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thewriteadviceforwriters · 6 months ago

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The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

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rizzanon · 2 months ago

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Ages and background info

m.list

Current timeline:

Bruce - 42

Dick - 25

Jason - 20

Cassandra - 20

Tim - 17

regressed!reader - 16

Damian - 11

Alfred - 64

Barbara - 28

Stephanie - 18

Duke - 15

sadly Duke won’t be making an appearance anytime soon because I think he only comes around in the timeline when reader is like 17/18¿? 😔

Background info (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason centered)

You don’t know who your mother is. You were left at the doorstep of Wayne Manor the moment you were born. (don’t ask how she managed to get through Wayne Manor’s cutting edge and state-of-the-art security system..) Bruce took you in and became your parent after getting a paternity test that proved that he is your father. At this time, it was Dick’s first year of being Robin.

You’d be initially taken care of by Alfred during your early years. When Bruce was busy fighting crime or with board meetings at Wayne Enterprises, it was Alfred who rocked you to sleep, tended to your needs, taught you how to read and draw. His soft and steady preference was reader’s anchor in that big, lonely manor.

Growing up, you constantly heard about your father’s brilliance—Bruce Wayne, the untouchable billionaire philanthropist, praised for his endless contributions to Gotham. The public’s expectations for you, his daughter, were impossibly high, and your every achievement was either dismissed as trivial or compared to his legendary feats.

You worked tirelessly to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name, pouring everything into becoming the perfect daughter. But no matter how hard you tried, there were always people who’d be better than you in certain aspects, you can’t always win, can’t always get the top place. And that was the only thing the public focused on.

It hurt, but you buried the pain, telling yourself to try harder. Because that’s what it meant to be a Wayne—always striving, even when it felt like no one cared. You hoped till the very end that one day, your achievements would actually mean something to your family. To your father.

And mind you, this was before you found out your father was the Batman. And when you did, that’s when you changed trajectories and tried becoming a vigilante just like your father, like your siblings. You took up the mantle of Batgirl at 13, you trained hard, trying to hone your skills. But you weren’t meant for this life of crimefighting. You were always sidelined, and at every moment, it felt like your family was waiting for you to fail badly, so that they’d have a reason to prevent you from picking up the mask ever again. You could never be good enough, strong enough like your family. But you still pushed through, tried to prove yourself, and that was ultimately the cause of your demise.

When Dick was still in his pre-teens, I would think that he liked the idea of having a baby sister. Whenever he wasn’t off at school or out being Robin, he’d always come and play with you. But as he grew older, his teenage years, Dick would spent less and less time around the manor, and more time with his friends and the Teen Titans. He’d be consumed more and more by his missions and bonds with his teammates.

At first, you didn’t mind of course. He was your big brother. He always promised to make it up to you, he’d always promise to come back. But as the days stretched into weeks, and then months, his time spent with her became shorter, and his attention became more divided. He still loved you of course—he always tried making that clear—but his life was no longer centered around the manor, around Gotham. And by extension, that meant you too.

But that changes when you find out about your family being vigilantes. You’d feel betrayed at first upon finding out, especially because they hid this from you for so long, and if you hadn’t found out when you did, you doubt they’d even tell you.

And that makes you want to prove yourself to the family, and that’s what makes you pick up the mask and become a vigilante as well. Dick was definitely against this, and that’s what initially causes your relationship to strain with him. After all, this was when Jason had just died not too long ago. But you were adamant. With that, he did try to train you for a bit, but he ultimately ended up focusing more on Tim, who was the next Robin, and Bludhaven. He “left” you to figure out the ropes of this yourself. He was sure that Bruce or Barbara would train you.

This widens the gap between you and Dick, and at first, you ruled it off as him gaining control of his life and trying to figure out what he plans to do with his responsibilities. But then as the years go by, you notice the blatant distinction between the way he acts around you versus your other siblings.

He kept his distance from you, his interactions were friendly, but always brief. He didn’t exactly linger to check on you or talk to you after patrols. At first, you thought it was Jason’s death that was making him distant, that he was just coping in his own way. But as time went on, it felt like he didn’t see you as worth the effort. Or maybe he just thought you were fine. When he did make plans with you, most of the time, it’d get postponed, or it would slip his mind. He never really thought it was a big deal, and what made things worse was that you never pointed it out as well.

You didn’t want to confront him about this. Maybe you were just afraid to break that loose strands that was holding your relationship with him. Your bond with him. Or maybe you did not want to admit that the bond was basically non-existent.

Whereas Dick remained blissfully unaware of the way he’s treating you. Did he notice that he doesn’t spend as much time with you as he does with the others? Maybe. But did he choose to do anything about that? Not really.

Maybe one day he’ll come to realise the consequences of his actions. That maybe, he wasn’t the best big brother he could be for everyone. Dick Grayson was a man who cared about many things, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He was fiercely loyal, protective, and deeply committed to the people he loved—whether it was his adoptive family, his friends, or the people of Gotham. But that didn’t include you.

Dick’s commitment to his own life and responsibilities, both as Nightwing and as a person, pulled him further away from you. He was no longer the older brother who would spend hours with you, teaching you how to be better, how to be a hero. Instead, he was often wrapped up in his own struggles—focusing on Bludhaven, or dealing with the aftermath of Jason’s death. Even when he did offer advice or training, it always felt half-hearted, like he was only doing it because he had to, not because he wanted to.

There were times when you did try to approach him, to bridge the gap that had grown between you two. You wanted to confide in him, to seek his guidance and maybe find the comfort you desperately needed. But every time you tried, it was like talking to a wall. He was distant, distracted, and no matter how much you tried to show him how much you were struggling, he never seemed to truly see you.

The bitterness began to grow, and with it, resentment. Why didn’t he care about you like he used to? Why was it so easy for him to focus on everyone else while you fell to the wayside? It hurt more than you wanted to admit, especially because you still looked up to him, still wanted to be close to him the way you had when you were younger. But now, as the years went on, you realized that maybe the bond you once had was slipping away for good.

He was still the person you wanted to be, but in a way, he had moved on from you. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was easier to hide behind the mask and do things on your own. Because at least then, you wouldn’t have to face the painful truth: Dick Grayson, the brother you looked up to so much, no longer had time for you.

As for Bruce, I don’t want to make it seem like he didn’t care about you. Bruce loves his children, and I don’t want to take that trait away from him. But at the same time, you have to admit that he’s quite emotionally unavailable. From the moment you were brought into his life, Bruce is terrified. He doesn’t know if he can be a good father to raise you, especially with his line of work. And it’s not like you were like Dick. Dick was a growing boy, you were just a baby. Completely dependent on him. You were so and fragile in his arms, and he thinks you’d break if he held you any tighter.

Bruce wanted to love you the way a father should, but love didn’t come easily to him—not in the way most people understood it. His life was a constant battle, filled with shadows and danger, and the idea of bringing a child into that world felt wrong. He couldn’t protect you the way he wanted, not with Gotham always demanding more of him.

So, instead of letting himself get too close, Bruce focused on what he could control: providing for you. He made sure you had the best of everything—your education, your safety, and most importantly, Alfred.

In truth, Alfred did most of the parenting. Bruce rationalized that it was for your own good. Alfred was patient, kind, and steady in ways Bruce felt he could never be. Alfred would shield you from the darkness of the world Bruce inhabited. But deep down, Bruce knew the truth: he was keeping himself at arm’s length because he was terrified of failing you.

But with him keeping you at an arm’s length all the time, Bruce is unaware of the repercussions of his actions. That in a way, he was in fact failing you. Just, not in the way he thinks. He doesn’t necessarily realise how much of your life he’s missing. Sure, he knows he misses out on some of your events, but he tries to make up for it by gifting you more toys and clothes.

Though, that could only work for so long. By the time you were in your pre-teens, you needed more than just trivial gifts.

You needed your father.

But Bruce couldn’t see that. He never did. He only just checked in on your well-being through Alfred. And everytime Alfred tries to tell him about how you needed him in your life more, Bruce always ends up brushing it aside, claiming that you only just need Alfred.

And then comes Jason’s death. That puts a huge hole in Bruce’s heart. The death of his son is something that will haunt him forever. He vows to never fail like that again, not with anyone else he cared about. This was the whole reason why he kept his vigilante life in the dark from you. But you found out anyways. And when you did, you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

That was the last thing he wanted you to do. He tried to dissuade you from this path, but you were determined. Stubbornness was the one trait you did share with him. And eventually, he relented.

He always assigned you cases that he thought was “safe”. Cases that he knew you could handle. But everytime, you demanded more, and each time, Bruce always said no. You were his daughter, he couldn’t risk putting you in dangerous situations. He knew what you can or can’t handle. And unfortunately, that did not change over the years. He was fixated on the very fact that you weren’t cut out for this life of crime-fighting. And you never will be.

Which is why he only watches from afar, the gap between you and your father growing too far apart for any of you to try and bridge it. He only gets updates about you from Alfred, and even that was rarely asked about. And eventually, you just fade into the background, into the shadows of the family.

As for Jason, I believe there would be two parts for him. Before his death, when he was first brought into the family by Bruce, he was this small, energetic boy who had a certain sass to him. He was only 4 years older than you, and that allowed you to build a fairly close bond with him. That is, before he suddenly becomes “busy” with other stuff. Though he spent lesser time with you, he always did try and check in with you when he could. You two always read together in the library, he’d tell you all sorts of stories about Crime Alley.

But that all changed when he died. Jason’s death left a void in everyone, including you. You didn’t understand why he died, what caused his death, and you were literally heartbroken. You saw how his death destroyed your family, and you tried desperately to fix it. But nothing ever worked. Which is why you shifted your grief towards your studies, trying to make sure that you could be the perfect daughter that could fill the emptiness Jason left behind. But nothing worked. You wanted to heal, wanted to help your family move forward, but without their support, it felt impossible.

When you take up the mantle of Batgirl, part of the reason is because you wanted to honour what Jason did. His time as Robin. You thought that maybe he’d be proud of you, for stepping up and doing this. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to become half the hero he was.

But no, Jason was far from proud. And you only know that once he is revealed to be Red Hood years later. Jason is furious. His fury cuts deeper than you expected, not just at the fact that you’ve taken up the mantle of Batgirl, but because of the underlying betrayal he feels.

He looks at you, his younger sister, the one who was supposed to be protected, and sees someone who is willingly stepping into the very nightmare he couldn’t escape. The life that broke him, the endless cycle of violence and pain, and the years of grief and rage that had consumed him. He sees you and wonders: Why? Why would you choose this path, knowing what it did to him?

His anger isn’t just about the mantle—it’s about the idea that you’re following in his footsteps, as if you’re willing to become just like him. Worse, you’re doing it without understanding what it costs. He doesn’t want you to end up like him, as someone who can’t find redemption, who is trapped in a life of revenge. He’s already lost so much—first to the Joker, then to Bruce—and now it feels like he’s losing you too. The only family he has left.

