. WHY ARE THEY LAYING DOWN LIKE, SIT MAYBE?????? IT’S SO WEIRD AND UNNATURAL THEY LOOK LIKE DOLLS I HATE IT

The scene where they get out of the car and Edward puts his arm around Bella while Spotlight by Mutemath plays in the background is TOP TIER teen drama bs and I love it. Far and away the best shot in the movie apart from The Baseball Scene(TM).

I will never get over the fact that Edward's bitch ass rats Bella out for already eating when she comes over to meet his family. BE FUCKING COOL EDWARD FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, GOD!!!

Esme is too pure for this world I can’t deal with her, & Emmet waving the knife is my favorite thing in all 5 of these movies

Why tf are Alice and Jasper fucking off doing god knows what in a tree and not helping with dinner like everyone else? Y'all ain't special even Rosalie is helping

Esme talking to Rosalie “Clean this up..now” I LOVE YOU BE MY MOM

Earlier they talk about the fact that vampires don’t sleep BUT the first thing Bella says when she walks into Edward's room is “no bed” girl we know what you after you ain't slick.....

WHAT IS THIS DANCING SCENE IN HIS BEDROOM IT’S HORRIBLE TO WATCH and I want to find whoever thought “well I could always make you” was a good line for Edward to say and slap them directly in the mouth.

“hold on tight spider monkey” excuse me while I VOMIT

Mike offering his opinion on Bella dating Edward HOWEVER justified is automatically invalidated by A. his own romantic interest in Bella and B. the fact that he has also know Bella for all of 10 minutes & has no bearing on her personal life whatsoever

THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS THIS MAN HAS BEEN COMING INTO HER ROOM AND WATCHING HER SLEEP THIS IS RED FLAG CITY LIKE BELLA WATCH A TRUE CRIME DOCUMENTARY OR READ THE NEWS FOR FUCKS SAKE

THIS FRANCHISE HAS THE MOST HORRIBLE KISSING SCENES IN MOVIE HISTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU CAN HEAR LITERALLY EVERY BREATH, EVERY AWKWARD PRESS OF LIPS. You're telling me THIS was the best take of this???? CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW AWKWARD THIS WAS TO FILM

The whole scene when Bella is telling her dad about her date with Edward is absolutely god tier. Charlie snapping the barrel of the shotgun closed, him motioning that he has a halo on, asking her if she still has her pepper spray. BILLY BURKE LIFTED THIS MOVIE UP AND TRIED SO HARD TO CARRY IT ON HIS BROAD, MUSTACHIOED DAD SHOULDERS, WE STAN

WHERE TO START WITH THE BASEBALL SCENE:

Supermassive Black Hole in the background, Alice going AWF with her pitching, Rosalie getting all pissed when Bella says she's out and Emmett yells "c'mon babe it's just a game" like the puppy dog of a person (vampire?) he is, CARLISLE WEARING A SCARF WHILE PLAYING BASEBALL, I WILL NEVER EMOTIONALLY RECOVER FROM JASPERS BAT TRICKS, EMMET AND EDWARDS LAUGH AFTER CRASHING INTO ONE ANOTHER.

A TRULY IMMACULATE MOVIE SCENE. This scene isn’t long enough

“My monkey man” might be the worst line in this movie, I’m so torn between which one is the worst. Also, I'm just now realizing that this is the second time someone has compared a loved one to some type of monkey and I really don't like it.

Bella's defeated “I can’t hurt him” breaks my heart every time. AND FUCKING BILLY BURKE pulling out his acting chops with Charlie’s poor little broken sounding “I know I’m not that much fun to be around we can do more stuff together” & “I just gotcha back” LIKE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE HURTS ME ON A PHYSICAL LEVEL AND I AM ENTITLED TO FINANCIAL COMPENSATION

I know I've skipped over a lot but it's just a lot of like star wipe level montage of nonsense, so we are mOVING ON to what is possibly the biggest plot hole I've never recognized before now: How in the hell was James planning on luring Bella out if he didn’t find that videotape of Bella's mom looking for her????? Or was he just going to bust up in the holiday inn, metaphorical guns blazing & toss Bella out a window???

This fight scene between James & Edward is VERY poorly choreographed and you can practically see the stunt wires pulling on their clothes but no one is surprised..this is Twilight after all.

Who the fuck starts the fire in the ballet studio if Carlisle & Edward are with Bella, Jasper and Emmet are holding James's arms and Alice is ripping his head off???? Esme and Rosalie aren't there so the only explanation is that Emmett's power Stephanie never told us about is his ability to start small, controlled, indoor bonfires with his mind.

If Bella was losing blood from her femoral artery it is HIGHLY UNLIKELY that she would have been cognizant enough to tell them her hand was burning + THERE’S A BIG ASS BITE HOW DID THEY MISS IT???

Let Me Sign is such a good fucking song. Actually, while we're on music every song on every Twilight Saga soundtrack SLAPS. At least 1 department at Summit Entertainment was staffed with competent people. (side note, why the fuck do I know the studio by name that made this movie. I need to go lie down)

Bella acting a damn fool in the hospital bed like clingy much

CHARLIE IS SUCH A GOOD DAD FUCK!

The Edward/Jacob beef is so dramatic at prom can you both chill for 5 minutes we haven't even gotten to y'alls bullshit yet that's not until New Moon.

Bella really thought this mfer was gonna turn her at prom in the middle of the dancefloor??????????

Flightless Bird American Mouth. That's it, that's the bullet point

Victoria coming to prom, like we stan a dramatic bitch.

I will almost CERTAINLY post my New Moon (Extended Edition) notes in a few days. & yes I do have notes on the entire franchise.

#I had a lot more but I cut it down #a lot of my extra stuff was just talking about RPatz slipping inexplicably into a Spanish accent from time to time #no one seems to notice #but I fucking do #I hear the way he says 'so you're worried' and want to caCKLE OUT LOUD #I'm not nearly as funny as I think I am but ask me if I give a fuck #baby I will subject you to my poor humor #Twilight #Twilight Saga

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woshivn · 3 years ago

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atths--twice · 4 years ago

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Moving right along...

Chapter Five 5/8

Dinner and Decisions

Mulder takes Scully on a “date” and they enjoy their time together.

Mulder knocked on Scully’s door, feeling a little nervous. He had asked her to dinner and he was not sure if he made it sound like a “date” or just dinner. He would take either, but he did not want to push her or imply anything untoward. He had considered getting flowers, but then thought that would be too much.

So there he stood, heart pounding, waiting for her to answer. Hoping it might be a date, but not unless she wanted it also.

The door opened and he was hit with a wave of Scully scent. All of everything at once- her hair, her soap, her perfume. It was overpowering and nearly dropped him to his knees.

“Sorry. I’m running a little behind. I was doing laundry earlier and then I took a bath. I sat down for just a minute and woke up still in a towel. My hair was all over the place from sleeping on it when it was wet, so it’s been a bit of a process to get ready on time,” she said in a rush as she quickly opened the door and turned back inside, putting her earrings in as she turned back to look at him.

“Sorry, Scully. I heard the words-bath, towel, and wet. Did you say something else?” he asked as he hung up his jacket, closed the door, and turned to her with a smile, which quickly changed to an open mouthed quiet gasp.

She looked beautiful. She always did, but tonight she was even more so. She was wearing a dark green dress that was casual, but also dressy. It had short sleeves, a few small buttons that went across to her left side so it seemed to wrap around her, and the bottom was fuller than her usual business skirts.

None of this was anything though, compared to all the flesh looking at him, notably the chest flesh. It was more open than any shirt she had ever worn and he was treated to more cleavage than he had ever seen from her. Aside from the dire moments when he had seen her naked, he had never seen so much of her skin. He would need all his willpower to not stare directly at her chest.

