#n theater creator's relationship

[volatilechemicalz]

hear me out , blakeworth bad end theater au ..

[absurdthirst]

The Cupid Shuffle {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Pope x F!OC}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, bisexual women, mentions of past sexual relationships, little bit of putting on a show for the boys, women making out, mentions of fantasies, oral sex (male and female receiving), partner swapping, unprotected sex, cum eating

Comments: Inviting Pope and his girl over for a low-key Valentine's night movie turns in to something much more.

A/N: Valentine's Day foursome? More likely than you'd think!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Babe. I was talking to Santi and he’s cool with a movie night tonight. Him and his girl are going to go out tomorrow like us because tonight is always crazy busy. So it’s a quiet one in for Valentine’s Day.” Frankie says as he comes up to you to caress your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You wanna go get some snacks? You know Santi will eat us out of everything if we don’t buy extra.” He jokes and you turn your head to kiss him, smiling against his lips. “What time are they coming over?” You ask and he murmurs, “seven.”

You grin, happy that this is happening. Santiago Garcia, or ‘Pope’ as Frankie calls him, is dating your friend from college. You had been the one to set them up, absolutely in love with your helicopter pilot boyfriend and Pope had always been a flirty, fun time when he was in town. After he’s moved back permanently, you had set them up and the rest is history. “Perfect. A low key night is just what we all need.” You promise, kissing him again 

and smirking. “And after, I’ll give you your present.”

Frankie smirks, loving how eager you are and he’s excited to get you in bed after the movie ends and Pope and his girl are gone. “Baby, you’re already my present.” He murmurs, nipping your ear as you lean back against him. “Let’s get everything set up and we need blankets for the movie.”

You decide to have groceries delivered instead of going out, allowing you and Frankie to clean up and get ready to have them over. It’s not necessary, but you set out some of the candles Frankie got you for Christmas and light them, enjoying the romantic glow with the soft blankets strewn around for couples to cuddle under. “This is better than battling the craziness of a restaurant and a movie theater.” You decide, smiling at Frankie. You know that he hates crowded places and is constantly on alert for threats, so it’s easy to accommodate him and do a romantic night in on the busiest day for most fine dining restaurants.

Frankie nods, “it looks great, babe. I prefer this than going out and battling the crowds. We got some movies saved on the tv so we have a few options. You gonna make that dip?” He asks, biting his lower lip with a pleading expression. You nod and he groans, his hands caressing your side, “fuck yes. I can’t wait for that.”

You laugh quietly, swearing that dip is what made Frankie fall for you. Eating your dip at a party to the point where he almost made himself sick. “I’ll go make it now, I’ve got everything I need.”

Frankie playfully smacks your ass and you gasp, making him chuckle. His life was so dark before he met you. You brighten his days, make him believe in a hopeful future. You saved him. He’d be lost without you. “I’ll go get the drinks ready.” He says, making his way to the garage to grab the ice bucket and drinks for the movie marathon you have planned. Pope and his girl will be arriving soon.

The other food arrives and you set the store bought wings out on a tray and pop the pizzas into the oven and dump a bag of cheddar popcorn into a bowl. Just as you are setting it and the dip out, the doorbell rings out. “Oh! They are here!” You squeal, excited to see them.

Frankie heads to the door before you, opening it to greet his best friend and your best friend. You’ve been on quite a few couple dates, enjoying each other’s company during game nights. It’s been a perfect combination so far. “Hermano. Todo día más feo.” Pope teases Frankie as he pats him on the back in a hug and Frankie affectionately rolls his eyes as your best friend steps around the men to greet you.

“Hey!!!!” You and Dara throw your arms around each other and squeeze tight. Always happy to see each other and it’s such a joy to see your friend so happy after having so many shit boyfriends before Pope. You had constantly moaned together that it seems like there weren’t any good men anymore, and now you are both with ones that are completely amazing. If Pope had been kind of a playboy before, he had focused all that flirtatious energy into making sure your friend was head over heels for him. “How are you? I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to call!” You apologize and look at her once you break apart. 

She grins at you, “I’ve been so busy with the new job and honestly, going to Pope’s nearly every night. I’m hoping he’s going to ask me to move in soon since I basically live with him by now anyway.” She says, squeezing your hands as she glances over at Pope who is telling Frankie about his latest client in his security business. “We need a brunch to catch up.” Dara giggles and you nod, “yes we do. You want a drink? I got that vodka that you like.” Dara nods and lets you drag her into the kitchen with a smile.

“It going okay with your girl?” Pope asks Frankie who nods, glancing back at the door you disappeared through.

“She’s everything.” He murmurs, a silly smile on his face that Pope understands.

“Sooooooo.” You grin as you pour the vodka and add juice to it for Dara before mixing up one of your own. “Tell me, how is basically living with Pope?” You ask. “You look happy, really happy. And I love that for you.”

Dara grins, her cheeks hurting from how much she’s been smiling, “honestly, he’s so good. In every way.” Her voice lowers slightly, “he flirts like crazy with me and only me. All that attention makes a girl crazy in love.” She confesses and you squeal quietly, the ice cubes in your drink shaking as you bounce a little.

“Love?” You ask and she nods in confirmation.

“Who would’ve thought? Both of us in love? Especially when we were lonely and horny and used to-” Dara is cut off as the boys come into the kitchen to grab their beers, “you ladies ready for an epic movie marathon?” Pope asks, leaning in to kiss Dara on the cheek.

“Let’s do it.” You wink at Frankie and he nods, walking back into the living room to get the movie up on the streaming service. Pope and Dara take a seat on the large sectional, snuggling into each other and Frankie holds his arm out for you to curl into his side.

You fold into his arms easily and pull the cover up over your laps. The snacks are out and you smile over at Dara and Pope as they curl together near you, Dara closest to you. “Let me know when you need another drink.” You murmur to Dara before the movie starts.

The movie is some superhero movie the boys wanted to watch. The next movie is your choice. The explosions are loud and Frankie glances over at Dara and Pope whose eyes are on the screen. His hand slides down from your shoulder until he’s squeezing your breast. Your eyes flick up to his face and he is smirking slightly, knowing you can’t make a noise otherwise the others will know. His hand slides a little lower, brushing past your stomach until he is sliding his hand under the hem of the dress you’re wearing. His fingers trail along your thigh, slow and teasing, and you spread your legs a little for him. Covered by the blanket, his fingers slide higher until they are pressing against your clit through your panties.

Your breath catches and you bite your lip so you don’t moan, not wanting Dara and Pope to know what Frankie is doing to you. You aren’t focusing on the movie, having no clue what is going on as your boyfriend starts to rub tight circles on your clit, teasing you as he touches you. Frankie loves to make you cum and you have no doubt that he will right now, regardless of the other people in the room.

Pope smirks as his hand sneaks under the blanket, teasing his girlfriend as he caresses her through her clothes. She offers him a warning look, knowing that they are in someone else’s home. All thoughts of propriety leave her mind when his finger finds her clit, rubbing through her panties under her shirt. She bites her lip and focuses on the screen, unaware that you are doing the same thing. Frankie can feel how tense you are, trying to control yourself and that urges him on, rubbing your clit a little faster and you put your leg up, acting like you’re getting comfortable when you’re really giving him more access to you.

Pope glances over at the two of you, noting the smug smirk on Frankie’s face and he grins. He knows that look, and with the way you are squirming, you’re doing exactly what he and Dara are doing. He leans in and presses his lips to his girlfriend’s neck. “Dirty girl. Just like your friend.” He whispers playfully, biting her ear.

Dara stiffens slightly until she looks over at you and Frankie, knowing that look on your face. "Looks like you had the same idea as us." She declares and you rip your eyes away from the screen to look at your friend just as she pulls the blanket away from her lap to expose Santi's fingers rubbing her clit under her underwear. 

"Jesus." Frankie hisses, his cock already hard against your side as you lean against him. You smirk and pull your blanket off too, watching as Santi continues to rub Dara's clit. 

"Damn, baby. What a sight." Santi coos and Frankie doesn't stop his movements. The four of you watch each other, the movie forgotten as you moan softly. 

"Wanna have some fun, like old times?" Dara asks, her eyes flicking between you and Frankie.

Frankie’s eyes widen, gaze darting between you and his mouth is hanging open. 

“Baby?” You turn to look at him and lean in to kiss the bare spot on his jaw where his whiskers never grow. “Do you want to see me fool around with Dara?” You ask him, turning to look at Pope with a questioning look. You think it would be sexy, but if your boyfriend or Santi isn’t okay with it, you wouldn’t touch her.

Frankie is a little dumbstruck and he nods, looking over at Santi who grins and says “fuck yeah.”

Frankie leans in to kiss you softly, “yes. I want - want whatever you are comfortable with.” He murmurs, pulling his hand from your underwear to give you the freedom to touch Dara how you want. 

Dara grins, “like those lonely nights back in college.” She teases, leaning in to cup your cheek after Santi pulls his hand away from her and she leans in to press her lips to yours.

You are familiar with her mouth, accepting the kiss eagerly and curling your hand around the back of her head and sliding your tongue into her mouth. There were plenty of nights that you had done this and more, because you were bored, lonely, curious and finally just enjoying yourself. You hear the way the boys groan beside you but you are enjoying the way you know they are staring at both of you.

Santi reaches down to squeeze his cock through his pants, not noticing Frankie do the same as the two men watch their girlfriends kiss. Every guy’s dream honestly. Frankie caresses your back, squeezing your ass as you slide your tongue against Dara’s until she pulls back with a grin. “I wanna - do you want to switch?” She asks breathlessly, glancing behind you to Frankie.

You know that Dara has always been interested in how Frankie is as a lover and despite him being your boyfriend, you aren’t jealous. This woman has been a lover on and off for years and you have no jealousy. “What do you think, baby?” You ask Frankie, reaching down and pulling her tits out of her shirt and sneezing them. “Do you want to touch Dara like this? Show her how good your tongue is, like I’ve bragged about since the first night we’ve fucked?”

Frankie is torn, wondering for a second if this is a test, but your eyes are dark with lust and he glances at Pope to make sure he’s on the same page. His best friend nods, “as long as I get to see what these blowjobs you rave about are like.” He teases and Frankie smirks, “just you wait, hermano.” 

Dara giggles, leaning in to kiss you again. “Any of us have an issue, we say it.” She says, setting the rules as she shuffles around you towards Frankie, reaching down to squeeze his cock through his pants. “You weren’t lying when you said how thick he is.” She says and Frankie blushes slightly.

“I would never lie about that.” You coo as you crawl towards Santiago. “My baby is packing, and he knows how to fuck a girl until her legs are jelly.” You bite your lip as you straddle your friend’s boyfriend. “Just like I’m curious to find out how Santiago fucks you so hard you pass out.” You caress his cheek and lean in, the movie forgotten in the background. “Can I kiss you, handsome?”

Santi nods, his hands immediately finding your waist and he groans when you grind down onto him, leaning in to meet your lips in a kiss. Frankie inhales sharply when Dara reaches down to undo his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out. 

“Fuck, she wasn’t lying. You are packing. And uncut like Santi. Love that.” She murmurs and grips him, leaning down to take him in her mouth as her eyes focus on his while he watches her.

You look over as Frankie’s head drops back to the couch cushion and he moans loudly. You love the sounds he makes when you are blowing him and now you get to see him from another view. “You want to have a little competition, Dara?” You coo. “See who can get the guy to the brink of cumming the fastest?”

She pulls off of Frankie’s cock, a smirk on her lips as she looks over at you. “You’re on, baby. Let’s blow their minds.” She grins and you peck Santi’s lips as you slide down his body until you are working his pants open. Dara pumps Frankie in her hand and his eyes watch you as you take Pope’s cock out. Jesus, he feels his cock twitch in Dara’s fingers as your eyes meet his.

“Fuck, you weren’t lying when you said he has a beautiful cock.” You hum, pulling the foreskin back and looking at the bead of precum that has built up at the tip. “I can’t wait to hear him moan.”

Santi watches you as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, “mierda.” He curses and looks over at Dara who has taken Frankie back into her mouth with a moan. The men’s eyes flick between their partner and the woman sucking their cock. Groaning as Santi caresses your head and Dara chokes as she tries to take Frankie deeper.

You know Dara knows how to give head so you put everything you’ve got into sucking Santiago’s cock. Wrapping your fingers around the base and pumping while you work him deeper, making sure that you make him wet and keep your palette soft.

“Fuckkkk.” Santi pants as you take him deeper and Jesus, your mouth feels so good. He hisses and Frankie nods, “damn good. So fucking good.” He pants as his hand comes up to grip the back of the sofa, trying to keep himself from thrusting up into Dara’s mouth.

You moan around Santiago’s cock, enjoying the way he throbs and pulses in your mouth when you swallow around him. Reaching down and gently cradling his balls when you let go of his shaft and completely engulf him in your mouth until your nose is pressed against the short hairs at the base of his cock.

“Holllly fuckin’ shitttt.” Pope hisses, his fingers curling in the edge of the sofa cushion and his toes curl as you take him deep. “Fuckkkk.” He exhales shakily, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you blow his mind.

Dara chuckles around Frankie’s cock, knowing how good you are, and she ups her game, bobbing her head a little faster so Frankie hisses at the pace. "Holy shit."

You have to let up, needing to watch Frankie’s eyes roll back in pleasure. You hum around Pope’s cock and reach for his hand, pulling it to the back of your head. Encouraging him to thrust up into your mouth or push your head down. Wanting him to completely lose control.

Pope groans, keeping you still as he thrusts up into you, his cock twitching as he pushes down your throat. Fuck, no wonder Frankie looks dazed whenever he comes back from his lunch break. “She’s good, hermano?” He asks and Pope nods, panting slightly.

You don’t know if Pope plans on cumming down your throat but you don’t let up. Bobbing your head and swallowing around him, keeping the suction tight around his cock as he throbs on your tongue.

He doesn’t want to cum down your throat. He lets out a strangled choke and grabs the back of your neck, dragging you off of his cock and he watches you stay connected to his length with a line of spit. “Holy fuck.” He gasps, trying to calm himself down and he looks over at Dara who is taking Frankie down her throat.

“One day, you need to cum down my throat.” You gasp as you try to catch your breath, grinning up at him before you look over where Dara is still sucking Frankie’s cock. “Fuck they look so sexy, don’t they?” You moan, sinking a hand between your thighs and inside your panties. “I don’t know which one is sexier right now. And I’ve fucked them both.”

Frankie pants, turned on by your statement. He knows your history with Dara, you’ve talked about your sex life and Frankie must admit that he’s jerked off thinking about you and Dara messing around. He hisses when Dara pulls off of his cock, knowing he won’t want to cum, and Pope moves fast to drag you up his body. “Whose cock do you want to sit on?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Weelllllll, I think I want to sit on your cock, baby.” You lean in and press your lips to Santi’s. “I want to hear Dara squeal Frankie’s name while I moan yours.” You are dripping at the idea and reach over to grab your friend’s face and pull her close for another kiss. “Do you want to lick your boyfriend’s cum out of my pussy, baby?” You ask her breathlessly.

She nods, a whimper escaping her lips and she grabs her shirt to pull it over her head. You follow suit with your dress, leaving you both in panties that are soon shoved onto the floor. You straddle Pope, caressing his chest through his t-shirt, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. “Goddamn. You’re gorgeous. Fish is a lucky fucker.” He compliments you, his hands finding your ass to squeeze your cheeks until he slaps them.

“You’re lucky too, hermano.” Frankie groans, stroking his hands up and down Dara’s back before cupping her tits. “Your girlfriend is fucking breathtaking. Too good for your ugly ass.” He jokes, leaning in and biting her shoulder.

Dara whimpers and reaches down to grip Frankie’s cock. You know she has an IUD and is clean. She knows you are the same. She trusts everyone here and she’s excited to have a good time. She’s dripping wet so notching Frankie at her entrance isn’t hard work. He slips into her as she sinks down onto him with a low moan.

Both you and Santi watch, eyes blown with lust as your boyfriend and his girlfriend start to fuck. “Fuck,” you pant as you look back at Pope. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and gripping his cock. “Will you fuck me, Pope?”

Santi nods, his hands sliding down your back until he’s squeezing your ass again. “Take what you want, bebita.” He orders and you shuffle closer, swiping his cock through your folds a couple of times before you start to sink down onto him.

Frankie groans as he watches you take his friend’s cock. The way your jaw drops and he twitches inside of Dara. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She murmurs to him, her eyes watching her boyfriend and her best friend.

“Fucking amazing.” Frankie groans, unable to believe this is happening. “You are so tight, hermosa.” He praises, rocking his hips up and slapping her thigh gently. “Never thought I would get to do this.” He huffs, groaning again when she squeezes him hard enough to make him twitch.

You watch Frankie and Dara, clenching around Pope’s cock hard enough that he hisses. “You like watching them, baby? You like watching them fuck each other?” He coos into your ear, biting down on your earlobe. “You’re so fucking wet around me. Always wondered what you’d be like. Frankie said he’d give me a chance with you.”

You moan softly, wishing you had known about those conversations before now. “He has.” You hum, clenching down around him. “How do you like being inside your best friend’s girl?”

“Fucking love it.” Santi groans, smacking your ass with both hands. He hisses your name and rocks you a little faster on top of him. “You enjoying it?” He asks you, leaning in to nip your jaw.

“Yesssssss.” You whimper, closing your eyes and tangling your fingers into Santiago’s hair while you start to bounce on his cock. “Always wondered what it would be like to fuck you. Imagined you and Frankie both railing me. Now I want that and to see you both rail Dara.”

Santi groans at the same time as Frankie, imagining that dirty thought. They have shared women before during time stateside but he loves the idea of sharing you with his friend and his girlfriend more often, watching you all like his own private porno. “Goddamn.” Frankie hisses, cupping Dara’s tits and pinching her nipples to make her gasp.

You giggle quietly and look over at your boyfriend. “You like that idea, baby? Fucking me and Dara with Santi? Being complete sluts for the two of you? I know you would want to have Dara sit on your cock while I sit on your face.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching inside of Dara, “and Pope can fuck her ass.” He smirks, knowing his friend has a big thing for anal.

Dara chuckles, “double? Fuck yes.” She groans, “then I can play with that gorgeous pair of tits and kiss your girl. Keep her satisfied while you suck on her clit like I used to.” Dara smirks until her jaw drops when Frankie thrusts up into her.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Santiago hisses and his hands tighten on your hips. “You never told me that.” He huffs. “I’d have had you telling me all about it while I was making you scream.” He has had quite a few ideas of fucking you and Dara, but to know that you used to eat each other out? It’s sexy as fuck. “I’ll want to see that while I recover enough to fuck her.”

“We can show our boys how to eat pussy, can’t we baby?” Dara winks at you and moans when Frankie thrusts up into her again. “Oh do that again.” She begs, knowing he has found the right angle and Frankie obliges her, keeping her still while he fucks up into her like it’s the last thing he will do.

“He’s so good, isn’t he?” That’s not to say Santi isn’t a good lover and he steals your attention back to him with the next thrust. Making you moan and turn back to crush your lips to his while you start to ride him again in earnest.

Dara watches you kiss Santi and it sends her over the edge, she cries out against Frankie’s shoulder as he thrusts up into her with vigor, grunts escaping his lips as he jackhammers up into her until she is squealing. Shaking against your boyfriend as she cums, soaking him and her nails digging into his shoulders.

Santiago actually stops thrusting into you, although his cock is pulsing harshly, twitching inside you as he watches his girlfriend cum all over Frankie. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, so turned on by the sight he almost cums himself. “Now it’s your turn.” He promises, kissing you passionately and starting to move when Dara collapses against Frankie’s chest.

Frankie stops thrusting once Dara is worked through her orgasm, wanting to watch you cum on Santi’s cock. He doesn’t want to cum too soon so he strokes Dara’s back as they both watch Santi start to thrust up into you. “That’s it, Bonita. Want you to cum for me.” Santi coos, his hands squeezing your ass to help rock you on top of him.

Your boyfriend encouraging to cum throws you over the edge. Tossing your head back, you cry out in pleasure. “Santi!” Your walls clamp down around his cock and you soak him as your body shakes.

He groans as you clamp down on him, squeezing him tight. 

“Holy shit, Fish. Like a goddamn vice.” Pope hisses and works you through it by rocking you on top of him. His cock is throbbing inside of you. “Wanna - don’t wanna cum yet.” He admits and Frankie nods. 

“Get on your hands and knees. Both of you.” Frankie orders, smacking Dara’s ass.

It takes a moment for you to move, but when you are on your hands and knees by Dara, you lean in and kiss your friend. “Fuck.” You giggle against her lips. “Isn’t this the fucking dream?” You ask breathlessly, looking over your shoulder at the two men and smirking. “They are both so fucking hot and want to fuck us.”

Dara smirks back, “a girl’s fucking dream, baby. Remember when we used to talk about something like this happening?” She asks and you nod, leaning in to kiss her again, sliding your tongue against yours. The two men groan, slowly jerking their cocks before they shuffle forward, notching themselves at the dripping wet cunts and pushing back in.

You don’t know exactly who is inside you for a moment while you are kissing Dara. Eyes closed and trying to guess because your cunt is already a little abused from the fucking. Until his hands grip your hips and he drills forward hard enough to make you gasp into your friend’s mouth. “Frankie!”

Your boyfriend chuckles as you gasp out his name and he slaps your ass. "Want you to cum for me, hermosa." He demands, knowing he can pull you apart easily. He hisses when you teasingly clench around him. 

"That's it baby." Pope groans when Dara grinds back onto him and he thrusts into her, making her moan into your mouth before she sucks on your tongue.

Dara nods, knowing it won't take much. She hisses as she rocks back onto Pope, his fingers rubbing her clit, but when you lean in to kiss her, your fingers pinching your nipple, she's sent over the edge. "Fuck!" She squeals into your mouth as she cums, clamping down on Santi's cock.

Both men groan at the sight of the two of you locked into a kiss when Dara cums. Santiago grips her hips tights to continue fucking her and Frankie moans as his own pace quickens. You know they are loving the sight and you swallow her sounds as she comes apart.

Frankie wants you to follow, his hand squeezing your tit as he rocks into you. “Fuck baby. Want you to cum for me.” He demands, pinching your nipple as Dara pants against your chin.

His cock is shredding against something wonderful inside you and you know you won't last long. You never do when he's hammering into you like it's the last thing he will do. Your body starting to stiffen with each thrust until you let out a loud cry, unable to stop yourself from tumbling over the edge and drawing out your pleasure.

“Fuckkkk.” Frankie groans when you squeeze his cock like a goddamn vice. “That’s it, hermosa. Jesús Christ.” He hisses, trying to hold off from filling you up. He pants your name and caresses your stomach, enjoying the way you soak him.

Dara groans and pushes back against Pope's cock. "Need you to cum, baby." She begs softly. "Both of you. Want to see cum dripping out of both of our cunts."

Pope grunts, jaw clenched as he pounds into your best friend, his nostrils flared as he seeks his orgasm.

Frankie groans, smacking your ass when you clench him, egging him on. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep as he fills your walls with his hot seed in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

“Fraannnnnnnkie.” You whine his name, rolling your eyes back in pleasure as he paints your walls with his cum, hearing Pope hiss out Dara’s name beside you as he is the last one to cum, his hips stuttering and his entire body jerking in pleasure as he fills her. “Oh god.” You pant, collapsing down onto your cheek and look over your friend and her boyfriend as he slumps over her back and kisses along her spine. “That was amazing.” 

