#ignore his coat i have no idea what that thing is supposed to be. i mainly just wanted to draw his face

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 3: "The one with the birthday party" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERIST

Chapter Summary: At Frankie’s mom’s birthday party, you aim to keep a low profile, doing just enough to blend in. But the night takes an unexpected turn—his family pulls you in more than you anticipated, catching you off guard with their warmth. And then, just when you think you’ve made it through unscathed, the pavement has a surprise for you too. WC: 18.8k (CAREFUL, THIS BABY IS LOOOONG LOL)

A/N: Alright, it's here at last! You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to sharing this chapter. For some reason, life kept getting in the way and I couldn’t finish it sooner, but NOW IT’S FINALLY DONE! I’d love to know what you think—your feedback always helps me improve, and I really enjoy reading your comments! <3 LOVE YOU YOU ALL, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs!

Friday, August 9th. 

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door, stepping aside to let Frankie in. You barely glanced at him before turning toward the other room. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walked in without a word, shutting the door with a soft click. His silence felt heavier than it should have, like an unspoken critique. You gestured toward the door on the right, in front of the stairs that led to the second floor and to your apartment.

You went into the bookshop, and he followed you, his shoes heavy against the floor.

Inside, Frankie lingered by the doorway, his eyes darting around the room as though assessing it for structural integrity. You ignored him, sliding behind the counter to finish typing something on the computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the counter with the practiced impatience of someone who believes they’re above waiting. His tone had a sharp edge, as if the concept of you having a to-do list offended him. “Can’t this wait?”

You exhaled, a soft, deliberate sigh that was barely audible over the quiet clatter of the keys.

“Just finishing an order. If you’re going to stand there and criticize, at least try to look useful.” A few more taps, and you turned the screen toward him with a mock flourish. “There. Done. Satisfied?”

Frankie didn’t bother responding, his attention shifting to you instead. His gaze dragged up and down, his expression a mix of scrutiny and reluctant approval.

You stepped around to the other side of the counter, reaching for the bookshop keys. With them in hand, you paused in front of him, your gaze drifting down the length of his body.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you said, letting your eyes linger pointedly on his polished black coat, white buttoned shirt and neatly pressed pants. “You look decent.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “And you look…” His eyes trailed to your dress, narrowing. “Half-dressed.”

“Excuse me?”

Frankie crossed his arms, tilting his head as though giving your outfit a second appraisal.

“I’m not joking. Did you forget part of your dress? Or is it supposed to look like that?”

Confused, you glanced down at yourself. You were wearing one of your favorite dresses—a white one with delicate straps and a fit that was snug but not tight, elegant in its simplicity. It was modest enough: the neckline wasn’t too low, the hem rested just above your knees. Perfectly normal. Perfectly appropriate.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dress. You’re just being annoying and mean.”

“Your back,” he said flatly, gesturing with his hand.

Your fingers flew to the back of the dress, and sure enough, they met the unzipped fabric.

“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I was going to zip it upstairs. I have this little hook thing for it—”

“For god’s sake,” Frankie cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the single most inconvenient thing anyone had ever asked of him. “Turn around. I’ll do it.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested performing open-heart surgery.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s a zipper, not a marriage proposal. Turn around.”

Reluctantly, you turned, feeling his presence close behind you. His fingers were quick but precise as he tugged the zipper up, the movement so mundane yet strangely charged. The warmth of his breath hit the back of your neck, and you froze for a second, hyperaware of the proximity.

“There,” he said gruffly, stepping back as if the contact had been nothing more than a chore. “Happy now? Let's go.”

You turned to face him, adjusting the straps with an exaggerated shake of your shoulders.

“Ecstatic,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly life-changing.”

Frankie rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the door, opening it with a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Are you done with the dramatics?”

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you followed him outside, muttering under your breath just loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to tie my heels.”

The party was being held in the gilded elegance of the Golden Room at Hotel Le Grand. Frankie had mentioned, in passing, that he and his sisters had been planning the event for months—though it was clear Luna had been the one to shoulder the real burden. Frankie didn’t strike you as someone who knew how to color-coordinate table linens or confirm catering orders. Luna, on the other hand, sounded like the kind of woman who thrived on spreadsheets and perfectly executed itineraries.

You walked down the wide, carpeted hallway toward the entrance, feeling an unfamiliar kind of nervousness bloom in your chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, nor excitement—it was something in between, something that lived in the pit of your stomach and coiled tighter the closer you got. You could hear the faint hum of voices, glasses clinking, the muffled thrum of music filtering out from the room ahead. Frankie’s pace slowed beside you, his polished shoes scuffing lightly against the floor.

When you turned to look at him, his expression was hard to read. He was studying you, eyes narrowing slightly as if you’d done something suspicious, though you couldn’t imagine what.

“Wait,” he said abruptly, stepping closer and grabbing your arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that you stumbled slightly.

“What—”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you along a few steps before opening a nearby door and tugging you inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Francisco?” you hissed, glancing around the dim, utilitarian room. It smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, the air heavy with the static quiet of spaces not meant to be used by guests. Stacks of chairs loomed in uneven piles against the walls, making the room feel even smaller.

Frankie shut the door behind you with an exhale.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, his voice low and edged with impatience.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just—humor me, okay?” He glanced at you, his dark eyes darting quickly over your face before he looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he replied, too fast. He planted his hands on his hips, his expression careful. “Santi introduced us. We’ve been dating for two months. We kept it private because we wanted to talk to him first. It’s… fine. Normal. Our relationship is easy.”

“Easy?” 

“Yes, easy. It just happened. The usual.”

“You’re so nervous,” you said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Look at you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re definitely nervous.”

“I just need you to promise me that you’re not going to do anything to ruin this. Okay? Can you promise me that?”

You scoffed, clicking your tongue in mock offense.

“Why do you automatically assume I’m the one who’s going to ruin it? If you want my honest opinion, you’re way more likely to mess this up. Look at you—you’re sweating.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You look like a dog with its tail between its legs,” you said, lightly poking his shoulder with two fingers.

“You are going to make me fucking nervous if you keep talking like that,” he said, pushing your shoulder with two fingers, a perfect imitation of your earlier gesture.

You exaggerated the movement, stumbling back as though his touch had been far more forceful than it was.

“Deny it all you want, but I’m not the nervous one, and I’m not going to ruin this. I still need you for the wedding, remember? Or has that slipped your mind?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I guess so. What a ridiculous plan,” he said, his voice dripping with faux superiority. When his gaze found yours again, it was sharp. “And I’m not nervous.”

Frankie didn’t seem to realize how obvious his nerves were. His eyes darted around like they were chasing his thoughts, moving too quickly for comfort. Every so often, his eyebrows would twitch in a way that betrayed the tight control he thought he had over himself. And you’d noticed it earlier, too, during the car ride—his restlessness, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, harder and faster than usual. It was almost endearing, if not for the fact that he refused to admit it. Instead, he was blaming you.  

A thought sparked in your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. Your eyes brightened as you tilted your head, feigning an exaggerated air of curiosity.  

“Well, if you say so,” you sighed, looking away for just a beat before locking eyes with him again. “So, where can I touch you?”  

Frankie froze, his entire body going rigid.  

“What?” 

“Where can I touch you?” you repeated, slowly, as if he might need help processing the question. “Like, can I hold your hand? Touch your face? Your arms? Anywhere that’s off-limits? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”  

You could feel the corners of your mouth twitching, fighting the urge to fully smile. God, this was too easy. He looked equal parts horrified and confused, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened slightly.  

“Stick to the basics,” he said, his tone clipped and no-nonsense. He was trying to regain control, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest only made him look more defensive. 

“And what exactly are the basics, Francisco?”  

“It doesn’t matter. This is a family event. Just don’t—don’t overdo it.”  

“Well, that’s a start,” you said, nodding like you were taking mental notes. “So, can I hold your hand? Or is that too intimate for you? If I make you nervous, you can just say so.”

Your voice had softened into something almost saccharine, a honeyed sweetness that didn’t belong to you. 

Frankie stared at you in silence, his dark, intense eyes fixed on your face like they were trying to strip you down to your core. You could almost feel him siphoning your energy, leaving you lighter, emptier.

“Yes, you can hold my fucking hand.”

“Great,” you said brightly, nodding as if you were in complete agreement. “And what about kissing?”

“There’s no need.”

“No need? That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” You paused, letting the silence settle just long enough to be deliberate. “Now I’ll tell you what I’ll allow.”

Frankie frowned, his head tilting slightly in irritation.

“There’s no need. I don’t plan to—”

“You can hold my hand, my shoulders, and my waist. My waist, but no lower—understood?” You raised your index finger for emphasis, looking up at him with mock authority.

Frankie blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He stifled a laugh, though you caught the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest like a disappointed teacher.

“What? Are you seriously planning to convince your family that you’re head over heels for me without even touching my shoulders? That’s ambitious, Francisco. And, honestly, not very convincing. You’re out of your depth here. And nervous,” you added, tilting your head to one side with a knowing smirk. “But I get it. You’re not exactly the picture of confidence, are you? In fact, you strike me as one of those guys who find it really difficult to socialize with women. You know the type.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap. But instead, he nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as a bitter, humorless smile spread across his face.

“I’m very sociable with women, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with something sharp. “The thing is, I have to like them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, disbelief etched across your face.

“Well, I think that makes you a bad actor. You’re not cut out for the job.”  

Frankie leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze, steady and unflinching, fixed on you like he was deciding whether you were worth responding to.

“Oh, no?”  

“Yeah, you know, for the act,” you said, tilting your head.  

“You’re ridiculous.”  

“And you’re a nervous coward.”  

Frankie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at you, his silence stretching long enough to make you shift under the weight of his gaze. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a brief, panicked moment, you thought he might just open the door, leave you standing there alone, and abandon the whole charade.  

But then, his face shifted. A smug expression slid into place, slow and calculated, accompanied by that crooked smile that always made your stomach tighten—not in a pleasant way, but in a way that felt like a warning.  

“And what about you, Meryl Streep?” he asked, his tone light but laced with an edge. “You want to talk about bad acting, but yesterday, after I kissed you, you looked completely out of place.”  

You sighed, a deliberate move to buy yourself a second to think.

“Sorry,” you said finally, tilting your head like you were truly apologetic. “I guess that happens when I get the most unpleasant kiss in the world.”  

Frankie laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“Then it shouldn’t bother you that this party is kiss-free, should it? Little physical contact, just the necessary effort.”  

For a moment, you felt the wind knocked out of you—not by his words, but by the realization that he had managed to flip the conversation so seamlessly, deflating your earlier momentum. But you recovered quickly, letting a slow, understanding smile spread across your face.

You leaned in slightly, your hand lifting toward his face. Frankie, ever cautious, instinctively moved his head back, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers found his cheek, warm under your touch, and your thumb rested lightly at the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy it when you come begging for a kiss or a small demonstration of affection, Francisco,” you said softly, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Because even though I know how much you hate this whole thing, I also know that your need to make this convincing is even stronger.”

You dropped your hand and stepped back, feeling a delicious sense of control settle over you like a second skin.

Frankie’s jaw tightened as he turned toward the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles faintly white. He paused just before opening it fully, glancing over his shoulder at you, his eyes sharp and impatient.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said lightly, brushing past him as you moved toward the door.

Already in the hallway, Frankie fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Without warning, his fingers found yours, intertwining them in a quiet, deliberate motion. His steps were slow, measured, as you both neared the doorway leading back to the crowded hall.

You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I thought that—”

“No way,” a voice cut in from behind, smooth and teasing. “Sneaking off to a closet during Mom’s birthday party? That’s risky, Frankie.”

Frankie froze, his grip on your hand loosening for a second. He turned, his face momentarily pale, but when he saw her, something shifted. The tension in his jaw melted away, replaced by a warm, easy smile. You followed his gaze.

The woman approached, a grin already forming, arms outstretched. She pulled Frankie into a tight embrace, her dark eyes bright.

He kissed her cheek before pulling back.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice lighter than before. “How’s Mom? Is she happy?”

“She’s great, so so happy. She wants to see you,” the woman said, and then her attention flicked to you. Curiosity glimmered in her gaze. “Aren’t you going to... introduce me to your girl?”

Frankie hesitated, like the thought had only just occurred to him. Then, his hand slid to your waist, his grip warm and steady as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, and your name slipped from his lips with an unfamiliar sweetness. “My girlfriend.” He paused, like he was testing the words, then smiled. “And baby, this is my sister, Maia.”

The way he said it caught you off guard. There was a natural ease to it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Like it wasn’t the first time he was calling you that in front of someone else. Baby.

Your mind went back to what Frankie had told you the night before. Maia, of all his sisters, was the most perceptive. She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful.

You turned to her with a genuine smile. She was beautiful—big brown eyes framed by long lashes, dark hair swept back effortlessly. There was something about her features, the sharp cheekbones, the knowing glint in her eyes, that reminded you of Frankie. 

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” you said, meaning it. “Your brother’s told me so much about you. You look gorgeous.”

Maia’s grin widened, a pink flush rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, stop, really? You’re gorgeous.” She reached out, touching your arm lightly. Her hands were soft. “I wish I could say the same, but this idiot kept you a secret. He’s told us next to nothing.”

“Maia,” Frankie started, already formulating an excuse.

"It’s my fault," you cut in, glancing at him briefly before turning back to her. "I asked him to keep it private, at least until we told my brother."

Maia's brows lifted. "Oh? And why—"

Frankie exhaled. “She’s Santi’s sister.”

Maia’s mouth fell open slightly, then curved into an amused, knowing smile.

“Shut up,” she said, her tone laced with delight. “You’re dating your best friend’s little sister?”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Can you believe it?” you said, glancing at Frankie before turning back to her. “And I’m dating my brother’s best friend. Talk about a cliché.”

“Unbelievable,” Maia echoed, her laughter bright and infectious. “And what did he say when you told him?”

“Oh, Santi thought it was a little ridiculous at first,” you admitted, glancing at Frankie, amusement dancing in your expression. “But he got over it pretty fast.”

Your eyes met his then, full of plastic love.

Maia smirked knowingly.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “this just got interesting.”

Frankie cut the conversation short, brushing off Maia’s questions with the kind of firm, practiced ease that suggested he’d been doing it his whole life. She rolled her eyes but didn’t press further, leading the two of you deeper into the party.

His hand found your waist again as you stepped inside the hall. The space was vast and elegant, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights strung overhead. White tablecloths stretched across the tables, each adorned with delicate centerpieces of white lilies—his mother’s favorite, according to Frankie. The scent was soft, fresh.

Maia wove through the gathering guests with the effortless familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step, every shift of movement. The closer you got to the main table, where the rest of his family sat in easy conversation, the more your nerves crept up, curling around your ribs like vines. Without thinking, your fingers sought Frankie’s again, gripping them tighter than necessary.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance meant only for you. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, even if you weren’t entirely convinced.

Then Helena spotted Frankie, and everything else in the room faded.

Her eyes went wide, bright with unfiltered joy. “Francisco!”

She pushed back her chair in an instant, standing with her arms already outstretched. Frankie barely had time to let go of your hand before she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him the way only a mother could—like she needed to be sure he was still whole. She kissed both his cheeks, then held his face between her hands, searching it, memorizing him.

“Esta fiesta es increible, mi amor (this party is incredible, my love),” she told him, eyes still shining. “The best gift of all. Just having everyone together, that’s all I wanted. All my babies with me.”

Frankie smiled, a real one, the kind that made his entire face look younger, lighter.

“Feliz cumpleaños, ma, te mereces esto y mucho más. Una fiesta increible para una mujer increible, ¿o no?. (Happy birthday, Mom, you deserve this and much more. An incredible party for an incredible woman, right?)” 

You felt something swell in your chest at the way he said it, at the way his voice sounded softer in spanish—his voice warm with love.

Helena beamed, then turned toward you.

The shift was subtle, but sharp. Her gaze landed on you with something keen behind it, something appraising. 

“Mom,” he said, his fingers brushing your back again, “I want you to meet someone.” He pulled you closer, and when he said your name, it was softer than usual, careful. “She’s my... She's my girlfriend.”

The word hit the air, and you felt Frankie tense beside you, just for a second.

Helena didn’t react right away. She simply looked at you, studying, deciding. And then—she smiled. Broadly, like she’d decided something in your favor.

She repeated your name, and up close, you saw it now—how much of her was in Frankie. The same warm brown eyes, the same mischievous pull at the corner of the mouth, like they were both always half a second away from teasing you.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” she said, reaching for your hands. “What a lovely surprise, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed immediately, heat spreading down to your chest, and you knew you were blushing. Next to you, Frankie smirked, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Thank you so much,” you managed, shifting slightly closer to him for balance. “And happy birthday. It’s really wonderful to finally meet you, Helena. Francisco has told me nothing but amazing things about you.”

“Oh, thank God,” she teased, tossing her son a look before giving his arm a gentle pat. “And I do hope you’ll fill in the gaps. I’ve been waiting so long for this one to bring someone home, you have no idea. If you only knew!” She clasped her hands together in mock prayer. “Now, come—come! Come meet the rest of our family.”

Before you could react, she had already taken your arm, gently pulling you away from Frankie. You barely had time to glance back at him, your expression somewhere between help and save me, before you saw the exact same look mirrored on his face. He could do nothing but follow as Helena paraded you toward the table.

Introductions unfolded in a series of warm, overlapping voices.

Luna was stunning, exactly as you’d imagined. Her dark hair was swept back, save for a few loose strands that framed her delicate features. Her green eyes carried a quiet curiosity as she hugged you gently, greeting you with the kind of reserved kindness that made you think she was someone who observed before she spoke.

Next to her was Henry, her husband, who greeted you with a polite nod and a brief kiss on the cheek. Jamie, their son, waved shyly from his seat, his big brown eyes round with something close to awe. His curls bounced slightly when he moved, making him look like some kind of cherub from a Renaissance painting.

Then came Grace, Frankie’s niece, who stood just long enough to kiss your cheek before shyly murmuring, “I like your dress.” She had the kind of effortless sweetness that made you instantly want to protect her.

Her mother, Sofia, was beside her. Of all the sisters, she resembled Helena the most. Her dark curls fell over her shoulders, her smile was warm and knowing, and something about her presence felt effortlessly welcoming.

And then Maia, despite having already met you, stood again to press another kiss to your cheek, like she simply had to.

Once everyone was settled, Helena guided you to the empty chair beside her, which you realized��only as Frankie moved toward it—was the seat he had been planning to take. He hesitated for half a second, then shifted to the free chair on your right instead.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the way your nerves still buzzed under your skin. But when you turned your head, Frankie was already watching you.

He leaned in, his breath just barely grazing your ear.

“Calm down,” he murmured, his voice low, easy. “Just do the minimum.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Like you?” you whispered back.

Frankie gave you a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with the urge to fire something back at you. But he held it in.

“So, how did you two meet?” Grace asked, her voice sweet, playful. She turned to Frankie with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to charm such a pretty girl.”

Frankie let out a low chuckle. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“Oh, you’re going to love this,” Maia said, eyebrows arching in anticipation.

“Frankie was a total heartbreaker when we were kids, baby,” Luna added, her tone rich with amusement. “The girls loved the whole brooding, shy boy act.”

“I was shy,” Frankie defended, frowning slightly, as if the memory still perplexed him. “I think that was just my secret weapon.” He shrugged, then winked.

Helena shook her head, smiling.

“And how did this happen?” She turned to you, her gaze warm, almost knowing. “Francisco hasn’t told me a thing, no matter how much I insisted on it. I can’t believe he kept it a secret—especially with someone as lovely as you.”

“I thought he was about to take a vow of celibacy,” Sofia chimed in dryly, swirling her wine before taking a sip. “After he turned down that date with Genevieve’s daughter, we were convinced. She’s very pretty.”

“What’s celibacy?” Jamie piped up.

Henry, sitting next to him, burst out laughing.

Frankie exhaled through his nose, then leaned in, his arm draping over the back of your chair. The shift in posture was subtle but intentional. You felt the warmth of him at your side.

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that maybe you all just wore me out with that?” His voice was even, but his eyes moved slowly across the table.

“Ay, sweetheart, we were just worried,” Helena said, her concern soft and painfully genuine. “We just want you to be happy, genuinely happy. And after everything that’s happened…” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on her son.

Frankie stiffened, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked to hers, a silent warning: Don’t say it.

Helena caught it instantly. She inhaled, then softened her expression. “I’m just happy to hear you say that you’re happy with someone great.”

You turned to look at Frankie. He was still close, his face unreadable, his body warm next to yours.

What exactly had he told them? That he was happy? That he was in love? How intense was it all according to him?

“How did you two meet?” Sofía asked, her voice light but perceptive, her gaze flickering between you and Frankie. She had noticed his discomfort—of course, she had.

“It’s a funny story, actually.” His eyes found yours, holding them for a fraction too long, something unspoken passing between you. A silent negotiation. A mutual recognition. “Do you remember Santi?”

Everyone nodded. Even Henry, who had never met your brother but had certainly heard his name before.

“Well,” Frankie said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world, “she’s his sister.”

For a second, there was silence, the air thick with realization. Then—

Helena, Luna, and Sofía all widened their eyes in synchronized surprise. Grace, on the other hand, grinned like she had just won something.

“You’re Santiago’s sister?” Helena asked, reaching out and taking your arm gently, warmth in her touch. She looked genuinely delighted, like this was some grand revelation that connected dots she hadn’t even known were unconnected.

You nodded, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh my God, Francisco, why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her son, her tone accusatory.

Frankie shrugged, but before he could speak, you jumped in.

“Oh, that was because of me,” you admitted, smiling at her. “I asked Frankie to keep it private until I had the chance to talk to Santi. I… I wanted to tell him first.”

Luna, who had been watching with her chin propped on her palm, suddenly straightened, her lips curving into something sharp and entertained.

“Wait, but how?” she demanded, eyes glinting. “Was it sudden? Was it a secret? Please tell me everything.”

Frankie clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, relax.”

“Hey, we want to know!” Maia chimed in, twisting in her seat to get a better angle on you both. Grace nodded eagerly beside her, practically vibrating with interest.

Frankie glanced at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—caution, amusement, curiosity. A silent question.

You held his gaze, then gave the smallest nod. Permission granted.

He turned back to them, exhaling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It just happened,” Frankie said, his tone edged with impatience, like he was eager to get it over with. “We’d known each other for years, but we never really talked. Not much, anyway. Then Santi asked me to pick her up in Dallas because he couldn’t go, and he’d already promised. So I did.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, like he was considering the weight of his own words. “It was the longest trip of my life.” He glanced at you then, a slow, almost taunting smile curving his lips. “But I think something changed there. Don’t you?”

You held his gaze, matching his expression, refusing to break first.

For his family, this was a love story. For you, it was the beginning of a nightmare in a roadside diner, the longest meal of your life.

“Oh, of course it did,” you said, letting your hand fall onto his knee without warning. You felt him tense under your touch—so subtle no one else would have noticed. But you did. The corners of your mouth lifted, amusement flickering in your eyes as you smoothed it over with something softer, something that could be mistaken for affection.

“Actually,” you continued, turning toward Helena, who was watching you with quiet curiosity, “we never got along too well. The few times we saw each other, we ended up arguing, or worse.” You flicked your gaze back to Frankie, like you were measuring his reaction. “I always thought he disliked me. He always seemed uncomfortable, like he was disgusted by me.” You let the words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary before adding, lightly, “Apparently, not at all.”

“He liked you,” Grace said, beaming as if this was the best news she’d heard all night. “It’s so obvious.”

“Ah, typical,” Maia chimed in, crossing her arms, as if she had seen this exact scenario unfold a hundred times before.

Helena, still completely engrossed, leaned in slightly. “So what happened then?”

Frankie exhaled, his voice smoothing into something more deliberate, as if the story was forming in real-time.

“She left something in my car. I went to drop it off at her place a few days later. We talked for a while and—”

“And he kissed me,” you cut in, turning to look at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Frankie’s expression barely changed, but you caught the flicker of irritation in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed for half a second. He had been telling the story clean, simple, effortless. And now, suddenly, you had made it romantic. More than it needed to be.

Helena squeezed your arm gently, as if this moment—this entire fabricated story—was something to be treasured.

“Oh, who would have imagined it!” she said, delighted. “And what did your brother say? Was he angry? Did he approve?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Well, at first, he was just… shocked.” You smiled, remembering the way Santiago had looked at you when you told him your plan the day before, like he genuinely thought he had misheard. “I don’t think he was angry, exactly. More like—‘of all the people in the world, you and Francisco?’” You mimicked your brother’s voice, shaking your head. “His exact words: You two couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing.” Okay. That was fake, he never said that, but was it a lie?

Helena laughed, eyes warm.

Frankie sighed beside you, and when you glanced at him, his gaze was already on you—steady, unreadable. A story told a little too well. 

“Well,” he said finally, his voice dry. “I guess people change.”

“Well, actually, I don’t find it strange at all,” Helena said suddenly, glancing at her daughters as if they should have known this already. “When I met your father, I didn’t like him. Not even a little. I thought he was insufferable, so arrogant. He asked me out five times, and I turned him down every single time. I was convinced he was conceited.” She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “In reality, he was just… shy and a little bit awkward.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. Maybe that had been true for Frankie's father, but not for his son. With you, Frankie hadn’t been misunderstood—he had been downright mean. What had he called you once? Ah, yes, “little insufferable brat.” 

The memory made you tighten your grip around your glass.

Luckily, the party had started to fill with more guests, and Helena excused herself to greet them. Frankie’s sisters kept you in their orbit a little longer, but their questions were harmless. You answered lightly, intentionally keeping your responses vague, avoiding any personal detail that might reveal too much.

By the time dinner was served, the conversation had shifted entirely, now centered on Helena’s upcoming trip. She was going to Maui with her two sisters.

“Maybe I’ll just stay and live there,” she mused at one point, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her wine. “If the sand convinces me.”

“I think you’re going to love it,” Luna said. “Honestly, I think it’s the best thing you can do. Travel. Go to all those places you always told us about.”

Helena smiled at her daughter, but there was something behind it. A flicker of sadness, a private grief.

“Oh, yes,” she said, exhaling softly. “I just wish I could have had my Gabriel with me.” She smiled as she said it, but the words landed heavier than anything else had all evening.

You glanced at Frankie without meaning to, and that’s when you noticed how he was looking at his mother. Not just listening, watching, the way someone does when they know exactly what’s behind a statement like that. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The same quiet ache was there, in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his glass. Then he caught you looking and dropped his gaze to his plate.

After dinner, Luna and Sofía stood under the spotlights, microphones in hand, offering heartfelt words to their mother. Helena sat at the center of it all, her expression soft, her eyes shining as she listened. Friends and family followed, sharing anecdotes—some sentimental, others ridiculous.

You found yourself genuinely enjoying the evening. Frankie's family was incredible—funny, loud, and full of life. The stories they told about Helena were the kind of stories that made you want to listen forever. 

At one point, Eli, one of her oldest friends, recounted a story about the time she and Helena had snuck into David Bowie’s hotel as teenagers, only to steal a pair of underwear that—to this day—they weren’t entirely sure had belonged to Bowie himself or just some unfortunate member of his team. Either way, they still had them, tucked away somewhere.

The entire room erupted into laughter.

You were still caught in the story, your attention fully on the speaker, when you felt the weight of Frankie’s arm settle lightly against your back. He leaned in, his mouth near your ear, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he murmured. 

It took a second for you to register what he meant.

“Huh?” You turned slightly over your shoulder, catching the sharpness in his expression.

“This doesn’t have to be romantic.”

You blinked at him. Then scoffed.

