#will offered to change his rating to five stars

[sinclairstarz]

modern byler watch Dirty Dancing (one of mike’s favs) together and Will rates it 4.5 stars on letterboxd and Mike gets so angry and constantly brings up “remember when you said you hated dirty dancing.” and then Max goes and rates all of Mike’s top four 0 stars and logs them to make sure he sees it and he doesn’t speak to her for multiple weeks

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen. 

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained. 

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her. 

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head.  “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments. 

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant. 

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes. 

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had. 

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down. 

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line. 

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early. 

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan. 

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies. 

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green. 

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods. 

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.” 

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter. 

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter. 

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite. 

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods. 

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask. 

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest. 

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings- 

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin. 

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands. 

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different. 

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl. 

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment. 

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy. 

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance. 

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture. 

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her. 

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud. 

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.” 

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.” 

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes. 

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.” 

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!” 

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.  

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own. 

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you. 

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins. 

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?” 

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?” 

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it. 

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes. 

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him. 

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. 

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more. 

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh. 

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion. 

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you. 

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.” 

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp. 

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close. 

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

*

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

*

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 5th-11th 2024

I've bought my first television ever!!!! So I'll be able to watch S7 when it starts! 😆

Also, can you tell that I fell into the Didn't Know They Were Dating tag this week? 😅

Complete

🔥 the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 27K | General): or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

🔥 epiphanies, soft words, and hushed moans at the brink of dawn by brewrosemilk / @gayhoediaz (Feelings Realization | 19K | Explicit): “Describe your perfect partner for us, Buck,” Chimney says, reaching for his own beer. “Just for fun.” The realization hits him like a logging truck. In only a second or two, his mind manages to flash him about a thousand memories, and then some. From a sweaty Eddie in a black tanktop that should frankly be illegal, to an assuming elf in santa’s village, and a gunshot, and a baseball bat, and you’re the guy who likes to fix things, and - fuck, it’s so obvious. Buck is an idiot. Of course it’s Eddie. How could it possibly, ever be anyone else? 

growing pains by ColorMeParanoid/ @color-me-paranoid (Valentine's Day, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): Or, the one in which Christopher makes a Valentine's Day card for a boy in his class, and Eddie freaks out about it just a bit

🔥 the sleeping curves of my body by catchingpapermoons/ @gayeddiaz (Getting Back Together | 16K | Mature): Eddie Diaz has a problem. “Yeah, obviously,” Christopher mumbles, but one look from Eddie silences him quickly. Because Eddie Diaz has a problem, and his problem is that Evan Buckley has a boyfriend. And it’s not Eddie.

Yellow Is Your Colour by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Canon Divergent, Civilian!Buck | 5K | General): The 118 responds to a call about a man stuck in a slide.

Breakfast In Bed by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Established Buddie | 1K | General): A sweet little moment in the morning with the Diaz family.

One For The Road by DeadlyChildArtemis/ @aroeddiediaz (PWP | 3K | Mature): Eddie’s stressed about having to go to El Paso suddenly. Buck offers a stress relief that he’ll be feeling for days.

the 'i' in ikea stands for 'i love you' by ipretendtobesane/ @useramor (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 3K | Teen): buck has some life changing realizations in the curtain section of ikea. mainly, he's really, really in love with his best friend.

The Taste, The Touch, The Way We Love by Distressed_Ladybug15/ @cadiebug (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 1K | General): “Uh-huh,” Buck laughs quietly and Eddie pokes him in the forehead, and when Buck laughs more Eddie flattens his hand on Buck’s face and covers the top half of it. “This is abuse, Eddie,” he mumbles, bringing his hand up to Eddie’s upper arm. Eddie drags his hand up Buck’s face and into his hair, looping his fingers in the curly strands, “I don’t-” and he’s interrupted by a yawn that takes several seconds, “think so.”

You call the shots babe (I just wanna be yours) by Gay_internet_mafia/ @queercomesthesun (Friends With Benefits, Didn't Know They Were Dating | 3K | Not Rated): Buck is really oblivious. Like really oblivious.

I Love You (I'm Yours) by Distressed_Ladybug15/ @cadiebug (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): Five times Buck and Eddie hold hands platonically (sort of), plus one time it’s more than that.

'Cause I'm Right Here, Darlin', I'm Right Here by Distressed_Ladybug15/ @cadiebug (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 1K | General): He wants to count the freckles across the tops of Buck’s sun-kissed shoulders, but he has to be honest. There are too many. So he settles for finally reaching out all the way, pressing his fingertips to Buck’s skin as gently as he can.

I'm Already Here (and I Won't Leave Now) by spacebabe17 (Didn't Know They Were Dating, Canon Divergent-S5 | 6K | Teen): 5 times Buck doesn't realize he and Eddie are dating + the 1 time he figures it out

baby don't you know? (you're my golden hour) by ipretendtobesane/ @useramor (Didn't Know They Were Dating, Post-Lightning | 2K | General): Eddie will give him this: Chimney does wait months after Buck’s out of his coma and back by his side to bring it up. “How come you and Buck haven’t told anyone you’re together?”

I can't love you any more (than I do now) by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 2K | General): Eddie's pretty sure he and Buck are dating and kind of living together. Neither acknowledges it, until Eddie finally does.

How Come You Didn't Tell Me We Were Dating? I Didn't Know Either! by KaztielCS118 (DIdn't Know They Were Dating | 6K | General): “Omigod, I’m in love with Buck,” Eddie said, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to cause a crisis,” Frank said. “I’m in love with Buck.” Eddie repeated. “I should not have assumed your relationship with him,” Frank continued on. “I’m in love with Buck.” He’s like a broken record. “Maybe we should end early today.” Frank suggested and Eddie weakly nodded. ~In which case, Buck and Eddie have been dating for six months. Except neither of them got the memo.

call it what you want to by markofalover/ @markofalover (Didn't Know They Were Dating, S6E13: Mixed Feelings | 2K | Teen): “Dad?” “Yeah?” Christopher is quiet for a moment, mouth twisting up like he’s trying to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going on a date?” Eddie’s not proud of choking on his spit, but—well, he does that, right in his son’s doorway. ...or, no, of course that wasn’t a date. Wait. Was that a date?

Duet by leviarty (Didn't Know They Were Dating, S6E13: Mixed Feelings | 1,6K | Teen): It wasn't meant to be a date, not really. But it looks like a date, and it feels like a date, and they've been not-dating for far too long.

Date Night by littlechivalry/ @jonlybonlyfromboldlygo (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 3K | Teen): "I guess I am spending the night with a special someone," Buck said, looking over his goodies. It had been a while since he treated himself to a nice dinner. "Well I've gotta hear more about that. You finally get the nerve to talk to Eddie?" - Two phone calls to change Buck's life

darling, if you only knew by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck (Love Confessions | 4K | Teen): or, buck’s bad at karaoke, chimney should know better than to indulge in ring-related shenanigans, and eddie’s coping response to raging homosexual feelings is fair, given circumstances

the secrets we keep (the ones that spill out) by sparegarbage/ @babybucks (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | General): The 118 is a close-knit family. It’s not surprising given how much time they spend together: endless hours at the firehouse, barbecues on the weekends, the occasional night at the bar. They’re a family, yes... but Buck and Eddie don’t have to tell them everything. They’re allowed their secrets, really, and it’s not… weird. Really, it’s not. It’s just that sometimes the 118 asks too many questions, and sometimes there’s just no good (or clear or logical) way to explain. Exhibit A: How Buck ended up in Eddie’s bed during a sleepover (and how he’s been sleeping there most nights since).

if i’m honest (it felt like love) by sparegarbage/ @babybucks (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 2K | General): Or: Christopher hosts a sleepover, Buck helps, and Eddie realizes he hasn’t been a single dad in years.

let heart hold true by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Coming Out, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): “But when I was your age,” Eddie continues, “Some people didn’t know that it’s okay. And some people really didn’t like it. So a lot of gay people didn’t tell anyone. Sometimes not even their families.” He takes a deep breath. “I never told your abuela or abuelo when I kissed boys.” Christopher’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t tell me, either.” “I just did,” Eddie says, and huffs a laugh at Christopher’s offended expression. OR: Eddie comes out to Christopher. things snowball from there.

WIP

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 2/18 | 15K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 A Minor Delay by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Post-S6/S7 Spec | 10/11 | 38K | Mature): Almost a year after the bridge collapse, a lot has changed. The team are scattered—Bobby and Athena on their Honeymoon, Hen on adoptive parent's leave, and Buck and Eddie... They may still work together, still have movie nights with Chris whenever they can, but things have changed. With Maddie and Chimney's wedding around the corner, Buck tries to make it perfect. And maybe, along the way, he might figure out why everything still feels... wrong.

🔥 because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by callmenewbie/ @puppyboybuckley (Post-S6, Disaster Fic | 4/9 | 27K | Explicit): During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 112/? | 321K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 17/19 | 43K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

whatever shall we do by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Getting Together | 1K | Teen): “When you said renovations I figured maybe we would be painting a room or moving things around, I didn’t realize we were giving your room an entire overhaul,” Buck grunted as he read the IKEA instructions for Eddie’s new bed frame for the fourth time. “This doesn’t even make sense! I put that thingy exactly where it said!” “It’s your fault for not asking for clarification,” Eddie replied serenely, holding up two paint swatches against the wall and comparing them. “Frank thinks that making this space more personal will help with….well, I don’t know. But apparently it’s going to help with something.”

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 26/? | 17K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

Chapter 26. 43. Wrapping your legs around your lover's body as they lift you 

Re-Read

🔥 situations, circumstances, miscommunications ( i just may like some explanations ) by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): "You didn't know?" Eddie asks, calmer but not less confused. He frowns. "How could you not know?" "You never said anything?" Buck tilts his head to the side. "We were dating?” “I guess not,” Eddie sighs. His heart is beating a little faster, an unpleasant buzz beneath his skin as he all but chokes on a feeling he can’t quite name— it could be hurt or disappointment or maybe a mix of both. In that moment, he knows three things very clearly. 1. Buck is going to be the death of him. 2. He is in love with the most dense, most oblivious man on planet Earth. 3. He is too gay and, honestly, too old for this shit.

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, welcome to the March roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read close to 60 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

(Inaugural roundup can be found here)

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

~

Title: Bones of My Bones (& Flesh of My Flesh) by everyday_forever Word Count: 15,759 Summary: When Will & Hannibal reunite in Italy at last, Will doesn't fear becoming Hannibal. He knows he already is Hannibal. However, Will feels as if he's a derivative of Hannibal, made in Hannibal's image, from Hannibal's own raw material. He doesn't feel like he's Hannibal's natural equal. Will thinks the only way he can forgive Hannibal is by claiming a piece of Hannibal in return, and choosing to make it a part of himself. He has to eat him. And Hannibal is all to happy to let him.

As far as I'm concerned, this IS canon. Truly some of the best canon-compliant characterizations of them that I've read. This is absolutely what would have happened if Will hadn't tried to kill Hannibal after leaving the Uffizi Gallery. It was perfect. And so them. And obviously, mutual cannibalism. *chefs kiss*

Title: Do you feel the hunger, does it howl inside? by merrythoughts and ReallyMissCoffee Word Count: 261,929 Summary: It's been weeks since the Fall. Since Will had leaned against him, the wild scent of blood thick and cloying on the air, and had taken them from the top of the cliffs. And for every second of every day since, Hannibal has been calmly dealing with the fallout of his decision that night: Life over death. Will had intended them to die, had allowed himself a moment of weakness, of desperation. Perhaps the last act of an exhausted soul. Yet Hannibal had denied him.

I am being dead serious when I say that this fic changed my brain chemistry and managed to do something that several years of therapy had not. I wanted this to go on forever (there IS a sequel!) and did my very best to savor it instead of plowing through the entire thing in a single day. Check the author notes if you're unfamiliar with these two writers–the format took me a couple chapters to get used to, but clearly it wasn't a big deal for me.

Title: Sensational by bigfootghostdick Word Count: 39,607 Summary: Franklyn’s obsession with Hannibal Lecter truly knows no bounds. His obsession only grows worse after being fired as Dr.Lecter’s patient. Feeling slighted by Hannibal's rejection, Franklyn follows him home one evening only to stumble upon something that he never expected to see. Who’s that dark-haired man locking lips with Hannibal right outside his front door? Overcome with jealousy, Franklyn decides to seek revenge on his tenth psychiatrist. How? By selling the photos he took of them to Freddie Lounds.

Listen. I love a good jealous!Franklyn, especially when Hanni and Will firmly put him in his place. Sue me.

Title: The Stress-Sex Connection by shotgun_sinner Word Count: 48,090 Summary: When Will gets out of the BSHCI, he resumes therapy with Hannibal Lecter. His stress levels are through the roof, and Hannibal makes an offer that Will doesn't turn down. Hannibal assumes he's going to take Will to bed and make love to a fragile man, shy and delicate. Will enjoys taking Hannibal to bed, and proving him wrong. OR the story where Hannibal is shocked to find out that Will is a profiler in the streets, but a demon in the sheets.

I was sold on the last line of the summary, "Will is a profiler in the streets, but a demon in the sheets" because it actually got a good cackle out of me, and then who would have guessed! Essentially porn with feelings, but I loved.

Title: hold me, kiss me, rip out my tongue by multifandom_fanfic_writer Word Count: 18,005 Summary: Will notices things. He notices a lot of things, can’t turn it off. Some of these things are about Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He watches Hannibal watching him eat. He watches the touch on his elbow lingering, possessive. He watches Hannibal's eyes darken when Will pulls his hair and fucks his throat hard.

Okay, so I'm realizing that a lot of my five star fics this month were pretty smutty, but I make no apologies. That being said, I did find the characterizations of both Will and Hannibal to be very compelling, and it had the added bonus of Will getting to rub it in Alana's face that Hannibal chose him not her.

Title: Ligare by InfiniteCrisis Word Count: 8,280 Summary: Will's never gone down on a man before and is feeling nervous about it. His solution: tie Hannibal up first. Hannibal has no complaints.

Initially shied away from this one because Will essentially drugs Hannibal to knock him out and fuck him for the first time, but I PROMISE Hannibal knew exactly what Will was doing and allowed it. However, if that isn't your thing, this won't be for you.

THAT BEING SAID, my honest reaction after this was, "fuck fuck fuck, dom!Will might be my new favorite." Bonus points for it being the first in a series, and the rest is equally good!

Title: Oboedire, Implorare, Vovere by InfiniteCrisis Word Count: 18,715 Summary: At the end of Ligare, Hannibal said Will should "test" his willingness to submit to him. Will takes him up on that, and the results are more than either of them expected.

As I said, the rest of the series was SO GOOD. This was basically off the charts hot.

Title: To the Devil His Due (His Due is You) by everyday_forever Word Count: 26,3319 Summary: Will Graham is in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, courtesy of one Hannibal Lecter. And Will wants payback. He threatens Hannibal with a reckoning. And then Will has a terrible and wonderful idea- he opts to get back at Hannibal and make him jealous by pursuing a sexual relationship with Dr. Frederick Chilton. Feeling emboldened, Chilton sends the audio recordings of him and Will together to Hannibal to boast of the new development in Will's 'therapy.' Hannibal knows at once Will is the mastermind behind it all. Hannibal is most displeased with his manipulative albeit cunning boy. Chaos ensues. Will continues to manipulate both Chilton and Hannibal in order to make Hannibal jealous. Will has entered into a dance with the Devil after poking Hannibal's beast and Hannibal is eager to teach Will a lesson and remind him who he belongs to...

HEAR ME OUT. Prior to this fic, I had never considered Will/Chilton. Ever. Let alone reading a fic where most of the on paper smut is ChilWill. And yet here we are. Hannibal was just so present through it all, given that Will was only screwing Chilton to get at Hannibal (although, I liked that there was some genuine affection between Chilton and Will, it wasn't completely callous), and it just all combined to be an excellent fic. Sue me.