But for you, the choice to take up the mantle was about honoring Jason. You didn’t want to replace him. You didn’t want to erase the pain he went through. But as much as you wanted to fight for the family, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to prove yourself in a way he never had to. Your family was broken, and you thought that maybe, by stepping up, you could fix it. Maybe you could become the hero Jason never got the chance to be.

But that��s not how Jason sees it. He’s angry, and hurt, and feels betrayed—because he knows what you don’t fully understand yet. This life doesn’t fix anything. It destroys. And if you keep going down this path, you’ll end up like him—scarred, alone, and full of rage that will consume you, just like it did him.

The tension between you two becomes unbearable. The sibling bond you once shared is strained beyond repair, and Jason makes it clear that he’ll never accept you as Batgirl. He’s no longer the brother you knew—the one who once taught you how to laugh, how to stand up for yourself. Now, he’s just a stranger, a man whose hatred for the life he was brought into has twisted him into something unrecognizable. And you? You’re just another casualty of it.

No matter how much you try to explain, no matter how much you try to reach him, the gap between you two widens. He’s Red Hood, and you’re Batgirl. The two identities, both born from tragedy, will never be able to coexist peacefully. Every time you suit up, every time you fight to prove yourself, you feel the divide grow stronger. You’ve both chosen your paths, and with that choice, you’ve irreparably lost each other.

For a while, you only ever saw Barbara as the GCPD commissioner’s daughter, Dick’s friend. She had always been around, and was a frequent family friend. You never really understood why she was so deeply tied with your family until you found out the truth.

When you found out that she’d been the first Batgirl, you were amazed, and frankly, you wanted to be just like her. She, who has done so much and fought alongside your family in many battles, who has done so much to protect Gotham. Maybe this was the way for you to get close with your father and older brother. You had to prove yourself through this. That’s what you thought.

Which is why when you approached Barbara one day with the idea of being Batgirl, you expected support, encouragement, maybe even a bit of excitement. After all, she had once worn the cape and fought crime in Gotham’s shadows. But no, apparently you were getting in over your head.

Barbara’s face hardened the moment you mentioned the mantle. Her mantle. She immediately refused, telling you that it was dangerous. At first, you thought she was being protective. Jason had died not too long ago doing this, so maybe that’s why. Which is why you relented. But as she continued, you saw the weight of her words—the deep, painful truth that came from experience.

She recounted her time as Batgirl, her fight against the criminals of Gotham, and how the Joker had shattered her body and soul in a way that no physical injury could ever heal. She spoke of the night she was shot, of how she had lost everything—her mobility, her sense of security, and even a part of her identity. It wasn’t just the pain of what happened to her body—it was the mental toll of knowing that every choice she made brought her closer to losing herself.

You were taken aback, shocked by how strongly she felt. Was she really trying to stop you from becoming Batgirl? After everything she had endured, you couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t want you to follow in her footsteps. But Barbara wasn’t just speaking from a place of worry; she was speaking from experience. She had seen firsthand how dangerous this life was, how it consumed you piece by piece, and how it left scars that would never fade.

But even as you understood her perspective, the desire to prove yourself still burned fiercely inside of you. You wanted to be more than Bruce Wayne’s daughter, more than someone who had to hide in the shadows. You wanted to stand beside your family, to help Gotham in the only way you knew how. You wanted to honour Jason for what he did for Gotham, and continue it for him. Which is why you relented, and eventually, just like everyone else, Barbara gave in. Because she knew couldn’t change your mind no matter what. Which is why she takes you on and helps with your training.

However, just like Bruce, she too only assigned you cases thst she knew you could handle. Even though Barbara had reluctantly agreed to help you become Batgirl, it was clear from the start that she wasn’t going to make it easy on you. She trained you relentlessly, teaching you the ins and outs of combat, tactics, and the stealthy finesse that Gotham’s criminals required. But even in her guidance, you could feel her hesitation. She never pushed you too far, always stopping just short of testing your limits, as though she was holding something back.

She would assign you cases, but they were always ones she knew you could handle—petty thefts, low-level gangs, the type of cases that wouldn’t put you in direct danger, that wouldn’t challenge you too much, and that she could step in and call someone else to take over if things ever went south.

At first, you didn’t mind. You were just glad to be training, to be doing something. But as time went on, the restrictions started to chafe at you. You could see how Barbara’s protective nature was keeping you in a bubble—one that was too small, one that didn’t prepare you for what Gotham truly was. You didn’t want to be stuck fighting the small-time criminals; you wanted to face the real threats, the ones that could change Gotham for the better after being dealt with.

The frustration mounted. Every time she handed you a case, every time she stopped you from pursuing something more dangerous, you felt your desire to prove yourself slipping further and further away. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this forever. Gotham was too big, the stakes too high, and you were capable of so much more. You had to break free from Barbara’s shadow, from her protective grip, and finally prove that you were ready for the challenges that came with being Batgirl—not just in name, but in action. Which is why you started doing more. Did more than you needed to, took one too many unnecessary risks.

But everything shifted when Barbara took in Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown, both taking up the mantle of Batgirl at some point. It stung. The sense of being sidelined was undeniable, and it hurt more than you had expected. Were you really that replaceable? Did you being Batgirl mean nothing?

Barbara’s training shifted with the new additions. She wasn’t the same mentor to you as she had been when you first started. She had become consumed with building Cassandra and Stephanie up, preparing them for the same Gotham streets that had torn her apart. Except, it was obvious that Barbara saw then as more capable, more stronger to take on the streets. More prepared than you’ll ever be. You were no longer her first priority. In fact, you were hardly a priority at all.

The worst part was how Barbara handled it. Instead of talking to you, explaining her choices, she just… distanced herself. There were no more long training sessions, no more subtle encouragement. Your bond, the one that had felt so strong when she first took you in, weakened and thinned, becoming strained and distant. It was as though she had replaced you with them. Maybe she had.

It wasn’t just the feeling of being replaced by two new recruits; it was the complete lack of acknowledgment of everything you had sacrificed, everything you had worked for. You had pushed through every painful night, every bruise, every tear, just to earn your place. But now, it seemed like all that hard work meant nothing. You were left alone in the shadows once again, watching as the people you cared about, the people who had once been your mentors and family, moved on without you.

The rift between you and Barbara widened with each passing day. You tried to hold on to the hope that things would change, that things would go back to how they were before. But deep down, you knew they never would. Barbara had chosen her new proteges—her Batgirls—and you were left to try to make your own way in a family that no longer felt like your own.

And as the years went by, you still held onto that mantle, and Barbara grew more distant. She checked in on you doing patrols and missions as Oracle, but that was that.

Part 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke centered)

lmk your thoughts on this because this has been on my mind for so long <33

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

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the-odd-shu · 2 months ago

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Lab shenanigans

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader

A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

Note this takes place during season 1:

Gender Neutral!Reader who got hired as the lab illustrator because neither Jayce nor Viktor can draw and they need an illustrator to document all their official papers with recognisable diagrams of their inventions.

The next part

Masterlist

Reader who was just freshly been employed as the lab illustrator, sitting diligently at their new desk whilst Jayce fetches the research folder and Viktor tinkers away in the background.

Reader who lets Jayce set down the heavy folder on their desk, which holds all of the pair's research as well as hundreds of cruedly drawn sketches of inventions such as the Hexclaw and early drafts of the Hexgates, drawn by both himself and Viktor. (They are not drawn well, and it is only because most of the drawings are labelled with big, obnoxoious arrows that you actually know what you're looking at).

Jayce pausing in his explanations of the tech on each page and his promises to pull everything out of storage when you need it for a refence, slowly trailing off when he catches sight of your reaction to the drawings: "Why are you making that face?"

Reader who is diligently flicking through the pages and trying not to crack up at the poorly drawn stick figures, and the messy, uneven parallel lines of wires and robotic arms, and the scribbled oblong that is supposed to be one of the gemstones. They're not half bad attempts from people who focus their energy and time into math equations and flowery research papers, but that doesn't mean they're not amusing to look at.

"What face? I'm not making a face."

Reader turns all of their attention down to the pages and proceeds to fail at smothering their snort as the concept sketch of one of the Zaun suits. They push the folder back along the desk, to create enough space to prop their elbows on the table, to pinch the bridge of their nose hard to try and school themselves into some form of calm.

"Why are you laughing?" Jayce asks, sounding geniunely confused.

Whilst Reader tries to save face by responding, "I'm not. I'm just- uh, coming to terms with how much work I have ahead of me."

Jayce frowns.

The commotion has caught Viktor's attention.

"Well, it is a lot." Jayce allows, "but we won't rush you. The deadline is months away after all, and if-"

His words fade into the background in your mind as Viktor chooses then to roll over on his wheelie office chair to see what's going on, only to immediately grin in understanding. He rolls his chair up on the adjascent side of your desk, mouth pulled into a wicked smirk as he points to a particularly wobbly zaun suit drawing. "That would be one of Jayce's masterpieces."

Jayce lets out an offended noise, whilst Viktor takes malicious joy in flipping through the folder to point out which other drawings were done by Jayce. Most of them are wobbly and uneven, but have clearly been mapped out with steady, slow care.

In retaliation, Jayce swipes the folder out of Viktor's gleeful hands, and pointedly flips to a fresher page dated back to a couple of days ago. You catch a glimpse of the title 'hexcore', scrawled across the top in confident letters, before Jayce is turning the folder back to you and loudly proclaiming the work of art as Viktor's.

[The ‘hexcore’ has been drawn with wobbly, uneven lines that lacked the sleek, parallel look of the actual subject, with poorly recreated runes that did not at all take into account perspective or foreshortening.]

Reader loses it at the attempt, whilst Jayce and Viktor continue to squabble with one another in the background.

I just NEED all three of them to spend countless hours in that laboratory getting stuck in their respective tasks (creative Vs Scientific) and all three of them come out aching and satisfied by the time the janitor comes round to kick them out for the night, despite doing jobs that require different parts of their brains. The overlap of countless, almost unsolvable equations, with the hours of staring at a blank page and slowly but surely coaxing out an image, it just so precious to me somehow.

Bonus points of course, if Jayce and Viktor are getting really into a scientific debate across the room by the chalkboard, flinging enormous words back and forth at one another, whilst Reader slowly dies inside trying to make the metal part of an invention LOOK like metal.

I just need Reader allowing the background muttering and excited exclamations to sooth them as they carefully draw another diagram above a neatly scrawled out text box of the pair's latest concept.

Jayce: “Yes! That could work! What do you think, Y/n?”

Reader: Head snaps up at being addressed. “Uh…”

They blue screen as they come back to reality and realise they haven’t moved in hours and their back and neck desperately ache from the movement. They're suddenly starving, and hungry, and really need to pee, but didn't notice before because they were so engrossed in their work. Kind of like how the other two get about their research.

Viktor being a night owl and working on projects late into the night.

Jayce being smart and taking cat naps on his desk because he's an early bird, but a deadline is coming up and he refuses to be defeated by exhaustion.

