#should I make a tag for Emma?

[my-blooming-darling]

I felt like I could have added more to these so the readers could imagine it more, so here’s a revised version! I wonder if I should make another part?

Tw: slight sad in Rindou’s part…I had to do it to ya 😭

Categories: ☁️fluff; 🍡gn!reader; 💫old work; 🎐multi-character (of the same fandom)

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💕 Ryusei is a big cuddler when he’s cold. You could be wearing your own jacket and he’ll still try to trap you in his with the excuse of “we can’t freeze if we’re in the same bubble”. He insists on staying home, but will go with you if you need to run errands. As soon as y’all are done though, he will be on you and squeezing you for warmth. Will reluctantly let go if you ask but he comes back with your favorite drink. He did go outside exactly once during a day in and that was because he was pelting Chifuyu and Baji with snowballs, but then he comes back acting like a wounded puppy after they tag team him. He likes to take pictures of you in the snow and he will gush about you to anybody that’ll listen to him. Chifuyu and Kazutora are tired of hearing it, but Baji will listen to him until he rambles for an hour, by which point he’ll send Ryusei back home to cuddle with you more.

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💕 Baji’s grumpy when he’s cold. He doesn’t like going anywhere and he’ll tell you as much if you wake up earlier than him because he knows what that means. Will squeeze you and grumble when you try leaving him. And by squeeze, I mean koala-type squeeze and you’re either stuck with him or you’ll do what you need to do while he buries himself in blankets like a hibernating gremlin. Sometimes he’ll occasionally wake up and y’all take turns making food or something, although he’s wrapped up in a blanket like he’s a house elf. Will curl up in front of the heater with whatever cat he has that day, and will probably complain if he can’t find his socks. He’s very cuddly when it’s cold too, and he’ll pepper you with kisses until you agree to snuggle with him. He won’t find out about the snowman competition between Chifuyu and Mikey until a full hour later.

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💕 Yuzuha buys you matching socks and takes pictures of y’all’s feet for her scrapbook. She likes having good memories of your time together, so she tries to take as many pictures as she can. She also likes to play in the snow with you if there’s any or enough to do something with, but she’ll also get embarrassed if you take pictures of her in the snow. If not, then she’ll have no problem staying in and cuddling with you while watching your favorite shows. If you’d like to go somewhere, she’ll go with you but only after making sure you’re properly warm, something she’s had to do for Hakkai throughout their lives, so it’s basically second nature to her. Hakkai does sometimes come over and he tries to feed you both because he’s a sweetie. Her favorite thing to make in winter is warm milk tea, but she would make sure to use a milk alternative just in case. Cooking with Yuzuha during winter is always an adventure because you’re always trying different recipes.

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💕 God forbid it snows because Chifuyu will go outside and build snowmen. His cutest one is a snowman of Peke J. If you won’t come out with him, he’s fine with that, but do expect him to come poke his head in the door (he won’t go inside with snow covered feet) and tell you about the snow person he built of you. He will take so many pictures of that snow person of you and send all of them to you. He sends you a picture of them in the group chat and Mikey’s hilariously offended by the fact that Chifuyu made him smaller than Peke, which was absolutely done intentionally because Fuyu’s a joker like that. He’ll take a picture of the snowman he made of Peke J and show it to him like “Look, it’s you!” while Peke meows and tilts his little head. He comes back to cuddle with you though after picking up warm drinks, cuddling with Peke J, and snacks…until he catches wind of Mikey’s snowmen, then it’s war. He also makes a snow person of you and Peke J cuddling after he finds you asleep with Peke curled up on your chest and snoring like a cute little void.

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💕 Mikey, although he’d rather be sleeping and cuddling with you, tries to go outside out of spite to build a snowman of Chifuyu after he catches wind of his hilariously tiny snow version of himself. Yes, that’s probably one of the only times he’ll willingly wake up for anything in this weather. You wake up to hear him grumbling away as he puts his boots on. You quickly figure out why he’s displeased when you see the snowmen that Chifuyu built of everyone in the group chat. Mikey hears you laughing at his expense and proceeds to tackle you and squeeze you. He’ll cuddle with you for awhile and complain until you give him kisses and snacks. Don’t mistake him though, he did go outside and show you his poorly made snowmen of Chifuyu, and wondered why you laughed harder at that one than the one Chifuyu made of him. “You’re supposed to be on my side, don’t laugh at me!” If you have to ask if he’s pouting while he says it, then there’s a 99% chance that he is absolutely pouting, and will continue until you hug or kiss him.

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💕 Emma, much like Mikey, will find you when you least expect her to and wrap you up in a giant blanket. You’ll essentially be a burrito while she makes your favorite soup. You’re not sure how she does it, but she’s able to squirm into the burrito with your bowls of soup without spilling a single drop. She’s just graceful like that, just saying. Y’all both bear witness to the snowmen war between Chifuyu and Mikey voting on whose are more absurd. It’s essentially the same as watching a game show on television but with bragging rights for the prize instead of anything else. Emma intentionally votes against Mikey solely to spite him because his grumpy anger is funny to her, which causes them to bicker, and Draken is subsequently left in charge of diffusing the situation, albeit with lots of grumbling in between sentences. She sneaks pictures of you when you’re not looking if y’all do go somewhere and keeps them in a photo album on her phone, very likely to have them printed so she can make a scrapbook or have them framed to put on her wall.

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💕 Sanzu is displeased when you and Senju declare snow war on him. Firstly, he can’t believe you’d team up with his sister instead of him. The idea mildly offends him, and he makes sure that you know it with petty complaints like “this would be more fun if my beloved didn’t pick my sister over me!”. Secondly, he wants to sleep. He’d much rather be in bed hugging you and having you all to himself with about three blankets and all the pillows you have in your home. Unfortunately , there is no such thing as sleep for him when you two have basically dragged him outside to have a snowball fight, so he gets stuck calling in reinforcements…which is an equally displeased Takeomi. Takeomi, of course, grumbles with Sanzu while you and Senju yell at them to stop complaining and bring it on. He only laughs when Takeomi gets a huge snowball thrown at his face, only to shriek when he gets hit by one himself. He takes a video of it but decides not to post it because although he’d rather have been cuddling with you, this was a fun memory of his. He likes to watch it when you’re not there.

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💕 Hakkai likes to lay on you when he’s cold. He may seem like a shy violet, but he loves his cuddles. He’s another person who thinks it’s cute to match with his partner, so y’all have matching sweaters. You took notes from Yuzuha and got him a pair of matching socks too, and he loves that y’all are on the same page. You don’t let him or Yuzuha go home when Taiju’s there. Y’all three are bound for life, they’re stuck with you for all of time. It’s a slumber party for the night. You two sometimes visit Yuzuha and her lover with food that you both cooked and you try to feed them while you’re there (mostly because Hakkai wants to make sure they’re still alive if there’s a power outage). In the event of an outage, all of you pile together in one room and try to make the most of it while you wait for the power to come back on. You and Yuzuha’s partner are good friends so this makes an already bad situation into a better one where everyone gets along.

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💕 Taiju, the roided out not-so-jolly green giant himself is surprisingly a good cuddler. Probably because, well, he’s huge and has a high body heat. Does not care about how tall or short you are, he will find a way to engulf you while he holds you. Refuses to go anywhere if he thinks it’s too cold, will hug you so you don’t escape. This is the same man who dips a toe in the ocean during the summer and refuses to go in because he thinks it’s too cold, but tells his siblings they can go in if they wish and will stay on a beach towel under an umbrella. You have to find him sweaters and shirts that are larger than life because he has a nasty unintentional habit of ripping them with his tiddies alone. It embarrasses him and he makes you swear that you never witnessed it the first time (but you totally told Inui and Kokonoi about it in the group chat). Taiju grumbles at you to never speak of that incident again when he finds out that you already spilled the tea to his dog and cat.

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💕 You and Kisaki watch Hanma (from a very safe distance) try to build the tallest snowman that he can muster. Not wanting to be caught in the carnage that would be the string bean himself falling, you two are behind a sturdy tree while he’s putting snowballs together. Hanma fully believes that he can do it, and he surprisingly pulls it off after about three hours. Yes, y’all really stayed out there for three hours, watching him put together a snowman as tall as possible. If you’re somebody that likes the cold, then you’re not really that bothered, but you and Kisaki agree to huddle for warmth because he, admittedly, is shaking like a leaf. But if you don’t like the cold, you two agree to go inside and watch from the window. Y’all don’t want him to die, and him somehow dying by his own actions seems a very on-par thing for him. Hanma manages to build it to about 7’9 feet tall with no injuries, thankfully. Kisaki thinks its eyes are beady and shudders. Hanma thinks it’s the greatest thing ever and proceeds to try and make a taller snowman. You and Kisaki have emergency services on speed dial…

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💕 Rindou is outside jogging. He keeps his body in top shape, and he does not care about the weather. He actually doesn’t seem to fear the weather much, truth be told. You’ve seen him in the beating sun working out one summer (but that was also the same summer he got that sunburn and refused to exercise outside in the summer ever again). He’s probably the type of guy to go to Tornado Alley in the States and be like “a tornado? Headed here? Lemme go see this” while standing outside. If you join him, great. If not, you don’t cuddle with him until he’s no longer covered in snow and sweat, and you playfully call him stinky until he showers. Yes, he complains about the lack of cuddles but comes back out tired. This is optimal cuddle time, for he won’t be trying to wake you up for any errands if your social battery is deader than your former friendships. Will bury his head in your neck and hold you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. At one point, when Takemichi was doing his time travel business, that was always a possibility. He doesn’t like to think of those timelines where he had to live without you. He also will give you lazy kisses as he falls asleep, telling you how much he loves you. He doesn’t know when it’ll be the last time he does.

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💕 Now why would anybody think Ran would wake up for anything when winter makes him more tired? That man will sleep and will barely wake up even if you told him the house was on fire. Could sleep through an entire apocalypse, even, but he’ll immediately wake up if he feels you getting up. If you do wake him up, he will pretend he’s still asleep so you’d give him more kisses. You almost miss him giggling to himself as he rolls over, conveniently turning on his side so you’ll kiss his other cheek. He’s a cheeky, sneaky little bastard sometimes. Will pounce on you when you’re not looking and pull you back into bed with him. He’s dramatic, so he’ll whine if you escape and act like you’re leaving him to be alone forever, but he won’t make you come back if you really don’t want to. He’ll just miss you a lot until you come back. Will wholeheartedly act like he’s dying and sigh very loudly. He will also come into the room you’re in and flop onto the nearest bit of furniture that’s around and fake cry like he’s a Disney princess (and you have caught him petting an actual raccoon before and not get attacked, so that might not be very far off). If you do want to, prepare to be pelted with kisses.

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💕 You can sense the displeasure in Sanzu’s eyes when you team up with Senju over him. He looks hilariously offended that you would choose her to be your teammate. If the phrase“how could you?!” was a person, it would be Sanzu. Senju, however, is motivated by pure menacery and declares snowball warfare on her brother. Sanzu’s not safe from Senju and she swears she’ll win this war. Once a reluctant Takeomi arrives, it’s game on. Everybody in the vicinity better clear out or else they’ll get caught in the crossfire. You guys spend the day pelting each other with snowballs of various sizes and shapes (yes, Senju had kunai shaped snowballs at one point, you have no idea how she was able to mold them in such a short amount of time). Alas, Sanzu gets revenge on you for throwing a snowball at him after hitting Takeomi, lands a snowball directly on your face, and you “die”. Don’t worry, Senju avenged you by burying him and Takeomi in a pile of snow. She fake gags when Sanzu kisses your cheek in apology.

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💕 Izana hates winter. Absolutely cannot stand it, he immediately starts hunting for his socks and a humidifier as soon as there’s a mild chill in the air. He probably has some sinus issues that could get worse in colder months, which is another reason why he doesn’t like winter. Hilariously, he complains about how he took breathing for granted when one of his nostrils is stuffed while the other one works. You have found him under about 5 different blankets, all of them fleece and weighted with different patterns on them. He’s grumpy, worse than Baji, and can only be bribed into leaving his nest with kisses. Yes, he has actually made a nest with those blankets. He still won’t go anywhere if you have errands to run. Instead, he’ll clean up the place, cook, and then return to his nest where he waits for your return. If you stay with him, he’ll help out around the house but he’ll still go back to his pile after he’s made sure that you’ve been fed. Yes, he will pull you in like the gremlin he is and cuddle you. Does not speak once, only hiss.

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💕 Shinichiro, bless him, tries to get his sleepier siblings to exist in society. Emma’s no trouble, she wakes up pretty easily and is usually in a good mood until Baji comes over, then she’s yelling at him to tell her his hair secrets. Even still, the commotion doesn’t wake up the other gremlins. Izana and Mikey are lazy potatoes that are one fry short of a happy meal, so you end up having to help him. Once they’re done being McMad, you and Shin have some alone time. Y’all spend part of the day putting together a blanket fort and staying there until he has to leave for work. You wait for him to come back at the end of his shift. He temporarily forgot where you were when he left so he goes around the place looking for you until he sees you sticking your head out of the fort, which jump scares him enough to fall onto a napping Mikey, who screams bloody murder and clings to you while dramatically claiming that he’s a victim of attempted fratricide. He kisses your forehead and runs off to shower so he can come back and cuddle. Y’all don’t see Emma tying Baji to a chair Liam Neeson-style and interrogating him for what he does to make his hair perfect.

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💕 Kazutora, the sleepy tiger, reluctantly wakes up and goes to work. He doesn’t leave without cuddling with you for a few minutes. He’ll leave a few kisses on your head before dragging himself out of bed. Yes, he steals your sweaters because they smell like you and it makes him feel closer to you. If they don’t fit, he wears a scarf you wore. He doesn’t care if it’s black or if it’s pink with giant red strawberries on it, it’s yours and he wants to feel like you’re with him. If neither of y’all have work or anything to do, you two either stay in or go outside for a bit. Even sitting on the porch or balcony with a warm drink is enough for you two. He’s so pretty in his landscape with snow or rain falling all around, cheeks and nose bitten pink from the chill and his lips slightly reddened by whatever warm drink you two made. He doesn’t understand why you suddenly kissed him, but he’ll never complain and he’ll always kiss you back. He’s your lock screen, but he doesn’t know yet. He’ll probably find out later on, and he’ll blush so much while you laugh and hug him. You make his heart warm up just a little bit more in the winter air.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

(Mystic Code Book Q&A Chapters 1 & 7)

Thinking about these questions in relationship to panels like these

(Chapter 28)

and how utterly gross Ray must have felt when fragments of headquarters flashed in his mind where he was paraded around by sisters to demons as 81194 after they would specifically come to check on 73584's offspring and muse he was progressing as was expected of her progeny.

[rogdona]

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[blubary]

Tbh I would've loved it if Taylor just slapped Daniel at any random time during the game.

[birlwrites]

Birl. Will you ever let regulus have a happy hug. Please.

first this ask made me laugh and then it made me go 'oh shit Will I Though'

like i do very much have a few in mind - gotta lighten up lachrimae somehow, and in ttdl like..... i'm sure it's coming?? agslghsjkgkdsf like. evan's going to hug him at some point right???? when regulus isn't having a nervous breakdown???????

maybe it won't happen until part 2 of atfhv ajglshgjksdf i'm thinking about it and like. there is a distinct likelihood that regulus will not have a single happy hug in the entirety of ttdl. maybe if barty really kicks someone's ass and feels the urge to celebrate

[tateytots]

i love my friends soooo much they are all being cradled so gently in my heart

[solar-nightengale]

@lizardthelizard You wanted my thoughts, you're getting them 😏 Three and a half weeks later but you're still getting them ehehehe 😌😌😌 (Idk what to make of them so have fun with that word wall of mayhem)

August 2.18 | Zelena 3.16

[rogdona]

[hauntedbythenarrative]

.

[cutehoons02]

After concert!

*pairing: idol Heeseug x fan Girl

*trope: opposite attraction

*synopsis: What would happen when your best friends for your birthday give you the ticket to the concert of your dreams as well as the Enhypen with the VIP option? You were in seventh heaven to go see your favorite band especially your favorite idol Heeseung, but what happens when he never stops looking at you during the concert and during the VIP meeting and finally a member of the staff asks you with an excuse to follow him because a band member wanted to see you?

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung is perverted but also sweet, fluffy moments, needy Heeseung, needy protagonist, a lot of kisses, suckers, finger sucking, masturbation, protected sex,cowgirl, possession, pet names (baby,pretty girl,good girl) (Hee)

8.7k(🎤) 💌The request and ideas were written by @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby for this story (thanks a lot for your help)

(English is not my native language)

You were looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, trying to ensure every detail of your outfit was perfect. Behind you, your best friends were lying on the bed, giggling as they teased you. — You’re more nervous than if you were about to step on stage with them— Stella joked, tossing you a pillow. You sighed, crossing your arms with a pout. "Can you believe it? I’m about to see Enhypen live! Not just live, but up close! It’s been my dream for years!" You were wearing a black skirt, paired with a custom T-shirt for the occasion: a red heart with the words "If you say" printed on it. Your hair was loose, with two braids framing your face. On your feet, a pair of comfortable shoes—because sure, you’d be sitting in the VIP area, but you already knew you’d be singing and dancing nonstop. 'You should bring us with you,' Emma said, pretending to pout. "At least one of you! Come on, join me!” you tried to convince them, making your classic puppy-dog eyes, hoping they’d give in. But the two friends burst out laughing. — Stop with the big eyes! You know there were no more tickets! But don’t worry, you’ll make friends with someone else. Enhypen fans are everywhere,— Stella reassured you. You let out a dramatic sigh, but in the end, you smiled. They were right. After all, that night was an incredible gift, and even if you were going alone, nothing could ruin your mood. Before leaving, you hugged them tightly. "I love you. You’re the best friends in the world." 'We know,' Emma replied with a little grin. 'And remember: take videos of everyone, not just Heeseung! I want to see Sunoo, got it?' — And don’t forget Jay for me!— added Stella, winking at you. You burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I’ll send you all the videos you want!" Then, with your heart racing from excitement, you grabbed your bag and left the house. What you didn’t know was that once you passed through the stadium gates, your life would change forever.

The sunset illuminated the stadium, and the soundcheck was almost finished, with all the members interacting with the audience. You were in the front row, and you could see them so closely it didn’t feel real. The girls next to you screamed every time a member appeared, and you shot them a disapproving look. When it was Heeseung’s turn to walk toward you, you admired him carefully without shouting or taking videos—you just wanted to observe him more closely. You had seen him everywhere on metro screens for various ads and even in some bars, while the fans next to you kept screaming and acting like fools. You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze to Heeseung, and he started laughing as you glanced at the girls sitting next to you. You smiled shyly at him because he had singled you out in the crowd. When Heeseung moved to the other side of the stage, everyone screamed his name and started filming, but then some girls began pushing and yelling to get his attention. However, his focus remained on a girl sitting down, carefully watching him but also throwing glances at the other girls. He scanned you from head to toe and thought you were really cute—no, scratch that, beautiful. You were wearing a skirt and a T-shirt with a print from an old summer album, your hair was loose with two small braids, and your gaze had been fixed on him for a solid few minutes. He licked his lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world—an instinctive gesture, normal for him. But at that moment, with thousands of phones pointed at him and you looking at him with those deep eyes, it seemed anything but innocent. And you? You didn’t know whether to sink into the ground out of embarrassment or smile again. The girls next to you kept screaming, trying to get his attention in every way possible. You exasperated, rolled your eyes, and looked away from him for a moment. But just then, Heeseung burst out laughing. Surprised, you turned your head again, only to find him staring at you with an amused expression. He had noticed you. Among thousands of people, his gaze had landed on you. Embarrassed, you flashed a shy smile.