Frankie leans over you to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours and you kiss him back as hungrily. Dara chuckles breathlessly, “now I wanna taste your cum from her pussy.” Dara smirks at you, “wanna sit on my face like we used to?” She asks, biting her lip.

“Fuck yes.” You moan, clenching around Frankie and the thought of her tongue against your cunt. Frankie is amazing at eating your pussy, but Dara was just as good, if not slightly better. “I want to taste Pope’s cum too.”

The two men shuffle from behind you, pulling out slowly, and move to sit on the other side of the sofa, eyes eager. Dara shifts to lay down and she smirks at you, tapping her cheek and you shift to straddle her face, stretching your body over hers so you can push her legs apart, finding her creamy cunt. Dara doesn’t hesitate to lean in, sliding her tongue through your folds with a groan.

It takes a good bit of tilting her hips, but your own tongue quickly follows suit while both men groan around you. Watching as you two sample their cum from their girlfriend’s cunt with an eagerness that borders on feral. You love the saltiness of Santiago mixed with the sweet tang of Dara, licking the mixture from her swollen folds and holding her legs apart when your tongue swipes over her sensitive clit. 

“Fuck me.” Frankie murmurs, watching you both writhe and lick and suck. It’s primal and his spent cock rests against his thigh but his stomach twists with arousal at the erotic display.

“Mierda.” Pope murmurs, watching just as intensely.

You love the fact that they are watching, but this is honestly for you and Dara. They have cum and it will be a little while before they can fuck again. You clench around nothing when you hear Frankie groan, and suck a little harder on your friend’s clit. 

Dara squeezes your ass, loving the way you rock back onto her tongue. Her hips tilted so you can lick deeper into her pussy. It’s intoxicating and everyone is feeling the intensity of this moment. “That’s it baby. Lick her clit. She likes that.” Frankie coaches you, seeing Dara’s reactions.

You hum, grinning into her folds as you obey Frankie. It’s no hardship, especially since that’s exactly what she likes. You suck her clit into your mouth and give it a series of kitten licks that makes her moan into your cunt.

Dara’s tongue gets faster, anxious to make you cum like you used to. She laps at you, sucking on your clit and swirling her tongue around it while the boys continue to watch with rapture. “Look so good, bebita. Wish I could take a a fucking photo.” Pope groans, watching with dark eyes.

She pulls her lips away from your clit for a moment, making you whine. “Do it.” She moans before she dives back into your cunt. You moan your own agreement and nod. You trust the boys not to share that, and you would love to see how sexy this looks from their perspective.

Pope scrambles to find his pants on the floor, getting his phone and he looks over at Frankie who nods enthusiastically. “Do it, hermano.” He insists and Pope smirks as he takes a photo of you and Dara. “So fucking hot.” He groans softly, taking a couple more.

You whimper when Dara sucks on your clit again, so close to cumming as you rock your hips back. Pushing down onto her tongue. Your hand slides up and you push two fingers inside her, knowing how much she loves to cum around something.

“Fuck.” She cries out against your folds, her lips slick with cum and your arousal, and the boys watch in awe as her thighs start to shake around your head. “Cum for her baby.” Santo orders, his cock twitching in interest.

It only takes another few moments of sucking on her clit and pumping your fingers into her cunt before she is crying out. Her walls clenching down around your fingers and soaking them with her cum.

The boys hiss, watching Dara cum, and Frankie leans forward on his elbows, planting them on his knees as he watches Dara ride her orgasm on your fingers. “Your turn, hermosa.” Frankie rasps and Dara nods, her tongue pushing back inside of you, her chin against your clit as she tries to push you over the edge.

You whine, eyes fluttering closed and your mouth drops open when she flicks her tongue inside you, sending you over the edge. Your entire body bucks and you squeal in pleasure as the waves of bliss crash over you, making you gasp out as you grind back onto her face.

The guys groan, their cocks half hard at the sight in front of them. Pope smirks, biting his lip as he watches you cum. “Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.” He coos to both women. 

“Goddamn.” Frankie murmurs, watching Dara work you through it before she shifts to pull her mouth back.

You sit up and shift off of her, smirking at Dara and pulling her in for one last kiss before looking at the boys. “Happy Valentine’s Day, boys.” You hum playfully, making Dara giggle as she clings to you and it might be the best Valentine’s Day that you’ve ever had. Definitely one to repeat.

[wellhellotragic]

The Placeholder (1/2)

Summary: Emma is not the girl that boys date. She's the girl that he sleeps with but never tells his friends about. She's the girl that he'll cuddle with and then ghost. She's the fun one who he goes out with but not the one he goes home with. She's the one that fixes him so he can be with someone else. She's the placeholder, the one who works for now but won't ever be his forever.

A/N: This fic is based on a TikTok video that was just heartbreaking, where the creator always came in second. If you want to watch the video, you can find it here, but this story can be read without watching it.

She’s 17 when she meets him. She’s been alone for most of her life, cast aside from every family she’s ever tried to be a part of. She’s not sure what hurts worse, the fact that her parents gave her up after only knowing her a few hours, or that multiple adopted families gave her back after knowing her for months. Because Emma Swan has never been enough for anyone. 

 She’s not the girl that guys date, having been more of an ugly duckling. She’s never been the girl that boys in school flirted with. She was always the one that they played tricks on instead, and the orphan everyone stayed away from. She’s taller now though, lanky and awkward in her own body, but she’s starting to notice men leering at her. It’s not the stunned stop-him-in his-tracks stare, the one from the movies filled with awe and wonder when the handsome hero falls in love at first sight. No. It’s the creepy stare that tells her that these much too old men wouldn’t have any issue with her being a minor if she so much as showed any interest. But then she meets him , a few months before her 18th birthday, and for the first time ever, she doesn’t feel alone. 

 He makes her feel special and wanted for the first time ever in her life. He’s older, but only just at 19, and they just feel so right together. He takes her on adventures, and while neither of them are necessarily financially stable, they make do, sneaking into amusement parks at night, picking locks on the side door at the movie theater. He’s everything, and for the first time in her life, she feels hope for the future.

 It’s two months later when she realizes he’s still a stranger to her. Not physically, not anymore. She’s given herself to him, probably too early on, but she was scared that he might lose interest otherwise, and she’s young and naive, thinking what they have is love. 

 It’s during one of the nights where they’re fooling around in her car, when his phone rings, that she realizes she knows nothing about him. She’s never met his family, which isn’t shocking considering the way he describes the strained relationship he has with his father, but she’s never met any of Neal’s friends either. He doesn’t dodge her questions once she finally summons the courage to ask, but he does deflect, and for a time, the subject is closed. 

 Two months later though, on the eve of her 18th birthday she finally asks to meet them. She asks him if he has anything planned for her birthday and he tells her he’s busy. That his friend Dane got him tickets to a concert, She’s clearly hurt, but he either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care. So she asks what they’re doing after the concert, or even before, hoping to hang out with his inner circle and to just spend some time with them. And then he tells her. She’ll never fit in with his crowd. 

 It makes her feel like the smallest human in the world, knowing he’s ashamed of her. Apparently she’s the kind of girl that is pretty enough to sleep with but not pretty enough to brag about to his friends.

 So she leaves. Drives away in the middle of the night after he’s taken what he wanted one last time.

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

She’s 19 when she meets him. She’s an adult now, or as much as she can be. She has a job, not a great one, but it’s enough to rent a tiny studio apartment in a bad part of town. There’s a used furniture shop that she passes on her way to work and she needs something, anything other than her dumpster dived mattress to sit on. 

 The prices aren’t as cheap as she may like, but it’s better than the big box stores, and closer to her apartment. The proprietor watches her from the moment she walks in, and her gut reaction is to run. Because he’s judging her, just like everyone else does, wearing her thrift shop clothes. He probably thinks she’s there casing the place, or just waiting for him to turn his back so she can grab a five finger discount on one of the smaller items.

 She’s wrong though, just like she is about almost everything, but this time, the world isn’t caving in on her. He likes her, tells her as much upfront and asks her for a number, before she’s even agreed to make a purchase. 

 He’s not attractive necessarily. Not in a traditional way at least, but he’s nice and he gives her a deal on the couch she’s eying, so when he asks her out she says yes. Because she’s no one, and ‘no ones’ can’t be picky. 

 They date, and he doesn’t force her to sneak into a movie theater pretending that she has to use the bathroom, and he doesn’t make her prop open a side door for him. Instead he takes her out to restaurants while the front doors are still unlocked. He even buys her desserts when she hasn’t completely finished her entrees. No judgment. He’s just kind.

 There isn’t passion, not like she had with Neal, but maybe she doesn’t need passion when it comes to Walsh. Maybe she just needs someone who’s steady and trustworthy. They take it slow, he doesn’t pressure her to give her body to him the way Neal did. Instead they just hold hands and curl up together on her secondhand couch in her apartment. Chaste kisses stolen in between commercials. They only hang out on weekends, and she tells herself it’s because he works so hard during the week. She doesn’t let herself overthink it, not wanting to admit that Neal made an indelible mark on her. He left a scar that’s never quite healed over.

 Three months in and she thinks to herself that it might be enough. It’s the healthiest relationship she’s ever had with anyone. So she’s the one to make the first move. Feeling emboldened, she removes her shirt as they’re watching some DIY show, thinking he’ll follow suit, because what they have isn't magic or fireworks, but it’s good enough.

 He doesn’t reciprocate though and she’s never felt more humiliated. Especially when he explains that he has a serious girlfriend that travels a lot on the weekends. They’re having problems he tells her, his girlfriend doesn’t appreciate him enough and emasculates him despite him loving her greatly. Because of course that’s what he says to defend himself. Of course that’s how he’d explain why he felt it ok to use Emma as an ego boost.

 She asks him to leave, and now she can’t even stand to look at the couch in her dingy living room. He still tries to call and text her the next Saturday once his girlfriend is gone again.

 Apparently, she’s the girl that he will cuddle with on the weekends and then not message throughout the week.

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

She’s 21 when she meets him. Her personal life is going marginally better, but her romantic life is on hold. She hasn’t so much as given a man a second glance since Walsh, but it’s not all bad.

 Hitting rock bottom was just the kick in the pants she needs to make something of herself. After a solid week of moping, she forces herself to pull it together and prove to the world that she isn’t the ‘nothing’ everyone has always told her she is. That she matters.

 So she goes to the library and meets Belle, a Boston University student studying literature who practically lives in the stacks. With the help of the only friend she has to her name, she searches out scholarships and grants. Belle is smart as a whip, having sorted her own way through private school without spending a dime of her own money.

 And together they craft essay after essay, explaining why Emma is deserving of a college education. She doesn’t believe over half of what she’s saying, allowing those linger doubts back in. One step forward, two steps back.

 But Belle is insistent, relintless even, and by the beginning of the semester Emma has enough tuition money to fund her through her freshman and sophomore year. The rest she can worry about later.

 She’s older than most of her classmates. They’re all so young and she feels out of place everywhere. At least until her university sponsored roommate has a mental breakdown two weeks into the semester and she’s assigned a new one. Ruby is everything Emma has ever wanted to be and isn’t. She’s beautiful, kind, with a wicked tongue, but more than that, she’s just full of precious life. 

 Emma learns that Ruby’s mother passed away when she was young, and she never knew her father so her grandmother took her in. It leaves her to wonder if her life would have been different with even just one person that cared what happened to her. Would she still be just as closed off? Would the world have seemed as cruel?

 Her roommate is closer in age to her, just shy of her own twenty-first birthday. She took a few years off after high school to explore the world, traveling all over Europe and Asia by herself. The stories she tells leaves Emma envious of the opportunity she was never given, but she holds no ill will towards Ruby.

 In fact, were it not for her support and vivacity, Emma would likely spend every night tucked into her door alone. She sees Belle occasionally at the library or in the cafeteria, but her friend is slightly obsessed with her coursework and has little time for fun. Ruby on the other hand seems to glide effortlessly through life and insists on bringing Emma back to life.

 And it’s because of Ruby that she finally allows herself to admit that maybe she has more than just a crush on her biology TA. He’s in graduate school, hardly older than her, which is a first. And when she finds that when he comes over to check on how she’s doing during lab, he lingers just a bit longer with her than he does the other students. 

 One night Ruby catches her daydreaming and presses until Emma finally caves, telling her about the cute teaching assistant. Except, as she’s explaining it all to her friend, she realizes that she likes him. She waxes as poetically as a twenty one year old freshman can, and Ruby makes her all but pinky swear to keep an open mind.

 So she does, and over the semester they talk and get to know each other. They go for drinks at the local dive bar just off campus and on one occasion they line dance together with a random assortment of bar sots when a popular song comes on. She just feels a comfort from him. Like they could be something. She knows nothing can happen as long as she’s his student, but it doesn’t stop her from thinking about it.

 So on the last day of the semester, she finally allows herself to be bold. She tells him that it’s her roommate's birthday and they’re going to a club downtown to celebrate, if he feels like joining her of course. 

 He does.

 She borrows a dress from Ruby, and lets her friend do her hair and makeup. The club is loud and not something she’s really enjoying, but when Graham arrives, she introduces him to everyone thinking that maybe after a shot of liquid courage on her part, she can see if he wants to go somewhere quieter.

 But after she comes back from the bathroom, having checked her makeup one last time, she sees him talking to very tipsy Ruby and chickens out. It’s just before the club closes for the night that he pulls her aside to talk. He wants to know if Ruby is single and her heart shatters as she watches them leave togher. How could she have been so wrong?

 Apparently, she’s the girl who is fun to go out with and dance with and have a drink with but not to take to breakfast the next day.

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

 She’s 27 when she meets him through a craigslist ad. He needs a roommate, works long hours and will hardly ever be home. It’s perfect considering her reluctance to connect with anyone in anything more than a business deal. She works long hours too, the low man on the totem pole at a law firm specializing in family law.

 Seeing people fight and use their children as nothing more than pawns day in and day out only helps to reinforce the walls around her heart. She hasn’t let anyone in since her freshman year. It’s not worth it. She may not be a nothing, but she knows she’ll never be a ‘something’ either, at least in those regards.

 One of the junior partners brands her the Ice Queen at work after a particularly prickly case and its title she both despises and relishes for its accuracy. It’s not what she thought it would be. Dreams of helping foster kids in the system find homes comes second to the needs of the firm. And the pay, well it’s low enough that she needs a roommate if she wants to afford a place that isn’t an hour commute from the office.

 The guy is an expat, and despite her efforts not to notice, it’s hard not to see how easy on the eyes he is. But that’s about the extent of what she knows. Their schedules are nearly opposite. She stays late doing research almost every night, getting home after he’s long asleep, if he is even home. He may have a girlfriend for all she knows. And for his part, he’s often out the door before dawn.

 It’s him that approaches her first, nearly startling her out of her skin when she comes home to a dimly lit apartment one Thursday night, thinking herself alone, only to have him say her name from a chair in the corner.

 He asks if she’s as good at her job as he hopes she is, and her online reviews say she is. He has a friend who needs a good lawyer as he battles his in-laws for custody of his child. She gets the friend's name and number, but she stays up late grilling him, hoping to ward off any surprises. People lie when they’re desperate, and although it’s a bit of a superpower of hers to recognize half truths, she’d rather not get caught on the spot in front of a judge. 

 She can sense his hesitancy as he explains the situation, not wanting to betray his friend. It’s at that moment she begins to respect him. She’s not used to loyalty, never having experienced it herself, and Killian Jones is nothing if not devoted to his friend.

 She urges him though with a steadfast hand on his thigh as they sit next to each other at the island, imploring him to open up to her, and she can see the moment when he chooses to put his faith in her.

 She goes to work first thing in the morning, researching Robin’s criminal record, calling a trusted colleague to interview his son, because for as much earnestness she saw in her roommate's eyes the night before, she’s been wrong about people before. And while she may agree to represent Robin, her priority first and foremost is the wellbeing of the little boy at the center of the fight.

 Archie confirms what every document she’s read has told her. Roland is a happy healthy little boy who is completely safe with his father. And months later she spends a full week convincing a family judge that Robin is just a man in mourning who made a mistake fueled by grief. A slip of character under the weight of his broken heart, but that he was past it, and that stripping him of his parental rights would not only harm him but would be detrimental to Roland. Archie testifies as well and in the end, Robin gets to go home with his son.

 Killian takes her out to dinner as a thank you, even after she insists it isn’t necessary. They’re friends now, of a sort. He waits up for her at night to make sure she gets home safely, because he doesn’t like the idea of her traveling home on the subway alone so late. He brews extra coffee in the morning so she'll have a cup waiting for her when she wakes. He introduces her to tiktok and sends her funny videos throughout the day making her laugh more than she ever has before. He even takes her to the diner down the street every Sunday morning for breakfast.

 Killian takes her by his architect firm on a random Saturday, saying it’s only fair since he’s seen her in action that she sees him. He’s a marvel, his creativity and passion. It’s evident in everything he does, and in time, against her own will, he chips away at her walls and she lets him in. 

 They have everything in common, both having grown up in foster care, both having indelible scars on their hearts, both feeling utterly worthless in their own ways. She lets him see her like she’s never let anyone before and despite the protests raging in her mind, her heart is completely his. 

 She holds him on the anniversary of his brother’s death, listening to his self-deprecating stories, whispering in his ear that he’s not worthless like he thinks. That not everything he touches turns to ruin. She tells him that’s he’s everything and that one day he’ll find the person that helps him realize that he deserves so much more than life as given him

 She leaves out that part where she hopes that she’s that someone.

 But as the seasons change, life hits her again. He has a girlfriend, someone he was so immediately drawn to and smitten with, and before she knows it, she’s lost him. He moves out of the city to be with her when she gets a job offer in New York. 

 Emma Swan, the girl no one has ever truly loved is alone again.

 Because she’s the girl that will show him that he can be loved and deserves to be loved before he finds somebody better.

[ao3feed-moonknight]

Comedy of Errors

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/dsHqNia by soft_girl_musings The course of true love never did run smooth. And neither does the play you watch unfold. Words: 1341, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Moon Knight (TV 2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Steven Grant (Marvel) Relationships: Steven Grant/Reader Additional Tags: reader - Freeform, theater kid slander (affectionate), amateur references to Shakespeare, steven and reader teach high school, No use of y/n, gender neutral reader, Cross-Posted on Tumblr read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/dsHqNia

[honeyleesblog]

July 10 ZODIAC

Horoscope and character for those brought into the world on July 10 They are happy, lively and wonderful mates, albeit too reckless in affection. They need to enjoy benevolence and diversion. They appreciate games and any type of amusement, taking little consideration of obligation. Regardless of that, they care profoundly about their standing and dread analysis, to which they are exceptionally delicate. They are very serene individuals in conduct. They appreciate extravagance in any structure and endeavor to have it regardless of whether their assets scarcely permit it. They like ocean travel. Absolutely adamant, they can deftly guard themselves against the assaults of their foes and shrewdly clear their path through life, uninterested about the rules that a great many people observe. Nor do they spare any work in their battle for riches. They appreciate official functions and customs. In spite of the fact that they appreciate storing cash, they happily spend it on dress and adornments. What would it be a good idea for them to be careful about? Their unnecessary awareness hurts them throughout everyday life, as it doesn't permit them to ascend to places of government and frequently stops them. They sincerely connect with others so firmly that they frequently find it challenging to differentiate between their own sentiments and those of others. Hence, their current circumstance can significantly impact them. All of the limit and close to home overabundances harms them profoundly. What compromises them? Misconceptions with family members and monetary misfortunes look for them. They can have blissful relationships with individuals brought into the world during the times of October 22 to November 23 and February 19 to Walk 20.

July 10 ZODIAC 

 Assuming that your birthday is on July 10, your zodiac sign is Malignant growth July 10 - character and character character: mindful, energetic, clever, discourteous, indiscreet, reckless calling: drug specialist, author, excavator tones: silver, gold, purple stone: fluorite creature: pig plant: Larkspur blossom fortunate numbers: 4,8,11,24,48,59 very fortunate number: 1 Occasions and observances - July 10 Beatles Day Chile: Custodian's Day. Mauritania: Military Day. Argentina: Trader's Day. Bahamas: Autonomy Day. July 10 VIP birthday celebrations. Who was conceived that very day as you? 1902: Kurt Birch, German physicist (d. 1958). 1902: Nicolდ¡s Guillდ©n, Cuban writer (d. 1989). 1902: Antulio Sanjuan Ribes, Spanish theater entertainer and writer (d. 1982). 1903: Werner Best, German legal scholar and Nazi pioneer (d. 1989). 1903: John Wyndham, English author (d. 1969). 1905: Wolfram Sievers, Nazi German physicist (d. 1948). 1913: Salvador Espriu, Spanish artist (d. 1985). 1914: Joe Shuster, Canadian visual artist (d. 1992). 1920: Owen Chamberlain, American physicist, 1959 Nobel Laureate in Physical science (d. 2006). 1921: Eunice Kennedy Shriver, American extremist (d. 2009). 1921: Jake LaMotta, American fighter. 1921: Francisco de Asდ­s Sancho Rebullida, Spanish legal scholar and foralista (f. 1995). 1923: Baron Hamner Jr., American creator and maker (d. 2016). 1925: Mahathir container Mohamad, Malaysian State leader. 1926: Algeria Laya, Venezuelan instructor, scholar and political dissident (f. 1997) 1926: Fred Gwynne, American entertainer (f. 1993). 1928: Bernard Smorgasbord, French painter (d. 1999). 1928: Alejandro de Tomaso, Italian-Argentine hustling driver (d. 2003). 1931: Alice Munro, Canadian author. 1934: Jerry Nelson, American puppeteer, maker of The Muppets (d. 2012). 1934: Adelma Gდ³mez, Argentine instructor and organist (d. 2011). 1934: Sondra Schlesinger, American virologist. 1938: Paul Andreu, French draftsman. 1938: Tura Satana, American entertainer (d. 2011). 1940: Helen Donath, American soprano. 1941: David G. Hartwell, American distributer (d. 2016). 1941: Montserrat Grases, a youthful Spanish lady, pronounced revered by the Catholic Church (d. 1959). 1942: Rodrდ­guez, American performer and author. 1942: Ronnie James Dio, American performer (d. 2010). 1943: Arthur Ashe, American tennis player (f. 1993). 1945: Ron Glass, American entertainer (d. 2016). 1945: Virginia Swim, English tennis player. 1946: Sue Lyon, American entertainer. 1946: Stuart Christie, English author and supervisor. 1947: Arlo Guthrie, American performer. 1950: Greg Kihn, American vocalist. 1952: Liudmila Turდ­shcheva, Russian tumbler. 1954: Neil Tennant, English performer, of the band Pet Shop Young men. 1955: Marდ­a Josდ© Cantudo, Spanish entertainer. 1958: Bდ©la Speck, American artist. 1961: Jacky Cheung, Hong Kong entertainer and vocalist. 1962: Santiago Ostolaza, Uruguayan soccer player and mentor. 1963: Marco de Brix, Paraguayan vocalist (d. 2009). 1964: Eloy Olaya, Spanish footballer. 1965: Alexia, Greek blue-blood. 1968: Hassiba Boulmerka, Algerian competitor. 1969: Hurricane Harold, American entertainer. 1969: Jonas Kaufmann, German tenor. 1970: Gary LeVox, American vocalist and musician, of the band Scalawag Flatts. 1970: Jason Orange, English vocalist, of the band Take That. 1970: John Simm, English entertainer. 1972: Sofდ­a Vergara, Colombian entertainer and model. 1972: Anabell Rivero, model and Venezuelan TV entertainer. 1972: Tilo Wolff, German performer. 1974: Imelda May, Irish rockabilly vocalist. 1975: Ruth Gabriel, Spanish entertainer. 1975: Stefდ¡n Karl Stefდ¡nsson, Icelandic entertainer 1976: Edmდ­lson, Brazilian soccer player. 1976: Adrian Grenier, American entertainer. 1976: Ludovic Giuly, French footballer. 1976: Patricia Lდ³pez, Chilean entertainer. 1977: Chiwetel Ejiofor, English entertainer. 1978: Jesse Lacey, guitarist and American vocalist, of the band Shiny new. 1978: Kotaro Koizumi, Japanese entertainer. 1979: Gong Yoo, South Korean entertainer and vocalist. 1980: Thomas Ian Nicholas, American entertainer. 1980: Jessica Simpson, American vocalist. 1981: Giancarlo Serenelli, Venezuelan driver. 1983: Kim Heechul, South Korean entertainer, moderator, radio personality, model and vocalist, of the band Very Junior. 1983: Gabi, Spanish footballer, Atlდ©tico de Madrid player. 1984: Imprint Gonzდ¡lez, Chilean soccer player. 1984: Marდ­a Julia Veil, Peruvian model, Miss World 2004. 1985: Mario Gდ³mez Garcდ­a, German soccer player. 1987: Josuდ©, Brazilian soccer player. 1989: Carlos Zambrano, Peruvian soccer player. 1991: Marდ­a Chacდ³n, Mexican entertainer and artist. 2001: Isabela Moner, American entertainer and artist.