“There’s no way it’s not romantic,” you whispered back, exasperated. “I’m your best friend’s sister. It just happened. How do you expect people not to romanticize it?”

Frankie exhaled, his hand briefly flexing against your back before he pulled it away.

“Just… just leave it to me from now on, okay?”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the spotlight, where Helena’s friend was still mid-story.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The party carried on the way these gatherings always did—laughter spilling into the air, the clinking of glasses as a few heartfelt toasts were made, voices overlapping in lively conversation. At the center of it all stood the towering delicious cake, drawing admiration before being sliced and passed around on small plates. Cameras flashed as family members huddled together for pictures, arms wrapped around shoulders, cheeks pressed close, and after a few more anecdotes and a couple more glasses of wine, Frankie leaned in, his breath warm against your shoulder as he murmured that he needed to find the bathroom. You nodded, barely looking up, stretching your legs as you stood. The air inside had started to feel thick, a little too warm, a little too full of laughter and clinking glasses.

You wandered toward the courtyard at the heart of the hall, a quiet oasis strung with soft lights, vines curling around wrought iron railings. The hotel was stunning, all old-world charm and careful elegance, the kind of place you’d never had a reason to visit before tonight.

Sinking onto a small stone bench, you exhaled slowly, watching the golden glow of the party through the enormous windows. Inside, the music throbbed, rich and nostalgic—ABBA, because of course it was. Guests twirled and swayed, arms flung around each other, faces flushed with wine and joy.

You lifted your glass to your lips, the white wine still pleasantly cool, still sweet. For a moment, you stared down at your shoes, tracing patterns on the stone floor with the tip of your toe. This was ridiculous. All of it.

What the hell were you doing here, at Frankie’s mother’s party? How had you let yourself get talked into this? His family was lovely, yes. His mother, especially. But did you really need to be here, sitting among strangers, smiling politely at old stories that weren’t yours? And Harry’s wedding—did you really want to go to that, after everything?

“Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Helena stepping into the courtyard, lifting the hem of her dress as she walked. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair slightly undone from all the dancing.

You smiled despite yourself, tilting your head.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said, glancing around as she lowered herself onto the bench beside you. “It’s a beautiful place.”

She hummed in agreement, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Yes, it is. My kids did a good job.”

“It’s a wonderful party. You have so many people who love you.” You hesitated, then laughed lightly. “The stories were funny.”

Helena smiled, and for a split second, you saw Frankie in her—the dimple that appeared when she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I really liked them,” you added.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to you, her expression open, curious.

You nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Me too.” Her gaze drifted toward the party, toward the window where music and voices poured through. “The years go by, and sometimes I forget just how much has happened to me. It’s strange. Sometimes it feels like my life after Gabriel passed away is… something separate. Like a different life entirely, like I became another woman without even realizing it.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her ring absentmindedly.

Frankie had never talked to you about his father, but you knew. He had died suddenly two years ago. Santi had mentioned it in passing on the day of the funeral, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—grief, exhaustion, maybe both. You had called him that morning, not knowing what had happened, and when he told you, it felt like the air had changed. Gabriel. You remembered the name, the way Santi had said it so carefully, like it was something fragile. He loved him, that much was clear. Like a second father, he said.

Helena’s words pressed against something in you, something raw. You and Santi had lost your own father a couple of years ago, when you were twenty-three. It had been sudden, too—death always seemed to be, no matter how much warning you had. Your mother had taken it the hardest. She couldn’t bear to stay in the house they had shared for nearly thirty-five years. The grief sat too thick in the walls, in the corners of every room, in the quiet that used to be filled with his voice. So she left. Packed her things and moved to New York to live with your aunt. Sometimes, when she called, she sounded lighter. Other times, she just sounded far away.

You glanced at Helena, something warm and unspoken passing between you.

“As if you had been torn in two,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “As if there was the version of you that knew him, and a new one that spends every day missing him.”

Helena turned toward you, studying you in the dim light. Then she nodded, her gaze drifting back to the party, to the golden glow of the room beyond the window.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “But I’m very lucky, aren’t I? To have a family like this?” She turned back to you, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me, do you like us?”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head slightly.

“Oh, of course I do,” you said, meaning it. “You have a beautiful family.”

Helena studied you for a long moment, her smile still in place but something shifting behind her eyes. A quiet kind of consideration.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated, then nodded, suddenly unsure of yourself, worried you weren’t as good an actress as you had hoped.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice warm, gentle. There was no interrogation in it, only concern, the careful curiosity of a mother trying not to overstep but unable to help herself. “I don’t want to be that kind of mother, but… I think I am.” She smiled, a little self-deprecating. “Of all my children, he’s always been the most sensitive. Did you know that?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? You didn’t know Frankie. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. Your impression of him had been built on a handful of unfortunate encounters, on snide comments exchanged in passing, on the way he always seemed to carry himself like he had something to prove.

She watched you hesitate, and before you could scramble for an answer, she reached out, her hand landing gently on your leg, a mother’s touch—steadying, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to pry—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I…” You let out a breath, deciding there was no point in pretending. “He’s fine. Maybe a little nervous about tonight.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Helena sighed, nodding knowingly.

“Oh, yeah. I noticed that. That boy isn’t very good at hiding things, dear.” She smiled again, her expression fond. “He’s always been like that. Very transparent with his feelings. From the moment he arrived, I could tell—he looked as nervous as a cat backed into a corner.”

You laughed, unable to help it.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed. “On the way here, he was humming this song, and I swear, it was the funniest thing. And before we even walked in, he gave me this whole speech—like, a full-on monologue.”

Helena let out a laugh, shaking her head.

“But you have nothing to worry about,” she said softly. “I already like you very much.”

Her hand came up, brushing against your cheek for the briefest moment, warm and gentle. You felt yourself smile, unthinking, almost reflexive.

“And I’m really sorry about what I said at the table,” she continued, her voice quiet, careful. “I am happy that he’s happy. It’s just… when he told me the other day that he was seeing someone, I really thought he was lying. I hate to admit that, but I did.” She sighed, shaking her head lightly. “My daughters and I have been… a little difficult with him. And I know he wouldn’t want me to talk about this, but I feel like I have to.”

You nodded.

“Of course,” you murmured, your brows pulling together.

She looked at you then, as if weighing something, as if considering whether or not she should say the thing already forming on her tongue.

“I worry about him,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “After Rachel…” She hesitated. “Did he ever talk to you about her?”

You nodded once.

“Well,” she exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I had never seen him like that before.” She glanced away, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of her dress. “Of course, it wasn’t just her. It was everything. His father’s death shattered him, and Rachel… well, she only made it worse. And Francisco has always been strong, but underneath all that, there’s his enormous heart, and he tucks everything away in there. He carries it all.”

Her eyes softened, as if remembering something.

“And when he finally started to come back to himself, I noticed he was… lonely,” she admitted. “I know I can be overbearing, and I know he’s probably told you all about the blind dates.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiling a little.

You laughed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Helena let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, but the warmth in her expression didn’t fade. She studied you for a long moment, as if trying to piece something together, as if she had already made up her mind about you and was simply waiting for you to realize it, too.

“I think you’re a good person,” she said at last. “No, I know you are. My intuition is rarely wrong about these things.” She tilted her head slightly, considering you. “And you’re Santiago’s sister. I know no one of his blood could have a bad heart.”

She leaned forward then. “Can I trust you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

You stared at her, your smile slowly slipping away, your expression shifting into something more uncertain. Could she trust you?

No.

She couldn’t.

You were nothing more than a woman her son had convinced to pretend. A stranger caught up in a performance. And yet, here she was, speaking to you with nothing but honesty, with nothing but trust. Her words settled into you, heavy and warm, and you felt something tighten in your chest, something uncomfortable, something that almost hurt.

“Hey. There you are.”

The voice cut through the quiet, startling you. You turned instinctively, your body tensing before your eyes even landed on him.

Frankie.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the garden lights, his expression pulled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn’t. His eyes gave him away—something sharp, something unsettled lurking just beneath the surface.

Helena moved first. She stood, smoothing out the skirt of her dress as if shaking off the weight of your conversation. By the time she reached her son, any trace of emotion had been neatly tucked away.

“I’ll leave you two,” she said lightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t abandon my own party just yet.”

Frankie barely glanced at her, his gaze still fixed on you. Helena disappeared through the doorway, her presence vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.

You stayed where you were, fingers pressed against the fabric of your dress, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, edged with something you didn’t like. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He moved toward you, sinking onto the bench beside you. Too close.

“What the hell were you doing talking to my mom?”

You exhaled sharply, already exhausted by the conversation before it had even properly begun.

“I just needed air,” you said, leveling him with a look. “She just… showed up.”

“Well, no. Don’t.”

You blinked at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to her.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“What did you want me to do, Francisco? Turn my back on her?”

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you, his jaw tight.

“What did you say to her?” 

The accusatory edge in his tone made something twist inside you—something hot, something unpleasant. Your heart kicked up a little, the way it had when you were younger and had done something wrong, when an adult’s disappointment settled over you like a heavy weight. But this wasn’t that. You weren’t a child, and Frankie sure as hell wasn’t some authority figure.

Still, something about this—his sharp words, his narrowed eyes—made you feel small. And maybe, just maybe, that conversation with Helena had already set something loose inside you. Had already made you feel like the fraud you were.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said firmly. “Seriously.”

Frankie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face before gesturing sharply with his hands.

“You already ruined it,” he said, his voice low but forceful. “What was that at dinner, huh?”

“What?”

“Everything. I thought we’d been clear. Nothing too personal. Nothing too over the top.”

You inhaled, slow and steady, trying to keep your irritation in check. But it was creeping in, needling its way under your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I just acted how we agreed—”

“No,” he interrupted, turning to fully face you. His expression had hardened, frustration and something else—something darker—etched into the lines of his face. “You went too far. You did it wrong.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I did exactly what we agreed on,” you repeated, your voice sharper now. “It’s not my fault your mom wanted to talk to me—”

“You said too much—”

“No, I was just being myself but a little—”

“Exactly,” he cut in, his voice a little louder, a little rougher. “You shouldn’t have been you!”

You felt it like a slap.

Your breath hitched, your throat tightening, heat rising to your face before you could stop it. The burn started behind your nose, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

Frankie’s expression shifted just the slightest bit, his mouth pressing into a tight line, as if he had only just realized what he’d said. As if he could see it—the way you were gripping your empty wine glass too tightly, the way your whole body had gone rigid.

But he didn’t have time to take it back.

Because you stood so quickly the bench wobbled slightly beneath you. And then you were moving—away from him, away from the awful heat crawling up your neck, away from the sharp edge of his words.

“Hey—” Frankie started, standing just as fast, his voice breaking through the air. But it was useless.

The music swelled, drowning him out, swallowing whatever poor attempt at damage control he was about to make.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

The farther you walked into the party, the harder your heart pounded, the sound of it loud in your ears, almost drowning out the music. The heat in your face hadn’t faded. Neither had the sharp, lingering sting of Frankie’s words, pressing like a bruise against your ribs.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the room. The dim lighting worked in your favor—candles flickering on the tables, the dance floor bathed in a shifting wash of blues and reds, everything softened by the haze of too much champagne and conversation. You doubted anyone would notice you slipping away.

For a brief second, you considered heading straight for the door. Walking out, stepping into the night, inhaling air that wasn’t thick with perfume and laughter and the weight of everything that had just happened.

But instead, you turned on your heel and went to the bar.

You weren’t going to leave. Not yet.

You were angry, and there was an open bar. It would be stupid not to take advantage.

You slid onto a stool, pressing your elbows onto the smooth wood, and ordered a margarita.

The bartender nodded, reaching for a bottle of tequila, his movements fluid, practiced. You watched him pour, shake, pour again. The salt rim sparkled under the low lights. When he finally set the drink in front of you, you didn’t hesitate—lifting the glass to your lips and taking a long, slow pull. The cold hit your tongue first, followed by the sharpness of the lime, the bite of the alcohol. You drank like you had something to prove, and by the time you set the glass back down, it was already halfway empty.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement.

Frankie.

He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence shifting the air before you even fully registered him. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his body angled toward you, his forearm resting on the bar, his fingers absently grazing his mouth like he was considering his next words. Or maybe biting them back.

Your jaw tightened.

Then he ordered a whiskey, and you rolled your eyes—not at the drink itself, but at the sound of his voice, at the way it cut through the music and curled under your skin.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just watched you, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, charged with something unreadable. You refused to meet it, keeping your attention locked onto anything else—the melting ice in your glass, the vodka label in front of you, the way the bartender’s hands moved as he made another round of drinks.

And so it went.

You started your second margarita. He started his second whiskey.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally, you turned to look at him for the first time since the courtyard.

He was already looking at you.

“I know you’re nervous, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that.”

Frankie opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could get a word out.

“You’re not going to talk to me like that,” you repeated, quieter this time, sharper.

His eyes flickered—something hesitant, something almost guilty.

“I’m—”

“Look at me,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your words landed between you, closer than they needed to be. “I spent hours getting ready for this. Hours making sure I looked perfect for this stupid charade. Do you have any idea how long it took me to fix my hair? No, you don’t. Because you’re a complete idiot. An idiot who treats me like shit when I’m the one standing here, at your mother’s party, pretending to be someone I’m not—for you. And do you know why I'm doing this, Frankie?” Your voice wavered, not with weakness but with the sheer force of your anger. “Because I chose to. Not because you deserve it or I need you for another stupid lie. Because let’s be honest—” you tilted your head, smiling coldly, “—we’re not even fucking friends.”

His gaze hardened, but he didn’t look away.

“You owed me,” he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something.

You let out a quiet scoff, your eyes flicking to the dance floor, where Maia was watching the two of you from a distance, her expression unreadable.

When you turned back to Frankie, something had shifted in your eyes—something lighter, something amused. A slow, deliberate smile tugged at your lips as you lifted a hand, resting it against his cheek.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“Your sister is watching,” you murmured.

His shoulders relaxed, his expression softening just slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek, slow and calculated.

“Forget about the wedding,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, your smile still sweet, still deceptive. “Because after tonight, I don’t want to spend another fucking second with you.”

Frankie let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m useful to you,” he said, his voice smooth, certain.

“You’re useless to me.”

He leaned in just enough that your knees touched. “I don’t think so, shortcake.”

"Huh?" You let out an incredulous laugh, letting your eyes flick across his face—his mouth, his jaw, the slight smugness settled into his features. Beneath your hand, you could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath your palm.

Your fingers slid from his cheek to his neck, and you squeezed, just enough to make a point.

“To me,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his skin, “you’re nothing but a pathetic, desperate little loser trying to convince his mommy he’s something he’s not.”

Frankie let out a quiet, bitter laugh, the kind that barely curled the edges of his mouth but darkened his eyes in a way that made your stomach twist. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around yours, prying them gently from his neck. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he laced his fingers with yours, lowering your joined hands to his chest.  

His body shifted forward, closing the already dangerous space between you. If you leaned in even slightly, your nose would brush against his.  

Your breath hitched, the heat pooling in your cheeks betraying every emotion you were trying to suppress. Anger, frustration, something sharper beneath the surface.  

Frankie studied you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice low, edged with amusement.  

“You sound a little too confident for someone who might be a pathetic, desperate loser herself,” he murmured. 

You swallowed, your pulse a steady, insistent beat against your ribs.  

“Can I ask you a question?” he continued, his fingers flexing against yours.  

“No.”  

He ignored you, tilting his head slightly, considering something. And then—  

“Which came first,” he asked, voice almost teasing, “the moon or the sun? I thought you were afraid of needles.”

You stared at him in silence, the smug smile on his lips igniting something hot and restless inside you. It wasn’t just anger—it was something stranger, something you didn’t want to name.

Your tattoo.

He must have seen it earlier, when he helped you with your dress. A small moon and sun, delicately inked on your lower back—a reckless decision from a night out drinking with Emma. She was the sun, you were the moon. At the time, in your drunken haze, it had seemed like an aesthetically brilliant idea. Sober, you weren’t so sure.

A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, amusement curling at the edges of your mouth. Your fingers tightened slightly, gripping the fabric of his shirt beneath his hand.

“Look at you, a regular voyeur,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Why do you ask, Francisco? Is it you talking, or the whiskey? And how many glasses of wine had you had before this? Three? Four? ”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his gaze trailing over your face like he was enjoying something about this moment, about you.

“I really didn't think of you as the type of person who would wear a tattoo like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a half-smile.

“Ah, funny. So, you spend a lot of time thinking about me and what I wear? Or is it only when you’re bored, staring at the walls of your sad, monotonous life?”

“Said the woman who spends her nights with a cat and an imaginary boyfriend,” Frankie said, grinning as he watched you roll your eyes. The dim bar light caught the edge of his smile, sharpening it. He lifted his glass—dark amber, expensive—and took a slow sip. You followed the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin.

“Mr. Darcy’s excellent company. And at least I have a cat. What do you have?”

Frankie made a show of looking around, scanning the crowded room like the answer might be hidden somewhere between the swaying bodies on the dance floor or in the clinking glasses behind the bar. Then his gaze settled back on you, steady, assessing.

“What do I have?” He hummed as if considering it, then leaned in just slightly. “I think I really want to have another drink to make being around you more bearable.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back a retort. The warmth of alcohol sat low in your stomach, and the room was just a little too bright, a little too soft at the edges.

Across the room, Frankie’s sisters were dancing, their hair spilling over their shoulders, their laughter rising above the music. Maia caught your eye, her face flushed, and raised her eyebrows in an invitation. Without a second thought, you hopped off your stool, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Frankie watched you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He parted his lips like he was about to say something, but before he could, you turned and walked away. His mouth actually dropped open when he saw where you were going.

Maia pulled you in by the arm, and just like that, you were dancing, your body falling easily into the rhythm of the music. The moment felt expansive, electric. A kind of joy buzzed beneath your skin—the kind that only came from being a little tipsy and surrounded by people who knew how to have fun. You let it take you, the laughter, the music, the hands brushing against yours as you moved.

And yet—his words clung to you like the aftertaste of something bitter. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Like he was the authority on that. Like it was his job to keep you contained, manageable.

Well, if he wanted you to behave, maybe you should do something to really piss him off.

You turned to find him, just to check. Luna leaned in, murmured something nice about your dress, but you barely registered it. Frankie was still at the bar, one arm draped lazily against the counter, the other wrapped around his glass. His expression was unreadable—neutral, detached—but you knew better. You knew him. And if you had to guess, he was furious.

A song passed, then another. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a little wild. Helena was dancing beside you, swaying Jamie from side to side, both of them beaming. The kind of easy happiness you never saw at parties in your own family. Frankie was still there, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. He was looking at his phone.

Two songs later, you weren’t thinking about him at all.

You were laughing, lost in the pulse of the music, your head tipped back as you let it all go. Then—fingers wrapped around your arm. Warm. Familiar. Frankie.

Helena appeared beside him, her voice bright and teasing. “Finally! A girl shouldn’t dance alone when her boyfriend’s around.”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just smiled at his mother—an easy, charming kind of smile that didn’t fool you at all—before tugging you toward him. You stumbled a little, your hands catching against his chest as he turned you, pulled you in close.

Your breath hitched, but your smile didn’t falter. You tilted your chin up at him, your fingers settling on his shoulders.

“Are you going to dance with me now, honey?” you asked, your voice syrupy sweet, thick with amusement.

His hand tightened around yours.

Yeah, he was mad.

And you were having the best time.

Frankie licked his teeth, a slow, deliberate motion, like he was holding something back. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, tight and humorless. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I see what you're doing," he murmured, his voice slurring slightly, softened by alcohol. "I think you should stop."

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your chin, closing the space between you until your lips were just beside his ear.

"I'm just having fun," you said, your voice light, teasing. "Completely harmless."

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Amusement flickered across his face, but his eyes told another story—sharp, dark, frustrated. Like enduring this moment, enduring you, required every ounce of patience he had left.

Then, without warning, his hands slid to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you aware of them. Before you could react, he pulled you closer, the movement rough, unhesitating. Your chest bumped against his, knocking the air from your lungs in a quiet, startled gasp.

Your eyes met, and something flickered in the space between you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

Frankie tilted his head, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady on yours.

"I’m playing your game, didn’t you want to dance?"

You could smell the whiskey on him, the faint traces of something else—lavender, salt, the remnants of the night on his skin. Your hands were still on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and for a brief, unsteady second, you let yourself feel it. The warmth of him. The way his body fit against yours.

You flicked a glance around the room, searching for familiar faces—Maia, Sofía, Helena, someone who might be watching. But no. Everyone was lost in their own drunken happiness, in laughter, in swaying bodies and half-empty glasses.

Then Frankie moved.

He stepped forward, hands firm at your waist, steering you with him. The crowd swallowed you both, the music vibrating through the floor, through your ribs, through him.

"This isn't a good idea," you murmured, but you didn't pull away.

Frankie barely reacted. His hand traced up your arm, fingers curling around yours, guiding them into place, his movements seamless, practiced. He looked down at you, his mouth twitching at the corner, like he was already enjoying whatever this was more than he should.

"Oh no? Why not?"

His face was close. Too close.

Then, before you could register it, his cheek brushed against yours, a fleeting touch, just enough to make your breath hitch. The warmth of his skin, the slow, deliberate way he moved to the rhythm of the music—it was too much, all of it. Your fingers tightened around his without thinking.

You exhaled, a slow, shuddering sigh, and with it came the scent of him—warm skin, whiskey, and something else. Something deeper. Was it cologne? Was he wearing fucking cologne?

Whatever it was, he smelled fucking good.

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that might help erase the fact that Francisco Morales, of all people, smelled good, and that his body was pressed against yours, and—worst of all—that none of it felt bad. In fact, your feet lifted slightly onto your toes, seeking some fraction of closeness, your body betraying you in real time.

It was the alcohol.

It was absolutely, one hundred percent the alcohol. That, and the undeniable, frustrating fact that you were touch-starved. When was the last time a man had held you like this? You couldn’t remember. Your mind was too foggy, too wrapped up in the moment, in the warmth of him, in the firm weight of his hands.

But then it hit you.

It was Frankie. Frankie was the one holding you.

Your eyes snapped open, the realization jolting through you like a slap. Without thinking, you yanked yourself away, stumbling backward. It was clumsy, too sudden, and your own body felt unsteady, like it hadn’t caught up with your decision yet. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Frankie just watched you, an amused, almost devilish grin tugging at his lips. And then, slowly, that amusement shifted into something else—confusion, curiosity—as he took in your wide eyes, your rapid breath, your entire mess of a reaction.

You didn’t wait to see what he would do next. You turned and bolted, and didn’t stop moving until you were outside, back in the courtyard.

The air was crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning beneath your skin. You stepped into the garden, tilting your head back, letting the night air kiss your cheeks. It helped, a little. It grounded you, just enough to breathe, just enough to press your hands against your ribs like you could steady your own heartbeat.

"Hey, you okay?"

You stiffened at the sound of his voice.

Of course he followed you.

You didn’t turn around. You heard his footsteps approach, felt him standing just a little too close beside you. He was silent for a moment, and for some reason, that was worse than if he’d said something right away.

"You should drink some water," he said finally, his voice quieter now, less sharp around the edges. You caught the sound of his palm scraping over the back of his neck. "And so should I, honestly. I think I drank—"

“Stop pretending to care,” you snapped, cutting him off. Your voice was sharper than you meant it to be, your arms folding tightly across your chest. And why were you angry? You weren’t even sure. You just were.

Frankie let out a soft, amused breath. He clicked his tongue, then shifted his weight, considering you.

“I’m not pretending anything. I promised Santi I’d look after you.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally turning to face him.

“What, like you’re my fucking babysitter or something?” You shook your head, your words dripping with frustration. “I’m twenty-nine, Francisco. I can take care of myself.”

Frankie’s jaw tightened. His hands went to his hips, his eyes dropping to your feet like he was biting back whatever he actually wanted to say.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The silence between you stretched, thin but not fragile, the kind that neither of you felt the need to break. You both stood still, eyes moving across the garden as though searching for something worth commenting on. The music inside thrummed against the walls of the house, muffled but insistent, the bass vibrating faintly under your skin.

And then you became aware of your body—every muscle, every inch of discomfort. The dull ache in your feet flared as if your nerves had only just remembered to complain.

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air.

“My feet are killing me,” you murmured, shifting your weight, closing your eyes for just a second. 

Frankie snorted. You cracked an eye open in time to see him glance down at your heels—six inches of poor decision-making, glossy under the dim garden lights. His gaze moved up your legs, thoughtful. Then he scratched his chin, eyes narrowing slightly, as if making a decision.

“Sit down,” he said after a pause, nodding toward the bench you’d been perched on earlier, next to Helena. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Before you could ask where he was going, he was already walking off, disappearing through the door.

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto the seat—not because he told you to, obviously, just because you wanted to. You stretched your legs out, rolling your ankles, relishing the brief relief.

A couple of minutes passed. The music shifted to something softer, slower. You had just started to wonder if Frankie had left you out here for good when the door creaked open again.

He stepped back outside, a crease between his brows and—

You blinked.

“What are you doing?” Your voice carried an edge of suspicion. “What are those?”

Frankie knelt in front of you, setting a pair of slippers at your feet. His expression was flat, unimpressed.

He sighed, already irritated, already prepared for your resistance.

“They’re new, don't worry,” he said, like it was nothing, like this was something he did all the time. His fingers curled around your ankle before you could flinch away. Warm, certain. “Sofia gave them to me, but they’re too small and... not my style anyway. I left them in the car to exchange them, but I never got around to it.” He shot you a pointed look, as if to say, So really, I’m doing us both a favor. “Might as well put them to use.”

Before you could argue, before you could come up with something clever to deflect the strange weight of this moment, he unclipped your heel and slid it off with practiced ease.

You swallowed. Watched him. Felt a strange, unwelcome awareness creep up your spine.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your ankle as he repeated the motion with the other shoe. His focus stayed on the task, entirely unbothered. Meanwhile, something in your chest wound too tight, a tension that hadn’t been there moments ago.

You didn’t like it.

Frankie slid the slippers onto your feet, adjusting them slightly before leaning back on his heels with a groan. He pushed himself up, exhaling through his nose, then dropped onto the bench beside you. A hand scrubbed over his face, rubbing at his eyes, and a yawn slipped past his lips.

You looked down at your feet, flexing your toes experimentally against the soft fabric. You weren’t sure what to say.

But, despite yourself, it did feel better.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice flat, almost absent.

Frankie nodded, his gaze flicking to your feet, now resting comfortably on the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

And then, silence. The kind that stretched and settled, filling the space between you like heavy fog. Through the glass windows, the muffled thrum of music hummed in the background, but all you could really hear was your own breathing, steady but uneven. Would it be rude if you told him you were ready to go home?

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, pulling you from the thought.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting slightly in your seat. “My feet don’t hurt anymore.”

Frankie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head tipped down between his shoulders. He exhaled, like he was bracing himself.

“I meant before,” he said, glancing up at you. “I—”

“Ah. Yeah.” 

His fingers brushed idly over the seam of his pants, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole to you.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to keep going. “You just... you... you get under my skin sometimes, but—anyway. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s okay.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“This was a fucking terrible idea,” he admitted, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with something light, something almost fond. “What the hell were we thinking?”

A laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “I have no idea.”

Frankie grinned, pushing to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might somehow wipe away the flush of warmth creeping up his neck. When he looked back at you, his expression was softer.

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s stay a little longer, and then I’ll take you home. Deal?”

You eyed his hand, hesitating. There was something about the gesture—about the unspoken truce it implied—that made your chest tighten. But still, after a beat, you placed your palm against his.

Frankie pulled you to your feet, steadying you before letting go.