The stadium lights, the rhythm of the music, and the energy were simply electric. The concert was a dream come true.

Enhypen was incredible. Every detail—from their perfectly curated looks to the inhumanly synchronized choreography—showed the dedication and hours of training behind it all. You were there, completely captivated by their presence on stage.

You sang, danced, recorded videos, and took photos, without being able to stop for a second. It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Every song flowed through your veins: Moonstruck, Pass the Mic, Polaroid Love… all etched in your mind and on your phone’s memory.

But amid all the emotions of the night, there was one that made your heart race in particular.

Heeseung.

Was it just your impression, or… did he linger just a little longer every time he passed near your section?

The girls next to you screamed whenever he came close, desperately trying to get his attention. But you had the feeling that, among all of them, his gaze always returned to you.

No, it couldn’t be, you thought, trying to rationalize. There are thousands of people here—why would he look at me?

And yet, it happened again.

Another song, another lap around the stage, and Heeseung found another reason to pass by your area. This time, as he danced, he shot a glance in your direction. A second, maybe less. But enough for your heart to race uncontrollably.

If he could make you feel this way from a distance… what would happen when you met him at the meet & greet with your VIP pass?

The thought made you catch your breath.

And for the first time since the concert began, the thought of what might happen next excited you even more than the show itself.

The concert had just ended, and you were still buzzing with adrenaline. Slightly sweaty, heart pounding, you made your way to the VIP area to meet Enhypen.

As you entered the area, you took a few minutes to freshen up: fixing your braids, touching up your makeup, and spritzing a bit of your favorite perfume. Around you, other girls were doing the same. After all, in just a few minutes, you’d be seeing Enhypen up close, with only some barriers separating you from them.

Each fan had an assigned number and had to remain in their spot. While you waited, you began chatting with the girls around you, talking about the experience you’d just had, your favorite songs, and, of course, who your bias was.

Suddenly, a wave of excited screams filled the room.

You leaned forward slightly and saw Enhypen coming down to interact with the fans. They were right there, in front of you.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Since you had one of the last numbers, you had to wait a bit longer before they reached you. In the meantime, you kept talking with the girls next to you to distract yourself from the growing anxiety.

A few minutes later, the first member to reach you was Jay.

<<Hey!>> he greeted with his usual confident smile.

Timidly, you asked if he could sign a T-shirt for your friend.

He grabbed the marker, but before signing, he looked at you with a mischievous grin. <<And where’s your friend? Didn’t she have the courage to come?>>

You chuckled, already feeling your cheeks warm. “She has an exam tomorrow… but she loves you!”

Jay nodded theatrically. <<Then we forgive her. I hope this signature brings her good luck>> he joked, signing the shirt with his neat handwriting.

One down.

“If they’re all this friendly, I can relax a bit,” you thought.

After Jay, it was Sunoo’s turn. His radiant face looked even more stunning in person, and he wasted no time signing the album you brought. 'Shall we take a photo?' he asked enthusiastically.

Of course, you agreed. You took a quick selfie, and he made a heart with his fingers before moving on to the next person.

Next up was Sunghoon. With his calm and mysterious demeanor, he took the marker and signed the T-shirt you were wearing, next to the event logo. -This T-shirt looks great on you,- he said, giving a smile while writing his name.

A chill ran down your spine and that was just the first three.

There were still four members left, including him. Heeseung.

And with each passing second, the wait became even more nerve-wracking.

When Jungwon and Niki arrived at your turn, instead of asking for the usual photo, you threw out a different idea.

“Let’s do a BeReal?” you suggested with an amused smile.

Jungwon’s eyes lit up with excitement. --Oh, that’s a cute idea!-- he exclaimed, moving closer to get into the shot. Niki nodded right away and pulled a funny face before the photo was taken.

You chatted a bit more with Jungwon, finding him easygoing and sweet. He asked you about your experience at the concert, your favorite performance, and even what had brought you to study in Seoul. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, which surprised you.

After a few minutes, Jake arrived.

As soon as he approached, it seemed like all the fans around you lost their minds. With his usual sunny smile, he chuckled and exchanged a few jokes with you while signing your T-shirt.

But then something happened that made your blood freeze.

Behind him, almost as if he had been waiting for his moment, Heeseung appeared.

And from the very first moment, his eyes were only on you.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Jake made a joke to Heeseung about how much he was in demand with the fans, and Heeseung responded with a sarcastic comment that somehow seemed directed at you.

'I want to sign the T-shirt too,' he said, slightly shifting his gaze toward you with that sly smile of his.

You stood up slightly, ready to make room for him to sign the top of your T-shirt, just like Jake and Sunghoon had signed your shoulders.

But Heeseung did something unexpected.

He crouched down slightly and, through the gap in the barrier, reached out his hand. He grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and gently pulled it toward him to get a more stable surface to write on.

But in doing so, his fingers brushed your skin, right on your stomach.

A light touch. Almost accidental.

But enough to send a wave of warmth to your cheeks.

The fans around you held their breath for a second. Some recorded the scene with their phones, while others exchanged incredulous glances. It was just an autograph… or was there something more?

You, frozen, watched him as he was almost kneeling in front of you, focused on writing his name on your T-shirt.

When he stood up, he locked eyes with you and, with his usual flirty expression, asked:

'Shall we take a photo together?'

You, still slightly shaken, nodded without saying a word.

He took your phone and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, lowered the screen to check the saved photo of him on your background. A mischievous little smile appeared on his lips. 'Oh? What’s this?' he asked, showing you the picture of him you had saved.

You felt like dying of embarrassment. Had that just happened?

'So, am I your favorite?' he asked, his voice a little lower and more playful.

Other fans were waiting, and you had to let him go. But before he took the photo, you decided to tease him a bit.

“Maybe… or maybe I change the screen to a different photo of all seven of you every day,” you replied with a smile, trying to recover from the tense moment.

He looked at you for a second, squinting as if he were trying to figure out whether you were lying or not.

Then he took the photo with you and finally moved on to the next fan.

But still… every time he could, he would glance back at you.

As if, for some reason, he just couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were both stunned and ecstatic at the same time.

The evening had already been incredible on its own, but what had happened with Heeseung left you in a state of complete confusion. Was it just a game to him? A way to entertain the fans?

Lost in your thoughts, you were leaving the stadium when a big, burly man, clearly part of the security team, approached you.

-Excuse me, miss, we found your ID on the ground. Could you follow me for a moment?-

You looked at him, surprised. My ID?

Maybe it fell out when you showed your tickets at the entrance…

"Oh, sure!" you replied, following him without asking too many questions.However, as you ventured deeper into a more restricted area, anxiety began to rise. Why is he taking me here?

When you reached a side door, a staff member, with a kind demeanor and a sweet smile, greeted you.

'Hi! Could you check if your ID is really in your bag?' she asked. Confused, you opened the notebook where you usually kept your documents... and the ID was there.

You stared at it, puzzled. "But..."

She smiled even more. 'Actually, it was just an excuse. One of the members asked to meet you.'

Your heart skipped a beat.

"...What?"

'Heeseung asked to meet you after the concert.' You burst out laughing, more from shock than anything else. "You're joking, right?"

The girl shook her head. 'No, it's all true. If you want, you can go into that room. But first, you need to sign a confidentiality agreement and leave your phone with us.'

You swallowed hard. An agreement?

"Can I read it first?" you asked, growing more nervous.

'Of course, take all the time you need.'

She handed you a tablet with the document, and you began scrolling through the text, making sure to understand every point.

Main points of the agreement:

Total confidentiality – You couldn’t share any details about the conversation or the meeting with Heeseung, nor talk about it online or with friends.

No recording – No photos, videos, or audio. You had to hand over your phone before entering.

Duration of the meeting – It was specified as a private meeting, with no commitments or obligations.

Termination of the agreement – If you felt uncomfortable, you could leave at any time.

Number of fans he had met – 0, no names were listed, and you had to write yours at the top of the box along with your phone number.

You read it carefully. Nothing seemed strange or dangerous, but it still felt surreal. Why does Heeseung want to see me?

In the end, after taking a deep breath, you agreed and signed the contract.

The staff member took your phone and sealed it in an envelope, then smiled. 'You can go in.'

She opened the door, and as soon as you stepped inside, you saw him.

Heeseung was sitting on a couch, legs slightly spread, a cold drink in hand, and his hair still damp. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was fixed on you. Slowly, he set the bottle down on the table beside him and, with a sly smile, said the first thing that made your legs shake.

'I thought you wouldn’t accept.' You approached slowly, almost with fear and disbelief.

Heeseung rose from the couch with a smooth movement, leaving the drink on the table. He was tall and relaxed, but his gaze was hypnotic. He extended his hand with a slightly mischievous smile.

'Maybe you already know my name... and maybe you know everything about me,' he said in a low, slightly amused voice.

You immediately blushed but you didn’t want to seem like a shy, fan-girl with no character. So, you looked up and, with a somewhat timid but bold smile, replied: "I know all about Enhypen, not just about you."

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected such a response. 'Oh? So, I’m not your favorite?'

Without lowering your gaze, you confidently extended your hand toward him, palm open. "Y/N."

As soon as your hands touched, both of you felt a sudden shiver. A flash of something unexplainable, electric.

He stayed for a moment, staring at you, his thumb gently brushing your skin, and said, 'Nice to meet you, Heeseung.' Then, almost as if he wanted to mask it, he ran a hand through his hair and briefly looked away.

'I wanted to meet you because…' he paused, almost as if considering how to say it. 'I couldn’t stop looking at you.'

Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed, trying to remain calm, but your voice came out a bit more uncertain than you intended. "So… it wasn’t just my imagination?"

Heeseung laughed, tilting his head slightly. 'No. I really was always looking at you.' The way he said it, so simple and direct, left you speechless for a moment.

'In fact,' he continued with a smirk, 'I always looked for a reason to go to your side of the stage.'

You stared at him with a skeptical expression. "Oh, so it was all calculated?" you teased, crossing your arms.

He laughed again, a low, captivating sound, before shaking his head. 'Maybe yes… or maybe no.'

Now that he was right in front of you, so close, you could truly observe him. His skin is still slightly damp from the concert, his dark eyes seemed to glow, the way his lips always curved into that expression halfway between playful and provocative.

And then, without thinking too much, he did something that completely threw you off. He took your hand and placed it on his cheek. The warmth of his skin against your palm made you hold your breath. Your fingers brushed the edge of his jawline, the slight roughness of his post-concert skin tangible beneath your fingertips. It was real.

In a barely audible whisper, the words escaped your lips. "You... you’re real." Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment under your touch, then slowly reopened them. 'Yes. I’m real.'

Then, he lowered his voice a little, his gaze turning more serious and intense.

'And we can do whatever we want.'

You burst out laughing, a light and innocent sound, even though the atmosphere in the room had turned electric, charged with something dangerously intense. "So, Heeseung…" You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a provocative smile. "What do you want to do with me?" For a moment, he seemed taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected your boldness. Then he lowered his gaze, biting his lip slightly before letting out a low laugh, almost amused but also pleased. 'You’re bolder than I thought.' His finger brushed the edge of your shirt, exactly where he had signed his name just moments ago. A light touch, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hold your breath. You didn’t move and when he noticed, something in his gaze shifted. With a slow and calculated movement, he slid his finger along the hem of your skirt, his fingertip tracing a small circle on your exposed skin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered his finger to your thighs, barely grazing them, leaving you breathless and with a racing heart. You stared at him, trying not to be overwhelmed by his game, and teased him with a mischievous smile. "So?" Your voice was barely a whisper. "Is that all?" His eyes darkened slightly, his lips parted as though he was about to say something, but then he hesitated. Finally, in a low, husky voice, he whispered against your skin. 'I want to kiss you.' Your lips curled into a slight smile, your heart pounding in your chest, but you wouldn’t make it easy for him. 'Is that it?' He stiffened for a second, as if your question had caught him off guard, then tilted his head to the side, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and authority. Did he seem shy? Maybe for a second. But only for a second. 'Don’t joke with me.' His voice had deepened, turning more dangerous. You bit your lip, amused by his reaction, but inside, you felt an ever-increasing surge of tension, almost unbearable. "I’m just trying to understand…" you shrugged, feigning innocence. "What else do you want from me? Why me, out of all those girls?" He narrowed his eyes, his jaw slightly clenched, and then, with a pout that almost seemed cute, answered with disarming honesty: 'I want to touch you. I want to have you for myself.' And in that moment, you realized he wasn’t playing anymore. The tension in the air was so thick, it almost felt like you could touch it. Your eyes locked with his as, without hesitation, you whispered: "You can kiss me." Heeseung tilted his face slightly, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes, as if memorizing every one of your reactions. His hand slowly rose to your cheek, brushing it with a delicacy almost unnatural for the desire you saw in his eyes. Then, slowly, he lowered his face toward yours. His lips met yours in a kiss that started light and soft as if giving you time to get used to the sensation of him so close. But you didn’t want caution; you wanted to feel him for real. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His scent enveloped you, his presence seemed to consume you. After a few seconds, you felt him smile against your lips, and then, with a slow, almost cruel motion, he bit your lower lip. A soft moan escaped you, and that was exactly what made him lose control. With a fluid motion, he slid his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

His fingers glided across your skin, his hand resting on the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

You lifted yourself slightly onto your toes, trying to bridge the height difference between you, and he noticed immediately.

'You’re really small,' he murmured against your lips, chuckling as he traced small circles with his fingers on your exposed stomach.

He teased you, his tone provocative, amused. You pulled away slightly, catching your breath, and lifted your gaze to meet his.

"And you’re bold," you shot back, but your voice sounded more innocent than you had intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, his eyes shining with dangerous satisfaction.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, your breath caught by the intensity with which Heeseung had pushed you against it.

It wasn’t violent; it was desperate.

His eyes burned with a barely contained desire, and before you could say anything, he lowered himself to you, his mouth finding your neck.

A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath your ear, leaving behind slow, provocative kisses.

Then, the first bite, you moaned softly, your fingers instinctively gripping his shirt. Heeseung smiled against your skin, his warm breath caressing you as he continued to torment you with gentle bites and sucks, alternating them with sweeter kisses.

Between breaths, you barely found the strength to whisper a question that was consuming you from the inside:

"How many times have you done it?" You felt his smile curve against your skin before he even spoke. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of genuine shyness.

'It’s the first time with a fan.'

Your expression must have betrayed your skepticism because Heeseung chuckled softly, leaving another kiss just above your collarbone.

'I don’t really like these kinds of things,' he continued in a lower, rougher voice. 'But when I saw you under the stage... I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to have you all to myself.'

Your heart skipped a beat."I don’t believe you."

You just couldn’t trust those words. A guy like him? The flirt, the idol who drove millions of fans crazy?

Heeseung barely shook his head, as if he had anticipated your reaction. Then he sank his teeth into a more sensitive spot on your neck and sucked hard enough to make you flinch.

'Did you read the contract?' he whispered with a hoarse voice, his lips still pressed against your skin.

"Yes," you replied with difficulty, trying to catch your breath.

'And how many fans was it written that I had been with, before you?'

Your mind quickly went back to the contract you had signed. There was a number. Zero. You stiffened slightly. Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a cocky smile on his lips.

'It was true.' He was teasing you.

And without thinking, you reached a hand into his hair and pulled slightly, making him groan softly against you.

His eyes darkened when they met yours.

'You’re cute when you do that.'

"I’m not cute."

'Are you jealous too?' he chuckled softly, his voice full of amusement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frantic beating of your heart.

You would never give him the satisfaction of a response. But Heeseung didn’t seem willing to let you go.

He moved closer again, his mouth back on yours—and this time, the kiss was even deeper. His lips came back to you, hungry and sure, while a shiver ran down your spine. He chuckled against your skin when his hands moved more decisively down your sides, tracing the curve of your body with an audacious touch.

A barely audible groan eluded you when you felt the touch of his hands creep under your skirt. He giggled against your neck, the hot breath making you shudder. "So sensitive already?” he whispered, his fingers sliding light on your butt as if to test your reaction.

You looked down, your cheeks on fire, and he seemed to enjoy it even more. With a sharp movement, he squeezed you by the hips.

'Jump up' he ordered, his voice lower, almost hoarse. You hesitated for a second, embarrassed, but the intensity with which she looked at you made you give in. You clung to his shoulders, and he lifted you up with ease, gluing you to himself. Your back crashed into the wall with a light thud, while his hands clasped you tightly against his body.

You felt its length press against your warm center, even through the layers of clothing, and your breath stuck in your throat. 'Baby,' he muttered with a crooked smile, the tone barely darker, 'you're so fragile... I could bend you as I want.'

A shiver ran through your back, but instead of backing away, you looked at him with a spark of defiance in your eyes. “And what stops you?”

He laughed quietly, his eyes shining with something dangerous. Then his fingers found the edge of your panties, stroking them with slow, deliberate movements. He felt how soaked they were already and raised an eyebrow, amused.

'So wet just for me?' You bit your lip, trying to hold back a reaction, but he wouldn't let you. With an expert touch, she pushed her thumb against your sensitive clitoris, making you arch your body instantly. "H-Heeseung..." you gasped, holding on to him more.

'Shh,' he whispered, bringing one hand under your butt to hold you still while the other continued to explore you. When you felt the first finger slip inside you, you gasped and he giggled again, pleased to see you so lost in his touch. 'So tight... ' he whispered, her voice full of desire. 'I'll ruin you.'

Heeseung walked slowly around the room, holding you firmly in his arms. Every step was safe and controlled, while his fingers moved inside you with maddening slowness. The contrast between his firm grip and languid touch drove you crazy. Your hands clung to her dark hair, pulling them slowly in a desperate attempt to have more friction, more intensity. He laughed against your skin, his warm breath caressed your neck.

'So impatient,' he whispered, nibbling softly at your earlobe. 'Look how you hold me. Do you like it that much, mh?' The heat that spread through your body was overwhelming, and you looked away, your face turned red. Feeling your embarrassment, Heeseung smiled amused.

He sat on the big bed, keeping you above himself without ever stopping the movement of his fingers inside you. When he added another, deeper, your body flinched at him, snatching another low, smug laugh.

'Oh? Do you like this too?' he asked, his voice full of malice.

'Don't say you're shy when your body is practically begging me to continue.' He blatantly teased you, and you, in an attempt to regain at least some control, lowered your head towards her neck, leaving a light kiss on his skin before nibbling it softly. You could feel him stiffening for a moment, before his free hand grabbed your hair firmly, pulling you back slightly to make you meet his gaze.

'What a good girl...' he muttered, dark irises shone with desire.

'But do you really think you can provoke me like that and get away with it?' Your mouth opened to respond, but a sudden movement of his fingers, faster, deeper, made you gasp faintly against his lips. Heeseung laughed again, his tone authoritarian but amused.

'Oh, you're so sensitive... Tell me, do you like it when I touch you like that?' You looked down, biting your lip. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

'Don't you want to answer?' he murmured, increasing the pace without any mercy. The increasing pressure made you grab the fabric of his T-shirt with trembling fingers.