This was going to be hard. In all aspects.

“Ha ha,” she said, as she finally got her earrings in, and adjusted her dress. Seeing him looking at her, she smoothed it again. “Is it too much? I bought this dress awhile back, and I’ve never worn it. You said dressed up, so I figured this would be a good chance to wear it. I can change if it’s-“

“No!” He cut across her and she looked at him in surprise. “No, Scully. You look great. It’s a beautiful dress. You make it look beautiful,” he said in a calmer, sincere tone.

She gave him a look before saying thank you. She turned and went into her room and he was left alone with his racing heart. Jesus, he needed to calm the hell down. This was just them having dinner, like they had done thousands of times. Perhaps a bit more dressed up, but still just dinner.

Her feet padded softly across the floor as she came back into the room with a necklace in one hand and her shoes in the other.

“This necklace has a catch on it that is hard to close, and open for that matter, so I don’t wear it often. Could you see if you could do it for me? I think it would look nice with this dress,” she asked, as she set her shoes down and walked over to him.

“Sure,” he said, taking the necklace from her as she turned around.

He fumbled a bit with the clasp, but finally got it open. He placed it over her head and then worked to put it back together. He had to try a couple of times to get it closed, and he could have blamed the clasp, but that was not the only hold up. He was distracted by her scent, her nearness, and the small scar on the back of her neck.

He was not often in this position, with free rein to stare directly at her neck, and be this close to her in this way. He felt such guilt about that scar and what lay beneath it, the cause and reason for it. He wanted to kiss that scar and make it all better, to take back all the bullshit she had gone through as a result of it. He hated himself for her suffering. She did not deserve any of it

Finally the necklace clasp was closed and he was forced to step back. “There you go,” he said quietly, still feeling that guilt.

She touched it, turning toward him, and smiling her thanks. It was a beautiful necklace. A silver chain with small diamonds leading to one slightly bigger one in the middle.

“My father gave this to me, when I graduated from medical school. I love it, but it’s too fancy for everyday. Seemed like a good choice for tonight, though,” she told him with a smile, running her fingers across the diamonds.

He watched her do it, looking at the necklace, but also noticing her chest again. He needed to stop or this would be a very long night. He looked away and imagined those revolting flukeman bites until he had calmed down.

She had put on her shoes and grabbed her jacket by the time he glanced back at her. She gave him an odd look as she put her jacket on and walked over to him.

“Ready?” she asked him with a smile. He nodded, grabbed his jacket, and they headed out the door.

They drove down toward the waterfront in Georgetown and Mulder parked the car. Walking down closer to the boardwalk plaza, Mulder started to lead her toward the restaurants with a hand on the small of her back, but she stopped walking and looked at him.

“Mulder,” she said, looking at the restaurants around them. “These places are so expensive. I... thank you for everything you’ve done the last few days, but we don’t need to go anywhere too expensive. I... honestly, Mulder...” She looked at him beseechingly.

“Scully, no, we aren’t eating in any of these places,” he said with a wave of his hand. “No. They are nice, but they are expensive and I have something better planned.” At her surprised look, he smiled at her. “I invited you out to dinner. You think I don’t have a plan?”

She smiled and laughed softly, as she reached out and linked her arm through his. He continued smiling as he looked down at her before stepping forward and continuing to the restaurant he had chosen.

Just past the big fancy restaurants by the waterfront, there was a smaller Greek restaurant. Close by the water, but not in the prime location. Mulder pushed the door open and ushered Scully inside. He walked up to the podium and told the hostess his name, as he hung his jacket on the coat rack.

“Fox freaking Mulder!” Came a cry from across the room.

A woman came rushing up and crushed Mulder in an embrace, adding a kiss on each cheek. She had dark hair, laughing eyes, and a beautiful smile.

“Hello, Nia. How are you?” he asked as she held his face in her hands, and he saw Scully smiling as she let him go.

“Oh my god! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you! I saw your name on the reservation list, and I about screamed Ma’s ear off. How are you? Last we heard you were working for the FBI? Are you still working there?” She stepped back and grabbed his hands.

Mulder smiled as he looked back at her. He squeezed her hands and then dropped them as he turned toward Scully, gesturing to her and she stepped toward Nia.

“Yes, I have been working at the bureau for awhile now. Nia, this is my partner at the FBI, Dana Scully. Scully, this is Nia Costas. We grew up together in Chilmark. This is her family’s restaurant,” Mulder said by way of introduction.

Scully and Nia shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Nia then grabbed some menus and led them to the table, laughing and telling stories about Mulder when he was younger, that made him blush and Scully laugh.

The table where they sat down, had a wonderful view of the water. Scully looked at it approvingly as she sat and took the menu from Nia. Nia told them their server would be right out, winked at Mulder, and walked away.

Scully raised an eyebrow at him as she smiled, but he shook his head. There had never been anything more than friendship between them. Although, he'd had a boyish crush on her when he was younger.

“Nia was one of my friends when I was younger. She was a killer baseball player and could run faster than any kid I knew,” he said, smiling as he remembered those days.

“Mr. Fox Mulder! Look at you, so grown up!” A woman, who could only be Nia’s mother, called loudly as she came bustling up to the table and Mulder stood up to greet her.

She was a large woman with pillowy arms and big hair. She grabbed Mulder in a tight embrace and then kissed him as Nia had, leaving two large red lipstick kisses on each cheek, causing Scully to laugh. She held his face in her hands as she looked at him and inquired about his family, work, and his life. He answered as best he could as she fired her rapid questions at him.

She turned her attention to Scully and Mulder introduced them. Mrs. Costas pulled Scully into an embrace as she had stood to greet her as well. Mulder laughed at her help me face as she was all but smothered by the larger woman.

She told them to sit and she looked at Mulder and smiled. She grabbed his chin and told him how proud she was of him. Mulder’s smushed face made Scully giggle and he felt her happiness invade his heart.

Mrs. Costas finally let him go and told them anything they wanted was on the house. Mulder tried to argue with her, but she put her hand up, took their menus, and walked away.

“I guess we’re getting whatever she brings us,” Mulder said, as he rubbed his aching jaw and wiped his lipstick covered face.

Scully laughed again and looked out at the water, Mulder following her gaze as he watched a few of the boats gliding past. Scully took off her jacket and put it on her chair behind her, leaned forward, and looked out the window again. Mulder glanced back once, then twice, trying to keep his eyes off of all the Scully flesh now presented to him.

Just then, the server came up and brought them some food; a Greek salad which they both enjoyed. Then came some meatballs, lamb, and then steak. It was delicious and they ate their fill. Scully not quite as much as Mulder, but if the sounds she made were any indication, she enjoyed the dishes.

After they had finished their food, they asked for a coffee. When Mrs. Costa walked up to check on them, Mulder told Scully about the delicious baklava she used to make. She waved him down and told him to stop, but they could she she was pleased. She squeezed his face again, thanking him for the compliment. She disappeared into the kitchen and personally brought them a huge piece of her homemade baklava to share, along with their coffee. It was as delicious as he remembered and he fought Scully for the last bite.

There was a small band playing in the back of the restaurant and after they had finished their meal, Mulder asked Scully if she would like to head back and listen to them. She said she would rather walk around the plaza, and he nodded, agreeing it would be nice.

They said goodbye to the Costas, Mulder being hugged and kissed within an inch of his life. They hugged Scully goodbye as well and Mrs. Costas gave Mulder pointed looks over her shoulder. He smiled back, putting on his jacket as he said goodbye again, and Scully put her jacket on as well.

The night air was cooler than the restaurant had been and to Mulder it felt wonderful. It had felt overly warm to him in the restaurant. Scully seemed to feel the same as she took deep breaths and fanned her jacket a few times. She grinned at him, as he offered her his arm, and she took it as they headed for the boardwalk and started walking.