And then you have Reader. Who is not being supervised in the kitchen, where they've made their fifth coffee and with shaking, caffeinated hands, they begin pouring in a generous helping of a Piltover energy drink.

Viktor hears the can pop.

He says your name warningly. "You better not be making that culinary monstrosity again."

Instead of responding, they knock back the whole mug in desperate gulps, ignoring the rancid taste and shivering from the mix of burning liquid with the pop of hundreds of tiny bubbles.

The mug gets slammed loudly back on the counter. Viktor sighs heavily and pushes his wheelie chair towards Jayce's desk.

He wakes him up, with a prod of his cane into his side.

"I'm about to have a breakthrough." He explains quickly motioning to his desk. Blary eyed and clearly not fully awake yet, Jayce nods along. Viktor points dramatically to Jayce and then in the direction of the kitchen. "You're on assistant duty for the next half an hour."

The tiredness leeches out of Jayce's face. "They didn't-"

"They did."

"But they've already got caffeine shakes!"

"Tell that to the sound of the kettle bubbling away and the pop of a can lid. It has already happened Jayce. All we can do now it keep the damage to a minimum."

On silent feet, Reader's shadow appears on the other side of the desk. Both men jump. The light overhead casts their face into shadows and somehow makes their eyes glow. It is a terrifying sight.

Viktor recovers first. "We need to put a bell on you!"

"Kinky. Now, whatdoyouwantmetodrawnext?!" Their assistant rushes out in a single breath.

And both scientists pale. It was already beginning then.

The next four hours consists of Jayce struggling to keep his eyes open whilst Reader pokes fun at him and offers up their 'creation', Jayce firmly declining and trying to get on with his work, whilst Viktor keeps to himself and snorts periodically at the banter.

Reader draws and draws and then rubs out, before diligently getting back to drawing again. There is a frenzy to their marks. A wildness to their eyes. The scratch and scritch of their pen, getting lost amongst the sound of cogs turning and screws tightening and Jayce's yawning. So much so that when it suddenly ceases, neither of the scientists notice at first.

Not until Viktor asks for a warm tea, only for the previously eager assistant not to respond. He lets out a fond sigh, Jayce straightening up from his own work.

Reader is passed out on their sketchbook, having FINALLY crashed.

Viktor gets up to make his own tea.

Jayce shrugs off his jacket, and puts it over their shoulders as a makeshift blanket. The man has such broad shoulders that it practically swallows the assistant from sight, but they do not stir.

"That'll give them an awful neck ache tomorrow." Viktor observes aloud.

Jayce snorts. "Maybe it'll be enough of a punishment to stop them making that foul concoction."

"Unlikely."

Jayce just shakes his head and collapses back onto his desk and lays his head down on his arm. "Ten minutes." He mutters out before closing his eyes.

Viktor hums. And by the time he gets his tea back to the desk, his partner is out like a light, just as he had predicted.

"I CANNOT believe you're making me do this Jayce." Viktor exclaims sarcastically.

"Viktor. Please let me get that cog for you. Just this time. Please!"

"Oh no, no, do not get up on my account." Viktor firmly dismisses as he shimmies down his cane, one hand over the other all the whilst making exaggerated groaning noises.

Jayce is practically vibrating in place. "Please! It is literally all the way under that side board. Can I just slide it out for you? You can pick it up yourself."

"Oh no, do not strain yourself!" Viktor insists, sitting himself down on the floor, one hand holding his cane up as he shoves his other arm under the side board.

"VIKTOR!" Jayce all but whines, and takes a step forward.

"Ah!" Viktor immediately reprimands. "Y/n get the spray bottle!"

You've been watching the entire scene in amusement from your desk. Quietly giggling at Viktor's ribbing and Jayce's desperation to be useful. They make a rather amusing duo.

Jayce's eyes have jumped up to you. Frozen mid-step, eyes pleading.

You grin, pointedly reaching across the gap between yours and Viktor's desks to grab said spray bottle.

On the floor, Viktor makes a triumphant noise, before straightening up and brandishing the cog above his head. "Got it!" He exclaims, before slamming the blasted thing onto the side board. Then he tries to clamber back up his cane to his feet. He is unsuccessful as his leg decides not to co-operate this time.

He sighs. "Jayce." He says heavily, "as punishment for making me get down here in the first place-"

"What?! I've literally been-"

"As reprimand for your dastardly crimes. You are obligated to offer me one hand. But ONLY one, or your punishment shall evolve into death by spray bottle." Dramatically, he holds out his hand to his exasperated partner.

In support, you give the spray bottle a little squeeze in Jayce's direction, to which he shoots you a dark look. You merely grin back.

Then Jayce offers Viktor his hand, their fingers wrapping around the others wrist. "Slow." Viktor instructs, as he readjusts his legs into the right position. Jayce nods.

Then Jayce gently pulls Viktor up as Viktor balances between his feet and his cane.

"Thank you." He says, patting Jayce on the cheek, before promptly turning on his heel to retreat back to his desk.

They're so silly, I love them so much.

The next part

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manny-hughez · 3 months ago

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Dude I’m so uncreative it’s like actually the worst, like what is with all these white backgrounds. I need to start locking in, not enough to simply frolic and lollygag anymore.

Also in my mind my Bill has always produced a bright light onto everything like he does in triangle form but MORE to justify Ford’s ‘sun, centre of my universe’ metaphor, but only last week did I realise that I can actually draw that and it doesn’t have to just remain in the mind palace. So yeah. More of THAT incoming.

And finally a reference sheet for my Bill Design. Because yeah.

#fanart #my art #sketch #billford #bill cipher #ford pines #gravity falls #the book of bill #stanford filbrick pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls bill #gravity falls ford #gravity falls stanford #book of bill #bill x ford #bill x stanford #gf stanford #gf bill cipher

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angelicchris · 22 days ago

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at your worst | chris sturniolo

part 1 | part 2

in which ₊˚ the happiest triplet is the one who’s quietly struggling.

˖⋆࿐໋ for all my lovelies who find themselves having to play a happy role for others, while they’re actually at their lowest (me too ᡣ𐭩)

honourable mention ⊹ ‧₊˚ for all my glass children

word count ₊˚ 883

══════════ ୨୧ ══════════

chris found himself laying awake at night, staring at his ceiling, with some random background music playing on his tv. he had initially tried to listen to his favourite artists—skies, travis, mac— to try to find it in himself to be happy, but he just couldn’t. normally music was his go-to for feeling better, or a hug from one of his brothers, but chris felt as if he would be burdening them if they found out what was really, truly happening inside his head.

his entire life, chris was the triplet who was the happiest. he was the one always smiling, always cracking jokes to try and bring others up if they were feeling low. this fact was something even his fans picked up on, noting how chris was the triplet who had changed the least throughout their growing fame, and was usually the one always joking around with his brothers in their videos. unbeknownst to chris, this role he established—both within his family and fans—had taken a toll on him, and lead to a lack of expressing his feelings, unless they were positive.

still staring at the ceiling and the intricate cracks of white paint that ran along it, chris felt a tear roll down the side of his right eye, landing on his pillow. he reached up and wiped his eye, wishing, hoping that he could fix whatever was wrong with him and his mind. he considered talking to one of his brothers about his sadness, but they both have their own lives and their own problems. chris hated to say it, but matt was the one who openly struggled with mental health the most in their family, and chris knew that he would feel guilty taking any attention away from matt and his struggles. he thought, deep down, that if he told matt, maybe he’d understand what he’s feeling, but, does chris even know what he’s feeling?

having enough of this, chris sits up, turning off his tv, and leaves the comfort of his room, finding himself walking up the stairs to their kitchen table. chris looks around—he notices an empty can of pepsi he left on the counter from earlier, nick’s headphones lying on the table, a half-completed lego poinsettia set that matt had been working on—and, he’s unsure why, but seeing this causes more tears to well in his eyes. his brothers, who were a constant variable in his life, yet who he felt as if he was letting down. “i can’t do this,” chris said, rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes, hard. “i can’t, i can’t,” he continued to cry. having to act like there was nothing burdening his mind—in front of both his brothers and his fans—was finally catching up to him. chris wasn’t even sure what was causing this sadness within him. he had everything he could have ever wished for—a loving family, loving friends, a roof over his head—so, for the love of God, why was he feeling like this?

chris’ continuous sobs from the kitchen were enough to draw the attention of his older brother, matt. rubbing his eyes, confused, having been awoken from his unconscious state, matt checks the time on his phone. 4:36 a.m. he knew him and his brothers had a fucked up sleep schedule, but this was different. removing himself from the comfort of his blanket, his stuffed pug falling precariously onto the floor, matt makes his way into the hallway. as he nears the kitchen, he hears the sobs becoming louder and louder—the sobs of his younger brother, chris.

“chris?” matt says cautiously. chris looks abruptly over his shoulder at the voice, caught off guard. “oh,” he says, wiping his eyes and cheeks as quickly as he can. “hey matt,” chris sniffles a little, but tries to act as if nothing had just happened. “why are you up?” chris asks his brother. “i was about to ask you the same thing..” says matt, confused. “couldn’t sleep,” replies chris, staring straight ahead at a wall. “were you.. crying?” unsure of how to reply, chris pauses for a moment, then musters up a fake, boneless laugh. “i don’t cry,” states chris, jokingly or not, matt couldn’t tell. “chris, what’s wrong?” “God matt, nothing’s wrong, can’t you just knock it off?” chris, who was always the one asking him if he was okay, the one always making him smile, offering him a hug, was now sitting alone at their table, using his own arms as a shield, a tight embrace around his own fragile state. matt pauses for a moment, unsure of how to respond to his brother’s newfound behaviour, before deciding on the truth. “i heard you crying while i was sleeping.” what matt hadn’t expected, however, was for this revelation to trigger something within chris. “i said i’m fine, why can’t you just learn to mind your own business for once in your goddamn life, matt? geez.” chris abruptly pushes up from his spot at the table, making his way over to the stairs leading to his room, matt quickly following his brother’s strides. “chris, please..” matt pleads, not exactly sure what for. before he could receive a response, he’s greeted with a door slamming in his face, the rusty turn of a lock following suit.

it hurts to see you hurt the only ones who love you at your worst

══════════ ୨୧ ══════════

part 2 (final) out now x

notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚

my oh my, my first fanfic ᡣ𐭩.

i honestly thought about the plot of this in my sleep, and i woke up and just kinda wrote about it.

i’m not too sure how i like this, i kinda cringed at my own writing, esp when chris & matt were talking w one another. ik i’m gonna cringe at this when i look back in a few years and see how much my writing has (hopefully) progressed, and, honestly, i can’t wait ᡣ𐭩

i’m interested to know if any of you are actually interested in writings like this, where there’s no female character/interest. ik most fanfics on here are kind of centered around romance involving the triplets, so i thought i would try something a little different that explored their relationships w one another (i didn’t forget nick, i promise)

to everyone who made it to the end, thank you so much, it means the world to me ᡣ𐭩. if u couldn’t bring yourself to read the whole thing, thank you for still taking a chance on my writing and i ᡣ𐭩

all my love x

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets imagines #madison beer #silence between songs #sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo angst

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Mister(s) Steal Your Girl — part 3

(I seriously need to come up with an actual name for this series before it sets in)

Introducing his grand horniness- John “Soap” MacTavish

No Content Warnings

It’s been six, coming up on seven, dates with Kyle. A dwindling part of you feared that after the absolutely mind-blowing night you two shared, he’d ghost you or something.

But nope, the morning after was spent in one of his jumpers, receiving kisses and breakfast and tea. The two of you watched movies all day until he drove you home, kissing you at the door. He let you keep his jumper.

Not three days later, he invited you to a movie you’d both been excited to see, and giggled over the popcorn bowl like teenagers. He didn’t even mind that you leaned over to whisper during certain parts, or the ramble you went on afterwards. (When you apologized for overanalyzing and talking so much, he gave you a bizarre, almost offended look. “Don’t you dare stop,” he huffed, “you’re way better than radio. What did you think about that after credit scene?”)

A few days after that, he called with apologetic news.

“Being shipped out for a couple weeks. Shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, and I’ll call when I can,” he explained.

You told the nervous little twist in your gut that you knew this about him. That this is Kyle’s job, not a convenient excuse to ignore you.

“Stay safe regardless,” you murmured earnestly into the phone. “I‘ll… I’ll miss you, Kyle.”

“You’re getting the biggest hug when I get back, darlin’,” he promised.

He kept to it too. Called at odd hours sometimes - once during dinner with your fiance even. But Brandon is always taking random calls nowadays, so you figured, given the circumstances, it’s not such a big deal to excuse yourself either.

On the other end of the call, Kyle sounded a bit tired, but happy to talk to you. He couldn’t tell you anything about what he was doing, but shared some smaller, safer details. That the tea was shite because Soap kept over-steeping it. That his lieutenant was big enough to body slam him during sparring practice. That Captain Price wishes you well and promises to bring Kyle back in one piece.

You even heard one of his teammates in the background, asking Kyle if he was “chirping at his new bird.” Soap, as you found out. They sound like a good bunch.

When Kyle comes back, you offer to welcome him at his apartment. You bring a little plate of cookies and a pack of his favorite beer, hoping it’s not too much. But when he opens the door, his expression melts before he scoops you up in the big hug he promised.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream, ya know that?” he murmurs, tucking his face against your neck.

You spend the whole weekend with him, kissing at the stitched-up knife wound on his muscled arm. Otherwise, all in one piece.

“Would you… want to meet my mates sometime?” he asks as you’re getting dressed for work Monday morning.

“Of course,” you reply instantly. Realize that might be too eager. “If you want to introduce me, that is.”

“I want to show you off to the bloody Queen, babes.”

You giggle, crossing the room to drop a quick kiss on his lips. He tries to draw you in for something deeper, but you wiggle and swat at him, complaining that he’ll make you late.

It’s good, you think. Blissfully good. Honeymoon phase, maybe, but considering how far off your actual honeymoon is, you feel like you deserve this. Kyle is a wonderful partner - kind, attentive, respectful. He listens, he cares, he’s independent of you and respects your boundaries. Sometimes you can’t believe you were ever nervous about this open relationship thing in the first place.

On Wednesday of that same week, Kyle tells you that Soap is going to visit and is eager to meet you. He was thinking dinner and drinks, come back to Kyle’s apartment afterwards. You readily agree.

The next day, a bouquet comes in. It’s a beautiful, though not extravagant, arrangement. Calla lilies, roses, and hydrangeas. The note that comes with it says, “Wanted to make a good first impression in case Kyle told you lies.” It’s signed “Johnny.”

You send a picture to Kyle, amused and a bit endeared. It brightens the rest of your day so much that you barely notice Lucy’s usual snide comments.

On Friday night, Brandon is unexpectedly home. Usually he doesn’t even come home from work on Fridays anymore - or at least he didn’t before you met Kyle. Lately, you only pop in if you’ve forgotten something for your overnight bag. You had to stay late at the office today, though, and your apartment is closer than Kyle’s.

“Was thinking we could go out tonight,” he tells you.

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. Not just by the invitation, but by the mix of emotion in your gut. Some of it is excitement and relief, but not as much as you’d expect. It’s warring with unease and reluctance, a bit of frustration that now of all times he wants to reconnect.

“Um, raincheck?” you offer, smoothing down your dress. It’s a new one you picked out with Kyle; you’re hoping he (Kyle) will notice. “I have plans.”

Brandon’s brow furrows, smile going tight. “You can’t reschedule?”

God you hate confrontation and he knows that, doesn’t he? Why is he pushing?

“Well I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again,” you explain.

Suddenly the tension in his shoulders eases. “Oh, is it a few people then?”

“Just a couple. I’m meeting one of them for the first time.”

“Have fun then,” he says, fishing his phone from his pocket. Like you’re not even there anymore.

You blink, then your phone buzzes with a message from Kyle and you hurry out the door.

“I knew you’d look terrific in that dress,” he says as soon as he sees you.

Thoughts of Brandon, that strange interaction, and those churning feelings all disappear in an instant. Kyle just has a way of soothing you.

The restaurant is one that has quickly become one of your favorites with Kyle. Good food, good drinks, quiet and relaxed atmosphere. You like the funky artwork and squishy booths.

Soap (Johnny?) has already gotten your party a table, and stands as the two of you approach. You nearly stop right there, and then almost trip a bit as momentum urges you onwards. Manage not to make a fool of yourself, but you still boggle at him.

Because Kyle? You thought he was a fluke. Just too handsome to be real, never mind tall and fit and friendly and— well, anyway.

You thought he was a fluke.

But Soap/Johnny is goddamn handsome too! Trim stubble, pretty eyes behind thick lashes, a soft-looking Mohawk that gives him a boyish charm without seeming immature.

“There you two are, thought ye stood me up!” he greets, drawing Kyle into one of those friendly man-hugs with the shoulder pats that look like they hurt.

“Youre a cheap date anyway, MacTavish,” Kyle replies, gently easing you forward with a hand on the small of your back.

“Och, don’t bad mouth me in front of a lady,” Johnny/Soap complains, then turns his twinkling gaze to you and offers a hand. “John MacTavish, but this bampot calls me Soap.”

“Not Johnny?” you ask curiously.

You take his hand, find callouses similar to Kyle’s. But his palm is a bit broader, a scar along his thumb - from a burn it looks like. Just as warm, just as careful. A firm, but not tight shake.

“You can call me anything you like, lass,” he says. From the corner of your eye, you see Kyle choking back a laugh. Johnny it is, you figure.

“Wait ‘Soap’ is a callsign right?” you ask as Kyle herds you into the booth.

“Right-o,” Johnny replies, smiling.

“Does Kyle have one?”

The grin that he gives you would make the devil sweat. As it is, Kyle groans and shoots you a betrayed look.

“Oh does he, lass.”

You light up, grin right back. “Tell me?”

“As if I could say no to a pretty face like that!”

And so begins a long, warm, perfect night. Johnny is great company. Welcoming and friendly, quick to smile, sharp witted. You could sit all night listening to him and Kyle quip at each other, but they’re so careful to keep you included and engaged.

Johnny even offers you some of his chips when his order comes, and you’re too delighted to say no. Not that Kyle seems to mind, encouraging you to steal a couple for him since Johnny keeps whacking his hand away.

The night ends back at Kyle’s. You whip up another batch of cookies with some suspiciously new-looking baking ingredients. The boys keep you company while you work — Kyle mixes the batter when your arm gets tired and Johnny keeps your wine glass full. In the end, you let them each get a lick of the dough spoon.

Eventually, you move to the couch, climb on together. Kyle, for some reason, scooches you into the middle instead of one of the ends, but you don’t mind and neither does Johnny, it seems. They argue over a movie to put on, but it doesn’t matter because the three of you talk through most of it anyway.

The second movie is your pick, which is your downfall. You barely get halfway through before dozing off. End up stirring to muffled laughter and harsh whispering. You’ve slumped into Johnny, you realize, seeing Kyle’s broad smile.

“Oh,” you hum, trying to sit up. “‘M sorry…”

“You’re alright, lass,” Johnny murmurs, gently nudging you back down.

“Kyle?” you ask, yawning.

“Still watching the movie, sweetheart. You can go back to your nap. Soap’s nice and warm, yeah?”

You hum, snuggle in again. He is comfy. “So are you.”

Another quiet chuckle. “I know, love.”

He rouses you later — the movie must be over, you think blearily. Kyle scoops you up, plants a kiss on your cheek as you tuck in.

“Say good night to your teddy bear, baby.”

“‘Night, Johnny,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into Kyle’s neck.

“‘Night, bonnie.”

You wake first the next morning — rare and precious. Kyle is lying behind you snoring softly, arm around your waist. You wiggle around to watch his sleeping face for a minute, appreciating the peace in his features. Drop a whisper-soft kiss on his cheek and then slip out of bed.

He grumbles a bit, but you coo at him to go back to sleep and he subsides quickly. Once you’ve freshened up in the bathroom, you pad out to the living room. Johnny is up as well, watching tv on low volume with a coffee on his knee.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Good morning,” you chirp back, continuing for the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” he observes, following.

“Slept well,” you reply, grinning. “Thanks in part to you. I hope that wasn’t uncomfortable.”

He ducks his head a bit, a light flush blooming across his ears and cheeks. “Nah, can’t complain about a pretty girl fallin’ asleep on me. Means I must have made a good impression, eh?”

“Oh! That reminds me - those flowers were gorgeous. Did you know calla lilies are my favorite?”

“Aye, Kyle’s been talkin’ about ya nonstop since ye met.”

It’s your turn to flush, and much brighter. You hurriedly turn to the cabinets.

“Well, thank you. I loved them.”

“Yeah? I’ll send you more then.”

Startled, you whip around on him, mouth stupidly open as you try to find a response. “You really don’t have to do that!”

“But what if I want to?”

And if you were struggling for words before, you’re hopeless now. So you just throw your hands up with a little “gah” sound and turn back to gathering ingredients.

“What are we making?” Johnny asks, taking mercy on you. Not that using that sly “we” isn’t devastating to your composure.

“My super special flapjack recipe,” you answer. “Could you get that big bowl down for me?”

He steps past you to do so while you dig out the measuring spoons from the dishwasher.

“If they’re as good as your cookies, then I’m gonna need extra PT after this weekend.”

“Good,” you reply, smug, “that’s my goal.”

“Dangerous woman.”

You snort, holding up a wooden spoon. “Oh yeah, I’m a real threat brandishing cooking utensils at a special ops guy.”

“Och, don’ sell yourself short - my nan used to be a menace with those things!”

Kyle exits the bedroom fifteen minutes later to the smell of cinnamon and his best friend with a face full of flour.

“…Do I even want to know?”

“Just be glad she’s on our side, Garrick.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #get it? misters plural. because they all steal that girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #Brandon the crash dummy

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vaadazen-codes · 7 months ago

Text

How To Get Started Making Visual Novels

Wanna make a visual novel? Or maybe you've seen games like Our Life, Blooming Panic, Doki Doki Literature Club, etc. and wanna make something like that? Good news, here's a very basic beginners guide on how to get started in renpy and what you need to know going in! Before you start, I highly recommend looking at my last post about writing a script for renpy just to make it easier on you!

LONG POST AHEAD

Obviously, our first step is downloading it from their website

thankfully, its right on the home page of their site. Follow basica program installation steps and run the program. I highly recommend pinning it to your task bar to make it easier to access.

From there, you're met with the renpy app, it's a little daunting at first but let's talk about what all these buttons are for.

Projects

This part is simple, it just lists the current projects in the chosen directory. You probably won't have any in there of your own. You should still see Tutorial and The Question!

Both of those default projects are super helpful in their own ways, i highly recommend testing out the tutorial and playing around with it just to get comfortable with some of the basics.

Create New Project

The first step to actually making your game into a game!

You'll be met with a prompt letting you know that the project is being made in English and that you can change it. You can click Continue.

From here, you'll be asked to input a project name! Put in your games title, or even a placeholder title since this Information can be changed later! (this is also the title the folder will be in your file browser, be sure to name it something you won't overlook)

Now we get to choose our resolution!

If you have no idea what to choose, go for 1920x1080! This is the standard size for most computer monitors and laptops, but it will still display with moderately decent quality on 4k monitors too!

You can choose 3840x2160 as well. This is 2x the measurements of the default, with the same ration. These dimensions are considered 4k. Keep in mind, your image files will be bigger and can cause the game to have a larger size to download.

Now we get to choose our color scheme!

Renpy has some simple default options with the 'light mode' colors being the bottom two rows, and the 'dark mode' colors being the toop two rows.

You can pick anything here, but I like to choose something that matches my projects vibes/colors better. Mostly because depending on how in depth you go with the ui, it minimizes the amount of changes I need to make later.

Click continue and give it a minute. Note: If it says "not responding" wait a moment without clicking anything. It can sometimes freeze briefly during the process.

Now we should be back at our home screen, with our new project showing. Let's talk about allll that stuff on the right now.

Open Directory

This just opens that particular folder in your local file explorer!

game - is all the game files, so your folders for images, audio, saves, and your game files like your script, screens, and more.

base - this is the folder that the game folder is inside of. You can also find the errors and log txt files in here.

images - takes you to your main images folder. This is where you wanna put all of your NON gui images, like your sprites, backgrounds, and CGs. You can create folders inside of this and still call them in the script later. EX: a folder for backgrounds , a folder for sprites for character a, a seperate folder for spirtes for character b, etc.

audio - Takes you to the default audio folder. This is empty, but you can put all your music and sound effects here!

gui - brings up the folder containing all of the default renpy gui. It's a good place to start/ reference for sizes if you want to hand draw your UI pieces like your text box!

Edit File

Simple enough, this is just where you can open your code files in whatever text/code editor you have installed.

Script.rpy - where all of your story and characters live. This is the file you'll spend most of your time in at first

Options.rpy - Contains mostly simple information, like project name and version. There aren't a ton of things in here you need to look at. There is also some lines of code that help 'archive' certain files by file type so that they can't be seen by players digging in code however. Fun if you want to hide some images in there for later or if you just dont want someone seeing how messy your files are. We've all been there

Gui.rpy - where all of the easy customization happens. Here you can change font colors, hover colors, fonts, font sizes, and then the alignment and placement of all of your text! Like your dialogue and names, the height of text buttons, etc. It more or less sets the defaults for a lot of these unless you choose to change them later.

Screens.rpy - undeniably my favorite, this is where all of the UI is laid out for the different screens in your game, like the main menu, game menu, quick menu, choice menu, etc. You can add custom screens too if you want, but I always make my own seperate file for these.

Open Project - this just opens all of those files at once in the code editor. Super handy if you make extra files like I do for certain things.

Actions

last but not least, our actions.

Navigate Script - This feature is underrated in my honest opinion, it's super handy for help debugging! In renpy you can comment with # before a line. However, if you do #TODO and type something after it, it saves it as a note! You can view these TODO's here as well as easily navigate to when certain screens are called, where different labels are (super great if your game is long, and more. It saves some scrolling.

Check Script (Lint) - also super duper handy for debugging some basic things. It also tells you your word count! But its handy for letting you know about some errors that might throw up. I like using it to look for sprites I may or may not have mispelled, because they show up in there too.

Change/Update GUI - Nifty, though once you start customizing GUI on your own, it isn't as useful. You can reset the project at any point and regenerate the image files here. This updates all those defaults we talked about earlier.

Delete Persistent - this just helps you delete any persistent data between play throughs on your end. I like to use it when making a lot of changes while testing the game, so that I can reboot the game fresh.

Force Recompile - Full disclosure, as many games as I've made and as long as I've been using Renpy, i have never used this feature. I searched to see what it does and this is the general consesus: Normally renpy tries to be smart about compiling code (creating .rpyc files) and only compiles .rpy files with changes. This is to speed up the process since compiling takes time. Sometimes you can make changes that renpy don't pick up on and therefore won't recompile. In these cases you can run force recompile to force it. Another solution (if you know what file is affected) is to delete that specific. rpyc file.

The rest of your options on this right hand side are how you make executable builds for your game that people can download to extract and play later!

Sorry gang! that was a whole lot of text obviously the last button "Launch Project" launches an uncompiled version of the project for you to play and test as you go! Hang in tight because my next post is about how to utilize github for renpy, so you can collaborate easier!

#renpy #renpy game #renpy visual novel #vndev #visual novel dev #otome dev #vn dev

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icallhimjoey · 8 months ago

Note

please bestie i want some soft love that's so second nature joe doesnt even have his attention with you whilst he gives it, please can you write something like that?

im not allowed to write right now because work and stress and boundaries and mental health etc etc so 🥰fuck you🥰 for this Wordcount: 1.8K

---

Cotton Soft Touches Gentle Voices Smooth

“What are you doing?”

You barely even heard Joe ask the question from across the room. You were so buried in whatever was happening on TV, focus completely zoomed in, mind somewhere else entirely. It took Joe another try for you to register the question directed at you.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” you turned your head to Joe before your eyes followed and for a moment, you just slowly blinked at him. Something about his face combined with the fact that it really took you a minute to find yourself back in the room made you smile. You were so cosy.

“Watching TV.” you answered innocently, because you were, eyes back on the screen already.

You were warmly nestled into the sofa, curled up, knees pulled in, all comfortable in your white ribbed cotton pyjamas. The throwpillows and blankets on the sofa created the perfect nest for you to happily curl up into.

Snug.

Soft ambient light from several lamps placed in strategic corners lit up the room just enough. If you stood and opened the curtains a bit more, you could still catch the faint and fading oranges of the sunset.

You were shower fresh, limbs covered by white clean cotton, nose still a little cold from the difference in temperature after getting out of the hot stream, and wet hair cool where it touched your skin.

But you felt so warm.

So fucking cosy.

When you’d walked back into the living room post shower, skin glossy and wet hair brushed back, Joe had installed himself at the dinner table with his laptop and a notebook.

He’d cleared away the mess from dinner and had turned his spot into a desk.

“Just need to do these e-mails,” he said after you’d let your arms curl around him from behind, arms that he grabbed hold of for a second, and you kissed the top of his head.

“Will only be a minute.”

You’d left him to it then, not minding that Joe had some work to do, just happy that he was in the same room instead of hidden away in what he called the office and you called the guest bedroom.

The ‘only a minute’ easily turned into an hour plus. Joe kept busy on both his computer and his phone, and would sometimes scribble some things down onto paper. There was a phone call or two, just quick “Sorry to call so late, but have you seen the...” and, “Hey, yea, I'm just reading it now, can I call you back in a minute?” type things.

Joe became background noise to you the second you snuggled up, and similarly the low sounds coming from the TV were just a nice reminder that Joe wasn’t alone.

But then, halfway through typing a response to an e-mail, something in Joe’s peripheral vision caught his attention.

Something moving slowly.

A little rhythmically.

When he peeked over his laptop screen and saw his girlfriend looking just about the most comfortable she’d ever looked, he didn’t even think you were aware that you were doing it.

In your layers of soft cream fabrics, head slumped to the side, Joe saw how you let your fingers softly skim over the area below your ear. They danced in circles and lines by your jaw, onto your cheek just a little before trailing back to your neck and—

That was what Joe always did.

That’s where Joe let his fingers draw shapes.

He would brush some hair from your face and would then let his fingertips linger, and it always made you hum. Made you relax. Gave you tingles that made your hearing go funny for a second.

Joe watched you lazily self soothe, and after a moment he decided that he’d actually done enough work. He could finish this e-mail tomorrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Watching TV.”

Your eyes were back on the screen before Joe could’ve even said anything about how you were touching yourself.

It was nothing sexual - not really. Not what he was witnessing right now anyway. He imagined it just felt nice.

He closed his laptop and got up from his seat, and without looking away from the TV, you moved to make space for Joe next to you, knowing he’d make his way over to press himself into your side.

Joe smiled as you moved blankets aside but kept that one hand near your ear, index finger mapping out your hairline towards the nape of your neck and back.

Instead of sitting down though, Joe pushed a knee into the sofa right next to your thigh and placed his fingers right were yours were, pushing them aside.

“I do this,” Joe said as he hovered over you, and you grinned as you let your head fall to the side more. “This is my job.”

Joe tickled his fingers along your soft skin, fresh and clean from the shower, and it only took a few seconds for you to sigh into his touch.

It was nicer when Joe did it.

“S’nice?” Joe murmured, still with just one knee on the sofa, and you hummed, eyes closed, nodding.

“Is nicer when you do it.”

“Yea?”

Joe leant forward to press a kiss to your cheek, getting you just under your eye, and then he moved to sit down next to you.

After a shuffle of throws, pillows, and limbs, you found yourself under Joe’s arm, curled up into his side.

You were comfortable before, but this would always be infinitely better.

“Hmm, you smell nice.” Joe commented after taking a moment to press his nose into your still damp hair.

“Yea? What do I smell like? Shampoo?” you whispered, voice not wanting to be any louder.

Joe easily bit, taking the invitation to get another real good whiff of you, his whole face now pressing into the crook of your neck.

You relished the attention, feeling fuzzy on the inside, heat blooming in your chest.

“Yea, sort of lemony… all fresh and clean.”

You blushed and were unable to hide your smile as you settled together for some TV watching, warm bodies pressed together, always fitting just right somehow.

Joe’s arm rested on the back of the sofa and bent around your head just right for his fingers to play. To touch the skin around your ear like you’d been doing before. To lightly trail and leave goosebumps down your whole body.

You could easily fall asleep like this, legs intertwined, head on his chest.

You lazily watched TV in silence for a while and if Joe was going to keep up the barely there shapes drawn down your neck you knew you actually would fall asleep.

It was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open, every blink a comfortable invitation to just keep them closed, but then the soft buzzing of Joe’s phone pulled you both from your haze.

Joe had your earlobe in between his fingers when he answered, and for a moment you were fully expecting him to get up. Move to where his laptop lay shut to open it once more to maybe finish something he hadn’t yet.

But when you tried to sit up a little for Joe to slip out of this cocoon you’d created, you felt his arm tense. He wasn’t letting go of the soft skin of your ear and to make sure you stayed put, he bent a leg to keep yours in place.

“It’s past ten, mate,” Joe answered and although you didn’t know who was calling him, just from his tone of voice you knew it wasn’t work related.

Joe gently rubbed your earlobe between his fingers and it felt so nice, it turned the world blurry as you unfocused your eyes.

When you relaxed back into him, sinking into the line of his body, Joe tilted his head down to look at you, barely catching your little smile but happy to see you were still enticed by whatever was happening on TV.

You weren’t though.

Not really.

Because as Joe spoke, he let his fingers continue what they’d been doing and if he thought you were able to try to follow his conversation as well as what you were watching whilst he made you melt with his touch, he was wrong.

You were bad at multitasking on a good day, and you knew Joe was too. The fact that he was somehow able to keep you lax and floating whilst simultaneously being mentally present for this phone call was impressive.

Joe laughed through casual conversation with a friend who had some questions about future plans they’d made. Their chat quickly turned into a hey-now-that-I’ve-got-you-on-the-phone catch up.

The low vibrations from his smooth voice were nice. You felt them where your face rested on his chest and relished in the tender love you were receiving that felt like a second nature sort of thing.

“No, I’m just at home. Watching TV.”

Not being mentioned suddenly made Joes fingers feel a little scandalous. Like the person on the phone wasn’t allowed to know you were there and how he was making you feel right now.

It got a little worse when you felt how Joe let his fingers trail down your neck to disappear into your pyjama top where they slowly caressed over your collarbone.

Your voice let a little noise escape when his hand snuck back up again, finding its way into your hair, and Joe chuckled lowly.

You let yourself balance on the borders of consciousness, half asleep with thoughts so far removed from where you were, yet half laser focused on Joe’s fingers and where they tickled your skin.

Unsure of when you’d drifted off, or when Joe had finished his phone call, the next thing you registered was a soft and low far away, “Have I done a plait?” that pulled you back into the room a little more.

With your eyes still closed you reached a heavy hand up to feel what was essentially just a twirled strand of hair, not a plait at all.

You couldn’t hide the little smile that spread at how adorable you thought it was that Joe’d just been playing with your hair and thought he’d actually done something.

He hadn’t.

He just made you feel loved, which was actually far better than a plait.

“Mhm,” you hummed approvingly, snuggling up into Joe more, understanding that it was likely much smarter to just get up and find your way into bed, but you’d quite literally never been more comfortable before.

“I’ve done a plait.” Joe whispered, gleefully proud of himself and making sure that you knew, that you’d heard him, give him some praise.

“Well done.” You lied, because he’d not done a plait, but that was okay.

You weren’t going to shoot yourself in the foot, because you were about to sink back into sleep and there was just one thing that’d make you feel even more comfortable.

That would send you right back off into sleep.

“Do another.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x Y/N #joseph quinn x Y/N #icallhimjoey #cotton soft touches gentle voices smooth

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xmattschainx · 1 month ago

Text

Hidden Hands

the one where you and chris are bored at a wedding and he manages to find a way to keep himself (and you) entertained (6.9K words)

Contains: smut, public fingering, overstim, slight dirty talk, dom! boyfriend chris x sub!fem reader

The wedding reception was beautiful, with soft string lights draped across the venue and a live band playing something cheerful yet forgettable in the background. None of it mattered, though. Chris and I sat at one of the back tables, far removed from the action. The chatter and laughter from the other guests felt like it came from another world entirely.

I sighed, swirling the remnants of my champagne in its flute. The bride and groom, who I barely knew, were at the center of the room, glowing with happiness under the fairy lights strung from the ceiling. Meanwhile, Chris and I were banished to the farthest table at the back of the reception hall.

Chris had said it would be fun. "It’s a wedding. There’ll be free food, dancing, and booze." he’d promised. But we didn’t anticipate being assigned to the island of misfit plus-ones. Now, hours later, the table that once sat eight people was deserted except for the two of us. Everyone else had either left or joined the crowd near the buffet. I glanced over at Chris.

He looked ridiculously handsome in his black suit, bringing out his blue eyes. Even bored, he was magnetic, lounging back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of mine. His suit jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and the crisp white shirt underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, giving him an edge of casual charm that felt so quintessentially him. A sleek black tie hung loosely around his neck, as though he couldn’t be bothered to tie it up all the way. His dark hair was slightly tousled, the result of him constantly running his fingers through it.

And then there was me, sitting there in a black cocktail dress that hugged my curves in all the right ways. The fabric was soft and sleek, the thin straps barely resting on my shoulders. The neckline dipped daringly low, revealing just enough to draw attention without being over the top. The hem of the dress skimmed mid-thigh, and when I sat down, it rode up ever so slightly, exposing more leg than I’d planned. Paired with strappy heels and a simple silver necklace, I felt both elegant and bold, though the way Chris’s eyes had lingered on me earlier told me I’d nailed the look.

But as stunning as everything looked, neither of us were particularly invested in the event. The bride and groom were barely acquaintances, Chris knew the groom from his high school years ago, which left us marooned at a nearly empty table with a few half-finished glasses of champagne and a view of everyone else having a better time than us.

“So,” he said, his voice low enough to only reach me. “This is what rock bottom looks like.”

“What did you expect? You said yes to an invitation from a guy you barely know.” I snorted softly, unable to help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “You know,” I whispered, leaning towards him. “When you said ‘come to a wedding with me,’ I thought you meant one we’d actually enjoy.”

Chris smirked, finally turning to me. “I didn’t say it’d be fun. Just that I didn’t want to go alone.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Lucky me. The honor of being your plus-one.”

His smirk widened, and I could feel the weight of his gaze as it drifted down to my dress. “At least you’re making it look good.”

I scoffed in response, though my cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Don’t start.” I warned, though I couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Chris chuckled, leaning forward to grab his drink. The chain bracelet on his wrist caught the light as he lifted the glass, the sharp contrast of metal against his suit adding an edge to his polished look. “I’m just saying.” he said, his tone smooth as he was sipping. “If we’re going to be bored out of our minds, we might as well look good doing it.”

I gave him a side-eye. “I could’ve stayed home in pajamas.”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curling into a grin. “But then you wouldn’t get to sit here with me, having the time of your life.”

“The time of my life.” I deadpanned. “Absolutely riveting.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his eyes sweeping over me. “You really do look ravishing, though. That dress…” His voice trailed off, his smirk widening as he let the sentence hang.

I arched an eyebrow. “If you think flattery is going to make this night better, you’re wrong.”

“Flattery?” he repeated, pretending to look offended. “I’m just stating facts. You’re the only interesting thing about this whole event.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped. I didn’t let him see that, though. “You’re hopeless.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and letting my gaze wander over the reception hall again. The decor was impeccable, with warm tones of gold and cream, and soft floral arrangements on every table with candles flickering in ornate holders. But all the elegance in the world couldn’t mask the fact that we were so out of place here, leaving Chris and me in a bubble of awkward isolation, which he seemed to thrive in while I shifted in my seat, trying not to look as restless as I felt.

“So,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “What’s the verdict? Was this the worst ‘plus-one’ invitation you’ve ever gotten, or just in the top three?”

I let out a laugh, glancing at him. “It’s definitely up there. But you’re lucky you look good in that suit, or I might have ditched you by now.”

Chris grinned, setting his glass down. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

I shook my head, fighting back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re terrible at hiding how bored you are.” he shot back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m pretty sure you’re more bored than I am. You’ve been messing with your tie for the last twenty minutes.”

He glanced down at the loose black tie still hanging around his neck and chuckled. “Guess I was hoping it’d magically tie itself if I fiddled with it enough.”

“You could just take it off.” I suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“And ruin the look? No way.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Besides, it’s not like anyone’s paying attention to me anyway.”

I arched an eyebrow, my pulse hitching slightly under the weight of his gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris smirked, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his glass. “Just saying, all eyes are probably on you in that dress.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I crossed my legs instinctively, the hem of my dress shifting slightly as I did. Chris’s gaze flicked down for the briefest moment before he leaned back again, his expression far too casual for my liking.

“You’re impossible.” I muttered, reaching for my own drink to mask the way my hands were fidgeting.

“And yet, here you are.” he said, his grin widening.

I rolled my eyes, but the tension between us felt heavier now, like an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. Chris leaned forward again, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand as he watched me with that infuriatingly calm expression.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Are we going to sit here all night pretending we’re having fun, or do you want to make things... interesting?”

I met his gaze, the wicked smile on his lips daring me to call his bluff. And for the first time that evening, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take the bait… or if I already had.

The silence between us stretched, the hum of distant laughter and clinking glassware filling the space around our table. Chris’s question lingered in my mind, daring me to respond, but I wasn’t about to let him win this round so easily.

“Interesting, huh?” I asked, arching an eyebrow as I leaned back in my chair, swirling the last of my drink in its glass.

Chris leaned forward, his smirk unwavering. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where you pretend you’re not curious but secretly can’t wait to see what I’m going to do next.” His voice was low, smooth, and completely self-assured, making my stomach flip.

I scoffed, though the heat creeping up my cheeks betrayed me. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” he shrugged. “But I’m also right.”

Before I could fire back, he shifted his weight, his hand disappearing under the table. I froze, my heart skipping as I felt his fingers brush lightly against my knee, just barely grazing the edge of my dress.

“Chris.” I said, my voice sharper than I intended, though I didn’t pull away.

“Relax.” he murmured, his tone calm, almost bored, like this was the most natural thing in the world. His face the picture of innocence, though his hand was anything but. His fingers traced a slow, lazy line just above my knee, the barest pressure making my skin prickle.

“Someone could see.” I hissed, darting a glance around the room.

“No one’s paying attention.” he said, his eyes steady on mine. His hand didn’t stop, slipping higher by a fraction of an inch. “And even if they were... who cares?” The mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable now, and I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

I clenched my jaw, my pulse hammering in my ears as I gripped the edge of my chair. His touch was maddeningly casual, like he wasn’t fully aware of the effect he was having on me or maybe he was, and that was the point.

“You’re really pushing your luck.” I muttered, my voice shaky despite my best effort to sound unaffected.

Chris chuckled softly, leaning closer. “Am I?”

My breath hitched as his hand inched higher, slipping just beneath the hem of my dress. The chain bracelet on his wrist brushed against my skin, the cool metal biting against my heated skin. I clenched my thighs instinctively, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But Chris wasn’t having it. His other hand reached down, gently tugging my knees apart just enough to make his point. “Don’t do that.” he said sternly, his tone still annoyingly calm. “You’ll regret it.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced around the room again. The bride and groom were still making their rounds, the rest of the guests lost in conversation or on the dance floor. No one seemed to notice the storm brewing at our little table.

“Chris…” I whispered, the warning in my tone faltering under the weight of my own anticipation.

He tilted his head, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “You could just tell me to stop.” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as his fingers pressed into my thigh, sending a fresh wave of heat through me. “But you won’t, will you?”

I bit my lip, my hands gripping the chair in a futile attempt to anchor myself. He was right, of course. I wouldn’t.

My heart raced as Chris’ words hung in the air, daring me to deny him. My grip on the chair tightened, my knuckles white against the wood, but I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. Instead, I stayed perfectly still, caught in the tension he’d created, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of the heat of his hand against my thigh.

“You’re too confident.” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Chris chuckled softly, his breath warm as he leaned closer, his lips just a breath away from my ear. “Confident?” he murmured. “Or just good at reading you?”

I swallowed hard, refusing to look at him even as a shiver ran down my spine. His hand shifted again, fingers brushing higher, and the chain on his wrist pressed cold against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from his touch.

“S-Stop.” I whispered, but the word lacked conviction, trembling as it left my lips.

Chris’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

I shot him a sharp look, but the glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t about to back down. “I can’t believe you.” I muttered. My breath hitched in my throat as his hands slid higher. My eyes snapped to his, and the smirk playing on his lips turned downright devilish. “Chris!” I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

“I’m bored, remember?” he said nonchalantly, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle on my skin.

My pulse quickened. I glanced around the room, but no one was paying attention to the back corner where we sat. The lights were dim, the music loud, and the other tables too preoccupied.

“That doesn’t mean you can just—”

“Relax.” he cut in, his voice teasing. “It’s not like anyone can see.”

“That’s not the point!” I whispered, trying to sound stern, but it came out breathless.

His fingers continued to knead my soft skin. “You’ve been complaining about how dull this is. I’m just...changing the vibe.”

“By groping me under the table at someone’s wedding?” I shot back, but my voice lacked its usual bite.

“You want me to stop?” His voice was so casual, like he already knew the answer.

I glared at him, my lips parting to tell him exactly that, but the words stuck in my throat. I didn’t want him to stop… not really.

His eyes held mine, and suddenly, it felt like the world around us blurred, the laughter, the clinking glasses, and the faint smell of overpriced floral arrangements. It all melted into the background, leaving just the two of us at this empty table, his hand warm and steady against my thigh.

“Well?” he asked, his grin challenging.

I was only able to swallow hard in response as I pathetically sat in silence, my heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the wedding chaos around us.

His grin widened. “I’ll take that as a no.”

The worst part? He was right. I didn’t want him to stop.

“I’m just adding a little excitement to the evening.” he murmured, leaning in slightly. His breath brushed my ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down my spine. “Unless you prefer we keep sitting here, watching people fight over the last slice of cake.”

My pulse was thundering in my ears. The combination of his nearness, the warmth of his hand, and the undeniable thrill of what we were doing had me simultaneously on edge and utterly captivated.

“This is so inappropriate.” I muttered, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.

“Exactly.” he replied, his lips lifting into a grin. His fingers brushed lightly against my skin, his touch just shy of daring. “But you can’t tell me it isn’t fun.”

I didn’t want to admit he was right, but the truth was, my boredom had evaporated the moment he’d touched me. My senses were on high alert, hyper-aware of every movement, every glance from the other guests. Not that anyone was paying attention to us. They were too busy cheering on the newlyweds or piling their plates high with desserts.

“Chris…” I said again, my voice quieter this time, more breathless.

“Hmm?” He leaned closer, his face now inches from mine. His blue eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like he could see right through me.

“This is... risky.” I said, though even to my own ears, it sounded like an invitation.

His smirk deepened. “That’s the point, baby.”

My cheeks flushed at the nickname, and I turned my head away, feigning interest in the dance floor. But I couldn’t ignore the way my heart raced or the way his touch shot electricity through me. It was ridiculous sitting in the middle of a wedding reception, surrounded by strangers, with his hand sneaking higher and higher up my thigh.

I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything else. The wilting flowers in the centerpiece. The newly wedded couple. The bland cream color of the tablecloth. Anything but the weight of his hand or the cool press of his bracelet against my overheated skin.

I wanted to snap back with something witty, something that would wipe that smug look off his face, but my mind was a mess, scrambled by the slow burn of his touch and the maddening fact that he was so damn composed. His confidence only made it worse, driving me closer to the edge.

“You’re playing with fire.” I said quietly, the warning in my voice barely masking the tremor beneath it.

His grin widened, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in just enough for only me to hear. “Good thing I like the heat.”

I clenched my jaw, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. And when his hand slid just the tiniest bit higher, the cool bite of his bracelet searing against my skin, I knew I was completely and utterly doomed.

“You’re stubborn.” I muttered, shaking my head.

“And you’re stunning.” he countered, his voice softer now, more serious. The shift in his tone caught me off guard, and when I looked back at him, his eyes were earnest, his smirk replaced with something... deeper.

I forced myself to keep my gaze forward, pretending to be completely unbothered by the man sitting beside me. The man whose hand, warm and unrelenting, was currently resting under my dress.

Chris lounged in his chair like he hadn’t just decided to light my nerves on fire. His posture was casual, his free hand resting on the table, fiddling idly with his drink glass. He didn’t even look at me, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

The nerve of him.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” I muttered, trying and failing to sound annoyed.

His smirk deepened. “You make it hard not to.”

I wanted to fire back, to regain some semblance of control, but all I could do was press my thighs together, a futile attempt to steady the chaos swirling inside me. It didn’t help. The weight of his hand remained, his touch light but firm, his cool metal bracelet a constant reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Are you really this bored?” I asked, my voice sharper this time, though I still couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second.

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound sending another jolt through me. “Bored? No. I’d say I’m having a pretty good time now.” I opened my mouth to retort, but the words died as he leaned in closer, his voice a whisper against my ear. “You’re the one who said this wedding was dull. I’m just making it interesting.”

His breath was warm against my skin, and I fought the urge to shiver.

I swallowed hard, my composure slipping further with every second. He was playing with me, his hand a steady, teasing presence that kept me on edge.

The tension between us was thick, electric, and for a moment, the chaos of the wedding faded away. It was just us, sitting at that lonely table in the back of the hall, teetering on the edge of something neither of us wanted to name.

And the worst part was that I couldn’t seem to stop him. Or maybe, deep down, I didn’t want to.

“If I’m being honest, I wanted to get a quick fuck in before we left tonight.” he brazenly admitted, causing my breath to hitch. “But we were already running late.”

“Shit…” I pursed my lips tightly, to stop the moan that was building in my throat from spilling out. My heart thundered in my chest, the sound roaring in my ears. “You’re so sure of yourself.” I muttered, trying to sound more defiant than I felt.

Chris chuckled, soft and smug. “I’m not sure of me. I’m sure of you.” He leaned in closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me. “You’re trying so hard, and it’s adorable, really. But you can only hold out for so long.”

Chris held my gaze, his expression unreadable, yet there was something darkly satisfying in the way he watched me squirm under his touch and from his words. I could see the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but also something else, a challenge, a question. What are you going to do now?

The control, the restraint, it was slipping. All I wanted was for him to touch me properly, to end the game that was slowly driving me mad. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think straight.

His fingers lingered, just brushing against me, not enough to cross the line, but it was enough to make me ache for more. His hand hovered, the temptation overwhelming, and I wanted to scream. My thighs quivered with the effort of keeping still, and the chill of his chain bracelet against my skin only heightened the warmth building inside me.

Why isn’t he moving? Why won’t he just…?

But even as the words filled my mind, I realized that maybe he was waiting for me to make the next move. He wanted me to decide whether or not I was going to stop this before it went too far.

But I couldn’t make that choice. I was trapped in this moment, caught between the suffocating heat of wanting him and the dread of what would happen if I let myself fall any further into this madness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chris’ hand moved in, sliding along my thigh and further in, eagerly finding what it sought, but not daring to go beneath my underwear just yet, but over.

He leaned into my ear and huskily said, "You're such a good girl to be like this for me. I'm going to make you cum sitting right here in this room, in front of all these people. And I'm not going to stop until you cum all over my hand."

“Fuck!” I hissed, biting my lip as I felt my composure wither away upon hearing him talk so shamelessly to me. I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than him. I should stop this. I should tell him to pull away. But my body was betraying me, responding to him in ways I couldn’t control.

He recognized the scant material by its texture, having gotten this particular set for me himself - a black lace, which was getting increasingly damp. “You’re wearing your Valentine’s gift?” he raised a brow intriguingly.

A pathetic strained noise of acknowledgement was all I could reply with behind my pursed lips.

As his fingers slid over the lace, pressing against my clit lightly, and then my slit, his hand moved lower. I let out a soft gasp and instinctively spread my legs a little wider, giving his hand more room and to let him know without words that I wasn’t stopping him.

"Oh, God." I whimpered, my eyes feeling heavy but still on alert for any onlookers.

His fingers stilled for a moment, the only sign that I’d caught him off guard, but the grin tugging at his lips told me he understood. He didn’t look at me right away, though. Instead, he moved his fingers in a slow, deliberate arc.

The tension between us was unbearable, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy in the air. My heart was racing, my breaths uneven, and the rest of the room blurred into nothingness.

Finally, his eyes slid to mine, and the intensity in his gaze made my pulse stutter. His grin had softened into something darker, something almost predatory, and I felt my resolve shatter under the weight of it.

“Bold.” he hummed, his voice low and teasing, the word sending a ripple of heat through me. “In public, no less.”

“Just…get on with it.” I huffed, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.

His smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair, his free hand casually running through his hair like he had all the time in the world. “Patience.” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.

I clenched my fists in my lap, torn between wanting to throttle him and wanting him to keep going. The deliberate slowness of his hand was both torturous and exhilarating, and the fact that he was still so composed, still so damn cool, was driving me insane.

He let his fingers drift lower, his thumb dragged along my sensitive bud, and I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped my lips.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips, his eyes flickering with triumph. “Careful.” he whispered, his voice so low it sent a shiver racing down my spine. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”

I glared at him, but the heat pooling in my stomach betrayed any attempt at indignation. My knees fell further apart, a silent invitation, and his hand answered immediately.

He kept the same pace, light and slow, but slowly changed the movement of his hand. Starting at my clit, rubbing in small circles, just once or twice, before moving his hand lower to gently rub my slit, before his hand would slide back up to my clit again. It wasn't long before I got lost in it, as I tipped my head back slightly. Soft little gasps and moans escaped past my parted lips. It also wasn't long before my arousal, if not already apparent, became even more noticeable by the wet spot that started to grow on my underwear as his fingers rubbed my folds.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Every nerve in my body was on fire, strung so tight I thought I might snap if he didn’t put me out of my misery. Chris’ deliberate, torturous pace was too much, too slow, too teasing, too maddening.

My breath hitched as his fingers shifted again, brushing against the lace barrier that I knew wasn’t doing anything to stop him from knowing exactly how badly I needed him.

“Chris.” I gasped, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He tilted his head toward me, his eyes glittering with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Hmm?” His tone was infuriatingly calm, as if he wasn’t fully aware of the chaos he was causing.

“Stop teasing.” I whined, my voice trembling, my hands gripping the edge of the table so hard it felt like I might tear the fabric. “Just… please.”

The smirk that tugged at his lips made my cheeks burn. “Please, what?” he asked, his fingers shifting ever so slightly, brushing against me in a way that had my entire body jerking forward.

I glared at him, but it was weak, the fight in me crumbling under his touch. “Y-You know what I mean.” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“I do.” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against the lace that was doing absolutely nothing to protect me from his touch. “But I want to hear you say it.”

I swallowed hard, my pride battling against the desperation clawing at me. But the longer he sat there, calm and collected, the more I realized I couldn’t win this game. Not against him.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice a plea now, raw and trembling. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

His grin widened, his fingers stilling for a moment as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Begging suits you.” he murmured, his tone smug and filled with satisfaction.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment, the words igniting something hot inside me that I couldn’t control. But I didn’t care anymore. My body was screaming for him, and there was no point in pretending I wasn’t desperate for him to touch me, to finish what he had started.

“I don’t care.” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but the plea was there, unmistakable. "I need you. Please."

And then, finally, mercifully, he gave in. A shuddered breath left me, as his fingers pulled the damp material to the side, exposing me to him. Not keeping with the same movement now, Chris’ slender fingers focused on my clit, pulling a quiet moan from me as he found the swollen little nub, and rubbed it gently in circles, though a little faster than he had been previously rubbing me. His hand moved with deliberate confidence, past the lace, and every nerve in my body felt ablaze.

The rest of the room, the wedding, the faint hum of music and laughter, all of it disappeared. There was nothing but him, his touch, and the way he was unraveling me completely, leaving me at his mercy.

“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice soft but laced with that dark edge I knew all too well. “You should’ve said please sooner.” His voice was low and cocky, but I couldn’t even bring myself to care. I was too far gone, too consumed by him, by the heat pooling in my stomach and the way his touch was undoing me piece by piece.

Feeling my orgasm slowly build with each pass of his fingers, Chris dipped lower, his fingers slipping between my lower lips, but not entering yet. Instead he was just picking up some of my wetness to spread them back up and over to my clit as his fingers moved to rub it again. Releasing a moan, my hips rocked to meet his fingers as they twirled around my clit faster this time, the added lubrication sending the already great feeling even higher, pushing me even closer to my quickly approaching orgasm.

“Can’t sit still, can you?” Chris said in a low murmur, his voice carrying just enough amusement to make the tension in the air thicker.

I didn’t know how to answer. My heart raced, and my body felt like it was betraying me. My hand, almost without thinking, moved to his wrist, holding him there as if by doing so, I could stop myself from losing control.

I could feel my cheeks flush, the heat spreading to every part of me. This was insane. We were in public. But somehow, that made the entire moment more thrilling.

Chris’s gaze stayed locked on mine, daring and steady, his jaw clenched tight, as though he was waiting for me to crack under the pressure. His hand didn’t waver, his movements deliberate, but not rushed because he was in control, and he knew it. That realization sent a shiver down my spine, frustrating me as much as it made my pulse quicken.

"C-Chris…" I said, my voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" His tone was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at me, his eyes dark and full of intent.

"You-" I cut myself off, clenching my jaw as I fought to steady my breath. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words, and even if I did, I wasn’t sure I could say them.

His smirk grew wider, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You’re taking me so well." he murmured, his voice softer now, more intimate. "I didn’t think you’d last this long, honestly. Thought you’d give in by now."

My chest tightened at his words, the mix of praise and teasing unraveling me even more. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"I-I can't believe I'm letting you do this. I can't believe you are doing this." I said in disbelief as a frightened look washed over me.

"Shhh. Just relax, baby. I'm here for you. I'll make sure we don't get caught. Just sit there and enjoy the feeling. No one’s paying attention. They’re too busy dancing or stuffing their faces at the buffet.” I made a little noise, causing him to lean forward to kiss my shoulder in an attempt to soothe me.

Dipping his fingers lower again, giving my clit a small break to tease my slit now, Chris was now slipping two fingers, his index and middle finger, into my tight hole. That action, the feeling of being filled, almost pushed me over the edge. My body shuddered, my hips rocking hard against his hand and holding it there, keeping his fingers as deep within me as he could get them. After a second of catching my breath, that sudden shock of arousal taking me off guard, Chris picked back up again, and I slowly rocked my hips against his hand as he started to move, fucking me with his fingers.

I gripped his wrist tighter, my nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t stop. If anything, his movements grew even bolder, his touch more deliberate and more devastating.

“I almost feel bad for pushing you this far.” he said after a moment, his tone light, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes now, something that made my pulse race even faster.

“Almost?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended, though the effect was probably ruined by how breathless I sounded.

He grinned, his teeth flashing in the low light. “Almost.” he repeated, his fingers still moving with maddening precision. “But not quite. Because watching you like this? It’s fucking hot.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver through me, and I felt my resolve start to crumble even more. I hated how much power he had over me, how easily he could bring me to the edge without even trying.

My pulse spiked as I caught sight of the bride and groom weaving through the tables, their smiles wide as they stopped to chat with guests. They were only a few tables away, and panic bloomed in my chest like a firework.

"Chris!" I whispered sharply, leaning closer to him. "They're coming this way."

He casually glanced up, as if I hadn’t just announced impending disaster. "Hmm." he murmured, completely unbothered. His hand didn’t stop, not even for a second.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the tablecloth so hard I was sure I’d tear it. "I’m serious. Stop. They’re going to see."

Chris tilted his head, his expression amused as he looked at me. "You think they’ll notice?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Or do you think they’ll just wonder why you look so flustered?"

I glared at him, though the effect was probably ruined by the heat flooding my cheeks and the way my breath came in shallow gasps. "This isn’t funny." I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s a little funny." he countered, his smile widening.

The bride and groom were only two tables away now, their laughter and polite thanks growing louder as they approached. My heart hammered in my chest, and I knew I had to do something.

"Chris, please." I begged, my voice trembling with equal parts panic and desperation.

That seemed to catch his attention. His smirk softened, and his eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against my cheek. "You sound so sweet when you ask nicely." he murmured, his tone soft but filled with mischief.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to rise to his bait. "I’m serious." I whispered, my tone sharper now.

Much like with rubbing my clit, the slow speed of his thrusting fingers didn't last long and was now picking up, almost as if he was desperate for me to release. His speed picked up and his fingers thrusted in and out of me, moving with ease with my wetness, and my hips moving to keep up with his fingers. As my release built, my breathing became heavier, and my eyes kept closing tight, as my whole body and mind focused on my impending orgasm. Focused on the movement of his fingers, shocks of pleasure filled my body every time his fingers plunged into me.

"There we go... you’re doing so well… you look so fucking hot.” he sighed, more for me than for him. "Cum for me, baby." he whispered directly into my ear.

"O-Ohh!" The soft, gasped, exclamation suddenly left my lips as that building pleasure suddenly exploded, causing my thighs to clamp together and my body to arch slightly. I closed completely around his fingers from the strong contractions. My eyes fell shut and my body jerked silently for several seconds before I began to relax and breathe once more. I inhaled deeply, held it, then let it out slowly.

The thrusting of his fingers came to a standstill as the pleasure rolled through me. As the waves started to slow, I started to slowly move my hips against Chris’ hand again, reigniting those little sparks of pleasure, and causing soft moans to leave my lips again.

I felt myself leak all over his hand and perhaps even a bit on my seat. My thighs finally relaxed and my hand let go of his wrist. He slowly pulled his fingers out, sliding his wet fingers up my equally as wet slit, and then pulled them away.

Chris leaned into my ear once again. "That’s my girl.” he chuckled proudly as he pulled my underwear back over as I was still trying to catch my breath. He then brought his hand up to his mouth as he drew this fingers into his mouth to wipe them clean.

“Chris…” My mouth parted in disbelief and in shock, watching him be so daring like this in public.

All Chris did was shrug nonchalantly as he hummed making it seem as if he was doing the most natural thing one would do in such a setting.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his expression as calm and collected as ever. "There we go." he said, his tone light and teasing. "Made it just in time."

I shot him a look, but before I could say anything, the bride and groom arrived at our table.

"Hi! Thank you so much for coming." the bride said, her smile warm and genuine as she looked between us.

Chris, of course, handled it effortlessly, standing up and shaking their hands with his actual clean, dry hand with that easy charm of his. "Of course. You two look amazing. Congratulations."

I managed to murmur something polite, though I was sure my face was still flushed. My heart hadn’t stopped racing, and I couldn’t help but feel like they could see right through me.

As soon as they moved on to the next table, I let out a shaky breath, slumping back in my chair.

Chris chuckled softly beside me, leaning in so only I could hear him. "I told you no one would notice."

I turned to glare at him, but the heat in his gaze stole whatever scathing remark I’d been about to say. I had no answer for him.

Chris leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I tried to calm the frantic pounding of my heart, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my dress as the bride and groom moved further away. I could still feel the lingering heat from his touch, a reminder of just how close we’d come to being caught.

“I can’t believe you did that.” I muttered, keeping my voice low so no one nearby could overhear.

His grin only widened. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing.” I snapped, though my tone lacked any real bite. “We could’ve been caught, Chris!”

He shrugged, utterly unfazed. “We weren’t. Besides, you handled it perfectly. I told you no one would notice, didn’t I?”

I glared at him, though it was hard to muster the energy when he looked so smug and unbothered. My cheeks flushed, and I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“You drive me insane.” I said under my breath, shaking my head.

Chris chuckled softly, his chain bracelet catching the light as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. “I could say the same about you.” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing.

I glanced around the room, hoping the noise and movement of the other guests would distract me from the way his words made my heart race. But even with the music and laughter and clinking glasses, all I could focus on was him, the way he was looking at me, like he could see right through every defense I’d tried to build.

“You’re too calm about this.” I said, my voice quiet but accusing.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling upwards. “And you’re too worked up. Relax. No one’s going to pull you aside and ask what we were up to.”

I huffed, the sound more flustered than I’d intended. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” he said, leaning back in his chair again, his arm resting over mine. “And you want to know why?”

I didn’t answer, though the question hung heavy between us.

“Because you look just as stunning now as you did when we walked in.” he said, his tone more serious now. “No one’s paying attention to anything else.”

The compliment caught me off guard, and I felt my cheeks heat again. “You-”

“You’re blushing.” he grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

I let out a frustrated sigh, though the corners of my mouth twitched into a shy smile. Chris was impossible, but he was also undeniably charming in a way that made it hard to stay annoyed at him for too long.

fin.

#oh how ever else will chris pass the time when he’s bored :(#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine

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