“You’re drunk,” you observed. “Are you seriously going to drive like that?”

“I’ll call a cab,” he said immediately, as if he’d already made up his mind. 

You nodded, about to say something else when the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his movements sluggish, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Frankie shifted closer to you, his body angling slightly in your direction.

“Hey, it's our little pilot,” the man drawled, his words slurring together as his eyes flicked lazily between the two of you. A smirk played on his lips. “How’s it going?”

Frankie’s expression barely changed.

“Ian,” he said, his voice unreadable. “Didn’t see you earlier.”

“Nah, I was running late,” Ian replied with a slow shrug. “You know how it is—time moves like shit when you wanna leave work early.” He clicked his tongue, his gaze dragging over you with undisguised interest. “So, this your new girl?”

Frankie didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he said smoothly. “We were actually just heading out—”

“You still having those problems?” Ian interrupted, tilting his head.

Frankie exhaled sharply. “Not really any of your business.” A beat. “You still avoiding your ex-wife?”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing between them. Ian laughed, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” he mused, voice laced with something cruel. “Does your dick even work with all those antidepressants? Must be a fucking nightmare trying to keep up with something as sweet as this one.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, his smirk widening.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion.

Frankie went still beside you, his jaw locking, his shoulders tight. His gaze was fixed on Ian, his expression eerily blank, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You thought of Helena’s words about her son and felt something sharp and bitter curdle in your chest.

Ian chuckled to himself, clearly entertained, clearly drunk beyond reason. Frankie was about to say something—you could see it in the way his mouth parted slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides—but before he could, before he even had the chance, the anger—and maybe the alcohol—made the decision for you.

“Oh, not that it’s any of your business, Ian,” you said, tilting your head slightly, voice light, almost sweet. “But since you’re so curious…”

You let out a soft chuckle, flicking your gaze to Frankie for the briefest moment before returning your attention to the man in front of you.

“I suppose I could tell you that... yeah, it works. Before we came here, this man had me seeing stars. Multiple times, actually.” You paused, just long enough to watch the words land, to see the flicker of surprise cross Ian’s face. “So really, I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it?”

You reached out then, the movement slow, deliberate, brushing your fingers along Frankie’s cheek, letting your thumb rest lightly against his lips. His breath caught, just for a second, and his eyes darted to yours, startled but composed, like he wasn’t entirely sure what you were doing but was curious enough to let it happen.

Ian scoffed, recovering quickly.

“Sure,” he said, dragging the word out, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused, vaguely condescending. “I doubt that, gorgeous.”

Your gaze flicked over him, head to toe, as if you were appraising something unimpressive on display. You didn’t bother hiding the disdain curling at the corners of your mouth.

Still, your hand remained on Frankie’s face, still at your side. Turning back to him, you found him already watching you, his lips twitching like he was barely resisting a smile. He didn’t care about Ian’s words, about his tone—he was far more interested in whatever it was you were doing.

And then, without really thinking, without hesitating, you pushed up onto your toes and cradled his face in both hands.

You kissed him.

Not a tentative, testing-the-waters kind of kiss. No, this was different. Your lips pressed against his like you’d been wanting to all night, like you didn’t particularly care if Ian was still standing there, gaping at you. Frankie made a sound in the back of his throat, one of surprise that melted quickly into something else. His hands found your waist, firm and steady, pulling you closer as he angled his head, deepening it.

Your tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he let you in, meeting you there, matching you effortlessly. When you finally broke apart, the sound between you was wet and sharp, but you barely had a second to take a breath before you kissed him again.

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling there as you smiled against his lips.

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing your hip.

And then, just because you could, because it felt like the right thing to do, you nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back completely. When you finally turned to Ian, his face was frozen in something close to shock, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline, his mouth slightly open like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or just accept his defeat.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and turned to Frankie again. He was staring at you now, serious, a little dazed, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Now take me home, baby,” you murmured, your voice just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Frankie blinked, as if snapping back into himself.

“I—” His lips parted, then curved into something lopsided, something close to a smirk. “Of course, baby.”

His hand found yours easily, fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned, stepping past Ian with a saccharine smile.

“Bye, Ian,” you said, not bothering to hide the smirk in your voice.

Frankie pushed open the door, and the pulse of the music hit you instantly—deep bass reverberating through your chest, the sharp hum of laughter and voices filling the gaps between beats. You stepped inside, weaving through the press of bodies until you reached the edge of the dance floor. The lights were dim, warm, shifting in color. The air smelled like spilled beer, expensive perfume, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place.  

You turned to Frankie, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.  

“Who the fuck was that?” you asked, voice teasing as you lifted onto your toes, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.  

Frankie dipped his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear.  

“My cousin,” he murmured. “He’s an asshole.”  

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”  

His gaze locked onto yours, something flickering behind his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something else entirely. For two long seconds, neither of you spoke. Then, his focus shifted over your shoulder.  

“They’re watching,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “Don’t turn around.”  

Your brows lifted slightly. “Who?”  

“Mai and Sofía,” he said. “They’re having fun with us.”  

The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your pulse quick from everything that had just unfolded. You laughed, looping your arms around his neck without thinking, and his hands found their place at your waist like it was second nature.  

Frankie exhaled, a sound that was almost a sigh but not quite. His fingers flexed slightly against your hips, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you tighter or let go.

“I think you should kiss me again,” he said suddenly, like the thought had slipped out before he could catch it, voice rougher than before.

You tilted your head, studying him, letting him sit with what he’d just said.  

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. “See? What did I tell you, Francisco? Begging for a little kiss. It was only a matter of time.”  

Frankie’s throat worked around a swallowed laugh. His grip on your waist tightened for just a second.  

“I’m not begging for anything,” he muttered.  

“Sure.”  

You lifted your chin slightly, and he didn’t waste a second—he ducked his head, his mouth finding yours with an easy sort of urgency.

This time, the kiss was different—less urgent, less about spectacle. His lips found yours with a quiet kind of certainty, warm and unhurried, like something unfolding naturally rather than something being taken. His palm slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before settling against your cheek, his skin rough but his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb moved absently over your cheekbone, a slow, soothing motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.  

When his tongue met yours, it wasn’t demanding, just deliberate—like he was tasting the moment, like he was letting it settle between you before deciding what to do with it.  

And then, before it could tip into something deeper, he pulled back. His lips lingered for a second longer, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before he pressed one last, fleeting kiss against your mouth—light, almost absentminded. Then his hand slipped from your cheek, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.

A small smile played at your lips.

“I thought this was supposed to be a kiss-free party.”

“You started it.”

“And you were the one asking for another,” you countered, tilting your head.

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t take much asking.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, smacking his arm lightly.

“Oh, by the way—you’re welcome.”

His brows knitted together, head tilting slightly, a stray curl slipping over his forehead. “For what?”

“For what?” you echoed. “I don’t know, Francisco, maybe for showing up to your mom’s party? For saving you a second ago out there?”

“Right. Yes. Thank you. You know that.”

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?”

He leaned back a little, his hands slipping away from your waist.

“I thought witches just… knew things like that.”

Your mouth fell open in mock offense as you crossed your arms. Then, without another word, you turned toward the bar, fully aware of him following you, just a step behind.

“You’re not going to the wedding, then?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the bar, watching you carefully.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze. “Why would I?”

He pursed his lips, tilting his head like he was considering something.

“I thought you wanted to prove a point. Show him you were happy. And, I mean… do you even know what kind of food they’re serving?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You sound very invested in this wedding all of a sudden. If you want to go, Francisco, just go. You don’t need me.”

“Maybe I will,” he mused. “Might even steal a bottle or two of champagne while I’m at it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, light and unguarded.

Your gaze drifted across the bar, unfocused, catching on the row of glass bottles lined up neatly on the shelves. Their labels were intricate, embossed with gold filigree and elegant cursive, the kind of lettering that—under normal circumstances—you might have found charming. Right now, though, your brain, pleasantly fogged from alcohol, couldn’t make sense of them. The letters blurred together, swirling into something abstract and unreadable.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulder as if shaking off the evening itself. The sound of a cork popping somewhere behind the bar made you flinch slightly, and you let your hand drift absently over your opposite arm.

“Ready to go home?”

Frankie’s voice was low, steady, just beside you.

You nodded but didn’t look at him, your eyes lingering instead on the dance floor. Helena was still out there, her laughter bright and careless, her arms thrown around one of her friends. Of Frankie’s sisters, only Luna remained, swaying easily to the music with Henry, her movements fluid, like she could keep going for hours.

Frankie pulled out his phone and stepped away to call an Uber. You tracked his movements for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a light touch on your arm pulled your focus back.

Maia had appeared on the stool next to you, her cheeks flushed, her hair loose and a little wild. She was smiling, the kind of grin that promised trouble.

“My brother’s a pain in the ass,” she announced. “Dragged you off the dance floor, didn’t he?”

You smirked, amused but not denying it.

“He’s afraid we’ll scare you off,” she continued, lifting an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “But it’s too late for that now. You’ve already witnessed my mom shaking her ass—so, what do you say? One last drink?”

You hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and settling back onto the stool. One more wouldn’t kill you. Probably.

Maia was quick with her order—tequila, no hesitation. When the bartender set up the shot glasses in front of you, you eyed them warily, unsure if your stomach was on board with this decision. Was it irresponsible to drink this much at your boyfriend’s mother’s birthday party? Absolutely. But then again, Frankie wasn’t your boyfriend. So, really, what did it matter?

Ten minutes later, the tequila had done its job, blurring the edges of the evening, making everything feel a little looser, a little funnier. Maia had leaned in close, her voice low and conspiratorial, her hands gesturing dramatically as she spoke.

“I mean, she wasn’t explicitly awful,” she said, dragging out the word like she was still weighing it. “But she had… this energy. Something off. You know what I mean? Like, no matter how hard I tried, I could never figure her out. And she could never blend in with the family, like something was repelling her. I know—no, I know—she hated me.”

You shook your head, appalled, as if this was the greatest injustice you had ever heard.

“But you’re so cute,” you blurted, voice thick and slow, your eyes shining with conviction.

“Right?” Maia snorted. “That’s what I’ve been saying. But Frankie didn’t get it. She was nothing like him. Too cold, too shallow. And every time she treated him like an idiot, I swear I—”

“What are you two talking about?”

A new voice cut through the moment, clear and direct, and you turned just in time to see Frankie standing there with Helena at his side. His eyes flicked between you and Maia, suspicion creeping into his expression.

“Maia, shut your mouth,” he said, more exhausted than angry.

Maia made a dismissive sound. “Oh, please, we’re having girl talk.”

“Well, our cab’s here in five,” Frankie said. His voice was flat, final.

You felt a small pang of disappointment. The conversation had been just getting interesting.

Helena stepped forward, her smile soft and radiant, her cheeks flushed from dancing and champagne. She reached for your arm, her touch warm, familiar, like she’d known you for years instead of just a few hours.

“It was so lovely to meet you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity. “You have to come over for dinner one of these nights so we can actually sit down and talk properly. How about it?”

Frankie was watching you. Not just watching—staring, as if he was trying to telepathically send you some urgent message. But you weren’t looking at him. You were too busy giggling, too charmed by Helena’s smile, too caught up in the easy, affectionate way she spoke to you.

“I’d love to!” you said, too eagerly, too enthusiastically.

Helena clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! How about next week?”

Before you could answer, Frankie’s hand landed on your lower back, grounding, insistent. His voice was tight when he spoke.

“I think we should go.”

Maia let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.

“Don’t be rude, Frankie.” Then she turned back to you, her grin conspiratorial. “So? Next week?”

You blinked, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights. But Maia and Helena were both looking at you with those eyes—hopeful, expectant, impossible to refuse.

“Yes,” you murmured, stepping off the stool, your smile a little uncertain.

The car door shut with a muted thud. Frankie exhaled, pressing himself into the seat beside you, saying something to the driver in a voice that was trying very hard to sound composed. It didn’t quite land.

You slumped against the seat, your arms folded over your chest, your head feeling heavy on your shoulders. He had practically dragged you out of there. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the rest of his family.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of streetlights and neon, and the radio hummed something soft and familiar—an ‘80s ballad, the kind that lived permanently in the background of cab rides at ungodly hours. The dashboard clock read 4:03 a.m.

After a few minutes, he turned his head toward you.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, eyes closed.

“Good.”

A silence settled between you, neither comfortable nor tense, just thick with something unspoken.

After a while, he exhaled sharply.

You cracked one eye open. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring ahead. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he said, “Why did you accepted? Now I have to come up with some excuse to get you out of dinner.”

You turned your head lazily toward him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“I felt cornered, okay? They were both looking at me with those eyes…” You trailed off, searching for the right words before finally landing on him, blinking slowly. “Those eyes. Exactly.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re just my eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“I don’t know. They’re kind of… intense.”

“Is that an insult?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back against the seat.

“I don’t even know anymore. I’m too drunk for your dumb questions.”

Frankie let out a short, derisive snort, shifting his gaze toward the window, his thoughts scattering in odd, untraceable directions.

“You left your car at the hotel,” you murmured after a beat, your voice quiet beneath the steady hum of the radio. Maneater by Daryl Hall played, tinny through the car speakers.

He turned his head toward you with an excruciating slowness, like he already knew you’d be looking at him. And you were. Your head tilted back against the seat, arms curled tightly around yourself, fingers bunched into the fabric of your dress.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he muttered, as though your comment had somehow irritated him.

“Do what you want.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “What’s with you and that attitude?”

You exhaled, your shoulders rising and falling as you turned toward the window, the passing streetlights slicing gold ribbons across the glass.

“What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“A lot of things.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, the darkness between you not quite enough to make out his expression, but enough to catch the sharp glint of his gaze. The passing lights reflected off them like tiny, fractured stars.

“You look just like your mom,” you said, the words slipping out, direct and unfiltered. “Same eyes. Same dimples.” Your hand moved before you could think better of it, the tip of your finger pressing into the crease of his mouth. “But she’s nice.”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, my mom’s nice.”

You nodded, shifting back against the seat. “Yeah. Not like you, Francisco.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you caught the faint twitch of his lips as he turned away, like he was suppressing a smirk. He was pretending to be less drunk than he was. But so were you.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolled to a stop in front of your house. You sighed, pushing the door open, but before stepping out, you turned back, fixing Frankie with a long, unfocused look.

“See ya,” you mumbled, dragging your feet out of the car, your gaze still locked onto his. “I hope this never happens again—oh, fuck—”

The next second, the world tilted sharply. There was no time to react, no time to process the way gravity wrenched you down. Just the sudden, violent awareness of pavement rushing toward your face.

Somewhere behind you, the driver made a startled sound. But Frankie’s reaction was immediate. The car door slammed, quick footsteps on asphalt. Then his hands—warm, steady, bracing under your arms, lifting you before you had time to register the impact.

“Jesus—Are you okay? Fuck—fuck—are you bleeding?” His voice was strained, almost frantic, his palm finding your chin, tilting your face up.

There was a sharp, metallic tang on your tongue. Something wet trickled past your lips. You blinked down at your hands, lifted them into the glow of the streetlamp. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” Your breath caught. Your stomach lurched. “Oh my God, how bad is it? How bad is it?”

Frankie didn’t let go of your face. His fingers pressed lightly beneath your jaw, guiding your head back.

“You’re fine. It’s fine. Just a nosebleed—stop moving, Jesus—hold still.”

You let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry, your hands still hovering uselessly in front of your face.

“It was the slippers,” you muttered, voice thick, your fingers pressing beneath your nose as Frankie tilted your head back. “They’re too big. I tripped.”

Frankie exhaled, a short, sharp breath.

“It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re implying.” Then, when you tried to look at him, he clicked his tongue and pressed his palm against your forehead, forcing your head back again. “No, keep it back. Jesus.”

You made a weak sound of protest but obeyed.

“Where are your keys?”

You blinked at him for a second like you had to remember what keys were. Then, with exaggerated effort, you fumbled through your bag, fingers clumsy as they scraped against receipts and loose change. When you finally found them, you thrust them toward him, and Frankie took them without comment, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

The door wasn’t hard to unlock. He nudged it open, watching as you hesitated on the threshold, swaying slightly. He helped you inside, his hand warm around your wrist as he guided you up the stairs.

Halfway up, you mumbled, “They’re moving.”

Frankie frowned. “What?”

“The stairs.” You squinted. “They’re moving.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “No, you’re drunk.”

Then, without thinking, he tightened his grip on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled again.

As soon as the door of your apartment clicked shut, a small, sleepy meow filled the quiet. Mr. Darcy stirred from his spot on the couch, stretching lazily before trotting toward you, his tail curling high in greeting.

“My child,” you said dramatically, bending down as if to scoop him up, only to pause when you caught sight of your own hand, still slick with blood. “Oh—no. Later, my love. Later.”

Frankie crouched down with far less hesitation, rubbing the cat’s head in that familiar, absentminded way. Darcy pushed into his touch, purring loudly, winding between his legs like he belonged to him instead of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know why he likes you so much.”

Frankie shrugged, still scratching behind the cat’s ears.

You snorted, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your nose. Frankie caught it immediately. He stood, his expression shifting into something more serious, brows drawn together.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You look awful.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean—really bad.” His hand found your jaw, holding it lightly between his fingers as he turned your face toward the light. He made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think you’re gonna recover. Honestly, I think it’s permanent.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Frankie’s lips twitched, but before he could say anything else, you swatted his hand away and shoved past him, making a beeline for the bathroom. The second you flicked on the light and caught your reflection, your mouth fell open.

Your face, usually warm and flushed, was pale beneath the streaks of dried blood smeared across your cheeks, your mouth, your chin. Your nose was red and swollen. Your hair was a mess. You looked—

“Oh my God.”

Frankie leaned against the doorway, watching you with amused curiosity.

“I look like Carrie,” you whispered, horrified.

You turned on the faucet and bent over the sink, splashing cold water onto your face with frantic urgency. Beneath you, pink-tinted water ran down the white porcelain, swirling toward the drain.

“Hey,” Frankie said, stepping closer. His voice had softened slightly. “I was kidding.”

You didn’t answer, just scrubbed harder.

Frankie sighed, then reached out, gathering your hair in his hands and pulling it back, holding it away from your face. His grip was gentle, careful, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck.

“It hurts,” you blurted, voice uneven, breaking on the last syllable.

Your upper lip throbbed—hot, swollen, like it was pulsing with its own heartbeat. Your nose ached with a sharp, stinging pain that settled deep in the bridge, radiating outward. The tears welled without permission, collecting on your lashes, blurring the edges of the bathroom light.

Frankie’s eyes flickered with something close to panic. He shifted on his feet, glancing around the room like the answer to fixing you was written somewhere on the walls.

“Okay, okay,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “I—uh—come on, sit down. Sit on the toilet.”

He guided you gently, hands pressing into your shoulders until you sank onto the closed lid. Your body was sluggish, your movements heavy. You let your head tip back, exhaling sharply as a fresh wave of discomfort spread across your face.

Most of the blood was gone now, wiped away in streaks of pink-tinted water, revealing the damage beneath. The split in your upper lip was small but deep, the skin torn at the center, already swelling around it. Your lower lip, though unbroken, was puffy. And your nose—God, your nose.

Frankie crouched in front of you, his knees pressing into the tile. “Show me your teeth.”

You parted your lips obediently, and he leaned in, squinting like he was searching for something. After a second, he sat back, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. They’re fine.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, then let your gaze drop to his shirt. A dark red smear stretched across the fabric, half-dried, stark against the soft white cotton.

“You have blood on you,” you mumbled.

Frankie looked down, as if just now noticing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, then turned abruptly, yanking open the nearest drawer and shuffling through it.

You watched, brow furrowing, as he fumbled through an assortment of things that had nothing to do with first aid—spare toothbrushes, old makeup, boxes of tampons, a crumpled tube of moisturizer. His hands moved too fast, fingers twitching as he knocked things over, searching for something useful.

You let out a small huff. “Not there.”

“I know that now,” he grumbled, slamming it shut and pulling open another one.

Finally, he found a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of cotton pads, exhaling like he’d just won a small battle. He turned back to you, unscrewing the cap with his thumb.

“Hold still,” he said.

You did as you were told, though every so often a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you, the pain still sharp enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to make everything feel worse—amplified by exhaustion, by alcohol, by the surreal absurdity of it all.

Frankie moved carefully, dabbing the antiseptic along your lip, then your nose, pausing when fresh blood welled up from the split skin. He wiped it away, slow and methodical, before moving on to your knees, gently cleaning the scraped skin there too. You had forgotten about them, but the second the cotton touched the raw, stinging patches, you inhaled sharply.

“Oh, my God,” you muttered under your breath.

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Scraped knees suck.”

A few minutes later, he tossed the stained cotton into the small trash can and started putting things back where he found them.

When you stood, Frankie’s gaze snapped to your nose, scanning for any new blood. You caught the movement and narrowed your eyes at him.

“What?”

“Just making sure you’re not gonna start gushing again.”

You turned to the mirror, taking in your reflection with a fresh wave of despair. Your skin was still damp, your nose and cheeks flushed from scrubbing and crying. Your lip looked even worse now, swollen and bruising at the edges. And your dress—your favorite dress—was ruined. White satin, now streaked with dark, rust-colored stains.

Your throat tightened. “I look awful.”

Frankie sighed. “You don’t—”

“My dress is ruined.” You turned to face him, your expression nothing short of tragic. “I love this dress, Francisco.”

“We’ll fix it,” he assured you, nodding quickly. “We’ll take it to the laundry—”

“It’s white.”

“I know.” He waved his hands, exasperated. “But they know how to get these stains out, don’t they?”

You frowned. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

“They do,” he said, nodding like it was law. Then, after a beat—“Do you have any anti-inflammatories?”

“In the kitchen.”

Frankie waited, then lifted his eyebrows. “Where?”

“In the kitchen,” you repeated.

He rolled his eyes. “I know in the kitchen, where in the kitchen?”

You thought for a second. “Oh. Over the fridge.”

Frankie shifted, his body tilting toward the door, ready to leave. But before he could get too far, your fingers curled around his wrist.

He stopped. Turned. His frown was immediate, brow creased like he was bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Can you—” you hesitated, suddenly too aware of the weight of your own request. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

You were already turning before he could answer, offering him your back like you were giving him no real choice in the matter. Your hand ghosted over the clasp, fingertips brushing the delicate fabric, then dropping to your side in silent surrender.

Behind you, Frankie let out a long, tired sigh. Then, a moment later, the unmistakable sound of the zipper being drawn down, slow and careful. The fabric parted beneath his touch, cool air rushing in where warmth had been. His knuckles skimmed the length of your spine, steady and impersonal, but still—

A few hours ago, you might have been embarrassed.

Now, not so much.

The man had seen your bloodied face. Your tampons. Your secret tattoo, the one no one was supposed to know about. What was left to be embarrassed about? Any lingering self-consciousness had evaporated somewhere between the pavement and the bathroom floor. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, stripping you of inhibition, loosening things that might have otherwise remained tightly wound. Maybe.

The zipper reached its end. Frankie’s hand fell away. He left the bathroom without another word, and you didn’t wait to see him go.

You hurried to your room, pushing the door shut behind you.

The dress slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Your slippers followed, discarded without care. You unclasped your strapless bra with an exhausted groan and tossed it somewhere—where, exactly, didn’t matter.

The closet door creaked as you pulled it open, grabbing the first thing within reach: a worn-out T-shirt, oversized enough to swallow you whole. You pulled it over your head, wincing as soreness pulsed through your body, a dull and aching reminder of the fall.

Then, just as you were tucking the fabric against your thighs, a knock at the door.

A dull thud, careful but firm.

“Don’t come in!” you called instinctively.

Frankie’s voice filtered through the wood, low and steady.

“You okay? I brought you some aspirin.”

You exhaled, raking a hand through your tangled hair.

“Wait,” you warned, shifting on your feet, making sure the shirt was long enough, that everything was—decent. Or as decent as it could be at this point.

Once satisfied, you reached for the doorknob and cracked the door open.

Frankie stood there, quiet, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small white pill in the other. His gaze flickered briefly—to the dress on the floor, then back up—but he didn’t let his eyes stray from your face.

He held out the aspirin. You took it without a word, placing it on your tongue before chasing it down with a sip of water. He watched you carefully, noting how your swollen lip pressed against the rim of the glass, how you winced slightly, the tenderness in your face growing more pronounced with every passing minute.

Something twisted in his chest. A strange, unnameable thing.

He swallowed.

“You feeling okay?” His voice had softened.

You nodded, then immediately regretted it as your lip pulled in protest. Grimacing, you wordlessly handed him back the empty glass.

Frankie hesitated before taking it from you, his brow still creased with that same look—something tight and unreadable, like watching an injured animal struggle to stand. Like witnessing something fragile and knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"I'm sleepy, I..."

Your voice trailed off as you turned toward your bed, your gaze settling on the smooth, undisturbed surface of the sheets. They looked impossibly soft, the kind of soft that could swallow you whole, erase the sting in your knees, the throbbing in your mouth, the hazy weight of the night pressing on your shoulders.

Frankie nodded, shifting his weight. "Yeah. You need rest. Get some sleep."

He took a small step back, like he was giving you space, but not too much. 

Without much thought, you turned and walked toward your bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. The second you reached it, you collapsed onto the mattress, sinking in, the cool fabric pressing against your skin. You didn’t even bother with the quilt.

"Good night," you mumbled, already curling into yourself, your back to him.

Frankie hesitated. He stood there for a moment, watching you, feeling strangely uncertain, though he wasn’t sure why.

"I'll call an Uber," he said after a beat, voice quiet, as if he wasn’t sure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "Head home."

"Okay." Your response was barely above a whisper, thick with sleep.

"Okay." A pause. "Good night."

He waited a second longer, then turned and made his way out of the room, walking slowly into the dimly lit living room. The air was cooler here, quieter. Mr. Darcy was waiting for him, perched on the coffee table like some kind of tiny, judgmental sentry. The cat’s tail flicked, his green eyes tracking Frankie’s every move.

Frankie exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping toward him. He reached out, dragging his fingers gently over soft fur. Mr. Darcy purred instantly, pressing into the touch, rubbing his face against Frankie’s hand like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Frankie huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sat down on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the Uber app. His body was too heavy, too worn out, but he forced himself to go through the motions—searching for a ride, entering the address, preparing to leave.

But then—

A small weight landed on his lap.

Mr. Darcy, stretching out comfortably, his tiny paws kneading into Frankie’s thigh before settling completely, purring so loudly it was practically vibrating through him.

Frankie sighed, phone slipping from his hand onto the cushion beside him.

It was only for a second, just to close his eyes, just to let his body sink into something solid. Just until the exhaustion stopped weighing so heavily on his limbs.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, his arm draped over his stomach, the cat now curled up on his chest. Frankie’s breathing slowed, deepened, and before he could fight it, his eyes shut completely.

His body gave in.

And then—sleep.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

[runebreakerart]

I am not immune to hot old necromancer guy

[ttsukiimi]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬  ೋ ⎯ you request a spicy night of bdsm with the jjk men.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬  ೋ ⎯  gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, fem!sukuna x reader, bdsm (obv!), bondage, smut, unprotected sx, multiple orgasms (Sukuna), size difference, slapping, reader referred to as (baby (gojo), princess (toji), woman (hm..I wonder who…)

    ⟢ ⌒

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 was already halfway through tying your arms behind your back before he got impatient. But could you blame him? Your ass was practically in his face, cunt on display and he couldn’t ignore the hardness in his pants.

“Y’r just gonna have to be good for me and keep your arms like that, ‘Kay?” he mumbles into your ear, already reaching down and freeing his erection of its confines. Toji figured the half-assed job he did would hold you down anyway.