Title: Trope: Fake Date (Hannigram AU) by TigerPrawn Word Count: 4,207 Summary: Will's possible promotion is relying on his superiors thinking better of him. One way to do that is to take his omega to the upcoming cocktail party. Only problem is, he doesn't have one, having to rely on one sent by an agency. He wasn't quite expecting Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Fluffy first meeting AU, nothing more nothing less. I just love seeing them happy!! (sometimes, lmao)

~

And that's a wrap on this month! See ya next time!!!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Harry Potter

The Ordeal of Being Known by louisfake

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Features fuzzy cartoon slippers, devious house elves, 90s music, and lots—LOTS—of memories. Ron is annoyingly hot, Hermione sees right through you, Harry is a powerful idiot, and Draco is a reclusive masochist that would buy an entire city if it would make a kid happy. (And Pansy is "5'2, I wanna dance with you, and I'm sophisticated fun.")

Super Mario Bros

Cooking Mama (Luigi)! by Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood

Luigi was having a perfectly peaceful stroll through the Toad Market - the sun was shining, he'd just found a lovely handmade blanket, and was on his way to the bakery before heading back to his and Mario's home.

Only... what was that sniffling noise from that dark, scary alleyway?

Of all the creatures he was expecting to find, the littlest prince of the Koopa Kingdom certainly wasn't it.

Star Wars

the tiger is out by elumish

Wolffe looks like he’s regretting having a second Jedi with them.

DC

Cryp-Tim by PrinceJakeFireCake

"The cons of dating Tim Drake were innumerous. For one, he was almost impossible to photograph, and so none of Kon’s friends at school actually believed he existed. His family was scary, horrifying really, and all of them seemed to find joy in making Tim regret ever being born. And Tim had charmed Ma and Pa Kent so thoroughly, they had ditched their shovel talk to instead coo at him and offer him pie and compliment him for fixing their tractor, so Kon was at a disadvantage when it came to intimidating someone with his family.”

Kon and Tim date. It goes pretty well, all things considered.

Tim Has a Hero Worship-y Crush on Every Robin Ever by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Tim as an adult was bad enough, Tim with no filter as a child was too much to be around."

Cork Board Contingencies by PrinceJakeFireCake

If you don’t use a cork board to obsessively plan contingencies for every possible way a date with your best friend can go, how can you go on a date at all?

Excerpt: “Are you free next Saturday?” Tim asked, pretty sure that Kon’s jumble of words was agreement that he wanted to date Tim.

“Maybe!” Kon exclaimed.

“Cool,” Tim commented, taking another sip of his drugged grape soda (“Dammit, Tim,” he mentally told himself. “Do not give in! Buy new grape soda! Stop drinking the drugged grape soda! I’ve shotgunned another can of drugged grape soda, haven’t I? Dammit, that makes five!”) then saying, “That gives me just enough time to pass out for fifty-two hours and plan our first date."

Immunology by JustGettingBy

Hypothetically speaking. Could a hybrid creature become suddenly not viable? Like say it survives being an embryo, makes it through growing up, and then just one day… stops? the text from Kon reads.

Tim’s heart spikes up through his ribs. Kon. What’s happening?

(OR Kon gets the flu. It becomes Tim's problem.)

Change of Plans by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Who’s your friend, Tim?” the voice asked.

Jason hissed. This was his baby! Not his friend!

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice hastened to apologize. “I mean, who’s your parent, Tim?”

AKA, who has the time to be a murderous crime/drug lord when there are kittens to adopt

Motion Blur by sElkieNight60

At Damian's school art showcase, Bruce realizes he needs to help Tim reframe their relationship.

[inell]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Okay so I obviously can’t count so this is more than five. I meant to do 5 Teen rated and 5 Adult but ended up with slightly more Teen. Oh well. Self love, right? 💜

Teen Rated

Mr. July. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

It’s time for the annual hot firefighter calendar to begin shooting, and Buck and Eddie are surprised to learn that they’ve both been selected to be Mr. July.

Bright Like the Sun. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

A routine call causes Eddie to make some decisions that help him move his relationship with Buck to the next level.

A Promise Made is a Promise Kept. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

When the 118 gets called to a multi-vehicle accident, Buck doesn’t expect to find a familiar face amidst the wreckage, and he makes a promise that ends up altering the course of his life. Fortunately, he has Eddie and his family to help, but he soon realizes that his relationship with Eddie is also changing.

Bullseye. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

After another awful shift with Gerrard, Buck is surprised when one of the captain’s verbal attacks actually bothers him. Eddie offers him support and makes a confession during the commute home.

Sealed With a Kiss. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

When Buck goes to the beach to get away from Abby’s empty apartment, he ends up saving a kid from drowning. He isn’t expecting to meet Christopher’s father, Eddie, who also happens to be Buck’s soulmate.

How Our Story Ends. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

When Buck and Eddie are sent into an apartment building that’s on fire to search for squatters, Eddie finds himself in a situation where he prays that the universe is actually real and listening to him.

Sketches of You. Buck/Eddie. Teen.

After Christopher went to El Paso, Eddie’s had a lot of time to think while also rediscovering his interest in drawing. He’s finally ready to tell Buck how he feels about him in the best way he knows how—through his art.

Adult Rated

Love Dares You to Change. Buck/Eddie. Adult.

After realizing that Abby isn’t coming back, Buck goes to a club to find someone to share his night. He ends up meeting Eddie, who changes his world.

SOS. Buck/Eddie. Adult.

When Eddie receives a SOS text from Buck asking for his help, he isn’t expecting for a sex toy mishap to lead to them admitting their feelings for each other.

Connect the Dots. Buck/Eddie. Adult.

“Let’s see how much we can get away with before they open their eyes and realize we’re together,” Buck says, moving his hand up Eddie’s arm to cup his jaw.

“If this backfires, I’m gonna blame you,” Eddie says, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss against his mouth. “But I’m in.”

Constant Craving. Buck/Eddie. Adult.

Buck and Eddie have recently started dating, and it’s their third official date. While playing a game of pool, they make a little wager, and Buck gets to indulge a craving he’s had for years.

Kindred Spirits. Buck/Eddie. Adult.

Eddie has been a member of Paranormal Research Group for nearly four years after being recruited during one of their investigations. During that time, he’s found a job he enjoys, created a family that cares about him, become an unwilling reality TV star, and fallen in love with his best friend and partner, Buck. The team is traveling across the country filming the second season of their hit reality show, Haunted Case Files, and Eddie’s unknowingly going to find his skepticism challenged when Buck sets out to prove that there’s such a thing as destiny and fate, and that some things are meant to be.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Regulars

Summary: Marcus and Missy befriend a waitress at their favorite diner.

Requested by @yourstrulylightstar283

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Marcus Moreno x OFC named Evey, father/daughter banter, mention of stressful working environment, otherwise just fluff and cuteness. Word Count: 1175

   ”Again, dad?” Missy asks when he puts the menu down, already knowing what he’s picked, even though he hasn’t said anything.

   “What?” he lovingly gripes in return, smiling as he knows where this is going.

   “There’s so much delicious food in this diner, and yet, every time we come here you order the same thing: the cheeseburger with fries. Are you scared of stepping out of your food comfort zone, or something?”

   “I’m not scared,” he huffs, “this is just the best burger in town.”

   “Alright, I didn’t wanna do this, but you’ve left me no choice,” she counters, and her tone clearly suggests she’s about to change his mind, whether he likes it or not.

   He loves when she gets all smart like this, so he leans back and feels a smile grow behind his cheeks as he watches her close her menu deliberately slowly before clasping her hands together and leaning her forearms on the table.

   “Dad, you’re a public figure,” she begins, very seriously, “which means that people pay attention to you. And what they’re seeing every time we come here, is that not only does Marcus Moreno support the meat-industry, which we all know is fubar, but that he’s also entirely unconcerned with his own health.”

   Suddenly, he doesn’t feel the smile in his cheeks anymore. Instead, he feels mildly nauseous, especially after he hears the next part of her reasoning.

   “Now, if you were a member of the public, which the Heroics are tasked with protecting, would you feel safe knowing that your supposed guardian doesn’t even take good care of himself?”

   He knows that she’s being deliberately manipulating, testing herself in how good she is at persuading others, but she’s also not wrong about anything she’s saying, and it’s surprisingly jarring to hear.    Before he’s had a chance to recover, however, the waitress comes to take their orders, and he feels a creeping panic at the back of his neck, realizing he doesn’t know what to do.

   “Hello, my name is Evey, I’ll be taking your orders today,” she says with a prize-winning smile which isn’t fake or overdone or disingenuous at all, and he’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he hasn’t seen this woman before.

   “Hi, I’m Missy, and this is my dad, Marcus,” his daughter responds, saving him from having to speak through the befuddled mess that is his brain right now.

   “Nice to meet you both,” Evey nods politely at them in turn, “what will it be today?”

   His daughter confidently asks for an omelet with a side of salad instead of potato fries, and then immediately turns the attention back to him, fully aware he hasn’t made up his mind yet.

   “Uh…” is all he says, before ripping the folded two-page menu open once again and scanning the options way too fast to actually make out what they are.

   He glances at Missy over the top of the pages, hoping she’ll start talking and give him a moment to think, but she just smiles knowingly at him while she calmly waits for him to make a fool of himself.

   “I can give you some options, if you prefer, sir,” the waitress suddenly offers him a lifeline, and he dives at it like he’s drowning.

   “Please, do. I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted today,” he tries to explain, hoping not to look like a complete moron, although that ship has probably already sailed.

   “No problem, that’s why I’m here,” she smiles again, and then proceeds to list the entire dinner menu from memory, highlighting the nutritional benefits of each dish, as well as giving him a general idea of the flavor sensation associated with the various options.

   Marcus has been at five-star restaurants with lesser service than this, leaving him staring dumbly at Evey once she’s finished, trying to comprehend what such a talented server is doing in such a simple establishment.

   “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Missy pipes up after a moment of stunned silence.

   “Yes, it’s my first week,” the waitress confirms, and the Moreno’s exchange a look of impressed bewilderment before both turn back to stare at her.

   “I’m guessing you’ve been somewhere a bit more… demanding than this place before,” Marcus suggests, finally freed of the confusion his daughter had inflicted on him.

   “Demanding is the right word for it, indeed, sir,” she replies, and while the smile is still warm and genuine, there’s a hint of something heavy in her eyes for a moment as she says it.

   He knows that many prestigious restaurants can be hell to work at, no matter how skilled or experienced a person might be, so if she’s been at a place like that, he could understand if she needed to seek out a less stressful environment.    A small corner diner might not seem like a desired workplace for someone used to the glamour of the top tier in her field, but there are benefits to be found in the simplicity and quaintness of smaller businesses.

   “Well, I hope you’ll like it here,” he smiles back at her. “It’s not too crowded most of the time, and the regulars are pretty decent.”

   Missy rolls her eyes at him in embarrassment over the last part, which Evey notices, and an adorable giggle crosses her lips.

   “I take it you’re the regulars in question, then?”

   “Oh, he’s a regular alright. A regular cheeseburger abuser,” his daughter shoots, paying him back for her embarrassment by making him look like an idiot in front of this lovely woman.

   “Am not!” he desperately fires back, succeeding only in sounding childish on top of stupid.

   “Am too! And apparently also dishonest, since you won’t even own up to it,” she counters, and he doesn’t have a good comeback for that, so he ends up just sitting there scowling for a beat, before finally closing the menu and setting it down on the table.

   “Fine. I’ll have the damned burger.”

   He expects the waitress to politely excuse herself then, as this little tiff has probably left her feeling uncomfortable.    But when she’s still by the table after a few seconds, he looks up to find out what she’s doing, only to discover her grinning at him with her head cocked to the side, looking as sweet as a labrador waiting for ear-scritches.

   “Good choice,” she says with a wink. “It’s the best burger in town.”

   Missy’s head hits the tabletop with an audible bonk, followed by her exacerbated groan of disapproval, now directed at both the adults, as her masterful plan to manipulate her father has been ruined.    Marcus, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh, and when Evey joins in even though she has both their orders and doesn’t need to stay there any longer, he feels like a friendship has just begun, and it sends a nice warmth through his abdomen.

   “I’ll be right back with your dinners,” she giggles, and then right before she turns away, she adds: “I think I’m gonna like the regulars here.”

THE END

[itsthedoodle]

Starry Eyes Sparking Up My Darkest Night

Summary: We had danced, all of us together. And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

@officialfeysandweek2023

Day 1: Night Triumphant & Stars Eternal

Here's my second humble offering for Feysand Week 🩵

“I am… very glad I met you, Feyre.”

I blinked away the burning in my eyes. “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand, “Let’s go join the dance.”

I felt Rhys move behind me, looking half dazed, and wondered if he was as affected as I was. My heart was racing, beating a rhythm unlike anything I’d felt before, my mind aware that this was uncharted territory. I’d seen the look in his eyes, and I knew it matched the one in mine. Rhys and I had been playing this game, counting the steps of this dangerous dance for quite a while now, and as natural as everything with him felt, as natural as being around him was, I couldn’t forget that the circumstances that led me here were not easy.

Don’t think about it, I told myself. Turn it all off.

I reached the middle of the crowd and stopped, turning to face Rhys. He was so beautiful, breathtakingly so, the stardust glowing on his lips mocking me, almost pulling me in and making me reckless enough to want to forget everything and everyone around us and just kiss him, just get lost in him. Rhys pulled me closer and placed his hands on my lower back, making my skin tingle. I wrapped my arms around his neck and followed his lead as he started moving.

We danced, and danced, and danced, until Cassian pulled me away from Rhys for a dance, joking about his unwillingness to share. The fire in Rhys’s eyes wasn’t something I was ready to address. I wasn’t blind to his feelings, nor my own growing ones, but I didn't know if I would ever be ready for all of its implications. 

“I've never seen him so happy.” Cassian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he twirled me around, and a joyous sound escaped my throat. “He has had moments of happiness in his five hundred years of course, but never like this.” Cassian gave me a pointed look. “You do know it’s because of you, don’t you?”

I cleared my throat, not ready to unpack what he had just said and all that it meant, and asked him about our visit to Windhaven the next day. Cassian had been advocating for the Illyrian females for centuries, but change in a war camp came slow.

We danced for a while longer, until Cassian looked behind me to find Mor, who was smiling brightly. “Your time is up,” she said, pulling me away from him. 

I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thankful for him and the friendship and understanding he had so selflessly offered me from the moment we’d met.

I danced with Mor, and then I danced with Azriel, and marveled at how fast they had managed to worm their way into the deepest crevices of my heart. My friends, who had pulled me out of the darkness. My High Lord, who had shown me that I mattered, that my feelings mattered, that my trauma was valid, who had given me everything in the most open and selfless way and had never expected anything in return.

I looked at Rhys, marveling at the sound of his joyous laughter, the starlight in his eyes as he celebrated and drank and danced with his friends, the way he looked so free despite carrying the weight of his court on his shoulders and everything he had done to keep his people safe.

He had given every part of himself to keep his people safe. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were, if they knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.

He chose that moment to look at me, and the smirk he had seconds before melted into a smile so bright and genuine that my breath whooshed out of my chest with a strength that nearly knocked off my feet. He was in front of me in two strides, his long legs effortlessly closing the space between us, and I gave him a smile as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his own finding their place on my lower back, as if they had always belonged there.

“You promised me a whole night of dancing.”

The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk. “It’s not my fault everyone wants to bask in your glow, Feyre darling.”

I smiled and rested my head on his chest, and he kissed the top of my head softly. “It’s you people want to be around, Rhys. Not me.”

“Someday,” he said, his hand drawing circles on my back, “I’ll make you see how bright you are. I wish you could see yourself right now, and the way you outshine every star tonight.”

My heart stuttered, and I willed the tears away. Looking up at him, I reached out and caressed his mental shields. Rhys tilted his head curiously and lowered them slightly, letting me in. I looked around the fortress of his mind, seeing the world through his eyes, Mor laughing and dancing with Cassian and Az in the corner, the three of them carefree and happy.

Rhys mentally pointed closer, right in front of him, and I saw myself covered in stardust, the look on my face one I didn’t have the words to describe. There was a certain glow in my eyes as I looked up at Rhys, a softness to my smile that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Rhys’ mental fortress was unguarded, every feeling on display as I made myself familiar with the deepest corners of his beautiful, brilliant mind. There was adoration, admiration, gratefulness, and a warmth to deeper feelings I refused to analyze out of respect. He had had his privacy taken from him for a very long time, and I would never dream of taking advantage of the free pass he had given me.

I slowly walked out and back into my own mind, and the smile he gave me was one I desperately wanted to paint.A smile brighter than the sun, eyes deeper than night. Night triumphant seemed like a fitting name.