'No need, baby. Your body is already speaking for you.' You knew you couldn't resist him much longer. Your legs began to tremble around his hips and the feeling growing in your belly became overwhelming.

"Hee... I -”

'I know,' his voice was a whisper against your ear. 'You're so cute when you try to hold yourself back, but I want to hear you let go for me.'

One last, precise movement of his fingers was your end. The pleasure exploded inside you in an uncontrollable wave, and your body squeezed around its fingers as a moan escaped from your lips. Heeseung watched you with dark eyes full of satisfaction, his breathing heavy as he pressed you against himself.

'So beautiful,' he whispered, leaving a slow kiss on your temple. 'And all mine.'

Heeseung watched your flushed face, breath still broken by the former pleasure. With a satisfied smile, she brought her wet fingers close to your lips, gently tracing the outline with her tip before whispering in a low, hoarse voice: 'suck.'

You stiffened slightly, the heat rose from the chest to the cheeks. Heeseung's eyes shone with malice as he waited, patient but dominant, for me to obey. “I ... never did, " you muttered, looking down slightly.

He laughed softly, that low, enveloping laugh that made you vibrate inside. With his other hand, he gently stroked your chin, forcing you to look at him.

'Oh, how cute,' he whispered, tilting her head slightly.

'You are so shy, but look how well you took my fingers before...' Swallow empty, feeling even more embarrassed under his intense gaze. But part of you wanted to please him, wanted to see him satisfied. So, hesitantly, you slowly squinted at his lips, leaving him room to push his fingers between them. You wrapped them with your tongue, savoring the slightly sweetish and salty flavor of your essence. You sucked them gently, licking softly while he watched you with dark, piercing eyes. His chest rose with a deeper breath, and his free hand crept through your hair, stroking it with slow, relaxing movements. 'Good girl,' he muttered, the tone low and velvety.

The compliment made you cringe, and you nodded quietly, maintaining eye contact with him as you continued to suck softly. When he felt it was enough, Heeseung withdrew his fingers from your mouth slowly, leaving a thread of spit connected between them and your slightly swollen lips. Before you could say anything, he pressed his lips against yours in an urgent, ravenous kiss. His hands went down to your hips, squeezing you with more force as he drew you even closer to his warm body.

The kiss was deep, almost possessive, and you couldn't help but get carried away, responding with the same intensity. In the brief moment when you took off to catch your breath, you whispered against his lips, short of breath: "You taste of me...”

He smiled at your lower lip before biting it flat, pulling it slightly before releasing it.

'And I like it,' he replied with a grin. Then, without giving you time to replicate, he began to slowly move his hips against yours, rubbing himself slowly with slow but firm movements. The contact made you gasp, a muffled groan escaped from your lips as he continued to kiss you, swallowing every sound you could make.

'You're so responsive...' he whispered between kisses, his voice charged with desire.

'You like it when I move like this, don't you?' The heat in your belly became unbearable, and all you could do was hold on to him even more, completely lost in his touch. The rhythm between you became slow but full of tension, your bodies moving in unison in an increasingly pronounced rocking. With every slightest movement, you could feel his excitement growing beneath you, the hardness pressing against the light fabric of your little skirt. The warmth enveloped you, and a little amused smile grazed your lips as you looked at him with eyes full of mischief.

"Do you like it, Hee?” you muttered, tilting your head slightly as you continued to move slowly over him. He raised an eyebrow, his smile widened into a smug grin.

'Are you kidding me?' he asked, his voice low and veiled with desire. You didn't respond right away, biting your lip as you moved just a little harder against his thick cock that by now your poor pussy felt so good under him. A subdued growl escaped from his lips, and in an instant his hand slid under your butt, grabbing you with a firm grip that made you wince. He lifted you slightly, forcing you to stop, and his gaze became darker as his thumb traced small circles on your exposed skin.

'You know' “he began, tilting his head as his eyes slowly slid over you,

'I've always liked this little skirt of yours'

Your breath became shorter when his hand slid down the light cloth, stroking your hips before stopping on your thigh. 'Every time I came to the side of your sector to see you dance and sing my songs...' he paused, letting his fingers graze the edge of the cloth. 'He always got up too much for my taste.'

A shiver ran down your back at his tone, so confident, so authoritarian. But before you could answer, you felt a little slap on the bare buttock. Nothing strong, just a light blow, more provocative than punitive. A little gasp escaped from your lips, and your eyes opened wide as you looked at him, surprised. He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Why did you do it?” asked slowly, the voice a little uncertain. Heeseung lowered his face until he touched your ear, his voice now a warm and possessive whisper.

'Because from now on, these beautiful legs will only be seen by me.' Your heart beats faster in your chest, and your body responds to his statement more than you want to admit. And yet, in the next moment, his attitude changed slightly. His eyes, still intense, seemed for a moment sweeter, and his hand, which just before had grasped your skin firmly, now gently stroked your back.

'Baby..' he muttered, his voice lower, almost uncertain. 'Do you want to take my pants off?' The contrast between his authoritarian tone from just before and the slight hesitation with which he asked you for that gesture sent you completely into a tailspin.

The heat on the cheeks became oppressive, and you slightly lowered your gaze, biting your lip. You couldn't answer right away, but at the end, you nodded quietly, your voice a shy whiff.

"Yesp” A satisfied smile curved his lips. 'Good girl.' Heeseung lifted slightly, leaving you room to pull off his pants. With slightly trembling hands, you grabbed the edge of the fabric and lowered it flat, when the pants slid down his legs, your eyes stopped on her tight-fitting boer Your breath stopped for a moment, and the heat on your cheeks became even more intense. Heeseung immediately noticed your fixed gaze, and a mischievous smile painted on his lips as he leaned towards you.

'That's the effect you've been doing to me... since the first time I saw you sitting at the soundcheck.' His voice was low, and deep, as if he were confessing a forbidden secret. You looked at him, biting your lower lip with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. Part of you still felt shy under his intense gaze and you lowered his hand and brushed his erection over the hot boer Heeseung breathed sharply, your abs twitching under the gentle touch of your fingers.

The sound that came out of his lips was deep, and throaty, and for a moment you seemed to lose control. "I can...?" you asked slowly, your fingers moving just above the cloth. He did not hesitate for a second before answering, his voice more hoarse than usual.

'Yes ... please.' A little amused smile eluded you as you gently grabbed the edge of his boer When the fabric slipped away, his breathing became heavier. Your gaze rests on his cock, imposing, slightly curved, the warm skin crossed by light veins and covered with a thin moisture of whitish liquid. Without realizing it, you slowly licked your lips, and Heeseung did not let it slip.

'Do you like what you see?' he whispered, his tone provocative but loaded with expectation. You just lowered your hand, slowly touching him, savoring the way his body reacted under your touch. Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenched as a subdued groan escaped from his lips. 'Continue...' he muttered, his voice slightly trembling. Heeseung seemed completely lost in you.

His eyes were ajar, his lips slightly open as his chest rose in irregular breaths. Still, all you were doing was slowly moving your hand along his cock, exploring it with a mixture of curiosity and shyness. His voice, deep and broken with pleasure, filled the room.

'Not—' he gasped, slightly clutching the sheets under himself, 'not too hard... go slow.'

Nod slowly, biting your lip as you followed his command, your hand moving more gently. Now and then, his voice became more authoritarian, as if he wanted to regain control of the situation, but his own pleasure seemed to betray him.

'Yes, so...' he whispered between heavy breaths, his hand resting on yours, guiding you in the rhythm he preferred. 'Good girl.' Those words made you feel even hotter and you felt your poor pussy even more stimulated and dripping from seeing the guy of your fucking dreams make him feel good with just one hand of yours, and the way he was looking at you - lost, vulnerable, completely at your mercy - made you unconsciously squeeze your legs.

Every deep moan of his, every sigh of his body under your touch, made you feel like you were discovering a side of him that no one else had ever seen. After a while, his breathing became even more irregular and you felt his body vibrate under your hands. Heeseung gently grabbed your wrists, holding you for a moment as the pleasure overwhelmed him altogether. A throaty moan left his lips as his body arched slightly, the heat of his excitement pouring over his taut abdomen and you watched him spellbound as he cleaned out in his abdomen the splashes of his cum and stood motionless for a moment, his chest rising and lowering heavily as he tried to recover. Then, he opened his eyes and looked at you with a sly smile. 'You're such a good student.'

The blush on your cheeks increased, and you slightly lowered your gaze, fiddling with your fingers. ” Today I'm trying a lot of new things... "

You admitted softly, your voice shy but sincere. He laughed softly, his expression sweetened as he watched you with a mixture of affection and amusement. Then he came up and, with extreme sweetness, kissed your forehead. 'Then let's see what else I can teach you.'

His hands grazed your skin with a delicacy that contrasted with the way he looked at you—his dark eyes, burning with desire.

'Do you want it?' he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse and deep. You nodded quickly with a barely hinted smile, raised your hand and gently took your chin between your fingers, forcing you to look straight into your eyes.

'Tell me,' he ordered in that authoritarian tone that made you tremble. Inhale slowly, feeling your body getting warmer and warmer under his intense gaze. "Yes, I want you."

A smug smirk made space on his lips as he picked up a condom and unrolled it over himself with a confidence that made you bite your lip. Your gaze remained glued to his gestures, and he immediately noticed.

'All yours, Baby. You can do whatever you want.' His confidence made you feel thrilled, but he also wanted to test you, and make you give in completely to him. His hands rested on your hips, stroking the light fabric.

'Get up a little bit so that I take off this fucking skirt and this little t-shirt, I can't wait to see you completely naked around my cock!"

You burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly with your hand, but he took the moment to grab the edge of your shirt and lift it over your head, revealing your body little by little. His eyes lowered on your curves with admiration and desire, and his breathing became heavier. "You are incredible..." he muttered, letting his fingers slide slowly down your skin. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added: 'Perfect at every point.'

You felt the heat rise on your cheeks as he ducked down to leave a warm kiss on your skin, right there where your heartbeat was most frantic. His hands clasped around you more firmly, and in an instant he lifted you slightly, supporting you in his arms as your breaths intertwined.

When you felt him finally pushing himself inside you your warm walls began to wrap his cock inside you, and a subdued moan escaped from your lips, immediately followed by his. His eyes met yours, dark and burning, while his body moved against yours with an almost unnerving slowness.

'Is everything okay?' he whispered, his thumb stroking your side gently. Nod slowly, clinging to him as the wave of sensations swept over you. "Yes ... continue." His hips rose slightly and you turned more violently on his cock while your vaginal walls completely excited and covered in slime took him almost completely inside you, your breasts ribboned every time his cock entered you; every time you pushed against him, a thrill of pleasure ran down your back, and your moans came out involuntary.

He, with a mischievous smile, mocked you for your reaction, but even he did not seem able to resist. His body trembled under yours, responding to your every movement. Every time you approached, he would bend down to kiss you on the breast, his kisses becoming more and more intense and full of passion. His hands caressed your skin with a sweetness that contrasted with the strength of his desire.

'You're amazing,' he whispered between breaths, his voice hoarse and low. 'I didn't think you'd be so... beautiful and good at taking my cock.' The pleasure grew, and with each movement, you felt the wave of pleasure enveloping you more and more. When he finally touched the right spot, a scream of pleasure eluded you, and his eyes became even more intense.

'Do you want them to hear you?' he asked.

"Yes, yes...Hee is too much' He smiled with a smug air, gently caressing you.

'You're not as shy as I thought you were,' he muttered, your every movement getting faster, more intense, and you felt that the pleasure was overpowering you. With a last gasp, you whispered to him that you were about to arrive. He gently took you in his hands, touching both of you and making you feel even closer to him. When his breathing became even more frantic, he leaned toward you, kissing you with impetus, his tongue exploring yours with an intensity that gave you goosebumps.

'Feel how much I am inside you,' he muttered against your lips, the tone warm and deep.

'Feel what you make me feel.' His words made you falter, but the passion and desire you felt made you stronger. You responded with a groan, pushing at him with greater intensity, your body instinctively reacting to his unspoken commands. Every word, every whisper, made you feel like you were experiencing something unique, and intense, and all you wanted was to let go completely. "Don't stop," you whispered to him, your body trembling with desire. "Let me come, please Heeseung."

Heeseung held you tight against him, his eyes dark and burning with desire. 'You're so small compared to me...' he whispered with a cheeky smile, the tone low and provocative.

'I could break you at any moment, you know?' His voice made you shudder. You knew it was just a provocation, but the way he said it, with that disarming confidence, made you lose your mind. His movements became deeper and deeper, more intense, each push sending waves of pleasure down your back. You stuttered broken words, unable to formulate coherent sentences, and this seemed to amuse him.

'What are you trying to say, baby?' he laughed softly, with that mocking, charming tone.

'Can't you even talk? Am I making you feel so good?' You nodded weakly, biting your lip to hold back the moans, but he didn't seem willing to let you hide anything.

'No, no ... I want to hear from you.' His hand slid between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. A single expert touch was enough to make you gasp and let slip a louder groan. "Hee-I'm going to -"

He smiled, stroking you with slow, torturing movements.

'I know, baby ... come for me.' And when the wave of pleasure swept over you, a scream of ecstasy filled the room. Your body shook above him, your hands clinging desperately to his broad shoulders. Heeseung didn't stop moving, dragging you through orgasm as his breathing became more erratic. With one last deep moan, he completely immersed himself and doused all his condom with his cum that he absolutely wanted to squirt into you but he didn't know you and he knew exactly how much he was risking, his body straining as he let go.

He held you close to him, his face tucked against your neck, his warm breath on your skin. You stayed like this for a few moments, hearts beating in unison, the silence broken only by the labored rhythm of your breaths. Then, when you finally got up slightly, you felt a sudden feeling of emptiness that left a shiver on your skin. It was a reality that you should not forget: he was Heeseung, an idol, a star that everyone admired.

You ... just a student who loved it. Yet at that moment, in his arms, none of this seemed to matter.

The idea of seeing him everywhere, wherever you looked, made you feel a little trapped as if fate was playing a bad joke on you. Every time you crossed his eyes, even on a giant screen, there was something that struck you deep, as if it had left an indelible mark on you. And yet, you knew that for him you were just one person among a thousand others, one night among many, one of the many experiences that he could easily forget, while you remained to brood, to try to come to terms with your heart that did not seem to want to know to "forget"

It had been a month since that magical night and that afternoon you were quietly working in the bar outside the university campus until you saw him come in, but you were not ready for that voice that made you stop suddenly.

That voice that had tormented you in your dreams and in your days, like a melody that you could not get out of your head, but that now seemed even more real, closer. Your colleague, with her innocent smile and a little complicit, had no idea what was going on inside you.

He had no idea how much that simple request for ' an iced coffee' had made you falter.

Your colleague asked Heeseung his name and he said to write,

'Do you want to go out with me?'

and he had thrown it at you as if it were a game as if he had no idea of the effect it had on you, the world around you seemed to have stopped. Your mind was trying to reason, but your feelings were a whirlwind difficult to contain. How could you answer that? How could you pretend that everything was normal, when the guy of your dreams, the guy you had seen everywhere and tried to avoid, from the first moment he entered the bar was looking at you with that challenge in his eyes?

You made that coffee, put the ice in it, and wrote those words on the glass... everything seemed so simple, but inside you, there was a total confusion. Every move seemed executed in a dream, every gesture you did as if automatic, but your heart was completely out of control. When you turned around to pass the glass to your colleague and stood in front of him, it was as if the whole world had stopped again. His eyes were on you, and his smile, with that slight air of defiance, hit you right in the chest.

He passed the marker to you as if he wanted to continue that game, but his look told you everything: he was waiting for an answer.

It was all so surreal. You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and with a smile, you couldn't hold back, you turned a little more toward him.

And your question... 'Is it a yes or a no?' it struck you as a small provocation, but also with a sweetness that almost made you melt.

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[nineevees]

so many daughters… that aside pls vote for the future cutest gambler in the world <3

[birlwrites]

oh absolutely Echo the owl bites. her beak is SHARP. that's actually how Pep chose her – Echo almost took her finger off and Pallas' eyes Lit Up. This Is My Owl Now, she said very firmly, even as her mother was still fussing over her bloody fingers. poor Lavinia is very exasperated with her children and their sharp pets – they get it from their dad.

I can't remember if you've said before, do all Parkinsons have terrible eyesight? I can't decide if Pallas should have glasses or not

oh?? idk if you've ever mentioned Emma having a brother before! is Emma the type to go all Embarrassing Older Sister on Caleb?

they do all have terrible eyesight!!! i think that's in one of the priam posts i linked earlier but i cannot remember and i don't feel like hunting it down - it's a trade-off with their family specialty. they can do some WILD stuff with their vision but pretty much all of them are born nearsighted, and then they tend to make it worse with eye strain from doing a bunch of close-up detail work

priam's kind of in the middle re: badness of vision so pallas could be on either side

sometimes afjslghskjghsjdf, they get along quite well but emma LOVES sharing embarrassing stories. caleb occasionally gets her back for it with stories of his own but unfortunately he did not exist during emma's toddler years and he was an infant when she was a small child so she's winning the numbers game

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 12: "The one when nothing happens" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Emma is in town, and it’s Benny’s birthday. Just a simple night out at the bar—or so you think. But the space Frankie has carefully placed between you stirs something unexpected. WC: 18,6k

Pd: This is for all of us, we lost our husband yesterday so I hope this brings you joy ❤️‍🩹 #ripJoelMiller I will always love you.

A/N: heheh *rubs hands together like a mosquito* Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You didn’t step back. He did.

The silence between you had always been there, in your dynamic, a familiar presence in the room, but this one carried a different kind of weight. Not heavier, necessarily—just changed. Altered somehow.

The days folded in on themselves. A quiet rhythm took over—early mornings filled with emails and half-drunk coffee, afternoons swallowed by errands, small domestic rituals. No Frankie.

On monday, Bill stopped by. He brought you a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin with a paper napkin tucked under it like it mattered. He told you about an idea he couldn’t shake, a proposal: books in the coffee shop. Not a whole bookstore, just shelves. Corners of stories.

It started with Juliette, apparently—she’d been in one afternoon, tucked into the window seat with a paperback and a mug of hot chocolate, and later at home, she told him, casually, “You should have books. So people can read if they want.”

That one sentence stayed with him. He couldn’t let it go.

So now he wanted your help. What do people like to read while they’re alone but surrounded by other people? What kind of books feel like company without requiring too much of you? Should there be poetry? Cookbooks? Art? He talked about adding narrow shelves along the wall near the tables, maybe even building them in himself. It might take a while, he said, but it was doable. Manageable. And lucky for him, you lived next door.

He asked if you’d make the list. Choose the books. He said he’d buy them from you—of course he would—and he’d pay for your time, too.

“Thinking and curating isn’t free,” he said, when you teased that maybe he could just pay in muffins and coffee. Not that he’d ever really charged you properly anyway.

So you said yes. You kept a notepad beside your computer, filling it with titles in between emails and phone calls, between folding laundry and watching the sun move across the living room floor. You took naps on the couch beside Mr. Darcy, made simple dinners, rewatched old movies where the endings still made you ache.

Still, no Frankie.

Because he didn’t call. And he didn’t write to you either.