“B-but Toji, the whole point is you tying me,” you pouted, mumbling into the pillow as he pushed your head down. The fat tip of his cock soon slid between your folds, coating in your juices and prompting more slick to dribble out of you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he hums, slowly pushing himself in and hissing as your walls immediately clap down on him. “Don’t need to tie you down anyway,”

One more thrust and he was fully sheathed. Toji groaned, feeling your warmth around his dick.

He slid himself out and pummeled back in, his heavy balls slapping against your clit and causing a shriek to fall from your lips.

“Hm—fuck, you’re so deep..” you mewled, drooling against the pillow his strong hand drowned you into. Toji grinned smugly behind you and gave your ass a hot slap—one that immediately after left a red imprint on your cheek.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right, princess.”

    ⟢ ⌒

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 didn’t find anything wrong with the idea—rather, he found his cock rising under his sweats at the thought of tying you up. It didn’t help knowing how vulnerable you already were under his huge body most times, he knew you’d be absolutely hopeless and at his mercy.

Soon he was tying your wrists together, smirking at the little whines that left your lips. Though, he was enjoying this a little too much.

“Comfortable, baby?” He asked as he roamed his hands down your back, gripping the fat of your ass, and you gave him a meek but hurried nod.

“‘Toru just put it in already,” you’d mumbled, feeling impatience wash over you, pushing your backside flush to his hips and sensually grinding on him.

Stifling a groan, Satoru placed his blindfold over your eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it in reall soon.”

And he did.

But to your surprise and delight, the loss of sight made your other senses more sensitive. Your cunt quivered with every rough thrust Satoru drove into you, and your skin felt as if it were on fire with the way his rough palms grasped at your hips.

On the other hand, he was enjoying this just as much—if not more. You seemed to tighten around him harder than usual, not to mention the very fact that you weren’t trying to run away from every rut of his hips.

And he enjoyed the freedom he had over your body, snaking his hand to your clit, rubbing the nub of nerves in lazy figure eight’s until your body shook, overstimulated.

“You’re not—hah—supposed to enjoy it this much!” You moaned, feeling the head of his cock hit your sweet spot deliciously as he continued the motions of his hand. “‘S too much.”

“Mmm? Nothin’s too much, take what I give you.”

⟢ ⌒

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 wasn’t exactly foreign to the idea. He’s had his fair share of partners and has played into their interests, whether it be in bed or just generally.

But, of all people, his mind couldn’t process why you were requesting such a thing. You’re so small and fragile Nanami just about had to hold himself back every time you got intimate, scared that he’ll hurt you.

Thus, he gives it more thought. Or at least tries to.

But when you’re grinding so greedily on him, begging him in that sugary tone, Nanami can’t think straight. And in the midst of his seducted haze, he follows up with your words.

He ties your arms above your head with his silken and watches as you hopelessly struggle—feeling a primal need to breed you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses the drooling head of his cock in, watching your face intently.

“Ken, you’re so thick—!” you whimper, mouth agape as he begins to drive thrust after thrust into your poor cunt. Truth be told Nanami liked having your hands tied, but he found himself missing the pleasurable pain of your fingernails scratching down his back.

You squeezed around him so deliciously, causing him to groan. Nanami felt hot inside you, the rhythmic thump of him pulsing one that you lost yourself to.

It all felt surreal, the pleasure, the frustration of not being able to freely touch him—but you knew one thing was certain.

This wouldn’t be the last time.

    ⟢ ⌒

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 scoffed as he looked down at you. “You wanna be tied up, huh?” he grinned, beckoning you to sit down on his lap.

Stupid as it seemed, his ego was hurt. Why would you need things to hold you down when his arms did just fine?

“Am I not rough enough with you, woman?” Sukuna questioned, his upper arms set on your waist while his lower ones made quick work of ripping your panties off in one fell swoop.

You flinched as you felt the material rip apart but keep your composure. “‘Kuna, I just wanna try something new..” you frowned as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Oh, we’ll try it.” he hummed, your body jolting as you suddenly felt him press against your pussy. “Just my way.”

Sukuna soon had you crying and begging on his cock as you came for the third time that night, rasping lewd things in your ear.

Instead of a rope binding your arms behind your back, it was his strong hands. One of Sukuna’s hands could easily hold both of yours in a bruising grip.

“Ah, ‘m too sensitive, please,” you sobbed out, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as he reached down and began to rub your clit.

Sukuna laughed as he mockingly kissed your forehead. “Give me two more orgasms and I’ll think about it.”

[moonstruckme]

HII I LOVE YOUR WORK SM!! I literally can't stop reading them 😭 I love you so much for making all of them !!

May I ask if we could get more of shy Remus?? As soon as I read the first one I immediately fell in love !

Thank you so much!! 🫶🏽

Hi lovely, thank you! Sorry this took me so long, I've wanted to write it ever since it came into my inbox but it took me forever to come up with an idea </3

cw: very vague implication of smut

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus looks surprised when he opens the door, and immediately after that embarrassed. For what, you never know. 

“Hi,” he says, lips curving into a smile as if of their own volition. “Um, I haven’t missed anything, have I?” 

You laugh. “No, you’re fine. I was just nearby and thought I might return your jumper.” 

It’s a half-truth. You’re ambushing him and you know it, but Remus’ reticent disposition means you know next to nothing about his life and after weeks of dating you’re really itching for a peek behind the curtain. You’ve brought chocolate muffins to make up for it. 

“Oh, that’s thoughtful of you.” Remus’ voice is soft as always, that adorable smile still playing on his lips until you both hear footsteps bounding down the stairs inside. He glances behind him, moving a bit more in front of the door. “While you’re here, maybe we could go have coffee or—” 

“Who’s that?” 

The voice seems like a sound of much dread for Remus, if his expression is anything to go off of. He ignores it, speaking only to you. 

“Or there’s a park just down the way—”

“Remus.” It’s a different voice this time, yet the effect upon Remus’ countenance is the same. “Who do you have there?” 

“Hi!” you say over his head, mutinous. 

“A girl?” Remus’ entire body seems to sag in resignation. “Remus Lupin, stop hiding her from us immediately.” 

“Sod off.” He says over his shoulder, as brash as you’ve ever heard him. It’s a bit thrilling. 

“I will not. Reveal your secrets, you dirty dog.” 

You actually do feel quite bad for Remus, a blush spreading all the way up to the tips of his ears, but he lets go of the doorframe, letting himself be wrestled out of the way. 

“Hello.” A dark-haired boy weasels his way into Remus’ place, giving you a salacious up-down. You raise your eyebrows at him, delighted. So this is who Remus associates with when he’s not with you. “My, you’re a pretty thing. And you’re here to see Remus?” 

“I am,” you confirm. “I’m here to bring back his jumper.” 

“Which would lead one to believe, “a second boy appears behind the first, both of them keeping Remus from reclaiming his spot at the door, “that you’ve seen him before.” 

You laugh. “I have. We’ve been dating a few weeks now.” 

“Remus!” The second bellows, eyes blowing comically wide behind his glasses. “Weeks? Weeks, and you haven’t said a word. How could you?” 

“I don’t suppose you have a bit of time on your hands,” the first boy says smoothly. 

“I’ve…” You check the time. “I do, actually.” 

He grins, wolflike. You’re not sure who the prey is. You worry it’s your date. 

“Yes!” The one with the glasses is effervescent, brimming with eagerness. It’s contagious, you find; you’re smiling too. “You have to come in, please.” 

You’re dying to, but you peer past them, locking eyes with Remus. He looks to be wishing for a swift and painless death, but he gives you a soft smile anyways. Nods. 

“Sure,” you say, “I could join you for a bit.” 

Some of the boisterous energy settles as they usher you inside, the need for urgency vanquished now that they’ve got you in their clutches. Begrudgingly, Remus introduces you, and the other two hassle him about taking off your coat and showing you where to put your shoes before he gets a chance to do either. Soon you’re settled comfortably in the armchair they tell you is Remus’ favorite. 

“Can I make you a cuppa?” Remus asks, and James and Sirius both oooh as he rolls his eyes. You nod at him, eyeing the other two amusedly.��

“He must really like you,” James says, “if he’s offering to make you tea.” 

“Hence why you’re not getting any,” Remus says over his shoulder as he stalks for the kitchen. 

“Prick,” Sirius calls after him. “We didn’t want any anyways.” But he crosses his arms, sulking back against the couch cushions. James, on the other hand, leans towards you. 

“So,” he says severely, “what are your intentions with our Remus?” 

A quiet sound of distress comes from the kitchen, but you all ignore it. “Your Remus?” you ask. 

James nods self-assuredly. “We’ve known him since primary school. If you two get married, I’ll be the one giving him away.” 

You raise your eyebrows. Remus’ head pops out of the kitchen, glaring daggers in a way you didn’t know he knew how. “You will not.” 

“What?” James looks gutted. 

“That’s not the point.” Sirius waves both of his friends off, though James looks like he would very much like to continue on the topic. “Tell us about you two, gorgeous. Where did you meet, how long have you been dating, has Remus told you where he hides his chocolates?” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Remus says, coming back with your tea. He passes it to you carefully, handle out, and both you and James hiss at him for holding the hot part. 

“We haven’t even gotten her to answer anything yet,” Sirius complains. 

“It’s not her fault you haven’t given her the chance.” Remus perches on the armrest of the chair. It's probably so he can avoid sitting next to his nosy friends, but pride swells in your chest anyway at being chosen. You take his hand, and he squeezes your fingers in response. 

Sirius coos. “Only a few weeks of dating and he’s already holding her hand. I’m so proud.” 

You grin up at Remus, knowing what you could say to really shock his friends but not wanting to embarrass him further. He’s already flustered enough that his scars stand out in stark contrast against his flushed skin, but his look softens as he meets your eyes. Something about him eases, a small smile curving his lips. 

You decide it’s permission enough. 

“You’ve been a bit bolder than that, haven’t you, handsome?” 

James and Sirius erupt in hoots and hollers. Remus looks like he might well fall off the edge of the chair for how stiff he’s gotten. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. It’s burning. “I’m not trying to torment you. We can go be alone in your room, if you like.” 

“No-o.” James waggles a finger at you. “Now that we know what you’re up to, you won’t be getting him alone in our house. You’re set on corrupting him!”

[red-doll-face]

lowhonor arthur who's just obsessed with u. . . 😵‍💫

DOLLLYYY thank you for this wonderful request i was so excited to see a req from you in my inbox queen 😭😭😭 I LOVE YOU !!! 💖💖😊😊🥰🥰also thank you again for the one you wrote for me !! 🥹🥹 I tried really hard on this and im actually super proud of how it came out, I had my bf who is a lh arthur player weigh in on some dialogue sooooo i finally have a lh arthur committee to fall back on LMAO I hope you like it !! tysm for reading and any feedback makes me 😊😊😊 also made it a bit long as always w me ... Warnings: Arthur is a meanie , low honor arthur as a warning. like hes a jerk but what were we expecting?? however complete weenie for you like hes down bad. also sad arthur like he has his issues where he thinks he isnt a stud?? like i need a bucket of his nut rn sorryyyy

In Arthur's opinion, you only deserve joy and nothing less.

low honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

Do you have to be so goddamn distracting? He swears your giggle is the loudest of the girls, when they’re no doubt filling each other in about the latest camp affairs. He has to look over from where he was brushing his horse's glossy coat in the blazing sun. The grumpy shire gets annoyed at the loss of contact, turning to mouth at Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur's hand is squeezing the brush, as to make all the blood rush away from his knuckles. You sit there with Karen on the chairs outside the girl’s tent, whispering in her ear, before laughing again. The prettiest thing, your hair bouncing and your hand rising to your chest. Karen nudges your shoulder. And she turns to see him staring. The glare she sends his way isn’t all too unexpected. 

But then Karen whispers to you as well. Her eyes flick over to where he’s standing. He looks away before the inevitable. Your eyes on him, curious, searching over him. He hates how that idea makes him feel, being perceived by you. Arthur wonders what you think. Some sad sap eyeing a young lady such as you. He looks down at his dirty shirt, the smell of horse flesh and hair clinging to him. You probably think he’s repulsive to look at. His brows draw together, his jaw gets tight. You must think he’s horrible, like Karen does. Cruel and awful. You wouldn’t be wrong. And he knows he shouldn’t do any of the things he thinks about doing but his impulses can be hard to control. The anxiety makes him almost nauseous. Heat brewing, his chest feeling tighter than he’d like; than he’d ever admit to a living soul. But his journal later tonight is another thing. He stuffs the horse brush back into his saddle bag. Why couldn’t he just ignore you? Push you from his mind, keep you from having any sort of affect on him? He’s not too sure. 

Maybe it’s the way you catch his eye whenever you walk past, your skirt brushing against his leg. He knows you’re a real sweet thing. He loathed to see Ms. Grimshaw bring you to tears over your inability to perform to her standards. He had been all too eager to get some sort of odd revenge for you, being sure to dig in deep with remarks, his words feeling more barbed than usual. Being an attack dog he supposed, came all too easy. Not that you noticed particularly but it's more for his pride than anything else.  

When he turns, you’re still looking, tilting your head. The expression on your face falters when you see him looking, your cute little lips parting before you avert your eyes, not even bothering to keep your head from facing towards him. You look nervous too. He imagines it’s because you might think about him just as much as he does of you. That at night, you might think of your girlish fantasies, ones where he holds your hand or gives you a smile, meant just for your eyes. Nothing so depraved as his own visions. But he knows you most likely don't think much of him at all. He huffs, scratching at his beard. He needs a smoke and maybe a drink, just to take a bit of the weight off of his chest at just the thought of you. 

After dinner, you sit with Lenny. He tells you something that makes you laugh again. He seethes, it’s not him getting them from you but it’s still sends a shiver through him. He could swear he gets goosebumps. Your laugh is prettier than any of that droning music Dutch plays from his scratchy gramophone. Beautiful really. If he could keep your laugh to himself, he would. Would listen to it over and over. Would tell every joke he has. Hell, even the dirty ones. Instead, he’s listening to Bill ramble about how he doesn’t appreciate the folk around here thinking he’s as dumb as a donkey. 

“It ain’t for no reason people think you’re a dumbass, Bill. It’s because you are. Kinda smell like a donkey too,” Arthur drawls, his natural inclination to getting under people’s skin only spiking at the sight of you smiling at Lenny. Fuckin’ kid. Arthur’s got nothing against him, only that he’s making you laugh. In another life, maybe he had that kind of easy and casual energy you liked, relaxed and amusing even. But he doesn’t, as evidenced by Bill’s blustering. He had tuned the first half of it out (focused on your lips, the roundness of your cheeks) but Bill is trying to sputter out a response as half as scathing as his own. Bill’s angry look only makes Arthur give his arrogant smile. 

“And who asked you, Arthur?” The moron’s whiny voice only serves to annoy Arthur and cover up another one of your intoxicating giggles. Your joy was something to behold and Bill’s petulance is nothing special.

“You’re makin’ everyone dumber just by talkin’, why don’t you just shut your goddamn mouth?” Arthur shoots a nasty look at the other man until he turns red. John tells Bill to let it go. Arthur had pushed it too far but he doesn’t give even half a shit. Arthur dusts his thigh off before taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey gone warm in his palm. When you’re still talking to Lenny, he stands, forgetting the bottle on an errant crate. He approaches, trying to catch snippets of your conversation. 

“-how come you like that game so much? Doesn’t it hurt when you mess up?” 

“Well, I just don’t mess up and when I do, I take it on the chin. Don’t think I’d be any good otherwise,” 

Your light laugh at Lenny's words makes him boil inside. Your bright simper; looking up at Lenny while the younger man stands, straight and as tall as he can. Proud smile, as if he can tell he’s impressed you. It all crumbles when Arthur comes near enough to be noticed. A stiff greeting falls from Lenny’s mouth, you look over your shoulder. Unsure how to respond. Arthur clings to his control, avoiding the glance that he wants to take of you. His restraint holds fast when he wants it to. 

“Damn near cut your finger off the last time, wouldn’t be so sure,” he pokes at Lenny’s ego, goading him. Keeping his voice mellow enough as to be construed as playful but he can’t hide his harshness. Lenny doesn’t take his bait. 

“Whatever, Arthur. You ain’t exactly the expert, neither,” You look between the two, a small nervous look flickering in your gaze. Arthur smiles, unfazed by Lenny’s snappy return. He knows how intimidating he can be; can see how Lenny’s resolve breaks just a little. He’s got courage, a smart kid. Quick, too. But he’s too young to have the authority Arthur carries, maybe one day but not now. 

“Go on n’ play your games, you could always use more practice,” Lenny glares but looks at you. It only makes Arthur cross his arms over his chest. As if you need protection from him, should he taint you by standing too close. You nod, telling Lenny to have a good evening. In that sweet voice, so kind. Once Lenny is sure you think you’ll be fine, he has an exasperated sigh before he goes off. 

“Arthur…” Is the reluctant response you have. Being alone with him obviously makes you fidget, makes your fingers scrunch in the fabric of your skirts. He likes your tongue forming his name, you almost whisper it, he can hardly hear it over the chatter of the other people around you. What a brave girl, putting up with him all by yourself. 

“How-how are you?” you’re on the verge of making a frown but you hold your airy smile upwards. Afraid he’ll try to point out any flaw. You don’t understand why he does the things he does, his reputation proceeds him. But the issue is, Arthur doesn’t have any flaws to point out with you. You’re almost too good for this den of thieves you live amongst. Almost. If you were, then he wouldn't get to see you every day. Perhaps you were just another unfortunate person with nowhere else to go but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s always been greedy like that. He looked forward to waking up, if only to catch glimpses of you doing your chores or reading books in the sun. It takes him a bit too long to answer, adjusting his hat, his own nerves a bit pushed at his proximity to you. Just breathing the same air as you puts him in a better mood. He stares into your eyes, trying to evoke a reaction from you. They glimmer, warm fire light caressing the softness of you. 

“Alright, I guess,” whatever quickness his tongue has is diminished. Playing nice isn’t his strong suit. Fumbling through a decent conversation with you might be nice though. The more you let him stay around you without walking away with a huff like Lenny did, the better. He won’t admit your presence has him softening a little. “What’re you up to?” He’s only a little embarrassed at how stupid that question sounds. 

“Well, I was talking to Lenny but…”  your glance in the direction Lenny walked off to makes him tighten his fist. He puts his hands on his belt, leaning his weight on one leg. “Now, I’m talking to you,” When your glances brush over him, he can feel it as if you touched him, he can’t help the way his stomach drops a few inches lower. Get a hold of yourself, you damn fool.

He can tell you didn’t know quite what to say. Doesn’t matter, he could listen to just about anything you have to say to the placating rhythm of the evening, the chirp of crickets, the wind in the trees. 

“That so?” Idiot is his first thought. But the smile that breaks on your face; it's worth the humiliation curdling somewhere in him. Your shy nod, the shift in you, moved by him. He doesn't care if he’s assigning meaning where there isn’t any. He digs for more, looking for signs, imagined or not. Unconsciously, he drifts closer to where you sit on a rickety wooden chair.

“I think so. I don’t know, we don’t talk very often,” your voice is a precious sound. And so is the flutter of your eyelashes when you blink. Slow; now that you’ve let your guard down just a little. He watches intently, every movement you make.

“Damn shame, darlin’,” it is a shame. He figured he didn’t stand a chance but he can’t keep you from having a hold over him. Even when he isn’t here, his thoughts wander towards you. But now he looks for even a grain of affection in your eyes. He gathers more meaning from your words, the rising tone at the end of your sentence makes him think that you would like to talk to him more. He knows he’s deluding himself but he can kid himself just a little. His boot scrapes the dirt, ducking his eyes under the black brim of his hat. Just maybe, you’d engage him in more than an unnerved glance or a two word greeting.

At the name he calls you, your eyes widen just a bit, tilting your head, showing him your neck. Bad idea. He drinks in the sight. Is he disgusting for wanting to taste it? The skin of your neck, warm with your blood? The flattered and flustered raise of your fingers to your lips is exactly what he had wanted, he hadn’t known it but god, does it send satisfaction ringing throughout him; seeing the effect of him on you. 

“Have I been missing out on something, Arthur?” Your tone is playful, but still reserved. Coming out of your shell now that he is reining in whatever drives him to push other people away with his harshness and his affronting demeanor. Just barely. 

“Not really. Think it’s me; missin’ out on ya,” Lucky you, this is about as personable as Arthur can really get. But you seem to enjoy it. Your pretty smile and a hum that rivals the soothing nature of a cat’s purr; say so. He thinks of your contented murmur; how it would feel on his lips should you grace him with a kiss of yours. “Ain’t much for talkin’...” 

“That’s not what I hear,” It is perhaps out of your mouth before you can think on it. Impulsive, just like him.

“And what have you heard?” it comes out more serious than he wants it to. More threatening. But he forces his posture to relax. As difficult as that is. You don’t flinch too much at least. Just lean back slightly. 

“Well, I hear that…I’m not sure I should say..” The little reluctance you show is drawing him in. You're an angel, biting your thumb nail because of your nerves. Afraid to get someone in trouble. He crosses his arms over his chest again, leans against the nearest surface, a stationary wagon side. 

“Jus’ tell me what they said, girl,” the way you follow his somewhat gentle command is more alluring than he should find it. Most people followed his direction without much question but it is something special when you look up at him, when you do as he says. Does something funny to his head. Mixes things up, stirring up his insides like Pearson’s godforsaken stew. 

“They said-said you’re good with words. But you don’t always mean it. Those mean things you say,” you play with your hands, picking at the skin on your nails. 

“Oh, I mean it. A lot of the time anyway. Why, I say somethin’ mean to you, princess?” At first you think you’ve activated whatever deep seated need Arthur has to make people dislike him. Your worried and panicked expression puts pressure on his chest. He doesn’t ever want you to look at him like that, not for real. Anything outside his idea of play just wouldn’t do. All he wants is that relaxed gesture of happiness you showed him. You shake your head; overexcited, but he speaks before you can muster a frightened response. He hadn’t said anything too bad with you, of that he’s sure but it can't hurt; offering you comfort. Arthur Morgan and comforting don’t often go in the same sentence. Despite his prickly reputation he gives you an easy grin, trying to keep his pride from turning it into a crooked smirk. Something he thought you might like, as he imagined you would.

“Cause I’m sure I didn’t mean it. Not with you,” He loves how quiet you get, pacified by his words. And that smile comes back; makes you look just fine. 

thank you so much for reading!! i really am so grateful for the support i receive from this community. like i love yall smmmm !!🥺😭💖first time messing around in Arthur’s pov a lil so pls lmk any thots 🥰🥰🫶

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 15

Naruto Uzumaki + First time

I have never finished Naruto, and I haven’t watched a single episode of boruto. Take this as like, only vaguely placed somewhere in canon, post the war.

Reader is an Aburame, since I am so fascinated by their insects. So… warning for insects inside the body for the reader. I love Shino a lot, so its also because of that.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Naruto had a hard time remembering when you two even started dating. He was friends with Shino, yeah, but you weren’t even from the main family, instead you were just Shinos cousin. He brought you along on missions, and you helped during the war because of your extreme skill, and the mutation in your bugs. You spoke even less than Shino did, but the mutation in your beetles made you feel almost pleasant to be around for someone with as much chakra as Naruto.

Most of the time, Naruto did all the talking, with you just standing or sitting near him, nodding along whenever the conversation called for it. You wore shades like the rest of your family, and a long coat, with a hood and a high collar, barely leaving a sliver of skin visible. This was also why Naruto got so excited the first time you went without your coat around him.

It took him way too long to realize he had feelings, but it had started early enough that it just didn’t feel right marrying Hinata or stringing her along. At the time Naruto had no idea why he felt what he did, but he was an honest guy, so it felt wrong to keep doing that to her.

For you it also took an embarrassingly long time. You picked up his scent of arousal or animalistic interest, yeah, but to you that didn’t register in your brain as something that meant anything. It was a normal human function, so there was no need to act.

The insects inside your body had picked up on it far before either of you did, multiple of them regularly leaving your body to hang around Naruto. It wasn’t even just to feed on his powerful chakra that they had come to love, but just to be around him. They had lived inside you since you were a baby, so it was no shock that they evolved to have the same taste as you at least.

Shino had also started glancing at you, along with the rest of the clan after a while. They didn’t need their heightened senses to feel Narutos powerful chakra left on you, or to pick up the strong scent of the blonde since you two would cuddle “as friends”. You knew it had to be bad when your clan of all people started trying to have a conversation with you about it, which you perfectly ignored and avoided.

Unknown to you or Naruto, bets started hanging in the air in your friend group. How could it not, when it was so obvious you two had some kind of thing for the other. Though, it was so much easier to see on Naruto, since you were even harder to read than most of your clan.

In the end, your shared friend group, though they were more Narutos than yours, had to put together a plan to get you two partnered up. They couldn’t put up with Narutos sighing and gushing anymore, and your clan was starting to grow antsy with how much your colony just seemed to grow because of your welling feelings. And, nobody else would be able to tell, but they were also growing tired of your pining.

Them sending you two off to a bathhouse together was kinda dumb. It was supposed to be some “information gathering mission” just the two of you, but in reality, it was just an excuse to shove you two together in a hotel room. The attached bathhouse immediately had Narutos attention, who dragged you along, since there were private baths.

Like most Aburame, you felt uncomfortable with your body. You were covered almost from head to toe in scars, and not just from battles, but from the colony of insects buzzing inside your body. That was also another reason you didn’t go to bathhouses a lot, you didn’t want to drown your colony. There was a familiar feeling of them closing up pathways as you got into the steamy room though, so it was probably fine.

Of course, your shares were still on as you two washed down to get ready for the hot pool of water, you oblivious to the fact that the flush on Narutos face was from more than just the heat. You weren’t much better, of course. How could you, when Naruto was completely naked beside you, not caring to close his legs or anything as you washed soap off your bodies. So, when you were sure he wasn’t looking, you let your eyes wander, just a little.

Neither of you wrapped a towel back around your hips before walking to the pool, Naruto sighing loudly as you both got in. it was nice, even if you could feel the insects inside your body scuttling deeper and bunching up somewhere inside your chest to get as far away from the water as possible.

Naruto was rambling like always, looking more handsome than usual, if that was even possible. Talking about the mission, what he was gonna do when you guys got back to the village, whatever gossip he had heard, so on and so forth. His lips were so inviting and flush, like he had been chewing at them without much thought.

You had no idea what compelled you to lean over and place a soft careful peck on his lips. You had no experience, people didn’t typically line up to sleep with the guy filled with bugs, did they. It helped that you knew Naruto didn’t have any either, outside of some kisses with Hinata, but they’d never gone anywhere below the belt.

Naruto just stared at you with wide blinking eyes, speechless for once as he seemed to struggle understanding what had just happened. “I… apologize. That was… rude of me” you mumble out, your voice raspy from disuse and the fact that beetles had carved pathways through your throat a while ago. You were almost able to climb out of the pool, shame curling in your gut, but you found yourself falling back into the water with a loud splash as Naruto lunged, dragging you back down.

“I- don’t leave! I-I liked it!” Naruto cried out, voice cracking as he almost scrambled into your lap to straddle you, his blue eyes boring into your through your shades, which miraculously stayed on somehow. “I want… lets do it again” the blonde exhaled loudly, grabbing your face and mashing his lips against yours with as little experience as you had kissed him before.

Your hands buzzed as they rose to lay on his hips, and it wasn’t from the beetles for once, but instead nerves and excitement. The kiss wasn’t much of a kiss, it was more just mashing lips and tongues together, teeth clacking and biting one another on accident. Naruto had very sharp canines, causing minor cuts when you pushed your tongue against them. You could feel the colony inside you buzzing, suddenly very interested in tasting Narutos blood, but you kept them down with chakra. No need to freak Naruto out like that.