[ao3feed-tywin]

Westeros Watches A Different Future

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/HIvikUc

by TheNecroKing44

The people of Westeros have been transported to a theater to watch a different future. One where there is a land west of Westeros, a land of monsters with new players entering the game. With them is a familiar figure, Jon Snow, alongside the terrors of the west. Dragons, Monstrosities, and Aberration await them, either as allies against the White Walkers or their doom.

Words: 3221, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M

Characters: Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Bran Stark, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Renly Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon, Theon Greyjoy, Jorah Mormont, Tommen Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon, Samwell Tarly, Gendry (A Song of Ice and Fire), Barristan Selmy, Petyr Baelish, Jon Arryn, Lysa Tully Arryn, Varys (A Song of Ice and Fire), Mace Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Margaery Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Grand Maester Pycelle (A Song of Ice and Fire), Doran Martell, Oberyn Martell, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Edmure Tully, Original Vampire Character(s) (Dungeons & Dragons), Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s), Original Characters, Sandor Clegane, Tormund Giantsbane, Bronn (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Relationships: Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark

Additional Tags: Reaction, Game of Thrones-Typical Violence, Watching the Show, watching the future, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, N Plus A Equals J | Ashara Dayne and Ned Stark are Jon Snow's Parents, Dark Jon Snow, Vampire Jon Snow, BAMF Jon Snow, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Human/Vampire Relationship, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, White Walkers (A Song of Ice and Fire), Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, Jealous Jon Snow, Beholders (Dungeons & Dragons), Dragons, Illithids | Mind Flayers (Dungeons & Dragons), Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/HIvikUc

[dulcetines]

teh gimana bedain seseorang sebagai manusia dan sebagai penghasil karya ((di sini konteksnya author ya)? jadi kemaren tuh rame ttg author novel yg udah terkenal banget, sebut saja CH. banyak orang yg ngga setuju karena dia disebut sebagai jane austen versi modern dan 'katanya' karya dia tuh temanya toxic, abusif, controlling blabla pokoknya yg jelek2 deh. bahkan ada yg bilang 'the messages that her books send are harmful to everyone', jujur aku sendiri ga bisa komen krn belum baca karyanya (1)

(2) honestly idc about that karna toxic menurut mereka blm tentu toxic menurutku. tp yg bikin greget si CH punya anak co dan anaknya nge-harrassed cewe dan waktu si cewe ngehub CH eh malah di block.. misal ada org yg ngefans sm karyanya tapi ngga ngedukung kelakuan CH di rl, cara terbaik untuk memberi apresiasi ke karyanya AJA, gimana? because aint no way i or maybe someone would give money to another who supports her son's wrongdoing.

(you can say colleen hoover its okay lol)

i’ve been fiddling with the same thoughts lately. most recently i’ve experienced this with val kilmer (and tom cruise, one way or another). i adore the man; i don’t usually indulge myself in parasocial relationship with famous people but when i do i get in too deep and it’s with men technically 3 decades older than me, what the hell even. as soon as i found out he’s involved in the n ef tees business i started feeling guilty about making my entire twitter feed about him. tommy c, on the other hand — i know he’s practically in a cult but that doesn’t stop me from going to the theater to see tgm every month. that’s my money right there that goes straight into tc’s pocket which probably funds the cult. so what does that say about me, right.

i wish there’s a simple answer to the massive debate around the question of ‘separating the art from the artist’, but god forbids there is one. for me, acknowledging that awful people can be talented and talented people can still turn out to be shitty people is the first and simplest real step towards awareness. awareness gives us another pair of lenses to be critical of what we consume, and it at least somewhat removes power from people who actually abuse it. so from what you’ve told me in the ask i would say you’re in the right track. but what you want to do from here is entirely up to you and is none of anyone’s business, including me. 

sometimes this means pirating the creator’s work, so you could still engage with the creation in the way that doesn’t financially benefit the creator. sometimes this means cutting ties with the creator and forever disengaging with their creation. so i’d say do what feels right to you. just don’t let anyone talk you into thinking THIS IS THE ONLY RIGHT WAY TO DO IT AND IF YOU DON’T YOU ARE A BAD PERSON. BAD!!!!!!!!!!. i’m saying this because you asked if there’s “cara terbaik”, but “cara terbaik” means catering to someone else’s standards, probably the community standards, which i’m telling you is most likely the byproduct of how social media works and the stan/cancel culture.

this is probably a good time to remind people how stan culture + the commodification of art and media under capitalism creates the idea of ‘the things that i like are what i am’, and then from that it makes you think you gain a sense of personal responsibility for the actions of people whose work you identify with. i personally don’t believe in this BS. because for me liking something should not mean acting like it’s a part of you which you are morally responsible for. so even if you still choose to engage with the creation, you are consuming it with complete awareness that that is a brainchild of someone whose actions you don’t agree with, which in and of itself protects you from further getting misguided. so i would say do what feels right to you - it only has to matter to you. not anyone else and especially not me.

(i don’t think this answer helps at all but i do hope it makes you re-think about the whole thing. stay safe my friend.)

[thequeendesi]

Forgiveness

Title ; Forgiveness

Alt Title : Back

Warnings : swear, 5 years has passed, poly relationship, single mom , v cute son

Disclaimer : I do not own you or the twilight Saga franchise. I do own the writing

Rating : PG

Part Two to Suck Ass Love Story

—

You sighed softly. Rolling over on your back, you started looking up at the ceiling.

Plastic light up stars.

You and Emmett put them as a joke 7 years ago.

It had been five long years since Emmett and Rosalie left that day.

The pain finally went away. It didn’t hurt to think of him. It didn’t hurt to think of how he left.

What didn’t stop was the thinking on why he left. Why’d he leave?

It was a constant thought.

You sat up.

You grab your phone and end up checking it after a couple of minutes of sitting and staring at the wall.

It was 3 a.m.

Your son was asleep in his room.

You call your son your saving grace, Amatus Call.

Thanks to tons of liquor and a one night stand, Embry Call and you welcomed a son almost 11 months ago.

Embry and you never looked at the path of a relationship. You loved Amatus having a father as amazing as Embry in his life.

…

You walked the sidewalk of Port Angeles, Amatus in his stroller. The weather was gloomy, but it’s Washington in the late fall, so it’s to be expected.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’m a bit lost.” You absentmindedly tapped a tall blond woman on the shoulder. While checking on your son, who simply cooed at you.

“What’re you looking for?” She asked, turning around.

Golden eyes meeting your (eye color) eyes.

“I thought you guys all left.” Your breath catches itself in your throat as you stand rigid.

Heavy footsteps made you look up to face him. “Rose! The theaters are open, are you...” Emmett completely stopped himself. “You’re still here.” He whispered out.

“Why are you here?” You moved yourself in front of Amatus, who sensed the tension and started fussing.

“Bella’s having a family reunion.” Emmett cleared his throat as he looked at the baby in your arms.

You rubbed Amatus’ back, looking away from Emmett. “I was finally over you two. I was finally ok with where my life is!” You yelled at them.

Rosalie pursed her lips.

She was still beautiful. Stunning. In every which way. As if she was put here by God himself.

You hated your heart for being to race, still completely head over heels for the blond.

“Please. Can we take you to dinner? It’s getting late.” Emmett asked.

“Are you paying?” You refused to look at Emmett.

…

You sat Amatus in his high chair, he kept hold of your index finger as you sat next to him.

Emmett and Rosalie sat across from you two.

“(Y/N)...” Emmett started, but stopped himself as you held up your free hand. “No. I’ll start.” You looked up at the two of them.

“For 5 years, I’ve sat in this state. 2 of them because I didn’t know what to do with myself, 1 of them because of Embry, and 2 of them for Amatus.” Your tone was calm as you wiped the drool off of his face.

“I’ve sat here. Thinking of the day you left Emmett.” You turned to look at the two. “Thinking of the day you and Rosalie left.” You sighed. “I was in love with you, both. And I knew you two both loved me.”

“So it’s given me a lot of, pardon my French, fucking confusion over the past 5 years, on why?” You turned your gaze back to your son’s, who smiled up at you, not understanding any of his surroundings.

“Why did you put her perfume on you and allow me to think you cheated, when I know you never would’ve done that? Why did you say those horrendous things? Why did you leave? And now my newest question; why are you back?”

Your eyes were now harsher this time as you met both of their stares.

“We had to leave.” Emmett sighed out.

“Why didn’t you take me with you? Why was it just you and Rosalie leaving?”

“We couldn’t, at risk of you being killed, or turned. We couldn’t put that on you.” Rosalie put her hand on the table, reaching out for yours.

You looked down at it, taking it after some consideration.

“There was a new army. Someone was creating newborns. Anytime we thought they were gone, they weren’t. It was our battle, not anyone else’s. Because we knew they wanted you. We had to let you think we hated you. We had to let you think we didn’t want anything to do with you. Just last weekend we got the creators.” Rosalie explained.

“We came back for you.” Emmett added.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t have told you the truth. It killed us… every night we couldn’t see you. Every second of every day for 1,895 days we couldn’t see you.” Rosalie would’ve been in tears had she not have been a vampire.

“You’ve grown so strong, love. Please. Forgive us. Take us, together. We’re meant to be together.” Emmett pleased.

He’s only done this one other time. When he asked you out for the first time.

“I can’t forgive you just yet.” You looked at them. “Provided that you never ever do that to me, ever again. I will be with you, both.”

Emmett put his hand over yours and Rosalie’s.

“It will be a long road to forgiveness.”

“We’re aware of that. And prepared to do anything to keep you happy.” Rosalie smiled at you, then at Amatus. “And you too.”

[asagimeta]

The time has come again to remind everyone that good queer representation does not necessarily equal morally good queer characters

I’ve heard that apparently there’s a renaissance of anti-Hannibal going on lately? And that + the rise in popularity of media like Helluva Boss and Killing Eve, and the addition of more openly queer charectors in existing media- from comic book based media to long-running shows like American Horror Story- I feel like this needs to be said again- not necessarily by me but I posted about it way back when Hannibal originally aired it’s finale so I figure, what the hell

Good representation =/= morally good characters

You can have both, absolutely, but you can also have them separate, and you can have all combinations of the reverse too

Ofcourse, to be clear right in the beginning, what counts as “good” representation vs “bad” reputation is going to vary from person to person, everything from life experiences to media exposure to personal opinions will dictate where you land on the sliding scale of “good” or “bad”, someone who’s consumed quite alot of queer-focused media, for example, is going to have a very different opinion than someone who’s only seen one background gay in a TV show that one time, and someone who’s a really huge fan of horror is going to have a much different opinion than someone who’s only a fan of lighter-hearted fair

With that said, in my personal opinion, the measure of good vs bad representation relies less on the character and more on the presentation of said character- less, not entirely

To get what I mean, here’s the best example I can think of:

Castiel from Supernatural is, objectively, a good charactor- if nothing else he’s morally good by most standards, certainly by the time season 15 rolls around, but his canonically queer presentation is just.... horrible, horrible representation and I’ve only met literally one person myself who disagreed with that

Cas is presented as being a really tragic figure right from the start of his coming out- the one thing in the world that would make him truly happy for even a single moment is confessing that he’s in love with Dean, even if Dean rejects him, just saying it is enough, that is..... sad

If it had been framed differently, it actually could have been very good representation, in a “I don’t need you to validate me, I’m being honest about who I am for the first time in my life and that’s enough, I’m enough” way, but it wasn’t, it was framed as pining, as “Even if you don’t love me, my acknowledging openly that I love you is enough to make me happy”, and again that could have worked if framed differently but.... it’s followed up by the infamous “Gay angels go to Super Mega Turbo Hell” thing and like.... no....

Cas is a good character who is queer, he is not a good queer character, because his existence as a queer character lasted less than five minutes and was immediately followed by literally going to what’s worse than hell for expressing his queerness

There is no way I can express the amount of levels of Bad that is, to say nothing of how Dean treats the entire experience for like.... ever... from there on out

But now let’s look at Hannibal, who is objectively a pretty bad character morally- he’s stupendously written but yeah I mean look the dude eats people there’s just no getting around that

But I would argue that he’s excellent queer representation because of how he was presented

Hannibal’s sexuality is never defined, for starters, there’s never a “very special episode” moment where he has some long-winded coming out speech, in fact we don’t quite know how he identifies but because he’s written so artfully we don’t really need to, his exact sexuality doesn’t feel like it needs to be known because, frankly, not much personal information is known about Hannibal anyway, and sexuality feels like one of those arbitrary things that he wouldn’t really care about defining

And that’s the other thing- he’s far from sexless and yet he places no emphasis on sex, he isn’t hypersexualized but he also isn’t being kept as a Ken doll to preserve the message of gay purity (because I don’t know apparently there’s a Thing some people have about how gay people aren’t allowed to be sexual???) he’s just... a person

And that’s really what it comes down to that makes him great, he’s a person first and queer second... or third.... or fourth or fifth.... it never defines who he is, it’s just part of who he is, and regardless of your opinion on Hannibal specifically, I think that is something most queer people strive for in representation

It’s great to have stories that are focused on queerness but it’s equally exhausting to only be able to have characters who’s lives revolve around their sexualities, it’s nice to go into media and go “Oh that character that I already like for these reasons is also queer, that’s so cool!”

Hannibal also skillfully side-steps stereotypes, despite falling into the category of being “polite, thin, and neat”, despite loving fine wine and fine art and fine culture, he never feels like a flamboyant theater kid with a decoration-diploma, wich is how alot of queer characters in this category can feel

His story is about alot of things and his relationship with Will is at the center of much of it, but that relationship didn’t become explicitly queer until the show was almost over- not because it was sudden or poorly written but because it was a slow build up, wich is also refreshing, as alot of times it feels like queer characters are made as explicitly queer as they’re allowed to be as quickly as they’re able to be on screen so that the show can grab those important Representation Brownie Points from episode one and either introduce a Manwhore or a Uhaul Lesbian right away and just kind of leave them in that trope until “someone comes along and changes that” or whatever, I don’t even know what straight writers do half the time, but Hannibal- as a show and a charactor- doesn’t do that, he’s just allowed to exist and tell his story, and THAT is good representation

With the heavy-handed example over with though, I want to tackle the biggest part of this entire “debate” that makes me interested in it:

Queer people are allowed to be bad people

Queer people are allowed to be lazy and unattractive and non-political and angry and jealous and yes, “bad” and evil too

Wile I DEFINITELY prefer to have morally good characters- especially after literally a century of rarely getting more than The Evil Homosexual stereotype and all it’s kin- I also don’t like the direction some people are taking this where queer people are only “allowed” to be 100% morally flawless and good and righteous at all times because it’s just so unrealistic, and because it does the exact same thing that the opposite stereotype does: Puts queer people in a box, makes us a decoration for the straight cast so that the creators get Representation Brownie Points and can’t get yelled at on Twitter, and treats us like we’re some other species (and not in the cool way like werewolves but more like... well, decorations, as I’ve said before)

And if you’re worried about the way straight-cis people perceive us due to seeing evil queer characters, you should be equally worried about how they perceive us seeing nothing but morally flawless ones

I could get into An Entire Thing about the history of Straights trying to turn queer people into what they want us to be and present an inaccurate depiction of us to their brethren for their own benefit but I’ll make it relatively simple

The old way of keeping The Queers away from their Innocent Straight Children was to turn us into villains so that we would be ashamed of who we really are and hide ourselves and pretend to be The Good Christian Folk nextdoor and not get overly political or loud or different

The new way of keeping The Queers away from their Innocent Straight Children is to turn us into sexless Ken & Barbie stereotypes so we can be ashamed of who we really are and pretend to be The Good Christian Folk nextdoor and not get overly political or loud or different

By sterilizing queerness into something they find more “acceptable”, they’re doing the same thing they used to, but now through a lens of “Aren’t you happy you get what you want? You can get married now! You can hold hands in public! Just make sure not to do any of that other crazy stuff you people get up to and you can stay at the Civil Rights Table :)”, we’re still not “allowed” to be sexual human beings, it’s just framed in a way that makes us feel like the people shunning us are on our side wile those same people are still in the corner going “Just don’t kiss in public ok?”

And I could go On about this for some time but let’s get back to the point-

Queer people are three-dimensional people and we should be allowed to be so, we should be allowed to have characterization outside of The Gay Love Interest and The Gay BFF and The Gay Butler and so on, outside of the stereotypes being imposed on us

That’s one of the main reasons I love Yuri On Ice so much, and love Batwoman so much.... and one of the main reasons I love Hannibal and Harley Quinn and Helluva Boss and Killing Eve so much, all of these things star queer characters and queer relationships to different degrees (Batwoman, for example, makes a MUCH larger point and political stance about queerness than, say, Hannibal) and they’re all about something other than queerness too, the charecters are three-dimensional and they’re not built around their sexualities or side peices for straight people

And none of them are PUNISHED for their sexualities either

Going back to Castiel earlier, stereotypes are hardly the worst of our worries when Burry Your Gays, Gayngst Induced Suicide, and Gay Guy Dies First are still alive and well- among others

From Frank N’ Furter in Rocky Horror Picture Show to Tara in Buffy The Vampire Slayer to, oh look, it’s Supernatural again with not just Cas, but also Charlie, and even arguably Dean (but that’s a much longer story for a much different time) and many many more... sometimes just having any gay charecter live through a franchise is enough on it’s own- setting the bar awfully low there but it’s still hard for a shamefully large amount of franchises to step over

In some cases like Tara, it can be pretty decently argued that the death has little- if anything- to do with queerness, but in examples like Cas and Frank, it’s pretty blatantly obvious, especially when the other queer characters in their respective franchises didn’t exactly fair well either....

Matt Baume put it best when he said that until recently, you had to choose if you wanted your only source of representation to be dead or evil, and most people chose evil

Now-a-days that’s clearly not the case as much but there’s still a heavy enough flavor of it there- and villains are just part of gay culture, dating all the way back to prohibition, queer people identified as outlaws because we literally were, so pirates and cowboys and other anti-heros and villains became a staple of the culture that’s still very much alive to this day, thus leading to another point: Identification

Straight people can identify with pretty much whoever they want- from superheros to princesses to any and every kind of villain

Tony Soprano is a horrible, horrible person but is notorious for being beloved among straight white males because he’s a projection of who they want to be- powerfull (and wealthy)

Stolas from Helluva Boss actually presents a pretty similar power fantasy, he’s part of a family who lives outside the larger part of the law, he can kill (nearly) anyone he pleases, he’s physically and socially powerfull, he’s wealthy, he has a nuclear family, he gets to screw around with whoever he wants with the only one taking issue being his wife, the only real difference is that Stolas is queer (and much more fashionable... and pleasant)

Queer people should be allowed to have those power fantasies as much as straight people are

Speaking as a bisexual female myself, I absolutely ADORE Villanelle from Killing Eve, I really don’t care that she’s a bitch or has killed an uncountable amount of people, it’s fun to project on her, and seeing a very flawed woman fall in love and be vulnerable and open herself up to a relationship and get that relationship with another woman is AMAZING to me, that doesn’t make the relationship it’s self healthy or good, but it’s still fun to watch and plays further into that identification

I love Korra and Asami from Legend Of Korra, they’re a sweet, wholesome relationship between two sweet, wholesome characters and I adore them... but I’m allowed to adore Eve and Villanelle too, even if the relationship is toxic and the characters have baggage and Villanelle is literally a serial killer

Ofcourse enjoying something doesn’t make it “good”, I enjoy alot of trash B rated (and C rated) horror movies too, it doesn’t mean I think they deserve Oscars (if that’s really the measuring stick we’re going to use), but I think when it comes to representation, it’s important to distinguish the difference between good queer character and a moral queer character, they just... aren’t the same

Light Yagami from Death Note, Bill from Kill Bill, and Joker from Batman are all just... horrible, horrible people, there’s no doubting that, they are morally terrible... but my god are they fantastic charecters- they’re interesting, they’re three dimensional (even if only occasionally in the Joker’s case), they’re well written and complex, there’s a reason why they’re iconic and why they’re still talked about decades after their introduction into the world, they are GREAT characters who are morally bad, and characters like Hannibal and Villlanelle are in that boat too, they just so happen to be queer- and there’s what it all boils down to

People being queer, not queer people

Some of the most beloved examples above like Yuri On Ice and Legend Of Korra are praised for being about people who are queer, people who have stories focused on other things and are just allowed to exist without their sexualities defining them, and the same should be said and appreciated for villains who are queer too

In an age where so much queer-focused media is about tragedy (the period lesbian dramas and Gayngst teen media for example), and so much of it is focused on the same exact aspects of queer life (coming out, dating around, getting or being married, but mostly coming out), it’s great to have characters who just so happen to be queer without those things being the center of their storylines- and without them being canon fodder or the Gay BFF, or being a terrible stereotype from the 90s that just won’t die...

And that by no means is to say you have to like these characters- not at all, there are PLENTY of objectively good/well-written queer characters who I don’t like for whatever reason- but to call them bad representation just because they’re bad people is sweeping ALOT under the rug

And I know I’ve harped alot on avoiding queer-centered storylines like coming out stories and relationship dramas, but those are fine, they have their place just like everything else, really, they just don’t need to have the only place- that does a disservice to so many other types of queer stories- for the heroes and the villains, because morality and goodness have nothing to do with one’s sexuality, just like one’s sexuality has nothing to do with morality and goodness

[mostlycompetentwriter]

TMT One-Shot

F/M Pairing: Y/N x 3racha (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: High School AU

Warnings: Lots of smut and language; mentions of alcohol

Summary: Y/N is the shy, awkward girl who can’t talk to boys while doing her best to exist as a shadow throughout her high school life. Her two brothers, Minho and Felix, are the complete opposite. Minho is the cool, suave music addict who wants to be in his own band one day, while Felix is the stereotypical popular kid whose best friend, Han Jisung, tirelessly trails after his friend’s older sister. However, despite their differences, the three siblings share a very close relationship and Y/N considers them to be her only real friends. 