And you told yourself it was fine. Normal, even. There was no real reason for him to reach out. Except, of course, there was. A quiet reason. One that lingered in the corners of your thinking, never quite announcing itself, but never really leaving either. At the same time, there was also a reason not to reach out. An equally plausible, equally logical reason. So you chose not to dwell on it. You folded the thought in half and tucked it somewhere you didn’t have to look at.

Another week passed, almost unregistered by your body. No Frankie.

No messages lighting up your screen. No phone calls. No familiar knock at your door. The silence began to feel structural. Built-in.

You saw Santi on tuesday night over dinner. He brought empanadas and a bottle of wine, and you ate on the couch while a movie played behind your conversation. He didn’t mention Frankie. You waited, half-listening, hoping for some accidental update, some passing reference. But it never came.

Instead, he talked about the skydiving. Said he was still stunned you’d gone through with it, and then launched into a long, slightly theatrical complaint about not being invited. You laughed. Promised to go again with him next time. He made you swear it.

Then, more cautiously, he asked about the situation with Frankie. The two of you. The fake relationship.

You didn’t lie. You told him the truth—or a version of it. That things were going well. That you and Frankie had found a sort of rhythm. That you were getting along better now. That was technically accurate.

He looked at you for a moment like he was trying to read between your words, but he smiled eventually. Told you he was glad to hear it.

You almost asked about him. You nearly said, Have you seen him? Has he said anything? How is he?

But you didn’t. You changed the subject. Something about work, or maybe the movie. You can’t remember now.

The rest of the week slipped by in the same quiet way. Bill kept you busy. There were lists to write, catalogues to browse through.

On thursday you met Juliette, finally, at the coffee shop.

She was clever and observant, in that way some people are from a very young age, like they’ve always known how to listen carefully. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and enormous green eyes that didn’t seem to miss much. She had her mother’s sharpness, according to Bill. 

You liked her. She liked you too. That shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. There was something grounding about it, as if her approval—casual as it was—validated something inside you that had been unsteady for a while.

Emma arrived on friday. You saw her car pull up in front of your house, the familiar dent on the left side of the bumper, the same soft pop of the door as she got out. You didn’t wait. You ran down the steps and into her arms, almost tripping over the welcome mat in your rush.

She smelled like citrus perfume and coconut shampoo, a scent so distinctly hers that it made your throat catch for a moment. Like summer and high school and safety.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual. Turned the sign, locked the door, didn’t even pretend to feel guilty about it. You both went out for pasta—her favorite place, the one with the mismatched chairs and the faded mural on the back wall. The waiter already knew your order.

You already knew the basics, of course. She’d told you everything over the phone, in a string of late-night calls and voice notes sent during walks to work or while she folded laundry. But face to face, everything hit different. The tone, the pauses, the way her hands moved when she talked. It all filled in the spaces her words had left empty.

She told you about the divorce—not dramatically, just plainly.

Yes, it was real. Yes, it was happening. But no, it wasn’t awful. They were still friends, weirdly. Comfortably, even.

You liked Luca. Everyone did. He had a warm, easy energy and a really nice laugh. Emma had met him on a summer vacation a few years ago—something casual at first, then not casual at all. It had been fast, she told you once, in that breathless way people do when they’re still stunned by their own feelings.

He was kind. Charming. Funny in the kind of way that didn’t try too hard.

But it hadn’t worked out. Not because they fought. Not because they stopped loving each other. But because of something bigger, something she couldn’t control, something neither of them had the language for at first.

Irreconcilable differences, she said lightly, sipping her wine. Then she clarified, smiling in that half-sad, half-resigned way she had: irreconcilable differences being that he fell in love with the Michael, the bartender at the place they used to go to every other friday. The place where he went more often than she did.

It hadn’t been messy, at least not in the external sense. No shouting. No broken plates across kitchen counters. Just quiet revelations and truths that had been waiting patiently beneath the surface.

She said she wasn’t angry. Not really. More shocked than anything. There’d been signs, small ones, that she’d ignored. Not out of naivety, but maybe out of self-preservation. You understood that. Completely.

And when he finally told her—haltingly, kindly, honestly—she had listened. She had nodded. She had said it was okay, even if it wasn’t. Because she loved him.

You took her to one of those rage rooms on the edge of town. The kind where you wear safety goggles and throw ceramic plates against concrete walls. You both paid extra to smash an old television with a baseball bat.

You screamed until your voice cracked. She laughed so hard she had to sit down. It wasn’t therapy exactly, but it helped. It was something.

And that night, when you lay side by side in bed, hair still wet from the shower, your fingers brushing in the dark, she whispered, “I think I’m going to be okay.” And you believed her.

Emma was doing better now. You could see it in the way she moved around your living room, humming absently while waiting for the kettle, not checking her phone every five minutes. Luca had been out of the house for a couple of months, and the divorce, as far as divorces went, was being kind. Quiet. Almost courteous. Like two people respectfully folding their shared history into neat piles and placing it in separate drawers.

He hadn’t said anything about Michael and their relationship status—not explicitly. And she hadn’t asked. That was part of the new understanding between them: leave certain truths alone. Let them breathe in their own time.

His family still didn’t know. She said that with a shrug, like it was someone else’s problem to solve. Maybe it was.

That night, the plan had been to go out for drinks. A real friday outing, just the two of you, reclaiming your twenties like responsible women who still owned good heels. But somewhere between deciding where to go and actually leaving the house, you ended up under a blanket in bed, her phone screen glowing against the sheets. A tiktok was playing softly on her phone—something about baked chicken with cream and garlic—and neither of you moved to pause it. You fell asleep like that. Her phone still in her hand.

The next morning, you woke to a text from Benny.

[Ben]: Birthday celebration. Tonight at Ogham. Last minute, so sorry if you already have plans, Santi told me you'd probably be busy. No worries!!!

You read it aloud while Emma stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like it had personally wronged her. She was wearing a pale blue robe, the fluffy kind that made her look like a very elegant cloud. Her hair was messy but artfully so, a short blond cut that would’ve looked awkward on almost anyone else but framed her face like it had been designed specifically for her cheekbones.

“I think we should go,” she said, without looking up, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“You think?” you asked, skeptical. “I thought you wanted us to go out dancing. A proper club night.”

“I did. But I think I’d rather go to Ogham now,” she said, lifting her mug toward her mouth, one eyebrow raised. “Frankie’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

“I guess so.”

“Then... let’s go.”

You gave her a look, unimpressed. “I’m not sure.”

“But it’s Benny’s birthday! We like Benny!”

“Oh, you definitely like Benny.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be like that. Can’t a girl look at someone?”

You laughed, opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off before you could.

“And don’t even try to turn this around on me,” she added smoothly. “You know Frankie’s going.”

“I know. I just don’t know if he actually wants me there.”

“I think he was pretty clear when he told you not to stay away.”

You exhaled loudly, let your head drop back as you leaned further against the counter. The marble edge pressed into your lower back. Something about the discomfort felt appropriate.

“How clear, though?” you muttered. “Honestly, every time I replay the conversation in my head, it gets blurrier. Like, the more I think about it, the less I actually understand.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because he spent most of the conversation listing all the reasons he shouldn’t be near me. And then, like, right after that, he kissed me. Just... he kissed me. And I’m left wondering what the hell I was supposed to take from that.”

Emma closed her eyes and gave a small nod, thoughtful. You’d already walked her through the entire thing the day before, over half-eaten pasta and the last glass of wine. Right after she told you about seeing Luca again—with his lawyer, no less.

“I mean, it sounded like a last kiss,” she said eventually. “Like something you do when you know it’s the last time. Which is kind of romantic, if you think about it in a tragic, messy sort of way.”

“I guess. But I don’t know if I’d call it romantic. It felt more like emotional whiplash. Like... what does he expect from me now? He kisses me, walks away like he’s done with it, and then just vanishes.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but not at you. More like at the general emotional incompetence of the male species.

“I already told you. He’s probably spiraling. I mean, remember how he acted after the wedding? The whole thing where he said he didn’t talk about it because he assumed you forgot? That wasn’t chill. That was full-blown internal meltdown. He’s probably lying in bed somewhere, overanalyzing some ridiculous thing.”

You tried not to smile, but your mouth gave you away.

“Or,” you offered, “he’s just being logical about it. Maybe he’s finally sticking to the boundaries we talked about. Maybe now that we have no excuse to be in each other’s lives—no wedding, no birthday party—he doesn’t see a reason to stay close.”

“I thought he was going to help you with the list?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Right. The list. You mean the one that includes kissing a stranger and the New Year’s kiss?”

She smirked into her coffee. “That’s the one.”

“Yeah, I don’t see either of those things happening anytime soon.”

“What about the rest of it?” she asked. “The non-kissing parts.”

“There are a few things left,” you admitted. “But we haven’t talked about any of it. Not since.”

“Well, maybe the ‘kiss a stranger’ part is closer than you think,” Emma said, tilting her head toward you, raising her brows with theatrical enthusiasm. “We’re going to a bar tonight, remember? And it’s saturday. Statistically speaking, that place is going to be full of very attractive, emotionally unavailable men.”

You made a face. “Oh, yeah. Everyone's going to be there. My brother’s going to be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes like this was the most irrelevant detail you could have offered.

“Santi’s practically middle-aged, all of them are, and you’re almost thirty. Your knees pop when you stand up too fast. What are you, thirteen? He’s not going to care.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay, fair. But still, not happening—”

She cut you off. “That whole thing about Santi? It’s kind of a childish excuse, if you think about it.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The Frankie excuse,” she said, with a small shrug. “The one where he says, oh, you’re his best friend’s sister so it’s all off-limits or whatever. Like, okay, sure. But also, what does that even mean?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not that it’s bad exactly, but it feels... off. If things went south, it would be uncomfortable. A mess.”

Emma looked at you like she was trying to be patient, but barely succeeding.

“Babe, you guys already hated each other for, like, multiple years. You once threw a dart at his actual head. And now you’re worried it might get awkward? We’ve already been to weird. We set up camp in weird.”

“That was different.”

She smirked. “You two are addicted to excuses. It’s almost romantic in how tragic it is. Like, see, there’s an attempt at honesty. But it’s half-hearted. ”

“Okay, Atticus Finch,” you snorted.

Emma set her coffee down on the counter and turned to face you more directly, her expression suddenly more serious.

“Alright, what if I went out with Santi?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, hypothetically,” she said, tilting her head with mock innocence. “Say something... unexpected happened. Would that bother you?”

You pressed your lips together, unsure whether to laugh or actually consider the question.

“Well... first of all, he’s engaged.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. I said hypothetically. If none of that were true. What would you think?”

“I—I don’t know. I think it’d feel kind of strange, I guess. You’re my best friend. My person. It’d be like two parts of my life suddenly... touching in a way they weren’t supposed to.”

“Would it bother you?”

“Maybe a little. I think I’d feel... weird about it, at first.”

Emma nodded like she was filing that information away.

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a difference between ‘this would be strange’ and ‘this can’t happen.’ You know?”

“I think so.”

“But you’d accept it,” Emma pressed.

“I guess I would.”

“Why?”

You exhaled, your arms crossed loosely over your chest.

“I dunno. Because I love you both, maybe?” You lifted your shoulders, more in question than statement. “I mean, I’d hate it if you turned into one of those people who completely change when they start dating someone and suddenly start leaking your friends’ secrets over wine.”

Emma gasped, hand to heart. “I would never.”

“I know,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

She tilted her head. “So? It wouldn’t really bother you. You’d get used to it. Eventually. Sooner or later.”

“Yeah. Okay. Probably. But why are we even talking about this anyway?”

“Because,” she said, with the slightly smug tone of someone who had been quietly assembling an argument and had just reached her favorite part, “I think Santi would say exactly the same thing. You two—God help us—you’re very alike. Which is precisely why I think what Frankie said is just a really well constructed excuse.”

“He never actually said Santi would disapprove. He said he felt weird about it. That he didn’t know how to navigate it. And anyway, that wasn’t even the main reason he brought up.” Your voice softened. “There were... other things.”

“I know,” Emma said, hands up in mock surrender. “And those things are valid, okay? I’m not saying they’re not. I’m just saying... he’s hiding behind the most convenient reason because it’s easier than admitting something else.”

You looked down at the tiled floor, the words catching somewhere between your chest and throat.

“Well,” you muttered, “you’ve made your point.”

“Thank you. I do try.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “I missed you.”

Emma's face softened into something honest and unguarded.

“I missed you, too.” she said. “Good thing we’re friends, and that I’ll be by your side tonight. In fact, I packed a super cute dress that I’m really hoping to wear. It’s got, like, criminal levels of leg.”

“Oh, I’m sure Benny will appreciate that.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Ha, ha. The pot calling the kettle black.”

“Mmm, the old Ogham’s fries,” Emma said as the two of you stepped inside, her hand pressing against the bar door.

The bar was packed. Conversations overlapped in warm bursts, threading themselves into the clatter of plates and the low hum of music playing from unseen speakers. Yellow-gold pendant lights floated above each table like small suns, casting soft pools of light that made everything look a little kinder, warmer. The exposed brick walls were cluttered with vintage beer ads and fading whiskey posters, all half-charming, half-forgotten. 

You hadn’t given much thought to what you were going to wear. Emma had insisted on a few outfits—held them up with dramatic gestures and persuasive arguments—but in the end, you went with a black skirt and a fitted black tee. Simple. Uncomplicated. You did let her do your makeup, though. Something subtle, she’d said, brushing color onto your cheeks. Just enough to bring out your beautiful features.

“They’re in the back,” you said, already looking past the tables, even though the view was fractured—shoulders, raised glasses, blur of motion. You reached out and took Emma’s arm.

“I’m ordering fries the second we sit down,” she whispered.

You walked forward slowly, weaving through the narrow aisles. Benny spotted you first. He lifted a hand in greeting, grin already forming on his face.

“Hey!” he called. “Must be my lucky day.”

You smiled back instinctively, even as your eyes swept the rest of the table. Will was in the corner seat, leaning into his beer. Next to him, Benny, then your brother—who was already rising to greet Emma—and Yov, who met your glance with an easy smile. Tom wasn’t there. You remembered he was out of town for work. And Frankie—no sign of him. You weren’t sure if that absence meant anything. Maybe he was late. Maybe he’d decided not to come.

You gave everyone a quick hello and slid into the empty seat beside Yov. Benny was in rare form, practically glowing. He insisted it had nothing to do with his birthday. According to him, it was the win that mattered.

“Billy Spears,” he said, raising his glass, “talked more shit than anyone I’ve met in a ring. Said I’d be down in the first round. That I didn’t have the heart for it.” His voice curled into something close to laughter.

Will chuckled. “You taught him a lesson. That much I believe.”

Benny nodded, still smiling, his knuckles red and fading to purple at the edges.

“Four rounds,” he said, almost to himself. “Twenty minutes of him trying to take my head off. He didn’t land anything clean. Not once. He’ll think twice before running his mouth next time.”

He kept talking, something about the final clinch or how the ref had almost called it early, but your attention slipped. You rested your chin in your hand, elbow braced on the table, and let the noise of your friends wash over you like static. You weren’t really listening. You were thinking about who wasn’t there—and wondering why it mattered.

“Everything okay?” Yov asked, her voice low. “What have you two been up to?”

Emma shifted closer, the side of her arm brushing yours as she leaned in.

“Talking,” she said, and her eyes flicked between you and Yov. “Talking is never enough. Honestly, I could talk forever and still feel like I haven’t said half of what I meant to.”

Yov laughed, the sound genuine.

“You’re one of mine,” she said, like that explained everything. “How long are you here for?”

“Just until tomorrow. It’s a short visit. I have to get back to work.”

“But you missed Austin?”

“I missed everyone. Family. Friends. I’m not even that far away, but distance does its thing anyway.”

You took a small step back. Yov’s attention stayed on Emma.

“It’s the daily things, right?” Emma said. “Even when the drive isn’t long, it still feels like a whole production. There’s no room for the unplanned anymore.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Yov nodded. “I used to make last-minute plans with people all the time. Now I have to book something two weeks in advance, and even then it might fall through.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma added, mostly to herself, “life tends to get in the way.”

Yov gave a small sigh, like she was admitting something without saying it directly.

“It does. I’ve got a routine now, and I like it, mostly. But sometimes I miss being able to just say, ‘Hey, meet me in an hour,’ and know it could actually happen.”

Santi turned around in his seat at that. “What do you miss?”

You laughed lightly, pushing your chair back in that awkward, careful way people do when they’re trying not to interrupt anything.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you said, already half-standing. You looked at Emma. “Want me to order your fries?”

She nodded, still smiling up at you from her seat. “Yeah—do you want me to come?”

“No,” you said, your hand already brushing the back of your chair. “Stay. I’ll be back in a second.”

But a second had stretched into something longer. Not dramatically so, just enough that you noticed it. You were still at the bar, your back lightly pressed against the stool, one elbow resting on the counter as you waited—first patiently, then just passively—for your drink and the cheddar fries Emma had been craving.

The place had a menu designed to satisfy people who ordered with beer already in hand. Everything felt intentionally greasy and generous. Good for soaking up alcohol. On saturdays, though, even the kitchen struggled to keep pace. And ever since The Crow had closed for renovations, Ogham had absorbed the spillover crowd. It was louder now, more chaotic. A sort of charming disorder, if you were in the mood for it.

Grian caught your eye from behind the bar. He was mixing a drink with the weary rhythm of someone who's already halfway through a long night. He gave you a look that said “I know, I know” without saying a word. You liked him. He was tall and had pale ocean eyes. He always wore cool graphic tees. Tonight, his shirt read: I hate Woody Allen. 

“Your food’ll be up in a sec,” he said, tone apologetic as he slid your gin and tonic toward you. His smile was almost embarrassed.

You nodded and gave him a small smile in return, dipping your head slightly in that way you did when you were trying not to make someone feel worse for something out of their control.

“No worries.”

You reached for your purse, your fingers brushing the zipper just as the bar door opened behind you. Just a flicker of motion. You didn’t even hear it, not over the music and the voices, but you felt it—a small shift in the room’s atmosphere. Some part of your mind, the part that noticed things before you let yourself notice them, turned toward it.

Your eyes followed a beat later. The door had swung closed again. And he was there.

Frankie.

White t-shirt, dark pants. No cap tonight. No jacket, either. You saw him and then, just as quickly, looked away. Back to the counter. Back to Grian, who was holding your glass a little closer to you now, like he wasn’t sure you were really present.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” You took the drink, brought it to your lips. “Tastes great. As always.”

He grinned at the compliment, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Thanks. Sorry for the wait. I’m on my own tonight. Kat's in the kitchen.” He gestured vaguely behind him, where the chaos of orders buzzed from the kitchen. “Can you believe it? On a saturday.”

“Where’s Bianca?”

“She quit,” he said, grabbing another glass from the shelf. “Had a fight with—”

But you’d stopped listening.

Because Frankie was somewhere behind you now, in the room. And even though you weren’t looking, you knew exactly where he was standing.

“Hey, Morales,” came a voice from behind you. Male. Confident in that casual, too-familiar way. You didn’t recognize it.

You turned slightly, just enough to see. A man, maybe in his forties, with a receding hairline and cool red prescription glasses. He clapped Frankie on the back, and he greeted him easily, a handshake and a half-laugh, like this sort of thing happened to him all the time. 