As your lips parted, your shades were crooked, both your hair messy and a string of spit hung from the tips of your tongues, connecting you in yet another way. Naruto rubbed his hardness against the panes of your stomach, chewing at his lip with those sharp teeth of his, his pupils blown so wide it almost swallowed up the blue. You were just as hard, twitching whenever his ass dragged back against it, blood and chakra rushing through the pathways in your body.

“N-Naruto. We can’t just… we have to be prepared for this” you gasp out, trying to adjust your shades as Naruto snickers, looking half embarrassed and half like a fox, like the one sealed inside him. “Pervy-sage told me about this stuff, I know what im doing” he boasted, hooking three of his own fingers inside his mouth to start coating them in his own spit.

You weren’t sure you two should listen to Jirayas advice, when it came to this. But you had even less knowledge. For you, the birds and the bees had been explained in complete scientific terms and details, and had mostly focused on the results and how to do it safely, if he ever got the chance.

Watching Naruto raise his hips out the water and truly focus on the task of opening himself up was maddening, your nostrils flaring as you had to catch your breath. There was a twinge in his brow as he added more fingers before he was ready, but he was so hard and throbbing that he was dripping into the pool of water. You guys would probably be billed for that later…

Naruto worked himself open much too quickly, but he didn’t seem to care very much, removing his fingers from his hole as he grabbed for your dick, your very sensitive dick, mind you. it made a guttural gasp leave your chest, hands grabbing onto his hips as Naruto snickered again. “You ready, bugboy?” he giggled, that broad grin on his lips.

The nickname was enough to make you grumble, but it had served its purpose of distracting you long enough for Naruto to push his hips down, both of you groaning. You because of the sudden tightness around you, and Naruto from the stretch and fullness. But Naruto Uzumaki was never the type to give up, so he slowly worked himself all the way down, even as you tried to gasp out words for him to slow down for his own good.

Naruto was shivering slightly as he finally bottomed out, his eyes wet and shiny as he gave you a wobbly gummy smile, his face flushed all the way down to his chest. “S-see? I could do it” he gasped, jolting as your cock pressed accidentally against his prostate.

It was impossible to talk as you tried your hardest not to explode right then and there. You would have been worried about bruising him, if you didn’t know Naruto was more sturdy than you were. Lurching forwards, you buried your face into his neck, shuddering and panting to try and keep yourself at bay, eyes fluttering under your shades as Naruto hugged onto you.

“It-its okay, we can both… we can both just cum” Naruto rambled, voice wobbly in a way you weren’t used too. He was still throbbing against your torso, his length gushing out clear shiny fluid as Naruto tried his best to rock his hips. There was no finesse or technique, but neither of you needed much of that.

“W-wait Naruto, ill- I can’t hold it” you pant, eyes clenching shut under your shades as you pant against his skin, feeling your balls draw up as you spill inside him, your insides buzzing from a mixture of euphoria, and the colony feeding on the influx of hormones and chakra. The blonde let out a noise that sounded like his normal glowing chuckle, only for it to melt into a shaky drawn-out moan, Naruto spurting against your torso and his own.

You two sat there for a while, simply shuddering and holding one another as you tried your hardest to collect yourselves again, and register what had just happened. It had been a whole new experience, something new and unknown, but still so good.

It was only when you could feel the colony inside you growing sluggish and slow that you knew you two had to move. The hot water was starting to become too much, and your fingers were getting wrinkled. “Naruto… we gotta get up” you mumble against his shoulder, only getting a soft mumble in return. He sounded sleepy already, but Naruto did lift himself up after a while.

You could feel blood rush downwards against as Naruto crawled out of the pool, making it obvious your spend with dripping out of him. The choked noise you let out made Naruto glance back at you, shooting you a grin before he shuffled off towards the baths again. That minx, or should you say fox? He had probably picked that up from that pervy-sages’ books…

With a huff, you let a small smile pull at your lips as you crawl out of the pool as well, sliding your shades off as you walk past your pile of clothes. The colony should do better in a running shower and some cold water, you were sure Naruto wouldn’t mind finding warmth in another way.

[zorosangell]

hey! i've been thinking this christmas eve about where zoro and the reader spend their first christmas together. zoro still didn't understand the dynamics of a couple having never had one, so nami explains to him and tells him that since it's almost christmas he has to give her a gift. he didn't really know what to give her so he buys her a necklace with a sword pendant. Then the reader gives him several things as gifts and zoro feels bad for only giving him a small gift but the reader shows him that it's enough and shows him his love with a sinful night 👀 i know it's a bit long but i haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. thanks

⛥ﾟ・。 mistletoe

synopsis: nami has to school zoro in the art of gift-giving in order to save your first christmas together. luckily, he manages to wise up... and gives you a gift you won't ever forget.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, classic case of right idea wrong execution, christmas mentioned (duh), nsfw implied, what would we do without nami, this kinda combined two asks i got into one, anon u know who u are here you go <3

a/n: I AM SO SORRY IVE BEEN GONE! LIFE HAS BEEN UGH LATELY! enjoy this early holiday present as an apology <3

"YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!" Nami shouted, furious, as she punched the swordsman right the head, leaving a large welt in her wake. "I OUGHTA KICK YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!"

Zoro's eye shot wide, confused—and severely pained—as his hand snapped up to rub the afflicted area, forcing him to snap his head over to her.

"What did I do?!" he barked, thoroughly annoyed.

"Somehow, you always find a way to make it a matter of what you didn't do!"

With a sigh, Nami pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering a few curses under her breath as she marveled at the absolute stupidity of the man walking next to her.

Sometimes, she wondered if he did it on purpose.

"What?!" Zoro asked, snappy and sarcastic. "What did I mess up now?!"

"Christmas!" Nami exclaimed, exasperatedly. "One of the easiest holidays to get right!"

"How the hell did I mess up Christmas?!"

"How the hell did you forget to get your girlfriend a present?! On your first Christmas together, no less?!"

The navigator couldn't believe his ignorance, still disbelieving of the whole thing.

"So..." Nami smiled as she turned to the swordsman, intrigued. "What did you get (y/n) for Christmas?"

Zoro glanced around, eye focused on the snowy road ahead and the festive town surrounding the two as they walked side by side.

"What are you talking about?" he scoffed, confused. "Get her what?"

Concerned, Nami stopped in her tracks, completely forgetting about where they were supposed to be going.

"Her present," she emphasized, suspiciously. "I asked what you bought her for Christmas."

Zoro's brow quirked in confusion.

"Bought?"

Worry slowly began to creep into the navigator's chest, her brows slowly furrowing into a scolding expression, faintly hoping for a miracle

"You bought her something for Christmas... right?"

But the silence that followed told her everything, the wintery scene around them fading as he found her fist flying toward his head.

"I didn't forget anything!" Zoro defended, fervently.

"And pigs can fly!" she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she glanced up at the sky with a sigh. "It's strokes of genius like this that force me to swoop in and save your relationship nearly every month..."

"I! DIDN'T! FORGET! ANYTHING!"

"Oh, then please inform me as to why it is nearly sunset on Christmas Eve, and you have yet to buy your kind-hearted, loving girlfriend a Christmas present!"

"She never told me what she wanted!"

Nami froze, her face and body turning completely numb as the words hit her ears.

'...Is he serious?'

If he was, she was going to hurt him.

"I've been waiting for (y/n) to tell me what she wants for months! I even saved up so I could get her whatever it was without any issues," he explained himself, showing proof by pulling a fat stack of berries out his coat pocket, its contents worth at least a hundred-thousand.

Nami's eyes widened.

She'd never seen him save so much.

Maybe there was hope.

"But when she didn't come around to tell me, I assumed she didn't want anything. So I kept it."

'Nevermind.'

She was going to hurt him.

Using her large, handheld wallet like a newspaper, she whacked him in the nose, wagging her finger and sucking her teeth like she was scolding an animal.

"OW!"

"Bad boyfriend," she shook her head. "She shouldn't have to ask. As her better half, or maybe lesser in this case, you should know her like the back of your hand. And thus, know what she wants as a present."

Zoro paused, taking a moment to process her words before his face lit up in realization, the concept finally clicking in his mind.

"Oh, I get it," he nodded, hand coming to rest pensively on his chin. "Because I know her best... I already know what she wants."

She cheered, happily clapping her hands together as a smile broke out on her face.

"You're learning!"

But her expression quickly shifted into one of fury, her brows furrowing as she pointed toward the road.

"NOW GO GET HER SOMETHING BEFORE ALL THE STORES CLOSE!"

"SHIT!"

"Should I be worried?" you asked, amused, as your moss-headed boyfriend hastily lead you over the threshold of the bathroom.

He was uncharacteristically smiley, and uncharacteristically eager as he positioned you in front of the mirror, using your hips as handles to practically plop you down in front of it.

"Only if you wanna," he answered, a slight grin rising to his lips. "But personally, I'd be preparing myself. This is gonna blow everyone else's gifts out the water, and I'd hate to have ya faint from shock."

"Hardy har..."

On the deck below, the Strawhat's First Annual Christmas Party was in full swing, music and laughter filling every nook and cranny of the ship as Brook, Usopp, and Franky serenaded the crew with their very own carols.

The smell of fresh baked cookies and gingerbread managed to waft their way to the upper levels, Luffy and Chopper in the kitchen pounding back cookies just as fast as Sanji could make them.

You, Nami, and Robin had gone into town earlier and bought matching outfits, the three of you decked out in cute, Santa mini-dresses with the hats and boots to match.

Safe to say, the night was looking up.

And it was only supposed to get better from there...

"Alright, close your eyes," Zoro ordered, turning around as he rummaged in his pocket.

"Now I'm really scared," you teased, your hands coming up to cover your eyes with delightful anticipation.

Zoro was never big on surprises, so to see him go through such lengths could only mean that whatever he was about to give you was really good.

"Gimme a sec," he grunted, still fumbling around. "Can't get this stupid latch open."

Big fingers... small clasp...

Your brows quirked at the word, confused.

'Latch?"

"Got it," he nodded, quickly bringing it around your neck and pulling it together in the back.

Taking a moment, he fooled with the damned thing once again before he finally got it secure, a proud smile rising to his face.

"Alright, open 'em."

Slowly opening your eyes, you gasped at the sight in the mirror before you, hands snapping up to your mouth in surprise.

"Oh, my Gods!"

Resting gracefully on your chest was a glittering, gold pendant of three swords, their handles conjoined at the tip and hung carefully on the chain around your neck.

They were the same gold as his earrings, matching so perfectly you'd think they all came together in a set.

Absolutely breathtaking.

"Zoro..." you marveled, turning to look at different angles. "It's beautiful!"

He crossed his arms over his chest, a proud smirk on his lips at your happy expression.

"You like it? It's one of a kind," he nodded. "The jeweler said this was the only one ever made."

"I love it!" you squealed, turning around and tossing yourself in his arms, the man unable to fight off his smile as you peppered his face with kisses. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Slightly pulling back, you flashed him a cheeky grin, staring deeply into his steel grey eyes as he rested his hands on your hips.

"How do I look?"

His gaze trailed down from your face to your chest, where the pendant sat just above your cleavage, almost like a badge of honor.

"Like mine," he stated, shamelessly, quickly moving to capture your lips in a kiss.

"Wait, wait, wait!" you cheesed, your hand covering his mouth as you pointed to the ceiling. "We have to do this nicely! Look at what we're under."

Glancing up, the swordsman's eyes landed on the minty green of a mistletoe, which was hung directly above you and tied with a nice, silk ribbon.

But he didn't give two shits.

Pulling his mouth away from your hand, he fixed his eyes on you with a look of hunger, completely disregarding the tradition.

"There's only one thing I'm doin' nicely..." he smirked, quickly swooping in to assault your neck before taking you down to the bathroom floor.

"Zoro!" you squealed, your hands grasping his broad shoulders as he pinned you to the ground.

It wasn't long before your shrieks of amusement turned into cries of pleasure, which were, thankfully, drowned out by the festivities going on outside.

Your swordsman had easily made this the best Christmas to date, something thoroughly appreciated given his usual hard time with gifts and grand gestures.

Not only did you get the best gift you'd ever received... but you also made a new Christmas tradition.

One that had Robin planning for onesies in next year's gift exchange.

[steveharringtonat3am]

Do you think you could write something about doing your makeup routine in front of Steve? I feel like he’d be so fascinated about the process

“What’s that?” Steve sits on your bed behind you, watching through the mirror of your vanity. You hold up the tube in question and he nods.

“This is just tinted moisturizer. I use it under my foundation to colour correct.” You explain, showing him the bottle of foundation you use. Pumping some onto the back of your hand prompts another question.

“Why do you put it on your hand?” He’s sat up now, starting to get interested in the process. He’s seen you with and without makeup plenty of times, but never in between.

“It’s just easier. I can control how much I get on the brush and see how much I need.” You begin blending the foundation into your skin and it’s clear that Steve is only now making the connection as to how your skin changes tone every so often.

“Is it supposed to be a little…off?” He asks in an attempt to be polite about it. He relaxes when he sees you laugh at him in your reflection.

“Yes babe. It’s kinda hard to find a perfect match so I go a little lighter and then correct it with bronzer.” You hold up the compact in question and he nods as if he has any idea what it is. You pull out your concealer, dabbing some on your undereyes and on a few spots. He’s gotten distracted fixing his hair, but grabbing a new brush draws his attention back to you.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, since someone wants to stay up late and makeout, I have to use this and cover my dark circles.” He can only smile sheepishly at your remarks.

“I can’t help it. You look so pretty before bed.” You hum in response, making a note to do your skincare from here tonight.

“Anyways, this is the bronzer.” You place some underneath your cheek bone, blending in the warmer powder to bring in some colour to your face.

“That looks nice.” He nods in approval as he sees your face return to it’s normal shade. He continues to watch as you pull out a small compact of blush. You ignore his cheshire grin when you force a small smile to bring out the apples of your cheeks.

“Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, you look adorable.”

“It’s a stupid face. You’re not allowed to look anymore.” You chastise, putting away the pink powder. Internally, you can’t help but feel flattered. If a man likes your stupid makeup faces, he really loves you.

“Come on! You look so pretty.” You roll your eyes as you pick up your mascara.

“Be quiet for this one.” You instruct, ignoring the way he mock-zips his mouth. You bring the thoroughly coated wand to your lashes, gently coating them. You repeat the process and once you pull away, Steve lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding.

“That looked horrifying!” He complains, climbing off the bed to get super close to your face until he’s convinced you hadn’t poked an eye out.

“I’m fine babe. See?” You flutter your eyes at him but his frown persists.

“Is that all?” He fixes a strand of your hair as you place your things in your makeup bag.

“Just lipgloss and I’m done.” You swipe the wand over your lips a few times, smiling at him when you’re done. The poor gloss lasts for a second before Steve swoops in to press his lips against yours messily. When he’s done, there’s sticky pink gloss on both of your lips and chins.

“There!” He smiles proudly. “Now we match.”

[creepswrites]

DIRT ROADS | Lester x Reader

rereading some of my old writing renewed my love for writing this scruffy man <3 this is also slightly self indulgent oops

LESTER SINCLAIR X GN!READER

SUMMARY: The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

The sound of the sputtering of your car engine made you groan, your forehead bumping against the steering wheel in quite frustration. Overhead, raindrops pattered harshly against the top of your car like small marbles and you heard the way your wheels dug into the muddy roads. This was not the place you wanted to get stuck in.

"I told you we'd get stuck out here!" Your friend Sadie huffed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in defeat. "If we had just turned back and asked for directions," She trailed off, shooting a pointed glare at the two guys in the backseat, "We wouldn't be in this mess!"

Robbie - Sadie's long-term boyfriend, though you weren't exactly sure why, seeing as they argued more often then not - just scoffed at his girlfriend's frustrations. "Look, let's just get out of the car and fuckin' push, alright?"

"Can't," You sighed as you lifted your head up. "The front wheels are trapped in the mud. Pushin' will just get us more stuck."

"Well what the fuck else are we supposed to do?" Robbie shouted before swinging the door open and stomping out into the pouring rain, uncaring of how his hair and clothes quickly became soaked.

When he did, his friend who sat beside him - Leon, you think was his name - quickly shuffled out to join him. Leon was nicer than Robbie but was a bit of a pushover. This camping trip the four of you planned was mostly Sadie's attempts to pair you up with Leon despite both of your resistances on the matter.

"Honestly," Sadie sighed, "That guy just can't take no for an answer."

You hummed, disinterested in her latest "Robbie Rant" as you'd taken to calling them. "I still think this whole camping thing is a bad idea. Even if we'll be in a cabin." You weren't exactly enthusiastic at the idea of listening to Sadie argue with her boyfriend for a long weekend while you sat awkwardly next to Leon.

"Don't be such a downer," Sadie said as she poked your cheek with a pointy, baby blue nail. "The rain'll pass, babe. It always does."

When you heard the sound of your car door open, a blast of cold air hitting your body, you turned your head and were met with a worried look on Robbie's face. "Hey, uh, there's... some dude over here." He gestured with a thumb, arms crossed over his chest to try and protect himself from the chilled rain. "He's, uh, offerin' to tow us to the nearest town."

You perked your head up. "Oh! Sure, okay, yeah." Frankly you were just relieved the four of you weren't going to have to camp out in the car or, god forbid, walk through the rain and dark foresty area in hopes of finding civilization.

"Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited." Robbie mumbled as you poked your head out to look behind your car. "Dude's kinda weird."

A scrawny looking man stood slumped against a silver truck chatting to Leon, seemingly unbothered by the rain. When he caught your eye, he tilted his green cap in greeting and gave you a wide gap toothed smile as he made his way towards you. Outwardly, you didn't see anything wrong with him. Maybe a little scruffy but nothing outwardly strange. "Hey there," He said with such a heavy southern drawl it made your eyes feel droopy, "Saw y'all got stuck. I might be able 't tow ya back to town. It ain't far, but you folks'll probably wanna ride with me. 'Case stuff gets too bumpy."

You considered his offer for a moment. The idea of shelter was too tempting to ignore, however... "That's awfully kind of you," You said slowly, watching his smile soften into something more genuine, "What's the catch?"

"Ain't no catch, honest." He said as he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Robbie gave him a weird look but you ignored it, keeping your focus on the stranger. "Jus' happened to be in the neighborhood on my way back home. Saw y'all broke down 'n figured I'd lend a hand."

Your shoulders dropped slightly. As in most situations, you had to trust your gut. And your gut said that you could trust him. So you held out your hand to shake his, introducing yourself. "How close is this town?"

"Jus' a few miles back down this road here 'n a few left turns." The stranger offered a hand to help you out of your car and you flinched at the sight of thick mud below you. "'m Lester, by the way. Lester Sinclair." He said, noticing your apprehension at the dirt. "Ain't one for mud?" He gave a light laugh.

"Not if I can help it," You sighed. It wouldn't normally bother you but you hadn't worn shoes you could afford to get dirty. The storm had caught you all by surprise.

Before you could step out, Lester gave you a nudge. "Here, put'cher arms 'round me."

You flushed and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He just gave you a grin as he hooked your knees in the crook of his elbow. "I- You don't have to- I can-" You stammered out nervously. Sure, you didn't really want to get your shoes dirty, but Lester didn't have to carry you!

"Up we go!" Lester said with a dramatic flair, causing you to shriek in terror as you were lifted out up of your seat. You clung to him tight to avoid falling into the mud and he gave you a little spin, making you bury your face into his shoulder as you begged him not to drop you.

The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

"Hey, put 'em the fuck down!" Robbie said. You'd honestly forgot he was there for a moment. But he stepped towards you two like he intended to yank you from the other man's arms like a toddler wanting its toy back.

Lester shot him a look before glancing down at you, as though silently asking if Robbie was bothering you. Like Lester himself wasn't the stranger in the situation. "Alrighty then. Why don't you grab the girl so we can get on outta here?" He said before carrying you back towards his truck without looking back.

When you saw the truck, you understood why Robbie and Leon looked so anxious about going inside. You could see what looked to be small animal bones dangling like strings of beads woven together with feathers and rough strings. They all looked very homemade but pretty in their own way. At least to you they were.

What really caught your attention was the deer skull sitting on the dashboard as the pride of place. "You hunt?" You asked Lester as he walked around to the passenger side door.

He noticed you eyeing the deer skull and shrugged. "That depends."

"Depends?"

"Well I gotta impress you, don't I? Ain't every day I get to carry some pretty thing to my truck. Can't letcha think 'm a bad guy if I do hunt." He said casually before gesturing to the door handle. "Can you grab that?"

You opened the door and let him set you on the seat, his words not quite registering as you focused on the skull, fingers grazing it but not quite touching. "I think it's cool," You said with a quiet awe. "I like taxidermy, so bones don't put me off."

Lester seemed surprised by that. You could hear the sounds of Robbie and Sadie arguing again - likely because he wasn't offering to carry her like Lester had done for you - but you hardly cared with him looking at you like that. Like he was swooning.

"So y'ain't gonna be bothered by the roadkill I got in the back?" He asked, leaning against the car door as you admired the bones hung around the interior.

"Nope. Not even a little. Do you make these yourself?" You asked, fingers dancing lightly down a particularly pretty string of feathers and bones.

Lester swallowed and nodded, a little breathless when he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah. Make 'em myself, yeah." He sounded a little nervous, trying to hide his excitement at your genuine interest. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna get yer car set up for towin' 'n whatnot. You alright if I borrow your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shrugged before focusing back on him. "Much less Robbie. He's kind of a douchebag."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" Lester looked genuinely shocked.

You laughed a little. "You sound like my parents." Your tone was light, teasing, and a sharp contrast to the sudden hurricane that was Sadie climbing into the backseat of the truck, arguing loudly with Robbie. As suspected, he had not want to carry her and she had to walk.

You and Lester shared an exhausted look before he stepped away to get the cables to tow your car. Meanwhile, you tucked into the front seat, admiring every knickknack and oddity you could see. It felt almost cozy. Lester likely spent a lot of time in here to warrant such a comfortable, familiar space. He'd mentioned roadkill in the back of the truck so you figured he drove around for long hours picking it up.

He was utterly fascinating. You'd never met anyone like him.

"Dude, this guy is a freak," Sadie whisper-yelled to be heard over the rain as she slammed her door. You left the your own door open to enjoy the cool air a bit longer after being stuck in a stuffy car for the past four hours. "His car's full of dead things!" She hissed at you.

"Doesn't bother me." You said absently, far too focused on the skull again. It was in beautiful condition, clearly well taken care of. If Lester did really hunt, you hoped it was humane. But you reassured yourself that he didn't seem like someone who hated animals.

Sadie scoffed as she slumped in the backseat. The anger from her argument with Robbie was starting to leak into your conversation with her and it pissed you off. But you held your tongue, knowing better than to push her. "Yeah, I'm sure you don't mind your new weirdo boyfriend and his freaky shit." She laughed with a mocking tone. "Must be nice to meet some random fucking guy on the side of the road and he's soooo perfect and thoughtful and carries you to his car. Definitely matches your freak."

You ignored her.

It didn't take long for the guys to finish attaching your car to the truck and everyone piled in the truck, Lester closing his door with a dramatic flair and giving you a smile. "Alrighty, lets head on back. Town's just a couple minutes away." He said, making sure to take wide turns to avoid scratching up the car too much.

"Is there a hotel in town there?" Sadie asked, fidgeting with a strand of her wet hair.

"Yeah, should be. The inn ain't get much business this far out here so there oughta be rooms." Lester said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Where ya folks headed?"

When the three in the back said nothing, you spoke up after an awkward beat of silence. Just because your friends didn't like the dead things didn't mean Lester was a bad guy. "Headin' towards Arkansas. We've got a little cabin there that we want to stay at for a few days."

"Special occasion?" Lester asked curiously.

"Just a double date weekend." Sadie chimed in, smirking a bit in Leon and Robbie's direction. "We've been meaning to take a break together.

You flinched at the implication you were dating Leon. Lester seemed to notice that and gave you a reassuring smile. "Sounds fun." He said aloud, though you could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Robbie, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"How long've you been dating 'em?" He tilted his head towards you, smiling at Robbie in the rearview mirror. "Hope I didn't give ya the wrong impression when I carried 'em over. I know you got defensive 'bout it 'n all."

The backseat erupted into absolute chaos. You turned to level Lester with an unimpressed look and the man had the audacity to give you an innocent little smile.

Jerk. You snorted, rolled your eyes, and turned your head to look out the window, watching the raindrops fall on the slightly fogged glass and the brush of the forest passing by in blurs of murky greens and browns.

Ambrose wasn't far, true to Lester's word. The town was small, only a few dozen houses and no major chain stores, much to Sadie's disappointment. Just little mom and pop type places. Lester towed your car to the nearby gas station outside the auto shop and you became suddenly aware of how empty the town felt. No one was outside but you didn't think it was because of the rain.

Your friends got out of the truck, eager to get away from the bones and the smell of rot, but you stayed in with Lester for a minute. "Where is everyone?"

"Hm?" Lester asked, looking innocently curious. "Whaddya mean?"

When he didn't say anything else, you just sighed. "Nevermind," you mumbled as you reached for the door.

"Wait." He said, his voice low. You turned to look at him and he seemed... guilty? He chewed nervously on his bottom lip before making a gesture to the glove box. "Open it."

So you did. Laying atop some piles of paper was a simple, silver pocketknife. "What the-?"

"In case." Lester said, pulling it out and handing it to you expectantly.

"In case of what?" You frowned as alarm bells began to ring in your head. "What do you mean?

Lester's eyes darted quickly over your shoulder before he looked back at you. You didn't get the chance to look over your shoulder when he reached up, cupping your face with one hand to keep your eyes on him. "I ain't- I ain't s'pposed to do this. Y'can't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" Your fear must have been obvious at this point, seeing as Lester flinched.

"Look," he sighed, taking your hand and squeezing it in his own. "I can't- I wanna tell ya, believe me. But I ain't s'pposed to 'n it kills me." He looked genuinely sorry for whatever it was he was doing, which only scared you more. "But if ya take it, you'll be-"

A loud knock on the window made you scream, scooting away from the door with a look of terror, not even care that you practically slammed into Lester's chest as you threw yourself across the center console. Staring at you from the window was a man dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit with a baseball cap on. He opened the door without prompting and gave you a smile that made you feel greasy just looking at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The stranger said with a warm tone. "'m name's Bo. I work at the autoshop here."

You introduced yourself cautiously, glancing out the windshield and noticing the way Sadie practically swooned over Bo while Robbie and Leon looked ready to punch the daylights out of this guy.

You didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"Pretty sure that's my brother you're sittin' on." Bo said with another acidic smile.

"Oh." You said, still pressed against Lester's side with no real interest in moving. The pocketknife was still clenched tightly in your fist and you still didn't feel safe.

Lester just laughed. "Aw, it ain't no problem Bo. We were chattin' 'bout their car actually. Might need ya to check it out, just in case."

Bo hazarded a glance at your car. "Yeah, alright, I'll take a look. Wanna come with me?" He asked, offering you his hand.

Everything in your body screamed at you to stay away from this guy.

"Actually Bo," Lester spoke up, your saving grace, "I was plannin' on chattin' 'bout taxidermy with 'em. If ya don't mind."

Bo did, in fact, seem to mind. His perfect facade seemed to flicker, an annoyed look passing his over his face as quick as it came. "Lester, ain't it a better idea for them to be here with their car?"