“I am very happy to have you in my life,” I offered, because that was the simple truth, because I had never known anything with more certainty than the joy that Rhys’ presence had brought into my life. I had blinked, and without me realizing it, Rhys had become my best friend, had become the one person I could always count on without fear of being judged. My heart craved even more of Rhys and I wrestled against the hunger in my mind every day.

Rhys bent down and kissed my forehead, gently, as we swayed to the soft music. There was no rush to the dance, no steps to follow. There was just us, the stars, our friends, the people, and my home. Velaris was home, and so was the male holding me like I was going to disappear. 

“Rhys?”

“Hm?” he mumbled, not bothering to move his head from where it was resting on top of my head.

“Thank you for everything.”

I felt him smile and he continued rubbing circles on my back. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“No, I mean-” I said, trying to find the right words. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else would. Thank you for sharing your family with me, and your city, and your home. Thank you for making sure I always have a reason to get out of bed in the morning and look forward to what the day brings.”

With my head resting on his chest the way it was, I could feel the exact moment his breath caught in his throat. “None of that would have been possible without you,” he said, pulling my face away from his chest and looking at me intently. “None of that would have been possible without your persistence, cleverness, and kindness. I’ve always loved this night, and the journey the stars make.” He looked up at the stars still flying overhead, then down at me again. “But you, you are by far the most precious one of them.”

I didn’t stop the burning in my eyes this time, the tears running free down my cheeks, trailing a path down the stardust on my face. Rhys swept his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping my tears away, like he had done every single time since the day we had met. I knew the line we were walking was a very dangerous one, and I could not afford to compromise my heart so soon again, but there was something about him that brought all my walls tumbling down, that drew me to him so thoroughly that I could hardly breathe half the time he was near.

We danced for what could have been minutes, or hours, or days—we didn’t keep track. Rhys didn’t let me go, and neither did I. The guests bid us goodnight, Mor, Cassian and Azriel retired for the night, yet Rhys and I never stopped dancing, never stopped looking at each other and basking in the glow of whatever we were, whatever was happening. As the dawn broke, and the sun illuminated the stardust on his skin, giving him an ethereal glow, I put my hands around his face and brought it close to mine, resting his forehead against mine.

“To the stars who listen, Rhys.”

“And the dreams that are answered, Feyre.”

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe ; second chapter is written after 2.2

word count - 2208/10056 words

chapters - 2/2

-

Sunday tosses the trash out and places the tray on the existing stack of them, brushes his gloves off any stray crumbs, and walks back to their table. Robin and Boothill, strangely, aren’t talking.

He sits down, brows creased and suspicious in his eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

Robin looks uncharacteristically nervous. “Nothing of the sort. Uhm.” Her hands are clasped together. “Brother. Can we go on Hanu’s Great Escape together?”

His first instinct is to turn it down.

He should’ve.

He doesn’t go on roller coasters, they’re too childish for him, as someone who’s supposed to be running this place.

But the day has worn down his stubbornness and disdain for such immature attractions, and Robin looks too hopeful — she’s obviously been pondering over this for a long time, judging from her expression — for him to turn down the offer.

“Please?” Robin tries.

Sunday sighs, shoulders dropping. “I suppose just this once is fine.”

His sister’s reaction is worth going on every ride here for. Xipe’s puzzle pieces, has he not been indulging her all her wants for this long? Wait, nevermind. He hasn’t. Right. Work has caught up to him, buried him completely and ate up every bit of his free time. He’d always assumed she had other people, notably Boothill (Sunday still dislikes him), but neglected to actually spend time with his sister.

Time has strained their relationship far too thin. He’ll do this for her, to make up for yet another one of his many…

Robin gets up, pulling Boothill along. “Really?”

Sunday smiles. “Of course. I haven’t spent much leisure time with you for far too long.”

If that makes Robin upset, she shows no indication of it. “Great! The attraction is on the other side of the park, if that’s okay?” Nevertheless, Boothill grabs her purse and his hat, and they start walking.

Sunday stands, hands behind his back, and follows along.

***

“That is the ride…?” he asks after what must have been at least twenty minutes of walking. Everything in Penacony is luxury and grandeur (just look at their portion sizes and highways), and he doesn’t expect to get through this entire park in under ten minutes at all. It’s the best of the best in the entire universe.

“Yup!” Robin confirms, standing at its gates. There is a giant arch overhead that reads, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape,’ in muted bubble letters. Finding the entrance to this ride is notoriously difficult. After a few minutes of failure, they finally found it. Robin had looked very embarrassed when they finally arrived at the entrance.

The ride is one of the most famous coasters in Penacony alone, and the so-called ‘second best’ in this theme park. The first is obviously the Watchmaker (he can’t decide whether the names are corny or genius), the one that shoots straight up and back down again. Other rides aside, ‘Hanu’s Great Escape’ is one of the longest thrill rides at the park, standing at two minutes and five seconds. It’s a wooden coaster, for a change, but built with state-of-the-art technology. Wooden coasters aren’t something you see in every amusement park here in Penacony anymore.

“Ah.” Sunday swallows, nodding along and a pleasant expression on his face. Doesn’t Robin think this is too… thriller of a ride to go on immediately after having lunch? Well, he certainly does. He understands taking Boothill on, since the Ranger has mechanical insides and all, but them? Two Halovians with actual nervous systems and a brain that processes nausea and such feelings? He hasn’t been to an amusement park in ages. He’s inexperienced with going on rides.

Robin gives him a suspicious look. “My dear brother… you’re not… scared, are you?”

Boothill snorts from behind them. All the Aeons above, Sunday is still going to strangle him.

Just to spite (and preserve his status as the leader of Penacony), Sunday clears his throat, his posture uptight and regal. “That’s a silly question. I’ve seen, and been through, way worse than simple roller coasters like this.”

“Well, what are you hesitating for?” Robin sweetly asks. “Boothill?”

The cyborg shakes his head. “Naw. You two can go.”

Robin nods and gives her purse to Boothill, who hoops it over his shoulder. The sparkly baby-blue-and-pink purse is quite the sight on the cyborg’s more red-and-black colors. His sister heads inside the flash pass gate. Sunday follows after her, weaving through the maze of metal railings and turns. The normal line is… extremely long. People buzz with chatter, patiently waiting in these lines. Some of them shoot him and Robin looks upon seeing them skip the wait.

Sunday shakes off the stares as easy as cake. They finally step up the platform of the ride, handing their flash passes over to the gatekeeper to scan. The gatekeeper lets them in.

“Okay, we have two choices.” Robin holds up her left hand in a peace sign. With her other index finger, she taps her left index finger. “One: the first row and experience the visual intensity. Or — ” she taps her middle finger — “we go in the back to feel the physical intensity. This is scientifically proven, by the way. There is no middle choice.”

“You can choose,” he offers.

Robin levels him with a stare. “Back or front?”

He looks at the coaster, full of its twists and turns and loops and drops, and manages, “the back.” He is not going to look near-death in the eye. The intensity differences can’t be that drastic; he won’t even know the difference. Confirmation bias and other psychological effects aside.

“Okay!” They head toward the end lane with the least amount of people. They just have to wait around three more turns. It’s not that long, but not exactly speedy either. He wonders how long some of these non-flash pass holders have been standing in line for. Thirty minutes? Perhaps even longer? Most likely.

“You were very happy today, sister,” he notes when Robin bounces on her heels.

“I am!” Robin grins. “It’s been so long since you stepped out of the mansion, and it’s been so long since I’ve been able to have fun like this. I would love to do this more often, but I love my fans too much to entirely give up on them,” Robin smiles. She’s right; it has been some time since they’ve both stepped away from the public’s eye.

Does he yearn for when they were younger, when he and Robin could sneak away to play together? Sunday would not like his childhood body back, but he certainly does miss those carefree days. Now, that kind of wish is just silly and impossible to return to for the Dreammaster’s children like him. Robin has leniency since she is an interstellar superstar. He does not. He is running this place.

“I agree. You should take care of yourself more,” Sunday softly chides. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.” Robin comes first, before all his other priorities. The Family and the Dreammaster still haven’t forgiven him for placing his own sister first over Penacony’s Charmony Festival.

“You too. Out of the two of us, I think you should rest more. Staying up all night will take a toll on you, no matter how tough you project yourself to be. You’re not just a leader, brother.” His sister turns away from him and shifts a few steps forward in the line as the next cart comes. “You’re a person too.”

Sunday is silent, then. Robin rarely openly discusses that. What prompted her to do so this time? Perhaps it’s the atmosphere of this place.

“Perhaps,” Sunday simply responds with. It is the best he can do.

He is not just ‘a person.’ Both of them are, in theory, people. But they carry responsibilities and wield abilities that do not conform to average standards. Today is as average as people like them can get. Sunday tries not to dwell on his sister’s words.

The cart comes and goes, and before you know it, it’s their turn. Robin steps into the platform and sits down, pulling the harness over her and locking it in place with ease. Sunday does the same. The remaining two seats adjacent to theirs are empty; the next group contains three people, so they’re waiting for the next coaster.

“Is this safe?” he whispers to Robin.

“We’re gonna be fine,” she reassures. “This was tested a hundred times over. We are not the exception to the scientifically-proven facts.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Sunday, one more word about this ride and I think you might be scared of this,” Robin teases.

He shuts up.

The ride starts, and the cart moves. He closes his eyes, presses the back of his head firmly to the headrest of the seat, and prays to Xipe for the best.

The cart goes uphill, onto an incline, and his body tilts back with it. “Sister, is everything fine with you over there?”

“Yes, brother, yes yes yes,” she deadpans. “Here, hold my hand.” Robin reaches out and pries his right hand off the handlebars on the harness, taking his gloved hands in hers. “There. You’re safe.” Her voice is soothing and calm, washing over him and calming his nerves — the effects of Harmony.

Sunday can’t help but think how it used to be him who would do that.

The cart reaches the top of the hill, clawing its way forward agonizingly slow.

He squeezes her hand, his hold dead tight.

“You’re definitely scared,” Robin laughs.

“Am I hurting you?” Sunday asks, moving to pull his hand away.

“No, you’re not.” Robin squeezes back.

The cart stops, inching over the drop. There are a few laughs, screams.

Sunday recites a few prayers in his head, and the cart drops.

Everything starts all at once, from the screams to the cart clanging against the rails to the ringing in his ears. He is pretty sure he is screaming. Robin is laughing, holding their intertwined hands up in the air. His left hand is clutched on the metal handlebar. You can’t even pry it off if you want to. His heart is beating in double time, blood rushing in his ears.

The wind slaps his face, ruffling his hood and blowing through his hair, as they twist and turn in the tracks. His body shoots dangerously close to the ground, then he is propelled upwards again.

Then – Robin’s laughing rings above all the screaming. It’s clear and defiant, pulling his attention away from his less-than-favorable (PLEASE GET HIM OUT) predicament right now. Through the wind, Sunday turns to look at his sister, her smile wide and carefree like a songbird soaring in the sky, elusive to anyone who tried to capture her.

He is so startled at this, seeing Robin rid of the chains of the Dreammaster’s children and the stage, and mesmerized at the same time. He shuts his eyes, the wind crashing into him over and over again.

The ride slows, and Robin’s laughter gradually fades away. She wipes away the tears that gathered at her eyes from the wind and brushes through her wig.

He turns back front and lets out a breath, shoulders dropping and eyes wide. He thinks that if he lifts his hand, it will shake uncontrollably. The cart lets out a huff, for lack of a better word, and the harnesses lift. Robin drops his hand as she gets up.

The two minutes had passed by like nothing.

He gets up, hands clenched in fists, and follows Robin and the crowd out the exit gates. The exit is on the other side of the attraction, and Boothill is nowhere to be seen.

“How was it?” Robin reaches up and fixes his hood for him.

Sunday blinks.

He can’t help it.

He laughs, a hand slightly covering his mouth. “That was amazing,” he smiles, something pure and genuine and he hasn’t done that in a long time, his eyes crinkling.

Robin is in awe. At something.

“Hm?” Sunday’s stupid smile isn’t going away. It feels like the coaster has blown off some of the weight on his shoulders. What is this feeling?

His sister shakes herself out of her trance. “Nothing. You look happy.”

“As do you.”

“Princess!” Boothill lifts a hand, and Robin grins, jogging toward him. Sunday doesn’t let the cyborg’s presence wipe the silly look off his face, closely trailing behind Robin. When Boothill sees Sunday, his eyes narrow and whispers something to Robin. In front of Sunday’s face. Oh well.

“I’ll tell you about the coaster later. Can we go on the Watchmaker now? Please?” Robin looks at Boothill, eyes shining with glee.

“One coaster was enough for me,” Sunday admits. “Hanu’s Great Escape was fun, but I’d rather not go on that as my second time riding a coaster. You can go with Boothill.”

“I understand!” Robin’s face, this time, does not show any disappointment. The adrenaline from the coaster has died down in him, but it is still up and kicking in Robin, it seems. “Boothill.”

“Fine by me,” the cowboy shrugs. “You comin’, darlin’?”

Robin slips her hand in Boothill’s. “Let’s go.”

Sunday tucks his hands in his pockets, drops the tension from his shoulders, and goes along.

[finalfrontierpioneer]

2023 Fic Recs!

Happy International Fanworks Day everybody!!! To celebrate, have some fic recs! These are some of my favorite works from last year! You know the drill- all completed last year, various ratings/lengths, nothing from multiple authors (although i was SO tempted, especially by @chocolateteapotsvis as always), and in complete random order.

Thank you to all of these lovely authors for brightening up my year! :D And also enabling my procrastination lolol

Halbarry, my otp, of course:

Onward to the Horizon by ChocolateTeapots @chocolateteapotsvis (Teen and up)

Five days, three Kaiju, and eleven collective hours of sleep. It’s one more fight. They just need to pull through. For Halbarry Week Day 4: Fantasy/SciFi

sometimes I feel it comin' on at the wheel by DynamicDuo (XylB) @halifax-jordan (Explicit)

"It'll be okay," Hal soothes. "I don't need to know what's troubling you right now, but whatever it is, it'll be all right." "It focuses…on what…I want," Barry says through gritted teeth, like each word is painful to get out. Or maybe embarrassing? He peeks up at Hal through his fingers with a meaningful look, as if hoping Hal will understand…through osmosis? "Buddy, I can do a lot, but I can't read your mind."

When I Come Back, I'll Wear Your Wedding Ring by ketchup_monthly (General)

hal has some issues he needs to work through, but he loves his boyfriend very much. barry just wants to get married. aka: i wrote yet another halbarry fic furthering my "hal is a huge romantic" agenda

Entropy (Has Got Nothing on Us) by RoboticNebula @roboticnebula (Mature)

Snapshots of Hal and Barry’s life together. For Halbarry week 2023 (25 August – 31 August).

star twinkled skin by Rexs_Blacks (Explicit)

Barry gets stuck in a wall. Hal helps out. Feelings and shit.

Buddie!

glue by ProsperDemeter (Teen and up) -this entire series is SO PERFECT

“It’s just…” Connor shrugged. “No offense, man, but… you’re twenty-five. Do you really want to be spending so much time falling for a guy with a kid?” “I’m not falling for him.” -- A month away from graduating the LAFD Academy, Evan Buckley gets introduced to new recruit Eddie Diaz and things certainly change for both of them after that. -- Another season one rewrite.

I'll Feel You Forget Me Like I Used to Feel You Breathe by turningthepages (Mature)

A car accident leaves Eddie without ten years of memories. He forgets meeting Buck, falling in love, getting married, and bringing two more kids into their life. As Eddie struggles to adjust to this new life, Buck struggles with being in love with someone who doesn't want to remember him. Oh, and they have really cute kids. or Just another Hollywood Amnesia story the fandom probably didn't need but lived in my head rent free for too long.

help me hold on to you by Ink_Dancer (Mature)

"You doing okay, Buck?" Eddie asked. Buck snorted. Loudly. It echoed. Eddie clicked his tongue. "Okay." He started moving again, coming over to Buck's side and starting to gather up an armful of takeout cartons. "What're you doing?" Buck asked. "I'm taking care of you," Eddie said firmly. "Because you're not doing a very good job." Or: Buck recovers slowly from the ladder truck, the Buckley-Diaz family goes stargazing, and Eddie and Buck get stuck in an attic during a house fire.

to your front door by hammersmiths (General)

Pepa’s been eyeing him all evening, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when she says, “Why aren’t you dating Eddie?” And yet Buck still nearly veers the car straight off the road.

maybe it's the way you lean on his shoulder by allyasavedtheday @littlespoonevan (Teen and up)

“Eddie,” she blurts. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t realise you were here.” The sound of her voice makes him move and he quickly sets the knife down, offering her a warm smile. “Hey, Maddie. Don’t apologise; I’m not interrupting your schedule, am I?” “Oh no,” Maddie shakes her head quickly, waving the idea away. “The uh- the schedule’s been retired. I was just gonna make Buck dinner but-“ “Looks like we had the same idea, huh?” Eddie replies with a half-laugh. “Well, you’re welcome to join us. I’m making lasagne. It’s not quite on the level of Bobby’s famous four-cheese recipe but Buck’s still on a comfort food kick.” * In which Maddie realises there might be more to Buck and Eddie's relationship than she'd originally thought.