You turned back to Grian, catching his eye again.

“That’s too bad,” you said. “I like Bianca.”

He made a face—part shrug, part agreement. “Everyone likes Bianca. But Tim's a jerk.”

You raised your eyebrows. Grian, sensing your curiosity, leaned in slightly like he couldn’t help himself.

“She wanted to go take care of her mom. Something in L.A.—family stuff. Last weekend.”

You nodded.

“Tim told her no,” he continued. “Said she had to be here. She told him to fuck off, more or less. He threatened to fire her, so she saved him the trouble.”

You exhaled through your nose.

“Anyway, we don’t get paid enough to put up with this shit,” Grian added. “I’m thinking of just stealing liquor at this point. Like, genuinely. One bottle at a time.”

You laughed. “Start with the Jameson. That one’s mine.”

He gave you a mock salute, but before he could respond, a voice came from just beside you.

“First wine and champagne, now whiskey,” he said, with something like amusement tucked under the words. “You’re turning it into an art.”

You didn’t turn around right away. The voice was low, smooth, unmistakably his. Your pulse jumped once.

Then, slowly, you let your gaze shift, your shoulders following.

Frankie stood beside you. His hand was resting casually on the edge of the bar, the other on the back of your stool like it had landed there by accident. He wasn’t touching you. Not really. But he was close enough that you felt the heat of him in the space between.

His t-shirt clung a little to his chest, and his skin looked flushed from the walk or the weight of the room or maybe something else. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, and under the flickering bar lights they caught the glow—like sparks rising too fast from a match.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re late, Dante.”

Grian paused to glance between you and Frankie. “Should I get the first aid kit ready?”

Frankie didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on you, the corners creased just slightly. “No, but I’ll take a beer.”

Grian gave a little shrug. “On it,” he muttered, already turning away.

A small exhale left your chest, almost inaudible.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he’d been. About his week. About what had kept him busy or distracted or too preoccupied to send a message. But before a single syllable left your lips, he spoke.

“I could smell your perfume when I walked in,” he said, voice quiet enough that only you could hear it.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “I hope that’s a good thing. Some people have very strong opinions about perfume.”

“It’s good.” He wasn’t smiling but his expression had softened. “I like yours.” Then, after a beat, he added, “I smelled you before I saw you.”

You let out a short laugh, raising your glass toward your mouth again. “That sounds like something a well-trained dog would say.”

He actually laughed at that—low, unguarded.

“How long’ve you been here?” he asked.

“Do you mean at the bar or waiting?”

“Both.”

You sipped your gin and tonic again, letting it linger before answering. “I got here nearly an hour ago. Been waiting… thirty minutes, maybe more.”

He took a moment to scan the room. “It’s packed.”

“It is. The guys are in the back.”

“I figured. You came with Emma, right?”

You nodded, smiling now, almost involuntarily. You weren’t sure when his voice had started to do that to you.

Grian returned, setting a beer in front of Frankie. Almost immediately after, a plate of cheddar fries appeared beside you, steaming and glowing faintly in the low amber light.

You stood up, the legs of the stool scraping softly against the floor. Frankie reached for the plate before you could, holding it carefully.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and you looked at him for a second longer than you meant to, then followed him through the crowded bar.

You made your way back to the table, weaving through the mess of chairs and limbs and low laughter. Frankie moved ahead of you, greeting Benny with a hug that involved too much back-slapping to be casual. Emma caught your eye as you approached, her expression bright with unspoken commentary. Her mouth curved up, conspiratorial. You could practically hear the teasing words she hadn’t said yet.

You sank into the seat beside her. Almost immediately, her fingers found your forearm, tapping once, then staying there, her touch unhidden.

Frankie took the seat across the table, one spot over—not directly in front of you, but close enough that you became aware of his presence each time he shifted in his seat or lifted his glass. His gaze drifted past you occasionally, never lingering, never quite settling. Still, you felt the flicker of it every time.

Two hours passed this way. A blur of drinks appearing and being drained, plates stacking up in the middle of the table like lazy little mountains of comfort food. At some point, four more plates of fries had arrived—no one had actually agreed on ordering them, but no one had stopped it either. You were already on your second gin and tonic.

The conversation at one end of the table had splintered into something you only half-registered. Will was explaining something about a car he was working on—something about a part he couldn’t track down, maybe something to do with a carburetor, though you weren’t sure what a carburetor even looked like.

On your side, Emma had shifted her full attention to Yov and Santi. She was asking about the wedding—venue, dress, guest list—and Yov, for her part, answered with the kind of practiced cheer people use when they’ve been asked the same questions too many times. Her fingers played with the edge of her napkin as she spoke, a little nervous.

You leaned in to hear them better, but your mind kept wandering. To the weight of Frankie’s presence at the edge of your vision. To the warmth of Emma’s hand still near yours. To the fizzing sensation in your stomach. 

You leaned back slightly in your chair, letting your gaze wander around the bar, detached from the thread of conversation at the table. There was something soothing about observing other people living their lives—temporary characters in a play you weren’t invited to join. At one table, a woman tilted her head, laughing, her mouth open too wide, one hand resting possessively on the arm of the man beside her. At another, two friends spoke directly into each other’s ears, their voices drowned by the music. Just to your right, a couple was mid-argument—low-voiced and tightly contained, the woman’s expression tight, her hand slicing the air with every sentence.

Your eyes landed on Grian at the bar. He looked mildly distressed, his brows drawn together as he listened to a man gesturing wildly in front of him, as though urgency alone would guarantee better service. Grian’s hands were on the bar, long fingers tapping against the wood, waiting for a break in the monologue.

“... but I know that's because she likes Fish,” Will said suddenly, pulling you back to the present.

You didn’t turn your head right away. Your ears tuned in instinctively to the rhythm of Will’s voice, but your eyes stayed fixed on Grian—on the way he finally reached for a glass, as if grateful to have something to do with his hands.

The guys laughed, that light, familiar cadence of friends teasing each other.

“I told you it was just a matter of time,” Benny added, grinning around the rim of his drink.

“That… that’s not true,” Frankie murmured. The tone of his voice was quiet, uncharacteristically so.

Will leaned forward a little, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I offered to take her home, she said no. But with him? Tam didn’t even blink.”

Something tightened inside your chest. It was so slight, it barely registered—like your body skipped a beat only to recover by beating twice as hard. You glanced toward Frankie. He was rubbing his temple, elbow on the table, eyes trained on Will with a tired sort of focus. Your cheeks grew warm.

“I just took her home, that’s all,” Frankie said. His gaze flicked toward you. A second, maybe less. But it was enough.

“Hers or yours?” Benny grinned.

“Man, fuck off.” Frankie’s voice cracked a little under the weight of it. His face flushed, and he dropped his hand from his temple to fold both arms tightly across his chest. “You always do this.”

Santi was laughing.

“Right, leave him alone,” he said, looking from one to the other, clearly gearing up. “He’s not exactly a free agent anymore, is he?”

Will raised his eyebrows, smiling. “What, is he married to a cockpit now?”

There was a pause—small, fractured—and then Santi just came out with it.

“He’s like, like my brother-in-law now,” he said, tipping his head toward you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This son of a bitch is dating my little sister.”

Yov’s face lit up with amusement. She turned to look at you, her cheeks tinged pink, lips parting like she was about to ask something—though she didn’t.

Will and Benny burst into laughter, their reactions immediate and slightly performative, like they thought it was a joke. A ridiculous, funny story. But after a few seconds, the sound tapered off. Their faces stilled. The mood shifted by degrees. It was in the way their smiles froze, how their eyes flitted between you and Frankie like they weren’t quite sure what they were looking at now. Was it a joke?

Frankie didn’t say anything. He just shook his head slightly, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His eyes were on you. You didn’t meet them. But you felt them. The way one feels heat even when there’s no visible flame.

You smiled, just a little—tight-lipped, like you were amused in theory but not particularly entertained. You looked at Santi instead, not needing to say anything at all. There was something deeply satisfying about letting the silence stretch.

No denial. No clarification.

Will’s eyes widened gradually, disbelief taking up space in his expression. “Dude. Are you serious?”

"No, he isn't," Benny said, half-laughing. 

Santi raised his glass. “Ask Helena. She’s thrilled.” He drank, and beside him, Yov reached over and smacked his arm, not too hard, but enough to say, what the hell are you doing?

“There’s no way you’re not joking,” Benny said.

“I always knew there was something there,” Will added, pointing at Frankie with narrowed eyes, grinning like he’d just uncovered a well-kept secret. “Right from the get-go.”

Benny looked at you then, frowning slightly. “You threw a dart at him once.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You gave me the dart.”

“I remember the dart,” Will said, shifting in his seat to face Frankie more directly. “You remember the dart, Fish?”

Frankie exhaled hard through his nose and covered his face with one hand. When he pulled his hand away, his cheeks were flushed and there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, I remember the dart. Still got the damn scar.” He pointed just above his brow, where the skin had once split open under the wrong end of a bad decision. He glanced at you for a second—not bitter.

“That was the crush,” Santi said casually.

Benny turned to you again, then looked at Frankie, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? That logic—‘if you hate each other, you secretly love each other’—works on tv, right, sure. But not with you two.”

Frankie laughed quietly, without looking up.

“Call my mom,” he said. “Ask her what she thinks.”

Benny shook his head, eyes wide. “No. No way.”

“You want to date my little sister too, Ben?” Santi asked, tilting his head in Benny’s direction with mock suspicion. “You’re starting to sound a little too invested.”

Emma groaned dramatically next to you and covered her face.

“Please don’t take this away from me,” Benny said, leaning forward again, his eyes exaggeratedly mournful. “Watching you tease Frankie is one of the only joys I have left. I’ve got more darts. I can restock.”

“I’m sorry, Benny,” you said, lifting your shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Shit, Fish, tell that to Tam, then,” Will said, his tone flattening slightly as he looked across the table at Frankie.

Tam. You blinked. Who the hell was Tam? Why were they suddenly talking about her? Had Frankie taken her home? Was that what this was about?

The mood shifted just enough for everyone to feel it. Emma pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and Yov looked vaguely guilty, like she'd laughed a little too long. Santi just leaned back, watching everything unfold with that unreadable look he wore when he didn’t want to interfere but also couldn’t look away.

“What should I tell her?” Frankie asked, his voice light, lips curved in something that looked like a smirk.

Will turned to you then, as if your reaction had suddenly become important.

“I think he’s free to hang out with whoever he wants,” you said, your voice too even. You turned your head, eyes locking with Frankie’s. “As far as I’m concerned, Francisco, you can do whatever you want. That much is clear.”

Benny shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable now. His earlier jokes had evaporated into a fog of uncertainty.

Frankie was still watching you. “I’m not sure about that.”

You let out a short breath. “Ask Tam.”

Benny turned his confusion into a muttered, “I don’t understand this,” directed at Santi.

Your brother raised his eyebrows and shook his head, offering nothing.

“There’s nothing going on with Tam,” Frankie said. His voice was quieter now, but steady. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes not moving from yours. “I just gave her a ride home. It was late.”

You tilted your head. “That’s how it starts.”

You didn’t know if it was the gin and tonic, or the music, or the strange heat blooming under your skin, but everything in you was beginning to feel looser, like your words might start slipping past the filter.

Frankie kept his eyes on you. A full second passed, maybe more. Then: “Do you really—”

“Alright,” Santi cut in suddenly. He held up both palms like a referee in a game no one had agreed to play. “We’re done. I take it back. It was a joke, a dumb one. Not true. None of it.”

You let out a laugh and rolled your eyes. You turned toward Benny and Will, who were both watching you now like you were a page in a language they didn’t speak.

But Frankie’s eyes hadn’t left your face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benny asked, confused, almost indignant.

Will laughed quietly beside him, like he had only just realized he was also confused.

“It’s not real,” you said, your voice lighter now. You smiled. “Frankie and I aren’t dating. We faked it. That’s all.”

Will blinked. “What? Why?”

Frankie leaned back in his seat, his shoulders sinking a little into the booth. There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it didn’t quite hold—it felt more like muscle memory.

“For convenience,” you said, your voice even. “It’s a long story.” You lifted your glass and took a sip that felt like punctuation.

“My family still thinks it’s real,” Frankie added, his eyes scanning the table. “So if you run into any of them, I’d appreciate it if you just… didn’t say anything.”

Benny let out a short laugh, disbelieving. “Right—why?”

“Jesus, man,” Frankie said, exhaling sharply. “I’ll explain later. It’s not some big dramatic thing. It just is.”

Will slumped against the back of his chair with an exaggerated sigh, folding his arms across his chest like a sulky teenager.

“Well. That’s disappointing. I had hopes, you know.”

Santi made a strangled sound in his throat. “You really thought this would actually work out?”

Will gave him a look. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Yov cut in, shrugging as she swirled the last of the ice in her glass. “Unless your only objection is that he’s your friend. Which, okay, fine. But opposites attract, baby.”

Santi narrowed his eyes like he was personally offended by the phrase.

“Not in their world.” He turned toward you then, leveling you with the kind of look only older brothers can get away with—half teasing, half invasive. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your type is more like, like brooding academic or something like that. The ones who look like they teach ethics at liberal arts colleges and that shit.”

You let out a breathy laugh, somewhere between surprised and exasperated. “What are you even talking about?”

Santi was already laughing, his face flushed with alcohol and mischief.

“Come on, you know what I mean. Like your new guy. What’s his name again? That one you’ve been hanging around with lately.”

Emma perked up beside you, clearly enjoying the new direction. “Oh, right. Bill?”

“Bill. That’s the guy,” Santi said, nodding like he’d cracked some sort of code.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“He’s not my guy, and he’s definitely not a brooding academic, if that’s what you were picturing.”

You could feel Emma grinning next to you without even looking.

“Well, he’s very attentive,” she said, turning her words to Santi but clearly directing them at you. “And, I mean, he sells coffee. That’s like... ideal, if you’re someone who sells books.”

“I don’t know about ideal,” your brother said. “But his donuts are damn good.”

“Bill who?” Benny asked, glancing between the two of you with genuine confusion.

“He owns the coffee shop next to the bookstore,” you explained, feeling suddenly very aware of how small your voice sounded in the room.

“He’s really cute,” Emma added, despite never having met him. “He’s doing renovations right now, and she’s helping him out.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t correct her. “He just wants to add a little library area. Somewhere people can sit, read and, yeah, just that. He asked if I could help him pick out some books. Maybe design the shelves, that sort of thing. That's it.”

There was a small pause, just long enough for your face to betray you again, your cheeks warming.

From across the table, Frankie shifted. He was half in shadow, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze found you and didn’t let go. There was something unreadable in his expression. Maybe a smirk trying not to be a smirk. You weren’t sure.

“That’s sweet,” Yov said. “Yup. I get it. I see the appeal.”

“And he has a little daughter,” Emma added like she was dropping the final piece of the puzzle. “She loves to read too, apparently. I mean, come on.”

You exhaled, more sharply than you meant to. “I’m just helping out. That’s all it is.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s lovely. And he clearly likes you.”

You shot her a warning look. “Emma.”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’d like more free donuts,” Santi muttered under his breath.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yov laughed.

“I think Bill is exactly what you need,” Emma said, her voice pitched slightly higher, like she wanted to make sure everyone could hear her.

You turned to look at her, eyebrows drawn together in a way that felt automatic, like your body was trying to shield itself from where this was going.

She went on, undeterred. “A man who knows what he wants. Someone with actual follow-through. Who doesn’t play games. Who’s not afraid to show you how he feels.”

There was a beat of silence—something in the air growing taut, or maybe just your own pulse pressing hard behind your ears.

Frankie stood abruptly. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Anyone want anything?” His voice was calm.

Nobody answered. Or maybe a few people shook their heads, you weren’t really paying attention. He pushed back his chair and stood. Then he turned, and walked off in the direction of the bar.

There was something in the way he moved. A tired walk. You tried not to follow him with your eyes, but you did.

Thankfully, Will spoke up, saying something about Bianca not being there tonight. You latched onto the change of subject the way someone might grab the edge of a table during an earthquake—knowing it won’t help much, but needing something to hold on to. It was obvious he was fishing for sympathy, or maybe absolution. According to what Santi had told you, there had been something between them. Casual, inconsistent, but still something.

Still, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Your gaze wandered to the bar. Frankie was standing there, leaning into it with one elbow, his body slightly hunched. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just staring at something in front of him you couldn’t see. Grian, behind the bar, was finally moving like someone at ease, as if the worst part of the night had passed.

You hadn’t seen Frankie in nearly two weeks. Fourteen days where the thought of him would drift in and out —at the sink, at work, just before sleep. You wondered if he’d been working too much. If he was taking care of himself. If Helena had asked about you. If he’d told her anything at all.

And the only thing you’d learned about him in all that time was that he'd apparently been driving Tam around. That—and the fact that Will seemed to think she liked him.

You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap, and suddenly wished you had something to do with them. 

You had no right to feel anything. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a fact, like something printed in a textbook or carved into stone. He’d been clear, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have that kind of relationship. Not with you. And maybe that was the part you’d skipped over—the with you. As if the problem wasn’t in the thing itself, but in the person he might share it with. Maybe it wasn’t relationships he was avoiding. Just the one that included you.

That thought lodged somewhere deep, somewhere soft. It made your stomach feel unsettled, like the air had shifted slightly and now everything was just a little off balance.

You hated that. Hated the way your body betrayed you over something that, by all definitions, was nothing. Because what even was this? It wasn’t real. It wasn’t defined. He hadn’t promised you anything, hadn’t even implied it. And yet here you were, trying not to think about what it would mean if he looked at someone else the way he sometimes looked at you.

Emma’s voice pulled you out of your own head. “Hey, wanna go to the bathroom?”

You nodded wordlessly, grateful for something to do, and followed her through the press of people standing near the pool tables, their voices loud and overlapping like waves hitting the same shore.

The bathroom was cooler, quieter. Emma closed the door behind you with her hip and turned toward the mirror, digging into her purse.

“Why didn’t you go with it?” she asked, glancing at you through the reflection.

“What?”

“Bill. Why didn’t you play along? It was working. You could’ve just said you liked him too.”

You leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely across your chest. “What did you want me to say? That I’m in love with him?”

Emma laughed quietly, smoothing a fresh coat of gloss over her bottom lip. “You didn’t have to lie. Just... lean into it a little. It was making him mad.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

She looked at you through the mirror again, meeting your eyes this time. “Frankie.”

Your chest pulled tight, like the air had been snatched out of the room too fast.

“He looked pissed,” she said, turning to face you now. “Not jealous-jealous, but... you know. Close.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were trying not to feel the thing you were already feeling.

“I don’t think that’s why. He was already upset before the Bill thing.”

Emma frowned, tugging at a piece of hair near her temple. “Yeah? Why?”

You shrugged. “Because of the guys. Because Santi opened his mouth and made the whole fake-dating thing sound like a joke. Tam, probably.”

“Who even is Tam? Do you know her?”

You gave a tiny shake of your head, almost embarrassed by the answer.

“No. Not really.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, it shouldn’t bother you anyway,” she said lightly, but then her tone sharpened just a touch. “Still. I know a jealous man when I see one.”

You scoffed, looking down at the floor tiles. “Frankie’s not jealous. He was the one who tried to convince me Bill was into me. When we went skydiving.”

“Okay, but that was before you told him how you felt.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

She let out a small, frustrated sound and rubbed her temples like you’d given her a migraine.

“You are infuriating. Like, truly. I love you, but you make me want to scream into a throw pillow.”

You gave her a crooked smile, something caught between guilt and defensiveness.

Emma checked her reflection again, smoothing down her dress and fixing a small smudge near her eye.

“Come with me to the bar, will you?”

You squinted. “You want another drink?” It wasn’t accusatory, just surprised—Emma wasn’t a big drinker. Two beers, that was usually her limit.

“Yeah,” she said with a grin that felt just a little too rehearsed. “I’m feeling festive.”

You stepped out of the bathroom together. Bowie’s China Girl was playing on the speakers, a little distorted through the sound system. The air was thick with the layered scent of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and deep-fried potatoes.

Emma grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd. Frankie was still at the bar, leaning against it. When he saw you approach, he shifted—barely.

You slipped into the space beside him, Emma sliding in between you.

“Emma,” Frankie said, his voice low and even. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, cocking her head, playful. “Though the sound of your car’s hood slamming shut is still echoing through my skull.”

Frankie let out a soft laugh and made a half-dismissive gesture. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile that softened just slightly. “I hear you’re redeeming yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

Before you could say anything, a voice called out from somewhere behind you, and Emma’s hand was instantly on your shoulder.

“Oh my God, Devon!” she said, and turned toward the voice like it was magnetic. Then she glanced at you, amused and breathless. “Tragic, I know, but I have to go say hi. Order me a beer, okay?”

She winked before disappearing into the crowd, her pace just fast enough to suggest she was escaping something.

You stayed where you were, eyes flicking toward Frankie. He didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t move either. Just stood there, the space between your arms barely an inch. 

Grian came over and placed Frankie’s drink in front of him, the glass catching a glint of amber under the overhead light. You gave him Emma's order without looking up. Just a beer.

“Santi is drunk,” Frankie said. His voice was neutral.

You nodded, fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “I noticed.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The bar hummed around you—music, laughter, a burst of ice clattering into a metal bin. You watched the way your nails pressed against your palm, the thin crescent marks they left behind. Frankie exhaled beside you. Not loud, not theatrical. He shifted his weight.

You turned to look at him.

His jaw was tight. Not clenched, but contained. He wasn’t watching you—his eyes were fixed on the bottles behind the bar, neat rows of color and glass and labels. His brows weren’t furrowed, but there was tension in the corners of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He glanced down at you then. His eyes dark. “You want to get out of here?”

“What?”

He turned toward you more fully now, eyes scanning your face with something like uncertainty.

“If you want to leave. With me.”

He sounded earnest, a little hesitant—like maybe the words had gotten ahead of him. Your lips twitched with a hint of a smile, the kind you didn’t mean to show. 

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked over his shoulder toward the table where the others were sitting. “Wherever you want.”

You followed his gaze. Santi was leaning dramatically against Benny’s shoulder, mid-laugh. Yov was talking animatedly with someone you didn’t recognize. Will looked tired but was laughing anyway.

“What about them?” you asked.

Frankie turned back to you.

“They’re drunk,” he said simply. “And a little unbearable, to be honest.”

“And you don’t care if they see us leave together?”

“No,” he said, shrugging. “I think they already made up their minds about us. Impossible, they said.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Emma? I’m not leaving her here alone.”

His lips curved slightly. “So that’s a yes.”

“What?”

“That you want to come with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just turned to look at Emma again, now laughing at something Devon was saying. Her body language was loose, comfortable.

You looked back at Frankie, raising your index finger. “Give me a second.”

He nodded, watching you walk away.

When you reached Emma, she looked up with a knowing expression already blooming on her face.

“So?” she asked. “What did he say?”

“He asked me if I wanted to leave with him.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m fine. Devon’s driving me home soon. And I have the spare key in my bag.”

You touched her arm. “Text me when you get in?”

“Obviously.”

When you returned to the bar, Frankie was sipping from his glass while Grian spoke to him about a fight that had broken out the night before. He nodded at something Grian said, then turned when he saw you.

“Okay,” you said simply. “I’ll come with you.”

“You have everything?”

“Yeah, just my bag.”

He finished the last sip of his drink and set the glass down. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He pushed off the bar and gave a nod toward the exit. Grian gave you a small, knowing smile. You waved at him, your hand lifting instinctively, and then you followed Frankie toward the door.

Outside, the air had shifted—lighter now, cooler. It wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt cleaner somehow, like a layer of noise had peeled away with the door behind you. Frankie stepped up beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that your arms might touch if either of you leaned just slightly to the side.

At the corner, you turned to look at him. The amber streetlights caught in his eyes, making them look brighter than usual. He looked back at you, a tender expression there. Neither of you said anything, and for a moment it felt like those hours in the bar had existed in some other version of reality. This felt like a different moment. Him, here. You, here. No noise. No laughter. No Emma nudging you beneath the table or Santi trying to make a joke.

Out here, he looked different. Or maybe he just looked more like himself. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. You imagined it would feel soft if you touched it, and then tried not to imagine that.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

You hesitated, but only for show. “Whatever I want?”

“You sound like trouble. Don’t make me steal anything tonight.”

That made you laugh, too quickly. You looked down at your shoes, pretending to consider the question, even though you already knew your answer. The gin still warmed your veins, made you feel bolder than usual, like the version of yourself who didn’t overthink things to death.

You looked up again. “Can we go to your place?”

Frankie smiled—an uneven, vaguely suspicious sort of smile, like you’d just proposed something illegal and mildly intriguing.

“You want to go to my place?”

You nodded, unfazed. “You've been to my place several times. That I can remember. I, on the other hand, have no idea where you live. For all I know, you sleep in your car like a cryptid.”

He tilted his head. “Wow. A cryptid?”

“I said like one. You’re far too clean to be an actual cryptid.”

“Thanks,” he said, deadpan. “Really heartfelt compliment. I’ll treasure it forever.”

"You're welcome."

He laughed, the sound low and genuine, and ran a hand through his hair, which only made it more chaotic than it already was.

“Aha. So this is about fairness,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re calling me out on a hospitality imbalance.”

“Exactly. Basic domestic justice.”

“Alright. Full disclosure, though—no cat.”

You narrowed your eyes, pretending to reconsider. “That can be arranged. I know a guy.”

He laughed. “You’re gonna get me a cat?”

“I think you should have one,” you said, shrugging. “Otherwise, who do you talk to at 2 am?”

“I talk to my plants.”

You tilted your head, charmed despite yourself. “What do you say to them?”

“Mostly, ‘please don’t die.’ Sometimes I play them old records. I’ve been told it helps. Mai told me, actually.” 

You grinned, already imagining it. Frankie watering plants while Johnny Cash plays in the background.

“Well, I still think the cat’s a good idea anyway.”

Frankie grinned, mouth twitching at the corners like he was trying not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Alright then. Come to my tragic, cat-less apartment and make your judgments.”

“Gladly. But just so you know, if there’s even one lava lamp or a poster of Scarface, I’m walking out.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you in if I had a lava lamp.”

“Fair,” you said, and the two of you started walking again, your shoulders nearly brushing.

“Don’t fall. Watch out.” Frankie’s hand wrapped around yours as you stepped out of the Uber like he'd done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not going to fall,” you said, frowning at him playfully, though you didn’t pull your hand away.

Then you looked up.

Frankie’s house was—unexpected. Clean lines. Neutral tones. The place stood neat and self-contained at the end of a quiet street. The facade was light wood, almost golden under the porch light, and the gabled roof above it was the color of charcoal. Everything about it looked clean and measured. The symmetry of it was almost uncanny—the central porch framed by white columns, the wide double door with its glass panes catching bits of amber light from inside.

On either side, windows glowed softly, as if someone inside was still awake. But you knew that wasn't true, and that Frankie probably left the lights on to create the false impression that someone was inside. The garage stretched to the left, its doors darker wood, with small square windows at the top like little eyes. The front yard was impossibly tidy. The grass was cut to an even length, the edges trimmed. There were rows of low shrubs and just enough flowers to make it feel like someone cared, but not too much. The path was poured concrete, no cracks, no weeds creeping through.

You stared for a beat too long, and he noticed. “I have a gardener,” Frankie said, his voice close to your ear. You didn’t answer.

He unlocked the door with ease, and then stepped aside to let you in first. You brushed past him, closer than necessary, and he didn’t move.

The room felt too exposed, like something you weren’t supposed to be witnessing. Not because it was messy or chaotic—quite the opposite—but because it was composed in a way that revealed too much. Or maybe it just felt that way because it was Frankie, and you had never really pictured him inside a space like this.

The living room was lit by two lamps, one on each side of a deep gray sofa, casting the kind of glow that made everything look softer than it probably was. The fireplace across from it wasn’t lit, its matte black surface blending into the wall, with a television mounted above it, silent and blank. On the mantel sat two houseplants in identical white ceramic pots, flanking a pair of simple photo frames.

A coffee table, scratched at the edges, stood in front of the sofa. He had left a mug there, half drunk. There was also a book turned face-down and a lighter next to an open pack of cigs. Two armchairs filled the remaining corners of the room. One had a navy cushion, the other black.

The air smelled like laundry detergent, the faint bitterness of old coffee, something earthy and clean. And beneath it, him—his cologne, maybe, or the scent of his skin. It was subtle but persistent. Like if you stayed here long enough, it would cling to you.

“Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?” His voice came from behind you as he moved toward the kitchen, his steps quiet on the hardwood floor. You didn’t follow him.

“Tea’s fine,” you said, almost to yourself, wandering over to the fireplace. You leaned in to look at the photos. One showed his dad standing alone on a pier, sun hitting his face. He was grinning, the lines around his eyes deep and familiar. He looked so much like Frankie it startled you—same smile, same jawline, same thick, full hair. You imagined his voice would be similar too.

The second frame was filled with women. His mom, his sisters, all of them laughing at something just outside the frame. Frankie wasn’t in the photo.

You kept walking, a little slower now, taking in more than you should have. A sweatshirt tossed over the back of the sofa. Headphones folded carefully on the coffee table. Three plants lined up on a chest of drawers by the window, each one thriving in a different shape of pot. To the left, a piece of mid-century furniture caught your eye. A record cabinet, filled almost to overflowing. A closed record player sat on top, the glass lid dust-free.

You leaned in, reading titles out loud in your head like they were clues: The Stooges. Fleetwood Mac. Busy Bee Starski. Alice in Chains. The Clash. Eagles. Marvin Gaye. T. Rex. The sleeves looked worn, loved, pulled from the shelf again and again.

“Wanna hear one?” Frankie’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard him come back.

You turned toward him. “T. Rex?”

He grinned. Not smug—more like pleased. He placed two mugs down on the table and crossed the room to join you. You held the record sleeve while he powered up the record player. Electric Warrior. His hands were steady, practiced, and within seconds, Mambo Sun filled the room.

“My dad loved this album,” you said, not really looking at him. “He’d play it on sundays while fixing stuff in the garage. The volume was always too loud.I really love it.”

You rested the sleeve behind the record player carefully and turned around. Frankie was already on the sofa, holding his tea.

“T. Rex in the garage on a sunday,” he said, lifting the mug to his mouth. “Sounds like your dad had his priorities in order. Shit—careful. It’s hot.”

You sat beside him, your hip brushing his just barely. “I like it hot. So hot that one sip burns my heart out.”

You smiled at him then, sideways.

“So romantic,” he murmured, head leaning back against the cushion. 

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. The silence wasn’t awkward—it felt chosen. Mutual. Like you both knew that if you said anything right then, it might undo the atmosphere you’d stumbled into. So instead, the music filled the space. The vinyl hissed softly beneath the track, that low, velvety warmth that you always loved.

By the time Cosmic Dancer had reached its halfway point, you lifted your mug, took a careful sip, then let it rest in your lap, your fingers curling around the ceramic. You were perched on your knees, your legs folded beneath you, spine tilted just slightly toward him like your body had gotten used to the idea of being near him again. You kept your eyes fixed on your hands.

“I missed talking to you,” you said. “Just a little.”

The words felt like they slipped out more than they were offered.

You felt him turn, could feel the weight of his gaze move from the record player to your face. Your cheeks warmed under it, uninvited.

“You did?” 

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“Just a little,” you repeated, and finally let your eyes meet his, your lips tilting into something that tried not to be a smile but failed.

“Ah, thank God,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch with a kind of theatrical relief. “I was starting to get worried.”

You laughed, soft and breathy, your eyes dropping again to the mug in your lap. There was a pause. Not uncomfortable. You shifted a little closer and rested your head on his shoulder like it was a pillow you’d always used.

“So,” you said, “what’ve you been up to?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could tell he was thinking.

“Work. Rest,” he said finally. “I bought a new coffee the other day.”

“Oh yeah? Is it any good?”

“It is. I’ll give you some.”

“That’s generous of you,” you said, your tone feather-light. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “What else… I went on a few walks. Tried to cut down on smoking. Not sure if I actually managed to.”

Your gaze flicked to the coffee table, where a pack of cigarettes lay in plain sight.

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding toward it. “There’s your progress.”

He gave a short, stifled laugh that vibrated faintly beneath your ear. “I’m trying.”

You reached over and patted his thigh twice. “Good boy.”

He exhaled a laugh, head turning slightly toward you. “That again?”

“I haven’t forgotten. My theory still stands.”

“It’s a weird theory,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “A praise kink? Really?”

“It’s not weird, actually.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding with mock solemnity, eyes dancing. “It’s not. So,” he went on, “that’s what I did. Oh—helped Will with his car. We spent the whole day on it.”

“A whole day?”

“Well. Two hours, technically. Then we gave up and made ribs in the backyard.”

“Ah. The whole day.” You laughed and leaned into him again. “Two hours.”

He laughed again, then lifted the mug to his mouth. You were about to say something else, maybe something meaningless, but then the thought came back like a door left ajar in your mind, something drifting through.

“So, Tam,” you said, casually enough that it surprised even you. “What about her?”

You felt the change in him instantly. A shift in posture. A tightening. 

“She’s a friend of Will’s,” he said, voice level. “They met a few months ago. She sold him a bike.”

“Oh.” You nodded once, your eyes on the handle of your mug as your thumb traced over it.

You didn’t add anything.

A few seconds passed. He swallowed. “There’s nothing going on with her. I just…” He paused. “I just—”

“Frankie,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I just drove her home. It was late.”

You smiled. “That was nice of you.”

“Mm.” He shifted again, resettling into the cushions beside you. Your head was still resting on his shoulder, and neither of you moved to change that. “That was it.”

You extended your empty mug toward him, and he took it from your hands with an ease that made something inside you soften. He leaned to place it gently on the small table beside him.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to glance at him from your position. “Do you think what Will said is true?”

“What?”

“That maybe she likes you. Or something like that.”

“Will just likes messing with me. He sees something and runs with it. That’s kind of his thing.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, fingertips trailing until they found the little freckle near his wrist. You pressed lightly there, then traced the edge of it.

“It was just that, you know?” he said, his voice more certain now, like he needed you to hear it. Like he needed himself to say it out loud. He looked at you, but your gaze didn’t rise this time.

You exhaled slowly. “Even if it was something else, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to explain.”

But still, he reached for your hand, the one that had touched his skin. He folded his fingers around yours, his thumb brushing softly along your fingertips.

“I just got the sense that it bothered you,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I—”

“As far as I know, you’re a single man. And if you meet someone you like, and they’re kind to you… I think that’s your business.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding your hand.

Then, “We’ve talked about this already.”

“I know,” you said, your voice even, “but these aren’t things you can always control, right? You can have the whole thing mapped out in your head—what you want, what you’re ready for, what you’ve decided not to touch. You can feel so sure about all of it. And then someone comes along who completely rearranges the blueprint, and maybe you weren’t prepared for that. Maybe it’s inconvenient, maybe it’s terrifying. But what are you supposed to do with that kind of thing?”

You paused. “Sometimes it just... arrives. Like timing that sneaks up on you and lands exactly where it should, whether you’re prepared or not. And honestly, Frankie,” you added, eyes steady, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Or anyone.”

He didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing beside you, that quiet rhythm, the way his chest moved beneath your head, like he was sorting through something inside himself. For a moment, you worried you’d said too much, crossed into a space that wasn’t yours to step into.

Then, finally: “I get it. But I don’t like Tam.”

You let out a soft exhale. “I wasn’t really talking about Tam,” you said gently. “I meant anyone.”

Your eyes dropped to where your hands rested together. His thumb was brushing against your skin again, the motion absent-minded but oddly grounding.

“I think it’s just one of those things people can’t plan for. You try, but then it happens anyway. I think it’s okay to take your time, to be cautious, to move at your own pace. But I also think it’s not weakness to let yourself be caught off guard by something good.”

He tilted his head slightly, enough to look at you. “You think that’s possible? That it can be a good thing?”

“I think it’s the most human thing in the world. Letting yourself feel something fully. Letting it lead you. Even just a little.”

Frankie gave a half-smile, not the kind that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Bad things have happened when I’ve done that before. When I’ve let myself get too carried away by what I was feeling.”

You looked at him. “Right, but what were you getting carried away by? What kinds of feelings?”

He let out a short laugh, more tired than amused. “It’s been a long, long stretch of darker ones, baby.”

Your gaze dropped again, back to your joined hands. You studied the place where his fingers still cradled yours.

“Then maybe that’s the difference,” you murmured. “You don’t have to follow the dark ones. Not if there are brighter ones. I mean, it sounds corny but... you know.”

“Uh-huh. Like what?”

“Well, I dunno,” you said, and your voice carried that hesitant tone people use when they’re trying not to sound too sure of themselves. “I know you said you don’t like Tam. But say you did. Say you met someone who made you feel a little more okay just by being around, someone who was gentle, real, not out to ruin your life. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Frankie’s laugh came out a little too fast. “They could absolutely crush me. Like, destroy me. Again.” He tried to make it sound like a joke. “Break my heart. And you... you’re not afraid of that happening again? Not after what Harry did?”

You nodded slowly, still looking down. “Yeah, I am, sometimes. Maybe more than I admit. But I don’t want that fear. I don't like it. I don’t want to be afraid of something as good as love just because someone misused it. Falling in love is... still one of the best things. It's fun, it's nice. I’m not going to let him take that away from me.”

Frankie leaned his head back against the couch. “It usually ends in a disaster, though. It rips you apart. It doesn’t just hurt, it—it just... Yeah, it fucking hurts.”

“I know, I’m not pretending it doesn’t.”

“And you still want it?”

“Still,” you murmured. “Even after everything. And I get it, right? Like, you promise yourself you’ll never be that open again, never leave the door even slightly cracked. But then someone comes along and you find yourself doing it anyway. You stop noticing how carefully you were guarding yourself, and suddenly you’re not anymore.”

Frankie was silent for a beat. Then:

“Someone like Bill?”

You frowned faintly, but didn’t lift your head. “Bill?”

“Yeah. I told you—I could see he was into you. And he seems decent, doesn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“And Emma likes him. And she's your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. If he’s the way she says... I guess I just think—I think—”

“He is,” you said, cutting gently across his sentence. “He is exactly like she says.”

“Right.” He paused. “He is exactly like she says.”

He just sat there, still as furniture, the heat from his side warming yours. Your fingers moved slightly, brushing his knuckles before curling around them—just barely, just enough to feel it. The shape of his hand in yours felt familiar. 

“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” You whispered. You waited. He didn’t reply. “He’s not who I want.”

Shit. Shit. The words echoed in your mind long after you said them.

Next to you, Frankie stiffened — not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Enough to make your body react instinctively. Your hand, still tangled with his, turned cold at the fingertips, and you let it slip out of his. It didn’t feel right to keep touching him.

You adjusted your posture, putting space between your bodies, lowering your feet to the floor as if reclaiming a version of yourself that wasn’t so recklessly leaning into him.

A pause stretched between you. You reached over to your purse and fished out your phone. The screen lit up instantly with a message from Emma, timestamped ten minutes earlier.

[Em🐥 ]: I'm home <3 let me know how everything is going, I'll stay up a little longer

You replied with a few quick words — something casual, enough to reassure her you weren’t unraveling, even if a part of you might have been. You told her everything was fine, that you’d be back soon. You slipped the phone back in your bag, your hands quieter now.

“Um,” you said, eyes trained somewhere around the coffee table, anywhere but his face. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah. Down the hall. First door on the left.”

He hadn’t moved. His back still pressed against the couch, his eyes on you, hand resting exactly where yours had been, like he hadn’t quite registered its absence.

You stood and made your way to the bathroom, maybe a bit too fast. The light flicked on and for a second your eyes narrowed against the brightness. The space was neat — not sterile, just… simple. Everything in its place. No clutter.

You leaned your weight against the wall and exhaled, the sound more fragile than you expected.

Goddamn gin. You hadn’t even had much, just enough to loosen the seams a little. You weren’t drunk — you were just... like this, around Frankie. Words always rushed out like they were being pulled from you. Like he had some quiet gravitational force you hadn’t learned to resist.

And now you’d done it. You’d said too much. You’d pushed him again, out of his comfort zone, out of reach. He’d already been at arm’s length — why did you keep trying to pull him closer? He was probably right to stay there.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look wrecked, at least. Your lipstick hadn’t faded, your eyeliner hadn’t betrayed you. That was something. A small win. Thanks, Emma.

You stayed there longer than you needed to, buying yourself a few more seconds before stepping back into the atmosphere you’d unsettled. But eventually, you knew — you had to take responsibility for what you’d stirred.

You opened the door. The music was still playing, Marc Bolan’s voice floating like a ghost through the room.

Frankie stood by the record player. One hand hovered near his mouth, fingers resting lightly against his lips, the other braced at his hip. He looked like he was studying the motion of the record as it turned or the color of the vinyl.

You stayed where you were, watching his back. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

He didn’t turn fully, just twisted at the waist, his profile barely visible. “Yeah—okay. Or I can drive you, if you’d rather.”

You shook your head before remembering he couldn’t see you. “It’s fine. I’ll get an Uber.”

He nodded once. Not arguing.

You could tell he wasn’t drunk, not really, but you both knew there was just enough alcohol in your systems to complicate things.

He turned back toward the record player and reached forward, stopping it with a practiced motion. Then he carefully lifted the vinyl off it and slid it into its sleeve, his fingertips pressing softly at the edges like he was handling something fragile. He was.

“Thanks for the tea,” you said, watching him. “And for letting me come here. It’s like uncovering a mystery.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a breath—and turned to face you.

“And thank you for showing me your records,” you added.

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

He looked down at the record in his hand, hesitated, then glanced back up at you.

“I know you don’t have a garage or anything,” he started, “but... here. Take this.” He stepped forward and held it out to you. The record, now tucked neatly in its cover, extended in your direction. “I saw your player. In the bookshop.”

Your fingers closed around the edges, brushing briefly against his.

“Are you sure? It’s yours—”

“You’ll enjoy it more than I do. Really. And maybe you can listen to it at work. Or whenever you want, I mean. ”

You looked down at the cover, letting your eyes trace the artwork, the worn corners. You smiled, and lifted your gaze back to him.

“Thank you,” you said, and you meant it more than he probably knew.

Frankie smiled again. There was peace in his face, but not joy exactly.

“Well,” you said quietly, turning away as your fingers curled around the strap of your purse. “I’ll get a car.” You pulled the phone free, the screen lighting up in your hand. “What’s your address again?”

You glanced up, expecting him to speak quickly, but instead he stepped toward you. Just two steps but enough that the air between you changed. His presence drew up close to yours like heat in a narrow space.

“Um,” he began, eyes flickering down to the phone in your hand. “Two-two-one-one… Hartford—Hart…” He stumbled over the words, his voice catching as if his mind had exited the room entirely. His brow creased, lips parted, eyes still on your screen, but not really seeing it. He ran his hand through his hair, nervous. 

Then he looked at you. You should have said something. You felt it building in your chest, a sentence that never came. You thought, briefly, that you might speak. That you might ask if he was okay, or if maybe—

But you didn’t.

Because he was already there. His hands lifted to your face, gently. And his mouth was so close you felt the first brush of it before you realized he’d leaned in at all.

Your eyes shut instantly. A reflex. A surrender.

His fingers curved along your jaw, thumbs soft at your cheeks, touching you like he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss wasn’t demanding — it was brief, tentative, something barely born.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you, his gaze darker than you’d ever seen it. Full.

He slipped the vinyl from your hands —carefully— and placed it down on the couch without breaking eye contact. You let your phone fall there too, not bothering to look at it again.

Then his hands were on you again, firmer this time, his grip less cautious. And he kissed you like he’d run out of patience, like he couldn’t talk himself out of it anymore. You met him with the same urgency.

Your heart was thudding, loud and uneven, as if trying to match the rhythm of his. You looped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, tilted your head to let him in. His tongue slipped into your mouth without hesitation.

You made a quiet sound against his lips, and he responded by pulling you tighter. You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through it, gripping soft strands like you needed something to anchor you to the ground.

You hadn’t even noticed when it happened, not fully — just the subtle shift of his body, the press of his weight, and then the cool firmness of the wall behind your back. One moment you were kissing him like you couldn’t breathe without it, and the next you were pinned, his hands moving down your sides, rough with want but tender with care. His fingers found your hips first, gripped tightly, then slid down, tracing the shape of your thighs, your ass — pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you.

Your breathing was uneven, catching at the top of each inhale, and his matched yours. You were flushed everywhere, skin hot and tingling, like something inside you had been lit and was now burning recklessly out of control. The closeness wasn’t enough — not nearly. You wanted more of him, all of him, everywhere.

He broke the kiss and moved to your neck like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His lips grazed the skin beneath your jaw, warm and searching. Then he bit softly — just enough to make you gasp, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt. The sound you made seemed to light something in him, because he groaned against your throat, low and needy, the vibration of it sinking straight into your chest.

You opened your eyes, breath shuddering out in fragmented sighs.

“Frankie,” you said, barely above a whisper, not even sure if it was a plea or a warning or both. You tugged gently at his hair, needing him to hear you, to see you.

He lifted his head, his mouth deep pink, eyes heavy and full of something that looked like reverence and hunger all at once. His face was flushed and gorgeous in that ruinous way people look when they’ve stopped pretending.

“I don’t know if you want this.” Your voice didn’t sound like yours — it was fragile, shaky, almost not there at all.

His expression shifted, like something cracked inside him.

“I do,” he said, the words scraping out of his throat. “I do,” he repeated, eyes locked on yours. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every damn day. I—” He shook his head like the sentence was useless. “Fuck it.”

Then his mouth was on yours again — hard, urgent, no more waiting. He kissed you like he was making up for every second he hadn’t, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifted you without hesitation. You wrapped your legs around him, your arms tightening around his shoulders, everything in you pulling him closer. The wall disappeared behind you. You didn’t know where he was carrying you, and it didn’t matter. Your eyes were closed and your thoughts had blurred into sensation — pure, overwhelming.

You kissed him like you were starving. Like the world outside this moment had ceased to exist. And then, just as the pace of everything threatened to consume you entirely, he set you down. Carefully. Your back met a soft surface — a bed, you realized. Your chest rose and fell, breathless. The room was dim, nearly pitch dark, until Frankie turned and switched on a lamp beside the bed. A small circle of golden light spread over the sheets, over the shape of his body as he looked at you.

You kicked off your shoes in a clumsy rush. You barely looked at the room itself — barely noticed the furniture, the walls, anything. Your attention had narrowed entirely to him.

He climbed onto the bed, over you, his knee sliding between yours. He kissed you again before you could say anything. Your hands trembled slightly as they moved to his belt. You fumbled, but not out of hesitation — out of the sheer urgency coursing through you. You got the button open, then the zipper, just as his mouth moved to your throat again, this time biting with more certainty, less restraint.

The pain flared, beautiful in the way it folded instantly into pleasure. You moaned, head tilting back, hands still on his waist, and thought briefly, this is happening, and thank god.

You reached for him without thinking, but he was already moving, shifting his weight back onto his knees. A frustrated sound broke in your throat at the absence of his body on yours. But then you saw his hands at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in a single motion and tossing it somewhere behind him, careless with everything but you.

You sat up automatically, drawn forward, and placed your hands on his bare abdomen. His skin was warm, soft under your touch, and you could feel the tautness of muscle beneath the surface. Quiet strength, the heat of him, the way desire seemed to radiate outward and settle in the pit of your stomach like something molten.

He guided you back, pressing you into the mattress again. His palms slid down your body, finding your skirt. You bent your knees, lifting your legs to help him, and he removed it with a practiced kind of ease, the fabric sliding down and away.

You sat up again, wordlessly, unthinking, and peeled off your shirt, letting it fall from your fingers to the floor beside the bed.

Frankie reached for you once more, his hands firm. He pushed you back again, settling over you with a kind of certainty that made you feel both cherished and undone. His face hovered just above yours — eyes dark and focused, mouth curved in the faintest smile — and then he kissed you, briefly, almost teasingly, before pulling back a little.

One of his hands pressed into the mattress above your head, steadying himself, while the other moved to your shoulder, tracing the strap of your bra with his knuckles before easing it down your arm. Then the other. His fingers found the center clasp and worked it down, peeling the fabric away until it rested around your waist, leaving your breasts exposed to the room, to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your skin buzzed beneath the sudden coolness, your nipples already tight, your whole body reacting before he even touched you again. He looked at you like he was seeing something private and sacred, something he wanted to memorize. Then, finally, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his weight pressing into you as his tongue explored your mouth with aching intensity. You tasted want and something else you didn’t have words for.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbones, across the soft hollow between them. Every part of you he touched felt heightened, more awake. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching toward him as if your body had made the decision for you.

You reached up and cradled the back of his neck, anchoring him to you, your fingers sliding into his hair as he circled his tongue over the sensitive skin. The sensation pulled a reaction from you so swift, so undeniable, that you barely recognized the sound you made — a moan that felt like it had come from somewhere deeper than your throat.

He moved to your other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, fingers firm and careful, and your body responded again, a rush of heat pooling between your legs. It was impossible to stay still beneath him. 

Frankie let go of you with a wet sound that echoed in the quiet of the room. His mouth trailed lower, over your stomach, leaving behind a warm, glistening path of kisses that made your skin tense beneath him. You felt the brush of his lips against the top of your underwear — the softest press — and yet your hips lifted toward him, needy and instinctual.

His breath hit you there, unsteady and hot. You could hear it—uneven, rushed—against the cotton that separated his mouth from your skin. His hands came to rest around your thighs, thumbs pressing into the softness just above your knees.

And then his mouth was on you. Just the thin barrier of fabric between his tongue and your flesh. The pressure made your back lift off the mattress, your body responding with a gasp. Frankie groaned into you, low and raw, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and vibrated through your body like it belonged to you.

Your fingers found his messy hair and gripped, not knowing what else to do. He pulled back then, just enough to reach for the waistband of your panties, and you didn’t wait for instruction. You raised your hips, legs bent and ready, and he slid them down your thighs in one clean motion.

For a beat, everything went still.

Your knees rested lightly on his shoulders, the bones of your legs brushing against his collarbones. He looked down at you, eyes glazed with something heavier than lust. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven rhythm. He looked like someone caught between prayer and ruin. 

One hand slid along your leg, palm smoothing over the bend of your knee. The other traced the length of your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of heat. Then, without a word, he opened you. And he saw you.

You watched his face change—eyes widening slightly, mouth twitching. You could feel his gaze on you like contact itself, like pressure, like he was touching you just by looking.

But it wasn’t enough. Your body screamed for more, impatient and pulsing. Still, he stayed there, fixed between your legs, studying you like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Then he moved.

His hands slid lower, securing your thighs in his grip. He leaned in and kissed the inside of your left leg, just above the knee. His mouth wandered downward, closer and closer, and you propped yourself on your elbows to see him—to see all of him, hair mussed and lashes shadowing his cheeks as he kissed his way down like he was following a map.

And then he reached your core.

There was no hesitation, no warning—just his mouth on you, all tongue and lips and intention. You cried out without sound, your mouth dropping open, your head falling back against the bed. Every nerve inside you lit up, over and over again, as if your body had been waiting for this exact touch your entire life. You trembled under him, every muscle drawn tight, and the sensation rushed through you in waves so intense you weren’t sure whether you could bear it or beg for more.

Frankie’s tongue moved in steady, circular motions, like he had studied you before this moment, like he knew what would make you fall apart. He groaned against you, the sound low and guttural, and the vibration shot straight through your core.

“Oh my God, Francisco,” you gasped, the words tumbling out of you as your head dropped back onto the pillow. Your eyes squeezed shut. You felt almost outside yourself, like you were watching this happen from somewhere else in the room.

Your hips began to shift, restless with urgency, but his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored to the bed. His breathing had turned heavy, matching your own, and there was something increasingly frantic in the way his mouth moved on you — like he couldn’t get enough, like he wasn’t just trying to make you come, but to taste your undoing, to drown in it.

It had never been like this. You had known pleasure before, of course, but not this kind. Not the kind that seemed to steal the thoughts from your head and replace them with static. Frankie moved like he could feel every nuance in your body, like he could sense exactly where you were breaking, and pushed just a little further.

You felt it rising inside you, a tension that curled tighter and tighter. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, a movement so quick it almost startled him, your hand finding his hair again and tangling there, tugging with a force you didn’t know you were capable of. He groaned again, louder this time, and the sound rattled against your skin, your ribs, your bones.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a fierce, uneven rhythm. Heat spread through you like fire licking at every corner of your body. Frankie pulled you closer, his tongue moving with a rhythm that felt built for you and no one else. You cried out — not words, just sound — and your head tipped back as the wave overtook you, crashing over your body in a torrent that left you gasping. Every part of you clenched and released, like your body was unraveling and rebuilding all at once.

But he didn’t stop.

Even when your fingers pushed at his hair, even when your body jolted with overstimulation, he kept going — licking, kissing, breathing you in. You whimpered, twisting beneath him, your hand pressing at his forehead until he finally lifted his head, lips wet and eyes dazed.

You were shaking. Completely unmade. Your chest rose and fell in sharp breaths that didn’t feel like enough. And still, he looked at you like he wasn’t finished.

He moved back up over your body, settling on top of you with that same heat still written across his skin. His mouth found yours again, this time soft, almost careful, like he knew you needed a moment.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

You smiled, eyes almost closed. "Yeah. That was... Yeah." You caressed his face, your fingers running over it as if you wanted to memorize it.

Frankie smiled. Then he moved to your neck, kissing the place just below your jaw, again and again, like he knew you loved it. Or maybe he just wanted to stay there for a while.

Your hand trailed back down his chest, each movement deliberate not in pace but in purpose. His skin was warm under your fingertips, the faintest ridge of muscle beneath the softness. You brushed past his navel, past the band of his boxers, and without pausing, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric. The hair there, and then—further down—you found him.

Hard. Large. Hot in your palm.

You opened your eyes. The ceiling was a blur, the room spinning softly around the edges. Frankie let out a sound into your neck and it curled around your spine like a fuse catching fire. The sound did something to you. You didn’t have a name for it, but it made your breath catch and your body ache.

“Please,” you whispered, hoarse, sure what you were asking for. Just more. Just him.

He stilled, his breath uneven. Then he shifted, pulling away from your body with effort, like detaching two pieces of something that had always belonged together. He rose from the bed without saying anything, and you stayed where you were—sprawled across his sheets, boneless and burning—watching him silently.

Frankie bent to remove his shoes, then his jeans. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, as if witnessing this needed the reverence of attention. When he pulled off his boxers, you went still.

There he was. Completely bare. Standing in the amber light of the bedside lamp like a statue half-finished, chest rising with every sharp breath, cock full and thick and impossibly beautiful in the dimness. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you with that expression again—like he was still trying to believe you were real.

He climbed back onto the bed, one knee between your legs, one hand stroking himself with an absent-minded kind of urgency. You felt your mouth go dry and wet at once, your body too aware of every inch of him. The sight of him touching himself in front of you was almost too much.

He opened the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out a foil packet. You sat up, instinctively, and reached for him, your hand wrapping around his length. You moved your palm up and down, gentle, reverent. His breathing fractured.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, the words barely audible.

He tore open the wrapper with shaking fingers. You let go and watched him carefully as he rolled the condom on. You leaned back, your skin hypersensitive, your nipples prickling with the faintest movement of air.

Then he was over you again, his body shadowing yours, arms bracketing your head like he needed to keep you beneath him. His mouth found yours—not ravenous, not frenzied. Just… kind.

He kissed you like he meant it, like he had all the time in the world to taste you. Lips brushing yours with a softness that felt dangerous. Like this could be something more than heat and breath and tension. Like this might break you open if you let it.

And you let it. Because you were already breaking.

You felt him there, right at the edge of you—his body so close it was hard to tell where yours ended. You tilted your hips toward him instinctively, something inside you guiding the movement without thought. Frankie’s mouth brushed yours again, and he smiled—barely, just enough for you to feel it. His left hand planted itself above your head, steadying. His other hand shifted between you, grounding you in a way that felt both gentle and firm.

Your arms went around his neck. You couldn’t help it. You needed to hold him. Needed to feel every inch of him pressed against you.

And then he pushed inside.

The stretch was exquisite, each inch of him invading you in a way that made your lungs forget how to work. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just air, caught in your throat. He stopped halfway in, his breath faltering, forehead nearly resting against yours. And then he drew back, not completely, just enough to make you ache, and slid in again. This time deeper. A shiver ran down your spine.

You moaned—soft at first, involuntary. When you opened your eyes, his face was right there. His expression was undone, like he’d broken apart and hadn’t figured out how to reassemble himself yet. He was looking at you, but it wasn’t just about sex. There was something else in his gaze.

Then he kissed you again—messier this time, more urgent, like he needed your mouth the same way he needed everything else. He moved inside you harder, hips shifting into a rhythm that felt like a storm brewing just beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the pressure or the depth—it was the way it built, how it stole your breath more with every thrust.

The noises that came from you weren’t delicate. They were raw, real, rising in pitch as his body collided with yours. The slap of skin, the creak of the bedframe, the heavy breath between both of your mouths—it all blurred into one sound, constant and deafening and perfect.

He groaned into your ear, a low, shaken sound. Your hands clung to his back, nails dragging across his skin as if anchoring yourself to the moment. You felt him respond to the sting of it—his hips snapping forward harder.

He was driving you deeper into the mattress with each movement. You felt it in your ribs, in your thighs, in your soul. The wall behind the bed thudded in rhythm, the room echoing back the chaos you two were making.

Your chest heaved. Your face was flushed. There were tears pricking behind your eyes for no reason you could explain—just too much sensation, too much want. A buzz built beneath your skin, sweet and dizzying, until it filled your whole body like electricity.

You bit him.

You weren’t thinking, not really—your teeth found his shoulder, his neck, like you needed something to hold onto or you might disappear. And he let you. He groaned again, a sound that went straight through your body and took up residence somewhere deep inside.

And still—he didn’t stop.

His moans shifted—deeper now, full-bodied. You opened your eyes and ran your hands over his back, tracing the dip of his spine, the tension in his shoulders, the thickness of his arms. You adjusted beneath him, tilting your hips in a way that made your intent unmistakable. He paused just enough to register it.

So he moved, wordlessly. Rolled off you and onto his back, hands already on your hips as if his body had anticipated yours.

You climbed over him in one fluid movement, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your center brushed along the length of him and your breath caught like a thread pulled tight in your chest. His hands remained on you.

You pushed the hair from your face and let one palm rest on his chest—warm, firm, rising and falling beneath your touch. Your other hand moved between your thighs, guiding him toward you. And then, with both hands braced on his chest, you sank down onto him.

Your head tipped back. Your mouth opened in something between relief and reverence. He filled you completely. Every inch of him belonged inside you and your body knew it instinctively.

At first, you moved gently—learning the rhythm, feeling every part of him stretch and press inside you. But the pressure built quickly, rising in waves, until your hips began to move with more urgency. Up, down, again, again. The bed shifted beneath you, groaning with each motion. Frankie’s hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping you tightly as he began to move with you, helping you take him deeper, harder.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on either side of his head. His eyes were glazed with heat. He let out a sound—low, strained—and then bent his head just enough to capture one of your breasts in his mouth. Your hips stuttered. The contact made you gasp.

You were unraveling. Melting over him, against him, around him. Every nerve in your body lit up, overwhelmed by sensation. The room filled with the echo of it all—flesh meeting flesh, your breath hitching and breaking, the slick sounds that made your whole body feel like it was vibrating.

Then Frankie growled—a dark, guttural sound that you felt more than heard. He grabbed your waist and pressed you flush against him, arms aroung you, lifting his knees for leverage. He began thrusting up into you, hard and purposeful, meeting you with a rhythm so perfect it felt like your body had been made for this exact moment.

You pressed your hands to his shoulders for balance and looked down at him.

He was stunning. Absolutely undone. Hair matted to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his lips parted, damp and pink. His eyes met yours—dark, shining—and you felt like you could drown in them.

You leaned down and kissed him, a shaky moan caught between your mouths. He was still moving beneath you and it was almost too much. Every thrust scraped against something inside you that made your vision blur.

You broke the kiss and gasped against his cheek. Your fingers dug into his skin, holding on like you might fall apart.

Your mouth found his again, and this time you bit down softly on his lower lip, just as you felt the wave crest. His hips stuttered beneath you, erratic now, almost frantic. You heard the shift in his breath—the sharp intake, the strangled exhale—and then you felt it. His release. The moment his body surrendered entirely, muscles tightening, his grip on you fierce and unthinking.

Your vision blurred as your own pleasure surged alongside his, crashing into you in a way that made your hands clench around his shoulders, your spine arch, your thighs tremble where they straddled his hips. Frankie groaned—gutural and right against your neck—and the sound felt like it was stitched into your skin.

When it ended, he didn’t move right away. Just held you there, still connected, one hand splayed across your back, the other resting on your hip like a tether. You let your forehead fall into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like skin and sweat and something warm that you couldn’t name but never wanted to forget.

After a few breaths—his still uneven, yours catching on the edge of a sigh—you lifted your face. Your eyes met his in the half-light. It felt impossibly quiet. Like nothing else existed outside that room, that bed, that look.

You raised a hand and touched his cheek with your fingertips. He turned into your palm like it was instinct. You kissed him once, soft and lingering, and then began to shift off him, your body aching in the best kind of way.

But before you could fully roll away, his hand caught your arm. He pulled you gently back against his chest, like he wasn’t ready to lose the weight of you yet. His other hand came up to your face, brushing over your cheekbone with careful tenderness.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was low, raw. Like it had been scraped out of him.

You nodded and kissed him again. “I'm okay. You?”

Your head settled on his chest, and your hand moved across his skin in idle strokes. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, strong and steady, the rise and fall of his breath slowly evening out.

“I’m okay, baby,” he said, barely above a murmur.

No consequence felt significant in that exact moment.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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[notsodelirious]

Jason creampieing you

yes sir o7

synopsis: Jason catches you wearing his hoodie and has to do something abt it

notes: NSFW MDNI thanks <3, reader has a vagina and is called doll/baby

tags: smut, p in v, established relationship, just under 1k, no use of y/n, (update—edited a little)

idk what else to tell you, they fuck lmao

“What are you wearing?”

You freeze as you slowly turn towards Jason, hands tucked into the pockets of your—Jason’s—hoodie. All you have on underneath that is a random pair of panties you found at the top of your drawer.

Jason is sat on the sofa, a book—Emma by the looks of the cover—open but discarded in his lap as he looks at you, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Umm… a hoodie?” you say, a cheeky smile spreading across your face as you take a step, then another. You try to bolt as soon as he rushes you, but strong arms wrap around your middle before you’re thrown over his shoulder. You squirm and try to wriggle out of his grasp, “Jason!”

He hears you but doesn’t let go, carrying you over to your bedroom instead and tossing you down. You land with a small “oof,” before laughing quietly.

“You look hot in that,” he says as he moves towards you and grabs your ankle to pull you closer to him.

“Maybe I should steal your clothes more often,” you joke as you tilt your head for him, giving him more space to kiss your throat.

“It’s all yours, doll,” he replies before he’s kissing you again, letting his hands roam under his hoodie, wrapping his hands around your waist before they trail down to your hips, dipping just below your waistband. “Can I?”

You nod eagerly then you lift your hips so he can tear your panties off your body, sliding them down your legs before discarding them somewhere in the room. You try to shuffle to pull your hoodie off to but he pins you down just as he bites you, where the collar of his hoodie slips by your shoulder.

“Jay…”

“Leave it on.”

You can only moan as he grinds his hips down against your own, rubbing his clothed bulge against your aching pussy, smearing a wet spot on the front of his jeans.

“Jay, please,” you whine, gasping softly when you feel fingers dip between your folds, running across your slit. You can’t help your moans when he rubs your clit or pushes the tips of his fingers into you, toying with you in every sense of the word.

“Easy, baby,” he smiles as he pushes his fingers into you properly, stretching you out slowly as you melt into the mattress. You grip the sheets by your head, rolling your hips, seeking out more friction. He pushes in a third finger, making you moan sweetly. “You really want it, don’t you?”

You nod again eagerly, clenching down around his fingers as your breathing grows faster and your orgasm grows nearer. His pace only grows and he curls his fingers inside you just right, making your legs quiver.

“That’s it, let go for me.”

Your thighs clamp down around his hand as you cum, back arching as he guides you through it, whispering sweet nothings. You complain softly as he pulls away but the sound of his fly coming down shuts you up.

“Can I fuck you, doll face?” he asks as he hitches your legs around his waist, rubbing his tip against your leaking slit. You nod as you reach up to grasp his shirt, tugging him down for a kiss. “Use your words. I want to hear you say it…”

“Yes. Yes, please fuck me, Jason-“

He kisses you while he finally stretches you open on his cock, swallowing your moans. The burn runs down your spine, you wrap your legs around his waist tighter, encouraging him deeper into your warmth. You look down between your bodies, where his thick cock is disappearing into you.

“Jason-“

“Almost there.” His hands find yours, holding them above your head, as he finally bottoms out. Your eyes roll back as he finally starts moving, moaning softly in your ear as he carves a space out for himself within you. His fat cock spears you, dragging across wet walls, pounding into your cunt.

“You’re so tight, doll,” he groans before resting his lips against your throat. He shifts your wrists to hold them with one hand, as the other one slips between your body to find your clit. Oversensitive nerves make you keen, tears brimming in your eyes as you listen to him continue to praise you, talking about how well you take his dick, the sweet sounds you make.

Your second orgasm catches you more off guard than the first, your whimpers almost drowned out by the sound of bodies meeting.

“I’m so close, doll,” his fingers quicken as his grip on your wrists tighten, “Gonna fill you up so good.”

You sob, overstimulated, pain and pleasure stinging down as you arch your back. Jason thrusts with reckless abandon until he’s burying himself inside you.

Your breath hitches as he floods your pussy with thick cum. He rolls his hips into, grunting as he makes sure you to pump you full properly, fucking his cum deeper into your spent cunny.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he praises softly as he pulls out, watching his seed leak out of your gaping, used, pussy. He moves down to kiss your hip, appreciating the sight of your debauched body up close. “So fucking perfect.”

With careful fingers, he pushes some of his cum back into you, making you squirm and moan and before you know it, he’s devouring you, lapping up his mess. He licks up your slit before he’s delving in, tongue curling within your walls as he coxes his mess out from deep within you.

He wrung another orgasm from your exhausted body before you were pushing his head away, fingers gripping his hair tightly as your entire body shivered from exertion.

“You did so good,” he says as he drops your legs, letting you shuffle until you’re comfortable. “Rest, baby. You did so well.”

Your exhaustion finally catches up to you as your eyelids flutter closed and you feel him pull you against his chest, holding you close.

[ellieputellas]

can you write roommate!alexia smut

caught in the act | a. putellas x reader

— You catch your roommate Alexia touching herself to your photos.

tags: roommate!Alexia, barçaB!reader, smut, masturbation, mentions of fingering, mention of age gap, a bit of degradation and dirty talk, not proofread 🔞 wc: 2k+

Alexia hated having you as a roommate.

It wasn't because of the fact that you had a bad habit of putting off washing the dishes until the next morning; she learned to deal with it and wash them for you whenever it did bother her. It also wasn't because you were always watching Netflix past midnight, at full volume while she tried to get enough sleep for early morning training the next day, fully knowing the walls between your rooms were paper thin. She's learned to fall asleep to the sound of Brooklyn 99 or whatever American TV show you were addicted to at the time. It wasn’t even the fact that she’d have to set her alarm at least 30 minutes ahead of the usual time she’d wake up just so she could force you out of bed so you could both attend your respective training sessions on time.

Instead, she hated how oblivious and clueless you were to how she felt about you.

Just now, there you were in the living room watching a dumb show on Netflix as you simultaneously swiped on Bumble. She hated seeing you looking at other girls, or even getting all dolled up for dates with other girls.

She knew your type. You liked tall, fellow athletes with great style. She wondered why you never noticed her when she fit your type so well. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you fiddling with the dating app and just wanted to return to her room but you already noticed her presence.

"Hey, Alexia." You said calmly. “Come over here.”

She sighed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about her?" You said as you chewed on the chips you were loudly snacking on. (That was another thing Alexia let you get away with — snacking everywhere and anywhere leading to a mild ant problem.)

Alexia sat beside you on the couch and leaned in to look at your phone. It was someone from Levante’s B team. Alexia frowned. She had to admit. This girl was undeniably hot with her tattoos and fit body but she knew she looked just as good as this player. If not that, she sure as hell was a better player. That should have been some merit to her.

"She’s okay..." It was all she could say to you. She didn’t want to come off as the jealous roommate.

"Really? I kinda think she's smoking hot." You said with a confused look. “She’s the hottest player I’ve played against on the pitch.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and wanted to make a snide comment but let it slide.

“She asked me out after we switched shirts after our match, and I smelled her shirt and it smelled good as fuck.” You shared, making Alexia roll her eyes again. “Plus, she’s taller than I am and you know how that’s my type… but our texts have been stale and boring as fuck.”

Alexia shrugged and tried to focus on the show you were shamelessly ignoring already. “Then just don’t go out with her.”

You sighed. “Yeah… but there is this rookie footballer I matched with on Bumble, she plays for…” You continued to tell Alexia about the other girls you were talking to but she just didn’t give a fuck.

She didn’t wanna know anything about the other girls you were seeing while she’s been into you for so long.

"Anyway, can you help me pick photos from my weekend trip with Emma? She's so great at taking photos that I feel like I have to make two separate posts on instagram just to include all of my hot photos." You said before giving your phone to Alexia. "Just swipe through them and heart all the photos you like."

As soon as she grabbed your phone, she felt her body heat up. The first photo of you was you in front of the pool with your arms up, laughing gleefully. You were wearing the tiniest bikini with a bra top just big enough to cover your nipples and that incredibly skimpy underwear.

All Alexia could think about was pushing them to the side and fucking you hard with her fingers.

Alexia blinked. "You're so...." She couldn't find the words. "Naked?"

You laughed at the older woman’s reaction. "That's all you could say?"

Alexia ignored you, completely fixated by the photos of you. Alexia liked the first photo and proceeded to swipe. The second photo was you with your back turned, exposing your ass. Alexia could feel her mouth salivate as the dirtiest thoughts entered her mind. She kept scrolling, admiring every curve and crevice of your body. She loved the way your boobs spilled over your bra and the way your thong rode up your ass and accentuated your perfect hips. She loved your collarbones but she loved the thought of marking them with her mouth more.

She was practically liking every photo, unable to think objectively of what works on Instagram or whatever. She loved seeing you this exposed.

"You never dress like this usually." Alexia commented, still going back and forth with your photos. She was pretending to be analytical with your photos but her mind was just filled with obscenities.

You huffed. “You only see me in a kit or here at home when I dress like a slob. You don’t know what I dress like.”

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. “I’ve seen you get dressed up for dates. You’re not usually so…” She shook her head. “Whatever. I never would have imagined you’d like wearing something so tiny.”

Alexia had to swallow as her mouth had been watering at the sight of your photos. You chuckled, oblivious to your roommate's reaction. "Well, you would know that I actually do love tiny swimwear if only you went swimming with us more.”

Alexia took a mental note to say yes to every opportunity to see you in a skimpy bikini. "Still, you never post stuff like this. You only ever post game photos or food photos. This is just out of character for you.” She added on. "You must be posting to impress someone, huh?"

You furrowed your eyebrows and rolled your eyes at her. "I feel like I’m just more grown now. Like, grown enough to post more skin.” You explained. “Besides, can’t I post for myself?”

Wish you would post for me, Alexia thought.

You looked over at Alexia who was still looking through your photos. "God, what's taking you so long? Mesmerized by my tits?"

"You're so cocky." It was all Alexia could say as she blushed. She felt like it was so wrong to be thirsting over her younger roommate like this but she couldn’t help it. You were exactly what she wanted.

You chuckled. "I told you. Emma took really good photos of me! I know I look hot in those."

You looked through the photos Alexia liked and realized the only photos of you she didn't like were the ones where you were covered up. You stifled a chuckle. "Okay, I guess I should post these immediately since it would be so selfish of me to deprive the world of these photos any longer."

"So arrogant." Alexia scoffed under her breath but unbeknownst to you, it turned her on. She loved it when you got all confident. It made her want to praise you and degrade you at the same time. "I'm going back to my room to review some things for some brand deal. Text me if you wanna order food or cook for dinner later."

You absentmindedly nodded as you typed up the perfect Instagram caption and chose the perfect thirst-trap song to go with the Instagram post.

Alexia headed back in her room and immediately pulled out her iPad, refreshing her Instagram feed incessantly. "C'mon, c'mon..." She muttered under her breath. "Just post already."

Finally, your post popped up.

Alexia felt like she couldn't breathe as she was finally able to get a better look at them through the bigger screen. She was finally free to zoom in to your perfectly shaped tits without worrying you'd see. She bit her lip.

It was almost a built-in instinct or bodily response to her the way she immediately positioned herself in front of her iPad; she wasted no time. She propped the device on her bed, blasted a song loud enough to mask her noise, swiftly took off her bottoms, and eventually, guided her hands to feel her own slick with her fingers. She was soaked already just from seeing you.

"Fuck," She muttered as she began rubbing herself, looking at the photo of you on her device. She wished she could have a gigantic TV screen just so she could see more of you at a bigger scale. She wanted to be overwhelmed by the sight of you — to be consumed by your beauty.

She rubbed her clit in circles as she kept her eyes glued on the screen. She cursed again. She thought about your tits. She wondered how they'd feel in her hands. She wanted to feel the softness against her rough and imposing hands; she wanted to know if that kind of touch would make you whimper. She wondered what colors your nipples were and how they'd look and feel... and taste. She so badly wanted to push her tongue against them.

Her legs shivered as she imagined taking your breast in her mouth, sucking on it mercilessly as you moaned under her.

In reality, Alexia was alone in the darkness of her room — her tanned skin illuminated by the sole source of light from her device that blasted music to mask her grunts and the obscene sounds of her wetness.

But in her imagination, Alexia was in your room on top of you, sucking on your breasts as she positioned her knee against your core. In her imagination, you loved to beg and whine. So there you were, underneath her, squirming as she sucked on your nipple and used her hands to play with the other one. She just could tell you were the sensitive type and the idea of you almost teary-eyed due to sheer pleasure caused by her made her even wetter.

She opened her eyes once again to catch a glimpse of you in that one photo where you had a serious face as you slightly bent over. She groaned as she caught sight once again of the flesh of your boobs pressing against the fabric of your bikini. "Fucking whore." It escaped her mouth in a grunt.

In her imagination, you were dressed in the same skimpy bikini. She had your bra cups pushed to the side to grant her easy access to lick all over your boobs, leaving the occasional mark whenever she desired.

"Please, Alexia." She could practically hear your voice say it. "Fuck me now."

Alexia plunged her fingers into her cunt, causing her to grunt loudly as she pumped in and out of herself as mercilessly as she would have with you.

She was fixated on the thought of her fingers thrusting so hard in and out of you that your tits jiggled with every thrust. Alexia somehow felt you were the type to moan loudly, grab your own tits, and beg to fuck her deeper.

"Alexia! Fuck me!"

"You want me so bad, huh? You fucking slut?" She groaned under her breath, almost breathless and winded from how rough she was fucking herself. "I'll fuck you so hard, you'd go stupid."

"Alexia, harder! Please!" The imaginary voice in her brain told her. It felt so realistic

"Yeah?" She called out your name, almost in the form of an animalistic grunt. "You fucking want it harder? You a fucking slut for me?"

She increased the speed of her thrusting, causing her to moan loudly in succession. "Fuck," She said, followed by calling out your name. "Tell me who you belong to."

She pumped in and out of herself, causing her to convulse in the building pressure inside her. Her eyes were shut close but the photo of you in your bikini was permanently burned inside her mind.

"I belong to you!" Her imagination called out.

"Say my name then." She groaned.

"Alexia," It sounded so soft and gentle.

"Louder." She growled as she imagined that it was your pussy she was roughly thrusting into. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she felt herself approaching orgasm. “Say it.”

"Alexia?!" It was practically an exclamation. It felt so real that your voice echoed in her ears.

As Alexia opened her eyes, she was met by the sight of you standing at the door of her room with a shocked face. Almost immediately after, Alexia moaned out loud as her orgasm arrived.

It took half a second for her to realize that she wasn't imagining it anymore. You were there, standing and watching her fuck herself while her obnoxiously larged iPad displayed a photo of you.

"Oh shit." She was in trouble.

a/n: not proofread. part 2 anyone? (also thank u for ur requests!)