"I trust you!" You nearly yelled, grabbing your car keys and stuffing them into Bo's extended hand. "You seem like you know what you're doing! Any questions and you can ask Robbie, he's better with cars than me anyways."

You felt Lester relax when Bo just sighed loudly. "Alright, if you insist," He clutched the keys in his fist and the look he gave you made chills run down your spine. "Enjoy your date, lil' bro."

"Thanks man!" Lester said as Bo slammed the door shut, rattling the whole car. "You alright?" He asked softly once his older brother had stormed off in the direction of your friends.

You scooted back slightly to give him some space, sliding back into your actual seat. "I know he's your brother but... he's so..."

He laughed. "Aggressive? Yeah, he can be. Ain't his fault but it does make bringin' people here tricky." Lester said before gesturing out the window towards your friends, watching Sadie hang off Bo's every word. "Seems to work on your friends jus' fine."

"Not me." You hummed, watching the four of them go inside the auto shop. "I usually have a good read on people. And he's, uh, not good."

"Is that so?" Lester said softly. "Well, y'sure as hell got a good radar then. Figured him out real quick."

You gave Lester a glance, noting the somber look on his face. "What do you mean by it being safer to bring the knife?"

The man chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to mull his options over in his head. "I can't tell ya," He said slowly, "Because then I'd have to kill ya." When you laughed nervously, he just gave you a serious look. "'m serious. I ain't s'pposed to tell strangers what's goin' on."

Cold dread seemed to drench you instantly. "What?" You whispered in horror.

"I can tell ya if you promise not to do anythin' though." He soothed, taking your hand in his. He kept glancing over your shoulder as though expecting Bo to reappear at any moment. "If ya wanna know, you can't get involved."

"Just tell me!" You pleaded, the pocketknife still tight in your fist.

Lester sighed, letting go of your hand and staring out the window, letting the muffled sounds of rain pass through you two as though trying to literally clean the air. When he looked up at you, his eyes once again darting over your shoulder. He let out a soft gasp of surprise and fumbled to turn his car back on, letting it spur to life as you turned to look.

Robbie stumbled out of the auto shop, covered in blood and screaming. He was beelining for you, his screams drowned out by the car engine and the storm. You went to unlock the door but you watched the locks engage. Robbie yanked on the door handle frantically, screaming something about Bo having killed Leon.

But you didn't even have time to react as Lester threw the car in reverse and took off, leaving you horrified and confused. You rounded on him immediately. "We need to help!"

"I can't get involved!" Lester said, looking as panicky as you. "I- I ain't a fan of what they do either but I-" He stammered, torn between focusing on the road and trying to placate you.

"Did Bo kill Leon?!" You gasped in horror.

Lester gave you a helpless look. "I- Maybe? I- I dunno, he's killed a lotta people at this point." He squinted, trying to navigate the rain that began to streak across the windshield with how fast he was driving, obscuring a lot of the vision outside. "He 'n Vinny've been doin' this for ages now!"

"Doing- Doing what?!" You felt frantic, yanking on the car door with no real luck. What would you even do if it opened? Where could you go?

"Killin' people!" Lester said, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "They've been killin' people and I don't get involved. 'n if you value your life, you shouldn't either."

He slammed hard on the breaks just before the front of the car slammed into a tree. The two of you let out a shared sigh and slumped over.

"'m sorry sweetpea." Lester said quietly, leaning against his steering wheel as exhaustion seemed to set in. "Was followin' y'all. 's how I found ya. Was gonna ship ya off to Bo 'n Vince but you were so..." He lifted his head to look at you with soft, glassy eyes. "'m so sorry."

You trembled, still breathing heavy. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No." Lester's answer was immediate. "I ain't a killer. Not like my brothers are." He looked like he wanted to reach for you again, remorse clear on his face. "'m really sorry. Honest. I-"

"Are my friends going to die?" You asked, your voice warbling slightly. "Did- Did you just drive away from my dying friends?" He turned his head to look at you and gave you a slow nod. You let out a quiet gasp, scooting away from him until your back was up against the door. "Let me out! I need to go help them!"

Lester shook his head helplessly. "I can't. Bo's already seen ya 'n if you go after him, he'll kill ya too."

"Then why give me a knife?!"

"I just-" Lester sighed. "I just didn't want you to go down easy. Ain't no one ever escape my brothers. They're brutal 'n dedicated. I... I didn't want you to get hurt."

A lapse of silence passed between you two, the only sound coming from the rain. Lester buried his face back into his arms while you tried to come to terms with what you'd learnt. Lester's brothers abducted and killed people. And Lester had just served your friends up to Bo on a silver platter, but not you.

You had a knife, still clenched in your fist, and you could probably get the jump on Lester if you had to. You could steal his car and go rescue them or, at the very least, escape.

But you didn't want to hurt Lester...

"Why didn't you let me go with them?" You finally asked with a resigned sigh.

Lester looked up with tired, sad eyes. "Didn't want em to have ya. 'Cus you're a good, kind person 'n you trusted me. Felt like I was betraying ya. So I saw an openin' and I took it."

You nodded slowly. "So what now?"

"Well, ya got a few choices actually." Lester said as he straightened up. "You could go back. Try your luck against my brothers, try 'n save your friends. Or," He said with a shy glance your way, "You could come with me."

"Where would we go?"

Lester motioned out the windshield. "I got a lil' house in the woods nearby. We could hold down till the storm passes." Big brown eyes focused on you as he nervously wrung his hands. "I'd, uh, have to introduce you to my brothers in the morning. But I'd protect ya. Let 'em know you're with me now."

You felt your face heat up and you hated yourself for it. Your friends were being killed and the guy who led them to their deaths was making you blush like a schoolchild with a crush. You couldn't help it though. Lester was sweet, in the short time you'd met him. He didn't want to see you hurt and did what he could to protect you.

"With you?" You teased him with a wet chuckle. And your smile grew when you saw the way the tips of Lester's ears burned with how hard he blushed.

He gave you a shy nod. "Y-yeah. If you're with me, then- then they won't bother ya. Not killable anymore." You reached over and took his hands gently, uncaring of the dirt and roughness there. "You couldn't leave though."

A sigh left your lips. "I either stay or die?"

Lester looked close to tears when he nodded. "'m really sorry, sweetpea, I really am. Should'a never gone after ya." He freed one of his hands to cup your face gently, his touch soft despite the roughness of his hands and the guilt in his eyes.

You two sat there for awhile before you nodded, swallowing back a sob of your own. "Okay," You sighed, "Okay, I'll go with you."

He gave you a look of utter relief, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll keep ya safe, sweetpea. I promise."

When you pulled him in for a hug, your face buried in his shoulder, you let your shoulders relax. And you let yourself believe him.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Tango in the Sky [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

[Timothée masterlist]

note: LISTEN, first of all I want to say a huge apology because I was literally stuck on this. I had like two weeks with the document started and I just didn't know how to do it, so I'm sorry if this is horrible. I think the problem was that I wanted to make everything the same as the movie and aaagh, I don't know. I know you wanted a kiss but I also had a hard time writing that because they barely know each other haha 😫

I will catch up more these days with everything on my inbox (which is quite a few, thank you for that beautiful people) and I appreciate the nice reception, I love you!

Special thanks to @fivesumbrella5 for leaving their name, it makes me happy to know who requests it :)

“Have you done this before?” you asked, gently petting the snout of the giraffe in front of you. Willy was downstairs, milking her so he could get the milk needed for her chocolates.

Noodle was supposed to have helped him that day, but the poor thing had caught a cold and you had been the lucky one (not really) to be driving the delivery cart. Although it had been a drastic change of plans, you had to adjust to it.

"Once. In Africa. Magnificent beast”

“Was she wild?”

“Wild? She was absolutely furious! But once my hands warmed up, I think she kind of liked it” Willy responded and then you giggled.

It was nice to have his company, that most eccentric guy who had come to rock everyone's world at the laundry.

“The way you left your coat makes it look like a person,” you pointed out, looking down at the coat rack on which he had left the red piece.

“Huh? It's true,” said the boy, smiling. Willy got up from his seat, humming a song, and then approached the structure taking a few steps and turns that ended in a mocking bow. “May I have this piece?”

You were watching his occurrence from above and when he started dancing you couldn't contain your laughter. He even started singing, showing you that he had a really beautiful voice.

"You like dancing?"

“I love it, actually,” he confessed. He had already put his coat and hat back on. “Especially when my partner is human.”

How curious, you were a human. And now that you had seen him dance, you were sure that you could become that dance partner he needed.

You started to go down the stairs, trying to ignore the vertigo that doing so gave you, and when you were two steps from the floor one of your feet slipped. You screamed as you fell, but you were lucky that he reacted quickly, managing to stop the impact by holding you by the back.

"My God…"

“It was close, right?” he laughed, still sounding agitated. “You have to be careful.”

You only managed to nod your head, slightly embarrassed, and then he helped you to step completely onto the floor. He was smiling, he always did, as if his cheeks were made to handle that.

“Do we have what we need?”

“We have it, my dear lady,” he replied, showing you the metal can that was filled with milk. At least something positive had come out of it all. “So it's time to go.”

“Thank you, Abigail!” You exclaimed towards the giraffe. She shook her head as if she really understood and the two of you got out of there.

It was cold outside and you felt strange seeing the zoo so desolate, although at the same time you were happy. Before the arrival of the chocolatier you could barely leave the laundry and now in a single day you had done wonderful things.

"No way…"

"What?"

“Have you ever flown?” He said with enthusiasm reflected in his bright eyes. You, as was logical, immediately denied, “Do you want to do it?”

"What?" you repeated, this time more acute and convinced it was a joke.

"It will be fun! Come on, trust me” he murmured and without giving you time to respond he took your hand to start running on the snowy road.

You were learning that you had to be careful with these occurrences and you had a feeling that this would not be the exception. You understood what his idea was the moment the bunch of balloons entered your field of vision and when you tried to react, he had already taken them with his free hand.

“It's not what�� no, no, Willy…” you tried to stop him, but he wouldn't let you.

You ran out of pure inertia, knowing that if you slowed down you would probably trip and everything would turn out horribly. You were heading towards the lake and you closed your eyes as you imagined your destination, but it was nothing like you expected because the tips of your light feet barely touched the edge of the water. A second later you were already lifted into the air and then you clung to him with all the strength that existed in your body. You didn't even want to breathe for fear of falling and he noticed it.

"Open your eyes! You miss the show” the boy laughed, as if flying at night was the most normal thing in the world.

You ignored him and continued hugging him while the wind hit your face and ruffled your hair. You thanked God when your feet finally touched a firm surface, thinking it was the floor, but when you opened your eyes you noticed a glass floor illuminated from below: the panic returned when you realized that it was not a floor, but a ceiling.

“Willy, we're going to fall and die…” you half-screamed, launching yourself into his arms again. He was still holding his bunch of balloons and looked as cheerful as at the beginning.

“Nothing is going to happen to us. It's like walking on a tightrope."

“I have never walked a tightrope!” you replied fearfully. He let go of you and started to walk you away from him, slowly, and then he saw the terror in your eyes.

“If you've never walked a tightrope then it'll just be like dancing, okay?” he smiled, while he took your hand without getting rid of your means of transportation yet. “Do you know how to dance?”

Of course you knew how to do it, but this wasn't exactly what you were expecting when you wanted him to ask you.

“Look, just take one step forward,” he continued, pulling you towards him and moving in the opposite direction. “One back, one forward, two back…”

The boy hummed the instructions kindly and you tried to look him in the eyes just to avoid noticing how many meters high you were. After a couple of sequences you had begun to relax, but when he suddenly placed the balloons in your hand and let you go, you let out a little scream again.

Thanks to his help you did a couple of turns in the air and then he held you again, by his waist, until you were right in front of him.

“Don't let go of me” you asked in a whisper and Willy promised that he wouldn't.

Under that commitment you continued dancing to the rhythm that your friend set and little by little you were feeling more excited about what was happening. You had literally flown through the air and now you were on the damn roof of the gourmet galleries dancing with the most handsome chocolatier you knew; How likely was it at the beginning of the day? None, in short, so it was a pleasant surprise.

Willy guided you to the top of the dome that adorned the galleries, using the balloons to fly again, and suddenly you two stopped to hold onto the metal rod at the top of it. You were smiling from ear to ear and his hand had ended up on yours, while he also had a happy face.

“Didn't I tell you you'd be fun?”

“You are completely crazy, Mr. Wonka. I mean it in the best way” you sighed sincerely, managing to get a giggle out of him.

The man seemed to love heights, unlike you, and he wasn't about to let the moment between you last so short. So, careful not to let go, he began to bend over himself, taking you with him, until you were left sitting on the glass ceiling.

“Just breathe and take a second to appreciate the view,” he asked you, still holding your hand in an attempt to keep you calm.

If you looked down you could see the interior full of shoppers and if you looked forward you could see the entire city. However, the best view was to the side, right where Willy could be seen closely. Until that moment you noticed that the flamingos seemed to have followed you through the air and were now flying freely.

It was actually nice to be in that position once you had put your absolute terror of heights aside and as if you were suddenly aware of everything, the hand holding yours made you blush. Like this you were silent for a minute, with only the sound of the wind filling your ears.

“You know, Willy?” you started to say, not really looking at him. You were focused on the bright lights of one of the mansions “I haven't felt like this in a long time. It's nice to go out into the world."

Were you happy perhaps? If so, then he had achieved his goal. The truth was that one of the reasons he had done everything he had done was in the hope of making you smile and even with the difficulties that had arisen along the way, he had achieved it.

He was about to respond when the feeling of your lips placing a kiss on his cheek stopped his breathing and stirred his thoughts.

“I only worry about one thing though,” you exclaimed again. He looked at you carefully to listen to what you were going to say to him. “How are we going to get down from here?”

The boy laughed and the hand with which he was still holding the balloons waved in the air. You let out a whimper.

“Did you expect anything else?”

“An emergency staircase or something,” you joked. “But I guess it will be flying.”

If you had thought that going up into the air had been a nightmare, going down to the ground again turned out to be much worse.

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos @silverchainbee @amethyistheart @shadowygladiatorlight @lavendarhearts @lou-multifandoms

[bangtaninborderland]

JIKOOK X READER - TAKE TWO

Summary: You disobey both of your doms, your boyfriends on their only day off, earning a difficult punishment only it goes wrong, leaving all three of you struggling.

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, misheard safe word, oral, degrading names, mean doms jikook, spanking, hair pulling, choking, face slapping, humiliation, pet play, collars, d/s dynamic, threesome ish??

A/N: I’d had this in my drafts and decided to finish it, what do ya think? Also I’m sorry this was supposed to be all smut but I can’t help giving them angst, there is a happy ending.

BTS Masterlist

You knew when you got home you would be in trouble, both Jimin and Jungkook had firmly told you that you couldn’t go out tonight, that they both wanted you home so you could enjoy some free time together.

You didn’t listen.

In hindsight, the idea of disobeying both of your boyfriends, your doms, seemed great in the moment but as the taxi edged closer to home you felt both excitement and guilt pool in your stomach.

Realistically you knew that you’d wasted a day of their only free time, both of them having vastly different schedules now due to the solo work meant that it was a rarity for the three of you got to spend time together other than to sleep but you felt neglected, even if you wouldn’t voice it out loud you needed them to pay attention to you and if that meant a little disobedience to push them into punishing you then so be it.

You hadn’t gotten drunk, in fact, you’d chosen an empty corner of the club and sat there all night. Ignoring looks and offers alike.

The taxi pulled up outside the apartment complex and you were sure that the journey went a little faster today. You paid the fare, selfishly dragging out the time it took you to find the exact change.

You opted to take the stairs rather than the elevator, something you slightly regret as you climb to the tenth floor, forehead a little sweaty as you push open the front door.

You knew they were both home, the shoes stacked up at the door informed you of that. You slipped your own off, along with your coat and hung them on their designated hooks. Jimin had punished you more than once for throwing the items on the floor in your excitement to join them with whatever they were doing.

You lightly tread through the apartment, ready to exit up the stairs towards the bedroom when a hand grips your shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going.”

“Kook.” You breathed out, stomach in knots as you spun on your heel to look at him. “I-I was just going to freshen up.”

“Is that what you really want to call me right now?” Jungkook's voice was low. “In the playroom, you know how we expect you.”

“But-“ you started, cut off by a firm grip on your throat.

“I will bend you over right here and make your ass the darkest fucking shade of red.” Jungkook cursed. “Don’t push me right now.”

You nod in response, the second he releases his grip you make your way to the spare room jimin had converted into a playroom. You still felt a in awe every time your foot crossed the threshold, the carpeting that had once covered the floor had been ripped out and replaced with wooden flooring, and washable rugs placed around the room.

The queen-sized bed was against the wall directly in the middle of the room. Draws lined the right wall, they had been filled with a variety of things ranging from toys to collars, to condoms and lube, even a closet in the corner filled with the most delicate outfit, all of which were hand-picked by your dominants. The entire room was a display of just how much they cared for you and loved you.

You stripped down to your panties, folding your clothes and placing them atop the small bedside table. You shifted to your knees, your body faced away from the door, your head down.

The one thing the room lacked was a clock, you hated that more than anything. You had no way to tell just how long they kept you waiting, kept you on the edge, mind overcome by anticipation.

The door was pushed open and you could hear footsteps behind you unfortunately whatever one of your boyfriends it was didn’t speak. You couldn’t ask who it was, not if you didn’t want to face adding to your punishment so you sat there staring at your hands.

A light touch to your neck had you even more puzzled, Jungkook's nails were shorter than Jimin's, and Jimin's fingers were softer than Jungkook's but you couldn’t figure it out. Not until your hair was being tugged pulling your head back giving you a clear view of the perpetrator.

Jimin.

He grinned. “What is my name.”

“Sir,” you answered.

“See.” Jimin clicked his tongue. “Jungkookie thinks you have forgotten how to address us. Is that true?”

“She has Hyung.” You strain against Jimin's grip to search for Jungkook but it’s to no avail. Wherever he is, you can’t see him. “Called me Kook earlier even though the little slut knew she was in trouble.”

“Now Jungkook, let’s not be hasty hm? Let’s give baby a chance to explain herself.” Jimin looked back at you, his eyes holding a familiar darkness.

Regardless of what you say you know he’s going to make your punishment hurt. You opt for silence, eyes focused on his lips.

In his dominance Jimin was powerful. His height, his build, and his physical strength had absolutely nothing to do with it. No, see, Jimin didn’t need to be muscly to be powerful. One look from him had you ready to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness for whatever transgression you’ve committed. He was harsher than Jungkook, he was a sadist of sorts. He would never hurt you enough to make permanent marks but he revelled in the way he could turn your skin shades of red and purple.

Jungkook was entirely the opposite, he knew the strength he possessed because of his muscles. His form loomed over yours like a predator ready to attack its prey but still, he didn’t need to use his strength, he knew how to punish and play in other ways. He would ask you a question only to slap you whenever you opened your mouth, he would whisper sweet nothings all whilst choking the oxygen out of your lungs.

And you fucking loved it. You loved the way they both knew how to mould your body to their will, how to play off one another to keep you excited, and on the edge.

The only downfall was that they had picked up traits from one another, so much so that at certain times jimin would act more like Jungkook than Jungkook himself did, still, it only fuelled your fun.

“Sir asked you a question.” Jungkook reminded as he came out from behind Jimin.

“I-“ you began to answer before stopping yourself instead of opting to shake your head.

“That’s not much of an answer is it?” Jimin feigned a pout. “Is that a “no I don’t remember.” Or is it more of a “no I haven’t forgotten?”

You looked between Jimin and Jungkook before Jimin released his painful grip on your head, taking a step back as jungkook half crouched to meet your ear. “Did either of us permit you to look at us? You act disobedient and think you have the right to look at us whenever you want. Look at the floor, I don’t want to see you so much as move your head”

You bit back a whine as you focused your eyes on a spot on the floor between your legs.

“Now back to my question.” Jimin was further away now, you couldn’t see where though. “Have you forgotten how to address us?”

You shook your head again, not wanting to risk extending your punishment any further by speaking without permission.

“Speak puppy.” You could hear the smile in Jungkook's voice as he spoke the pet name. “You can talk.”

“I haven’t forgotten Sir.” You respond, still looking at the floor.

“Who am I, baby?” Jungkook asked, his voice low. “What do you call me hm?”

“Master.” You can’t stop the flush of red that graces your face as you mumble the title.

Jimin laughs, his stare is cold. “You say that but your actions prove otherwise, I can’t help but think you’re lying. Kookie, baby, what do I always say about liars?”

“They should be reminded of their place.”

“That’s right, I think we should show her exactly where she belongs and who she belongs to so for the next 24 hours you aren’t going to do anything without either of us permitting you to do so. If you need a break to use the restroom then tap one of us twice, if you’re restrained or we are out of reach then you have permission to tell us verbally but other than that I don’t want to hear you unless you’re told to speak, I want to see you on your knees unless we say otherwise.” Jimin takes a few steps closer, voice softening as he caresses your hair. “If you want to safe word out you can at any moment you can, if you don’t want to go ahead with this tell me now and we can choose alternative punishment.”

“I’m good Sir.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. “Thank you.”

“Have you eaten?” Jimin asks, crouching down so his face is in view.

You had, but not since lunchtime. “I had lunch, nothing else, Sir.”

He hums, thumb brushing over your lips. “Have you drank?”

You shook your head, you really hadn’t. Getting drunk hadn’t been the aim of your disobedience.

“Words darling.” Jungkook reminds.

You so badly want to look at them. “No Sir.”

“Okay, I’ll heat up some food, your master will keep you company.” He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before standing up. “Be good.”

And with that he is gone, leaving you alone with the younger of the pair. “Why did you disobey us?” Jungkook wonders, you hear his footsteps as he walks closer to the bed.

You debate ignoring the question but your doms hated that just as much as they hated lying. “I wanted attention, Master.”

“Little embarrassing, don’t you think? We were so excited to spend the day with you, even had it all planned out, only for you to choose some sleazy club over us.” One thing you learned about Jungkook as a dominant was that his words hurt just as much as his spankings, he never let you shy away from the reality of your words and actions. “You’re lucky we have another free day tomorrow.”

You perk up at that, unable to stop yourself jerking your head up to look at him. “Really?”

He stares at you, as though anticipating your every move. His mouth went from a forced smile to a blank canvas. “No, but now you know how hopeful we felt at the idea of coming home to you only to find the apartment empty. Head down, if I have to tell you again I’ll tie you up here and leave you all alone.”

You looked down immediately, heart heavy and stomach-churning despite the empty threat. You knew neither of them would breach one of your limits and being restrained and alone was one of them.

You hear the sheets shifting as he sits on the bed. “Crawl to Me.”

You don’t hesitate to move, the floor rough against your bare knees.

“You’re going to keep my cock warm until your food is ready.” He explains, unzipping his hands and laying back.

You spring into action, giving his cock tiny kitten licks eventually lifting his shaft to wrap your lips around his balls.

When you’d first become their submissive they had both given you a month of ‘training’, each of them showing you just how to please them. At the end of the month, they decided they would do the same, the four weeks had been spent in a state of overstimulation as they tried out every little thing they could, eventually focusing on what made you most desperate.

Jungkook groans, his hands falling onto the bed. “Fuck puppy.”

The sound only encourages you more, you take the head of his cock into your mouth before letting its length fill your throat. Within a few seconds your nose was brushing against his skin, he gave you a few seconds to adjust before bringing his hand to the back of your head and guiding your movements. You wince a little as his grip tightens when you moan around his cock.

Somehow you get carried away with time, jungkook alternating between having you cock warm him and slowly sliding his length in and out of your mouth. Your lack of a gag reflex came in handy for whenever he wanted to use you like this.

You don’t hear the door open so the sound of Jimin’s voice has you jumping in surprise, reflexes making you pull away from his dick. Jungkook is quick to stop you, hand gripping your neck before you can move away completely. “Relax.”

You go limp on his touch, letting him guide you back down. “It’s a shame you can’t be this good all the time.” He brushes a few strands of hair out of your face, thrusting a few more times before cumming down your throat.

You swallow it as it comes, choking only once as it hits the back of your throat. He pulls you off as soon as he is finished, Jimin already beside you with wipes. “Here.”

You turn your face to him, gaze still on the floor where he has set your dinner tray. It was rare food was ever brought into the playroom, both Jimin and Jungkook being meticulous about the mess it could cause. You let Jimin wipe you clean, you yearned for both praise and reassurance but considering this was a punishment you were sure you’d get none.

When he was done with your face he began putting your hair up, his hands gentle as he brushed out the knots, you let your eyes close for a few seconds before opening them again to watch as the steam flew away from your food. “You can eat now.”

You can’t deny the food looks good, they were both amazing cooks but the lack of utensils has you frowning. You want to ask but the earlier warning speaks to you in your mind, you take another breath before reaching a hand out to pick up a piece of meat only to have your hand smacked down.

“Did I tell you to use your hands?” Jiminn asks, Jungkook still in his previous spot on the bed. “You’re so silly, you can’t even figure this out without help. You’re going to eat like a good puppy, okay?”

You put your hands back on your thighs before bending to lap at the food, you can’t help but want to die from the sheer humiliation of it. You had expected a punishment, you’d expected to be spanked and probably denied a few orgasms but you hadn’t meant to get a punishment this serious, you only wanted their attention.

You lost your appetite fairly quickly but you knew how much pride Jimin took in taking care of those around him so you continued to force bites down, the bitterness of your actions weighing on you heavily, if you had just listened and stayed home this wouldn’t have been happening.

Jungkook's voice pulls you from your thoughts as you force down another mouthful. “You can finish that and then I will shower you, you’ll sleep in the guest room tonight. You didn’t want to be around us all day so I figured one extra night wouldn’t hurt.”

You wanted to argue back, to tell them that wasn’t why but instead you stayed quiet, it hadn’t been a question and you hadn’t been asked to speak. The next 24, now 23 hours were looking very long.

You ate as much as you could before pushing the plate away, being practically naked was never an issue but eating your food practically naked was a humiliating feat and you were sure your doms knew of that, they knew what they were doing.

“We will be back soon, don’t move.” Jungkook picks up your plate, Jimin trailing behind him.

The door closes with a soft click, the silence is deafening. You couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about, you always wondered what kinds of discussions they had in moments like these, you were sure they had them ‘dom discussions’ you had begun calling them but you’d never been privy to one and probably never would be.

Once again the lack of a clock in the room becomes apparent, not even the simple ticking of a clock to keep you company.

You missed them, you missed them so much that all you could feel was anger towards yourself for your actions, your stupid actions.

You were left alone with your thoughts for a little too long and by the time the duo returned, washed and dressed, you were on the brink of tears.

“Shower time.” Jimin declared, he helped you stand before detracting himself completely, they walked in front of you as always. “Be good.” He warns before walking off to the main bedroom, the one you all shared.

Jungkook had already had the water running, the temperate a little colder than usual but still relaxing. The dominant washed your hair, the whole shower passing rather fast as he wasted no time getting you clean.

“How do you feel?” He asks, tone still firm.

“Okay Master.” You mumble back, enjoying the few light touches you got as he washed the soap out of your locks. It wasn’t a complete truth but punishments weren’t supposed to feel good, you weren’t going to complain any more when you had brought this on yourself.

He grunted in response. The water turned off when he deemed you finished. “Out.”

He wraps you in a towel before walking you to the guest bedroom. “You won’t need clothes tonight. Don’t come out of the room until one of us gets you.”

You nod, it was simple instructions really. He caresses your cheek for a second before turning around and walking away, you want to call out for a hug or a kiss but you can’t. “Goodnight.” He mumbles, closing the door behind him.