One day, Minho brings home two classmates from his community college and Y/N realizes, for the very first time, that the sweet taste of desire is highly addictive.

When my mother died, I was only 10-years-old. She slipped away like a ghost, quietly and without notice, and I was left feeling broken on the inside. If I was a therapist, unlike the contemptuous older woman who always spoke to me with a condescending tone, I’d likely attribute the traumatic event to the person I started to become. 

Instead of bouncing back from her death like my brothers Minho and Felix, I started to feel sad all the time. Accordingly, I lost many of the friends I met in Elementary school because I chose to sit quietly in my classes when I didn't feel like talking to anyone else. Likewise, I also declined their invitations to visit their houses or ride with their parents to the movie theaters. Actually, I exchanged those friendships for the solitude of my bedroom at home where I usually spent the evening staring vacantly at the ceiling while trying not to cry anymore.

Yeah, I guess it was kinda my fault.

Overtime, my status evolved from the kind, amiable Y/N who everyone at school admired, to the sullen and despondent weird girl who sometimes spoke to imaginary friends. I spent recesses inside with my teachers, helping them clean the whiteboard. During lunch, I sat alone with my school tray and thought about how my mother used to pack my lunches for me because I complained about the mystery meatloaf....Oh, right, thinking about my mother inevitably made me feel sad again and sometimes I cried at school in front of my classmates. 

Needless to say, my youth wasn’t exactly as voracious as my peers...or even my brothers for that matter. Actually, Minho and Felix were perfectly normal because they mourned our mother’s death for several months before inexplicably moving on as if it had never happened. Thereafter, Minho developed a passion for music and my father allowed him to take guitar and piano lessons after school. Felix started to play sports and he was quite good at baseball despite his smaller stature. Likewise, in between classes, I heard my classmates frequently gossiping about my brothers: mysterious and alluring Minho who all the older girls adored, and popular and beloved Felix who was the envy of our classmates. 

I didn’t mind being considered an outsider in comparison to my brothers because they still treated me like a friend. In fact, my brothers and I were extremely close, especially after our mother’s death. Despite my introverted tendencies, Minho and Felix often went out of their way to include me in their activities. For example, Minho liked to offer his demos as background music for the raunchier parties in our town and he always begged me to come along and hear his new songs. My older brother was so incredibly talented that I rarely refused his offers, finding myself sitting next to Felix in the backseat of Minho’s car while we drove across town to the wealthier districts. I would spend the rest of the night hanging around my brothers while listening to Minho sing about everything from his ex-girlfriends to the pot he liked to smoke with some of the younger guys.

In any case, I could always count on my brothers to liven my spirits, which might explain why I was so uncomfortable when Minho graduated and applied for University. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because Minho was only driving thirty minutes everyday to attend his classes and he still lived at home. But it still felt like an unwanted change, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with my brother’s sudden desire to build a studio in the basement of our childhood home while he brought new classmates to fawn over his equipment.

Thankfully, I managed to avoid the unfamiliar faces, and I started spending more time with Felix. Unfortunately, spending time with Felix inevitably forced me to endure the endless pandering from some of his more unsavory acquaintances. For example, when I wanted to play video games one afternoon, I knocked twice on Felix’s door only to find myself in the company of someone who was decidedly the complete opposite of my brother. His name was Han Jisung, and he was Felix’s best friend. “Y/N,” he said quietly, sheepishly attempting to fix the mop on top of his head. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder. “Where’s Felix?”

“Bathroom,” Jisung said, pointing at the door. 

I groaned. “Are you busy?”

“We’re never too busy for you,” Jisung smirked, but he always flirted with me shamelessly as if he didn’t care that I was Felix’s older sister.

I ignored Jisung when I walked into Felix’s bedroom, finding a relatively clean spot on his bed to wait for his return. In the meantime, Jisung lingered by the doorway, watching me with those ridiculous dark eyes. “I heard Minho made another demo.”

“He’s always making demos,” I replied, wondering why Felix was determined to take his time for once.

“Yeah, but he’s really proud of this one.”

“Minho thinks he’s a genius,” I said. “If you were to ask him, then every song he made would be a masterpiece.”

“Well, he’s the reason why I've started to pursue music.”

“You?” I scoffed, finding the idea of Jisung as a creator of anything other than enormous messes on the kitchen counter to be nothing short of hilarious. “Jisung, you can’t even finish your math homework.”

“That’s not true!” Jisung protested. “It’s just not that interesting, and I like music so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’ll find something else to like in a few months,” I said, watching as he frowned with that ridiculous pout he always wore when he wasn’t getting his way.

“Yeah? Well, when my first mixtape comes out,” Jisung grumbled. 

“I’ll be the first one asking for an autograph,” I teased him, rolling my eyes when he sat next to me and held up his pinky finger.

“Promise?”

“Fine,” I sighed before trying to move further away from Jisung.

He didn’t allow the space for very long, sliding right up against me without any traces of his previous frustrations. “Y/N,” Jisung said, hand reaching out for my shoulder. “There’s a party this Friday.”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” I said. “I have a lot of homework this weekend, and-”

“Actually, Minho invited us,” Felix interrupted, and I didn’t even realize that my brother had returned. I was also surprised to see Minho behind him, stretching his arms above his head like he had forgotten to sleep again last night.

“You’re going too?” I asked Minho.

“It’s Chan’s party,” Minho explained. “He’s playing some of my demo tracks.”

“Bang Chan,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes because I had heard my brother mention that name dozens of times. Actually, if I didn’t know any better, then I would think Minho had some kind of infatuation with his new college friend.

“I think Minho is in love,” Felix teased, dodging Minho’s playful swing before he joined Jisung and I on the edge of his bed.

“He’s just a friend from one of my lectures,” Minho said. 

“Minho also thinks he’s a genius,” Felix whispered to me, but it was loud enough for our brother to overhear. 

“You like him too,” Minho protested.

“Felix met him?”

“Last week,” Felix beamed. “Minho and I ran into him on the way to get coffee. Your lazy ass was still asleep at 12:00.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I stayed up late to finish an essay.”

“College will kick your ass, Y/N,” Minho said. “If you can’t survive high school literature...”

“I get it,” I groaned. “I don’t want another lecture.”

“Good, but you’re still coming to the party because I want you to meet Chan and hear your brother’s masterpiece.”

“Please stop calling your mixtape a masterpiece.”

“I’ll consider it,” Minho smirked, “as long as I see you at Chan’s house this Friday.”

“This is considered blackmail, Minho,” I sighed. “But fine, I’ll need the time and address, please.”

I stood on the porch in the frigid cold wearing a party dress that might’ve been overkill, and I had a desire to return to my house because nobody was answering the door. Actually, when I really thought about it, this complex was too nice for a college student, unless Chan had discovered Blackbeard’s treasure or something. I snorted at my own joke, waiting impatiently for someone to let me inside because my brothers weren’t responding to my text messages. 

The music sounded faint from behind the door, which made me wonder if Minho had given me the wrong address. It wouldn’t be the first time that my brother gave me some kind of misinformation, but I thought he really wanted me to come tonight and hear his music. “Hello!” I yelled, banging my fist against the door. “Minho? I’m leaving in exactly ten seconds if nobody lets me inside!”

I started the countdown in my head, jumping up and down to warm my muscles, when a sudden expulsion of heat relieved the tension slowly numbing my fingers. “There you are,” Felix said with a drunken smile.

“Isn’t too early for you to be plastered?”

Felix giggled. “They’re playing Minho’s music next.”

“Well, let me inside you asshole,” I said, pushing my way into the house because my brother had clearly forgotten that it was basically snowing outside.

“What do you think?” Felix asked. “It’s pretty nice.”

“I can’t see anything,” I complained, narrowing my eyes since it was difficult to notice the details when the house was packed wall to wall with intoxicated college students. The lights were also dimmed, which meant that walking was an unnecessary chore as Felix took my hand and brought me into the kitchen where he promised Minho was waiting.

At least he wasn’t fully incapable. 

“Y/N,” Minho grinned, tossing an arm around my shoulder as he pulled me closer, allowing me to smell the nasty liquor on his breath.

“Drunk at your mixtape reveal party?”

Minho laughed. “I haven’t had much.”

“Felix has,” I said, grimacing when I spotted my younger brother bouncing from person to person with an unmaintainable energy.

“Let him have fun,” Minho said. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Whatever, but he’s your responsibility in the morning when he’s suffering from a hangover.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minho reassured me. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“Chan! Get your ass over here!”

“What a good friend you are,” I remarked, and I was fully prepared to tease my brother further until I realized that Minho was waving down one of the most attractive men I had ever seen.

Chan was absolutely gorgeous, appearing nothing short of debauched under the low-hanging lights of the kitchen. Neatly styled blonde-hair parted down the middle, and bright blue eyes that held the stars inside an endless sea of black. “Are you guys having fun?” he asked with an accent that I couldn’t place.

“The place is fucking awesome, man,” Minho said, wrapping an arm around Chan’s shoulders as he nodded in my direction. “This is my sister,” Minho said with a proud smile. 

“Hello,” I said, cringing at my tone.

“Y/N,” Chan smiled, and I decided that nobody could ever say my name again with such a sexy tenor.

“You have a lovely home,” I said, swallowing hard when Chan leaned in closer. 

“Minho talks about you a lot,” Chan said with a smirk. “Do you want something to drink?”

I nodded without thinking, keeping my eyes trained on his beautiful visage as a beer slipped into my hand. “Pace yourself,” Minho warned me, but I ignored him as I swallowed down the bile-tasting liquid.

“I like her,” Chan nodded, looking at me seductively from over the top of his bottle.

“She’s a bit uptight,” Minho chuckled, and I glared at him because this was not the time to embarrass me. “Are my songs playing next?”

“I’ll make sure everything is ready,” Chan said, giving me one last lingering look.

“Let’s find a good place to hear everything,” Minho suggested, and I followed my brother with thoughts and fantasies consumed by Bang Chan.

Minho’s mixtape was really good, and I begrudgingly congratulated my brother and even allowed him to tell everyone that it was, in fact, a masterpiece. However, while my brother was distracted by a group of younger fan-girls, I slipped away to try and find somewhere peaceful to recover from my headache. It had developed sometime between the pounding bass line of “BEWARE” and the aggressive tone of “Boxer.” 

I paused next to the foyer where there were considerably less people. In fact, only one student lingered next to the open window, and I leaned against the wall as I closed my eyes against the distinct ringing in my ears. Next time, I would wear earplugs when Minho forced me to stand at the speakers.

“You’re not going to pass out, right?”

I blinked several times as the room swam into focus. “I’ll probably make it.”

“There’s a bathroom upstairs,” the rough voice continued, and I finally addressed the hooded figure standing at the window. I realized that he was smoking, holding the bud of the cigarette outside so that the ashes collected somewhere on the porch. “I’m Changbin,” he smirked. 

“Oh,” I cleared my throat. “Do you mind if I share the window?”

He shrugged, tossing his hood back so that I could see the way his black hair fell flat against his head. “Sure.”

I carefully felt my way along the wall until the generous cold breeze was hitting my flushed skin. “Thank god,” I groaned, practically forcing my head outside.

“Drink too much?”

“A combination of that and the music.”

“I heard a rumor that the beer was definitely spiked,” he said, dark eyes looking me over. “You’re obviously new here.”

“I’m with my brother,” I offered cautiously in response to his sudden advances.

“Do I know him?”

“Lee Minho.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “We’re in the same music composition lecture. I thought he mentioned you in class.”

“He invited me,” I continued, but I didn’t understand why I felt the need to justify myself to him.

“I bet he did,” Changbin nodded. “Why would he hide you from us?”

I shivered. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Is that right?” he asked before cornering me against the wall with a hungry gaze. “You hear the song playing?”

I nodded. “It’s loud.”

Changbin chuckled. “I made it.”

I nodded again because that certainly explained the explicit lyrics. “It’s...interesting?”

“Yeah?” Changbin purred. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I gasped, feeling one of his hands grab me around the waist.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and sensual, while he inhaled deeply. “Y/N, is this your first party?”

“No,” I whispered because it suddenly felt like we were the only two people left in the room.

“I just assumed,” he said. “From the way you’re reacting.”

“W-what?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted to go someplace else with me,” Changin said.

I was completely baffled by his assumption, searching for the right words, but they never came. However, the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat forced us apart, and I was surprised to see Chan standing so close. “I guess you’ve met Minho’s little sister,” Chan said and I hated how immature the introduction sounded. 

“She made sure to tell me,” Changbin smirked. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

“He’s looking for her,” Chan continued, and I was confused by the hostility in his tone. “You probably shouldn’t do anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Changbin retorted, planting one of his hands next to my head. “She’s feeling sick. Tell Minho I can take her home.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Oh? Is anyone else sober?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, eyes darting between the two of us. “Wait here.”

“What a good host,” Changbin snarked, but Chan was already walking away and I was starting to feel the effects of my alcoholic consumption darken the edges of my vision.

My brother was nothing short of incoherent, swaying back against Chan as he tried to give me a stern look. “Y/N, I hope you didn’t drink too much.”

“Really?” I snorted. “Isn’t that hypocritical?”

Of course, my admonishment had no effect on Minho. “Chan said that you were feeling sick.”

“It’s just a headache,” I said, although my churning stomach seemed to suggest otherwise.

“I thought I could take Y/N home,” Changbin interrupted. “I guess she could use some fresher air.”

“Sure,” Minho nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t mind.”

Minho was readily willing to entrust his sister into the care of someone she had just met, and that’s when I knew that he couldn’t be trusted to take me anywhere. “Is that what you want?” Chan asked.

I shrugged because it might be nice to finally escape the endless drumming of Chan’s intricate sound system. “I might be saving myself some trouble.”

“I need more cigarettes,” Changbin said. “I’m running low and I know there’s a store near Minho’s house.

I frowned, but figured that Minho had brought Changbin over to our house before during that brief phase at the start of his college semester when I saw a new face in the basement every week. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“As long as you behave,” Chan warned him quietly, but I never had the opportunity to question him before Changbin was forcing us both outside onto the main porch where the snow was starting to build along the sidewalks.

“This way,” Changbin said, resting one of his hands against my lower back as he guided us down the street.

Changbin’s car was a very old model and the paint was starting to peel from the doors. He helped me inside slowly, reaching for my seat-belt before I slapped his hands out of the way because I could manage to do that by myself. He chuckled at my glare. “Comfortable?”

I nodded in response and waited for him to turn on the ignition before I was savoring the accompanying blast of heat even though it smelled distinctly of ashes. “Minho’s little sister,” Changbin said, eyes focused on the road in front of him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I replied because the growing distance between us and Chan’s party music was actually nice. “I guess the music gave me a headache.”

“That’s how Chan likes it,” Changbin said. “He’s gotten at least a dozen noise complaints from this past month alone.”

“How many parties does he have!”

Changbin smirked. “He likes to keep his house full.”

“It might’ve been too much tonight,” I said, leaning my head against the cold window. “I’ve never seen so many people.”

“Exams,” Changbin said. “When college students feel stressed, they like to get shitfaced.”

“But you’re not drunk.”

“Who said that I was stressed?”

His tone was strangely flirtatious, especially when he looked at me. “You didn’t have to help me, you know?”

“I know, but it was my window we were sharing,” Changbin said. “You looked like you were seconds away from crashing.”

“I can take care of myself,” I replied, even though it was rather harsh to criticize someone who was currently neglecting the speed limit to take my home as quickly as possible. “When did you meet Minho?”

“A few weeks ago,” Changbin said. “We worked on a project together.”

“I guess you’ve already been to my house.”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell don’t remember seeing you.”

“I don’t really like to socialize with most of my brother’s friends.” 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Changbin said, briefly glancing at me. “Are you that type? The unattainable girl next door?”

“I just don’t like people,” I grumbled, but Changbin seemed to think it was funny, laughing at my expense while reaching down to turn on the radio despite the fact that music had caused my headache in the first place.

Of course, I didn’t want to be that type, so I endured his self-promotion, listening to his gravelly voice suspend the entire car into some kind of hip-hip haven. He talked his way through the introductions of every song on his mixtapes, bragging about his compositions and arrangements. “It’s all about authenticity,” he explained when we finally pulled into my driveway.

“Is that so?” I sighed, frowning when I realized Felix had forgotten to turn on the front porch light.

“I guess I should wait until you’re inside,” Changbin chuckled.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out for the door handle.

“Woah! Baby, where are you going?” Changbin asked, and I quickly returned my hands to my lap. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

“No,” I shook my head, breathing heavily when he reached for my thigh.

“You probably don’t hear this a lot,” Changbin continued. “But you’re really sexy.”

I startled at his words. “Thank you?”

“I mean it, Y/N,” he continued, fingers inching along my thigh like it was free real estate. “Thank god you wanted to share my window.”

I shook my head rapidly when he turned off the ignition, navigating the waistband of his panties to drag his hand against my sensitive core. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he said. “Do you want me to?”

I nodded this time, waiting with my fists balled against the leather seats while he penetrated the soft walls of my core, moving in and out slowly to help me adjust to his fingers. I tried to relax, dropping my shoulders and controlling the way I was panting in desperation for more of the addicting feeling he was creating in my lower abdomen. It all felt entirely scandalous, feeling the way his fingers dragged across my insides, curling against the most responsive parts and watching me with an intensity that I could barely tolerate. I was moaning for him, calling his name softly because he was starting to increase his movements, and I focused on the way his wrist reappeared from underneath my skirt before losing itself in a sea of denim fabric.

“It’s wet,” he remarked, and the sounds of his penetration were growing louder, intermingling with my rapid breaths and the dark tone of his voice. “I can feel it.”

I knew what he meant because my entire body was pulsing in time to the pace in which he played with me. It was like I was his personal experiment, testing how I reacted to certain touches, especially when he crooked his fingers and a moan would displace the temporary quiet. “Changbin,” I whined, reaching for his arm because everything was starting to feel overwhelming.

“I got you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me, Y/N, I’m not gonna stop until you cum.”

I orgasmed at his filthy words, falling down from the place he sent me and into a deep headspace. He pulled his fingers back, holding them up so that I could clearly see the evidence of my release in the faint light from the street lamp outside. “You didn’t expect that,” Changbin said calmly, reaching for a tissue from the backseat while I tried to figure out what just happened. “I don’t really care who your brother is,” he continued, moving in close. “I think we should fuck next time.” 

“Changbin,” I said, “if Minho finds out-”

“Why are you always worried about him?”

“He’s my brother!”

“Oh? Well, in that case, since you want to be good for your older brother,” Changbin smirked. “I guess I’ll have to find a different way to see you again.”

The next morning, I took a shower because I could still feel traces of Changbin’s touches between my thighs. The water was hot, fogging up the mirrors and making it difficult to breathe. It was necessary because I could function better when I re-emerged with fresh clothes and a sudden hunger for those little chocolate muffins my mom bought at the store.

I walked downstairs, noticing Felix and Jisung both sitting at the counter while they talked over their breakfast. Felix noticed me first, watching as I grabbed a leftover pastry from the fridge before leaning back against the cabinets. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes, but then I realized that his question was innocent because he definitely didn’t know about Changbin. “It was nice.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t made plans.”

“You can hang out with me and Jisung today,” Felix suggested. “We’re just going for coffee.”

Jisung met my gaze from over the table and he quickly looked away as if he wasn’t expecting the contact. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I could use some coffee.”

It wasn’t often that I accompanied Felix and Jisung when they decided to actually leave the house and my brother’s massive collection of video games. Felix was never the problem, but I could only endure so much of Jisung’s flirtations before I inevitably made another pointless vow to try and ignore him. It was an impossible promise to keep since Felix was practically glued to his hip, and I can’t remember the last time Jisung actually spent the night at his own home.

However, coffee was nice and the taste was bile so it sat heavy on my tongue and provided a good distraction, even if that meant listening to my brother and Felix talk about the party. “I met Chan,” Jisung said. “He was really cool.”

Felix nodded, eyeing his coffee with obvious distaste. “Minho seems to like him.”

“He introduced me to his partner, Changbin,” Jisung continued and I fidgeted nervously at the mention of his name. “Apparently, they do a lot of work together.”

“I’ve heard their stuff,” Felix said, finally pushing away his coffee cup in exchange for his orange juice. “I think they’re really talented.”

“It’s like you’re meeting real professionals,” Jisung gushed and I rolled my eyes. “I let them listen to one of my demos,” Jisung chuckled. “I think they want to work together.”

“Really?” Felix gasped. “That’s amazing!”

“I guess they need another partner,” I remarked, shivering when I thought about my encounter with Changbin from the previous evening.

“You can always come with me to the studio tomorrow,” Jisung said. “If you want.”

The idea of being alone with Jisung wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. “I don’t know...”

“Changbin will be there too,” Jisung added. “Minho said he really thought you were cool at the party.”

“I bet he did,” I grumbled.

“Why are you inviting her instead of your best friend?” Felix pouted.

“You said you needed to work on a project,” Jisung reminded him. “Actually, you made me swear to keep away distractions!”

“Alright, fine,” Felix sighed. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.”

Jisung ignored my brother’s sullen expression. “Y/N? Do you want to come?”

“I guess,” I said, and I had no idea what possessed me to agree with his request until it was too late.

The next morning, I met Jisung outside of the address he had sent to my phone with several rather inappropriate emojis. I made sure to scold him for the messages, but he was far too excited, ignoring my complaints when he started talking about the new project he was working on with Chan and Changbin. “Come on,” he said, holding open the door as I walked inside the tiny lobby of the simple two-story building. “We’re on the top floor,” Jisung smirked as if that was something to brag about considering the condition of the worn-down warehouse they were using as a studio.

However, I knew that he was excited, so I feigned a smile as he continued talking about the building’s intricate history while we walked up the staircase to pause outside of a studio room. “Is this it?” I asked.

He nodded, reaching for the door handle. “They should be inside.”

True to his word, Chan and Changbin were standing together in front of a large computer monitor, turning around when they heard me and Jisung enter the room together. “There you are,” Chan said, but his gaze was strangely focused on me.

“We have some stuff for you to hear,” Changbin said, stretching his arms above his head. “I need some coffee first.”

“There’s a gas station down the road,” Jisung said. “I’ll go with you?”

Changbin looked at me for a moment before agreeing to Jisung’s proposal. “We’ll have plenty of time to work when we get back.”

“You’re in for a surprise, Jisung,” Chan said. “Actually, while the two of you are gone, maybe Y/N could look at some of the tracks?”

“Really?” I asked, surprised that he would be so willing to share, but he was already dragging me down into the desk chair, pulling me closer to the monitor.

“You can take you time and browse,” he said, joining Jisung and Changbin at the door.

They started talking about something else, but I was too busy admiring the vast number of tracks listened in sequential order on Chan’s computer. Despite how I might feel about Changbin, it was impossible to deny that their work was impressive, spreading across years of effort. It felt like I was being allowed an intimate glimpse of the artists who were growing more popular everyday.

“Try to be back in twenty minutes,” Chan said, and I watched Jisung and Changbin leave together, whispering in low tones while Chan shut the door behind them. “Your music is really good,” I said, scrolling through the library of his songs. It only made him that much more appealing when I could see the evidence of his passion.

“Are we going to stop playing games, Y/N?”

I frowned at his question, turning around in the chair. “What do you mean?”

Chan smirked, and I realized that it wasn’t playful. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” he asked.

“Chan...” I trailed off, frozen in place while he slowly leered in my direction, taking several, meaningful steps before he was bracing himself on either side of the desk behind me. 

“Changbin told me about what happened in the car.”

I swallowed hard. “W-what?”

“Is that all it takes? A couple of fingers to satisfy you?”

“Chan, I don’t understand,” I tried, gasping when he picked me up out of the chair, legs wrapping around his waist automatically before he sat me down on the desk.

“Do you want it again?” Chan asked, running his hands alongside my waist before crawling his finger across the bare skin of my thighs, disregarding the thin barrier of my skirt. I felt him press the palm of his hand against my wet heat, fingers testing the edges of my panties. “I can make you feel good.”

The sensation was too much, and I found myself nodding without really thinking about the consequences. “Please.”

His fingers were suddenly penetrating my delicate walls, sliding in and out at a vicious pace that left me aching for something more. “Tell me, Y/N,” Chan demanded, using his thumb to circle my throbbing clitoris. “How does it feel?”

“I want it, Chan,” I moaned, bracing my hands against his firm chest as he continued to pleasure me. Unlike Changbin, I could tell that Chan was determined to make me cum as soon as possible, twisting his hand and jamming his fingers like he was aiming to make me lose my mind. I practically fell against him crying, riding out the waves of my high, while he ignored my whimpers when everything was suddenly feeling overstimulated.

“Come here,” he said, pulling out his fingers before falling against his chair and patting his thighs.

My legs were shaking when Chan helped me onto his lap and I moaned when his fingers crooked against my walls again. “Do you want my cock?” he asked and I nodded viciously, sending strands of my hair flying in all directions. “What a good girl,” he snarled, ripping his fingers away and leaving me whining around the empty space he left behind.

“Chan,” I groaned, resting my head against his shoulder while I watched him make a show out of undoing the belt around his waist, unzipping his skinny jeans before shoving the material down his thighs. His erection strained the silky material of his boxer shorts, and I was practically salivating.

He reached down to rub himself through his shorts, outlining his cock in a way that made me realize that I wasn’t going to leave this studio without an obvious limp. “Y/N,” he said. “Take off your skirt for me.”

I whined, but obeyed him instantly, bracing one hand against his shoulder while the other practically ripped the fine material of the pretty skirt down my legs and into the studio floor. Chan’s eyes darkened, grabbing my waist between his hands to grind the front of my soaked panties against his erection. “Please,” I cried, wanting nothing more than to take matters into my own hands, but Chan’s grip was impossible to break.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy,” Chan growled. “Can you last long enough for me to come inside?”

“Yes,” I whined, stuttering around a broken sob when he pulled his cock into the studio light, stretching my panties to the side before sinking deep inside my pulsing heat.

“That’s right,” Chan said, eyes closed. “You feel so good.”

“Chan,” I moaned, eye widening when the stretch felt impossible, like he was splitting me open even when common sense told me that it was just my body accommodating to his cock.

His hips slammed into mine, and I could barely reciprocate when he easily overpowered my attempts to meet him somewhere between our bodies. Instead, he took control and I let him have it because he knew exactly what to do before sending me over the edge again, ignoring my cries when he continued to chase his own high, grunting against my ear when he came inside.

“Y/N,” he sighed, keeping me in place despite the fact that his cock was completely flaccid. “Such a good girl.”

I was incoherent and incapable of offering a response in return. Instead, I buried my face into the side of his neck, smelling the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the sex polluting the air around us. His body was firm and warm, and I closed my eyes because everything felt like an incredibly lucid dream.

I was still exhausted from the previous afternoon, unable to walk much further than from my bedroom to the living room before the painful reminder of my unexpected session with Chan started to ache between my legs. There was a movie playing on the television, but I was only somewhat focused on the lazy plot and characters. Instead, I was thinking about my interactions with Chan and Changbin, wondering if the two men were playing some sort of mind game with me.

I only managed to tear myself away from those thoughts when I saw Minho as he walked down the stairs with Felix and Jisung talking about something to do with a sports competition. “There you are!” Felix exclaimed. “We were just talking about your visit to the studio with Jisung.”

“I heard you got a tour,” Minho said. “That was nice of them.”

“Yeah,” I agree because there was a lot more to talk about besides the tour of the dilapidated studio.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit,” Minho said. “But they said I could record my new demo there.”

“Another one!” Felix gasped, looking at my brother with wide eyes. “You’re a fucking genius, man.”

“Oh, I know,” Minho smirked. “Actually, I can show you before my first lecture,” Minho said, starting in the direction of his bedroom.

Jisung watched Felix trail behind Minho before he joined me on the couch. “What did you think of the studio?”

I swallowed hard. “It was fine.”

“I think it’s really nice,” Jisung said. “Chan said something making us a permanent trio! He even gave us a name and everything!”

“Oh?”

“3racha,” Jisung giggled. “It’s like a pun-”

“Yeah, I get it,” I sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Jisung was undeterred by the sharp comment, and he buried himself further into the cushions before turning his attention back to the screen.

“Our first show is tomorrow, Y/N,” Jisung giggled, and I finally turned to look at him. “I hope you can watch?”

“Where?”

“It’s a club somewhere downtown. I can send you the address? I know that Chan and Changbin were both insisting that you come.”

“I’m sure they were,” I grumbled, but Jisung was more interested in talking about his contributions to the album. 

“It would mean a lot to me,” he managed after thoroughly explaining their newest concept. “You don’t even have to stay for the whole show.”

“I don’t know...”

“Minho and Felix are coming!” he quickly added, and I wondered if he knew that I would feel more comfortable with my brothers around.

“Okay,” I finally relented, groaning when he started jumping up and down on the couch like an overzealous puppy.

I rode to the club with Minho and Felix who were excitedly chattering about the impending concert while I looked out the window despondently. It felt like a huge risk to show up to the concert considering the recent events concerning my meetings with Chan and Changbin. However, I didn’t want my brothers to be suspicious, so I reluctantly followed them inside where we squeezed together around one of the tables in the middle of an enormous crowd.

The atmosphere was euphoric, draped in a haze of alcohol and the flashing neon lights decorating the stage. It was actually quite civil considering the fact that we were moments away from listening to loud music full of pounding bass and fast rapping. I was half-way convinced that the other guests had no idea what they were actually getting themselves into by coming here tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an annoucement blared overheard, “please welcome, 3racha!”

The audience started clapping while a familiar melody began softly playing, and the fans around me started to cheer for the three shadowy figures who had suddenly walked onto the stage. “Let’s go!” Chan shouted, beginning his verse of the song which I now recognized as one of the tracks they had played for me at the studio. They were all wearing black, matching the tone and vibe of their music, playing through each track with an infectious energy. However, I was still unnerved because I noticed that they all managed to look at me at some point, even though the crowd, and I was starting to feel hot all over my entire body.

“They’re really good,” Felix remarked, and I nodded in return even though I was finding the table much more interesting.

“Thank you, 3racha!” an overhead announcement said and the audience were rising to their feet in synchrony to offer the artists a round of applause for their stage.

“Jisung sounded amazing!” Felix said as if he couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag about his friend.

“Maybe we can meet them backstage,” Minho suggested, and I halfheartedly protested when my brothers forced me to accompany them.

Subsequently, Minho forced Felix and I to wait by the stage for his friends because he was convinced that I really didn’t have an important project to complete before tomorrow. “You never do anything last minute, Y/N,” he said, smiling when he spotted Chan’s messy hair from the middle of the crowd.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him, accepting Minho’s failed attempt at a cool handshake. Changbin and Jisung followed him, and I couldn’t help but notice how the youngest had started to stumble on his feet. 

“You guys did great,” Minho said, talking extensively about his favorite performance while a sudden bombardment of alcohol hit my senses.

I instantly recoiled, covering my nose when the smell grew stronger. “How much did you drink, Jisung?”

“Not much,” the younger boy slurred, and I noticed that his eyes were distant.

“I’ll grab us more drinks,” Changbin said, giving me a familiar dark look before disappearing into the surrounding crowd.

“He’ll be fine,” Felix said, tossing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “You deserve to celebrate tonight, man!”

I tugged on Minho’s sleeve to catch his attention, unwittingly drawing Chan’s gaze at the same time. “I think he’s drunk.”

Minho sighed, ready to launch into one of his world-famous lectures, when he was interrupted by the DJ onstage who confronted Chan. “Hey! We couldn’t find you after the show.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “I was out here the entire time.”

“Well, you need to pick up your CD backstage,” the DJ said. “The owners will throw it out tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right there,” Chan grumbled while glaring at the DJ.

“Now,” the man growled and Chan quietly excused himself with a brittle tone. Meanwhile, I had to help Felix with Jisung because his friend was starting to sway dangerously back and forth.

“He needs to go home,” I sighed, watching as Jisung leaned more of his weight against a much smaller Felix.

“I’d take him, but I already had two beers,” Minho said, looking at Felix expectantly.

“Me!” Felix whined. “But I want to stay.”

“He’s your friend,” I glowered.

“Alright,” Minho groaned. “Y/N, you haven’t had anything to drink and you’re way more responsible than Felix.”

It was easy to meet Minho’s stern gaze since this was the perfect opportunity to finally leave the club. “Fine, I’ll take Jisung home.”

“Then it’s settled,” he agreed, tossing me his spare set of car keys. “Take him to our place.”

“Okay,” I said, groaning when Felix helped Jisung wrap his arms around my shoulders and waist. The additional weight was burdensome, and I cursed Jisung under my breath as I helped him through the club to where the bouncer waited at the exit. “I’ll never let you forget this,” I hissed, waiting for the bouncer to open the door while I took one last look over my shoulder to check on my brothers. Instead, I found myself looking directly into Changbin’s dark eyes as he waited by the bar, a familiar smirk making him appear even more dangerous. I shivered in response before I slowly shuffled to the car with Jisung practically breathing down my neck.

When I finally managed to accompany Jisung inside my house, I unceremoniously deposited him on the couch, ignoring the way he groaned in complaint. “I’ll find you some medicine,” I said, searching through one of the side tables.

“It hurts,” Jisung whined, and I rolled my eyes after shoving a bottle of Aspirin in his direction.

“Remember that when you decide to be stupid again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping two pills into his hand before swallowing them eagerly.

I grimaced as I sat down next to him. “When did you start drinking?”

“Before the show,” Jisung said. “Changbin said it would help take the edge off.”

“Yeah? Do me a favor and don’t listen to him anymore,” I said, frowning when Jisung curled closer to my side. “What are you doing?”

“Tired,” he said, looking up at me with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but alcohol apparently made him bolder because he was suddenly twisting one leg around my hip to hold himself in place. “Jisung, you need to stop,” I said, gasping when he brought his lips against mine, kissing me with skill and a surprising amount of tongue. “We can’t do this!”

“Please,” Jisung whined, grinding his hips against my legs. “Just one night, Y/N?”

“Your drunk,” I said, which was only one of a dozen problems with the scenarios currently playing out right in front of my very eyes.

“I’m sober,” Jisung promised, frantically chasing my lips with eager kisses.

It was nothing short of desire, the way he was looking at me, while I watched our clothes end up in a pile around the couch as Jisung fumbled with the condom before I helped him roll it onto his erection. He groaned at the contact, and I moved my hand up and down his cock a few more times before directing him between my legs. Jisung slid inside with a messy exhale, and his arms trembled as they supported his body looming over mine with his delicate frame.

It was a pleasant contradiction because Chan’s thrusts had been nothing short of confident while Jisung’s inexperience showed in the frantic way his hips stuttered against mine. He tried to move faster, losing his previous rhythm, and his cock fell all the way out, erection sliding between my thighs instead. He whined pathetically, rutting against my legs for several moments before he re-adjusted himself deep inside. “Y/N,” he moaned.

“It’s okay,” I told him, petting my fingers along the crown of his head. “You’re doing so good.”

“I like you so much,” Jisung replied earnestly and my heart ached at his words.

He looked unbelievably sinful, eclipsing my body against his as I felt the fabric of the couch against my skin. The friction was delicious, and I focused on the way his cock felt, thrusts growing more and more assured as he finally found a way to please us both, thumb brushing across my clitoris. He was still kissing me, tongue moving across mine deliberately, and I was breathing harshly as I fought to control the rising heat building in my abdomen. It was an intense build-up to an orgasm that I could’ve never anticipated since Jisung was always Felix’s friend who I usually avoided. The same Jisung whose endless flirtations usually annoyed me, but something had changed the moment I looked into his eyes and saw the lust and desire coming together to create an intoxicating mixture.

It was suddenly impossible to ignore the way he made me feel and I felt him come deep inside with a stuttered moan. His hips moved harshly against mine, and I chased my release with a sensual grind of my hips until I was throwing my head back with a cry, groaning when his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck. “Jisung,” I murmured, watching him through a haze of darkness as he rolled over next to me with a moan.

I studied the way Jisung’s hair fanned out across the cushions, making him look angelic beneath the influence of the moon’s light breaking the barrier of the  curtains. It made me feel guilty, realizing that I had finally returned Jisung’s feelings only after my tumultuous affairs with Changbin and Chan. In fact, I was nothing more than the very girls I often mocked when they threw themselves at the most popular boys in school. I swallowed hard at the realization. “What have I done?”

[bubblegumsmilee]

“ i’m with you till the end of the line. “ 

[rose mciver , cis gender female, thirty four ] Let’s give a warm welcome to one of Sparkwood’s finest, LIZZIE ROGERS!! If Sparkwood wasn’t their home they would live upon the pages of MARVEL with STEVE ROGERS who is their BROTHER. When SHE isn’t/aren’t protecting the archives they spend time as a(n) SINGER. If you ask the townsfolk about what they are like, you will hear that they are RESILIENT but also STUBBORN. If they had a theme song it would be GALWAY GIRL  - ED SHEERAN. Let’s see how their story unravels this time. 

tw: death mention, toxic/abusive relationship,

𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂:

Full Name: elizabeth jane rogers

Aliases/Nicknames: lizzie, liz

Age: thirty four

Birthday: january 23

Zodiac: aquarius 

Occupation: singer , musician

hometown: brooklyn, new york

𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚂𝙸𝚀𝚄𝙴: 

Height: 5’4’’

Hair Color: blonde, naturally

Eye Color: blue 

FC: rose mciver

𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙻𝚈:

Mother: Sarah Rogers, deceased

Father: Joseph Rogers, deceased

Siblings: Steve Rogers

Notable Relatives: n/a

𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚈:

Sexual orientation: bisexual

Romantic orientation: biromantic 

Gender: cis gender female 

Pronouns: she/her

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈

Traits: resilient, loyal, blunt, stubborn, hotheaded, empathetic,

Alignment: chaotic good

MBTI: enfp

Enneagram: type four ; the individualist

Archetype: the creator

Hogwarts House: gryffindor

Element: fire

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜/𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚕𝚜𝚎?:

Almost no one calls Lizzie by her full name. It was reserved for her mother when she was in trouble, or in very serious situations.

She can play piano, guitar, and the ukulele in addition to being a gifted singer. She always carries a notebook with her so she can write melodies and lyrics down as they come to her.

Lizzie has died her hair on numerous occasions and numerous colors. She’s done everything from brunette to red/ginger to black and platinum blonde. Currently, her hair is her natural golden blonde to give it a break.

𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃: 

Lizzie was born in Brooklyn, New York just three years after her older brother, Steve. Growing up, they were always close. Their father died when Lizzie was three, so she only really knew what life was like with Steve and their mother. They were a small family but happy nonetheless. Despite Steve being older, Lizzie seemed to play the role of protector. He was a sickly kid, always going in and out of the hospital and doctor’s offices. For most of their life, she was stronger and bigger, and therefore was always taking care of him. They were inseparable and the best of friends. She loved her big brother and his determination, even if it got him into trouble. 

As Lizzie began growing up, she showed interest in music. Her mother always wanted the kids to pursue their interests, and even though they could barely afford it, she enrolled Lizzie in piano classes. She learned to play and read music. During school, Lizzie joined choir and fell in love with singing. She found that she was actually very skilled at it. Her choir teacher would tutor her after school and give her voice lessons. 

As she got older, she was able to pick up a guitar and practically taught herself using the knowledge she gained from playing piano. She began writing songs and filled countless notebooks with her music.

She also was involved in her school’s theatre program, being a double threat with her singing and acting skills. She began dreaming of a life where she could be an actress on Broadway. Instead of going to college, she began finding small theaters and clubs to perform in. It wasn’t Broadway, but it was still making a living doing what she loved. 

While performing in these places, Lizzie met a man that would soon become her world. Their relationship got hot and heavy quickly, and she eventually moved out of the two bedroom apartment she shared with her brother and into a place with her boyfriend. At first, everything was sunshine and rainbows. She’d never imagine a world where the two of them weren’t perfect for each other. 

But then slowly, she came to realize it wasn’t as perfect as she thought it was. Over their five year relationship, he had begun isolating her from her friends and family. She barely spoke to Steve, and didn’t have any friends outside of her boyfriend and his friends. While he never hit her, the mental and emotional manipulation was too much. She had stopped performing at his request, due to the money not being good enough. She didn’t feel like herself, and so, she up and left. She gathered her guitar, keyboard and notebooks and planned to move out of the city all together.  

The night before she left, she received a package. Inside was a key, and the mention of a place - Sparkwood, Virginia. So she decided that was where she’d go, and figure out what that key unlocked. 

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃:

That as a year ago, and Lizzie has lived in Sparkwood ever since. She discovered that the key went to the archives. She found the file for her brother but elected not to read it. For the first few months, at least. 

However, curiosity got the best of her and she decided to crack open the files on her brother. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest that he was a hero. He always was her hero, anyway. 

She spends a lot of her time playing music again, performing in various places around Sparkwood. When she’s not doing that, you could likely find her at diskography finding new music or one of the coffee shops. she runs on the stuff. 

[another-sonic-blog]

The Fanfictioner

Prologue

Synopsis: Amy Rose secretly writes fanfiction out of the not so famous 'Sonic Boom' show in which she and her friends are the main actors. Everything was fine, filming the show and then writing. However, everything changed when the famous actor, Shadow the Hedgehog, showed up to participate in the show. Just like Amy, Shadow hides a secret. He loves to read fanfiction but will never admit that out loud. Shadow one day stumbles upon Amy's fanfiction and without knowing, they develop a friendly bond over comments, likes and messages of support. On work, Shadow and Amy have a normal co-worker relationship that will never develop more than that.   They fight in real life but are best-friends online. Will they ever find out each other's identities? And if they do, will things change between them?

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When the romantic movie ended, Amy just couldn't stop thinking about the great acting in 'The Forest of Dreams.' Her friends and she had decided to get together for a well deserve movie night after battling Eggman for the whole week. With the hopes that he wouldn't burst into Hedgehog Village as he usually does. "It's a shame that we ended up seeing that indie movie ..." Sonic said as he opened the door to exit the movie theater. "I wanted to see Chao in Space!" "Yeah, too bad they ran out of tickets. Critics say that it is one of the best movies in the last decade." Tails looked around his group of friends, making sure that no one was missing. Nonetheless, he noticed that his pink friend was awfully quiet, looking at the ground. "Everything alright Amy?" As if his words didn't reach her ears, Amy kept looking down at the ground, silent. This time, Sonic noticed Amy's unusual mannerism and decided to investigate. "Amy?" Sonic's voice was all that she needed to get back to reality. The rosette hedgehog snapped her head and met emerald eyes. "Yes?" "You are very quiet ... That's not like you." Sonic said. Team Sonic had already begun their journey to go back home. It was late at night but the village's light poles gave them enough illumination to know their path. Walking through the village, they encountered a few Mobians still out, doing their thing and helping the atmosphere to be more vivid. "Sorry, I was just thinking about the movie ... The acting was amazing, wasn't it?" The pink one had a soft smile placed on her face, showing her excitement. "The actors were so young too, they look around our age ... 17 and they are so talented already." "I have to admit that batgirl was very beautiful." Knuckles let out an enamored sigh. "Yes and her acting was admirable," Amy said. "But the one that got my interest was that black hedgehog ... He indeed will become a great actor soon." Without the pink hedgehog knowing, Sonic rolled his eyes in annoyance. There was only one hedgehog she could fangirl about and that was him. "He was alright, I could do better," Sonic said. "I mean he was in an indie movie that's no big deal. I am sure we could all do it ... Right Sticks?" Sonic looked over at his badger friend who was way too quiet. Such an unusual thing of her. "Don't look at me, I fell asleep during the whole movie," Sticks said. "But if we ever become actors, I would love to be in Chao in Space." The team had come to a sudden stop, they had reached the end of the village. This is where they would part ways to their own perspective homes. "Good luck with that, I read that the casting process to get actors for Chao in Space is extremely difficult," Tails said as he faced his friends. "Two years ago, the directors conducted castings all over the world .. Out of thousands of participants only three main actors made it." "Ha, see Ames! There's no way that black hedgehog with average acting skills would be in a movie like Chao in Space." The blue hedgehog looked at the pink one and for the first time in a long time, he saw that Amy was utterly offended. For someone that she doesn't even know nonetheless. "I see great potential in him!" Amy said, her voice raises a little. "I bet he will become a great actor! I dare to say he will be in Chao In Space 2!"

. . . When the pink one got home, she immediately showered, got into her pajamas, and laid on her comfortable bed with her laptop on her lap. She began to browse more things on the 'The Forest of Dreams.' She found interesting things. For example, the name of the beautiful bat protagonist was Rouge the Bat. And then the black hedgehog's name appeared ... Shadow the Hedgehog. He was the co-protagonist and in all honesty, it was been a while since Amy felt such admiration for someone. Could you blame her? Shadow was an excellent actor. His profound words as he confessed his undying love to the protagonist were just ... So pure. It wasn't only the dialogue but the way he delivered the message. More than anything, Amy felt her heart skip a beat at each word he said. As if his confession was meant for her.

His words were strong and too real ... way too real. As if Shadow the Hedgehog was actually in love with Rouge the Bat.

And so this began.

Amy of course knew of the many wonders of the internet. One of them were fandoms and within fandoms were content creators.

The pink one wasn't unaware that many content creators wrote fanfiction. After all, Team Sonic had its own base of fans. They were the heroes of the village and Mobius nonetheless, always defending it against Eggman and other villains. So, it was natural that stories about them would be written. She read many of them especially the SonAmy ones, her guilty pleasure.

Although she had never written a fanfiction, Amy felt different about this one. In 'The Forest of Dreams' the ending was a cliffhanger. Amy desired more than anything than to provide a good conclusive ending. She had written before but only for school projects like essays and creative writing but never like this ... Never for a fandom.

Was it strange? That she wanted to see more of the exceptional romantic development between Rouge and Shadow?

Amy didn't care, it was just for fun. What was the harm in that?

And so ... Amy began to write.

.

.

.

"Shadow, what are you doing?"

On the other side of the island, a tiny wooden house in the middle of the forest emitted enough light to be seen in the night.

"Reading a story."

The black hedgehog responded, not leaving his eyesight away from his phone.

"Since when do you read?"

"Someone has to do it in this house."

The black hedgehog who was comfortably sitting on his sofa was greeted suddenly by the warmness of a beautiful blue-eyed bat.

"Our movie was released a few weeks ago ... Do you think we did well?" Rouge asked as she tried to get a peek of Shadow's phone but she was slow and Shadow was fast to close the internet tab.

"We won't know until next week when our producer calls us ... Hopefully, we get enough money to repair Omega." Shadow said as he looked over to the dining table where robot parts laid scatter across the wooden table. Shadow frowned as he saw Omega's head, immobile and without life. He was still inside there but Omega won't be the way he was until reparations were made.

"We really messed up on the last mission ... Didn't we?"

Rouge's voice was soft and she showed such concern that it made the black hedgehog's heart shrink a bit. Shadow let out a heavy sigh, he hated to see the white bat like that and although he would often disagree, there was no option but to affirm her assumption this time.

"We did ... That's why we are never going to steal again ... Never." Shadow said as he felt Rouge leaning her head on his shoulder and he didn't mind the act at all.

"... I wanted to steal a Chaos Emerald."

The black hedgehog let out a small smirk as he placed his arm around Rouge's shoulders. "I promise that one day I'll give you a Chaos Emerald and I'll give Omega one of those lie detectors he wants."

"Hopefully, this acting thing comes out alright ... I mean all of those years acting to survive and steal must pay off in this movie we made."

   Small memories crossed the white bat's mind. She remembers all of those times as a child that she and Shadow acted on street plays to get a few coins to eat something. More recent memories of them acting like business people, politicians, and regular folks also popped in her mind. All of that just so their stealing missions could go smoothly and unnoticed.

How Rouge, Shadow, and Omega met was a very interesting story, one that will be told at another time.

"Let's hope for the best."

   A few minutes passed in which Shadow and Rouge shared it in complete silence. The dark hedgehog looked over his shoulder in which he found Rouge completely asleep. With his phone still on his hand, he opened once again the previous internet tab he had before.

It was just a matter of time before his curiosity overtook him. As far as the internet said, 'The Forest of Dreams' was an excellent film even if it was an independent movie. Even art and small stories were already created in honor of the film.

Eventually, he found himself on a page called fanxfiction.com. An internet page where writers could write whatever they wanted online and others could interact with these authors by liking, sharing, and commenting on their work.

Shadow scrolled through the webpage and a story caught his interest. The synopsis was captivating , the tale was about an alternative ending to the movie's original ending.

The Forest of Dreams: A Love Story.

By A Rose Without Thorns

And so ... Shadow began to read.

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A/N: I want to thank @redsunlight​ for the amazing artwork! Please go check out her artwork! 

The first chapter is coming out in a couple of minutes I just need to upload it in here. I recommend following me on Wattpad since Tumblr can be complicated at times and won’t let me upload. 

Also there’s a new chapter coming out for ‘By Accident’ really soon!

Next: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/621393925974999040/the-fanfictioner-ch1 

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/PeachesAndReams 

[eirian-houpe]

Prima

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Detective Weaver

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold | Detective Weaver, Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Regina Mills | Roni

Additional Tags: Angst, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Crimes & Criminals, Organized Crime, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling April 2020 (Once Upon a Time), Woven Beauty

Summary: Detectives Weaver and Rogers stumble upon a crime at a local theater where they meet the Prima Ballerina, Anabelle French in the process of apparently committing agravated assault with a deadly weapon, but as Weaver investigates, he discovers there is far more to it than a simple crime, and he is forced to run to a place of safety with his suspect in tow.

Written for the April, A Monthly Rumbelling - Mood Board.

Read on AO3

Prima

“Look,” Weaver sighed and hurried to keep up with his partner, “I don’t know why you’re getting so bent out of shape. It’s not as if it meant anything is it, you said yourself—”

Whatever Detective Weaver might have been about to say was cut off by the sound of single gunshot. Loud enough to be close, but not out in the open. On instinct he reached for his weapon and saw that Rogers had done the same, both of them looking around for the origin of the sound. They were rewarded by a second gunshot, and alert to it now, both men turned in the direction of the local theater.

“Front entrance,” Weaver ordered, already heading to the alley way that he knew led to the stage door. “And call it in.”

He picked up the pace, hurrying down the alley, already watching as half-dressed dancers were spilling out of a plain brown door. He pushed his way through, jacket pulled back to reveal the badge clipped to his belt, even so, he still announced himself to the stage door keeper as he struggled against the tide of frightened performers.

“Seatle PD.”

“It… it’s Miss Belle,” the man stammered. “She’s lost her mind. Gone mad!”

“Where?” he snapped, not caring for politeness.

“Her dressing room is that way,” the door keeper pointed along the hallway to the left.

He nodded, spotting Rogers as his partner came in the other way, and he signaled to the other man the direction he should take. Rogers took off before anything could be said, and Weaver followed after him, already starting to get an uncomfortable feeling of wrongness in his gut even before he had set eyes on the supposed crime scene.

He barely caught sight of the word, ‘Prima,’ before Detective Rogers kicked open the door so hard he almost took it from its hinges.

“Seatle PD! Drop the weapon!” Rogers’ presence and his words were rewarded with a scream, and as he drew closer, Weaver heard, the rattle of a weapon. “I said, drop it!”

He picked up his pace a little, finally drawing level with the door, and before going through, took in everything he could see. A young - and, he noted, incredibly beautiful - woman was standing at one side of the room. Obviously a dancer, probably the shoes that gave it away, she was in a close fitting costume and already made up for the stage. She had a gun; was holding it, inexpertly, in both hands, and shifting her aim - if it could be called that - between Rogers, and a man at the other side of the room. She was clearly scared. Her hands were shaking, and the safety was off; a terrible combination.

The man that she had presumably shot at, twice, seemed entirely unharmed. Another dancer, he stood maybe six feet tall, was also dressed in his dance gear which was obscenely tight in Weaver’s opinion. His hair short, but not so close cropped as to hide the fact that it was slightly out of place. He’d seen enough, and the entire situation smelled entirely bent.

“I’m warning you—” Rogers’ began, but Weaver cut him off.

“No, no,” he said almost sing song, softly. “You don’t want to do that.” He stepped deliberately between Rogers, who had shifted closer to the man, and the woman with the gun. “I’m sure we can work this all out.”

“Weaver, what the hell are you doing?” Rogers protested, his aim disrupted as Weaver had intended.

“I got this,” he answered, without taking his eyes off the woman who had now shifted her gun to point in his general direction. For the moment he followed protocol and kept his own weapon raised. “Why don’t you take our friend there out into another room; get his statement.”

“I’ll give you a fucking statement,” the man spat, his voice heavily accented, Russian, or else Eastern European, Weaver guessed. “She tried to shoot me. Bitch is crazy!”

The woman let out a snarling scream, shifting her aim only barely, and pulled the trigger again. From the corner of his eye, Weaver saw Rogers and the other man duck, but he kept his eyes fixed on the woman, flinching only slightly when he felt the hot wind of the bullet as it passed his head. She missed again, and the recoil on the gun made her stumble backwards, before she leveled her gun off again.

He didn’t want Rogers doing anything stupid, so he said, “Get him out of here, Rogers, I won’t tell you again,” and moved as Rogers complied, keeping himself between his partner and the woman with the gun.

“Let’s shut this door, shall we?” he crooned once he was alone with the woman. “Have a little talk. See what’s got you so wound up, hmm?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, just reached out with his free hand, and pulled the door closed; couldn’t latch it, of course, thanks to his partner, but closed was better than nothing.  It gave the two of them a little bit of peace.

“There, that’s better,” he said softly.

“You… you can’t let him go,” she said, her voice as tight and shaky as her hands, another accent… Australian? It made him frown, momentarily as a half remembered itch niggled at him deep inside.

“Don’t worry about him,” he answered. “Listen, pointing guns at each other is not the best way to have a conversation, right?  Why don’t we just - both of us - put our guns down?”

She shook her head. “Can’t,” she said.

“All right,” he said, “You’re scared. I get that. Tell you what. I’ll go first.” He slowly lowered his weapon, flipping on the safety as he did, before slipping it back into its holster before spreading his arms wide. “There,” he said. “Mind if I take off my jacket? Little bit warm in here.”

She didn’t answer him, just kept her wide, shining blue eyes fixed on his as he slipped his jacket off and tossed it onto a nearby chair.  All slowly, carefully.

“N-n-name?” she stammered.

“Weaver,” he answered. “How about you?”

“Anabelle… French,” she answered.

“Now, see, we know each other,” he gave her a careful smile, “Much better than all the screaming and yelling, don’t you think?  She barely shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

She shook her head.

“No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise.  You have my word,” he said. “All you need to do is give me the gun, and tell me what happened.”

He took a slow step forward and reached toward her with one hand, but froze as she jerked the gun, not actually expecting that she’d shoot him, more like worried that with the way she was, the gun would accidentally go off in her hands. She was terrified.

“I get it,” he told her. “Not so close. Thing is, Miss French, I can’t help you while you’re pointing that gun at me. I want to be able to help you.”

“He… I… they…”

“Easy,” he sang softly, “Just… gimme the gun, and we can talk.”

He took a step closer, holding out a hand again, and this time she didn’t react. He kept his eyes fixed on hers; took another step and watched as the cobalt blue of her eyes filled with tears, and her grip on the gun loosened.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured as his hand closed over the top of the weapon and his thumb found the safety, flipping it on before lifting the gun from her hands, just in case she changed her mind.  He set it down on the nearby dressing table, as he stepped forward again, unsurprised when she threw herself against his chest, trembling as though an earthquake had hit before she burst into tears.

Instinctively, he held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, tucking her under his chin. He knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t care. She needed it and since when had he bothered about the rules anyway? There was more to this and it didn’t take a genius to work it out.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her, “but you’re going to have to trust me.”

He felt her nod against his chest, then after a moment, reached behind him with one hand for his cuffs, and taking her hands gently from his chest, turned her around and slipped them onto her wrists.

“Anabelle French, I am arresting you for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present before, and during questioning, now and in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney, you may still request one at any time, and stop answering questions until an attorney is present.” He didn’t usually bother with Mirandizing the lowlifes he usually arrested, just palmed them off on the uniforms and let them do it for him. This was different. She was different. He was going to make this right for her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He nodded and offered her an almost apologetic smile, then added, “Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

She looked up at him then, her eyes meeting his. “You,” she said barely above the whisper from before. “I’ll talk to you.”

He nodded then, and picked up his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, then slipping her gun into the back of his belt, he almost gently led her out of the room, and out toward the stage door.

It was a throng of chaos out there. Rogers was standing beside the man his prisoner had been threatening with the gun, and a few uniformed officers were milling around in the entrance way, with several more outside standing with their thumbs up their arses, doing fuck all to keep the small crowd out of the alley way.

Keeping a hand securely on Miss French’s arm he beckoned to one of the uniformed officers and when he had his attention, ordered, “You, get out there and help those other tossers get the members of the public out of this alley. Got it?”

“Sir,” he said and nodded in answer. Weaver knew the look on his face, it was the one that told him there were some on the force that understood when to dick around, and when to do what they were told and was gratified to see that he was right as the crowd began to clear.

He beckoned to a second officer and told him, “I want CSU in that room collecting evidence like… yesterday. You got it?”

“Detective,” the man confirmed, and he was about to head out with his suspect when he felt Rogers’ hand drop onto his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Weaver?” the man asked.

“You get his statement?” Weaver ask in response.

“Yes, but—”

“Then give him your card and send him home,” he interrupted, “Tell him we’ll be in touch.”

Trusting that Rogers would do as he was told, Weaver turned, calling the other uniformed officer over, while at the same time turning to Miss French he said, “Go with this officer. It’s all right.”

The officer apparently guessed what the detective was about to ask of him, and slipped his hand under the prisoner’s arm.  She stiffened, and winced, even as Weaver said, “Take her down to the precinct and put her in an interview room. I want her seen by the medics and—”

“No!” Anabelle French suddenly started to fight going with the other officer, and Weaver had to break from giving his instructions and take her by the upper arms, leaning down to catch her eyes. “It’s all right,” he repeated. “I’ll be right behind you.”

It looked as though she was about to acquiesce, when she suddenly stiffened again and began to back away a step, almost pulling from Weaver’s grasp. It wasn’t until he felt the presence of someone at his back that he understood why, and releasing her to the uniformed officer, turned to block the male dancer from getting any closer.

“Vy derzhite rot na zamke!” he said, pointing a long finger at Miss French. She whimpered, and it looked like she was about to start fighting again.

Weaver planted both hands against his chest and pushed the man backwards as he demanded, “What did you say to her?”

The man ignored him, fixing an icy stare on Weaver’s prisoner, until she started struggling again with the officer holding her, and threatening to cause the room to descend back into chaos.

“Get her out of here,” he snapped, wincing as the uniformed sergeant all but dragged her away. The other dancer tried to push Weaver aside and follow, and it took both Weaver and Rogers to keep him restrained, pushing him against the wall.

“She tried to kill me,” he protested to Rogers as the taller detective pressed a restraining arm across the top of his chest.

“And we have her in custody,” Rogers reasoned. “All right?”

He struggled a moment longer, before nodding and apparently calming down, and Rogers let him go. Weaver didn’t buy it for a second.

“What. Did you say to her?” he asked again, standing as tall as he could and getting as far up into the man’s face as he could.

The dancer gave him a wintry smile as he pushed at Weaver’s shoulders, and said, “Have a nice day, Detective,” before he sauntered out of the stage door, becoming lost in the encroaching shadows of the late Seattle afternoon.

Swearing, Weaver followed out into the alley, with Rogers close behind him.

“What the fuck, Weaver?” Rogers asked, and even he had to almost trot to keep up, so quickly was Weaver walking.

“I want a statement from every single person that works at that place, even the janitors, and I don’t care whether you do it, or the uniformed attending do, but I want it by end of day. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Rogers said, “What I don’t get is why?  Seems to me that this is pretty straight forward. Probably a lover’s tiff. In his statement he kept referring to her as ‘my Prima,’ and said she accused him of cheating on her, so…”

He trailed off as Weaver shook his head. “There’s more to it than that. Something going on.”

“Like what?” Rogers asked as they reached the car, and he waited for Weaver to release the lock. “She say something to you?”

“Not yet,” Weaver said, shaking his head as he got into the car, then looked over at Rogers as the other man climbed in. “But she will.”

**

Anabelle French stood mute and listless as the uniformed officer processed her into the precinct, and then took her to an office that had a desk, a computer and an examination couch - much like a doctor’s office.  A short while after he’d left her, a woman came in with another, female officer. She had promised to cooperate with the detective who, for some reason, she trusted, even if she didn’t know him from Adam. So when the doctor - as she’d identified herself - asked her to remove the stage make up she wore, she accepted the washcloth and resignedly disclosed the bruises that it covered on her arms and shoulders… disrobed so that she could examine the others that discolored her chest, back and abdomen. Submitted herself to a thorough examination.  Afterwards, in borrowed scrubs, she was shown to an interview room. Where she waited.

She had no idea how long it had been, but she felt small and vulnerable. Fasoli’s words echoing in her mind, setting her teeth on edge. She should have shot him. She shouldn’t have missed.

She jumped as the door finally opened, only relaxing when she recognized Detective Weaver coming in beside the man that had been with him when they first arrived.

“This is Detective Rogers,” Weaver said. “You remember who I am?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Detective Weaver.”

He nodded, and then asked, “And we’re still okay to talk, right?”

“Yes,” she said again, then asked, “but… could I maybe get some tea?”

Weaver glanced at Rogers, and the other man turned and walked out. As he left, Weaver pulled out a chair opposite her, and set the file folder he was carrying on the table between them.

“All right, Miss French,” he began, but she interrupted.

“Belle,” she said. “You can call me—”

“We’ll… stick with Miss French,” he said with a smile.

The door opened again and Rogers came back, carrying a steaming cup of tea which he set down on the table and nudged in her direction, also setting down a couple of packets of sugar and the same of the tiny containers of milk.

“There you go, love,” he said, and she wondered if he was actually as hard as she had first thought, and she thanked him softly.

Weaver seemed to be waiting until she’d taken her first sip of tea before he spoke, then he said, “Quite a bruise you have there, Miss French.” He nodded toward her upper arm, now devoid of make up and the livid purple against her creamy skin. Self consciously, she tugged at the short sleeve of the scrubs, failing to cover it. “He do that to you?”

“He?” she asked, even though she knew full well who he meant.

“Gaston Fasoli,” Weaver said. “The man you were threatening with the gun.”

She shrugged.

“We can’t help you if you won’t talk to us,” Weaver said, his tone almost imploring.

“It’s not that I won’t talk to you,” she said, so tired of it all that even though she was so afraid, she was ready to tell them everything she could, just to make it stop; for her… for the other girls.

“What then?” Weaver asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It could have been Fasoli. It could have been one of the others, I don’t. Know. Who.”

“Others?”

Belle sighed. “There are several of them,” she said, “Minders, dance coaches.” She closed her eyes, “They never treat the girls as they should. You think just because I’m the Prima I’m immune?”

“What do you mean, ‘treat the girls as they should,’?” Rogers asked, but Weaver waved the question away, as if he already knew - or could guess.

“Do you speak Russian, Miss French?” he asked.

She nodded, and added, “A lot of languages, actually.”

Weaver’s lips twitched and she thought he wanted to smile, but instead he seemed to catch himself and pressed it into a firm line. “What did Fasoli say to you at the theater.”

“He told me to keep my mouth shut,” she said.

“To keep your mouth shut?” Weaver repeated.

“About?” Rogers added.

Belle closed her eyes and put her head down on her arms, on top of the table… a whimper escaping unbidden from deep within her. She wanted to say. She wanted to tell him everything but a memory suddenly grasped a hold of her, like a icy vice. Lined up… all of them. The sledge hammer a warning blow against the fellow dancer’s knees and ankles.  The girl had tried to run, had tried to talk. She was found weeks later where they’d dumped her, in the gutter of the bad side of some west coast town.

Suddenly her body was shaking with all the tears she’d held inside, and the new sobs she fought, her fears for herself, for the others, for everything that suddenly seemed to rest on her slender shoulders.

“I… can’t!” she wept.

“You’re safe here, Miss French,” Weaver told her, just for a moment covering one of her hands with his own.

“You don’t understand.” she whispered.

“So help me understand.” Weaver insisted. “Tell me what happened.”

She sat up, wiping her eyes with her hands, hands which shook almost as much as they had when she had been holding the gun. The thought it made her feel sick to her stomach, but it gave her a place to start.

“It… It was his gun,” she began. “I knew he had it; knew he kept it in his dressing room, hidden in his make-up drawer. The day before I’d heard them talking…” She caught the look of confused query on Weaver’s face, and continued, “Fasoli and Stephanov, the director. I’d been sick a few weeks before, but tried to carry on, and I made mistakes. Fasoli came into my dressing room every day. Told me I wasn’t good enough. Told me that I was getting too old, that I needed to be replaced by another girl, a younger girl. Said I was only fit for the farm.”

“Farm?” It was Detective Roger’s voice, but she saw Weaver throw him a impatient look, so she continued.

“I was scared. He said he was going to come for me and take me there himself if I made one more mistake. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I couldn’t. I know what goes on there, and I… I…” she couldn’t even bring herself to imagine what she would have done. “So when he was on stage with one of the other dancer, rehearsing, with her dancing my part, I went into his dressing room and stole his gun. He’d taken it on himself to decide. Stephanov hadn’t even said anything and Fasoli was ready to replace me. He came in today - told me I was through, not dancing today or ever again.” She looked between Weaver and Rogers, trying to find the courage from somewhere, from either one of them to speak the final sentence. “Girls in our company… if you don’t dance, they don’t fire you. They take you back… to the farm… and use you another way.”

She watched both men shift uncomfortably in their seats; saw the flash of fury that crossed Weaver’s face, the outrage in Rogers’ expression.

“This farm? It a real place or just a euphemism?” Rogers asked.

“Real,” she said. “A place you’re taken to when you first join the company, and never want to end up again.”

**

Weaver closed the file folder that sat in front of him, for the first time in a long time was actually surprised. No, not surprised, horrified. Horrified that he had stumbled, quite literally, into the middle of something so heinous, so organized.

He reached over and briefly covered Belle’s hand again with his own once more, offering quiet support as he said, “Miss French, I just want to have a quick word with my partner here, and a couple of other people, and then we’ll see how things are, okay?”  He tapped Rogers on the arm and then gestured to the door with his head before adding. “We might be a little while.  Is there anything you need?”

She shook her head, but in the exact same moment her stomach growled loudly, making her blush, and she gave him an apologetic look.

“We’ll get you something to eat,” he said, as he stood up, adding, “Sit tight.”

With that he led Rogers out of the room.

“I’m not imagining things, am I?” Rogers asked as soon as he closed the door. “She is talking about some kind of trafficking ring.”

“That’s what it sounds like to me,” Weaver agreed, then he slapped Rogers in the chest with the back of his hand. “Come on - captain.”

He started to stride away, heading for the captain’s office, but Rogers caught his arm and tugged him back.

“Wait,” he said, “You’re going by the book?”

There was a note of incredulity in the other man’s voice that set Weavers hackles on end.

“This is bigger than just the two of us, Detective,” he snarled. “You want these bastards to get off on a technicality just because I don’t know when to play by the rules and when to do things my way?”

“No, no of course not, I—” Rogers broke off when Weaver shook off his grasp, and headed once more toward the captain’s office. He emerged to a giant altercation in the bullpen.

“What the fuck!” he breathed, and altered his course to where two uniformed officers were holding a squirming, squealing Tilly between them as she lashed out with hands and feet as she tried to get free.

“Let me go!” she growled, wriggling first one way and then the other, “I gotta tell ‘im. Detective Weaver, ‘e needs to hear this!”

“You’re not going anywhere until you calm down,” another junior detective was saying.

“He needs to hear it now!” she shot back, “Are you stupid?”

He’d heard enough, seen enough, to know that either it really was important, or else she hadn’t taken her meds again and was having some sort of episode.

“What’s going on?” he called across to the others, then added in his most fatherly tone, “Tilly?”

“Oh, thank God,” she huffed, and stopped struggling. “Detective Weaver—”

“Detective Weaver,” She was interrupted by one of the others. “This… young lady turned up at the front desk asking to see you and when we asked her to wait…”

Weaver held up a hand, just as Rogers came out of the interview suites, having stayed to arrange for food to be taken through to Miss French.

“It’s all right,” he said, and nodded his head at the officers that were still hanging on to Tilly as though they were afraid she was going to tear up the room to tell them they could let her go. “She’s one of mine.”

They took a second, but at an added glare, as he drew closer to them, making his way between the desks toward where they had Tilly, they released her arms. He expected she’d pull her coat straight in that exaggerated way she had, and then walk the rest of the way to him with her nose in the air, so he was entirely unprepared when she all but vaulted the desk, grabbed him by the wrist so hard that the links of his bracelet dug into his skin deeply enough to be almost painful, and then started pulling him back to the interview suite doors.

“You have to take her out of here,” she insisted, and though a part of him wondered what she thought she was talking about, another part of him - a part that tapped cold fingertips all along his spine - knew exactly what she meant, even though she shouldn’t know. “Take her somewhere safe.”

He leaned down, twisting his arm around hers until he was the one holding her and and looked right into her face as he asked, “Did you take your medicine today?”

“What?” she asked, looking and sounding as if she didn’t think the two things should go together at all, and then frowned as she obviously realized what he was driving at. “Yes!” she snapped in irritation, “Of course I did. I promised, didn’t I? I’m not having one of my… funny turns if that’s what you think.” She pushed at him then, urgently, almost desperately trying to get him back to the door, back to Belle French. “We were at the theater, Atla, Billy and me, the girls - the dancers - they’re usually good to us, and Atla hasn’t eaten in days, I’m worried she’s getting sick, and we were about to sneak in like we usually do, and I heard the big man - tall, dark hair, ugly eyes… heard him telling some other bloke that she wasn’t going to say anything because there were people coming for her, and that even ‘Seattle’s finest’ wouldn’t be able to stop ‘em. Look, you haven’t got time for this, Detective, I’m telling the truth, you have to get her out of here.”

She was practically hopping from foot to foot, more agitated than he’d ever seen her, almost desperate.

“Did they say anything else,” Rogers asked, but Tilly gave him an almost defiant stare.

“Please, Weaver!” she urged, pressing both hands against his shirt, beneath his open leather jacket. He stared at her for a moment longer, and then nodded once, and she appeared to relax, but only a little. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a couple of twenties and his spare door-key, pressing them into Tilly’s still outstretched hand.

“Get Atla something to eat, then go get yourselves clean, dry and warm.  It’s cold, and it’s going to be colder tonight,” he said.

She gave him a tight smile, with worry still crowding her eyes, nodded once and then turned to head toward the exit. Part way she stopped, trotted back to him and then stood on tiptoes to press a swift kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured, adding, “Good luck.”

She disappeared out of the door before he could tell her, ‘get away with you,’ the affectionate chuckle also dying on his lips as the gravity of the situation descended again.

“You’re not seriously going to—”

Rogers broke off when Weaver pulled his phone out of his pocket, as well as his precinct issued pager, and pushed them both into Roger’s hands.

“Take these, put them in my desk drawer,” he instructed,” then give me as long as you can before you go to the captain. Tell him what we know. Talk to the D.A.; whoever you have to. Work the case.”

“Where are you going?” Rogers asked.

“Better you don’t know,” he said, and turning, opened the door to the interview suite.

“How do I get hold of you?” his partner demanded, clearly vexed, and holding up the hand in which he still held Weaver’s communication devices.

“You don’t.” Weaver answered flatly, stepped through the opened door, and closed it on his partners protests.

He walked quickly, dismissing the the uniformed officer that he’d left guarding his ‘prisoner’ as soon as he stepped up to the door of the room she was in, and then waited until the corridor was empty before he opened up the door.

Belle looked up as he entered, her expression becoming one of tense, extreme fear again as her eyes met his.

“Change of plan,” he told her softly, and reaching the table, unfastened the cuffs she wore securing her to the table, and slipped them into his pocket before hooking her arm with his hand as gently as the urgency would allow, and tugged her to her feet.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice wobbling slightly.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered as he led her out along the corridor, toward the fire escape, as he muttered, “We’d better hope Rogers has the Irish gift of the gab enough to buy us some time.”

**

It was still too early when he arrived at Roni’s. He tried the door anyway, but it was locked, so he started pounding on it with one hand, the other still tightly holding on to Belle French’s wrist, even as he tried to shelter her from view half in front of him.

The fewer people that saw her, the better. It wasn’t unusual for him to be seen going into Roni’s Bar. It was almost his second home, after all, but for him to go in there with someone else - a woman. It wouldn’t take long for anyone in the know to put two and two together.

After a moment or two of pounding, he was rewarded with an irritated, “All right, All right,” before he heard the lock click. He didn’t wait for Roni to actually open the door, just pushed French in ahead of him, almost taking Roni’s teeth out with the speed at which he got them inside.

“A bit early, isn’t it, even for you?” Roni started, but if she’d been about to say anything else, she swallowed it when he turned and locked the door behind himself. “All right, Weaver, what’s have you gotten yourself into this time,” she asked.

He shook his head, not answering her question, instead pushed French down onto a nearby chair, and gestured with his head toward the bar, taking a moment to pull the key from the lock, not trusting that his charge wouldn’t make a run for it, given the chance.

When they reached it, Roni stepped behind the bar, and automatically reached for a tumbler, and poured a good measure of her best whiskey into it.

“Mind telling me, now, what’s going on?” she asked, sarcastic, true, but with a note of concern too. He was touched.

“I need a favor, Roni,” he answered. “Maybe a few.”

“I’m listening,” she said, but her body language didn’t say the same as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Look the less I actually tell you, the better - safer - you’ll be if anyone comes sniffing around and asking questions… just…” He took a breath. “I need to borrow your lake house,” he said, “Lay low for a while.”

Roni nodded over toward where he’d pushed French down into a seat. He glanced over his shoulder. She hadn’t moved. “She’s in trouble,” she said as much as asked.

“A witness, and she needs protecting,” he corrected with as much of the truth as he dared tell. For all that they repeatedly antagonized each other, he did have a soft spot for Roni that he couldn’t explain, and it went further than the fact that she furnished him with some of the best Whiskey in Seattle.

“Why can’t you use a safe house?” she asked.

“Because safe houses belong to the department,” he said, “and I think someone inside is bent.”

“Tell me something else I don’t know,” Roni said dryly, with a pointed look at Weaver.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “My methods might be a bit… rough around the edges, but bent, I’m not.”

Roni looked at him, long and hard, as if she were searching inside his very soul, until finally she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “You can use the lake house, but I swear, Weaver, you break it, you bought it, get what I mean.”

He nodded once, sharply. “I promise you, I’ll give it back to you when this is over, good as new.”

“Well, that’s good,” Roni said, “because right now it’s little more than a run down shack, but it’s a roof and four sturdy walls.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at the hand that still held her keys, and began to take a small set of keys from the key chain. “You said a few,” she said as she worked.

“You still have that old banger out back?”

“My car, you mean?” she said sourly. “Yes. Not that I really use it, but I have it.”

“Well… gonna need a way to get to your lake house,” he pointed out, “and I can’t use mine.”

“Fine,” she huffed, pulling off another key from the chain. “What else?”

Weaver looked back at Belle French. She was sitting there, in the scrubs they’d given her at the precinct, all but wringing her hands. “She’s gonna need something to wear,” he said.

Roni looked her over from a distance, and he could see her eyes appraising the other woman, before she sighed again and said, “I’m not sure anything I have will fit her all that well, but… I’ll take her upstairs and we’ll see what we can do about finding a couple of changes of clothes. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll have to be,” Weaver said.

“She have a name?” Roni asked.

“French. Belle French.”

Roni nodded, then calling across to the other woman said, “Miss French?” Weaver watched as the young dancer started slightly, and then looked up at Roni, who said, “How about we leave this miserable old Roller to his whiskey, and go and find you something more comfortable to wear?”

**

By the time Detective Weaver pulled the car to a stop at the end of a long, gravel road, it was dark and the hour had long since passed midnight. She had been awake at midnight, but only just, having woken up a couple of minutes earlier when Weaver hit the rumble strip at the side of the road, and had jerked the car back into its lane.

“If you’re tired,” she said softly, having long since accepted that the man meant her no harm and was actually trying to look out for her, “I can drive for a while.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, “Just wasn’t paying attention.”

She had drifted off again a few minutes later, but remembered watching as the dashboard clock turned from 11:59 to midnight.

After she and Roni had found a couple of outfits that would fit well enough, and packed them into a bag, along with something to sleep in, and some jeans and a t-shirt she could wear for the time being, they’d hit the road in Roni’s car. They’d stopped after an hour or so at a Walmart store, where Weaver had bought supplies with the Money Roni had given him from her safe. After that it seemed to Belle that they turned around on themselves and headed back the way they’d come, but bypassed Seattle and kept on heading north.

They’d stopped for something to eat at a roadside diner once they left the highway somewhere around Everett and began heading east, and with a full belly, and the winding mountain roads they turned onto it was hard for her to keep her eyes open, and she had fallen asleep.

The night was absolute once Weaver turned off the headlights of the car, and though not usually afraid of the dark, Belle felt herself fumbling for some kind of contact with the man.

“It’s all right,” he told her softly, “We’ll be safe here.”

“Where is here exactly,” she asked, still clinging to his arm, as slowly her eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

“Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest,” he said. “It’s where Roni’s place is.  It’s a bit of a walk from here, but we’ll get you settled first, and then I’ll come back for the rest of the stuff.”

“I can help carry things,” she said. “That way you won’t have so much to come back for.”

The stark flare of the interior vehicle light was almost painful after the pitch black, when they opened the doors, and the first thing Weaver did, as she stood blinking beside the car passenger door, was to go around to the trunk for the flashlights. They each had one, and then loaded up with as much as they could carry.

“Watch the ground here,” Weaver said in a low voice as though he were trying to avoid disturbing the very air around them. “It’s a little uneven.” Then, slowly, carefully, but surely, they made their way out into the nothingness of the National Forest.

It was tough going, even for someone as fit and supple as Belle was, and she was picking her way extra carefully over some of the rockier, rootier patches of ground they traveled. She didn’t want to turn her ankle, of worse, injure herself in a way that would be devastating to her career as a dancer - if she even had a career after all of this was over. She stopped frequently, and was just beginning to worry that perhaps she had read the man all wrong, and that Weaver was leading her astray, when she became aware of a new sound coming out of the darkness ahead and to the side, the sound of water, lapping gently at the shore.

“Almost there.” Weaver’s voice confirmed what she could hear, and a moment later, in the combined beams of their flashlights, a wooden structure up ahead, a log built cabin, began to reveal itself, and soon, she heard Weaver’s heavy, booted tread on the wooden porch ahead of her. She climbed the steps to join him and set down her burdens as she waited for him to unlock the door.

Inside, it wasn’t much warmer than the outside, and she wondered how long it was since Roni, or anyone in fact, had actually stayed there. Even so, as she moved her flashlight around to catch what glimpses she could of the interior, she saw a fireplace, and kitchen appliances, and what she could see of everything looked decent enough, and certainly not the ‘run down shack’ that Roni had named it. She did wonder about power though, or whether they would have to manage their entire stay by candle light and campfire cooking.

Straining her eyes to try and see where Weaver had gone, she barely caught sight of his leather-clad back, as he appeared to be poking around in a closet of some kind. She heard the sound of a heavy switch being thrown, and then a softer click, before light blinked into existence over in the kitchen area, where Weaver was standing.

“Solar power,” he explained as he turned back to her. “There are panels on the roof on the lakeside.”

She nodded. “Useful. I was wondering,” she said.

“Doesn’t power the heat and hot water, though,” he said. “For that…” he nodded over to the fireplace toward which she had wandered as she explored the room, and she moved aside as he came closer, and began to lay a fire in the hearth.

She couldn’t help but shiver, and pull the jacket Roni had given to her more tightly around herself, though it wasn’t entirely from the cold. The thought of a fire burning brightly, the sound of the lake that she could still hear even inside, the quiet, the solitude…

…and the man before her. A man whom, she felt certain, truly cared.

As if to confirm her thoughts, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and said quietly, “This will soon warm the place up, don’t worry.  And we have plenty of wood to keep us cozy.”

She smiled. It seemed an odd word to be coming from a man like Weaver; odd, but endearing.

“What?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he turned to look over at her properly for a moment. She shook her head, not really knowing how she could say what was going through her mind without embarrassing herself. “Surprised a city boy like me knows how to build a decent fire?”

“You’re… not at all the man I thought you were, Detective,” she told him.

He chuckled softly, and asked, “And that bothers you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m glad.”

He turned back to the fire, and made sure that it was lit, and burning well enough before he stood up, and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. She watched him as he looked around the lake house, and the supplies they had already managed to bring from the car.

“If you want to make yourself at home, Miss French, I’ll go get the rest of our things.”

“Belle,” she said.

He regarded her for a moment with a look that she thought showed doubt, even reticence to do as she was asking him, and use her name.

“You… don’t know how long we’re going to have to stay here, right?” she asked into the silent scrutiny he was subjecting her to, which was becoming a little prickle over the surface of her skin.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re right, I don’t.”

“In that case, please,” she said, “I’d rather you not treat me like a stranger.”

Again, he regarded her, that same, penetrating stare, until, finally he nodded. “All right… Belle.”

She nodded her thanks, and said, “I’m pretty sure I saw some cocoa and milk in one of the bags we already brought. How about I make some for us when you get back?”

“Sounds Perfect,” he said, with a nod. “It’ll give the fire a chance to warm this place - reach up to the loft.” He nodded his head toward a set of steps leading up to a second floor that only reached half way across the room. “Bed’s up there.”

The mention of bed made her realize how tired she was, and she stifled a yawn, and then murmured a soft apology. He shook his head then.

“Been a long day,” he said in acknowledgment, then added, “Go on, make a start on that cocoa. I’ll try not to be too long.”

He headed for the door, but she reached out and caught hold of him by the elbow. He turned and looked at her, an eyebrow raised in query.

“Be careful, Detective Weaver,” she said, trying not to let too much of her fear show.

“Ken,” he told her softly, and squeezed her hand on his arm, before pulling away, and heading out through the door and into the night.

**

Outside, Weaver shivered and pulled just jacket more tightly around himself. It was surprising how quickly the fire had already warmed the lake house, making the change in temperature more than a little noticeable.

Grabbing his flashlight from where he’d left it on the porch, he began to make his way back toward the car. Letting the night swallow him, and trying not to take too much notice of his thoughts, his feelings, the way the woman under his care was getting well and truly under his skin.

Trying to keep it professional was not his strong suit at the best of times. He was willing to admit - to the right person, of course - that he was a bit of a wild card. He did things his way, and if that crossed some lines, well, so long as it got results it didn’t matter to him.

Now though, the result was keeping this beautiful woman safe, and allowing himself to get involved with her - in any way - was not the way to do that, but she’d insisted on removing that last barrier, that last shield against the way he was feeling. Anabelle French had asked him to use her name - and not just her name, but a pet name; one that friends might use.  Well that was okay, right?  He could be a friend.

Yet… there was something about this woman that touched two side of his nature, both at the same time - the protector, and…

“Not gonna happen,” he told himself aloud, “You’re going to hole up here, until Rogers gets it all leveled out and comes looking for you.” Eventually his partner would figure out to go ask Roni where the fuck he was. When that happened, he’d be able to let Belle go and get on with his mundane detective work, maybe go bend a few heads in the local street gangs, just for good measure. Fucking depressing!

The first splash of rain, when it came, out of nowhere, landed on his right cheek and for just a second he actually thought it was a tear. Then he figured it out and laughed at himself, humorless and maybe even a bit angry, but it hurried his steps all the same, and soon he found himself at the side of the car, pulling open the door and grabbing the rest of the supplies he’d bought - enough for an extended stay out in the middle of nowhere, if it came to it.

On the way back, he had to turn up the collar of his jacket to keep the ever increasing rain from dripping down the back of his neck and soaking his shirt. He knew it was a futile effort, but maybe it would just be a passing shower. At least he had a change of clothes now, and for the first time maybe since he was a kid just out of middle school, a pair of pajamas to sleep in.

It was probably a good job too, since by the time he got back to the lake house, his ‘passing shower’ had soaked him all the way through to his underwear.

“Oh my God!”

Belle’s voice was full of concern as he stepped back inside, and closed the door behind him. “You’re drenched! Here, put that stuff down and come closer to the fire.”  As she spoke she started moving the wooden chairs, on which she’d hung the sheets, to give him space to get closer to the hearth.  Then she stepped up behind him, and tugged on his jacket.

He let her help him off with that, but then turned and caught her by the upper arms, leaning down to look at her as he said, “It’s okay, I’ll just get changed. We’re going to want to get to bed soon, anyway.”  He gestured then at the sheets, and she blushed.

“I found the linen closet,” she told him. “I wanted to get as much ready as I could, but the sheets felt a little bit damp, so…” she shrugged. “I also thought the fire would warm them some.” Then she nodded to a couple of other chairs behind where he was standing, which had thick toweling robes hung over them. “The robes too. I found them in the bathroom and I pretty much unpacked everything.”

He offered her a smile, and teasing said, “I didn’t think I’d been gone that long.” She shrugged, and the blush on her cheeks renewed, and he found himself wondering what the hell was going through her mind to cause it. Instead he said, “Why don’t you go and get changed for bed, then we can have that cocoa right?”

She nodded. “I won’t take long,” she told him.

“Take all the time you need,” he said, “I’ll change while you’re gone, and build up the fire a little bit.”

“Make sure you get properly dry,” she told him, “I don’t want you catching your death on my account. There are towels in…”

“…in the linen closet, yes. I know,” he said, and absently let his hands run up and down her arms, gently, and mindful of her bruises, a gesture meant to comfort. “It’s all right. Go on. I promise.”

He watched as she picked up the smaller of the two robes, and took it, and the bag of clothes that Roni had given her, and headed through to the bathroom.  He heard the click of the wall mounted heater that he knew was in there, and satisfied himself that she was getting herself changed before he began to shrug out of his own, wet clothing. He’d hang it by the hearth to dry overnight.

He hadn’t been wrong about how wet he’d gotten, he discovered as he finally peeled off his jeans, and tugged at the boxer briefs he wore beneath that were stuck to his skin, they were so wet. Forgetting himself for a second or two, he padded naked to where he knew the linen closet was to grab a towel. It was only when he heard a click from the bathroom that he realized what he’d done. His heart rate doubled in an instant, and he grabbed a towel, hurrying back over closer to the fireplace, stepping close enough that the hanging sheets shielded the lower half of his body. Then he heard water running from the bathroom.

Get a fucking grip. He toweled himself off quickly, still berating himself for his carelessness. What if she had come out while he was parading around in nothing but his rough-hewn charm. There was unprofessional and there was unprofessional. He growled softly as a stray, rebellious, but honest thought pushed to the fore. Would it have been so bad?

As soon as he was dry, he pulled on the pajamas. The gray and black checks on the pants were subdued, and further quieted by the plain gray, long sleeved shirt, and the soft, brushed cotton felt good on his skin, enlivened by the vigorous toweling he’d just given himself. He’d do, he decided, but as an afterthought, pulled on the robe, appreciating the way it had been warmed by the fire, which he then set about fulfilling his promise and tended it, building it up a little, so that it would see them through the night.

He was just straightening up when Belle emerged from the bathroom. She was swaddled in the robe that was cinched tightly at the waist over… whatever she was wearing beneath. The robe covered her night ware completely, and he could see that her legs were bare beneath the robe, that reached to her knees. He swallowed hard, and clamped down on his vivid imagination.

She offered him a smile, and he held out a hand. “Come and get warm,” he said. “I think we can probably move the sheets now.”

“I need to finish making the cocoa,” she told him, but he shook his head.

“I can do that,” he said. “Wouldn’t be taking very good care of you if I let you get a chill, would I?”

She chuckled a little, and said a soft, “Touché,” before approaching, taking his hand, and allowing him to draw her closer to the fire. He breathed in deeply as she came closer, the soft, clean scent of her reaching deep within him to a place long since buried.

“Why don’t I move these over a bit,” she said, gesturing to the sheets, “let the heat out into the room, and we can sit on the couch and enjoy our cocoa.”

“All right,” he agreed, and realizing he was still holding her hand, he let it go with a murmured apology.

She shook her head at that, and offered even more softly, “It was nice.”

He closed his eyes at that, and kicked himself, realizing, perhaps for the first time since they’d met, that human touch, of a kind that was other than connected with dance, or with the abuse she’d suffered, was something she was lacking. He didn’t know why he suddenly thought he should have known, but he definitely felt he should have picked up on it, and for just a second wondered whether he dare give her more of that kind of solace.

“Cocoa,” he reminded himself after a moment, and then headed for the kitchen area. As he worked, he heard Belle shuffling things around behind him, and risked a glance. She had set the sheets on a single chair off to the side allowing the heat of the fire to reach further out into the room, to the couch, and she had picked up his discarded, wet clothing, and hung it over the back of another chair, set off to the side, ready to move when she went up to bed.

The domesticity of it all, belying the danger she had been in, and probably still was, made him smile. If there were ever a statement on the way his life had been lately, this was probably it. She was probably it.

Lifting the pan with the bubbling milk inside, from the heat, he poured it into the two cups she had prepared, and stirred both vigorously to make sure their was no powder left in the bottom. He almost started when he felt the soft touch on his arm, and felt Belle’s heat against his back.

“What have they ever done to you?” she asked softly, then added, “Come and sit down. It’s been a long day for you too.”

He nodded, and together they walked back to the couch and sat down. He tried not to notice, as Belle curled up with her feet up on the couch at her side, the way the bottom of the robe slipped open to reveal one shapely leg almost all the way up her thigh. She sipped her cocoa, and let out a soft sigh of appreciation.

“It’s good,” she murmured, lapping a splash of chocolate from her lips. He looked away. Looking instead into the crackling fire as he felt himself starting to respond to the thoughts running through his mind at her actions.

“You did all the heavy lifting,” he told her. “All I did was pour in the milk.”

“And beat it to death with a spoon,” she teased and he couldn’t help chuckle.

A silence fell as they both sipped their cocoa, and he figured she must be as lost in her own thoughts as he was in trying to ignore his.

“Thank you.”

Her soft voice drew his attention back to her, and he half turned her way with a frown on his face, and set down his cup. He was about to speak, when she reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers against his lips.

“Don’t tell me you are just doing your job. You didn’t have to do this. You could have just left me there and trusted the law to keep me safe,” she said.

He reached up and took her hand from his lips, stroking the tips of her fingers with his own.

“Wasn’t going to happen,” he told her softly. “They would have gotten to you. I couldn’t allow that.”

“Be honest,” she began, “Because of the case, or…”

He could have lied. He could have told her it was just about the case, that the fact that something in her had pulled at him from the very beginning, like a kind of recognition that he couldn’t explain, meant nothing to him, but she deserved better than that. She deserved the truth.

“No,” he said quietly, then with a expression full of regret, added, “But it would be wrong of me to take advantage of the situation; take advantage of you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she told him, equally as softly. “To offer a little human kindness? How would have be so wrong.”

He laughed, humorlessly, his voice thick with unrequited need when he spoke. “Oh, believe me, what I have on my mind is far more than human kindness.”

Belle blushed, and he released her hand to reach up and cup her face, his thumb stroked softly over her reddened cheek as though he could wipe away the blush, when all he truly wanted to do was cause her a greater blush yet.

“And if that’s what I want?” She leaned into his hand and shifted closer.

“You say that now—” he started, but didn’t have the chance to get any further.

“I say that, period.”

In one graceful, fluid movement, that served as a reminder that she was a dancer, lithe, supple and flexible, she set down her cup on the floor beside the couch, and moved to sit astride his pajama clad legs. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders for barely a moment while she caught her balance, though almost automatically he brought his hands to rest on her hips, to steady her, and then her fingers stroked upward either side of his neck to cup his face, bringing his gaze up to hers.

“From the moment you walked into my dressing room,” she said, finding his eyes with hers, “I’ve had this overwhelming feeling… as though I know you - somehow - even though I know we’ve never met before. How could we?” She paused as if to give him a chance to answer, but all he could do was shake his head. “I want to know how. I want to know why. I want to know you.”

As she spoke her voice became quieter, and she moved closer still, pressing against him until he could feel the heat of her body close against him, and he let out a voiced breath, not quite a moan, before her felt her breath against his lips in the instant before she closed the final distance and kissed him softly.

It was barely as if a feather had brushed against the soft skin of his mouth, and the intake of breath he gave parted his lips. The feathery touch pressed again, then the warm softness of her mouth tugged against his lower lip, and he was lost.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her closer yet to his body, and the ache he felt in his groin as his already semi-hard cock became fuller, harder and trapped between them. She moaned into his mouth as his arms crossed her back, the fingers of one hand sliding into her hair as he took control of the kiss, parting her lips with his and plundering her mouth for all her sweetness. She tasted of mint and chocolate, and sunlight - somehow sunlight even in this darkest of places.

She tugged open the belt of her robe and shrugged her shoulders to let it fall as far as his hands would allow, effectively trapping her hands and he dragged his mouth from hers. He pressed a line of hot, wet kisses down over her neck to bathe the softness of her skin, left revealed by the spaghetti strap of her pajama top and bare to the upper curve of her breasts and the cleft between, as though he could wash away the bruises still visible there.

She leaned back, her breathing quickening, her fingertips searing scalding lines down over his chest until her palms pressed against his hard nipples through the shirt he wore. He ached to take it off, to expose all of her to his kisses, to take her completely and leave her trembling and breathless with fulfillment.

The thought brought him up short, just as her fingertips skimmed against his belly above the waistband of his pants, right above his heated erection. What the fuck was he doing? She deserved better than this, better than some hurried groping, fumbling around on a couch too small for her comfort. He forced himself to pull away, to tug her away until he could catch her hands.

“Ken?” she whispered, half question, half disappointment.

“Not here,” he said breathlessly. “Not like this.”  She tipped her head to the side, regarding him, and he looked upward over her body, over her quivering belly, her breasts - nipples showing through the navy silk of the camisole top - over the beauty of her face until their eyes met, and he murmured, “Come to bed.”

**

Belle’s entire body was humming with nerves and need, and his words went through her like a bolt of electricity to leave her already soaked and aching core pulsing with want. In answer, she climbed from his lap, feeling the damp silk of her pajama shorts rub against her thighs as she walked to pick up the sheets from the chair, while Weaver moved a fireguard in front of the fire still burning in the hearth.

They climbed the stairs to the loft hand in hand, and together made short work of the mundane necessity of making up the bed, piling on the blankets and the comforter to make sure they would be warm in the night. She was just straightening up after after turning down the bedclothes, when she felt the hot press of his lips on the back of her shoulder, and she moaned, leaning back into him, and reaching around herself to dig her short fingernails into the top of his thighs as his hands came up to cup her breasts through her camisole. His thumbs danced over her nipples.

She could feel him, hard, pressed against the top of her buttocks and lower back, and she let her hips sway, caressing him with her body until his moan vibrated against her skin. One of his hands left her breast and dipped lower, slipped beneath the leg of her shorts and brushed slowly through her tight curls until his deft touch parted her wet folds, and glided through her liquid desire to circle her clit, barely touching, and she let out a whimper, trying to move to catch his hand, his touch, needing to feel it.

“Ken, please,” she gasped breathlessly, but he removed his touch from her body, turning her in his arms to press his mouth to hers, gathering her against him. Then he lifted her in his arms and set her down on the bed, following her down to press his body to hers, but only for a moment.

Resting on his elbows over her, his mouth descended over her neck and his hand pushed aside the top of her camisole to reveal the fullness of her breast to his gaze, to his touch, and to the pull of his lips as he closed them around her puckered nipple, and suckled softly, but without cease or mercy, his other hand cupped her other breast, first through the silk of her top, then slipped inside to pinch and tease her nipple, until she squirmed and moaned out her need for him.

Slowly, he continued his descent over her body, leaving her breasts, he pushed up the front of her top, to bathe her skin with with nips and kisses, leaving her tingling, gasping as he moved lower yet and he nuzzled at her wetness with his nose, his fingers teasing around the waistband of her shorts.

She gripped his shoulders, and at the same time lifted her hips in clear invitation to remove the garment. It seemed it was all that he needed, and almost agonizingly slowly he eased the silk down over her thighs, her calves, tugged them off over her feet as he knelt up to pull off his own shirt.

Belle ran her eyes over his chest and stomach. She ached to reach out and peel the rest of his nightwear from his lean, muscled frame.

“See something you like?” he teased, and she blushed, as he began to kiss his way up her legs, lingering at the back of her knees until she squirmed, and then he ran his fingers over the inside of her thighs, the touch firm, but against her too sensitive skin it felt like hot needles, painful in the most exquisite way, and more arousing than anything she could have imagined.

“You,” she breathed, as his insistent touch parted her thighs, and his hot breath bathed her wet core in the moment before his tongue pressed between her folds, swollen with desire, and lapped upward to flicker against her clit. She cried out, her back arching, trying to catch the fleeting touch more fully and escape it both at the same time.

He moaned, the sound vibrating against her as he lapped and swirled, as he suckled on the aching nub of her clit, leaving her trembling, her breath coming in short gasps as she felt herself, like a spring wound tightly close to breaking. The touch was her undoing. As he closed his lips around her clit, sucking and alternately flickering against her with his tongue, he teased her entrance with a long, slender finger, circling once, twice, before he slowly eased the tip just inside. Her muscles grasped at him, and he moaned anew, easing his touch in slowly, and out, in and out until every muscle in her body trembled on the edge of oblivion before she broke, the wave of her climax swept over her.

He lapped softly over the length of her, the touch inside of her slowly withdrawing as the edge faded, until he left her center and kissed his way back up over her, gathering her close and nuzzling at her hair, his fingers idly caressing the side of her breast.

She trailed her own fingers over his arms, his chest, felt the taught muscles of his belly harden at her touch, and the twitch of his cock against her where he pressed, hard, against her hip. She paused, only barely before she slipped a hand between them and pressed her palm against his length, feeling the heat of him through the cotton pants, but wanting the smoothness of skin against skin she drew away, sat up only to cross her arms and grasp the bottom of her camisole and peel it off.  Weaver moaned her name.

“Take them off,” she answered, plucking at the side of his pants, and when he did she tipped him onto his back, and straddled him as she had before, this time with nothing between them - only skin.

Skin on skin, she lay herself down to feel every inch of him against her, then after a time, pushed herself up, her hands on his chest. Her thighs framed his hips and she undulated against him, letting his hardness glide between her folds, against her clit.

“Belle,” he moaned, and grasped her hips to still her. She ran her hands over his chest, his shoulder, to where the puckered circle of a scar lay stark against the tan of the rest of him in the dim and flickering light.

“You were shot,” she said quietly. The though gave her almost a physical pain.

“A long time ago,” he assured her quietly. Then he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him and deftly flipped her beneath him, covering her completely, and he kissed her, a deep, consuming kiss. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Ken,” she breathed, and slowly raised her thighs around him, slipped her hands down over his shoulders, down to draw tiny circles in the small of his back; the top of his buttocks. “I want you,” she whispered.

“Are you sure,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire that matched her own. What did it matter they were virtually strangers? And yet… that familiarity swept over her again, stronger than before, as he added, “We haven’t—”

She caught his lips in a kiss, cutting off his words, pulling back only to whisper, “Take me, slowly,” into his mouth.

He moaned into the kiss, and reached between them to guide his cock to find her.

She felt the broad, blunt head of his scalding heat press against her, part her, open her to him as he glided deep into her soaked and needful core. She gave a soft, almost sobbing cry at the sheer rightness of it as he pressed himself to her, filled her, their bodies meeting as he held a moment, buried deep inside of her.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck, and she ran her fingers into his hair, scraped her nails against his scalp and turned her head to find his ear. Her tongue lapped at his lobe, drawing it in between her lips, before she nipped softly.

“Feel… so good,” she whispered against his ear.

“Perfect,” he murmured, lifting his head to find her mouth with his.

His tongue plundered her mouth, and she tasted herself on him, moaning softly with increased need. It wasn’t enough for him to fill her, she wanted him to lose himself in her; wanted to break apart around him, draw him with her and milk him dry. She wanted to exhaust herself in him and he in her. She lifted her hips and squeezed her muscles around him, and he broke the kiss, gasping, a breath that turned into a low, needful growl as he began to move with her.

He was hot, and hard, thick and long, and she moved with him as though they’d known each other forever. Slowly, lazily at first their shared movements stoked the fires of their need, but with each thrust, each squeeze, each sigh and moan, their desire grew, and they gave their passions head.

His thrusts became faster, harder, deeper as she lifted her legs to wrap them around his back. She wanted all of him, and moaned against his shoulder where she nipped and sucked, as she felt the heat of his balls pressing against her.

“Oh, God!” he gasped. Then, “Belle.”

Her breath was coming in shallow snatches, panting in time with the rhythm of their lovemaking, and she moaned, “Don’t stop,” as she pressed her head back against the pillows, “Please, don’t stop.”

She was close, and she could tell from the trembling in his arms and the look of near bliss on his face that he, too, was hanging on the moment with her, until with a cry, she burst around him and he let out a primal moan as he lost himself inside her, each beat of his heart pulsing hot, thick seed into her. She pulsed and trembled around him, milking every precious drop. Until he sank down onto her, and held her close, tight, breathless together as they each began to calm.

Still shaking he eased from her, drawing her with him to nestle her into his side as though he didn’t want to let her go, and she clung to him, still breathless, still pulsing, still feeling all of him as he held her close, leaned his head down to take her lips gently, softly, in a sweet and tender kiss.

**

He reached down to draw up the covers over their sweat drenched bodies as they slowly caught their breath. He had never known anyone like her. It was as though she knew every inch of him, and he of her, and together they were only one whole being - lost apart. His throat felt tight with unshed tears that he couldn’t explain. He swallowed hard, swallowed them down.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead as she rested against his shoulder.

She shifted against him. “Yes,” she whispered, “Better than all right.”

He chuckled softly, and she looked up at him then, an expression he couldn’t quite fathom on her face, and he raised an eyebrow in query.

She shook her head, but he pressed gently, “What?”

“It’s just…” she swallowed hard. “I wondered if it was short for something, or if it is really just Ken. Your name, I mean.”

“Kendrick,” he said, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, and smooth it back from her face. “It’s short for Kendrick.”

“Kendrick Weaver,” she murmured his full name, and he suddenly felt as though his entire life, past and future were somehow being drawn together in the woman by his side.

“It suits you,” she said, after many long moments of silence, and settled herself against him again, safe in his arms.

[dennace]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆. ( repost ,  don’t  reblog. )

NAME  :   dennis reynolds. ALIAS :   the looks, the legend, the hammer of thor, mr. excellence, golden god, hugh honey, the daiquiri man, brian lefevre, dane brass, + more. but also none of these. he’s just dennis. AGE  :  43 years old. SPECIES  :   human. FAMILY  :  deandra “dee” reynolds (older twin sister), frank reynolds (step/adoptive father), barbara reynolds (mother; deceased), bruce mathis (biological father), gail the snail (cousin on his mother’s side), maureen ponderosa (ex-wife; deceased). without canon divergence: brian jr (son). SIGNIFICANT OTHER  :  i promise i’m not saying this as a person who vies for a mac/dennis romance — the show has never really been about that for me, though it admittedly sweetens the deal now that i’m paying attention — but mac mcdonald just about counts. it’s dennis’ longest-lasting, most romantically-coded (which is on purpose, according to the cast/creators) relationship of the series. they don’t pull that cheap sitcom bullshit, either, where two close men have some ‘tension’ that’s ultimately played for laughs; there is ongoing, serious development between the pair (however unhealthy, however doomed to fail). mac is now an out gay man and in more recent seasons has said flat-out that he loves and wants dennis to love him. so. mac. (kind of.) (he’s still single. just extremely codependent and maybe angled to wind up with mac eventually.)

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻.

RELIGIOUS BELIEF  :  very, very nearly an atheist. we’re going ‘agnostic’ only because mac has a history of getting into his head about religion to some extent. SINS  :   greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES  :   chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness  /  patience /  justice PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE  :  he wanted to be a veterinarian for many years, but that’s as good as quashed. he doesn’t even necessarily want to... survive, at this point, so i can’t say ‘achieving happiness.’ he’s miserable and lonely and gradually resigning himself to it. KNOWN LANGUAGES  :  english. SECRETS  :  he is trying very hard to keep from himself that he’s gay, so it’s less a secret than a persistent pattern of denial. he dyes the gray out of his hair — but again, everyone notices. he loves musical theater. he’s afraid of heights. he’s being medicated for one of his diagnosed mental illnesses. SAVVIES  :  tending bar/mixing drinks. great at applying makeup.

𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻.

BUILD  :   scrawny  / bony  /  slender (tries to remain underweight; isn’t always successful, but often) /  fit  /  athletic  /  curvy  /  herculean  /  pudgy  /  average HEIGHT  :   5′10″. SCARS / MARKS  :  minor hyperpigmentation on his right cheek, upper left thigh, lower right shoulder blade. he keeps the spots on his face covered with foundation. ABILITIES / POWERS  :   n/a. RESTRICTIONS  :  despite frequently priding himself on his ‘physical perfection,’ dennis is in exceptionally poor shape. he’s liable to passing out quickly from overexertion; also breaks a heavy sweat faster than any other member of the gang. anemia, low blood pressure, refeeding syndrome beyond 40.

𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚂.

FOOD  :   he’d list something fancy when in reality, he really... really enjoys (and misses) the simple foods. he’s big on seafood, definitely enjoys a good pizza, chimichangas, burgers. snacks like popcorn and potato chips. DRINK  :   alcoholic. (and tea, coffee.) PIZZA TOPPING  :   pepperoni or mushrooms. COLOUR  :   blue. MUSIC GENRE  :  glam rock and yacht rock, baby. BOOK GENRE  :   nonfiction until he gets bored (it’s swift). trashy romance when no one’s looking. MOVIE GENRE  :  action, buddy films. SEASON  :   winter, maybe? CURSE WORD  :   i’d say he uses ‘shit’ and ‘god/damn’ most often? ‘bitch’ is up there. c*nt. SCENT(S)  :  the bar. it doesn’t smell... strictly good, but it brings him comfort. likes the smell of coffee, too.

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙼.

BOTTOM OR TOP  :   bottom. SINGS IN THE SHOWER  :   yes. lot of rick astley. LIKES BAD PUNS  :  nah. his own repetitive shitty jokes aside, he’s pretty picky about comedy.

TAGGED BY: stole it from the lovely @malwares TAGGING: god i’m so lazy, man, i can’t do this. @andwillful / @bugdown. 

[themadamelibrarian]

Touching In The Dark

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/You Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Reader Additional Tags: Dom!Cas, Dom/sub Undertones, Grace Kink, Castiel's Grace, Angelic Grace, 50 Shades of Grey References Summary: Requested by: @totallypaletrash said: Can I request a female reader insert with Castiel and 48. Grace kink for 100 + kinks challenge

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It had been Castiel’s suggestion and you suspected that he’d been getting dating tips from Dean again. You had to hand it to the hunter, his advice was getting better as far as where Castiel should take you for a date. Unfortunately, his idea of movie idea’s left something to be desired, or you hoped seeing ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ was Dean’s idea of a joke and not Castiel’s honest opinion on a romantic movie.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the behavior of the female character, you slump down in your chair and lean your head against Castiel’s shoulder. It was already apparent that this movie was trash through and through, at least from a BDSM perspective. You’d not personally experienced a scene but you had a curious nature and the internet was a wealth of information.

“I believe Mr. Grey is being rather careless with Anna’s affections,” Castiel whispered to you without taking his eyes away from the screen, “It is a gift to have someone submit to you so completely.”

Your eyes widen as you slowly turn to stare at the angel. The two of you had a sexual relationship for the past several months and many times you’d seen a hint of a dominant in the way Castiel behaved in the bedroom, but he’d never actually expressed an interest in taking on that kind of roll.

Castiel met your eyes and smiled, “Don’t you agree?”

You could have sworn that you felt his fingers running over your knee with the lightest amount of pressure. Looking down you saw that one of his arms was on the armrest and the other was around your shoulders.  

Sensing your confusion, Castiel whispered in your ear, “I may be weakened from the fall but that doesn’t mean I don’t have some control of my grace. Touching you in the most intimate of ways without anyone the wiser.”

“We shouldn’t,” you hissed back, looking around you in fear that someone was close enough to hear you. The last thing you wanted to happen was being thrown out a theater for being lewd.

Castiel’s fingers touched your chin gently and directed your gaze back to him, “Do you trust me, y/n?”

“Of course I do,” you said as your eyes settle on his, “but I don’t know if I can be quiet.”

“You’ll try for me though, won’t you?” Castiel’s voice dipped low and practically dripped with desire as a firmer touch of his grace eased its way up your thigh, brushing against your sex. The shock of it feeling like he was touching your bare skin had you gasping as you stared at him incredulously. “Very quiet,” Castiel reminded you.

Tags: @copperseraphim @thenanahunter @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @idabbleincrazy @truxblooded​

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Tessa finds herself struggling with her complicated relationship with Hardin; she faces a dilemma that could change their lives forever.

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Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use. No copyright infringement intended. ¦H¦A¦P¦P¦Y¦ ¦W¦A¦T¦C¦H¦I¦N¦G¦ ¦E¦N¦J¦O¦Y¦ Find all the tv series and movies that you can stream online, including the series that aired today. If you are wondering what can you watch on this website, then you should know that it entails genres that include Crime, Drama, Mystery, Action & Adventure series, shows. Thank you very much. We say to all those who are happy to accept us as news or information about the program schedule of the season, episodes and how you watch your favorite television shows. Hopefully we can become the best partner for you in finding recommendations for a television show from various countries around the world. That’s all from us, greetings!, Thanks for watching Guys, keep in touch on Twitter and make sure you let us know if you enjoyed it or not (we don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it). Don’t forget to make around you smile with a sense of optimism. :)) TELEVISION SHOW AND HISTORY A television show (often simply TV show) is any content produced for broadcast via over-the-air, satellite, cable, or internet and typically viewed on a television set, excluding breaking news, advertisements, or trailers that are typically placed between shows. Television shows are most often scheduled well ahead of time and appear on electronic guides or other TV listings. A television show might also be called a television program (British English: programme), especially if it lacks a narrative structure. A television series is usually released in episodes that follow a narrative, and are usually divided into seasons (US and Canada) or series (UK) — yearly or semiannual sets of new episodes. A show with a limited number of episodes may be called a miniseries, serial, or limited series. A one-time show may be called a “special”. A television film (“made-for-TV movie” or “television movie”) is a film that is initially broadcast on television rather than released in theaters or direct-to-video. Television shows can be viewed as they are broadcast in real time (live), be recorded on home video or a digital video recorder for later viewing, or be viewed on demand via a set-top box or streamed over the internet. The first television shows were experimental, sporadic broadcasts viewable only within a very short range from the broadcast tower starting in the 1930s. Televised events such as the 1936 Summer Olympics in Germany, the 1937 coronation of King George VI in the UK, and David Sarnoff’s famous introduction at the 1939 New York World’s Fair in the US spurred a growth in the medium, but World War II put a halt to development until after the war. The 1947 World Series inspired many Americans to buy their first television set and then in 1948, the popular radio show Texaco Star Theater made the move and became the first weekly televised variety show, earning host Milton Berle the name “Mr Television” and demonstrating that the medium was a stable, modern form of entertainment which could attract advertisers. The first national live television broadcast in the US took place on September 4, 1951 when President Harry Truman’s speech at the Japanese Peace Treaty Conference in San Francisco was transmitted over AT&T’s transcontinental cable and microwave radio relay system to broadcast stations in local markets. The first national color broadcast (the 1954 Tournament of Roses Parade) in the US occurred on January 1, 1954. During the following ten years most network broadcasts, and nearly all local programming, continued to be in black-and-white. A color transition was announced for the fall of 1965, during which over half of all network prime-time programming would be broadcast in color. The first all-color prime-time season came just one year later. In 1972, the last holdout among daytime network shows converted to color, resulting in the first completely all-color network season. FORMATS AND GENRES Television shows are more varied than most other forms of media due to the wide variety of formats and genres that can be presented. A show may be fictional (as in comedies and dramas), or non-fictional (as in documentary, news, and reality television). It may be topical (as in the case of a local newscast and some made-for-television films), or historical (as in the case of many documentaries and fictional series). They could be primarily instructional or educational, or entertaining as is the case in situation comedy and game shows. A drama program usually features a set of actors playing characters in a historical or contemporary setting. The program follows their lives and adventures. Before the 1980s, shows (except for soap opera-type serials) typically remained static without story arcs, and the main characters and premise changed little. If some change happened to the characters’ lives during the episode, it was usually undone by the end. Because of this, the episodes could be broadcast in any order. Since the 1980s, many series feature progressive change in the plot, the characters, or both. For instance, Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere were two of the first American prime time drama television series to have this kind of dramatic structure,while the later series Babylon 5 further exemplifies such structure in that it had a predetermined story running over its intended five-season run. In 2012, it was reported that television was growing into a larger component of major media companies’ revenues than film. Some also noted the increase in quality of some television programs. In 2012, Academy-Award-winning film director Steven Soderbergh, commenting on ambiguity and complexity of character and narrative, stated: “I think those qualities are now being seen on television and that people who want to see stories that have those kinds of qualities are watching television. CREDITS Find all the movies that you can stream online, including those that were screened this week. If you are wondering what you can watch on this website, then you should know that it covers genres that include crime, Science, Fi-Fi, action, romance, thriller, Comedy, drama, Anime Movie, etc. Thank you very much. We tell everyone who is happy to receive us as news or information about this year’s film schedule and how you watch your favorite films. Hopefully we can become the best partner for you in finding recommendations for your favorite movies. That’s all from us, greetings! United States When a person or company decides to create a new series, they develop the show’s elements, consisting of the concept, the characters, the crew, and cast. Then they often “pitch” it to the various networks in an attempt to find one interested enough to order a prototype first episode of the series, known as a pilot.[citation needed] Eric Coleman, an animation executive at Disney, told an interviewer, “One misconception is that it’s very difficult to get in and pitch your show, when the truth is that development executives at networks want very much to hear ideas. They want very much to get the word out on what types of shows they’re looking for.”[7] To create the pilot, the structure and team of the whole series must be put together. If audiences respond well to the pilot, the network will pick up the show to air it the next season (usually Fall).[citation needed] Sometimes they save it for mid-season, or request rewrites and additional review (known in the industry as development hell).[citation needed] Other times, they pass entirely, forcing the show’s creator to “shop it around” to other networks. Many shows never make it past the pilot stage.[citation needed] The show hires a stable of writers, who usually work in parallel: the first writer works on the first episode, the second on the second episode, etc.[citation needed] When all the writers have been used, episode assignment starts again with the first writer.[citation needed] On other shows, however, the writers work as a team. Sometimes they develop story ideas individually, and pitch them to the show’s creator, who folds them together into a script and rewrites them.[citation needed] If the show is picked up, the network orders a “run” of episodes — usually only six or 11 episodes at first, though a season typically consists of at least 22 episodes.[citation needed] The midseason seven and last nine episodes are sometimes called the “mid-seven” and “back nine” — borrowing the colloquial terms from bowling and golf.[citation needed] Thanks u for visiting, I hope u enjoy with this Movie Have a Nice Day and Happy Watching :)