Stucky:

Werewolves in the Workplace by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) @leveragehunters (Teen and up)

SHIELD was the only intelligence agency that assigned werewolf and vampire agents to work together in the field, but the program had been a staggering success. They compensated each other’s weaknesses, complemented each other’s strengths, and a werewolf could feed a vampire and shake off the effects faster than ordering a pizza. Bucky knew all that. What he didn't know was why this particular vampire, one Agent Steve Rogers, was holding out a protein bar. They were perched in the rafters of a warehouse, waiting for not-overly punctual arms dealers to show up and deal arms, had been stuck up here for a couple of hours, but none of that explained vampires suddenly offering snacks. In his near decade as a werewolf in SHIELD, Bucky had worked with a lot of vampires, and they all tended to be pretty much the same. Steve Rogers was different, didn't fit the vampire mould, and Bucky couldn't quite figure out why. Not that it really mattered. Steve was just someone he was occasionally paired with on SHIELD assignments. It wasn't like he was going to have any effect on Bucky's life.

Waking the Fire in Me by humapuma (Explicit)

Steve’s knees nearly went out from under him, but he grabbed onto the table to stay upright. He whined – he couldn’t help it. His chest cracked open, breaking him down until he was sixteen years old again, thin and sickly. The pale grey of those eyes was so familiar, but Steve hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even thought to look for it. How? A voice screamed inside. How did I not see? His entire being trembled as he whispered, “Bucky?” The Soldier’s usually cold eyes changed then, something flashed in them as his nostrils flared, harshly inhaling Steve’s scent before he said the words that finally made his buckling knees give out, forcing Steve to the ground. “Who the hell is Bucky?” A ghost found his way to the Avengers, asking for help - a ghost of a man long thought dead.

the time that's slipping by its_tortle @its-tortle (Teen and up)

“Hello?” she calls. Steve holds his breath again, even as he feels pressure build up behind his eyes. Because that’s his mother’s voice, and he hasn’t heard in twenty one (conscious) years. He doesn’t dare move. OR 'If Steve was going to travel back in time for anything before returning to his own timeline, it would be to see his mom again one last time'

Tongue in Cheek by rohruh (Explicit)

“No, no,” Bucky leans into his space, close enough that Steve can feel the warm tufts of his breath against his cheek, “go on.” “It’s just,” Steve’s not quite sure how to phrase this. He’s not sure what his motivation was in starting this whole conversation, really. “I guess I wish that I could kiss like that, is all.” Bucky stares at him, his eyes bright as the warm glow from the streetlight dances off of them. “I could teach you.” Steve’s mouth goes dry. “Teach me?” “Yeah,” Bucky snatches the joint out of his hand and leans back against the wall. “Give you a kissing lesson, or whatever.”

Backhoe by ZenaidaMacrouras @zenaidamacrouras1 (Explicit)

Steve Rogers is a seasoned activist and not at all afraid to get arrested while protesting the building of a pipeline. HOWEVER he is TERRIFIED when he realizes he’ll be chained to the same backhoe as Bucky “very handsome southern boy who also plays guitar and struts like a panther in his very tight, worn thin blue jeans” Barnes. Our brave, tiny Steve will find out once and for all: Can you catch on fire from blushing over your crush? May Contain: Extended descriptions of how to get arrested while chained to a backhoe, copious amounts of sisters, Appalachian accents, cheerful silliness interspersed with tragic background realness. Pining with a happy ending. Chicken related controversy. Tragic background realness mainly consists of parents passing away, because who doesn’t love adult orphans. Discussion of funerals. Very brief homophobic interaction in chapter 18 (marked in the chapter intro notes). There is no violence, but there are a few moments where you might think there might be violence. Overall this is a romance not a gritty, hard hitting documentary.

Various pairings:

Till You Find Your Dream by Kyele @timeforalongstory (Explicit) (Brudick)

You know, my child, that the orphanage cannot continue to support you once you become an adult.” The abbess sighs. “There is one path that is always open to you. You may choose a holy vocation, and take orders. The Sisters of Perpetual Grace will accept you as a postulant if you choose.” Dick had known to expect this. “Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says respectfully, “but I cannot follow that path.” The Mother Superior nods. He looks unsurprised. “Then perhaps,” he says, “you would be interested to hear of another opportunity.” From the papers on his desk, the abbess removes a single sheet. “Are you familiar with Captain Wayne?” Dick accepts a position as governess to eight war-orphans, adopted by millionaire and WW1 flying ace Captain Bruce Wayne. The rest is inevitable.

Seven by HollyDB (Explicit) (Spuffy)

It's been months since Willow almost ended the world, and a tense summer has turned into an ominous fall in Sunnydale. Spike is back from wherever and acting weirder than usual, a new threat is rising that—for once—doesn't seem to stem from the hellmouth, and Buffy has no idea who to trust or what to believe. She also doesn’t have the luxury of time to figure it out. Some things never change.

Seven Lessons by Tessabeth (Mature) (Cazriel)

At Windhaven, teenage Cassian's in trouble again. As punishment he's paired with the strange shadowsinger who hangs around Devlon's headquarters. 40,000 words, ten chapters, complete. Some timeline tinkering. “You,” says Devlon, pointing at Cass, “need to learn self control. He’s got it. And you,” pointing at Azriel now, “need to learn to use those pathetic curtains you’re carrying around on your back, and this one knows how. So there you go. You’ve got a week. At the end of the week, I want both of you flying, and both of you able to put up a solid shield without blasting your comrades over a cliff. Now fuck off.” Azriel bends down to the Commander and murmurs something urgently in his ear. Tendrils of shadow writhe around his jaw. “No. No, I’ll manage it without you. I’ve let this go on too long; you’re too old for this bullshit. You can come back when you can fly. Go on, fuck off. And shut the door behind you.” Back out in the gelid dusk, the two look at each other warily. Azriel still says nothing. Cass sighs. “See you in the morning? Meet by the mess?” Azriel ducks his head in agreement, and disappears down an alleyway. It’s going to be a long week.

Desperate Times by Eienvine (General) (Sifki)

Sif sees the man’s lips curve up in a sharp, cruel smile. “I have long dreamed of seeing Odin on his knees, begging for his life. I cannot have that, but I can at least see his son beg for someone else’s life.” He won’t do it, Sif is certain; if there is one thing that can confidently be said about Loki, it is that he is horribly proud. And proud men do not beg. Not even to save her life.

Sit, Stay, Speak by Fenris13 @ragnarokhound (Explicit) (Jaytim)

“He’s not here. Just his suit,” he tells Babs, gathering up the costume. “The apartment’s untouched, but downstairs looks like a hurricane went through it.” There’s a crackling hiss through the receiver as she sighs, tense. “Shit. Okay. Is there anything—?” “That’s not all,” he interrupts, standing up with an apprehensive look at his unexpected new companion. “There’s a dog.”

and tell the ones you love (you love them) by LadyMerlin (Teen and up) (Jaytim)

Weeks pass and the clan remains occupied with the chaos that is Gotham. It’s no busier than usual, but Bruce feels himself tiring easily, still recovering from his involuntary jaunt through the timestream. Everyone is remarkably kind to him, giving him time and space to recover. Unfortunately, all that time gives him, well… a lot of time to think. To consider. To analyse the changes that have occurred during his absence. There are new alliances, new tensions, shifting fault lines in the geology of his family. He reminds himself that this is the best case scenario; that everyone is still alive and well, that things could have gone much worse. But he can’t help but feel there’s something he’s still missing. Something he hasn't been told. AKA: the one where Bruce learns how to use his words, and tries not to be too nosy about his children's love lives.

those kind of friends by gabrieeella (Mature) (Jeronica)

He remembered the first time he’d seen her wear her hair like that, the way it’d unsettled him a little. It was so Betty-like, and yet not Betty-like at all. Betty’s ponytail moved like spilled sunlight. Veronica’s swung around like a guillotine. Or, a series of unexpected late-night encounters force an ever-distant Jughead and Veronica to explore who they really are (and could be) to each other.

you dug my heart a grave by jilliancares @jilliancares (General) (Spideypool)

He’s laying there, groaning and in pain and clutching his ribs, but even worse— [Really? Is it really worse? Give it a good, hard think and tell me if this is worse.] —but even worse, sparks are flying. Literally. Or: Wade realizes that Spidey is his soulmate.

[alexandralyman]

Frankie Morales x Reader fic

A little "friends with benefits" Frankie fic for my partner in crime @meanderingcaptainswanmusings - who loves Frankie Morales like I love Dave York!

Summary: You and Frankie are friends. Just friends and nothing more. But after a bad breakup with your dickhead ex and a failed attempt at a Tinder hookup, you find yourself on Frankie's doorstep one Saturday night in a bodycon dress and fuck-me heels. Turns out, Frankie is more than willing to oblige. After all, what are friends for?

8,221 words, rated E for general sexytimes and Frankie's skill with his mouth. AO3 link here

Hope you Frankie fans enjoy!

Frankie With Benefits

You step out of the Uber, muttering your thanks to the driver while closing the door with your phone already in hand to give him five stars and a good tip despite your foul mood. It wasn’t his fault that your date was such a disaster after all, plus he didn’t try to make small talk and played good music instead of some douchey podcast. You can still hear the faint Cuban rhythms as he drives off into the sultry Florida night, it’s both hot and humid as per usual and the contrast between the ice-cold AC in the car to the nearly triple-digit temps outside is a shock to your system that distracts you from noticing something is off until it’s too late.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

While the building in front of you is very familiar, it’s decidedly not your apartment complex. Your plans of changing out of your tight dress and fuck-me heels into some ratty old pjs and killing the bottle of wine chilling away in your fridge while you delete Tinder for good because men fucking suck has just been thrown a major curveball. You open Uber back up to check your ride history and squint at the screen through the false eyelashes that took forever to put on, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you must have tapped on the wrong destination when you left the bar in such a rush while telling your date where to shove it. That’s the only explanation as to why you’re not currently looking at your front entrance.

You’re looking directly at Frankie’s house instead.

Fuck.

Standing at the end of his driveway feeling very self-conscious in your bodycon dress with your driver already long gone, you go to book a new ride so you can slip away before any of Frankie’s nosy neighbors start to wonder about the woman loitering on their quiet little street in an outfit that’s decidedly not “family friendly.” Or worse, before Frankie sees you. A minute ticks by, then two, and no drivers pop up, not even with ridiculous surge pricing that you’ll gladly pay just to get home.

“C’mon, c’mon. Ugh!”

You finally give up as the streets nearby stay frustratingly empty on the little map, stuffing your phone into your purse with a sigh and turning to face Frankie’s house. His living room light is on so he’s obviously home and not out with the guys tonight, you can see the soft yellow glow through the curtains like a beacon offering safe harbor after a shitty evening.

It’s Frankie. If you can’t be alone in your apartment drowning your sorrows in grocery store wine, there’s really nowhere else you’d rather be.

“He needs to resurface his driveway,” you mutter under your breath as you carefully pick your way up the asphalt towards his front door. You’re certainly not wobbling with every step because you wore stilettos that make your butt look great but you can’t actually walk properly in. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You manage to make it all the way without breaking an ankle, knocking and wondering if it would be less embarrassing to head barefoot to the bus stop at the corner instead of admitting why you’re here. But before you can kick them off and make a break for it Frankie answers, blinking in confusion when he sees you standing on his doorstep in a dress with a neckline that plunges more than an Olympic diver and shoes that cost half a month’s rent, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to scratch behind his neck as he takes you in with those dark, expressive eyes of his. “Um…did we have plans tonight, or something?

He stares openly at your cleavage for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to your face with a sheepish look. If it was any other man you’d be annoyed, but Frankie has never ogled or leered at you in all the time you’ve been friends, and you did just show up unannounced at his door with your tits on full display, after all. You don’t mind if he takes a peek, someone might as well get to appreciate them tonight.

“No,” you reassure him. “Can I come in? I just bailed on a shitty date and must have accidentally picked your address when I ordered an Uber instead of mine. I tried to book another one to take me home but there’s no drivers around right now.”

Frankie nods. “Sure, sure, of course,” he says, shuffling aside to let you in and closing the door behind you with a soft click. You kick off your heels with a sigh because it would be rude to wear them in his house and not because they’re absolutely killing your feet, letting them tangle with his sneakers and already feeling a little better.

“Mi casa et su casa,” he adds with a gallant sweep of his arm once you’re safely inside.

You’ve spent a decent amount of time at Casa Morales since you first met Frankie a few years ago and quickly became friends with him, coming over for everything from backyard BBQs with his Delta Force buddies and their families, to movie nights on his couch just the two of you, to hauling your laundry over in his truck when the machines in your building went out of order again and he insisted that you use his instead of spending money at a laundromat. You know your way around his place. His house is small, but it’s bright and airy just like the ones you sigh over while browsing Zillow in your apartment, and while Frankie’s life can be messy at times (mainly thanks to said Delta Force buddies, Santiago Garcia in particular) he keeps his home neat and tidy and welcoming. When you go into the living room there’s nothing out of place, just a half-eaten bowl of chips and a bottle of beer on the coffee table. On a coaster, no less. The TV is still on, he was obviously enjoying a quiet night in for one when you crashed his evening in a dress that revealed more than it covered and shoes your credit card and arches were both still recovering from.

He follows you in, his presence at your back familiar and comforting despite your current “men fucking suck” state of mind. Frankie’s the lone exception at the moment.

“I’d drive you home but I’ve already had a few beers tonight. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You wave off the apology in his voice. “It’s fine, I’ll just give it a few minutes and book another ride.”

“Uh, about that….”

You turn and look at him, confused. He gives you a “don’t shoot the messenger” look with both hands raised and nods towards the TV.

“The game just finished. All the Uber drivers are going to be down at the stadium by now.”

“Son of a bitch,” you swear, closing your eyes in frustration. You couldn’t have picked a worse night to get stranded without a ride, everyone within a twenty mile radius of the stadium knows it’s impossible to get an Uber after any big event. Frankie knows it, you know it, you just didn’t plan on your date being a lying asshole and having to compete with twenty thousand sportsball fans for a lift home. That’s it, you were done with dating apps for good, if you hadn’t downloaded Tinder again you could be at home in bed right now having a threesome with your wine and your vibrator and as a bonus your feet wouldn’t hurt.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you have a few blisters. The damn shoes were just like men, looked so great at first and then rubbed you in all the wrong places.

“Sooooo,” Frankie drawls when you flop down ungracefully on his couch, eyeing you carefully from his tactical position behind the coffee table. “You were on a date tonight? I thought you said you’d given up on dating after Dickface McDickhead….oh fuck, please tell me you’re not back together with that asshole again?”

His nickname for your ex always makes you snort. Frankie was never his biggest fan. He wasn’t Frankie’s either, hating the fact that you two were such good friends. When you finally broke up with him for good, Frankie threw a BBQ the following weekend and grilled you the best steak you’d ever eaten with a huge smile on his face.

”What are we celebrating?” Santi asked when he arrived, putting down the beer he’d brought and eyeing the streamers and balloons decorating Frankie’s backyard in confusion.

“The fact that I won’t go to jail for throwing trash out of my helicopter,” Frankie said.

Santi stared blankly at him. “The fuck are you on about, Fish?”

Frankie just grinned at you over Santi’s shoulder while you rolled your eyes and grabbed one of the drinks. He even had a party hat perched jauntily on top of his ballcap, and a piñata hanging up in the yard, “for the kids”.

You took a few good swings at it with the bat he handed you while picturing your ex’s face on the paper-mache.

The mere thought of getting back with Drew, aka Dickface, makes you shudder. “No, I’m not back with him, and I’m still done with dating.”

You swipe some chips out of the bowl and tuck your legs under you, ignoring how high it makes your dress ride up your thighs with only a token effort to tug it back down.

“You’re done with dating, but you were out on a date? Little confused here.”

Frankie sits down on the other end of the couch, muting the post-game recap on the TV and turning so that he’s facing you. He’s all casual in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders when he twists, hair falling on his forehead in a mop of messy curls without his usual hat to cover them. You should feel out of place in your sexy little dress, full-glam makeup and the “effortless beachy waves” that took you an hour, three different tutorials and a whole fucking lot of effort to achieve, but you’re far more comfortable here with him than you were with the man you ditched back at the trendy bar full of wannabe influencers with insanely overpriced cocktails. Comfortable enough to tell him the truth, with a little help from the tequila in the deconstructed margaritas that you drank.

“It was supposed to be a hookup,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks go warm in a combination of embarrassment and alcohol.

His eyes go wide at that and he lets out a little cough of surprise. “That explains the dress,” he says, glancing down at it again before quickly looking back up at your face.

You wave a hand up and down yourself. “Dress, shoes, lip gloss,” you list off, not mentioning the rather skimpy new underwear that you’re one wrong move away from flashing him with. “I was tired of sitting home alone on Saturday nights, you know?”

”Hey!” he protests, and you duck your head with a wince. It’s Saturday night and he was sitting home alone until you showed up.

“Sorry. No offense, Frankie.”

“None taken, cariño. But only because it’s you.”

The casual endearment makes you feel even warmer, or maybe it’s just the Patrón you downed before leaving Mr. Talk, Dark, and Liar Liar Pants on Fire back at the bar hitting your system.

“Deconstructed margarita” your ass, it was a shot of triple sec and a shot of tequila with a hideous up charge, and they didn’t even include the lime.

You could leave it at that, suggest watching a shitty Netflix movie to pass the time until you can finally book an Uber and go home to change into something that isn’t squeezing your ribs into new and interesting positions and drink the finest chardonnay Publix had for under ten dollars. Frankie won’t push, won’t judge, you’ve been friends long enough to know that. You’ve seen each other through various highs and lows over the years, he was the first person you called when you got a promotion that you’d worked your ass off for, and when he found out his ex-fiancée was getting married you were the one who picked him up at the bar where he was drowning his sorrows and brought him home to drunkenly cry on your shoulder until he passed out.

If there’s anyone in the world who you can trust with this, it’s him.

“Those last few months with You Know Who,” you start, meaning your ex and not Voldemort despite their many similarities, “we were fighting like all the time. I knew deep down our relationship had become this flaming dumpster fire, but for some stupid reason I kept splashing water on it trying to put it out instead of walking away. And then we had the worst fight ever, and he said…he said-”

You could really do with another shot of tequila for some liquid courage right now. You settle for drinking the last of Frankie’s beer instead while he watches you carefully, tipping the bottle back to get every drop and then setting it down on the coaster with an audible thump.

“-he said I was a frigid bitch in bed and he would have better sex fucking a blow up doll instead of me. That’s what finally did it, I told him we were over. He tried to apologize and begged for another chance, but I just kept hearing it over and over again in my head and I was done. Finally done.”

A muscle ticks in Frankie’s jaw like the countdown clock on a bomb, you can see it even through the scruff of his patchy beard. He glances away for a second and you see his eyes close while he mutters under his breath in Spanish too soft and too fast for you to understand before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I take it back, he’s not a dickhead,” he says, sounding completely calm. “That’s an insult to actual dickheads. And he’s going to be lucky if he can still run his mouth like that once I’ve knocked out all his teeth.”

Even though he’s ex-military Frankie has never been one for that bullshit macho posturing, which is one of the things you like so much about him. He breaks up bar fights, he doesn’t start them. To see him now, so calm and collected but with such an intense expression and not a hint on his face that he’s kidding or exaggerating, it sends a jolt right through you. His threat to your dickhead of an ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be so sexy, but….

Damn.

You reach out and flick him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, and I really don’t want to have to bail your ass out of jail at three in the morning again, Morales.”

“Hey, that was one time!” he protests, adding in a mumble. “And it was Santi’s dumb idea.”

His annoyed pout just makes you laugh, shaking your head at how closely he resembles his namesake when he juts his lower lip out like that. Cutest catfish ever.

“So,” he drawls, after you stop chuckling, “since you didn’t go back to that asshole, thank fuck, then who was the lucky guy tonight? Or unlucky guy, since you ditched him for far better company.”

You shrug, plucking idly at the fabric of your dress. “Just someone I matched with on Tinder. I really wanted to prove Dickface wrong, you know? That I wasn’t uptight and sucked in bed. Swiped right on someone who didn’t have a douchey shirtless mirror selfie in his profile, we met for drinks and everything was going great until a text popped up on his phone while he was showing me a picture of his dog. From his wife.”

Frankie winces. “Seriously?”

The notification lingered on the screen while he frantically tried to swipe it away, not that it would do any good. You were a fast reader, you’d already read the whole thing.

“Yeah. Letting him know there were leftovers waiting for him in the fridge when he got home from work, with a bunch of kiss emojis and a ‘love you babe’. He tried to do the whole, ‘it’s not what you think, we have an open marriage’ bullshit, which sure, I bet he does, so I told him to call his wife and put her on speaker so we could clear that right up.”

“That’s my girl,” Frankie grins.

The praise flows through you like the tequila, remembering how your date went pale as a ghost while you stared him down and his immediate attempts to backpedal.

“Obviously he suddenly had a million reasons why he couldn’t, so I stuck him with the bill and left. Hope he had the decency to tip, at least.”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline rush you’ve been riding since you told off Dickhead McDickface the Second and stormed out of the bar on your fuck-me heels is wearing off. You got fucked all right, fucked over.

“I really can pick em, can’t I?” you ask, a rhetorical question if ever there was one. “Went from one asshole to another. A married asshole, no less.”

There’s a rustle of movement to your left and a touch to your shoulder that makes you turn your head to see Frankie has shifted closer to you on the couch and tilted his head to match the angle of yours while he brushes his knuckles lightly down your arm.

“Hey, do you remember that woman I went on a first date with last year who brought her fifteen year old brother along? And we were supposed to see Poor Things? Who brings their brother on a date, let alone to a movie with that many sex scenes? Really, really, explicit sex scenes?”

You do remember, thanks to the texts he sent you with increasing speed until he was blowing up your phone and you’d barely finished one before the next popped up.

She brought her kid with her?

Wait, not her kid, it’s her brother.

Dude’s like 13, what the hell?????

Okay, apparently he’s 15 he’s just “short”. THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!!!!!!

WE’RE SEEING POOR THINGS??!!!!!

WHAT?

WTF?????????

PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S ANOTHER MOVIE WITH THE SAME TITLE THAT DOESN’T HAVE NAKED EMMA STONE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, what do I do?

This is so fucking weird!!!!!!!! SHE BROUGHT HER BROTHER TO THE WEIRD NAKED EMMA STONE SEX MOVIE!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His bewilderment came right through the screen with the increasing number of exclamation points and the memory makes you giggle. You still can’t think of Poor Things as anything except The Weird Naked Emma Stone Sex Movie thanks to Frankie.

“See?” he says with a smile, “I can’t pick ‘em either. First date was over before the movie even started and I’d already spent like fifty bucks on popcorn and drinks. Still follow her brother on Instagram though, he’s cool.”

You laugh even harder at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Dating suuuucks,” you whine in your best angsty teenager impression.

“It sucks so much,” Frankie agrees. “Fuck that married guy. Wait, no, don’t fuck that married guy.”

Now you’re both laughing, so close to each other on the couch that you’re practically touching at the knees. You think to yourself that Frankie has such a nice smile, none of that closed-mouth, thin-lipped thing some guys do as if smiling is an affront to their manhood. Frankie’s smile takes over his whole face, his eyes going squinty and crinkling adorably at the corners.

“I promise I won’t fuck that married guy,” you swear with mock solemnity, crossing your fingers over your heart like a Boy Scout when you finally stop laughing. You let your hand drop to the cushion in between the two of you and close your eyes with a sigh. “Even though I really, really, really need to get laid.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you freeze, scarcely daring to breathe even as you’re sure you hear a sharp inhale from Frankie at the unguarded confession. He’s so close to you on the couch. So close.

When you gather the courage to open your eyes and meet his dark gaze the air around you has changed, heavy with the weight of what you just said. Neither one of you moves to put a platonic distance back between you like so many other evenings on this couch when you get too close, sharing pizza and drinks and conversation for hours.

Maybe it wasn’t such an accident that you ended up here, with him, tonight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asks in a voice so low and thick with promise that it makes your stomach flip and a sharp throb hits you even lower down.

“Anything?” you repeat, your own voice higher than normal. Is he really offering that?

Frankie picks up your hand from where it lays on the couch, lifting it and keeping your eyes locked while he raises it to his mouth and brushes a slow, deliberate kiss along the back that makes you shiver as every last nerve ending rises to attention and begs for more.

“Anything,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say the word.”

His large thumb strokes over the fluttering pulse in your wrist, back and forth, back and forth, while his heavy-lidded eyes stare into yours.

You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, because you definitely have. Frankie’s stupidly attractive, with those thick curls that always escape out from under his baseball caps and his Roman coin profile. But when you first met he was still with his ex, and then he was single but you weren’t, the timing never quite working out for anything between you except friendship and nothing else. Hell, by now he’s pretty much your best friend, the one you would call if you needed to bury a body knowing he’d bring the shovel. There’s no one else you trust as much as Frankie Morales, and there’s no one else you want as much as you want him, right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, saying the words you always wanted to say to him.

He shuffles closer, his other hand sliding behind your neck as he brings your lips together. It’s a little clumsy at first, your nose bumping his before he fits his mouth to yours. You feel his fingers press to the nape of your neck and the brush of his knee against your while he kisses you carefully, so soft and sweet and gentle.

At first.

Heat washes over you and it’s all because of Frankie, his kiss turning hot and hungry and demanding. You gasp into his mouth and kiss him back just as eagerly, hands fisting in his T-shirt to pull him closer. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat that you can practically feel, a sexy cross between a groan and a grunt, and pulls away from your mouth far too soon. But before you can protest the loss with more than a pout and pull him back, he’s dusting more kisses under the hinge of your jaw and along your neck, mapping a hot trail down the wide swath of bare skin your dress reveals between your breasts and nuzzling his face right into your cleavage. His hands go to your hips, bunching the fabric and pulling it up impatiently to your waist as he moves even lower. Everything happens so fast that it makes your head spin far more than the tequila and you lean back on the couch for support with your chest heaving and groping for any part of him you can reach. Frankie kneels on the floor, pulling your new underwear off as he goes and you lift your hips to help with anticipation pooling low in your stomach at the realization of what he’s planning to do.

He spreads your thighs apart and looks down between them at where you’re now completely bare and practically dripping with a rush of arousal. His gaze is dark, hungry, a look like nothing you’ve ever seen before on his face replacing his usual easygoing expression.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he says in that low voice, staring straight at your pussy. “All pink and perfect and needy for some attention, isn’t she? Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take very good care of her.”

The breath catches in your throat at that, more than a little shocked by the filthy promise in his words. No man you’ve ever been with has ever said anything remotely like that. Your nipples are firm points against your dress and you must be glistening with how wet you already are. Frankie kisses your inner thigh and mumbles, “lie back a little more for me,” while pulling gently on your hips to position you the way he wants. You’re not about to refuse him anything at this point and you slide lower, feeling your dress ride up even more as you do. While you’re not fully naked yet you feel so exposed, lying with your legs wide open on the same couch where you’ve watched so many bad movies and argued over words while playing Scrabble, because military acronyms don’t fucking count, Catfish! Now he’s nestled between your bare thighs with his wide shoulders wedging them apart and you wonder dimly why you spent all that time not doing this, his insanely kissable mouth so close to your pussy that you can feel his warm breath when he exhales. It makes you tremble with anticipation and Frankie looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question behind them. You nod, answering without words. You want this.

He licks you, a slow, broad swipe with the flat of his tongue that has your head falling back and your legs spreading shamelessly wider. Then he does it again, and again, and again, burying his face so deep that you wonder vaguely how he’s even managing to breathe. He doesn’t come up for air anytime soon, holding you firm against his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and seeking out every last spot that makes you writhe and grind against him with moans and cries that you can’t hold back spilling from your lips. It’s loud, both the noises you make and the wet sound of him eating you out like you’re a feast and he’s been starved for days. Frankie makes his tongue a firm point and thrusts it inside you while keeping you spread, the feeling so intimate and erotic that your clit throbs and you absently cup a breast to ease the ache in your stiff nipple. He fucks you with his tongue a few times before he gives you another one of those long, slow licks that go the full length from bottom to top and he zeroes in on your needy clit as if he had a map leading him right to it. You feel his lips close around the swollen bud with a hard suck that has you squeezing your breast with one hand and sinking the other into his messy curls.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to gasp, “Frankie, it’s so good. So good.”

He finally pulls back long enough to rasp, “I want you to come all over my face, baby,” before diving back in. You feel the prod of a thick finger against your dripping entrance, slipping in easily and soon it’s moving in tandem with the flick of his tongue over your clit. The dual sensation makes you whimper, tugging on his hair to urge him closer and rocking your hips. Another finger joins the first, stretching you even more and pressing along your velvety inner walls until he suddenly curls them and hits that spot, the one you almost forgot was there. He strokes it and it’s nothing but bone-melting, toe-curling pleasure that builds and builds relentlessly under your skin until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

You cry out, your climax hitting with the force of a tidal wave and crashing over you. Frankie groans, a low rumble coming from his position between your legs as he clearly feels it in the squeeze around his fingers and the rush of more hot arousal that makes you even wetter and slicker. He rubs it all over his face just like he wanted, his fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm in and out of you until it’s finally over and you’re left limp and boneless on his couch with your dress bunched to your waist and one strap hanging off your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you ended up like this, from knocking on his door ready to swear off men forever less than an hour ago to half-naked and panting from the best orgasm you’ve had since….ever. When you manage to lift your head from the cushion to look at him his expression is just as dazed as yours must be even as his lips gleam and his cheeks and chin are damp with you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving under his T-shirt like he just ran a marathon. “Fuck, are you okay? Was that okay?”

Even with the AC blasting there’s still not enough air in the room, it takes you a moment to find some so you can answer him. “Yeah….yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Okay is an understatement, you don’t even smoke and yet you’re ready for a cigarette now. You don’t even make any move to tug your dress down and cover yourself, one leg still loosely propped on Frankie’s shoulder. He rubs a soothing hand on your thigh and carefully dislodges it so he can stand up, revealing the prominent bulge in his jeans that’s now perfectly at your eye level. Your pussy clenches and throbs at the sight, he got that hard just from going down on you? He follows your gaze and smirks a little when he sees where you’re looking, brushing his hand against his fly.

“All for you, baby,” he says, and reaches to pull you to your feet. “Not on the couch though. Bedroom. I want you in my bed.”

Bed, couch, floor, you really don’t care and you’re already fumbling with his belt buckle and tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. You drag your nails along the sensitive skin of his stomach right above his waistband and relish the way it makes him shudder, the muscles contracting under your touch. When you look up again he immediately swoops down and kisses you, this time with the taste of you still clinging to his lips and your scent all over his face. It’s raw and messy, tongues and teeth and the little sound of triumph you make when you finally get his belt open. You feel him smile against your mouth while he starts to walk backwards and you have to follow him to work on your next goal, getting his T-shirt off. He’s leading you towards his bedroom, and thank God his house is a bungalow so you don’t have to waste time going up stairs. All that’s between the two of you and his bed is a hallway, and it might as well be one of those funhouse corridors at the county fair with the way you’re both bumping against the walls and tripping over your own feet trying to navigate it. Frankie unabashedly gropes your ass with those large hands of his while he kisses you, not paying attention to where he’s going and knocking pictures on the wall askew with his shoulders. You keep tugging and pulling at his T-shirt, trying to get it off and thwarted by the fact that he won’t let go of your butt long enough to lift his arms.

“Frankie,” you whine against his mouth, shoving fistfuls of cotton up his back, “off!”

He finally pulls back and yanks the shirt over his head with enough force that you’re sure he just completely stretched out the neck, tossing it aside without bothering to see where it lands. The warm expanse of his broad chest presses against you almost immediately, with what feels like miles and miles of bare skin under your exploring hands. His lips fasten to your neck and you tilt your head back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. You’ll have to cover it before work on Monday, but, fuck it. That’s what concealer is for. If he wants to cover you in hickies like you’re teenagers having their first makeout session, you’ll let him. You’ll let him do whatever he wants at this point.

“Hang on.”

“It’s the only warning you get before he hauls you up with his hands under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carries you the last few steps into the bedroom and closes the door with a kick of his foot that makes it slam shut. The sound makes you start before you grin down at him.

“Impatient, much?”

“To have you in my bed at last?” he says, matching your grin with his own goofy smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You can take the man out of the military but you can’t take the military out of the man, Frankie’s bed is made with such sharp precision that it seems a shame to mess it up.

Almost.

The mattress dips when he sets you down, knocking a pillow aside and the duvet no longer perfectly crisp at the edges. You go up on your knees while he stands next to the bed, reaching for where his belt hangs open and using it to tug him closer. It doesn’t take much work to pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting shockingly loud against the quiet of the room. You reach a hand in and feel the heat of his skin even through the soft material of his underwear, while he stands as still as a statue except for the rise and fall of his chest. He lets you touch and explore and you trace the very long and thick outline of his erection as it twitches and presses eagerly against your hand. Fuck, Frankie is big. The kind of big that’s going to stretch you so deliciously. The kind of big that you’re going to feel the day after. Maybe even longer.

And it’s all yours tonight.

His jeans are quickly joined on the floor by your dress, as you go from bodycon to full frontal. You might have been nervous about finally getting completely naked, if it wasn’t for the unexpected sight of the pattern on his boxer-briefs.

“Frankie,” you laugh, “you actually have fish themed underwear?”

Sure enough, there’s several different types of fish swimming around on the fabric, including his whiskered namesake. When you look back up from the cartoon catfish smiling jauntily across his groin you can see that his ears have gone bright red in embarrassment.

“It was a gag gift from the guys,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes, “they’re really comfortable, and well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to take my pants off in front of anyone tonight, you know.”

You rest your hands on the waistband and trace a nail along the bare skin just above, trying and failing to stifle the urge to giggle.

“Wanna put your pants back on then?” you ask, teasing the sensitive spot below his navel.

“Fuck no.”

His lips crash back down on yours again, his arms circling your waist. The Finding Nemo joke you were about to make is immediately forgotten as you blindly peel the boxers off, letting the school of fish puddle at his feet and immediately get kicked away. You wrap a hand around his cock, so long and thick that it makes you ache with the thought of having it inside you. God, you need this. You need him.

Frankie lets out a deep groan against your mouth when you start to stroke, dragging your hand up and down the length of him from root to tip and back again. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and twist your fingers under the crown, teasing out all the sensitive spots and figuring out what he likes. A hard grip, bordering on rough, has his chest heaving and his hips jerking while his cock throbs in your hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he bites out. “Like that, baby, just like that.”

The sheer unguarded pleasure on his face gives you everything you wanted tonight with your dress and the heels and the lacy underwear. You feel sexy. Desired. Powerful. Able to bring a man to his knees with your touch. Literally, Frankie’s legs start to buckle and he has to brace himself against the bed to stay upright. You keep stroking him until he finally pulls your hand away gently and kisses your open palm before joining you on the bed. He practically jumps onto it in his eagerness, making you bounce with the movement.

“Condom?” he asks, twisting towards his nightstand, “I have some-“

“I’m good,” you interrupt. You want to feel him inside you without that barrier. “I’m on the pill.”

His arm drops from where he was reaching for the drawer. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all month.”

You never would have fucked your Tinder date without a condom, but this is Frankie. Your Frankie. You trust him. He rolls on top of you and your trust only grows when he hesitates, looking down into your eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? We can always stop.”

He pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a gentle touch and you know without a doubt that if you wanted to stop he would without complaint even though he hasn’t come yet. You run your hands up his arms and feel the tension in his biceps, the strain of holding himself back. He’s braced above you, his hair a complete mess, gorgeously naked and hard as a rock, and you are one hundred percent sure about this.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, a perfect fit between your thighs. Frankie angles his hips while he leans down for another kiss and you feel the hot slide of his cock as he finds your entrance with that pilot’s accuracy of his, then the press of the blunt head as he starts to push inside. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn. And it does burn, in the very best way. It’s been months since you’ve had sex, and far longer since you’ve had good sex, your frustration had built to a fever pitch under your skin and Frankie just lit a match. You both feel it when you open for him fully, that final slide is smooth and easy and he buries himself right to the hilt.

“Fuuuck,” he bites out. “Took me so fucking good, perfect fucking pussy.”

His dick is pretty damn perfect too, in your opinion, filling you up and creating the most delicious friction when he starts to move. You pull his head down for another kiss before he buries his face in your neck and rocks his hips into yours, gradually building the rhythm while you run your hands along his back and feel the muscles ripple and flex with each thrust. It’s everything you needed and more, the thick drag of him inside you has you arching your back and crying out and it only seems to spur him on even more. He plants a knee on the bed and lifts your leg, shifting his hips so that he can go even deeper. You clutch helplessly at his sheets when the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot and make a noise you don’t even recognize, a throaty moan pulls from your throat while your toes curl and your pussy throbs.

“Frankie,” you manage to gasp, clutching both his shoulders and gripping him even tighter from the inside, “oh god, there! Right there!”

“That’s it baby,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come all over my cock.”

He leans over you, thrusting hard and balancing on one hand to reach down with the other so he can work your swollen clit. The first swipe of his fingers on the sensitive bud sends a jolt through your entire body that melts into sheer unadulterated pleasure. With a few more you’re teetering right on the edge, and then Frankie grinds especially deep on his next thrust and presses down hard with his thumb. It grips you and doesn’t let go, your second climax of the night is even stronger than the first and has you squeezing him as if you’re trying to drag him even further inside, contracting along the length of his cock while he grits his teeth and fucks you through it. When the aftershocks finally stop and you relax back into the mattress with a sigh Frankie pulls out, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips and laying down next to you.

It takes you a few moments in your post-orgasmic haze to notice that he’s still hard, his cock is practically flush to his stomach and glistening with your arousal.

“You didn’t?” you ask, confused as you glance down.

He follows your gaze with a strangely bashful look. “Not yet. I want…I want you to ride me.”

That sends another hot rush right between your legs, suddenly wanting it desperately too. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to walk afterwards, especially not in those stupid heels, but it’s going to be so fucking worth it.

Frankie stretches out fully on the bed, those long legs and broad shoulders taking up so much space on it. Luckily there’s more than enough room for you right there on his lap. You swing a leg over, hands pressing down on his chest for balance while he looks up at you with that crooked grin he always gets when he’s especially pleased about something. A sinful roll of your hips along his thick erection only makes his smile wider when he feels how wet you still are.

“Take me in,” he begs shamelessly, hips moving under you and hands roaming over your skin. “Please, baby.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s another delicious stretch, sliding down his thick erection and feeling him rub you in all sorts of interesting new ways from this angle. Once you’re seated fully you give yourself a moment before you start to move, his heart racing under your palm and his cock held snug and warm deep inside you.

Frankie’s done so much already for you tonight, this is for him. You want to give him just as much pleasure as he gave you, make it just as good for him when you start to roll your hips again to take him in again and again and again. His hands find your thighs and flex against them while he watches with a rapt expression, eyes glued to where you’re joined before looking up to take in the full sight of you riding him just as he wanted.

“Good?” you ask, gasping the word out.

“So fucking good,” he groans. His hips lift under you right as you go down on the next stroke and it’s even better, the way you just fit. You use muscles you didn’t even know you had, increasing your pace and riding him hard. The cords on his neck pop when he throws his head back against the pillow, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring with each exhale of breath. He has to be close, you can sense it in the increasingly desperate noises he makes and the way his fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady on top of him. Your breasts bounce and your thighs are burning with the effort of maintaining the rhythm but you don’t stop, can’t stop, you need Frankie to fall apart just like he’s done for you twice already. You want to see the look on his face and hear the noises he makes when he comes, adding a circle of your hips that makes his eyes close and his body jerk under you. He feels even harder now, and your legs aren’t the only thing that’s burning. Frankie is hitting every sweet spot inside of you, filling you so deep and full that the familiar prickle and spark is starting again. You weren’t expecting to come for a third time, but then again you weren’t expecting anything else that happened tonight and it’s definitely happening. Frankie thrusts up with a growl, yanking you down on him with the same motion and holding you there while you feel him pulse hot and he lets out a long, loud moan like no other noise he’s made all night. The sound and the sensation make you molten, almost there and even deep in the throes of his own pleasure he reaches for your clit and gives it a pinch that’s all you need to fall over the edge with him. With your hands braced on his chest you throw your head back and let it wash over you while you keep rolling your hips to draw out more and more of those gorgeous sounds out of him until he finally starts to soften. You collapse in a heap on his chest and his arms immediately wrap around you, lips brushing against the top of your head while you bury your face against his sweaty chest and your heartbeats slowly go back to normal.

It’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

You could get used to it.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You’re just friends.

Friends who just fucked rather spectacularly.

Fuck.

After a few moments you slide off of him to lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at him. Now things are going to be all weird and awkward and as amazing as the sex was, it wasn’t worth the inevitable end of your friendship. Silence stretches between you and creates more and more space in its wake.

“There’s probably Ubers available now,” you say at last, keeping your gaze away from his face so you don’t see his expression shift from lover to stranger. By the time the driver gets here you’ll have your dress back on and your feet shoved into your shoes and you and Frankie can start pretending this never happened. Maybe that will work.

There’s a snort from next to you. “Yeah. That’s not happening, I’m driving you home tomorrow. After we sleep. And shower. And stop at that diner on 53rd cause I’m gonna need one of those giant lumberjack breakfasts to recover from this.”

You feel yourself flush a bit, as ridiculous as it is considering you’re naked in his bed with “this” still sticky on your inner thighs.

“I’m not going to a diner in that dress,” you say, still looking at the ceiling and adding silently, “or those shoes that could double as torture devices.”

“So you wear one of my T-shirts or something,” Frankie’s voice trails away into a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. Fuck, you really did a number on me.”

Yawning is contagious, you can feel one building and you’re suddenly on the verge of falling asleep thanks to the number he did on you and the incredibly comfortable bed that you never want to leave. Best sex you’ve had in….ever, all thanks to Frankie. But you don’t give in to the urge to just close your eyes and go to sleep, as tempting as it is, turning your head to look at your best friend instead and finding him looking back at you in the dark.

He’s still Frankie. You’re still you.

You’re still friends.

“Frankie? Will we figure…this out in the morning?”

His fingers lace with yours under the blankets and he gives you a soft smile.

“Yeah. We will, baby, I promise.”

When you fall asleep you’re on your side with Frankie plastered to your bare back, his arm firm around your waist like he’s afraid you might try to sneak away in the middle of the night. The thought had occurred to you, to escape all the morning after awkwardness. Frankie isn’t just a hookup or a one-night stand though, he means so much more to you than that. So you lay your hand over his and relax into his embrace with a sigh, wondering as you drift off if he’ll let you borrow his prized vintage AC/DC T-shirt to wear home…..

….and if he’d be up for another round in the shower in the morning.

The answer to both turns out to be a resounding yes.

[justrainandcoffee]

The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)

"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.

Alfie x Rose Masterlist

Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.

Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.

Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.

Series masterlist.

18th March 2020.

The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.

Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.

Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.

Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.

And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.

The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.

Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.

'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.

While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.

"I think he needs to close everything."

Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.

"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."

"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."

Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.

.

The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.

The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.

But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.

Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.

His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.

During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.

And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.

The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.

Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.

Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.

"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"

Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.

He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.

"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.

"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."

"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.

After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.

"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."

"Thanks! I will!"

"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."

Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"

"Alfred. Alfie."

"Thanks, Alfie."

_

Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.

"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."

His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.

The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.

She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.

Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.

He wasn't that wrong.

The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."

And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.

The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.

Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.

"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"

"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."

Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.

"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"

"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"

Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.

"I didn't pay to be insultated!"

"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.

Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.

The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.

"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.

"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."

"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.

"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."

"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."

"But…"

"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."

"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.

Alfie agreed.

"Just tonight."

How wrong both of them were.

[starsarefire824]

Helpless rated T

by: JustMyName

“Hey,” Mike says, shutting his bedroom door behind him gently and padding over to the bed where Will lays, freshly showered and in his undershirt. 

“Hey,” Will murmurs back as he burrows himself further into the bed and pulls the sheets up under his chin, trying to ignore his heart pitter-pattering inside his ribs. He smooths the cotton fabric over his chest nervously.

Mike smiles over at him, something shy and sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. Then he breathes out and folds his thin arms across his chest, rubbing along his rigid hip with his thumb.

Will tries not to stare where Mike’s worn white tank top, the one he always wears, rides up. Pale skin and a shock of dark hair lining his belly is revealed and Will follows the trail to where it disappears beneath his stupid Star Wars pajama pants. 

It’s hilarious, really, Will thinks bitterly. Stuck in a bed with your friend on the threshold of the Apocalypse, and only able to think about what hides underneath his clothes. 

It’s so unfair. It’s fucking torture.

Will shoves the dirty thoughts of hands and torn clothes and pleasured sighs in the dark, away from his mind. 

It’s not important, he scolds himself.

Will blushes when Mike catches his eye. His friend grins at him suddenly, his change in demeanor catching Will off guard.

“What?” Will asks, one side of his mouth turning up anxiously.

Mike hesitates, only for a second, then he leans down on the edge of the bed, palms sinking into the mattress. His smile turns a little mischievous and he raises his eyebrows suggestively. “I think… ..we should play truth or dare.” 

Will drops his eyes to where Mike bites his bottom lip, making it blush red. 

He exhales dramatically and creases his brow. “Truth or dare?” 

Mike flops onto the bed, spreading out on his back on top of his comforter. “Yeah,” he answers, still bobbing up and down lightly when he turns his attention towards Will again. The Smiths play low in the background and Will fights the urge to sing the lyrics. Instead he taps his fingers along his ribs to the beat. 

Mike shrugs at him. “What else are we gonna do?” 

Will sighs. “I mean–you’re right. I for sure can’t sleep right now.” 

Even though he’s absolutely exhausted from the van ride.

“It’s weird that it’s dark out,” Mike offers. “And it’s only five o’clock.” 

Will peeks over at him to find Mike’s eyes have turned serious and afraid. It makes the skin at the back of his neck itch. He shifts beneath the covers and brings his knees up, they brush along Mike’s. He doesn’t move away. The feel of him makes his skin spark. 

“Okay,” Will says quietly, wanting to change the subject. “Truth or dare?” 

“Me?” Mike asks, brushing his black bangs out of his eyes. He hums. “I guess I choose—truth.” 

“Truth?” Will questions with a grin. 

Mike blinks nervously and he kneads the skin of his palm. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “Why not?” 

Will blushes. “Okay,” he says anxiously and thinks. “Hmm.” 

So many things he’s desperate to ask. So many things he knows he can’t. 

He starts with something safe.

“Uhm—what was your favorite campaign we’d ever done?”

Mike raises his eyebrows at him and rolls a little closer, his face falling a little like he’s disappointed. “Oh,” he says casually, stretching his skinny ankles. They click when he rolls them. “Mmm- I think the one Dustin did when we were in seventh grade. I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting the twist.” 

“Yeah,” Will nods with a sigh of agreement. “That was a good one.” 

Mike’s gaze lingers on Will for a long second and then he blinks heavily again and stutters. “Okay–my turn I guess. Uhm—-truth or dare?” 

“Dare,” Will says quickly. It’s the safest thing. Right?

“Oh, wow. Okay—that’s unexpected,” Mike says. He rolls onto his back and searches the blank ceiling for an idea, eyes widening expressively when he finally thinks of something. “Okay, I— dare—you —to-- call the girl you like.” 

Will shakes his head in confusion and frowns. “What girl?” he asks. It’s a legitimate question because Will isn’t sure why Mike would think there is a girl he would have a crush on. 

“What do you mean?” Mike urges adamantly, sitting up and a smile tugging at one side of his lips. “El told me! She said—”

Will shoves Mike’s shoulder playfully, then deflates as the confusion settles in. “I don’t know, Mike. I think El might have gotten the wrong idea. There isn’t—-well—there isn’t anyone I like right now. I don’t know…I didn’t really get that close with anyone in California.” 

Mike frowns. “Oh.” 

Will can’t help but wonder why there’s disappointment just below the surface of his words. 

“I could prank call Lucas or El—or Steve?!” Will suggests happily. 

But Mike shakes his head. “Ah, no, that's okay. What about a truth then? I can’t even think of anything to ask right now.” He laughs half-heartedly at his lame excuse.

“Okay,” Will agrees, sitting up himself and turning his body to face Mike. He crosses his legs and relaxes his hands in his lap. “Ask away.” 

Will’s heart stutters in his chest. 

Mike turns to look at him too, mirroring his crossed legs, his knees touching Will’s. His face is lit up with curiosity, and Will can’t fathom why. They know pretty much everything about each other. This is going to be quite a boring round of Truth or Dare. 

Mike steals his dark eyes away from Will’s and looks at his hand. His shoulders tense and he sucks in a breath like he can’t quite catch his breath. “Did you—uhm–did you—really want me to write you letters? When you were in California?” 

Will’s heart skips a whole beat now. 

“I—,” he stammers, his whole body hot with embarrassment. “I mean—of course. Yeah—-that would have been— nice .” Will shrugs one shoulder to his cheek and studies how Mike’s quilt is frayed at its corner. 

“Nice?” Mike asks, and the sound of his voice makes Will glance up. It’s suddenly shaky and his face has lost all of its humor. 

“Yeah, of course,” Will replies adamantly, suddenly feeling like he’s missed something. 

Mike doesn’t respond to that, only smiles at him. It leaves Will feeling entirely confused, unable to comprehend why it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Your turn,” he offers softly. "Truth or Dare?”

Mike twists his mouth, but answers quickly. 

“Truth.” 

“Alright,” Will sighs, trying to think. He tries to think of anything but what he really wants to ask, but in the end he can’t help himself. “Uhm—how come—you didn’t call?”

“What?” Mike huffs, his face pinching in annoyance. “I did call, Will. I told you that.” 

Will exhales in frustration and throws the covers off of himself. He turns away from Mike and takes a long sip from his cup of water resting on the bedside table, needing to soothe his throat where it aches with the want to cry. He shakes his head at himself. 

So stupid. 

Will clears his throat. “You know what, I don’t think I want to play this anymore. Maybe we should just—-”

Then there is a tight grip at his shoulder and he’s turned around. “No,” Mike says resolutely. “I wanna play.”

Will regards him. “Why?” He bites his lip to keep it from quivering. 

Mike has lifted himself on all fours and his mouth tightens. “Because….,” he persists, settling back on his heels. “You never tell me the truth.” The words come out of his mouth in quick succession and he gasps as if to stop them.

He at least has the decency to look a little terrified. 

Will bends his leg up onto the bed, turning fully to face Mike. “What?” he breathes, brow creasing, and all of his sadness suddenly eaten by anger. “What do you mean— I —never tell you the truth? What about you , Mike? I mean, really ?”

Mike sighs in impatience. “Come on Will, let’s not do this right now. This was supposed to be fun—not—-” 

“Not what Mike! Truthful?!” Will spits and stands up, enjoying that fact he is looking down on Mike for once. 

Mike shimmies a little closer, throwing his hand out in annoyance. “This is impossible,” he seethes. His voice gets a little louder. “You are impossible, Will!” 

“I’m imposs—-” 

“Yeah!” Mike bellows, inching closer. “You! It’s always me you’re blaming. What about you? You never tell me anything. You’re always hiding! And what about that painting, Will?” 

Will deflates, fear creeping up in his chest.

“Yeah,” Mike sneers, and Will can’t help but notice how his eyes are shining now. “El said—-” 

“Said what?!” Will interrupts loudly. 

Mike swallows and his attractive dark brows go up like he’s hurt…or scared. “She said that the painting was for someone you like! She said—-she said…it was for a girl,” he finishes lamely.

Will instinctively shakes his head and swallows down his shame. He rubs his thumb roughly down his wrist and pinches the thin skin there. The room suddenly feels small and his breath is caught in his lungs. He glances towards the doorway quickly, but can’t keep from catching Mike’s eyes again. They are trenchant—lit up with an urgency they didn’t have a moment ago.

Will opens his mouth, but all the things he wants to say, like always, are caught in his throat. And so they stare at each other for a long while, their chests heaving with anxiety. 

“Why won’t you answer me!” Mike finally says, his voice roaring and breaking with emotion. 

Will flinches, and then there is a tear falling down his cheek. He wipes it away roughly with his fingers and tries to steady his breathing. “I can’t, Mike!” he mewls softly. “I just….can’t.” 

“That’s bullshit!” Mike walks on his knees and gets in Will’s face. There’s nowhere for Will to go, nothing behind him but the wall. And Mike’s so close and baring his teeth. “It’s fucking bullshit, and you know it,” he seethes and shoves Will’s chest with the palms of his hands.

“You’re always trying to tell me I’m the bad guy! But you’re just as bad—you’re a liar!” Mike shoves him again, his face creased in anger and his lashes wet with tears. “It’s the end of the fucking world, and you still can’t be honest with me. You convinced me that El wanted me to tell her I loved her. YOU SAID it was the right thing to do, that I had to! That it would be okay. And then Max fucking dies and after all of it, after all that fucking effort, and me—saying all those things to her—-El turns around and tells me she doesn’t love me back? What the fuck is the point! And…you’re still here! In my fucking bed and lying to me!” 

Mike puffs up his chest and moves to push Will hard again, but Will catches his hands and holds him off. 

“Why’d you do it?” Mike cries, trying to push him back. 

Will’s voice cracks and he has to use all his strength to hold Mike off. “What are you talking about Mike!” he protests angrily. “I thought that’s what you wanted! You’ve always told me you were in love with her!” 

Mike tries to force him back harder, causing Will to lose his hold on him, and Mike’s arm slips, his elbow jutting him roughly in the chin. It makes Will’s jaw click and before he can think, he’s violently shoving him, not realizing that Mike claws at his back and pulls him down too.

Will loses his footing and they both fall onto the bed. He tries to grab onto Mike’s wrists, anger flaring up in his chest and feeling the desperate need to hold him down. He isn’t listening!  

But Mike kicks out his legs from underneath him and struggles against Will, both trying to gain the upper hand. Will spreads his knees wider and traps Mike beneath his thighs, their bodies sliding together.

“You’re not listening,” Will grits out in frustration as he presses him into the mattress. “You never—-” 

He gets a grip on one of Mike’s wrists and holds it down. “---Listen to me! I never—- lied. To you!” 

Mike glares at him and pushes back, then presses his lips together and bucks his hips. “Get off me, Will!” 

Will’s body betrays him and he shudders with want, fighting the urge to roll his hips into him. “No!” he screams back. “Not until you tell me what’s going on!” 

Will gets hold of Mike’s other wrist and roughly presses it into the pillow, his grip bruising. It’s a grueling struggle to hold Mike down. He’s stronger than he looks. Even though Will knows he might risk Mike feeling him, hard and pulsing against him, Will shoves his knees apart further and presses into him with all of his weight. Mike is pinned, and after another second of thrashing he freezes, giving up trying to get free. 

They gaze at each other, surprised, out of breath, and shaking. Mike’s eyes are wild and searching Will’s, and when he blinks a tear slides down the side of his face and into his hairline.

It’s the look on his face, so hurt and afraid and appearing as if he might shatter into a million tiny pieces if Will demands one more thing from him. It makes Will’s shoulders unfurl and all of his own fight is suddenly lost. 

It’s the end of the world. There is a demon from the literal depths of hell that can see inside Will’s head, can hear all of his thoughts, can whisper to him and make his skin crawl at the back of his neck. They could all be dead this time next week, and yet, the only thing Will can think of, all he can see, all that consumes him, is Mike. 

Will wants to kiss him. 

Mike breathes out and wets his lips, his gaze dropping to Will’s mouth. 

I never lied, Will thinks desperately as he watches Mike. He wishes he didn’t have to say it. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to expose himself, doesn’t want to tell Mike what he really, truly is. But what Will realizes in this exact moment with horror, is that there isn’t another option. Mike will never let it be.  

So Will lets go of Mike’s wrists and leans back, finding himself straddling him like a horse. He sighs heavily in defeat and tries to shift to get off of his best friend, finally ready to explain. 

But before he can extract himself, there is a vice-like grip around Will’s bicep pulling him back to face his friend, and then Mike’s sitting up. He grabs at the back of Will’s neck and presses his lips to Will’s in a fervent kiss. It’s rushed and sloppy and he tastes sweet, like honeysuckle on a warm summer’s night. Will groans into his mouth in response, utterly unbidden. 

Mike slides his hand down Will’s jaw and slips his tongue in his mouth and whatever Will thought he might say, whatever argument he rationalized, whatever shameful secret he thought he was going to reveal, is all washed away the moment Mike sits up straight, pulls Will to him in a crushing embrace, and flips Will onto his back. It’s only a split second and suddenly… everything is changed.

This is real. 

Mike slides his hand up the side of Will’s arm, his lips full and gaze wide with the shock of it. His eyes watch his own fingers graze along Will’s bicep and over his shoulder, press lightly along the trail of Will’s collarbone to the hollow of his throat. Will’s eyes flutter shut and he can hear his heart pound in his ears. He sighs out when Mike’s fingers find his pulsepoint and then his jaw, his cheek, and glide through his hair, brushing his damp waves back from his forehead. Mike’s touch is tentative and slow, his face utterly enamored and frightened all at once. 

His dark curls fall over his eyes and make them appear even blacker than usual. “Tell me,” he whispers, and it’s so soft Will isn’t even sure he’s heard him at all. 

Will fights the urge to nuzzle into Mike’s touch. “What do you want me to say?” he breathes, every nerve of his body lit aflame by the dark want in Mike’s gaze. It’s like seeing stars move over an open field for the first time, that intense sensation of actually feeling the earth turn, the eternal verity of being alive and yet, ever so tiny of a moment. Nothing makes you feel so alive and small at once. 

A shift in his entire universe and at the same time almost nothing, really.

As if reading his thoughts, Mike murmurs a soft command, “Tell me something true.” 

Will raises his shaking hand and cups Mike’s face, enjoying the way his eyelids flutter shut and how he gently rocks his hips into him. Biting his lip against a moan, Will finally answers. His secret flies out of his chest; he is a bird finally free of its cage. 

He whispers to his best friend in the dim light of his room, on the precipice of the Apocalypse. It's steady and plain and as soft as the quiet realization of his very own insignificance beneath the stars. Will offers him a little piece of his soul. “I’m in love with you, Mike. I’ve always been in love with you.”

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 9 – AUs

Straight on till Morning by Sineala

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 109,848 Tags: Star Trek Fusion, Identity Porn, Fuck or Die

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything.

Reasons why I love it: I really, really love the way Sineala interwove certain canon elements with the world building of Star Trek. The fusion works so well, and Steve and Tony's dynamic is incredibly well-written. Which comes as no surprise, because Sineala's writing is some of the best in this fandom, in my opinion. The identity porn is fantastic, and oh my god, the smut scenes?! Amazing. (Also, there's incredible art embedded in the story, so that's another reason why I keep coming back to it.) I adore this fic, and I'd recommend it to anyone, no prior Star Trek knowledge required!

[waywardrose]

MASTERLIST

Under the cut are x-reader fics for:

Flip Zimmerman (BlacKkKlansman)

Pale (Burn This)

Ronnie Peterson (The Dead Don’t Die)

Adam Sackler (HBO’s Girls)

Jacques le Gris (The Last Duel)

Clyde Logan (Logan Lucky)

Charlie Barber (Marriage Story)

Abraham H. Parnassus (Saturday Night Live)

Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

Armitage Hux (Star Wars)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Phillip Altman (This Is Where I Leave You)

+ Miscellaneous fics (and more! 👀)

updated: May 21, 2024

Follow me on:

AO3

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Discord: waywardrose

BLACKKKLANSMAN

reader x flip zimmerman

🌹 A Reintroduction

rating: teen+, 1.5k, gender-neutral!reader, flip is dishonest, but also thirsty, drug-dealing mention

Flip. Your Flip is with the cops. He has a gun and a badge and everything.

That didn’t make any sense.

🌹 Flashfic: Flip could get it ✊

🌹 Flashfic: How do you think Flip would react to his wife’s changing body during pregnancy?

🌹 Flashfic: How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

🌹 Flashfic: How do they picture their future with their s/o?

🌹 The Handler

rating: explicit, 4.4k, sexism, violence, abusive language, blood (bc of the violence), drug mention, guns mention, child sex-trafficking mention, rape threat, jealousy, fighting

You propped your cowboy boot on the table edge and took a long drink of beer. No one sitting at the  table with you paid your rudeness any mind. In fact, Johnny Claiborne  promptly placed his callused hand on your bare knee.

🌹 It’s Too Late To Turn Back Now

rating: teen, 2.1k, past physical-abuse mention, brief injury description, off-screen murder, period-typical sexism

The first time Flip saw you, you were bruised and cuffed. The scuttlebutt around the precinct was you had run over and murdered your abusive ex-boyfriend.

🌹 Queen of the Roller Derby

rating: mature, 2.3k, vague injury description, anachronistic sports teams and organizations

He couldn’t believe… Well, a lot of things. First, that he’d been invited. Second, that he was looking forward to the bout. Third, that he was anxious for your well-being.

🌹 NSFW Alphabet Series

ABC | DE | FGH | IJK | LMN | OP | QRS | TU | V | WXYZ

Bonus: My five favorite things about Flip Zimmerman

rating: explicit, 32k, stand-alone vignettes, oral sex, fluff, angst with happy ending, masturbation, daddy kink, public and semi-public sex, kind-of somnophilia, drug use, under-negotiated bondage and spanking, soft domming, ass play

Your legs went limp on Flip’s shoulders, and you felt him eased them down to the bed. He ran his big hands up your sides and then under your back as he bent forward.

🌹 Still the Same

rating: explicit, 13k, fem!reader, high-school!flip+reader, vaguely 1969 (with  inaccuracies), fingering, handjobs, pining, military draft/service (with inaccuracies), colorado setting, period-typical drug use, magical first time, angst with happy ending

He cracked the window, letting in the crisp spring air. It was too dark to see where specifically he was looking, but he had turned to face  you. One hand remained on the steering wheel, the other over the back of the seat.

He offered, “Wanna get in the back?”

“Sure,” you said, dropping your purse on the floor, and opened your door.

🌹 Three-day Weekend

rating: explicit, 3.2k, daddy kink, daddy dom, reader is not a little, off-screen negotiation, edging, oral sex, mild spanking

You  woke to a hot hand sliding across your bare middle and lips kissing your shoulder. There was the tickle of whiskers, and you turned your head towards disruption. With a sigh, you opened your eyes to watch Flip kiss your shoulder again. He looked up at you as his hand traveled under the sheet bunched below your waist.

“Mornin’, baby,” he said. His voice was sleep-rough yet tender.

🌹 Triple-Feature

rating: mature, 2.8k, old-fashioned living arrangements, making out

The Aircadia Drive-In was running a classic-horror triple-feature this Saturday night. You read in the paper they were playing The Wolf Man, Frankenstein, and Dracula. That evening, you rang Flip and asked him out on a date. You even offered to pay.

🌹 You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet

rating: mature, 2.8k, detective reader, estranged married couple, smoking, period-typical sexism, dirty talk

…you balanced your mother’s big Tupperware container filled with homemade Samoas cookies. They were Flip’s favorite, and he detested sharing them. But he would have to—because you were famous around the station for your cookies.

You hoped he only got one. It would serve him right.

🌹 You Can Leave Your Skates On

rating: explicit, 2k, almost uniform kink, roller derby mention, clothed female naked male

The sink counter was strewn with make-up and hair tools and the pair of scissors from the kitchen. Before he could ask what the hell all this was for, you kissed his cheek and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Spiritual sequel to Queen of the Roller Derby

🌹 You Light Up My Life

rating: teen, 1.4k, sneakiness, secrets, fluffy married life

The first time you knew something was up was when Flip started his car and hurried to change the radio station.

🌹 You’re the Inspiration

rating: teen, 854, past alcohol abuse, fluffy afternoon

Flip sat in his switched off car and stared at the dark house. He wanted to break something.

BURN THIS

reader x pale

🌹 In the Night We Trust | playlist on spotify

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

rating: explicit, 57k, pretty woman au, prostitute reader, 1980s/90s, drug use  mention, alcohol consumption, inherent power imbalance, soft dom, choking (not breathplay), safe sex, oral sex, semi-public sex, public dirty talk, rough sex, mild spanking, fighting, abusive language, attempted sexual assault, aftercare

“So tell me, Pale, are you in town on business or pleasure?”

“Business…” He looks at your lips. “Until now.”

THE DEAD DON’T DIE

reader x ronald peterson

🌹 A Grave New World

rating: teen+, 804, canon-typical violence, missing parents

You’d only gone on one date—a really nice date, too—with Ronnie Peterson and then the zombie apocalypse happened. Like, what the actual fuck?

GIRLS (HBO)

reader x adam sackler

🌹 Flashfic: …imagine him trying to cuddle and smooch his gf in public and she’s like “😬😬 what are you doing…? Mmm, I guess it’s not so bad”

🌹 Flashfic: please. please tell me about licking sackler’s sack. its all i can think about. my mind has been infected by thoughts of adam sacklers balls in my mouth

🌹 Improving His Taste

rating: teen+, 2.2k, post s05e10, arguments with SO, making out

You were so sick of Adam Sackler and his tempestuous girlfriends.

🌹 Let Me Explain

rating: teen+, 1.2k, light angst, happy ending

“Whoa, let me explain!” Adam implored while teetering in patent leather stilettos, a chef’s knife with slices of carrot sticking to it in his hand. He grabbed the kitchen counter with his left to steady himself.

🌹 There Is A Light (That Never Goes Out)

rating: explicit, 4.3k, canon-typical buffoonery, jealousy, brief non-con element, femdom-ish reader, oral sex

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured after kissing you. “And crawl to my bed.”

THE LAST DUEL

reader x jacques le gris

🌹 Fair Is Foul

rating: teen, 1.8k, historical inaccuracies, timeline inaccuracies, anachronisms, medieval  flirting, sad/open ending, minor spoilers(?), rape mention

The other ladies at court told you not to demean yourself by keeping company with a squire. You pointed out that said squire had Count Pierre’s favor. Said squire might even be favored above any knight.

🌹 To Honor and Innocence

rating: mature, 5.3k, fem!reader, young!jacques, historical/jousting inaccuracies, ✨the  middle ages were magic✨, catholic imagery, reader has a spring/summer birthday, just roll with me, making out, thigh riding, euphemisms galore

You needed to look away, but you couldn’t. He was striking with the sudden high color in his cheeks and glittering eyes. His smile softened around the edges, and your heart soared at the sight.

Look away, you’d told yourself. Look away before you lose yourself.

LOGAN LUCKY

reader x clyde logan

🌹 A Newer World

rating: teen, 1.3k, PTSD symptom mention

Jimmy leaned across the patio table, bottle of Coors in hand. “So, when you gonna make an honest woman outta her?”

🌹 Lucky Me Lucky You | duck tape jukebox on spotify | ambient mix by Sushii

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Bonus: NSFW Alphabet [2.1k]

rating: explicit, 33k, counter-espionage, angst with happy ending, alcohol consumption

You’d had big plans for your future. He’d had big plans, too. During senior year, you’d overheard him talking before class about joining the Army. You had thought about him in that service uniform and how handsome he would look.

Thirteen years later, Clyde was tending bar, sans uniform and missing part of his left arm. At the same time, you were working at the data-entry/call-center down the road from the house you inherited from your late grandmother.

So much for big plans.

🌹 When I Saw You

rating: mature/explicit, 3k, hairdresser!reader, touch-starved!clyde, post movie, erotic fantasies

In his fantasies, he always has both hands.

Which he knows is ironic.

MARRIAGE STORY

reader x charlie barber

🌹 Finding Treasure in the Dark

1 | 2

rating: explicit, 18k, submissive!female-reader, dom!charlie, under-negotiated bdsm, impact play, nipple play, oral sex, anal sex, piv sex, restraints, rope bondage, edging, semi-public fingering, sex toys, handjobs, public teasing

“Yes!“ she hissed in delight. "I told Professor Barber straight out I didn’t do that crap. Or let him boss me around. That’s why I dropped him, you know. If he wants some Stepford to indulge his impulses, he should go to Fetster or whatever.”

Your eyes went wide, and you shifted in your seat, faux-yawning and stretching your arms to cover the movement. You knew Charlie Barber.

🌹 Sweet Angel

rating: explicit, 3k, fluff, dog adoption, insecure!Charlie, piv sex

Since moving to a house with a fenced yard, Henry has been focused on getting a dog. First, it was getting a puppy for Christmas. When that hadn’t panned out, a dog for his birthday. Nicole wouldn’t install a real fence at her place, but tried to distract him with a new iPad.

That worked for a month.

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE

reader x abraham h. parnassus

🌹 Flashfic: …what would young!Abe do for his wife on [Valentine’s Day]??

🌹 Flashfic: Abe Parnassus vibes jacquesdemys.tumblr com/post/125815250515

🌹 His Girl On A Friday

rating: teen+, 1.2k, corporate espionage, seduction

You’ve been sent by your father, Henry Pickens, to spy on his rival: Abraham H. Parnassus.

🌹 Indulgences

rating: mature, 1.5k, fem!reader, vaguely 1950s, old-fashioned euphemisms, dub-con-ish at first, public fingering, mild edging

It’s official: Don Carlos is boring. Yes, it’s a fundraiser. And of course, you agreed to purchase tickets. Anything to support The Met. But this opera, while beautiful, is dull.

🌹 My Baby Just Cares for Me Series

rating: explicit, sheltered-artist reader, vaguely 1950s, no vintage racism, written with old-fashioned sensibilities and euphemisms, oral sex, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, sex toys, vaginal fingering, first time

— Expanding One’s Horizons [5k]

“We all need to expand our horizons,” you said as you went to the dining room to turn off the lights.

“Indeed we do, my love.”

— Tension Tamer [3k]

The  mattress trembled under you. The softly lit face of your alarm clock said it was after three. You knew it must be work that had awoken him. The company was in the middle of a merger and tensions were high.

— A Treasure More Than Gold [2.2k]

You met your husband’s eyes across the dance floor of Hotel Astor’s ballroom. He’d let his five o'clock shadow develop into a short Vandyke beard in preparation for Babe Paley’s Halloween gala.

— Minx [2.7k]

Abe groaned into the coverlet as you pressed your thumbs on either side of his spine. His muscles were slowly losing their tightness. You didn’t think his desk chair at work was supporting him properly. Most likely, he never sat in it except to sign documents.

— It’s Magic [4.4k]

Don’t go to art school, they said.

— Two To Tango [7k]

You sat at the bistro table tucked in the corner of the pasticceria. Abe sat across from you, tiny plates of bite-sized cake on the table between you.

STAR WARS

general

🌹 The Skywalker Ascension

rating: teen, 4.5k, tros revision, mc death, angst, lightsaber battles, retcon timeline

“All the Sith live in me,” he vows. “You will be empress, and we will be one.”

While disgust churns her gut, she will not hate, she will not give in.

To him or to anyone.

🌹 Unsanctioned

rating: general, 371, universe jumping, pre-tfa, my poor attempt at humor

You’re taking the walk of shame to the kitchen, arms full of dirty dishes.

kylo ren x armitage hux

🌹 Bombing Out

rating: mature, 1.4k, canon compliant, cannoli kylux, gambling, strip sabacc, alcohol consumption, afterlife, mutual pining, arguing

He didn’t know why he was playing sabacc. He didn’t like card games. There was hardly any strategy. No planning. Everything was left to chance. It was messy. And the gambling. He didn’t mind risk, of course, but one had to match their opponents’ bets. Which meant the opponent had too much control.

It was idiotic.

About as idiotic as his opponent, Ben Solo—

Who had literally lost his shirt last round.

🌹 Iron Moon Series on AO3 | photoset | spotify playlist by ayudameme

rating: explicit, 36k, canon universe, xeno-vampires, canon-typical violence, the first order wins, soft kylux, but with blood, knife play, blood drinking

He wanted to taste it, lick it all up. He wanted to run his tongue along the cauterized edges of the cut on Ren’s face. He wanted to follow it down under Ren’s ruined clothing.

reader x armitage hux

🌹 Flashfic: Armitage Hux is low key hot

🌹 Flashfic: I want Hux to throat fuck me

🌹 Succor

rating: mature, 2.4k, shy princess reader, fo-leader hux, the first order won, arranged marriage, dirty talk

You felt your dinner guests’ eyes on you, their judgements. You ignored them while hiding behind the courtly rituals you’d been taught since childhood.

reader x kylo ren | ben solo

🌹 All the Time in the Galaxy

rating: teen, 1.9k, kor reader, mutual pining, first kiss

“Lady Ren, pardon the interruption—” You didn’t know what he was  interrupting. You were both standing in silence. “—The techs have noticed something strange here on Starkiller.”

🌹 Call It In the Ring Series

rating: teen-mature, college au, art-majors kylo and reader, first date, sibling fights, nude photography, assisted masturbation, phone sex, fingering

— Hotshot House Show [2.5k]

You checked the address one more time on your phone. It was right, but definitely not what you expected when Kylo offered to make you dinner.

— Worked Shoot [5k]

Photography midterms were due in two weeks, and you only had one of the four photos you needed. You silently berated yourself because you’d known this was coming. It was on the damn syllabus.

But who actually read the syllabus?

— Clean Finish [2k]

You couldn’t believe you were about to do this, you thought as you stood naked in front of the clean bathroom mirror. You didn’t know if Kylo would like it. What if he didn’t?

— Vignette [938]

Ben was all “Morning, beautiful” with a grin Flynn Rider would be proud of. He sat close to you on the sectional sofa—even though there were plenty available places to sit.

��� Bonus: I want nothing more than to strip off his clothes piece by piece, kissing any and all skin bared to me.

— Dirty Pre-show [1.3k]

You’d washed at the sink in the studio, but ugh, your jeans are splattered with slip. You’re pretty sure you have some on your face, in your hair. Hell, even one of your ears feels crusty.

How the ever living fuck does it get everywhere?

🌹 Dum Dums

rating: teen, 2.3k, gender-neutral reader, suburban high-school au, fluff, mutual pining, mild angst with happy ending

“Your boyfriend’s looking this way again,” Poe sing-songed before taking a big bite of his apple.

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply as you set your bottle of water on the lunch tray.

🌹 Flashfic: Please the (fem-dom!reader) story from gc…. I NEED IT

🌹 Flashfic: FAM IM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU… PLEASE PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT GIVING SMOOCHES TO FOREVER SAD BOY KYLO

🌹 Flashfic: How does Kylo spoil his lady?

🌹 Flashfic: So, what do you guys think is Kylo’s favorite way to kiss?

🌹 Hello

rating: mature(ish), 1k, modern au, dream-sharing, pining, possessiveness, nightmare elements, magic/force shenanigans

A phone rang. Burr-ring. Distant at first. Burr-ring. Clanging. Jarring. Burr-ring. It was too dark to find it. You groped around in the cool, damp blackness to find nothing. Burr-ring. You cursed just before your hand slapped against something cold and metal.

🌹 Me and The Devil Series

rating: mature-explicit, modern vampire au, death mention, blood drinking, menstruation, oral sex, biting

— Flashfic: …I want vampire!kylo to do *very* unspeakable things to me :)

— Flashfic: Very bored tonight and [thinking] about vamp!kylo, if you have any, what’re your favorite five about him?

— You’re My Sweetness [2.1k]

“You’re sad,” he murmured, a note of confusion in his words.

“Funerals tend to do that.”

“Let me make it better.”

— Red Wings [1.4k]

So, you laid there and bled onto an overnight pad that had to be the length of a regulation cricket bat.

— Flashfic: Do you have any thoughts on vampire Kylo sensually playing with you with his teeth?

🌹 Not Like the Rest

rating: teen, 948, alcohol consumption, politics

So, Ben’s kept moving for years. He hustles. He’s on committees. He researches everyone around him. He schmoozes.

And he’s schmoozing during a dinner to honor a retiring staffer when he sees you.

🌹 On the Pulse of Mourning

rating: teen, 6.5k, ptsd, angst, disregarding an elder’s wisdom, force choking, force weirdness

He sat on the lowered ramp of his TIE and waited for the Resistance scouts to find him. He didn’t think it would take them long. He’d landed only two klicks from the base.

🌹 The Sofa King

rating: mature, 550, hs au, making out, frottage

Anonymous asked: Ben Solo is such a precious little baby I don't see him making the first move. He would be way too nervous. Like during a movie night you could literally be in his lap, rubbing his chest, purring into his ear and he would just keep his eyes locked on the screen, jaw locked, shifting uncomfortably, and he making silly comments about the movie.

reader x kylo ren x armitage hux

🌹 Precious Pet Series on AO3 | photoset | playlist on spotify

Bonus: NSFW Alphabet for Kylo and Hux [1.6k]

rating: explicit, 335k, canon universe, force-sensitive reader, departing from tfa, stockholm syndrome, force bond, everyone has issues

A hush suddenly fell over the village and you strained to hear anything. Was it over? Had the Order gotten what it wanted? You had a gnawing feeling it was only beginning.

The whoosh of energy—you couldn’t identify the noise, but you knew it wasn’t good—pierced the air. There was a collective horrified gasp and more scrabbling and then more blaster fire. Something had happened, something terrible. Someone’s death had triggered it all. Suddenly, there were screams and controlled violent blasters, and you covered your mouth to muffle your sob. The village was dead. Everyone you knew was dead. Lor San Tekka was gone. You felt it like a punch to the chest.

STAR WARS/DREDD

armitage hux x clan techie

🌹 Little Blue

rating: mature, 1.3k, incest, abuse mention, jealousy, crushes

“I see you’ve been slumming it with the radar techs again,” Armie said from his perch on Techie’s bed.

Techie gnawed on his lip, stepping through the doorway of his berth, and let the door slide shut behind him. He knew it would be stupid to deny it. He was wearing the tech jumpsuit after all.

STRANGER THINGS

reader x eddie munson

🌹 Sidetracked

rating: teen, 900, mechanic!eddie, gender-neutral!reader, domestic fluff, slice of life

Maybe something last-minute happened. Like an emergency tow. Or a quick flat-tire fix. Or a gaggle of geese had waddled into one of the bays — again.

🌹 Through A Glass Darkly | playlist on spotify | masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

rating: explicit, 163k, canon universe, fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn, friends to lovers, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, mild spanking, reader’s father is a dirtbag, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, breaking up, angst with happy ending, running away, guns, fighting, everyone survives, suicidal ideation

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU

reader x phillip altman

🌹 Risking Thorns

rating: explicit, 12k, post-movie, ice skating, nice suburban upbringing, slut shaming, almost enemies-to-lovers, prickly reader, phillip gets a short leash, bastardization of a jewish holiday, fingering, semi-public sex, phone sex, spanking threat

Once she pulled out of the parking lot, you asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Altman’s? I thought you got your skates sharpened there, too?”

Mental alarms went off as you shook your head. You knew the Altmans…

THE WITCHER

yennefer x geralt

🌹 Nailed Into Place

rating: explicit, 14k, modern new orleans au, inspired by s01e03 “betrayer moon”, mishmash of nola folklore, i’ve altered the striga curse (pray i don’t alter it further), references to s01e05 “bottled appetites”, timeline what timeline, alcohol consumption, incest mention, pedophilia mention, injuries, blood, ableist language, a sprinkling of geralt/jaskier

Geralt Rivia is the only witcher in New Orleans. He’s typically hard to find until Jaskier decides to announce on Instagram where he’ll be performing via selfies with Geralt in the background. Baron Ostrit, an associate of mob-connected Foltest Temeria, shows up to hire Geralt to rescue his daughter from slavers. Another princess to save. Geralt finds himself in a tangle lies, from the Marigny to the Garden District—and consulting with a mage he hasn’t seen in years…

MISCELLANEOUS

🌹 Character Soundtrack

Songs and playlists for characters I (and others) associate with them. Feel free to message me with ideas!

🌹 BlacKkKlansman Supercut

Flip Zimmerman scenes only.

🌹 Logan Lucky Supercut

Clyde Logan scenes only.

🌹 Burn This - Audio

Bootleg audio recording of the play.