You stare at the door for a second before looking around the room, it is empty, no one other than Hoseok stayed here one night the previous year, you could hear Jimin and Jungkook laughing with each other and it created a ball of bitterness in your chest.

You turned the light off and climbed into the bed, the sheets cold and scentless. The annoyance you felt at yourself had multiplied, tripled and then tripled again, you know realistically you could safe word but that wouldn’t be right, you deserved whatever punishment they see fit.

It was safe to say you had never slept as badly as you did last night, you spent the majority of the night tossing and turning in between crying fits. Despite the fact that the loves of your life were just a few feet away you’d never felt more alone.

Jimin and Jungkook had to have been awake for at least two hours by the time they remembered you, the door opening slowly enough for you to drop into a suitable position on your knees.

“Good morning,” Jimin mumbled, pulling back the curtains. The lack of pet names hurt but you ignored it.

You tried to sound happier. “Good morning Sir.”

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked, rummaging and dropping a nightgown into your lap. “Put that on.”

“Yes Sir.” You answered to both questions, you could suck it up for another day.

He waits until you have the fabric over your head before giving you your next instruction. “Go downstairs, your food is ready in the kitchen. You can walk down the stairs but I don’t want to see you standing the rest of the way.” He gives you a little nudge when you hesitate.

You get to the kitchen as fast as your body will allow, still lacking an appetite but eager to please you delve into the pancakes on the dinner tray. Jungkook isn’t in the room but you’re sure he’s in the apartment and you haven’t heard the front door open or close.

“Good morning pet,” Jungkook spoke loudly, making you jump a little before you compose yourself mid-bite.

You swallow your food before responding. “Good morning Master.”

“Sleep well?” He asks, you hear the tap running. “I know I did, Hyung was very warm all night.”

You don’t take another bite after that, you settle for staring at the plate. “Yes, Master.”

“Hm, I think I’ll take your Sir for a morning bath, you can clean up from breakfast.” And with that, he leaves the room and you are alone with it.

You fall back on your ass, the coldness of the floor not bothering you. You wait until you hear the water running to cry, you tried to hold back, it was a punishment, one you earned, but it hurt.

All you wanted was time with them.

You gave yourself another minute of crying before brushing the tears away, splashing some cold water on your face and beginning the dishes. There weren’t many but you took your time, this was something you could do perfectly.

You finished within 20 minutes, not sure what to do you chose the safest option and sat back on the floor, head hanging low as you mapped out the design on the tiles. You’re thankful for the little clock that tells you that you have been waiting for an hour and 25 minutes when the two return hand in hand. The smell of their body wash is strong, and comforting.

“Oh look, you can do something right.” Jimin praised backhandedly but still, you took it. “Come, I want you to ride my cock, put a show on for your Master.”

You were led to the living room, a rare occurrence in scenes although not so much punishments. Jimin was already half hard and you were sure it was because they had probably been fooling around in the shower, without you.

Jungkook sat opposite you, Jimin bunching up your nightgown as he pulled you into his lap, rubbing his clothed member against your ass. “Doesn’t she look pretty like this?”

“Useful more like.” Jungkook scoffs, arms resting atop the back of the couch. “She looks best when she’s sitting on one of our ducks, where she is made to be.”

You groan a little at that, the words both sting and turn you on.

“No one wants to hear you, shut up.” Jimin complains, shoving you to stand up as he pushes his shorts down. “I want you to sit here and be quiet, you’re nothing more than a pretty little flashlight for me to enjoy. Toys don’t make noise.”

You bite your cheek, and the feeling of his hardening member inside of you makes you want to rock back but you know better, you take what’s given to you as the pair continue their conversation as though you’re invisible.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Jungkook asks, toying with the control.

“Yeah, not an action though, maybe a romance?” Jimin adds, slapping your thigh as you gasp when he moves his hips. “Actually an action is probably better, to drown out the unwanted noise.”

Jungkook smirks and you bite down the sadness that swims in your chest.

The movie starts and Jimin stays still other than shifting every few minutes, you can’t help the way you get wet.

You drown out their conversation, counting the amount of black spots you can see on the rug only to be pulled back by a slap to your cheek. “You’re sitting here doing nothing yet you still can’t fucking listen?”

“S-sorry.” You stutter out.

“Fucking pathetic,” Jungkook mumbles as he takes his seat again.

The words run heavy in your mind, pathetic, stupid, useless and suddenly you’re silently crying with Jimin still inside you. You’re thankful the movie really does block out unwanted noise.

Maybe you were unwanted in general.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, make as much noise as you want.” Jimin growls in your ear, hands groping your tits as he fucks into you. His movements are fast, a sign he has been holding back for a while. You let out soft gasps and moans, his cock filling you up with more than you can handle but despite that you know, you just know you aren’t enjoying it.

“Yellow.” You whisper, you expect everything to stop but it doesn’t, nothing stops, in fact, jimin speeds up hips stuttering as he chases his release. “N-no” you speak a little louder.

You look at Jungkook, his head snapping to yours and Jimin thrusts inside you one last time and cums, as though just processing everything jungkooks eyes widen. “Hyung pull out now.”

“What?” Jimin asks, confused. “Wh-

You can no longer hold back your sobs, the second they tear free jimin is carefully pushing you off him and cradling you in his arms. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Baby, are you hurt?”

You can't muster a response, you just let yourself cry spewing endless apologies. “Sorry I’m-I’m sorry.”

“I think she safeworded.” Jungkook explains, running in with the box of things you’d compiled together for incidents just like this. “Here, water.”

You feel a bottle being pressed to your lips. “Baby, can you drink for me?”

“No S-sir.” You shake your head.

“Not sir baby, just min okay?” Jimin rubs a hand through your hair, Jungkook holding your hand and drawing circles to help you calm down.

“Such a good girl, you did so well, I’m so so proud of you.” The younger of the pair spoke, still holding the open bottle of water. “Please try and drink some for me sweetheart.”

You move your head out of Jimin’s chest with great reluctance, taking a few sips of water before denying it anymore.

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers in your ear. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

“Can we- bedroom?” You ask, too drained to explain it all.

“Of course,” Jungkook answers, taking you out of Jimin’s arms and carrying you up the stairs to the main bedroom.

Only when all three of you were settled into the bed, you in the middle with one of them on either side, did they prompt you to start talking.” Take your time darling.”

You don’t exactly know how to explain it to them. “I guess.. it didn’t feel good? I know punishments aren’t supposed to, but this hurt emotionally.”

“Okay.” Jungkook squeezes your hand, his fingers interlaced with Jimin’s behind you. “Thank you for sharing that baby, can you explain when it started to feel like that?”

“Yesterday when I…” you trailed off.

“Sucked me off?” Jungkook supplied and you nodded.

“I just thought I was being too emotional but you didn’t comfort me at all and I had no reassurance. Neither of you touched me more than you physically had to and then being secluded in the second bedroom just made me feel shut out and unwanted.” You feel embarrassed at how silly it sounds, you did wrong and were punished, of course, it would have been difficult for you.

They both take a moment to process it, Jungkook looking a little more sullen. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Anything else you want to add?” Jimin asks softly. “Take your time.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t act against you because I wanted attention in that sense, I miss you both. Lately, neither of you has been home and I just…I feel so lonely. You get to see each other most days at work but I don’t even have that luxury. It seemed like a good idea at the time but I feel awful, I wanted your only free day and you think I’m just ungrateful and pathetic.” You knew you’d broken one of your own rules, to never take something said in a scene as how they see you or view you outside of it but for some reason, today, it was harder. The mean words and cold shoulders were all you could think about.

“We don’t think you’re ungrateful or pathetic, we misjudged the situation and that is our fault. As your dominants, we have a responsibility to make sure you’re safe and happy and both today and yesterday we failed at it massively. Apologies will only do so much but I promise I will make it up to you every single day, I’m so sorry I haven’t been here for you.” You chance a glance at Jimin as he finishes talking, only to have your heart broken when you see him wipe a stray tear away. You don’t even chance to look at Jungkook, sure he is fairing the same way if not worse.

“It’s not your fault, work is important but I just- I don’t know.” You huff, words and emotions just too much. You let your head drop against Jungkook's chest, his heart beating faster than usual. “I’m sorry we failed you today as doms and boyfriends.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t fail me, I should have been an adult and talked to you about how I felt instead of ignoring what you both said.”

“No baby we did fail you, talking as just your dom, we failed you. We should have been more consistent with our check-ins and should have discussed your actions more before punishing you. I think between myself and Kook we both thought the other was being affectionate so we held back a little so as to not overly indulge you but that was a stupid assumption that will never be made again.” Jimin argues, his hand tracing circles on your stomach.

“I’ve never had a problem with the way you chose to punish me. I like it but this time it just hurt more emotionally.” You explained, not wanting them to change because regardless of how you felt about the punishment you loved them as doms and people.

“And that is our fault,” Jungkook says, not as a question. “And I will never let something like this happen again.”

“I think from now on we will be more comforting even through punishments, even if that particular day you don’t feel it’s necessary I think we.” He gestures to himself and Jungkook. “Would feel better knowing you are okay. I also want you to be honest next time, the second it doesn’t feel right, even if you’re unsure of why, you call yellow okay?”

“But I did…” you mumble, although you hadn’t done it straight away you’d done it when you desperately needed it and for a second it had been ignored. “On the couch I did.”

“I know.” Jimin mumbles. “I didn’t hear you, that’s no excuse but I truly didn’t and the second we realised it all stopped. I won’t say “I’m sorry” for that because no apology would be good enough. Doll if you want to leave the arrangement, you have every single right to. If you feel as though you can trust us then do not force yourself to be our submissive because that’s something based on trust and a mutual agreement. Nothing will change within our relationship if you choose to let go of that aspect.”

“Really?” You eye them both. “You’d stay even if I didn’t want to be your submissive?”

“Baby we aren’t with you because you’re an amazing submissive, we are with you because you’re an amazing human being. You take care of us, you remember the smallest details like when we mention something we want on our diet you turn up with it the second we can eat freely, you brighten up the room just by being there, you’re so hard working and always do your best. You have the most beautiful thoughts in life, you’re strong and honest. You have so many amazing qualities that I couldn’t list them all even if I tried but I am in love with you.” Jungkook stared at you, his eyes conveying everything his words couldn’t. “So am I” Jimin adds.

“I don’t want that, I don’t want to change anything. I love you both and this was an accident, we both did things wrong and next time it will go better. Things won’t be perfect and when they don’t go well we will discuss it and come out of the other end better and stronger. I trust you with my life.” You look at both of them, all three of you smiling stupidly through tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” They spoke in unison, both placing kisses on your head. “How about we order food and spend a day taking care of the baby?”

You know the question isn’t directed to you, it always makes you feel small whenever they talk about you as though you aren’t there, small and cared for.

“Yeah I think that sounds good, I’ll go make us some tea. Maybe sit on the couch? I’ll grab some blankets.”

“Couch sounds good. Baby?” Jimin nudges you, drawing your attention back. “Couch?”

You nod. “I thought you had work?”

“Oh no baby, I know I told you that we had only been given one day off but we have the whole week.” Jungkook looks horrified as he explains. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have been spiteful in that way it was wrong.”

“What did you do?” Jimin frowns.

“I told her that we had another day off and when she got excited and asked if I was being serious I told her no. I didn't realise she was truly upset by it.” He explains hurriedly.

“You dumbass.” Jimin scolds, reaching out to slap the back of his head. “Why would you do that.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” He explained honestly. “I didn’t mean to be such an ass.”

“It sucked but I wasn’t that sad.” You explain, both of them clearly over analysing every little thing, yes you were sad but not sad enough to warrant them being this cautious. “I don’t want you to be worried about everything you say and do, I’m normally great at understanding the difference between what you do and say in a scene and how you feel outside of them.”

“It doesn’t mean we should say things that could disappoint you on purpose.” Jungkook retorts, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the end of the bed.

“You were being sarcastic Kook, I can tell the difference. I don’t want you to beat yourself up because a scene went wrong, it happens, this won’t be the last time but I’m okay, I’ll be okay after a week of pampering.” You tease them both.

“You’re far too good to us.” Jimin sighs, burying his head in your neck.

The day played out slowly, all three of you migrating to the couch with a heap of blankets. You’d gotten fried chicken whilst watching a movie, they had agreed to watch whatever movie you wanted, and you’d settled on a comedy that had all three of you crying with laughter.

They had been checking in with you constantly, tending to your every need, whispering reassurance and comforting words to you whenever they could. By the end of their break, the incident had been forgotten and you were already excited about whatever happened during the scene you’d all planned for their last free day.

You’d been sitting in the playroom for a while, both of them coming in and out of the room frequently, more than they usually would have.

“How are you feeling puppy?” Jimin asked, hand running through your hair. “Good?”

“Perfect Sir.” You respond with a smile.

“Let me see your pretty face.” You lifted your head as Jungkook had told you to. “Beautiful.”

Jimin took a step back, not before kissing you softly. “Is there anything you want to try in particular today puppy?”

You bit your lip, gathering the confidence to ask for what you’d wanted for the past two days. “I want.. a punishment Sir.”

They both give you a confused look. “Why?”

“Because I don’t feel good about my actions, I feel unsettled knowing I broke a rule and then safeworded out of my punishment.” You explain.

Jungkook shook his head, moving to undo the collar he had put on you, only stopping when you moved your hands up to cover the buckle. “No, I don’t- I don’t need to stop.”

“We aren’t going to do a scene if you aren’t in the right headspace darling, your safeword is there to protect you, you can use it whenever you want for whatever reason and you will never have to make up for it or feel bad for it.” Jungkook explains, caressing your hands as he pulls them away. “I need you to be absolutely sure you understand this before we play darling.”

“I do, I do Master I do I promise but I just don’t feel right, I want to be good and I don’t feel good and you telling me I’m good isn’t going to help I need to feel like I’ve done good, like I made up for disobeying.”

“Okay.” He gives in after considering for a few moments, and Jimin nods in agreement.

“I think 50 spanks will do?” Jimin asks Jungkook.

“20 with the paddle and 30 with my hand.” Jungkoom responds, a smile across his lips. “You do the paddle.”

“Oh, you really want her ass red huh?” Jimin laughs, grabbing the familiar black one from the rack.

Your heart warms seeing them play around with one another in this way. “Come over baby, lay cross my lap.” Jimin instructs, before you can move Jungkook is attaching a leash to the back of your collar, you begin crawling behind him as if programmed to do so.

Jimin watches your every move, your hips swaying as you crawl across to him and climb into his lap. “Doing so well for me.” You preen at the praise, heart thumping as you prepare yourself for the first blow.

Jimin has a way with the paddle, he wrists flexible enough to swing the paddle on every inch of flesh on your backside. You feel yourself both relaxing and tearing up as the worries in your mind quieten.

You feel yourself being moved from Jimin’s lap and you can’t help but whine, despite the light throbbing on your ass you feel comfortable, relaxed. You quieten when Jungkook taps your thigh. “Hush puppy, I’m going to do your last 30.”

“Sorry Master.” You put as he pulls you over his lap, the rough material of his jeans uncomfortably digging into your skin. “Hurts.”

“You can deal with it darling, take what I give you.” He lands a smack to your ass before you can complain further and as he does all thoughts are knocked out of you.

You’re thankful they don’t tell you to count because once again you get lost in your own thoughts, the repetition of the smacks soothing you. “Taking it so nicely.” You hear Jimin and can’t help but reach out a hand for him, relaxing again once he takes it.

“All done,” Jungkook speaks, you blink away the confusion in your head. “Baby’s out of it.”

“She needed this.” You hear jimin but don’t bother moving from the crook of Jungkook's neck, the smell of his cologne comforting. “Poor baby.”

You loved moments like this, where you were thoughtless, with no worries, no guilt, just the soft buzz of subspace and your doms, boyfriends taking care of you. “Love you. Thank you.” You mumble into his skin.

“Don’t thank me, baby, you took your punishment so well for Sirs. You can sleep okay? We will have a bubble bath when you wake up.” A bath sounded good but sleep sounded better so you let yourself be pulled into whatever dream was awaiting you.

When you woke up you felt warmth all around you. Their bodies pressed flush against yours in the large bed. “Awake sweetheart?” Jungkook whispers. “Hyungs sleeping.”

You look at the way jimin had a hand tangled in jungkoks, his other arm wrapped around your torso. The three of you entwined in one way or another. It was moments like these that made their hectic schedules worth it, you’d had countless arguments before, disagreements, struggles, and bad days but you had an abundance of amazing ones, ones that made every single hard day worth it. You loved them, you were in love with them, and you always would be. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” Jimin mumbles in his sleep making you and Jungkook laugh.

“I love you two.”

[miss-sturn]

★彡[ʙᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ - ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ]彡★

(p1)

Summary: Ben is in love with his best friend's sister. But he can't be with her like that. Word count: Just under 1.3k !! Warnings: Mentions of smoking, Light cursing! Just pure fluff :) A/n: Been wanting to write for Ben for a while! There are barely any Ben of the week fics!!

As she stumbled out of the bar, her laughter flickered like a neon sign.

Her flushed cheeks and lopsided smile lit up when her eyes met mine, as if she’d found what she’d been searching for.

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” I sighed, stepping closer and offering her my arm.

“No, I can’t drive!” she protested, throwing her hands up, only to lose her balance and fall right into my open arms.

I looked down at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. Then, with an unimpressed raise of my eyebrow, I said, “I wasn’t asking you to.”

She squinted at me with mock seriousness, her head tilting slightly. “I’m not really drunk. I never get that… fucked up!” Her words tumbled over each other, betraying her claim.

“Uh-huh." I shrugged off my coat and gently draped it over her shoulders, the weight of it drawing a soft hum from her.

“I’m serious! I’m so sober!” she giggled, leaning into me with all the grace of a baby deer. Her head rested on my shoulder for a moment, and I felt her breath hitch before she exhaled softly, content.

Her fingers clutched at the edges of the coat, pulling it tighter around herself. “You’re warm,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, her defenses melting in the cool night air.

♪ I love to see you shine in the night

Like the diamond you are ♪

I subtly glanced down at her, trying to ignore the way her face glowed under the streetlight, soft and perfect, like it was carved just to make me lose my mind.

There she was, wrapped in my coat, her head resting lightly on my shoulder as we walked. Her warmth seeped through the fabric, and I was doing everything I could to ignore the way it made me feel.

Out of nowhere, she stopped and turned toward me. Before I could say anything, her arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm, unexpected hug.

I froze, my arms hovering awkwardly at my sides. What was she doing? Did she even know what she was doing?

“Thank you,” she mumbled against my chest, her voice muffled but sincere.

♪ Just hold me in the dark ♪

Slowly, cautiously, I let my arms fold around her, holding her close. It felt right—too right—and that’s what made it so wrong. She wasn’t just anyone; she was his sister. My best friend’s sister.

The unspoken rule had always been clear: stay away from her. She was off-limits, untouchable, someone I wasn’t even supposed to think about like this. But as I held her now, her warmth seeping into me, all I could think was how impossible it was to let go.

♪ No one’s gotta know what we doHit me up when you’re bored ♪

What if we didn’t tell anyone?

What if we didn’t have to?

The thought hit me like a whisper in the back of my mind, quiet but insistent. Memories stirred—ones I’d tried to forget but couldn’t.

The way she’d leaned in close during movie nights, her laughter brushing against my ear, making my pulse race. The late-night talks when everyone else was asleep, her voice soft, her eyes holding something unspoken.

And that time she’d reached out to fix my hair, her fingers grazing my forehead, lingering just a second too long.

I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want her. She was drunk. But with her in my arms now, it felt like the only thing I’d ever wanted.

Her breath was slow, steady, like she was just as caught in the moment as I was. Then, she pulled away slightly, her eyes wide and innocent, like she had no idea how much she was driving me crazy. 

Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at me, her face glowing softly in the streetlight. She was so damn pretty, the kind of pretty that made my heart pound in my chest and my hands feel shaky.

Her eyes drifted from mine, down to my lips, and I felt the pull of temptation shoot through me. God, I could kiss her right now.

"Ben?" she whispered, her voice soft and almost fragile, as if she knew what was on my mind.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting just enough for me to see the faintest hint of a smile.

The moment felt like it was stretching on forever, and I could already feel myself leaning in, my breath hitching. But before I could make the move, a voice broke through the thick air between us.

“Need a ride back, Ben?”

I flinched, my heart pounding even harder. Curtis. My best friend. My fucking roommate.

Her brother.

He stood there, eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. His gaze flicked between us, suspicion clear in his eyes. Shit.

That look should have been enough to stop me, to remind me why I couldn’t do this—why he would kill me if he ever found out. But in that moment, it didn’t matter.

I quickly looked back at her, just as she pulled away, her expression unreadable but soft. She didn’t say anything, but I could see the question in her eyes—What now?

Curtis broke the tension with a laugh. “What, you two gonna stand out here all night or are you gonna get in?”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. Saying yes would be awkward—he’d definitely notice. But if I said no, I’d be stuck walking back in the freezing cold, alone. I glanced at her one last time, guilt flooding my chest.

She smiled softly, like she understood. It was too dangerous. But damn, I wanted to give in.

I let go of her, the coldness settling in as I turned to Curtis. “Nah, I’m good,” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I need to be somewhere.”

Curtis raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. I turned back to her, giving her a tight smile. “Bye,” I said too quietly, watching her slide into the car. My stomach twisted.

As the car pulled away, I shoved my hands into my pockets and sighed, the cold air stinging my skin. My mind was racing. What just happened?

I couldn’t stop thinking about her—how she felt in my arms, the way she looked at me. Her smile made me feel like I could do anything, even though I knew it was wrong.

Then it started to rain. Hard. Of course, it did. The universe had perfect timing when it came to ruining my mood.

I kicked at the ground, irritated, my feet splashing through puddles as I walked. I couldn’t stop replaying the look she gave me. I should’ve kissed her.

I wanted to kiss her. I couldn’t keep pretending like I didn’t feel this pull towards her, no matter how wrong it felt.

I pulled out a blunt from my jacket, lighting it up without even thinking. Maybe it was a stupid move, but I didn’t care. I needed something to numb the frustration, the confusion. 

The smoke filled my lungs, and for a moment, everything felt hazy. The rain poured harder, but I didn’t care. I kept walking, letting the buzz take over, the cold now just a distant thing.

taglist: @lolastrniolo @sturniololuv08 @chrislilcumslvt @lonleyheartsclub @shadowthesim

(lmk if you wanna be added!)

sneaky part 2 coming up...

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

The reader is a protective fairy of Dave and always helps him, one day Dave is a little needy so the fairy helps him, despite her having no experience with humans, so Dave guides her (sorry for the bad English)

A/n: Your English is perfect and this was such a cool idea <3

Warnings: smut, riding, corruption, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Dave was a strange kid, always was and everyone agreed on that. He wasn't sure what was so strange, he would just spend a lot of time with you.

You were his best friend that everyone ignored, teachers, classmates, even his own family thought he was possessed or something for hanging out with you.

Most people summed it up to an imaginary friend and therefore saw no reason to bring it up, but as Dave got older it got weirder.

Now, Dave was not an idiot and eventually realized something was different about you. Since you'd been with him so long you told him the truth, that you were a fairy and were there to protect him and help him in any way he needed.

That flew straight over his head but after a few more explanations he got it for the most part.

You were with him through childhood, after his mom kicked him out and all through the bullshit that was Metallica. Of course you stuck with him through Megadeth, not that you had much of a choice.

You didn't need sleep so you would spend the night doing whatever, cleaning, reading, anything to pass the time. You'd stay out in the living room and kitchen, keeping clear of the bedroom so as to not wake Dave, especially not if he had company.

Tonight was no different, Dave was supposedly fast asleep and you were reading on the couch when you heard a strange noise coming from Dave's room.

You were his protective fairy, a guardian angel of sorts, you had to make sure he was ok even though he's told you time and time again not to come in while he was sleeping.

You worked yourself up as you walked over to the room and swung the door open, eyes widening at the sight of Dave laying out on his bed with his pants pushed halfway down his thighs and cock in hand.

"What is that, what are you doing to yourself?" You questioned, gesturing to him in his strange predicament.

Dave stared back at you, not bothering to cover himself up. "Nothing." He said.

You pressed your lips in a straight line. "I've never seen you like this."

"That's- yeah..." He replied. "Because you're not supposed to be in here while I'm sleeping."

You chewed your cheek. "I don't think that's how humans sleep."

Dave stared at you, eyes trailing down your body. "Can you, like, take that stuff off?" He asked, referring to the feather-like covering you had.

You looked down at yourself. "I guess, but it's not the same as humans."

"Oh." He said, sitting up a bit. "You can shapeshift, though, can't you?"

You shrugged. "Kind of, why? Do you not like my appearance?" You asked, spinning around.

Dave shook his head. "No, no, it's not that I just mean, could you, like, make your body human..?"

You shrugged, you'd never tried before. Dave always thought it was weird whenever you changed suddenly so you left the room and returned a moment later looking more human, your wings gone, feathery coating gone as well and replaced with the most 'human' like thing you could think of.

You didn't feel naked but definitely strange and vulnerable. Dave's jaw went slack as he admired your new body.

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pat his thigh, gesturing for you to come over. You did but he stopped you when you went to sit on the bed next to him. "On the ground." His tone wasn't harsh and there was a shine in his eyes, one you'd never caught before.

Again you did as he asked and kneeled between his legs, looking up at him with slightly furrowed brows, confused as to what he was planning.

"Have you ever done this before?" He asked, running a hand through your hair. "Like, with other fairies or something?"

"I don't even know what you're trying to get me to do." You said bluntly, shoulder slumping.

"Sex, have you ever had sex before." You perked up at that. You'd never experienced it but you had heard of it to an extent. It was something you did for love with someone you loved and it was supposed to feel good.

"No." You said. Dave chewed his cheek.

He pulled you onto the bed and laid you down on your back, kissing your cheek then down your jaw until he was at your neck.

You could feel him rubbing against you, the anatomy of this body, and it sent shivers up your spine. "Davie, do more." You said, soft moans leaving you.

He guided his tip between your folds, drawing a small gasp from you. "Tell me if it hurts." He said before pushing into you. Never having experienced this before you were incredibly sensitive, back already arching off the mattress.

"Oh! Davie, do more." He let out a low chuckle at that and pulled his hips back. You whined, thinking he was stopping, but when he pushed back in you moaned. He did it again and again, your body feeling weirder by the second.

You could feel something hot building deep within you and the way Dave looked down at you, his big, fluffy hair framing his face as he stared at his dick disappearing in you.

Your breathing picked up and you felt your brain going foggy. Right before everything that built up came undone he pulled out of you. You whined at the lack of friction.

Dave moved to sit back against the headboard once more. "Is that it? Is it done?" You asked, looking at him with a pout on your lips.

He laughed at your concern and shook his head. “No, just c’mere.” You nodded and moved to straddle his lap. You weren’t sure what he was doing but you knew what you wanted, sinking down on his dick.

“I-I like this, Davie~” You gleamed. “Why-why couldn’t we do this before..?”

“I didn’t think we could.” He hummed, rubbing his hands up and down your sides before landing on your hips. “Now, just let me guide you, alright?” You nodded and let him lift you up.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as he helped you ride him, soon you were doing it yourself and making yourself feel good, telling by Dave’s grunts he felt good as well.

You snapped your hips and your eyes shot open, a gasp ripping from your throat. “Oh, fuck! Right there, I like it there!” You moaned out, head falling back.

Dave rolled his hips up to meet yours. “Right there?” He asked, hearing your moans getting louder.

You felt yourself coming undone, wrapping your arms tightly around him as pleasure racked your body. Dave helped you ride out your high, getting himself over the edge as well and cumming in you.