“So... how long did you have a crush on Nia?” Scully asked after they had walked in silence for awhile and he chuckled.

“Probably about... a year? When I was around eleven. I don’t think I really knew what it was until I was older, but it was definitely a crush. She was fun and happy and her home was the same way. My home was the opposite. I liked going over to her place after we had all been out running around during the day as there was always a lot of people, food, and that baklava... God. I used to dream of that stuff at night.”

She laughed quietly. “The food was definitely delicious. Although, it technically was free and by dinner invite standards, I think you still owe me a meal." She stopped walking and stepped away from him. She leaned against a railing, looking out at the water, crossing her arms.

“Is that right?” he asked, as he too leaned against the railing, looking at her and smiling.

“I mean, you invited me out, yet you didn’t pay for the meal. Ergo, you still seem to be on the negative side of things,” she said, as she glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders, trying to stifle a smile.

“Hmmm,” he said, reaching up and rolling his bottom lip between his finger and thumb. “If I buy you some ice cream later, will that be good enough to shut you up?”

“It might,” she said with a thoughtful look on her face as she lost the battle and smiled at him.

He nodded, dropping his hands to his sides, then locking his hands in front of him, as he looked out at the moon shining in the water. He looked back at her as she continued to look at him.

He shook his head and then looked away from her. “Scully, I’m so sorry this didn’t work,” he said quietly, as he kept his eyes on the water, unable to look her in the eyes. “I wanted it for you so badly. Something good to come from all this bullshit. A good thing born of the bad. I just-“

“Mulder, no. Let’s… I don’t want talk about it anymore. It won’t change anything and... it just... it creates a hurt where it’s not needed." She rested her head against his shoulder and looked at the water. “We tried. We did what we could.” She shifted and stood up straight, touching his arm and he turned toward her. She looked him in the eyes and reached for his hand.

“I... I don’t expect a miracle. I know that it’s improbable, but... I was able to see a way to get my faith back, at least a little. I have that to lean on and for that I am thankful. For my faith... and you." She squeezed his hand and he turned his hand, causing their fingers to intertwine. “You’ve helped in so many ways and I am truly thankful for that, Mulder. I’m the one who should be taking you to dinner,” she said with a teary eyed smile.

“Hmm. Meet halfway and call it even?” he asked with a squeeze to her hand, as he stroked her cheek with the other.

“Throw in that ice cream you promised and you got a deal,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“As long at it’s not that tofutti rice shit, I’m in,” he said, shaking his head, taking his hand from her face.

She laughed with a nod and he nodded back as he grinned at her. He turned and started walking again, keeping a hold of her hand as they walked around the plaza for awhile, before heading to the ice cream shop.

When they walked in, they found it was quite packed for a Monday evening. They waited in line and ordered, each getting a cup. Scully seemed to regret her choice, and Mulder assured her they could share.

Wanting to avoid the crowded shop, they went back outside and found a bench along the plaza and sat down. They ate in silence, Scully stealing so many little bites of his ice cream, he finally switched with her and she smiled her thanks at him.

When they were finished, they drove back to her place. She invited him up and he accepted. Walking in, he took off his jacket and reached to help her take off her own. She asked him to open a bottle of wine while she used the bathroom. Walking back to him, she asked him to first help take off her necklace.

He reached for the clasp again as she turned her back to him, and he fumbled with it the same as before. This time, when he accidentally grazed her neck, he saw her shiver. He did it again, purposely, and she exhaled a very light moan. The necklace finally popped open and he caught it. Sliding it around her neck to hand to her, he felt her lean back into him, and he had to work hard at not moaning.

She stepped forward and clasped her necklace, her eyes burning into his as she turned around. She was breathing hard, he could see her chest rising and falling. He felt the fire that had started when she opened the door, and had continued to burn all evening, now threatening to reduce him to ashes.

He saw her eyes flick to his mouth and his heart pounded. Danger lights were flashing in his mind and he knew he needed to step back. This was not the time, not now. Not after the last couple of days.

"Red or white?” he asked in a rough voice, stepping back as he cleared his throat and waited for her answer.

“What?” she asked, confused as she tore her eyes from his mouth.

“The wine, Scully. Do you want red or white?” He knew it was a poor excuse, a way to push back, but he was terrified. Terrified she would regret pushing past anything other than the friendship they shared. If she did... Jesus, it would break him.

“Oh,” she said, with surprise, as if she had forgotten she had asked him to open a bottle. She sighed and looked down, her shoulders seemed to slump a little. “Whichever one, Mulder. I don’t really have a preference.” She turned to leave and he shook his head. God, he was such a fucking coward.

“Would you rather I made some tea?” he asked her.

She turned and looked him right in the eye, shaking her head as she stared at him. “No, Mulder. I think we could both really use a drink,” she said as she held his gaze and then walked into the bathroom.

Shit. His heart had stopped, and then exploded at a pace he had never experienced. He almost tripped as he tried to hurry and get to the kitchen to open the wine before she came back into the room.

He picked a red, quickly pulled the cork, and poured them each a generous glass. He brought them to the coffee table, waiting on the couch for her, as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

She came back into the room a few minutes later. She had taken off her shoes and she tucked her feet under her as she sat on the couch. He leaned forward, picked up their glasses, and handed hers to her. She nodded her thanks as she took a big drink. He followed suit and then they sat without speaking for awhile.

He felt his ears ringing, sure she could hear the blood pumping through his veins. He saw her take another drink out of the corner of his eye and he also took another drink, shifting a little closer to her.

He put his arm on the back of the couch, and lightly touched her neck, moving his fingers in small circles. She closed her eyes at his touch and he felt her relax into it. The wine settling in her belly, combined with his touch, seemed to bring her a peaceful feeling.

She leaned into him more and sighed. Her eyes opened slowly and she stared at him differently than she ever had before, and he felt his body respond everywhere. It was too much. He needed to leave before things went too far and they could not go back.

He moved his hand, set down his glass, and got up to leave. She stood too, quickly setting her glass down, and followed him. She caught him at the door and she placed her hand on his arm causing him to turn and look at her.

“Mulder…” she whispered, her hand sliding down off of his arm.

He stared at her, his hands itching to touch her. To hold her face. To kiss her. He swallowed as best he could when his mouth was so dry.

She held his stare as he fought an inner battle. His need to touch her won out and he placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb grazing across it. She closed her eyes at his touch and exhaled. He stared at her, amazed anew at how truly beautiful she was. His heart pounded hard and his breathing increased.

She opened her eyes and they were like a magnet, pulling him in. He leaned forward, but then pulled back. Goddamn. They had been there before, in this uncertain place. In front of the invisible line they never seemed to be able to cross. Unwilling to give in to what they wanted and scared of revealing how they truly felt. He felt the sinking feeling of disappointment that they would never get there because they could never take that risk. Risking the partnership they had scared the shit out of him. He took a step back and dropped his hand from her cheek.

As he did, she stepped forward, staring at him for seconds that felt like a lifetime. Then, she grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

Kissed him hard. Crushing her lips to his, keeping a firm grip on his shirt, giving him no chance to flee.

_______________________________________________

Oh... here we go! These two.. They always have to fight that inner battle of what they should do when it comes to their feelings. Scully just stepped up and showed her hand. Time to get this party started...

Also, I had watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding while I was writing this and I picture that entire family in the restaurant of this story. I love that movie, it is so sweet and crazy and loud. It’s beautiful.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Per Manum #Date Night #Meeting up with old friends #Spending Time Together #Caring #Love #Kissing

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takadasaiko · 4 years ago

Note

For the h/c meme: Logan/Veronica h and s please and thank you

FFN II AO3

Summary: When one of Veronica's cases follows her home, it's Logan's life that's put in danger.

Requested Prompt: H+S Stabbed + Someone catches them as they stumble

Worth the Pain

He was running late. The test flights had gone a little longer than usual that day and he'd gotten on the road just in time to find the rest of the traffic heading northbound on the PCH. His commute back to Neptune - usually just over an hour - turned into a two hour affair, and he was starting to count even that as lucky with the way they had come to a complete standstill at one point. He had sent Veronica an update via text and she'd said they would just meet him at Mama Leone's.

Right. Dinner with Keith. Of course that would be tonight.

It was everything Logan could do to get home, get changed - as little as Veronica would complain about him showing up in uniform, Navy whites and pasta did not mix - and get over to the restaurant before the texts started rolling in.

Veronica and Keith were deep in discussion when Logan arrived, dodging a couple of kids that darted back around like they were looking to score points if they took his feet out from under him. He stayed upright though, and sidestepped towards the table in the back corner where the father-daughter PI duo were tucked away. Veronica glanced up. "Hey there, flyboy. I was starting to think you weren't gonna make it."

"Sorry. Long day." He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. Less than he wanted, but he could already feel another set of eyes focused on him with a comment loaded if not fired yet. He flashed their owner a quick smile. "Hey, Keith."

"Logan," Keith greeted. "What had you so tied up today?"

"You heard about the issues the Hornets have had with OBOGS going out?" Logan asked as he slipped into the open seat next to Veronica, across from her father. "We've been trying to pinpoint what's causing it."

"Oh sure, we were just chatting about OBOGS, weren't we, Dad? Daily conversation," Veronica quipped with that very specific smile he had quickly learned meant he was using Navy lingo no one else in the conversation knew.

"On-Board Oxygen Generation System. It pumps oxygen in through our masks so we can breathe. Thanks," he offered to the waitress as she set a basket of breadsticks down.

"What happens when it goes out?" Keith asked curiously.

Logan took a sip from the glass of wine that had been waiting for him. "Best case, you get switched over to the backup and can get on the ground pretty fast. You've got maybe ten minutes before the backup runs out."

Keith's expressions remained carefully neutral and Logan risked a glance over at Veronica who was gaping a little. She recovered quickly. "You know, I never want to hear you complain about how dangerous my job is again."

Logan chuckled. "C'mon. It's not that bad at this stage. It's controlled, every precaution taken. The engineers are trying to fix the multi-million dollar aircraft, not have us crash it."

"Have you been able to replicate the problem?" Keith asked.

"Not yet. It's been smooth flying every time." He reached for a bread stick. Time for a change of subject. "So, why am I calling your job dangerous today?"

"Today, any day," Veronica answered flippantly.

Logan arched a disbelieving eyebrow in response. "Huh-huh."

The conversation shifted again and he let it as they settled into easier topics of baseball, cameras, a particularly absurd stunt Vinnie Van Lowe pulled, weekend plans, and the newest non-chewable chew toy that Pony had gotten into.

"He ate Logan's fancy loafers," Veronica chuckled, still far more amused by it than Logan was. "The ones that cost almost as much as our rent."

"I swear that dog is learning to open doors. There's a reason I like to hang my uniforms up on the highest bars in the closet."

"I think your cap's safe on the shelf."

"I wouldn't put money on it."

"How fast would he become my dog instead of our dog to your captain if Pony got a hold of it?"

Logan flashed her a grin. "So fast."

"Excuse me," Keith mumbled and Logan saw him pulling his buzzing cell phone to his ear as he stood, leaning heavily on the cane he had had to use since the wreck. He mentally cringed at the word. Wreck didn't do it justice. Drive-by with a vehicle was closer, and who was ultimately responsible for it was actually something Logan would be willing to put money on, unlike the safety of his uniform from the chew-happy puppy. He just hoped that Neptune remembered all the shit Lamb had done by the time the election rolled around.

"So does it take the sheriff nearly twelve hours to follow up on every B&E or are we just special?" Keith groused into the phone, reclaiming Logan's attention. Think of the devil and apparently he calls.

"B&E?" he echoed. "Did your dad's place get broken into?"

"The office."

Logan blinked hard a couple of times. "Your office?"

"Yep." Veronica took a long sip from her wine glass and he waited as patiently as he could. Finally she set it down, the glass clinking against the hard table. He saw the subtle shift when she realized he wasn't going to just let her drop it. "We got in this morning and the place was ransacked. Door was broken in, Mac's monitors were trashed, and the filing cabinets had been forced open."

"You think it was someone you're after?" Logan asked, working hard to keep his tone neutral.

"Probably."

"Any idea which case?"

She shot him a look and he knew he'd already pushed it into dangerous territory. It was a delicate balance with their work. While Logan was on shore duty there weren't nearly as many secrets, but overseas he had to stay tight lipped about where they were and what they were doing. On Veronica's end, confidentiality was a must in her day-to-day work life. He understood that and worked hard not to push. Sometimes she'd vent in a vague sort of way without names or details, but mostly they erred on a respect for the confidentiality of each other's work.

Granted, his work only had people attacking him when he was deployed.

"I'm not asking for names," he said after several long, tense moments. "Just…. do you have any suspects?"

"I do."

"And?"

"Well it's not like we can arrest him ourselves," Veronica huffed and Logan reached across the table for the wine bottle to refill her nearly empty glass. She motioned for him to keep pouring and sighed. "We had a woman come in a couple of days ago. Abuse case." He knew he made a face, but if hers was anything to go by it wasn't nearly as toned down as he'd hoped. "She wanted to file a restraining order, we started gathering some evidence to back it up, hopefully get him arrested… I guess he spotted us."

Us meaning her. Her father didn't do a lot of tailing these days.

"Does he know who you are?"

"Obviously he knew where to find us."

"I mean, on sight."

"I don't know. I can usually tell when someone catches me tailing them, but he didn't show any of the usual signs. It's gotta be him though. Dad's been trying to get in touch with the sheriff's department over it all day."

"Useless assholes," Logan breathed, risking a glance at how Keith was pacing as best as he could on the phone with Lamb's office.

"Yeah."

His gaze swiveled back to her and he reached forward, his touch hesitant against her hand, but a sense of relief flooded through him as she turned it over, taking his. He ran his thumb up and down the inside of her wrist in a soothing motion. This was the best opening he had. "Hey, I know you hate it when I -"

"Oh, you know I do."

He stopped, smirked, and waited until her lips twitched into a small smile before he continued. "I know a guy that can install top-line security. I know you guys have cameras, but they're outdated, don't give a clear image. Brian can get new ones hooked up with an alarm system and -"

"We don't have it in the budget."

"Then let me do it."

Her lips quirked up devilishly. "Oh, you're going to hook it up?"

And it was his turn to shoot her a withering look. "Let me pay for it."

"Logan…."

"Please?" He held her gaze, stuck in a battle of wills with one of the most stubborn human beings he'd ever met.

"When's that election again?" Keith groused as he limped his way back towards his seat, unintentionally interrupting the stare-off. He seemed to notice that he had as he slid back into his seat. "What's wrong?"

Fine. She could be stubborn, so could he. "Office or our place, your call," Logan directed at Veronica and saw her stiffen a little at that.

"We don't need a security system at our place."

"What about the drunk Spring Breaker that just about broke down our door last year because he thought it was the place he'd rented?"

"That was one time."

"You're right. I think your office would benefit more from it, but hey, I don't get to make calls on that because I don't work there. I do live at our apartment, so….."

"You're an asshole."

There was less spite in her tone than the words themselves might have indicated and Logan smirked. He turned his attention to Keith as the waitress delivered their food. "Veronica mentioned you guys had a break in. I know a guy that does topnotch security for very reasonable rates."

"Very reasonable when you pay for it," she grumbled and he ignored her.

"It's not like the sheriff's department would respond even if an alarm were to go off at our office," Keith answered with a shrug, digging into his risotto.

"See?" Veronica pressed and Logan kept his focus on her father.

"Still, that alarm'll scare most thugs off from ransacking the place."

"Logan, while I appreciate -"

"Can we just focus on dinner?"

The snap caught him more off guard than he would have liked and Logan glanced over at the woman he loved. She was stressed. From the day, from the case, and from the conversation that they were in right then. Okay. He couldn't fix the first two, but the third he could handle.

"Yeah. Sure." He managed what he thought was a pretty convincing smile. "So, Riles tells me he thinks he can snag some Padres tickets next weekend. Anybody in?"

And that was that. The Mars clan was a stubborn one, and despite Veronica's affections, he was still somewhat on the outside of it. Any offer to contribute was still seen as charity, even if he just wanted to see the people he cared about safe.

------------

Logan resisted the urge to ask about the case or push his opinion on Mars Investigations' dated security for the rest of dinner. Veronica did her best to pretend everything was normal, but Keith remained distant and irritable the entire meal. He paid for them and Logan bit his tongue, thanking him instead and said he'd give Riley the green light on the tickets.

He felt the long day and the evening weighing on him as they returned home, cleaned up the newest mess Pony had left of what looked like had been one of Veronica's scarves, and took him out. He wasn't the only one, though, and he circled around Veronica as she stripped her shirt over her head to start getting ready for bed. His touch was gentle and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. She sighed, but leaned back and he took the invitation to let his kisses start to travel down to the crook of her neck, the apology for making her day even harder in each one. Finally she turned, draping her arms over his shoulders and her fingers teased at his hair. Those clear blue eyes pulled him in and her smile didn't look nearly as forced as it had been all evening. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he answered softly and she tilted back, letting her hands slide across his shoulders and down his chest until her fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt. As she fell back against the bed, she pulled him with her. He leaned in to kiss her and she wrapped her legs around his middle. Logan braced himself with a hand on either side of her shoulders and he could feel her fingers pulling at his shirt, working at the buttons in a way that made him think they weren't going to last long. He smiled into the kiss and deepened it.

A loud pounding at the door startled them both out of their moment. Veronica released him reluctantly and started for her discarded shirt.

"I got it," Logan offered and received a pointed look for it. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Out of the two of us, which one is still dressed?" He started down the hall before she could argue the logic.

"If it's that idiot from next door tell him he's never allowed to borrow our vacuum again after last time!" Veronica shouted after him and Logan felt his lips quirk up at that.

He reached the end of the hall to get his first look at the figure outside. He was hidden under a baggy windbreaker and a baseball cap, but it could be a guy that lived several units down. Martin? Marty maybe? Something. He'd caught a couple waves with him one early Saturday morning several weeks back. This guy was definitely tall enough.

Logan pried the door open a crack. "Hey, man—"

The figure finally looked up, giving Logan the first clear view of his face. Definitely not Marty. "Where is she?"

"I think you have the wrong apartment," Logan tried, watching the other man carefully. He was twitchy and aggravated like he was hyped up on something. Logan had been in a lot of fights over the years, but these days he liked to think that he knew the ones to avoid. Strangers showing up tripped out on something? Not a gamble he was interested in taking on his own porch.

"That bitch Mars! She thinks she can wreck my marriage?" he howled and tried to push past Logan into the apartment.

Logan shoved back, ready to slam the door in his face, but the would-be intruder didn't stumble as far as he'd hoped and swiped back at him. It felt like a punch to the gut and he loosed a frustrated breath. Okay. Apparently there was no avoiding it.

The intruder stepped back and Logan blinked hard as his eyes focused on the knife in his hand and he risked a glance down to his white dress shirt that was quickly turning red just below his ribs. Shit.

"Logan, move!" Veronica shouted and he turned to find her standing behind him, his Colt .45 in her surprisingly steady hands, and a determined look aimed directly at their assailant. He stumbled back to give her a chance to level the weapon for a clear shot if she needed it. Time to find out if that weapons training she had taken had taught her anything. "Cops are on their way. Don't—"

He moved and the shot went off, sending the man crumbling onto their front porch. Logan stared at him for half a beat, adrenaline still pumping hard, and turned back to see Veronica frozen in place. "Hey," he said softly. "You're okay. We're okay."

"He's the one that broke into our office. He was harassing his ex wife. How did he…?" She trailed off, her gaze fixing on him and she paled. "Logan?"

He glanced down and grimaced. Right. Amazing how singularly focused the brain could be in these situations. All at once he felt the adrenaline dissipate and everything pulsed dangerously. Veronica's arms were around him and she was doing her best to ease the inevitable drop to the floor so he could lean against the side of the couch. She stayed down there with him, fingers pulling his shirt away from the injury and he didn't like the barely contained panic etched onto her face. "Veronica," he breathed, her name coming out quieter than he'd intended.

"They're sending an ambulance too," she managed, her own voice trembling. "Okay. Just…" The pain spiked as she put pressure on the bleeding wound and the room pulsed again. "This was my case and he…" She squeezed her eyes closed and he saw tears escape. "I'm so sorry, Logan. I'm so sorry. You're going to be okay. I'm going to make sure you're okay."

He wasn't going to be conscious for long and she was spiraling. The last thing he wanted was for her to blame herself. He reached up clumsily, looking for her hand. "Hey. Not your fault."

She looked up at him and he could see the angry tears in her eyes, but he felt her free hand tighten around his. "You're going to be okay."

"I know."

"Logan?"

He swallowed hard, trying to force the response out, but he felt himself slipping under, Veronica's face fading slowly to black.

----------

He had clips of memories, fractured and scattered. Voices that he didn't recognize. Someone pushing something down over his nose and mouth, but air flowing easier once he stopped fighting it. Veronica's face. Those eyes. They were like an anchor against the riptide trying to drag him away from her.

Come back to me.

Always.

Logan came back to consciousness in what felt like disjointed steps, much like losing it. He wasn't even sure how many times he came back around or if every time that sterile smell filled his nose, the too-bright lights made him wince and want to go back to sleep, or the chill that couldn't be helped even by the thin blanket draped over his legs just felt like the first time. He finally pried his eyes open to find Veronica asleep in the chair next to his bed, bent at an awkward angle with her head resting on the thin mattress. Logan found his lips curling up ever so slightly as he flexed his fingers to find her hand holding onto his.

She stirred at the movement, mumbling sleepily and he squeezed her fingers in his. Veronica popped up with that, none of the stiffness she might have felt at the awkward sleeping arrangement showing as she flashed him a relieved smile. "Hey. You're awake."

His lips parted to answer, dry and cracking from the ventilator they must have had him on, and he found his throat equally rebellious. He had to clear his throat to force any sound out, and decided on important rather than direct response. "Love you," he rasped.

Her smile only broadened at that and she pulled his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"'kay." Logan could feel himself fading already and he wasn't ready for that. He shifted a little and while the movement brought some pain - distant and certainly a survivable amount - it brought a little more focus with it too. He let his gaze drift over her from her rumpled t-shirt to the bags under her eyes and the messy ponytail she had her hair pulled back in. He swallowed hard to try his luck at coherent words again. "You been home?"

"Once. Caught a quick shower, made sure Pony knew we didn't abandon him. Mac took him to her place last night. Fair warning: we may never see our dog again."

He snorted a soft laugh and caught her gaze. Thankfully she seemed to understand the question even if he couldn't quite get it out. "Sneider - the guy that stabbed you - died. Lamb's had a field day with that."

Okay, that warranted a real attempt at speech. "He trying to get you on murder?"

"It's like you've dealt with a Lamb or something."

The sound he made this time was decidedly less amused than his response to her last joke. Between the two brothers they had managed to wrongfully accuse him of murder three times. Hard to forget.

"I guess you don't remember waking up when I was down at the station, huh?" He shook his head. "Dad said they gave him hell when he tried to get in to sit with you. Kept saying that he wasn't family so he couldn't come in. Apparently he got them told."

Logan frowned a little, drawing a blank where he knew he shouldn't. Maybe they had pushed another dose of painkillers or something. "Told what?"

"That you're family."

"Must have been a riot," he huffed.

Veronica looked confused for a moment. Then something seemed to click and he watched a lopsided smile tug into place. "You know, my dad has tells. They're tiny, easy to miss, but I know every one at this point, even when he's just telling the story." She reached forward, her touch gentle but firm as she made sure he was looking at her. "He meant it. Not sure when you won him over, but I think you finally did."

"Guess ya gotta keep me, huh?"

"Planning on it," Veronica said, her voice wavering just a little. "Just don't you leave me."

"Not going anywhere. 'Cept maybe to sleep," he mumbled, feeling his eyelids drooping.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

She started to sit back in the chair and he made a small, irritable sound at that and reached up clumsily to catch her wrist. "You're tiny. You'll fit."

"On the bed?" He nodded. "Logan, I don't want to hurt you…."

"You won't."

She sniffed and he cracked an eye he hadn't realized had slid closed back open to find her staring back at him through frustrated tears. "This is my —"

"No," he cut her off. "You saved my life, just like you alway do." Logan tugged as hard as he could manage, which wasn't saying much at the moment. Her laugh was soft as she finally crawled onto the bed, able to fit when she laid on her side and an arm wrapped around his rather than draped over his middle. He settled back against his pillows with a satisfied smile. "See? Pint sized."

"Sure you're okay?"

He made a small sound of acknowledgement. Loving Veronica Mars would always be dangerous - sometimes for her, sometimes for him, and sometimes for them both. That had become clear a long time ago, but if it meant being close to her, if it meant spending the rest of his life with her, he had learned that any amount of pain was survivable because they came back to each other in the end. Always.

#Veronica Mars #Logan Echolls #VM fan fiction #VMfanfic #elizabethkween

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

How Harley Quinn Brings a New Anti-Hero Attitude to DC’s Infinite Frontier

https://ift.tt/2OD8pfS

Harley Quinn is ready to make amends. After decades demolishing Gotham and decimating its citizens alongside the Joker, she’s seeking forgiveness. That’s where we find the anti-hero in Future State. The two-issue event ends this week and sets up a new status quo for the Maid of Mayhem. Den of Geek chatted to Harley writer Stephanie Phillips about Future State, Infinite Frontier, and how Silence of the Lambs influenced some of the best moments in Harley’s recent crime-fighting adventures.

Future State: Harley Quinn introduced us to a Gotham where heroes are outlawed and a militarized police force known as the Magistrate rules supreme. Within this world Harley is a woman imprisoned, literally. That is until Jonathan Crane asks for her help to catch the criminals of the city. It’s a recognizable setup, one that Phillips took directly from a classic movie.

“It was funny,” Phillips laughs. “We initially knew we wanted a Clarice. And then we were like ‘I think Jonathan Crane should be Clarice.’ I don’t think I ever expected to hear Jonathan Crane’s name used that way.”

Phillips does a great job making the setup both funny and worthwhile. And it establishes one of the most important things that the writer wanted to convey. “I really wanted to see Harley’s intelligence played up. I think one of the best ways I could think of to approach that was to give her someone really intelligent to play with to show that she’s not just outsmarting a bunch of random henchmen. She’s outsmarting somebody that academically speaking is almost her equal. We see Crane’s ego getting in the way and I think that’s a really cool element to Harley is that she’s able to read the room, she’s able to be patient.”

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The dynamic between Crane and Quinn is at the heart of Future State: Harley Quinn. Witty, full of character, and perfectly paced, the dialogue showcases Phillips prowess, as does the in-depth thought process that led her to it. “I wanted their verbal dynamic to be a lot like physical sparring. When I trained as a fighter, there’s a lot of my fight style that’s based on patience. That is not my normal go-to because I just want to get in the ring and punch somebody. But the style I trained in is very much you reading the enemy and using that against them. And I wanted to show that Harley can do that in a very intelligent way. So I tried to make their dialogue very much like they’re in the ring doing that dance, whether they’re actually throwing punches or not.”

Of course, just like Hannibal before her, it’s Harley who ends up besting her Clarice. And it all comes down to her smarts. “Harley is using everything that Crane gives her against him, using that to gain her freedom. I thought that was a lot of fun to write that way with Harley because we see her solving her problems a lot with a mallet or a baseball bat which, of course, I love. And as you saw in issue two getting to finally write the line with Harley where she says ‘Now let’s smash some stuff.’ But I think it’s about having that balance with Harley.”

With the final issue of Future State: Harley Quinn out now, we leave the Clown Princess of Crime at the top of her game, having bested the boys of Gotham once again. But her story is far from over. In the Harley Quinn ongoing, we’ll see just how she got to Future State. “We’re going to see the start up of the Magistrate and the build up to Future State,” Phillips teases. “It’s fun to play with that and build up a little bit more of the humor into the ongoing. She’s definitely silly and witty, but I want to show that Harley’s humor is very deliberate and can be used in so many ways to help her read the situation and get a feel for it, based on how people are reacting to her. If you can find that weakness in your enemy–even if it comes about through making so many annoying jokes at them that they finally crack–that’s still Harley being able to push those buttons in a fun way.”

Comics

How The Next Batman Was Born and What’s Next for Tim Fox in the DC Universe

By Rosie Knight

Comics

Future State is the Next Evolution for DC’s Legion of Super-Heroes

By Mike Cecchini

Jumping between timelines might seem a little confusing, but if you see Future State as an in medias res beginning to DC’s upcoming Infinite Frontier era, then it makes perfect sense. That said, if this all sounds very disconnected from the DC books you’ve been reading, don’t despair because Phillips was keen to explain how her Harley ongoing with Riley Rossmo connects with some of your faves.

“At the end of Joker War, Harley really takes this stance of ‘Batman has never been able to kill the Joker, I can pull the trigger, I can change this.’ And I think that sets Harley on a path,” Phillips says. “Earlier on, Punchline cuts her throat. So we have this trauma of ‘I came back to Gotham, I tried to do something positive, and it went sideways.’ But through what she tried to do to Joker, there’s a little redemption there in the eyes of Batman. So I’d say this is the most positive relationship we’ve seen between them in a while. And Harley is taking that as the momentum that she needed to say ‘If I’m coming back to Gotham, I want to do it the right way.'”

But Harley’s vision of the “right way” doesn’t necessarily bode that well for Gotham. “One of the things I love about Harley is sometimes she might say this is the right way to do the thing and the rest of us are like no!!” Phillips says. “But in her mind it makes sense. I love that she justifies it and of course her heart is in the right place. But I think that’s the fun of writing a character like this, she wants to move forward. But because it’s Harley, we’ll probably see a few steps back. She is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s trying to be better. And I think that’s what makes her one of the most relatable characters in the DC Universe.”

While both Future State and the new Harley Quinn ongoing show a new more heroic side of Harley, she’s still the same wild child that we know and love. “Even with the kind of hero’s journey that we might be taking her on in the ongoing, I still like that there’s a very independent side to Harley. It might explore what it means for Harley to even be near the Bat Family, but she’s not really a part of it. There’s still this element of Harley standing on her own. So when I thought about where Harley is in Future State years from now, she’s very much like ‘I’m not really on anybody’s team.’ She doesn’t really agree with what Black Mask is doing. She obviously doesn’t agree with what the Magistrate is doing. So she’s like ‘You’re both idiots. I walk my own path.’ And I just think that’s Harley’s perfect message.”

Harley Quinn #1 is out on March 23.

The post How Harley Quinn Brings a New Anti-Hero Attitude to DC’s Infinite Frontier appeared first on Den of Geek.

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captainchrisfics · 6 years ago

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Out of Fenway Park

About: A SoCal born-and-raised reader relocated to Boston, where the very last thing she expects is to run into Chris Evans at a Red Sox game with beer dripping down her head and his hotdog plastered to her shirt. Literally, running into him, and then somehow still getting a date out of it.

Word Count: 3,365

Requested By: Anon. Thanks so much for sending this in! Absolutely love this story, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write it. Feel free to send in any other reqs!

P.S. I’m sorry but, as deeply as I love Boston, I’m just a New Yorker, posting a fanfic on the internet, asking you to forgive me for my inability to give the Red Sox the dignity of winning- feat. the best gif I could find of him repping the team

The sun was the only reason I agreed to go to this baseball game anyway and even that had failed me. I was looking forward to sitting back with its warmth washing over my skin so I could close my eyes and try to pretend like I was back on a beach in Southern California. Instead, it was borderline freezing rain and all I could think about was the ground being even muddier with the still melting snow and how I couldn’t tell if there really was rumbling thunder or if it was just the shouts of countless Bostonians surrounding me, cheering on the Red Sox. They were up against the Yankees and even I could tell it wasn’t looking good, but that didn’t dampen their home-team spirits.

My coworkers were maybe the worst of the bunch, drunkenly yelling profanities at the players while they sloshed their beers in agreement with one another’s profane criticisms of the pitcher. I was almost regretting giving up SoCal for a job offer I could hardly dream of fresh out of college with the only downside being that it was on the east coast. Anyone could’ve told you I despised the cold, being too far from the ocean, and the Patriots, maybe not in that order. But even more than that I knew I’d hate myself if I passed up this opportunity. So, without giving more thought than I maybe should’ve, I packed everything I could into three suitcases and a carry-on and moved across the country, hopes probably higher than the plane.

Winter, however, brought me crashing back down to reality. Everything in nature either died or got the right idea to chase the sun south. I was stuck with snowbanks higher than my knees and a proper coat was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered much anyway, the weather felt like it was freezing my bones to their core no matter what I wore. Initially, I had this glamorous idea of curling up by the window with a blanket on my lap as the fire crackled, holding a book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other. Hitting the pavement after slipping on ice knocked the ignorantly blissful can-do attitude right out of me the first time. And the second and the third and I lost count after that.

Which is exactly why I agreed to come to this baseball game in the first place. Back home, spring meant warmer days and blooming flowers and short sleeve t-shirts. I thought I’d get to enjoy a little bit of sunlight at the very least, maybe get to finally connect with my coworkers in a meaningful way outside of asking for help to unjam the copy machine. However, the start of the season in this hell hole apparently included a lot more of the lion than the lamb and a rowdy crowd of Red Sox fans who thought it was good enough for shorts anyway and drank like alcoholic fish to top it all off.

A girl I shared the wall of my cubicle with, Alex, wrapped a lazy arm around my shoulders, pulling me too close into her Heineken haze than I was comfortable given the fact that I barely knew her. Plus, being the only sober one was never any fun. I had a feeling they only invited me under the guise of getting to know each other better considering all I’d become familiar with was the smell of their beer burps. After all, being barely of-age and the new kid made me their permanently designated driver, even though we’d taken the T here.

“Know the difference between a Yankee and uh,” Alex paused to laugh at her own joke and let out a hiccup, “a pothole?” She was hanging onto me for support, speaking close enough to my ear that it could’ve been a secret though she was saying it loud enough for the rest of our group to hear over the boom of other fans. “I’d swerve for the hole!”

I chuckled a little to be nice, although I didn’t think it was very funny. Our coworkers to Alex’s right, on the other hand, guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Preferring their reaction and acting almost in slow motion, she raised her cup in cheers of herself and simultaneously turned to the others, sloshing the frothy drink until it rained down on me.

I shot up out of my seat as the cold beer trickled down my back. Everyone paused, eyes glued to me for my reaction as I tried to maintain my temper. I used my hands like windshield wipers, tossing the liquid on my face to the floor with an angry snap of my wrists. Alex started to profess a slurred apology, but I held up my hand for an extra second or two to compose myself. “It’s...” I paused to suck in another deep breath. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I’m gonna go clean up.” Before she could offer to help, I whipped around and jumped down the stadium’s stairs two at a time.

My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I scanned the hall, looking for something resembling a bathroom sign frantically. People were probably busy enough with their own agendas, be it getting back to the game or buying a baseball hat, but I still felt every set of eyes boring into me. So I tried to put my head down and run to the closest restroom until I hit a wall instead.

Literally, it sent me tumbling to the floor until I landed on my ass, melting into a messy puddle of beer mixed with my former self. Contrary to my belief, someone said, “I didn’t see you there.”

My eyes left my hands, where I’d tried to bury my face like an ostrich in the sand, to see a broad man bending down on his knees before me. He had a Red Sox cap pulled low over his face, a thick beard, and a light grey t-shirt with a dark wet patch in the middle of his chest. Must’ve been where we collided. “I’m so sorry,” he continued with the exaggerated o’s and r’s that sound like ah’s, still so wrong to my west coast ears. I spotted an empty disposable food tray in his hand and looked down to see the hotdog it’d previously housed glued to my stomach by its condiments. Exactly what I needed.

“Are you alright?” He extended a hand to help me up, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I just sat sprawled on my butt at Fenway Park, reeking of somebody else’s alcohol, staring at this beautiful stranger. His concerned look turned a little suspicious the longer I sat there without grabbing his hand, my mouth moving like a fish out of water. All I had to say was yes or I am or something, anything really, but I couldn’t even manage a three-letter sentence.

Instead, I peeled his hotdog off of my shirt and returned it to its little white boat. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess. Or sorry, I mean.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat before extending his hand again. “Is there anything I could do to… help?” His eyes scanned me again as if he were sizing me up, making me even more self-aware of the awful state I was in.

“Bathroom,” I blurted out as my mind caught up, barely able to rip my eyes from his biceps. He stitched his eyebrows together, back to confusion again, though I didn’t give him any time to ask questions before I all but snatched his hand and he hoisted me up.

“Nice to meet you, Bathroom. I’m Chris,” he said with a smirk, teasingly shaking my hand. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He tried to subdue a laugh, but the playful look in his deep blue eyes betrayed him as he reached to brush off my shoulder.

“Very funny,” I shot back with an exaggerated roll of my eyes, betting my smile gave me away. “As in Evans, right? You look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”

He played with the sunglasses tucked into his shirt’s collar, probably wishing he’d kept them on for the sake of a disguise. Chris only shrugged, claiming he would neither confirm nor deny. I didn’t need him to though, I’d been stuck watching Marvel movies with my brothers long enough to recognize those cheekbones anywhere. “I’m more of an Iron Man fan anyway,” I tried to emphasize my nonchalance in the hopes that I wouldn’t scare him off. “What I meant was I need help finding the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah. Just passed one over there I think…” Chris trailed off as his eyes swept over the stadium, looking with much more of a level-head than I could. He found one almost immediately and laced his fingers between mine so it was more like we were holding hands. In a silly school-girl kind of way it made my cheeks flush, which was awfully embarrassing that, given my condition, holding hands with a cute boy was what had turned me into a tomato. Then he tugged me in the direction he came from and I wasn’t in the position to protest.

There was only so much I could do with thin paper towels, lukewarm water, empty soap dispensers, and a tide stick from a kind woman who took pity on me. Still, I spent a while scrubbing at the mustard and ketchup stains and wringing my stringy hair over the sink. It was long enough that I was more than surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall coolly. One foot was pressed against the wall and his arms were crossed over his chest while he whistled a tune.

“Is that The Little Mermaid?” I asked with a wrinkled nose, sounding more dumbfounded to hear this burly, bearded, lumberjack-looking man all but belting out Under the Sea than I was to see he’d been waiting for me.

Chris only shrugged, a crooked grin softening his features.

“Is that a problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and flexed his arms as he crossed them as if to challenge me. But there was this twinkle in his eye that betrayed his demeanor so all I did was shake my head. I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced back at Chris, who looked far too satisfied with himself as he said, “Good thing since I owe you some ice cream.”

Chris started walking away, taking quick steps so long I had to take two for each of his to keep up. I called his name but he ignored me until I grabbed his hand to get his attention, which it certainly did as he squeaked to a halt. He squeezed mine before letting it go, looking at me curiously.

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was going to say until it was already tumbling out of my mouth. “If anything I owe you a hotdog,” I muttered, avoiding his stare. Not that I was uncomfortable waltzing off with a stranger in the limelight, which I totally was. Not that my coworkers were waiting for me and would never believe I’d been getting ice cream with Chris Evans, which was also true. Not any of the totally valid reasons to feel a little funny about this whole thing. Instead, I insisted on buying a hotdog for a guy I was sure had more cash sitting in his bank account than I’d ever see.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lunch had it coming,” Chris insisted with a swipe of his hand, playfully brushing me off. “Your shirt, however, did not deserve that stain.” His pointed finger dropped to the orangey Rorschach test permanently painted just below my chest, getting a laugh from me.

“Here,” Chris said as he untied the hoodie around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to his stomach, where his shirt lifted a little higher than it should’ve been allowed, revealing the curve of his chiseled hips and the beginnings of a fuzzy trail dipping below his belt. “Take this to cover that up.” He handed me his sweater covered in pet hair and I slipped it on immediately, hoping it would hide my wild blush for a few seconds at least until I popped out the other side. It smelled like a dog had been curled up to it coupled with an intoxicating cologne I didn’t recognize and crisp air right before it rained.

I thanked him but Chris shrugged and puffed out his bottom lip before resuming his long strides to the concession stand, tugging me behind like luggage. “Plus, the game is already over. I don’t have to watch my boys actually lose. Maybe if you’d been a Yankees fan, I could’ve excused the whole sweeping you off your feet thing... but come to think of it you aren’t repping the Red Sox either.” He side-eyed me suspiciously without pausing until he nearly hit someone else’s back.

“That’s an awfully nice way to put sending me tumbling to the concrete,” I scoffed, skidding to a stop at Chris’s side in line. “And sports culture is just misplaced nationalism if you ask me.” I crossed my arms to emphasize my point when I was met with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw.

“Then what are you doing here exactly?” He asked, keeping one eyebrow perched a little higher than the other. There was something about the way he smiled at me, all genuine and gentle, and this look in his wide eyes. Whatever it was, I felt like I could tell him everything. So I did.

“All I wanted to do was sit in the sun,” I started, completely aware of how much I sounded like a toddler who missed her nap as I launched off into everything as if he’d been the one pulling up to watch my origin story with popcorn in hand. I told him about how much I missed California and how I felt like I hadn’t met anyone here who got me the way my friends did back home. And how much I loved the work I was doing, the way the end of every day left me feeling complete until I left the office, and how I didn’t think I could survive another Nor’easter for it. I spilled my guts along with the can of worms Chris didn’t mean to open as the concession line grew shorter until we were at the front.

He ordered chocolate and vanilla cones, giving me the choice between the two once they were handed over so I thanked him. We walked around the stadium for a while, bumping hips on occasion and crunching on our cones while we chatted about anything and everything except what I’d said earlier. That was until Chris suddenly stopped to sit on a bench, grabbing my hand to take me down with him. He cleared his throat before speaking with more of a serious air to him so I knew to brace myself for what was coming.

“You’re young, yeah?” he asked, shoving his napkins into a nearby bin. I nodded as I sucked what I could out of the bottom of my cone, though I felt like I’d done a lot of growing up lately. “You’ve got a lot of time to figure these things out. Trust me, I know California is nice, but there’s a reason why I keep coming back to Boston.”

I thought about what he’d said for a beat or two, but I’ll be honest, it was difficult sitting next to him. It was awfully cold with the sun tucked far behind the clouds all day so I was grateful that Chris was so warm. Even his hoodie retained his heat, although I still curled up a little deeper into his side than I might’ve if he wasn’t a human radiator. “Mind telling me why?” I asked, popping the last of my ice cream into my mouth.

He shook his head as he said, “Sure, oh man. So many reasons…” I watched as his blue eyes rose as if he could see the sky through the stadium ceiling, the corner of his jaw flexing as it clenched and relaxed as he thought about it. “Other than my family being in Mass, there’s always something to do. We’ve got the best museums and such a rich history, if that’s your sort of thing,” he paused to scratch his beard as he thought a little more.

His blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as another thing occurred to him. “The culture is something else. There’s something really special about a middle finger being a sign of affection to some poor sap giving tours in colonial clothing and everyone joining in to sing Sweet Caroline on the T on the way home from a game,” Chris continued with animated, sweeping waves of his arms, talking with a kind of passion for a town I couldn’t imagine having in my heart. He shook his head as he added, “And the food is great, too. I mean, where else do they have a whole word for cod that isn’t really cod?”

I laughed from the bottom of my stomach, where I expected a heavy pit of anxiety to be sitting at the beginning of a conversation like this. My homesickness and unhappiness here wasn’t something that I told anyone before out of fear of disappointing someone or being unable to admit my failure out loud. Chris was easy to talk to, more than a stranger usually was. Their judgment never really mattered to me, knowing that I’d probably never see them again. It wasn’t like that with him though, it was easier than that. I felt like he didn’t really judge me at all. He only tried to understand, help, and make me smile while he was at it. And I couldn’t deny a part of my heart that hoped I’d see Chris again. Not only again, but a lot.

“The people aren’t too bad either,” he smiled sheepishly, bumping our shoulders together and looking at me through his dark eyelashes in a way that made me feel like the only person here. As if I was the only one he was talking about. Chris took a deep breath that puffed up his chest, one he didn’t release until after his arm was comfortably slung over my shoulders. “Just give the city a shot, I think it’ll surprise you.”

I wanted to tell him it already had, really he had, but instead, I laughed dryly and said, “Hell, this city makes me feel like I need a shot.” I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder as it shook with his chuckle, looking up at him to see how he rolled his eyes even though they were scrunched by his smile.

“Know what?” he said like he was asking himself with a deep, shaky breath. He shot up from the bench as if he’d been shocked. I obviously didn’t know Chris well, but even I could tell he was nervous as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans. “Let’s go get a drink then, instill a little Boston pride in you. There’s this great pub down a couple blocks with live music and everything. I mean, if you want to…?” He scratched the back of his head with one hand and extended the other to me with his offer.

When I grabbed it, Chris broke out into a grin that made my stomach feel like I was on a rollercoaster. “I’d love to,” I said with a smile that barely held a flame to his. Neither of us made an effort to let go so Chris tugged me toward Fenway’s exit. As we left, I heard tens of thousands of Red Sox fans sigh like deflated balloons before the screams of just as many obscenities broke out. Probably another point for their opponents, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like I’d hit anything short of a home run.

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