He laid you down beside him on the bed, laying beside you and pulling you close to his side. “Are-are you feeling better..?” You asked, looking up at him with tired eyes.

He nodded, kissing your forehead. “Much, I think I’ll be bringing you in here a lot more often.” You couldn’t help but to feel giddy at the though of doing this again.

Sex was something you did for love, with someone you loved. You looked up at Dave again, staring at him until he finally looked down at you. “I love you.�� You said, a tired smile pulling at your lips.

Dave stared back at you with a shocked expression. “Uh… yeah… I do love you.” He said, realizing he truly meant those words.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Mine?

Summary: Grayson's world is about to turn upside down.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: ehehehe

•○🌑○•

Grayson sighed, rubbing at his brows.

"So you're telling me we need to get Y/n's approval for this project?"

"Yes." Aaron Galathynius stared Grayson down until he looked away, frustrated.

"But she is missing. She won't answer my calls, and you refuse to give me her location. What am I supposed to do?"

Grayson was sure that even if she hadn't been ignoring him like her life depended on it, she would have rejected the idea without even considering.

Galathynius gave him an unamused glance before turning to the papers spread on the table. "You do know that's my daughter you're talking about."

Grayson refrained from letting him know exactly who he was talking to. That without Grayson's grandfather, the Galathynius family would still be some nobody business, hoping desperately to make it.

But he only stopped himself only because he was friends with Aaron's daughter and would do anything to talk to her again, and fighting with her father was probably the fastest way to make sure she never talked to him again.

Grayson sighed again, picking up his coat and shoving his arms through. "Call me when you are ready to answer my questions, and maybe we can proceed."

Turning, Grayson stalked over to the glass doors and stormed out, letting them swing shut behind him.

Once in his car, Grayson pulled out his phone, staring at her contact name. She would not pick up, Grayson knew. She would leave it ringing just like she had been doing over the past year.

But still, trying to contact her was better than wondering about what he had done wrong for his best friend to ignore him so.

So he tapped his screen, and stared until the call cut off by itself after ringing for a good few minutes.

Grayson sighed, turning to stare out the window at the scenery that passed by.

Gray knew sleeping with her was a bad idea, but he hadn't been thinking. He hadn't thought that it would get this serious when he refused to apologise.

But he'd just found out about Eve's betrayal a few hours before Y/n had visited him in his bedroom and he wasn't really thinking, and that led to things escalating faster than Grayson could understand. And the next thing he knew, he stared down at her limp and spent form in horror, sated with the pleasure he had delivered.

She had smiled at him softly before she realised he did not look happy. Then she had shot up, reaching out for him. He leaned back, staring at her before stumbling out of bed. He could see her heart breaking, but he could not let himself think too much about the fact that he was the reason she got hurt.

"This was a mistake."

He'd mumbled out the three words that had broken the friendship that the two of them shared, and as he walked away towards his wardrobe to clean up, he could have sworn he had heard her curse him.

Heard her heart shattering.

But he could not bring himself to care as he hurriedly put on clothes. When he'd stepped out, she was nowhere to be seen, the clothes he had ripped off her body and discarded haphazardly on the ground gone, the only thing left behind her lingering scent.

He had seen her once after that, coming out of his mother's house when he went to visit her regarding something about the foundation. She'd had tears in her eyes and her arms wrapped around her body, as if to protect herself. He had tried to talk, but of course, he had been ignored.

Now, as the Hawthorne house rolled into view, Grayson told himself what he was about to do was not wrong. That this decision was for the best.

"Zabrowski? I need you to find someone for me."

•○🌑○•

The apartment complex looked posh, but it was nothing compared to what Grayson was used to. Still, he had to give it to Y/n. She had always been good at picking out the perfect things.

Grayson stared at the elevator door, making sure he did not let his anticipation and nervousness show as he neared the fifteenth floor, where Y/n had taken residence in according to Zabrowski.

Zabrowski had also mumbled something about a child in passing, but Grayson had forgotten all about it until a few hours ago.

As the elevator doors dinged open and Grayson stepped out, he wondered if Y/n had finally found someone. Wondered if she had stopped just having hopeless crushes and actually acted on her feelings for whoever, that maybe she was now pregnant as he rang the bell of apartment 1502.

He got his answers the moment the door in front of him opened, and out peeked the head of his best friend.

"Y/n."

Her name escaped him on a thin exhale, a weird feeling spreading through Grayson's chest. He watched as her lips parted in shock, her eyes only widening a fraction.

"Grayson?"

He dared to smile at her. "It's me-"

A loud cry broke the moment between the two, and Grayson's interest piqued when Y/n whipped around, letting go of the door as she ran towards where the sound was coming from.

Grayson knew it was wrong of him to push the door open and look for himself. but he could not help the curiosity.

He watched as the simple white button up shirt she was wearing puffed a little with air, her leg muscles flexing and contracting as she moved, stared as her shirt rode up a little to show the denim shorts she was wearing.

He watched as she ran towards the couch set in front of a wall of glass, looking out over the forest of buildings, and bent to...

Pick up a baby.

Looking at her cooing softly at the child was a shock to Grayson's system as she had always said that she did not want kids, or at least not until she had seen the whole world and was far older.

Grayson was damn sure she could not have seen the world in just one year, so either she had changed plans, or the baby was unexpected.

Grayson also knew he had been her first time.

Horror spread through his chest when Y/n turned around a little, smiling down at the... blonde baby with grey eyes wearing a cute litte pink onesie, who giggled back at Y/n. Her mother.

Grayson could not take his eyes off of the child, and it was a long moment before Y/n turned to him fully, her eyes widening.

Grayson finally glanced up, meeting his best friend's eyes. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, his eye stinging.

"Mine?"

Y/n did not reply, stalking over to the door and slamming it shut in his face. The loud crash echoed in the empty hallway, the sound deafening, heartbreaking.

But Grayson did not pay it much attention, the only thing ringing in his ears his own voice asking the question and the unsaid answer.

Mine?

Mine.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist (only tagging people who i either know read these books or people who sked to be tagged in everything 😉) : @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @berryzxx

[alwayscorvus]

i have no idea whether or not you take request but ill just shoot my shot ( if u dont take reqs, its a-okay, you can just ignore this)

but if you do, would it be fine for me to request a fic with reader x werewolf!yuanwu ( too late for Halloween? perhaps, but its never a wrong time to enjoy some good supernatural stuff) and something about transformation and discovering about yuanwu's condition ( you dont have to rigidly follow this one, you have full creative freedom over this one)

im currently going insane w the lack of yuanwu content and my brain decides to make me more feral by giving an idea for werewolf!yuanwu <`3

Bittberry Tea

malereader x werewolf!Yuanwu, fluff;

one thing for sure, we both have a great sense of timing when it comes to "Halloween" vibes. I take requests but just hardly ever have time to write them (I mean... I have time for writing just not for translating it later...). So maybe u already forgot about your Yuanwu's phase... Still thanks a lot for it!

even if its not the best, it's probably the longest post i have ever written... and I will try to never make the same mistake again, so enjoy!

Sometimes changes in life weren't as bad as they might seem. Sometimes they opened up a doors for new opportunities.

Or at least that's what your father always said.

That's why when you had to move back to Jinzhou in order to take charge of family business, you weren't really bothered. After all, you had always been prepared for such a turn of events. You went on a trip around the world, met true masters in their fields and gained a knowledge in subjects of tea brewing and herb gathering, just because of that. Also, your father was getting older and his condition didn't really allow him to continue his work.

Time to use your hard-earned skills and expand Liuxian Teahouse's business by opening up customers to a new exotic flavors, has finally come.

But of course, road to success couldn't be too easy. And your enthusiasm was bound to run into a wall called "reality". That definitely chilled your father's dreams. Maybe your traditional teahouse wasn't going to rack and ruin, but for the past decade it clearly didn't live up to its potential in gaining more popularity. And you were the one who was supposed to change that. However, your customers didn't really seem to follow this vision. They were terrified of trying anything new. But surprisingly, you weren't completely taken aback by their attitude and still tried to convince them to new flavors and techniques.

Especially one particular person. Which was stubborn like no one else. And which, despite many attempts, never gave up in sticking to their old habits.

When you returned to Jinzhou, staff introduced him to you as a regular customer of your tea shop. Technically he was there first and that gave him a big advantage over you. But in the end, precisely because of that reason, you couldn't let him win.

How could a person who saw you almost every day miss out so much by closing themselves on only one solution?

-Yuanwu - you announced in an anticipating voice at the sight of a newly arriving customer. Almost feeling happy with the idea of your victim finally getting caught into a trap.

Man looked at you with slightly frightened eyes. He really hoped that he wouldn't find you behind a counter today.

Or let's be honest… it was a lie.

Subconsciously, he really wanted to see you. After all, he started coming here more often precisely because of you. Not like before; once or twice a week, but for the past six months almost daily. Just to see your warm smile and exchange a few sentences about how he was doing. He didn't feel the need to talk about himself. If he did, he always had a plenty of people in his gym that he could burden with his thoughts. Yet, he didn't. The only reason why he was getting out of his comfort zone was your charming voice… As soothing as a warm coat on an icy night, as hot as freshly brewed tea and as refreshing as a breeze of spring. Combination that Yuanwu loved and that he could listen to over and over again. Even if it was limited to just few simple answers, winks and snorts of laughter. Oh, how much Yuanwu would give to be able to hear more. Especially about you. Curiosity got the best of him.

But not today. Not during this period. Especially when this was getting closer.

-You weren't here yesterday -you pointed out correctly, trying to let his guard down- A tough fight?

You referred to this tournament that Yuanwu's gym had recently held while rolling up your sleeves to slowly get down to brewing his tea.

Man only mumbled at this with a nod. He really was exhausted. This season was seriously giving him a hard time, and this responsibilities that he had added to himself weren't really helping. But at first, he thought they would be the perfect solution to occupy his thoughts and give him a great excuse to not visit you until everything would be resolved. And while he actually managed to act wisely yesterday, today his instincts didn't let him. And brought him right at your door. Yuanwu hated that, it made him act completely like not him. He became hyperactive and relied on raw force as if in his teenage years. But he couldn't help it, even his calm approach wasn't able to overcome this urge. Before he could even think about it, he was already sitting on a stool at your bar.

Yuanwu scratched himself intensely behind his right ear. Place where his fedora unpleasantly squished his head began to itch heavily again. This time a habit that he also hated. Though maybe not so much, because it always made you smile. And although it involved a great amount of embarrassment (which Yuanwu had no intention of showing on his stoic face) nothing excited him more than your laugh. He really couldn't understand where this feelings were coming from, but ever since he saw you for the first time, some strange force had been pulling him persistently towards you. Exactly like you to him.

You secretly glanced at him with tenderness. Despite his age, proud aura, bulky body or even beard itself, you couldn't deny that sometimes Yuanwu reminded you of a big puppy. Even if he evoked fear and awe in others, there were some certain adorable slip-ups that he made. Reactions of excitement when you agreed with him or sad pouts when he found out that he wouldn't see you for the weekend. All those little gestures unnoticeable at first glance that didn't let you dismiss this thought.

Yuanwu took his fedora off and placed it carefully on the wooden countertop, not far from his hands, which he intertwined together just a seconds later.

He looked in your direction and swallowed his saliva heavily. Seeing your arms exposed to your elbows and your veins tensed from precarious job, Watching your exposed arms and veins, tensed up from precise job, made something unpleasantly swirl around in his stomach. Your focused gaze and carefully thought-out movements while crushing the leaves didn't help either. Your elegance in performing of such a simple tasks was breathtaking. Your movements were so smooth, as if you had done it thousands of times before. And Yuanwu didn't doubt that this could be the case. You were so dedicated to your work that man didn't allow himself to question your passion for your profession or years you had dedicated to perfecting yourself. Yuanwu greatly admired your devotion.

But wait a minute. Something wasn't right. Man looked suspiciously at the stickers of a boxes that you had just used.

-I will have a Bittberry Tea- he warned right away, and you sighed in resignation.

-Fine - you gently lifted one corner of your lips, more amused than offended at the idea of being caught red-handed.

You definitely weren't trying to secretly sneak the other tea.

Or maybe you did.

But at least you didn't have any bad intentions!

And Yuanwu knew this very well. And after all this attempts in convincing him to try something new, he would have agreed to go along a long time ago. After all, he was already too old for such pestering and this types of games were too tiresome and tedious for him. But if the case involved you... Man just had to admit that he was fond of your attention. And thanks to this tea he was gaining a lot of it. If he gave in, your little play would stop and he would lose the only excuse he had to pique your interest.

Or at least that's what he thought.

-By the way… I was just wondering… -you turned your back to Yuanwu as if looking for a new cup, but in fact slightly embarrassed by your sudden boldness- This Saturday there is a full moon and... -your hand froze in a mid-air- I know a great place from where you can see the moon perfectly. Weather hasn't been good lately, but now it's supposed to be suitable for night walks - word by word you quickened your pace, trying to have this stressful moment behind you as soon as possible- when I was still a teenager I loved to stay there and admire the moon for hours. Maybe- Just maybe-… - you turned rapidly towards Yuanwu- you would like to go there with me?

Man looked at you with wide-open eyes. Almost as if he saw a ghost.

You smiled awkwardly. You just screwed up.

How could you even think about having a chance with someone like Yuanwu?! Let's be honest, after all, someone like him was bound to already have a partner. Even if he didn't brag about it. And if not. You were a simple tea seller, while he ran the most respected gym in all Huanglong. You were out of his league. He wouldn't even look at you.

While you felt a mental breakdown. Yuanwu gently slid down on his stool and with an sudden “excuse me!” ran out of a teahouse.

You watched with resignation as his figure disappeared behind a slightly glazed door.

This clearly wasn't the best moment.

It's a good thing that tea makers weren't required to be overly intelligent. Because, if your father had seen you just now, he would have definitely disinherited you from the rights of your family business.

Did you, in your foolishness, choose to talk to Yuanwu and try to repair your not even developed relationship, after he didn't show up at your place for the past three days? Yes. And was it a good idea? Absolutely not.

But something deep inside you told you that you couldn't let it go just like that. Over the past few months, you had grown used to seeing this gray-haired man who decided to reveal his vulnerability to you. And you couldn't imagine ending things like that. Without any answer. That wasn't even in Yuanwu's style.

Anyway, you hoped that even though he didn't reciprocate your feelings he would at least agree to remain as your friend. After all, you didn't even declare anything.

Anyone could have gone on a night walk in the moonlight… Right?

You didn't find him at the gym. You didn't find him at home. You felt a sense of resignation, but only for a moment. Yuanwu's kind neighbor gave you an idea about his potential whereabouts. Although she didn't know him very well, as he rarely talked about himself, she was a great observer. And a bit prying by the way… She couldn't help but pay attention to his enight escapades. Especially since he always came back from them pretty bruised. As if he had drunk a lot and run into a wrong company. And everyone thought that he was such a well-mannered gentleman! Such lies couldn't spread on neighbor's watch. She wasted a couple of evenings, but it was worth it -or at least, that's how she bragged.

Looking carefully through the window, she finally came to a conclusion. Surprisingly, man wasn't sneaking to a bars but somewhere out of town. She had probably hoped for something else. Because this rumors didn't sound as spicy as they might have. But at least she learned some of the truth that was unknown to others. And if it weren't for her old, sick legs that slowly refused to obey her, she would certainly have known more of it.

Not really bothered by older woman's remarks, you focused on Yuanwu himself and headed to a pointed direction. It was getting dark outside so you wanted to find him as soon as possible.

There was only one path leading in the given way, not really awell-trodden one, but you recognized it immediately. It led to a small forest where you and your father used to collect leaves for brews. You remembered this place well thanks to a small wooden woodcutter's hut. Once... magical and cozy. Now... rather abandoned and falling.

You tilted your head to the side pleasantly surprised. There was a smoke coming from a chimney, which suggested someone's presence.

Yuanwu - you thought with hope and rushed to the door hastily knocking.

Nothing.

You repeated.

Still nothing.

Exactly as if he was hoping for you to think that no one was here and leave.

-Yuanwu, I know you are there. Please open up. Let's talk.

Silence.

You growled in disappointment and banged your fist onto a door.

-Yuanwu, please-

You whimpered.

-I won't leave until I find out why you ran out like a scalded cat. I know that we may never have gotten to know each other more deeply, but I've managed to really like you and I can't imagine us suddenly stopping talking. I can't imagine my days at work without you by my side- I-.... -you spoke pleadingly until you heard a quiet rustling.

Your eyes lit up. You took a step back.

Locks in doors clicked. Rotten planks shifted with weight.

Through a small crack you saw a wasted face of Yuanwu. Dark circles stung your heart.

-Just hurry.

He swung the door open, letting you inside.

With each of your movements, a cloud of dust rose in the air. You coughed, chasing away an unwelcome gray particles.

Finally, you were able to get a better look at him. He was hunched over and drenched in sweat. Exhausted as if he hadn't slept for a week. With his right hand, he held up a small oil lamp, and with his left, he pressed tighter to his chest a thick blanket that wrapped around him like a coat.

Yuanwu carefully put down on a small table the only source of light besides a fireplace and threw himself onto the old mattress located right next to him on icy floor.

You moved toward the windows, wishing to brighten the room with more light thanks to a rising moon.

-No!

You heard a desperate scream and instantly turned towards man.

-Just... please don't.

-O-okay?

You took slow, uncertain steps to curled up Yuanwu. You weren't sure what had just happened, but his condition definitely scared you. The only thing you thought about was helping him, but you didn't really know how.

Seeing that he wasn't reacting badly to your closeness, you crouched down and gently placed your hand on his shoulder. He shuddered. But didn't push you away. So you allowed yourself to gently massage his arm through a pile of old rags.

-Are you all right? Did someone hurt you? Just tell me what I can do to help you-

-Everything is all right. Nothing has happened. I'm just-… ill. And I need some space - he was speaking calmly in a weak voice- And about… That. Do not worry. You know that sometimes I haven't visited you for a while, but I always came back. Now I will also be back. Just not today… And maybe not tomorrow - he laughed bitterly- But the day after tomorrow I will definitely return, for you to once again try to push something in me that is not a Bittberry Tea. Everything will be the same as before. Of course, as long as you still want to keep in touch with me - he reflected.

-Of course I want to! - you protested- After all, that's why I'm here. But that doesn't explain anything-

-Good. -he smiled slightly- But now you should go. There is no time-

-What? I'm not going anywhere-

-No, really. I don't know why, but it's much worse this time-

-What's worse?

-That's-... not important! Please. Go

-No way, I'm not going anywhere until I know what this is all about

Yuanwu shuddered again. This time harder. As if some strange force threw his body. He curled into a ball and gripped his ears to cut off all the loud sounds.

-Yuanwu? -you whispered- Please, say what's-...

-Too late.

A shiver went through your spine. Something in those words and his tone made your blood run cold. But you still didn't move away. On the contrary, you covered him with your body and hugged tightly.

Yuanwu began to shuffle and pull away. But you were stronger, more desperate.

-Let go! I will hurt you - he groaned with difficulty, before his voice got replaced with loud growls and screams of pain.

Agony, as if someone was tearing him apart.

-Not a chance

You gripped him even tighter. Squeezed your eyes shut and waited.

You thought it was just an ordinary convulsionof person in fever. That it would pass soon.

Until it didn't. Until his limbs began to bend in different directions. Until blankets began to tear. Until you felt rough hairs under your fingers.

Something like… fur?

You felt a punch. With a loud thump you fell on the floor. He pushed you away.

More gasps, groans. Cries in indescribable pain.

Finally, a loud howl.

You pulled yourself up, trying to sit up. You rubbed your eyes and looked ahead.

You couldn't believe in what you were seeing.

In front of you, there was a hunched over Yuanwu. Or at least someone who looked like him. He was bigger. More muscular. Naked. But not quite. His torn clothes were replaced by silvery fur, similar to his natural hair color.

You weren't sure what you had just experienced.

Yuanwu looked at you with a frightened and troubled gaze. His eyes, though currently more of a predator than Yuanwu himself, showed a fearful look. Scared of being judged.

-What-… -you quickly corrected yourself- who-…. who are you?

Yuanwu whimpered, letting out the first tears.

You ran out of breath. Why- why was he crying?

-I know that I am a monster. But please, please, can you not leave me? -he threw out pleadingly in a moment of weakness.

Who had hurt him so much to bring such a large, reserved man to this state?

-Please?

His breaking voice tore your heart.

You didn't think twice. You pushed back in a sudden surge of energy and once again threw yourself with a hug on Yuanwu. Your Yuanwu.

You didn't wait for explanations. You didn't need assurances. You didn't even think that Yuanwu could hurt you.

The only thing you wanted to do at that moment, in all this chaos, was to keep him safe.

BONUS:

Liuxian Teahouse was famous for its openness to all four-legged friends. Yuanwu knew this very well, and that's why at first he chose exactly that teahouse.

Whenever he was there he didn't miss a chance to feed his beloved cats. And each time this happened, it greatly amused you. Whenever man approached bowls, cats hissed jumped straight and ran away in a hurry. Leaving Yuanwu with a disappointed look.

However, he never gave up. Poured food to the brim and removed himself into the shadows.

Whenever he left, animals returned. And he, sipping hot tea at the bar, dreamily admired the fluffy creatures who happily ate.

In the past, you were truly fascinated with the idea of cats disliking such a kind man.

Now you knew their secret.

[nxzz-skz]

Bound by contract (a bangchan x reader series)

Chapter 7

ᯓ★arranged marriage between nonidol!bangchan and fem!reader

ᯓ★ warnings: fluff

ᯓ★ note: send an ask or comment to be added to my taglist!

chapter 6 - masterlist - chapter 8

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The night you caught Minho was meant to be a victory.

Chan came home late, but this time, he wasn't distant. He wasn't cold. The moment he walked through the door, his gaze landed on yours. No brief glance. No disinterested nod. His gaze was focused, sharp - as if you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

"You did it," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

"i did," you replied, still seated at the dining table, laptop and documents in front of you. The message you intercepted from Minho was in bold on the screen like a trophy. "Now what?"

Chan took off his coat, draping it over the chair next to yours. He rolled up his sleeves slowly, eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shift in the air - heavier, thicker.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, his dark eyes unreadable, "We end it."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence hung in the air between you, filling the air with things left unsaid. He stood just inches away, his scent - cedarwood and something sharp - wrapping around you like a fog.

"I owe you an apology," he said, his eyes softer now. His jaw clenched, like he was struggling to get the words out. "I should have believed you the first time."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. "Yeah, you're right. You should have."

The corner of his lips quirked, a small, self-depreciating smile. "You're not gonna make this much easier for me, are you?"

"Why should I?" you shot back, tilting your head. "Do you have any idea how I felt, Chan? Knowing that you saw me as a threat instead of your-" You bit your tongue before you could finish. Instead of your wife.

His gaze sharpened. He caught what you didn't say.

"I was wrong," he said, his voice firmer now. "And I'm done being wrong."

He reached for your hand. It wasn't fast, wasn't rushed. He gave you a chance to pull away, but you didn't. When his fingers brushed yours, you felt his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you in place.

"I need you with me, Y/N," he said softly. His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Not just for this. For everything."

For everything.

Your breath hitched. You didn't know if it was how honest he sounded or the heat in his gaze, but something inside you shifted. This wasn't the man who ignored you at dinners or dismissed your every word. This was someone else entirely.

And it scared you.

But you didn't pull your hand away.

Not this time.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The plan was simple. Get Minho to meet with his offshore "client" one last time. Only, the client would be Chan in disguise. The messages you intercepted were used as bait, and Minho took it.

He was too cocky to see the trap.

The meeting was held at an upscale hotel bar, all glitz and gold, dimly lit with velvet booths that smelled of whiskey and wealth. You weren’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t part of the plan.

But you came anyway.

You sat at the far end of the bar, your eyes tracking every move Minho made. He was sharp, but not sharp enough. He didn’t notice you tucked in the shadows, dressed in black, hair swept back to stay inconspicuous.

Chan was already seated in the booth when Minho arrived. His suit was crisp, his posture calm but powerful. He played the role perfectly — just another businessman in a world of wolves.

Their conversation started casually, but you could see the shift the moment Chan leaned forward, his smile gone. His voice dropped into something lethal, and even from across the room, you knew what he was saying.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

Minho’s face shifted into something cold and calculating. He leaned back, eyes narrowing. His hand hovered near his jacket pocket.

You knew that movement. You’d seen it in movies, in every story about men like him.

He’s armed.

Panic filled your chest. You reached for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you typed out a message to Chan. He has a weapon. Do not push him.

You watched Chan’s phone vibrate on the table. He glanced down, his eyes flickering briefly toward you. It was subtle. So subtle that Minho didn’t notice.

Please, Chan, please don’t do anything reckless.

But Chan didn’t move. His hands stayed on the table, his eyes locked on Minho.

“You’re done,” Chan said, voice smooth as silk. “I’ve got the receipts. Every offshore deal. Every stolen dollar.” He leaned forward, eyes like steel. “You’re finished, Minho.”

The silence after those words was deadly.

Minho’s fingers twitched near his pocket.

No. No. No.

Your heart pounded, breath caught in your throat. Time moved slower than it should have. You saw his hand shift, the flash of metal.

“CHAN!” you shouted before you even realized you’d done it.

It happened in a blur.

Minho lunged, his hand pulling the weapon free, but Chan was faster. He grabbed Minho’s wrist with a strength that didn’t match his calm demeanor. There was a struggle, a sharp crack of impact, and the gun clattered to the floor.

Security swarmed in seconds. Minho was dragged to the ground, his face shoved into the carpet as his hands were pinned behind his back.

You stood frozen, your pulse wild in your chest. You barely registered the voices around you. All you could see was Chan, breathing hard, eyes locked on Minho like he was deciding whether or not to end him himself.

“Chan,” you said, voice trembling.

His head whipped toward you, his eyes softening immediately. He shook off the guards, brushing himself off as he approached you.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered, reaching for you. His hands landed on your shoulders, firm but gentle, scanning you for any signs of harm.

“I wasn’t going to stay home and wait,” you said, breathless. “I’m not someone you can keep on the sidelines, remember?”

A short laugh escaped him, his eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen before. Relief.

“I remember,” he murmured.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

And that was it.

The floodgates broke.

You surged forward, crashing into his chest, gripping his shirt like he’d disappear if you let go. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you in so tight you could barely breathe. But you didn’t care. It was safe here, in the circle of his arms, with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“I thought he was going to—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The words tangled in your throat.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know.”

You pulled back just far enough to see his face. His eyes were softer now, filled with something deeper, something vulnerable. And before you could think twice, you spoke the words that had been sitting on the edge of your heart for far too long.

“Don’t ever shut me out again, Chan.”

He nodded, slow and sure.

“I won’t,” he promised, his gaze steady, unwavering. “I’m done running from you.”

Your breath caught. For the first time, you believed him.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

With Minho in custody, the world quieted. But quiet didn’t mean peace.

There were still loose ends to tie, press releases to handle, and damage control to manage. Chan was busier than ever, but something had changed.

He came home every night.

He didn’t just come home — he came to you. Sitting next to you on the couch, his arm thrown casually over your shoulders like it had been natural all along. He stole bites of your food. He pulled you into his lap when you pretended to be annoyed with him.

One night, you asked, “What happens now?”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering longer than usual.

“Now,” he said, his breath warm against your skin, “we finally stop pretending.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, slow and heavy.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” you whispered. “Pretending?”

His eyes met yours. He smiled, soft and sure.

“Not anymore,” he said.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

ᯓ★ taglist:

ᯓ★ perm taglist: @cafffeineconnoisseur @skzbiasot8 @candyquokka @idiotmaterial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane