#triples fluff

[monkebearness]

Our Story, Like a Romance Novel [Chapter 2]

Chapter 0, Chapter 1

Tags: angst, fluff, slice of life, coming-of-age

Word count: 5k

a/n: there's gonna be a scene that may or may not be uncomfortable for some readers, but the angst tag is already there. but yeah, I gotta keep the story moving, so I hope you like it.

Having connected through SNS for a while, Nien and Junghoon hit it off to say the least. Getting to know each other through texting, even though they have already been hanging out in the same club four to five times a week, sometimes a little more, within the last three to four months since he was invited into the Mad Money Club.

Within that spam to lf time, Junghoon would often find the woman somewhere near his or her department building, if not at the club’s hangout room. At first, he expected this, considering their meetings mere chance encounters… But every time Nien catches his eyes, his heart keeps thumping louder, especially as their proximities close.

A wallflower since his early adolescence, never has he felt a sensation this fluttering and intrusive. His mind would spiral all over the place, and not even his sense of reason can try and make any excuse towards his inquisitive yearning to stay with her the chance he gets.

“Hey, Junghoon-ssi…” she walks to him in her backpack. “You done with your classes?”

Sometimes, those flutters make him nervous. Another time, they elevate his patience, interest, and determination with someone. In those moments, he turns into someone he’s usually not—yet he simply couldn't care less. Not even the lovey-dovey teases of Yubin, Dahyun, and Sohyun bothered him. In fact, they somewhat encouraged the butterflies flourishing in his stomach to push himself and do something—anything, to get himself out of his comfort zone, if it meant prolonging his moment with Nien.

The only problem is, he can’t come up with anything when he’s in front of her. “Yeah?”

“You’re not sure?” The left corner of her lips slightly raise in amusement.

There are perhaps millions, if not more ways to describe how he was feeling whenever he’s around Nien. Yet that’s also what often hindered him from expressing himself.

“I mean—yeah!” He clears his throat. “It just finished, actually… But, how about you?”

“We were done about three hours ago,” she informs him in a somewhat aloof tone.

“Wait…” He wiggles his head in confusion. “Don’t tell me, you waited there—”

“What do you think?”

One thing was for sure, mainly because of how his heart keeps on racing around her.

“Mianhaeyo!” Junghoon exclaims as he rapidly bows to her out of guilt.

“Oh, no, no, no! Please, Junghoon… I’m just kidding.”

“Oh… Well, I might as well apologize for keeping a lady waiting here for a long time.”

He likes this woman very much, and he’s not letting this new opportunity slide.

“Yah…” she folds her lips, even as they curve upwards, turning her eyes away from him. “I’m just here to fetch you before the girls meet, you know?”

“So you didn’t just wait here, under the sun, for how-long…”

“What if I was? Is that a problem with you?”

He interlocks his fingers. “It’s the opposite of that… You know, I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with you. Outside the club hangouts and all that.”

 “Oh…” Her eyes slowly grew as her smile slowly showed her crystal white teeth.

“That is,” he quickly backtracks. “If you’re not uncomfortable with it, then we can—”

“Of course, of course, not!” she almost panicked. “I’m comfortable with it, Junghoon.”

Unbeknownst to him, their encounters would end up leading them to have a small date. A meeting at the cafe and like most encounters, there’s a waiting game for one’s arrival.

Not knowing anything about flirting and talking to women he’d liked, Junghoon rushed to his friends for advice right after Sohyun gave him Nien’s number. Of course he would come to ignite brighter sparks with her by simply being himself, a certain trait that Nien herself had found to be quite enticing, even fascinating, the longer they got to know each other. But unbeknownst to him, their texts and hangouts on campus. This date came to a fruition just happened to be brought by Nien on a whim and of course, it freaked him out from his side of the screen, but instead of making his panics obvious, he expressed his glee. Nien tends to be playful most of the time. It's a part of her charm that entices Junghoon. However, when she's serious about something, she will commit to it.

[Nien: I guess we’re both set for Saturday!]

{Junghoon: We are.} {I can’t wait, Nien!}

[Nien: Neither can I, Junghoon-ah (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)]

He didn’t want to mess it up, especially since she’s the one who made the move to meet. Once more, he knows nothing about dating, until now. Hence, from a newer hairstyle and perfume to fancier clothing, he asked his buddies about their recommendations. Even if such a request was a burden that he owed them, he reiterated to them and to himself, “I know it’s too much to ask, but I can’t mess this up. Not for her.”

“Don’t you dare explain yourself or apologize for anything,” Yeonghwan welcomes him with open arms, placing his arm on his shoulder. “We got you on this bud!”

“Yeah, dude,” Kotone shakes his other shoulder with excitement. “We’ll make sure you’ll have the night of our life with Nien-sunbaenim!”

“Oh, he will!” Honggi insinuates her remark with a grin, patting his palms on his back. “You’ve grown up, man!”

“What do you mean?” Junghoon turns his head in confusion.

“Don’t mind him,” Myungsoo chuckles at his innocence. “But, you’ll understand what he means eventually.”

The whole day was spent on their trip to the mall. Junghoon’s earnings from Mad Money Club were more than enough to buy himself a new set of clothes suggested by his friends. Surprisingly enough, this was one of the few special moments he had spent on something and anything outside his priorities.

He learned the mannerisms, he bought the items he never even knew he needed. Now it’s time for the meetup he’s been preparing for in the last few days. It’s a Saturday afternoon when they finally meet at a restaurant. Nothing too pretentious. A cozy place where a few young couples like them are also dining in due to either their locality or Insta popularity.

He rushes to Nien’s table while trying to keep his calm. “Sorry if I was late.”

She smiles at his presence. “You’re right on time. Don’t sweat about it.”

He notices her attire. Wow, is all he can think about meeting her in person, outside campus. She herself must’ve also prepared for this. Of course she would, since she suggested going on a date with him. “You look really lovely tonight, Nien-ssi.”

“Just tonight?” her tone sounds intimidating, though he knew her enough. She’s teasing.

He almost panics. “I mean, you did, too… You’re always beautiful.” Just until he saves it.

Letting out a giggle, Nien looks down and curls up her hair to the side of her right ear.  She’s still taken aback at his remark, even though she has heard similar things before.

“Yah… You look great too, Junghoon-ssi,” she tells him. “I thought you’d wear some suit and tie, but that’d be too much for this occasion. Even in that, you look pretty fancy.”

“I guess this occasion is just special enough for me, so I even thought I overdressed.”

Her eyes grow for a second, as is her smile. “It is? Does it mean this is your first date?”

An itch strikes the right side of Junghoon’s hair, prompting him to scratch it on sight. His reaction made Nien chuckle. Despite his feeling of embarrassment, she keeps her eyes leveled to him with adoration.

“Cute,” she whispers under her breath, before facing him. “I’m not judging you. I’m just… Curious.”

“Well,” he musters up, slowly straightening his back. “It is. Is that a turn-off for you?”

“No,” she smiles. “It’s kind of the opposite.” Her eyes and smile always gets him. That remark from her alone makes him feel things up his mind, in his heart, and down his–

Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up! Junghoon warns himself in his mind while he faces her from his seat.

But it’s a first date, which means that mess-ups are not out of the realm of possibility. It could be an awkward interaction that goes to hell, or someone bumping into a waiter as it trickles down a domino effect that breaks every plate and glass they were serving. For these two, a worse situation would strike their moment like lightning on a summer day.

Yet thirty minutes have passed since they met. Is he really gonna have the night of his life, just like what his friends had teased him? He doesn’t know how the night will end, but with how it’s been going well, Junghoon is already feeling like it, to say the least.

Nien finds herself more allured as the man in front of her takes a bite and describes each of the steaming appetizers that just arrived, as if she’s listening to a gourmet who’s been enhancing her dining experience. Down their table, each snicker and giggle from Nien triggers a few tantalizing movements from her feet as they give his ankle light footsies, one that almost made him choke on his water the first time he felt her movements.

Surprisingly, it was thanks to his conscious mind, Junghoon’s years of locking eyes at the television, watching dramas, has reminded him of some things either to follow or ignore. A couple exchanges of jokes and compliments were the start, but receiving a handful of light, playful touches.

He senses this is something else. Something more.

Then Junghoon receives a call, and the words that follow has him paralyzed for seconds.

His sudden expression concerns her. “Junghoon-ah, what’s the matter? Who was it?”

“I–I’m sorry, Nien-ssi,” his voice trembling, just his face submitting to unimaginable fear at what he just learned. She reaches her hand to him as her daydreams drain out, his words snapping her to this unexpected reality. “Something came up. I’m so sorry.”

Junghoon gets up from his seat and leaves the cafe. Outside, he runs and runs with no care and shame about the bystanders looking at him strange or worried. Seconds have passed and he is nowhere to be seen on the street. Nien stares outside, devastated that the man she likes has now left her without any reason, although not a single reason will ever undo the damage that’s been done.

She accepts the truth unfolding in front of her. The night is already over.

Having taken a taxi and spending more of his earnings from the club, he finally makes it to the hospital after ten minutes of an anxiety-filled ride throughout Seoul. Despite his shortness of breath, he rushes straight to the receptionist and asks her about the room of a woman in her mid-eighties, named Kim Byeolyi.

As soon as she answers, he takes a few turns across the corridor until he reaches the emergency room, as fright and relief fight over his lungs—letting out “Halmeoni!”

= = =

Monday morning. Students return to class. Piles and piles of papers were returned as results were announced, alongside new ones. Yet guilt remains anchored on his mind and heart.

Junghoon did his best avoiding the Mad Money Club for a couple of days since then. He imagines how they’ll react if they see him after that night. And he wouldn’t blame them if they feel that way towards him. Or if they end up kicking him out of the club later on. For now, he had to pay more attention to his only family, despite his pitiful regret for leaving the woman he's more than willing to spend the night with.

As the clock strikes twelve noon, he could only confide in the people who he has known the longest, meeting them on the empty stands next to the campus’ football field.

“How are you holding up, man?” Yeonghwan looks at him with sympathy.

“Oh, you know… I messed it up,” Junghoon sighs. “But halmeoni is stable again.”

“We’re glad that halmeoni is doing better,” Kotone can only pat him on the back.

“Besides, I’m sure Nien will understand, man,” Myungsoo considers. “Does she know about what happened?”

“Did you tell any of them?” Honggi chimes in, emanating with worry, instead of the usual curiosity or intrigue he always brings to their hangouts. Realizing that all of his closest friends have shown and voiced their concern towards him. “I mean your club.”

“I, uhh…” Junghoon clears his throat. “I didn’t tell them…”

Outside his closest friends, no one else knew. Not even the person he trusts the most. Yet, he kept receiving texts from them. Message notifications would keep popping up, and he can longer ignore the club. Not after realizing that they became his friends too.

[Yubin: Junghoon-oppa!] [Where the hell are you?]

[Dahyun: Junghoon… We’re worried about you.] [You must have a reason why you left, but you gotta tell us about it.]

[Seoyeon: Why aren’t you answering our messages, Junghoon-ah?][What happened?]

[Sohyun: Answer your phone, Junghoon.] [Please.] [Talk to me about it.]

[Nien: Whatever happened that night…] [I just hope you’re doing okay, Junghoon-ah.] [The club wants to know if you’re okay.] [I want to know if you’re okay.]

“I'm feeling much better, Junghoon-ie,” his grandmother assures him from the couch as she lets out a cackle at the variety show on the television, later that afternoon.

He walks to her, handing her a tablet with one hand, and a glass of island on the other. “I know, but you're gonna need to drink your medicine regularly, okay halmeoni?”

“Of course, honey, I know your worries won’t go away—” she looks up, swallowing down the tablet, before taking the glass from him. “—if I don't take them.”

“Halmeoni,” he sighs. Despite knowing her intentions to lift his spirits, she can feel her grandson’s hand clenching with concern. “That’ll be for the whole month… Please.”

She chuckles lightheartedly, softly rubbing his back. “Arasseo, arasseo… I’ll drink the next one after we eat. I remember what the doctor prescribed me, too, you know?”

He sighs heavily, showing her a smile of relief. “Yeah…”

The next morning arrived… When he finally listened to his grandmother's words, also remembering what she told him a few days earlier. Despite what happened, he knows that he's always been stronger than he thinks.

He enters the club’s room. Room 238. Just as he always remembers it. The atmosphere is not the same as when he usually enters. As much as it pains him, he looks at everyone as they stare at him in silence. Most of them look at him with disquiet and concern, even though he feels he doesn’t deserve such a gaze. At least, one of the girls is staring at him the way he believes he should be treated. Xinyu must be killing him over and over again in her mind. I deserve it. After I left her best friend alone. I deserve worse. At least my halmeoni is doing better. At least my friends understand. That’s what matters more right now. Whatever happens now… That’s their reaction.

“Should I not be here today?” He breaks the silence, keeping his tense breath slow. “I can just stay out—”

“No, no…” Dahyun comes closer, emanating with concern. “Come in, Junghoon-ah.”

“We’re glad you’re okay, oppa,” comforts Yubin, rubbing his arm as he walks by.

But as he looks around, Nien is nowhere to be found among the club members. Junghoon immediately worries for her, still guilt-ridden. “Where is—”

“Don’t go anywhere near Nien-ah,” Xinyu pierces his soul with her stare of death.

Junghoon silently bows to her with regret, but her glare towards him remains merciless.

Beside her, Sohyun slowly holds Xinyu’s hands a little tighter with eyes that plead to her. “Xinyu-yah, please don’t be harsh on him.”

“Why not?” She tilts her head at her girlfriend, before looking back at him. “He doesn’t even need to be here! Not after what you did to Nien!”

“I know, sunbae…” Junghoon keeps his composure. “But I need to know where she is.”

“Not until you tell us first, Junghoon,” Sohyun pleads to him with a somber tone. Letting go of Xinyu’s hand, she takes a few steps forward. “Or at least… tell me what happened.”

Junghoon takes a deep breath, enough to push himself to explain everything to her.

After several minutes, Junghoon would find Nien at the gardens, as Sohyun briefed him. He takes a seat next to each other at a bench in the midst of the afternoon spring breeze. Not as anything more than friends who want to clear the air about what happened that night. But for both of them, that’s all that matters for now.

“I’m so sorry for standing you up like that,” he looks at her. “You don’t deserve it.”

“No. Kotone-hoobae actually told me what happened on my way here… Junghoon-ssi, I just wished you told me sooner.” She looks at Junghoon with eyes of solace and reaches his shoulder softly, pulling him in an embrace, hoping to comfort him through the only way she can in this situation. “It must’ve been hard for you, finding it out so suddenly.”

“Yeah, I should’ve,” Junghoon mutters, still feeling remorseful for his actions that day. “I’m really sorry, Nien-sunbaenim.”

They slowly break the hug. “Does anyone else in the club know about what happened?”

He nods. “I first told Sohyun-noona… The others know it was a family emergency.”

“How is she now?” Her hands still lie on top of his. “Your grandmother…”

“She’s feeling better now, but the doctor advised her to drink her medicine, so I’m gonna have to work overtime in my late shifts to earn enough to buy her those meds.”

“Don’t worry about the money too much. We can help you out with that, arasseo? Take care of her by staying close with her… I’m just glad that your halmeoni’s doing okay.”

“I feared I would mess things up. I did everything I could, but it just happened when I got the call from the neighbors and—”

“Junghoon-ah,” she stops him with a calm demeanor. “You didn't mess everything up. Your grandmother's well-being matters more. It should... You made the right call, okay? Like I said, focus on taking care of her right now. We got your back.”

“Thank you, sunbae,” he can feel his heart beating slower, as his breathing feels easier.

Nien can’t help but let out a snicker. “You gotta stop calling me that, Junghoon-ah.”

“Why not? It’s a fact that you are my sunbae, and you’re a year older than me.”

“And..? It’s been months since you joined the club. At least stop calling me sunbae.”

“Yeah, I’m a part of Mad Money, but as your ‘part-time assistant.’ Other sunbaes and students would think it’s weird that I just started calling you too casually.”

“Who cares about what others think? You gotta drop the honorifics with me. It’s the least you can do… If you truly want to stay friends with me… Unless you don’t?” She darts her eyes at him. They still get him every time, even if she’s messing around with him, even if she’s simply lifting his spirits.

“I do want to stay friends!” He raises his hands, following an instinct. One that aims not to disappoint her. “I’ll try my best not to call you that, noona—”

“Ah, ah!” she interrupts him, pointing her index finger at him like it’s a blade. “Not that one either. You may have convinced unnie and Soda-yah for you to call them that, but not me. I’m not gonna let that slide. The whole ‘noona’ thing doesn’t vibe with me.”

Junghoon laughs. Her reasoning seems well-thought-out. “So, Nien-ssi then? I mean, that’s what I called you last time and you didn’t seem to mind it.”

“Fine!” Nien finally settles with his proposal. “I’m guessing you’re not that comfortable with me just yet… And by the way, you better let me treat you to lunch. Between friends, of course. I can’t let that dinner be the end of us hanging out.”

“Well, if that makes things better for us…” He offers his hand, signaling a handshake. “I’d love to have a ‘friendly lunch’ with you some time, Nien-ssi.”

“Kol!” The woman stands up with a burst of optimism, reciprocating Junghoon’s offer without hesitation. “And by ‘some time,’ you better mean like soon, all right? The way you described those dishes on the restaurant’s menu was mouth-watering!”

“Maybe we can order them for real next time,” he suggests. Nien nods with anticipation.

Nien and Junghoon stopped treating their relationship as romantic, or anything close to that. But maybe that’s for the best, as they’d grow into something that would last longer. Nien would realize that she’s not too fond of being in a committed relationship just yet. And as for Junghoon… Time will tell. As they say, after all, there is always someone for everyone, even if they don’t hope or expect it to come to them. With their conciliation, Junghoon returns to Room 238 with Nien to face the rest of his clubmates once again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, yeoreobun,” he bows to the rest of the club members.

“God, oppa… You know you had us worried for days,” Yubin frets further. “We thought something happened because you weren’t answering our texts! Even our calls.”

Junghoon bows to them. “I’m sorry. It just happened and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay, Junghoon-ah,” Dahyun reassures him. “Now that you told us, we’re just glad that your grandma’s feeling better.”

“Well, it can’t be helped if you had a personal emergency. I hope she has a fast recovery,” Xinyu’s tone sounds more neutral, making Junghoon feel that the misunderstanding he had caused to Nien will not be easily forgiven by everyone. Even if Nien herself forgave him. “But you left Nien without saying why... I won’t forget that.” And he won’t, either.

“I did,” Junghoon remains hesitant to answer her. “And it won’t happen again, sunbae.”

“But Sohyun-ah trusted you enough to lend your services to us,” Xinyu sounds more logical than sympathetic to his response, yet a hint of hostility remains in her tone. Perhaps still grudgeful of his fault. “Just be transparent next time, Junghoon.”

“Unnie…” Seoyeon steps up, sensing Xinyu’s passive aggression. “I trust Junghoon, too. So does Soda and Yubin-ah. I understand if you’re still not too trusting of him, but the fact is, Nien and him have already made up outside. Besides, their date last week isn’t some kind of assignment that he had to do for her.”

Xinyu feels like she’s backed into a corner. “I know that, Seoyeon-ie… I’m just saying—”

“I don’t want anyone harboring ill feelings for anyone in this room,” Seoyeon continues. “This isn't why we formed this club. We know that you have issues with trusting anyone else, but whether you like it or not, Junghoon is still a part of our club.”

“I don't hate him!” exclaims Xinyu. “I warned him so nothing like this happens again.”

“That’s enough,” Nien disrupts the feud between her sisters. “Seoyeon-ah’s right, and I can’t force you to like him. But we went out on a date because I wanted to, Xinyu-unnie. He happened to have an emergency concerning his grandma, so he left me to deal with it and he apologized for not telling me sooner.” A breath of relief leaves her body. “Unnie… Yeorobun… It’s alright now.”

Xinyu becomes swarmed with guilt, but she can’t say anything any further, otherwise the situation gets worse when it starts to be mended. She knows that she said enough. “I’m sorry Seoyeon-ah and Nien-ah…” she stammers. “And I’m sorry for my behavior just now, Junghoon-ssi.”

“It's okay, Xinyu-sunbae… I'm just thankful that I've told you girls the truth. Whatever you think of me after this, I don't mind it. I understand if you don't want me to still be around, but I'll come by and help out if you need me with anything.”

= = =

Later that afternoon, Junghoon would meet with his close friends at their usual campus hangout, a bench near the grass fields, during their dismissal. They continue to console their friend about the aftermath of his unfortunate incident and emergency last week.

“Did you finally tell Nien about your halmeoni's condition?” Yeonghwan asks him.

“I did, hyung,” Junghoon sighs in relief. “I told everyone else in the club, too. They understood, so the misunderstanding has been cleared up, to say the least.”

“Does that mean you’ll be having another date with Nien-sunbaenim?” Honggi wonders.

“Well, not exactly. We’ll have something better, though.”

“What is it?” Myungsoo cannot help but spew his questions. “You two going somewhere outside for another dinner? Maybe a stroll to the park?”

“Just friends going out for lunch,” he delivers nonchalantly.

“Friends for lunch?” Honggi’s confused at what he just heard. “What happened to the girl who you hit off with that night? I thought she was even flirting with you non-stop?”

“That’s kinda what I’m wondering too, man,” Yeonghwan chimes in. “Why didn’t you talk things out with her a little more? Maybe there’s a little more misunderstanding?”

Why didn’t he push it through? Took a little more initiative, ask her to spend more time with him, despite already making up, instead of chickening—

= = =

“I’m sorry I ruined your special night, dear,” mutters his grandmother, Kim Byeolyi. It had only been a few minutes since she woke up from the hospital bed.

“No, no… Why are you apologizing? Come on, it was nothing, halmeoni.”

She places her other hand on top of his. “It’s not just nothing for you, Junghoon-ie.”

“I’m just happy that you’re doing better, okay? Besides… We don’t have anyone else.”

“We still got our neighbors,” she reminds him with a cheerful tone, but he’s unmoved by his own coldness. Junghoon found out that her friends next door called the ambulance when she was hanging out at their market. The possibility of ‘if no one else was there,’ scares him more, but the warmth of his grandmother’s hands only makes him sigh.

He looks down on her wrinkly palms, both in despair and gratitude. Despair for what could’ve been, if no one got there in time. Gratitude that things haven’t gotten worse.

“Don’t beat yourself up… Now, go talk to that wonderful girl you just left and apologize to her, okay? Buy her a bouquet from the shop outside, if you have to… Maybe cook her what food she likes, if you want! Just don’t leave her hanging like before.”

As a couple of hours would pass, Junghoon had to wait with his own thoughts while the physicians took her through a few more tests. Despite his grandma’s sincere advice, he didn’t know how else to deal with such a nerve-racking situation. The schism of guilt and conscience raging within him. ‘My savings won't be enough to cover all costs.’ ‘Halmeoni needs more for next week.’ ‘Should I ask for a raise?’ ‘Just calm down.’ ‘You already owe them a lot.’ ‘Don’t make things worse.’ ‘You’re a coward.’

Junghoon’s heart beats in the same rhythm yet it rings in various ways, reeling him through various memories. Nien’s smile and company. His grandmother’s breathing and motherly care. The cheers and hollers of his close friends. The encouragement of the Mad Money Club in the past few months.

Yet, at the same time, his impulsive actions last night… Leaving Nien all alone. She may forgive him. She may definitely not. But that’s not what’s making his muscles twitch or his mind spiral into the pitless dimensions of analysis paralysis concerning the future. Priorities and responsibilities ramming through his daydreams and desires like they were glass.

Looking back at his grandmother, lying on the hospital bed, the young man’s heart aches at the sight of family, still keeping up her warm smile, despite her recent close encounter in the face of the abyss. He doesn’t even know if he can forget, nor forgive himself for it.

‘You gotta think this through,’ he tells himself. ‘This isn’t just about yourself, Junghoon.’

= = =

“I’m sure sunbae has a reason for changing her mind too,” Kotone considers, patting her friend’s shoulder. “I’m just glad that halmeoni is doing better... Take some time off from work if you want to, Junghoon-ah. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“Thanks…” was what Junghoon could only say, ignoring their more pragmatic advice, though taking them to heart. “And even though Xinyu-sunbae wasn’t as friendly when she heard my explanation, I get why she acted that way.”

“Zhou Xinyu?” Myungsoo realizes. He did share a few classes with her before, even worked in the same group. “Oh, that makes sense. She's not too friendly with anyone outside her friend groups. At least not so much that she'll be sticking around with ‘em.”

“Oh,” Junghoon feels less guilty, yet remains disappointed for some reason. “That's one thing I didn't know about her… She rarely hangs out in the room whenever I am there.”

“I can't blame her, though,” Yeonghwan agrees. “She's probably experienced it a lot since day one. All the catcallings, the selfless acts from guys, sometimes some girls, just so they could try getting their way in her pants… But when she met Sohyun, I guess she probably felt easier. More comfortable around her along with their pals… But she's actually a kind person, I'm sure she'll soften up on you the longer you stay with the club.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Junghoon nods. “I do know that Sohyun and Xinyu-sunbae feel like their truest selves the most whenever they're together. It's quite touching to see, to be honest.”

“I heard from Joonie-sunbae that those two are like wild animals in their dorms—”

Irritated, Kotone hits her left knuckle on Honggi’s shoulders, making him unleash a shriek of agony in seconds. Yeonghwan and Myungsoo cannot be more amused at his reaction.

“Knock it off, Honggi-yah!” she shakes her head while he backs off inches away from her. “Stop being a perv now. What’s wrong with you?”

Groaning in pain, Honggi rubs his shoulder with disdain. “I was just bringing up a rumor, which I’m expecting for Junghoon to confirm or debunk right now.”

“Umm, that’s not my business,” Junghoon chuckles. “And neither is it yours, man. But... They’re the best couple I know, that’s for sure... And I wish nothing but the best for them, you know?”

= = =

I've written this a while ago, but I added some scenes. Some slight spoilers for readers: what happens in the next one (nothing violent or anything though) may trigger some reactions, but since this is just an au fic. everything here is entirely fictional... It'll be an "angst fest," but there'll be sparks of fluff to balance it out. If you're still interested, hope you stay tuned. thanks for the read and have a good day!

[mintwithchoco]

When will I see you again?

tripleS Sohyun x Male Reader

Word Count: 1876 words

Categories: fluff, shorts, idolgirlfriend!sohyun

aff link

Inspired from:

“Are you sure you're gonna be okay?”

“Pffft, of course! Four months was it? It's not gonna be that long.”

“What if there's a sudden change in the schedule and I have t—” 

“Sohyun.” You instinctively grab her hand. “I’ll be fine. Don't worry about me. What matters now is that you're debuting soon right?”

Despite your efforts of putting her mind at ease, Sohyun is still reluctant to leave you behind. Four months may seem short in your eyes, but anything could happen in that period of time. As you are carrying her suitcase to the door of your apartment, Sohyun stops in her tracks and looks back towards the living room, clearly reminiscing the moments you both had together.

It is definitely a hard decision for Sohyun—being an idol comes at a cost. While it is her dream to pursue a music career, another dream of hers is to find a perfect partner in her life. That's when you came into her life, bearing a similar mindset, the difference being that you’ve already achieved a few of your dreams. You almost have it all—a calm 8 to 5 job, a decent car and a spacious place to live in—only needing a fine woman to complete your life. 

Sohyun suddenly snickers, “Remember when we were struggling to get the TV working, oppa?” 

A quick rundown of memories crosses itself into your brain in an instant. You just moved into your newly bought apartment, exactly after three months of being in a relationship with Park Sohyun. You know that she isn’t gonna be around for long at the time, but you gladly let her help out with setting up your living room. From building IKEA furniture to putting up small decorations around the house, it’s safe to say that the day is more than memorable to you, being it ends with you taking her innocence away that night. I mean, can you blame yourself though? Sohyun clearly knows what she is doing to you, wearing that beautiful floral sundress that barely covers her tantalizing body.

“Oh. You meant the time when you smacked me with the remote because I kept checking you out?” 

“Because you weren't doing anything!” Sohyun whines.

“How can I concentrate when you look way too hot in that dress?” Sohyun flusters upon hearing your words, her head pressing against your shoulder while groaning cutely.

The moment is then cut short when her phone suddenly rings loudly. Her manager is the one calling, signifying that her departure is now imminent. She answers the phone swiftly and with a few simple replies, the call ends.

“Are they here?” Sohyun nods. “You're going to the dorm first right?” 

“Yeah, we’re shooting the video for my arrival.” Sohyun then sighs, “I’m so nervous. My heart is pounding.”

Looking at her state reminds you of yourself way back on your first day of work. Everyone has that fear of the unknown, so it's natural to be filled with anxiety at this very moment. But there's another factor that makes her overthink things — you. What would it be like if you were alone? Will she ever have time for you? Will texts and calls be enough for the both of you? And most importantly, will this relationship lasts— 

“Sohyun, listen.” You intertwine your hands with hers once again. “Though our steps may not go along together now, remember that I will still walk this journey together with you. I’m still gonna be here no matter what happens.”

Sohyun’s eyes freeze in time, staring at you deeply until it begins to well with tears. At that moment, she realizes how much she means to you, how you are willing to give up the precious time you wanted with her, and how supportive you are throughout her career journey up till now. She doesn't need to say anything as you already opened your arms for her to fall into your embrace. The hug gets tighter with Sohyun soaking your shirt with her tears, emotions finally flowing out as she imagines how much she will miss you throughout the later months. She takes in all of you for the last time—the warmth of your body, the remnants of your scent and the gentleness of your touch before looking up to you.

You waste no time in reaching out to her chin with your fingers and leaning down to close the distance between both of your lips. The softness of her lips sends shivers down your spine, your hot breaths being shared as you part your lips slightly. Sohyun trembles in your arms, making small noises which invigorates you to pull her closer by the waist. You would love for the time to just stop at the exact moment, but unfortunately, as you pulled away from her to catch a short breath, reality hits.

“Ah, sorry. Got a little carried away.” 

Sohyun shakes her head. “It’s gonna be a while for us to feel like this again.” She then checks her phone. “Yeah, I should really go now.”

You immediately help her drag her suitcase outside. “Have you double checked everything?”

“Mhm, I’m all good. Don’t worry oppa, I will try to text you whenever I can. I promise that I won’t forget about you, even for a single day!” Sohyun says, her voice full of determination.

“As long as you’re safe and sound, honey. Don’t pressure yourself to make time for me, just focus on your shows and schedules okay?”

Sohyun nods cutely. “Alright, I’m going off now!”

“All the best honey!” You give a quick peck on her cheek. “I love you!”

Her cheeks grow a faint blush of red. “I love you more!” 

The pressure and useless thoughts in her mind are now washed away as Sohyun makes her way to the elevator at the end of the hallway. Once she gets inside the elevator, Sohyun looks back and gives you a goodbye wave while shouting, “Bye oppa! I’ll be back soon!”

As the elevator doors slowly close, you return her wave with a smile.

“See you soon, my love.”

︶︶︶︶︶

It's been seven months, and unfortunately, you've gotten used to this scene. 8 PM on a typical night, alone and wide awake in your dark room, accompanied by the low buzzing sound of your AC, bored out of your mind with only your thoughts to please.

Eventually, you grow tired of it and drag yourself out to your living room. The TV is already on anyway, so you quickly grab a drink from your fridge and get comfortable on your couch. You’re not even focusing on the show playing until your ear caught a specific word mentioned.

“Today we are joined by, tripleS! Welcome!”

Your eyes immediately lock onto the screen, and as if fate wants it to be perfect, she appears right in front of you, her visual still as perfect as you can remember. That beautiful smile plastered on her face is a symbol of her being proud of her achievements, starring in one of the biggest K-Pop girl group at the moment. The way she talks is different as well, given that she is one of the older members and one of the backbones to their amazing discography, writing and producing a number of iconic songs for her group and even other artists.

Within the next hour, you continue to watch the show, even though it isn’t really your cup of tea. A change of pace is not a bad choice though, considering that you’re already finished binging the shows that you really like anyways. The longer you watch the show, the more you get distracted, not because of the show being too typical or boring. Your focus is strictly on the woman that you miss so dearly for the past few months, talking away to the hosts and having lots of fun with her members who she already considers as family. 

At this point, the show is wrapping up to its end. You are now lost in a million thoughts, confused about what your next action will be. Following the circumstances—the time period it’s been since she has updated you with her schedules, the amount of posts about her that you’re seeing more on your socials, and most importantly, the emptiness you gradually feel due to her absence in the house—there’s only one conclusion you came to, in the form of a question. 

When will I see you again?

You grab your phone on the table and quickly find her number. Before you could even tap the call button, you hesitate because of the fear of disrupting her extremely busy schedule. Your feelings are strong however, as you talk yourself out of your denial, having hope that she may reply back with a voicemail if the call is ignored. Your intention keeps going back and forth, until you stop yourself and thought, “Fuck it. If it happens, it happens.”

The phone beeps.

Unexpectedly, your doorbell rings.

Hang up the phone and walk over to your door. You’re pretty sure that it’s your workmate returning your laptop that you asked him to fix, and the fact that he always comes over unannounced. As soon as you pull the handle of your door, a figure rushes inside without any warning and closes it.

“What the—” Your eyes widen upon recognizing the figure, amidst the black cap and mask covering half of their face.

“Phew! That was close. I thought someone almost saw me.” 

All alarms go off in your head when both of your eyes land upon one another. That deep soothing voice is too familiar to you.  And even under their thick winter jacket, their body figure is still noticeable. There's no denying it. You definitely know this person by now, and you have nothing else on your mind other than to lunge forward and bring them into a tight embrace. 

Sohyun obviously doesn’t resist as she feels the same way, gladly wrapping her arms around your torso after removing her disguise. 

“Sorry that I took too long.” 

Deepen the hug and bury your face into her shoulder. At long last, you finally feel complete. Even if she's coming over for just a while, you’re more than happy to have your beloved’s presence around. An act of a strong boyfriend who can handle everything without his significant other is slowly being dropped, judging by how you're literally melting in her arms while holding back tears of joy.

“I missed you.” A kiss on her cheek. “Really missed you.”

She smiles. “I would hate you if you didn't.”

Once you release yourself away from her body, you excitedly invite her into the living room and help her to carry whatever she brought along. The curiosities that you have is filling up your mind, and yet, you didn't ask any of it to her. Instead, you simply utter these three words to bring her instant comfort.

“Welcome home, Sohyun.”

Despite knowing that you won't be able to see each other constantly, you still desire to remain in her life for as much as you could—like a star in the sky, which shines so brightly regardless if it’s in the bright blue morning, or the gloomy dark night.

===========================================

note; the writing high strikes again, but sadly not in the form horniness. also been addicted to triples content as of late, so it's only right that i write a little something. :D

don't worry, i'm still working hard on the commissions, so please wait just a little bit more for longer fics! writing short fics like these is a way for me to feel better and motivated to work on the mountain of drafts i have. so maybe you would see more of these in the future!

anyways, i hope you enjoy this one, even though it's barely edited and a bit rushed. and as always, i appreciate all of your support, thank you for reading and have a good one! <3

[octoberautumnbox]

a cute date with seoyeon! :D

Hold Me Closer

tripleS Yoon Seoyeon & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: fluff basically, nothing too crazy in this one

Word count: 0.7k

| Part 1 || Part 2 (coming soon hopefully lmao) ||

a/n: i owe u this for that belle fic i think LMAO also gonna follow this up eventually obvs

~~~

In between bites, Seoyeon reaches across the table to hold your hand. “I'm glad you got to come out, babe,” she says with half a mouthful of mint chocolate ice cream. “I know you're still tired from the week.” 

“Psh, as if I'd rather laze around at home alone than be here with you.” You know that line is corny, but it never fails to put a smile on her face. It's worth every meeting, every deadline, every performance audit to hold her hand on the way home from a nice night out with Yoon Seoyeon. 

As if on cue, she giggles at your reply, “Alright, but I wanna stay over for the rest of the weekend. You deserve to laze around at home, so let me look after you, ‘kay?” You have a feeling it isn't up for debate, so you just accept her offer. “Thanks, baby. I do need the rest.”

"I told you to just let me carry the bags. I'm strong! See?" She flexes her muscles to show you just how strong she is, but with the most adorable face you've ever seen getting puffy trying to look intimidating, it only undermines her point.

On the other hand, the seven shopping bags taking up the rest of the seats in the booth do look heavy now that you see all of them, and it doesn't help that you know what exactly is inside of each one. On the other hand, you do know that Seoyeon is actually strong and can take more than just any average girl.

Just then, her phone vibrates, and as her eyes scan over the screen, a different kind of smile graces her cheeks. “Lookie, me and Naky look so good in this one.” She shows you a video of her and Nakyoung in the practice room rehearsing a sexy kind of dance, “She does that thing with her hand that I like here. You know, that thing you do to me?”

From her arm around Seoyeon’s shoulder, Nakyoung's hand travels to the back of her neck and pulls your girlfriend in until they're face-to-face. It's the same look in her eye that Seoyeon has when you get under the covers with her–anticipating something she can't possibly predict. Her lips part ever so slightly right in front of Nakyoung's, and neither of them are wise to notice.

“Am I supposed to be jealous? What's up with that?” you ask, eyebrow raised, smirk on your lips, and tone filled with sarcasm as best as you can to hide real doubt. As the video plays on and Nakyoung's hands reach more and more of your girlfriend's body, you feel a strange and gross kind of heat rising in your chest.

“Nah, if anything, I have to keep her away from you. She said she likes you too.” The video ends and Seoyeon finally puts her phone away. “I'm honestly nervous she'd be able to steal you away from me.”

“No way in hell, babe. You know why?” 

“Because you don't have time to cheat?” Her answer makes you chuckle, the apparent honesty even more so. 

“Besides that.”

“Uhh, no idea.”

“Simple. She's not you.” Wrap your fingers around her free hand again, make sure she feels secure. Nobody should ever have that sort of doubt when it comes to love, especially not your Seoyeon. 

“Thanks, babe. I love you,” she says, relieved, and with mint chocolate smeared all over her top lip. She tries letting go to grab a napkin, but you beat her to it, lean over the table and give her a peck instead. 

“You're lucky you're cute. Mint chocolate, I swear to God…”

“Oh, shut up. And I still haven't gotten my ‘I love you too.’”

You win some, you lose some, and sometimes you're not sure. Whatever this is, though, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I love you too, Seoyeon.”

And of course she picks this moment to tease you. A mischievous smirk puffs against her cheeks, "Mmm, not good enough," before she finally finished her waffle cone.

"What then?" You finish yours too and crumple the wrapper along with hers.

"Secret. I'll tell you tonight. I take care of you, you take care of me." She fires off a wink and bolts out of the booth, taking with her two and a half shopping bags. Her classic "chase me," her own special trademark "I love you" that only she could ever tell you in this way.

Frantically gathering the rest of the shopping bags she left behind, you stumble out of the booth after her, the only proper "I love you too."

~~~

| Part 1 || Part 2 (coming soon) ||

[kwilquib]

False Image

Xinyu X Sohyun TripleS.

100 words

Marketing ploy—that’s what it is.

In truth…

Xinyu exhales, as the van finally rolls its wheels.

Then, her phone chimes.

A Message, photo of Sohyun. On her bed.

Gazed locked through the screen, hair intentionally tousled, lips parted just enough for the tip of her tongue to tease.

“Missing your taste”

From somewhere deep—no, lower—rises a sound. Primal. Instinctual. Before she can stop it, a moan escapes.

…

Xinyu’s eyes snap up, scanning. Members lost in their own worlds—earphones, scrolling their phones. Unnoticed.

Except. Sohyun with a knowing grin at her lips, as she keeps her eyes in the window.

[iichaeyj]

CAFÉ SUNSHINE

the barista working at your favorite café draws hearts onto your coffee cup, calls you her sunshine, and calls you the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—platonically, of course.

PAIRING: barista!sohyun x f!reader GENRE: fluff, lots of fluff WARNINGS: y/n is a little oblivious but she's trying her best, like one kms joke, one sort of suggestive joke ? WORD COUNT: 4.0k A/N: ik nobody asked for this but i saw no sohyun fics so i had to do it myself!!!!!

The lingering smell of fresh coffee hits your nose as you walk into the quaint, familiar café you’ve been visiting for months now, the bell at the top of the door ringing to signal your arrival. A small display on the counter shows you little cupcakes, cookies, and bagels you’ve all tried. Next to it, a small menu resides that shows off the various coffees and drinks the café serves its customers. You approach the counter, your eyes drifting to the only sound in the café besides the calming music in the background.

The sound of the espresso machine rings throughout the area, the shot of concentrated coffee flowing down into a little white cup made by the girl standing in front of the machine. Her long, dark hair flows behind her as she works. She’s dressed in a simple outfit suited for a barista, the white sleeves of her blouse rolled up as she concentrates on grinding coffee beans. Her apron is slightly messy with hints of coffee and whipped cream smeared onto the brown fabric, but she shows no sign of care on her face as she focuses on her current task. The veins in her hands become visible as she works, and her forearm muscles tighten as she finishes. She tilts her head down as she notices her messy hands, her side profile highlighting her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. The gold writing flashes as the sunlight reflects off her name tag, the bold letters spelling out “Sohyun” against the black background.

Sohyun turns towards you, her eyes looking up from the ground as she makes eye contact. Her lips part in surprise as she finally notices a customer, curling up at the ends when she sees that it’s not just any customer, but you. She brushes her hands off diligently on a clean towel before walking up to the register, flashing you a friendly smile. “Hey, sunshine,” Sohyun greets you, using the familiar nickname she applies only to you as she leans down against the counter with her arms crossed against the cool surface. She looks up at you as she tilts her head, staring for a moment as if to take in your appearance while she smiles brighter at the sight. “What can I get for you today?” she asks you, her sultry and smooth voice causing you to look away shyly.

“I don’t know,” you hum, glancing at the menu next to the register. “What do you suggest?” you ask, meeting her gaze again despite every part of your body struggling to hide the rosy blush currently creeping onto your cheeks.

“Why don’t you get something as sweet as yourself?” Sohyun says, grinning when she notices the soft blush becoming more prominent from her flirtatious words. “Maybe a blue lemonade?” she suggests, standing back up properly from her position leaning down on the counter.

“A blue lemonade?” you say, scanning the menu that offers no such option. “Since when did you start making that?” you ask her curiously.

“Since I noticed you beginning to crave sweeter and cooler things the hotter it gets,” Sohyun tells you with a small chuckle, gathering the ingredients from the cabinets.

You flush in embarrassment as she picks up on a habit you didn’t even know you had, wondering if you were easy to read or if she was just smart enough to figure you out. “Well as long as you make it, I’m sure I’ll like it,” you say sweetly, trying to flatter her while also avoiding processing the fact that Sohyun remembered something about you so easily.

Sohyun’s hand twitches slightly at your words, her back towards you as she begins working on your blue lemonade. “What if I accidentally make it really horrible? My job mainly requires me to handle shots of espresso, you know,” she jokes, preparing the sparkly blue drink.

“I trust you,” you tell her, smiling at her joke. “Ever since I started coming here, you’ve never given me anything bad,” you say happily.

You shiver as you walk down the streets of your neighborhood, the jacket around you doing little to nothing to prevent the cold air from attacking your skin. After walking downtown thinking you’d be fine, you regretted your choice as you walked back up the familiar streets in the freezing cold. Just as you begin thinking nothing could get worse than the 32 Fahrenheit weather you were currently trapped in, snowflakes suddenly begin floating down from the sky.

Letting out an exasperated sigh as the snow falls onto your hair, you look around the empty street. Although you lived nearby, you really didn’t want to be out in the cold after walking all the way here. You could practically feel your legs aching at the thought of climbing up these next few streets to get home. You notice a bright light coming from inside a small store, curious about the store you hadn’t seen previously. You sigh as the snow only begins getting heavier, shivering as you make your way towards the light that would surely offer you some comfort from the snowy weather.

You walk into the small store, looking around at the small plants placed around the space and the pieces of art that still have the price tags on them if you look closely enough. You notice the freshly dried paint on the walls and the lack of actual food or products on display, hinting at the place's newly opened status. The place was generally filled with the colors of white and brown, typical colors for a modern café. However, something about the cute, small café offered you space that differed from the world outside. The warm, golden lights shined down on you and almost instantly melted the snow on your hair, leaving you feeling much better than before. The area felt warm and comfortable, offering a safe space from the harsh weather outside.

As you look around, you fail to notice the barista behind the counter that was looking at you. Her eyes looked you up and down, bundled up in a warm jacket and a scarf that was too big on you. She smiled slightly at the sight of you, taking in your rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes as you looked around curiously.

“Can I help you?” the barista asks you, causing your head to snap up to stare at the girl. Her voice was low and raspy, causing you to unknowingly blush at the mere sound. As you try and calm yourself down, feeling stupid from being so easily embarrassed, your jaw nearly falls open as you take her in. She smiles kindly at you, looking into your eyes. Her eyes glisten with interest as she looks at you, clearly intrigued by your presence. Her hair is tied up behind her, allowing you to look over her sharp features. Her lips are shaped like hearts as they curl into a smile for you, which in turn highlights the pink on her prominent cheekbones. She had a mole on the bottom of her left eye and on her nose, adding to her already incredible features to make her look sophisticated.

She looked ethereal.

She was unlike anybody you’ve ever seen before. After you walked through the cold weather on streets covered by white snow with the gray sky looming overhead, the girl seemed like an otherworldly being with the way she captivated you with her warm smile and raspy voice. Her eyes crinkled up at the ends as she smiled, making you nearly fall over after noticing the small detail if it wasn't for the sound of her voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Hello?” she asks you, chuckling as she continues to stare at you kindly. You felt your legs wobble at her words. Hearing her low voice and her gentle laugh only made your attraction to her worse, a red tint coating your cheeks at the realization.

“Hi,” you say meekly, trying to offer her a smile you hoped wasn’t painfully awkward. “I was just trying to find shelter from the cold,” you tell her, struggling to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

“So you didn’t mean to come here?” she asks you, a soft smile on her lips as she glances at your blushing cheeks.

You flush bright red in embarrassment, shaking your head quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you tell her quickly. “I’ve just never been here,” you explain shyly. “I live in this neighborhood, so I wanted to check this place out.”

“This place is a new café I'm getting set up,” she explains. “It may not look like much right now, but it'll get there,” she tells you, giving you a small wink.

You felt something awaken at the sight.

“You own this place?” you ask in surprise, staring at her as you take in her young appearance. Surely, she couldn't be more than a year older than you, if that.

“Yeah. I worked for it,” she shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck as she smiles bashfully. And if she noticed the way your eyes glanced at her exposed neck, she didn’t mention it.

“That’s cool!” you tell her earnestly, your eyes wide in surprise.

She glances at you, an amused smile playing on her lips as she notices your genuine enthusiasm for a person you had just met. “It’s nothing crazy,” she tells you, chuckling again which causes your heart to race. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll make something for you,” she tells you, nodding towards a seat nearby as she disappears off to the back.

As you take a seat, you hear her work in the back. You can hear lots of noises as she moves around, clearly struggling to find the right ingredients as you see flashes of her running back and forth in the back through the doorway. You smile slightly as you wait for her, feeling oddly flustered knowing that she was going through all this trouble just to make you something. You sigh and shake your head, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach that suddenly appeared as soon as you looked at the pretty barista. It wasn't like you to swoon over a person just because they're attractive, but as you see her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you catch a glimpse of her searching for something, you feel your face heat up once again.

After a few moments, the girl walks back into the front of the café while holding a steaming coffee cup. “I made you some hot chocolate,” she tells you, smiling as she sets the cup down in front of you on your table.

You look at the mug in surprise, smiling at the sight of the drink she clearly worked hard to make. “You really didn’t have to,” you say shyly.

“I wanted to. It’s on the house,” she reassures you, smiling as she casually sits down across the table from you. “I hope you don’t mind if I take a seat. Considering the weather, I don’t think any more customers are gonna be arriving soon,” she says, glancing at the window where she could see the snowstorm only getting worse.

“I don’t mind at all,” you tell her a little too quickly, looking down at the coffee cup. “But what’s this?” you ask her, pointing to something on the cup.

“That? It’s a sun, of course,” she tells you, looking at the little sun outlined in sharpie on your cup. The sun is a sharp contrast to the otherwise modern and sleek design of the cup and logo of the café.

“Do you draw suns on most of your coffee cups?” you ask her curiously, taking a sip of the hot chocolate that warms your insides. The sweet taste coats your tongue as you swallow the drink, the soft marshmallow melting on your tongue.

“Nope,” she tells you, shaking her head. “I just thought it suited you, sunshine,” she says casually, smiling at the sight of you enjoying the drink she’s made for you.

You freeze at the sound of the nickname rolling off her tongue, hoping your face isn’t as red as it seemed. “‘Sunshine?’” you question quietly, glancing up at her from your drink.

“Well, I don’t know your name, and ‘sunshine’ seems to suit you,” she shrugs, smiling as she confidently meets your eyes. “You’re a warming presence, especially considering the state we’re in right now,” she hums, motioning toward the outside weather. “But if you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” she asks you.

“My name’s Y/n,” you tell her shyly, your mind still reeling from her words. “What’s yours?”

“My name is Sohyun.”

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t wanna give my favorite customer a bad drink,” Sohyun says, smiling fondly at the memory of seeing you for the first time. Ever since then, you’ve been coming to her café multiple days throughout the week.

“So I’m your favorite?” you ask, teasing her as you lean over the counter to watch her make the drink.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she retorts back, turning her head to smile at you before continuing to make your drink. You two had gotten quite close in the past few months of seeing each other, making you comfortable enough around her to joke around and tease her, but you still couldn’t help the way you nearly folded just from seeing her throw you a smile.

“Well if it helps, you’re my favorite barista,” you tell her, trying to maintain a cool demeanor.

“I’d hope so,” Sohyun tells you, her voice low and calming as she mixes your drink for you. “I’d get a little jealous if I found out otherwise,” she mumbles out, causing your knees to buckle and your cheeks to flush yet again in her presence.

It’s words like these that affect you. From the way she calmly addresses you like you could be her lover to the way she smiles with her pretty lips, you can feel your crush on her growing worse and your heart growing heavier in your chest. In moments like this, it seemed like you hadn't changed at all from the first meeting where you had met Sohyun. However, no matter how wonderful she might make you feel, figuring out what she might really mean always drove you insane.

“I don’t even know if she likes girls!” you cry out for the millionth time, flopping onto your best friend’s bed.

“And for the last time, just ask her!” Xinyu groans, throwing a pillow at you.

You groan as you easily catch the pillow, staring up at her ceiling. “It’s not that simple,” you sigh, already blushing as you picture Sohyun’s face on the clear canvas of Xinyu’s ceiling.

Xinyu sighs, helping you sit up as she takes a seat next to you on her bed. “Okay, picture this,” she says, grabbing onto your shoulders for dramatic effect. “Imagine you’re walking into that café,” she says, painting a vision for you. “You’re wearing something pretty and you look smoking hot, and everybody is looking at you,” she says dramatically while ignoring the disgusted look you give her. “You stroll in and say to the cute barista girl ‘Are you gay? If you aren’t sure, wanna come over to my place and find out?’” she suggests, winking at you.

Xinyu groans as she gets pushed away, frowning at your disapproving look. She huffs as she straightens up, holding her hands up to show she’s just joking. “Okay, okay,” she sighs. “But honestly, it sounds like she does like you. I mean, what straight girl looks you dead in the eyes and refers to you as her ‘sunshine?’” she deadpans.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “But as much as it may seem like she’s flirting, how do I know she’s being serious? She may call me sweet things and tell me I’m pretty, but she’s never asked for my number or anything like that,” you tell her.

“Maybe she’s waiting for you to make the first move,” Xinyu tells you, shrugging casually. “It sounds like she’s consistently doing things for you ever since the two of you first met. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to initiate something for once,” she suggests, her eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Why can’t she just do it?” you whine, placing your head in your hands.

Xinyu snorts at your words, smiling at your hunched-over figure. “No offense girl, but you’re not exactly a walking pride flag,” she sighs, patting your back to comfort you. “She probably has no idea if you’re gay or not. You just gotta ask her to find out.”

“What if she punches me in the face and tells me to kill myself,” you mumble out, visibly distressed.

Xinyu rolls her eyes, groaning loudly. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you two get married and I include this in my maid of honor speech,” she chuckles out, sighing as she looks around her room aimlessly.

She raises an eyebrow when she sees the now empty coffee cup you had just gotten from visiting Sohyun at her café. She picks up the cup, looking at the scribbled writing on the side before she throws it down and turns to you dramatically. “I swear to god if you don’t just ask for her number already,” she groans as she throws another pillow at you, the cup rolling around on the ground with the words ‘for the prettiest girl i know’ written on its side.

Sohyun turns back around as she finishes making your drink, smiling at you once again. “Here, try it,” she tells you, handing you your blue lemonade. You swear you feel the electricity flowing between you two as her fingers brush against yours.

As you put your lips on the edge of the cup, her eyes flicker between you and your lips as she watches you swallow the smooth drink. “Is it good?” she asks you curiously.

“Yeah, it’s really good,” you tell her happily, the smooth liquid running down your throat. The blue lemonade is refreshing and light for your taste buds, offering you a cool refreshment fitting for the hot weather.

Sohyun smiles brightly at your words, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her cheekbones become more visible as her lips curl up, a soft blush painting her face at your compliment. “I’m glad,” she mumbles shyly, clearing her throat as she glances between you and the drink in your hand.

Her eyes flicker as she stares at the cup, suddenly realizing something as she hastily grabs the sharpie nearby. “Wait, let me see that,” she says, reaching for the cup that you willingly hand to her.

“What is it?” you ask curiously, staring at her as she sets the cup down on the counter and leans down again.

“I forgot your sun,” she mumbles out, focusing on the cup as she draws on it. Her fingers move carefully, taking longer than normal as the black ink stains the side of your cup. She turns it back to you after she’s done, standing back up as she hands you your drink back with a satisfied smile.

You smile at the signature sun gracing the side of your drink, turning the drink when you notice another drawing on the other side. “What’s this?” you ask curiously as you point to the new, small drawing of a heart. “You don’t normally do this,” you mumble out, gently touching the little detail.

“It’s my heart,” Sohyun says quietly, smiling shyly as she glances at the drawing before looking at you. “I guess you could say I’m giving my heart to you,” she chuckles out, trying to hide her blush under her joking tone. Normally, you'd laugh it off with her or try and hope your heart wasn't beating loud enough for her to hear, but as you notice her expectant gaze, you feel your heart racing in a way it hasn't ever done before.

You stare down at the little heart carefully drawn onto your drink, thinking about everything Sohyun has done for you in the past. From the times she’s given you free drinks and desserts to the little discreet touches of her hands against yours, you feel your cheeks heat up at the memories. You could practically hear Xinyu screaming at you to get it together and say some cheesy pickup line to the girl standing in front of you.

“Do you really think I’m the prettiest girl you know?” you ask her quietly, looking up from the cup to look into her eyes.

Sohyun’s eyes widen at your words, her breath hitching as she recalls the note she once wrote for you. Her eyes stare into yours, the blush on her cheeks matching yours as she fumbles with the sharpie still in her hand. She stares at you intensely, her glimmering eyes darting from your eyes and your expectant gaze to your parted lips coated with a pretty gloss. She stares at the drink in your hand that she had spent days working on to make sure it would match your taste and include only high-quality ingredients.

Slowly, she nods her head. “The prettiest in the world, actually,” she mumbles out.

Your cheeks heat up at her words, fumbling with the drink as you quickly set it down on the counter to avoid spilling it. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your mind going blank as you think of what to say.

“Are you gay?” you blurt out, staring at her as you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “If you aren’t sure, wanna come over to my place and find out?” you stammer out before you can stop yourself.

You feel your face burn hot and your hands tremble as you stare at her, suddenly feeling like you shouldn’t come back to this café ever again. You try to think of an excuse, anything to get you out of this situation. However, you suddenly hear Sohyun burst into laughter.

Sohyun throws her head back, laughing loudly as her eyes turn into crescents and her cheeks puff out from how hard she’s smiling. Her lips part as she laughs, struggling to contain her fits of laughter as she smiles brightly at you. “Shouldn’t you be inviting me out to dinner first?” she asks between the angelic sounds of her laughter.

You nod quickly, trying to save face as you play with the pendant on the necklace around your neck. “That would probably be better,” you mumble out, shyly glancing at her smiling face.

Sohyun smiles fondly at your obvious embarrassment, grabbing your drink as she writes her number on it. She hands your drink back to you after doing so, writing it boldly so that you can’t miss it. Her fingers touch yours firmly this time, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “But maybe I’ll take you up on that offer after a few dates?” she suggests, grinning when she sees your face heat up more at her simple words.

As you hold onto the drink tightly, you glance at her number before looking back up at her. “Maybe,” you mumble out sheepishly, struggling to think properly. “I’ll text you,” you tell her, dying to get out of here before you can embarrass yourself anymore.

Sohyun watches as you walk away from her, glancing at your ears that are bright red from the lingering embarrassment. She smiles as she admires you, calling out to you before you go. “Be careful with my heart,” she calls out as you leave, her gaze never leaving your back as you hurry out of the café.

You stare down at the cup as you walk out of the café, your thumb gently caressing the heart Sohyun drew on the coffee cup as you go about your day with a smile on your face.

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[eoieopda]

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus. 

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly. 

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door. 

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?” 

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds. 

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath. 

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks. 

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years. 

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough. 

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling. 

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping off to sleep again.

“Well?” 

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?” 

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line. 

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view. 

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls. 

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?” 

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention. 

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him. 

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.”  Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.” 

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways. 

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time. 

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself. 

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out. 

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.” 

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling. 

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level. 

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no. 

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly  gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip. 

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name. 

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten. 

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time. 

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on. 

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others. 

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens. 

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.” 

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull. 

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term. 

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —” 

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another. 

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is. 

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be. 

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s. 

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper. 

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just —  get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t. 

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?” 

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks. 

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her. 

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking. 

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake. 

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all. 

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation: 

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….” 

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll  push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase. 

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming. 

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he? 

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold. 

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.” 

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —” 

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance. 

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand. 

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.” 

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the thwack of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom. 

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?” 

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

[berryispunk]

Slow Motion

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: dual POV, slow burn, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, yearning, angst, all of it, longing, best friend! Frankie, feelings denial, soft! Frankie, everyone knows before they do, Santi and Benny are support actors in this, only allusions to smut with this one, the girlfriend is not the villain, idiots in love, kissing

summary: Best friends. Always there, never quite enough. He broke your heart without ever knowing he held it—until everything fell apart, and the only person he wanted was the one he pushed away.

word count: ~ 8k

read on ao3

You and Francisco Morales had been you and him for as long as anyone could remember. Not in the romantic, hand-holding, Sunday brunch kind of way—but in that soul-deep, private-joke, finish-each-other’s-sentences kind of way. Inseparable. A pair that moved through life side by side, facing every challenge together like you were built for it.

He was your person. You were his constant. You’d both sucked at love, made terrible choices, fallen for the wrong people, gotten burned, and picked each other up off the floor more times than you wanted to count. And somewhere along the way, you’d decided Frankie just needed a little push.

So you pushed.

Blind dates, setups, meet-cutes at your yoga class—you threw him at every semi-decent woman within a 15-mile radius like some emotionally-invested Cupid. And he let you, mostly because saying no meant watching that bright-eyed hope in you fade. And he couldn’t stomach that.

But tonight?

Tonight, you could tell, something had changed.

You pulled up to the curb outside the sad little Italian place you’d sent him to, elbow resting on the open window. “Hey, hot stuff. You survived?”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. He opened the door, flopped into the passenger seat like someone returning from battle, and just sat there, staring out at the glowing neon of the restaurant behind him.

You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “That bad?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept staring straight ahead, jaw tight.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Was it the weird laugh again? Or did she talk about astrology like it was a PhD?”

Frankie exhaled hard through his nose. “Can we not do this tonight?”

Your smile faltered. “I’m just asking, Frankie. You’re the one who said you wanted to meet someone.”

“No,” he snapped, turning toward you, his voice sharp. “You’re the one who decided I should meet someone.”

You blinked. “Okay... what’s your problem?”

“My problem is I’m exhausted,” he said, his voice heavy. “Tired of these setups. Tired of pretending. Tired of you pushing me into dates I never asked for.”

You sat up straighter, your frustration rising. “Excuse me? You agreed to them. I never forced you.”

“Yeah? Because every time I say no, you look at me like I’m broken. Like you’re trying to fix me.” 

Your heart twisted, his words landing on your chest. “Maybe I am trying to fix you, Frankie,” you fired back. “You’ve been stuck for years—half-living, half-dating, half-everything. You don’t even try. I’m the only one who’s been in your corner this whole time, and you’re making me out to be the bad guy?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t!” you shouted, anger flooding through you like molton. “You’re mad at me for caring? For trying to help? What is this really about?”

Frankie didn’t respond, instead clenching his jaw and gripping his thighs like he was holding back something too big to say.

“Say something!” you demanded, your voice cracking with the weight of everything that had built up between you. 

He finally turned to you, eyes blazing. “You want to help? Stop trying to build me a life with someone else when you don’t even know what the hell you’re taking from me.”

And then Silence. Thick, stunned silence.

You stared at him, your throat tight, heart pounding like it may jump out of your chest.  “What does that mean?”

He shook his head, suddenly looking like he regretted everything. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, you don’t get to say something like that and then shut down,” you snapped, your voice trembling now. “Why are you acting like I’ve betrayed you? Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong?”

“Because you did,” he said, voice softer now, but still laced with fatigue. “And you don’t even see it.”

You looked at him—really looked—and felt something twist in your chest. A rift you couldn’t name but felt in every part of you, ugly and all consuming.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, more vulnerable than you meant to be.

Frankie stared at the windshield, his face tense. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. “You never do.”

You wanted to scream. Or cry. Or rewind everything to five minutes ago when it was still just you and him. But instead, you turned the key in the ignition and said nothing in return.

And for the first time since you’re hovering in each other’s orbit, the silence between you wasn’t comfortable.

It was unbearable.

Frankie didn’t sleep that night.

He sat on his couch in the dark, the TV on mute, some old movie flickering across the screen while the same sentence looped in his head: "You don’t even know what you’re taking from me."

God. He’d said it. Almost said everything. Too much—but not enough.

He dropped his head back against the couch, eyes stinging. The fight had cracked something wide open, and now he couldn’t shove it back inside. it broke free and was hovering just nearby like a giant shadow of something even bigger than both of you.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You never fought. Ever. You bickered, teased, got under each other’s skin, but you were a constant in each other’s lives. You knew when to push and when to pull back. You always knew.

Until now.

Now you were probably sitting in your apartment, running the argument over in your head the same way he was, wondering what the hell just happened—wondering why he was the one suddenly flipping the board when you’d only been trying to help.

He stood up and started pacing restlessly.

You didn’t deserve that. He’d lashed out like you’d hurt him on purpose, like it wasn’t killing you too, watching him drag himself through one failed connection after another. You were trying to give him something he couldn’t reach for. Because it wasn’t there.

Not in those other people. Only in you.

And he was such an ass to you, you. The only person in his life that kept up with all his bullshit and by some miracle didn’t leave.

Frankie grabbed his keys twice that night. Almost left. Almost showed up at your door to apologize, to explain—but what would he even say? “Hey, I’m sorry I lost it. Turns out I’m in love with you and watching you help me find someone else feels like dying."Yeah, No.

Instead, he stayed up until morning, slumped in his hoodie on the back steps of his building, smoking a cigarette he didn’t even want, tasting as bitter as the words he told you on his tongue and watched the sky change color. For the first time since you’d become friends, he didn’t know how to come back from this.

Didn’t know if there was a way back.

The night stretched on like an endless tournament—one exhausting round after another, only there was no prize at the end. Just pain. Like you were being tested for some higher purpose you couldn’t quite grasp, and you’d failed without knowing why.

He’d never been like this with you before. Sure, Frankie had a temper, always quick to boil over when something pissed him off—but never at you. Never like that. And now, all you were left with was confusion and this dull, aching hurt in your chest.

All you ever wanted was for him to be happy.

He deserved that. Deserved someone who saw past the sharp edges, the emotional clutter, the history he carried like a second skin. Because despite all of it—despite everything—Frankie Morales was one of the last real gentlemen. A dying breed. Being around him was like witnessing an extinction in slow motion, only you had front-row seats and the last perfect example sitting right there in front of you.

It’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind—showing up to one of those dates and pretending to be his date instead. It had. More than once.

But every time, you chickened out. Too scared to ruin the one good thing in your life. The thing you’d somehow, miraculously, managed to hold onto.

The next morning, everything was too loud.

The clink of your coffee mug. The buzz of your phone. The way the silence in your apartment felt like it had grown teeth overnight.

You kept checking your messages like maybe he’d say something. A joke. A half-apology. Anything.

But nothing came.

Not even a stupid meme.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over his name. The little photo you took of him months ago still sat there in the corner of the screen—Frankie in his kitchen, shirt inside out, pretending to argue with a toaster. You remember thinking, this is it. This is what home feels like.

And now it just felt like you’d been locked out and someone tossed the keys.

You typed a message.

“Hey. Are we okay?”

Deleted it.

Tried again.

“I didn’t mean to push. I just…”

Backspaced until the screen was empty again.

You tossed the phone onto the couch like it had personally offended you—then immediately picked it back up. Paced the apartment. Whispered test messages under your breath like they were spells you could get right if you just said them enough times.

But eventually, something clawed its way up from inside you. Something sharp and tired and aching.

And you stopped overthinking. Stopped editing. Stopped protecting both of you from the truth that was already out there, bleeding between the cracks. Lingering.

You sank onto the edge of your bed now, change of scenery, thumb trembling slightly as you typed:

“Frankie, I don’t know what happened to us last night. But I miss you.”

And this time, you hit send.

Then you sat there, phone in your lap, staring at the floor, leg nervously bouncing as you waited for a response.

You kept your phone on loud for days.

It never buzzed. Not once.

You told yourself it was fine. Frankie just needed time. You fought, and it hit hard—maybe harder than either of you expected. Maybe he was licking his wounds. Maybe he didn’t know what to say.

But Frankie always said something. Even when it was stupid. Even when it was sideways and barely made sense, he showed up. A meme, a photo, a “you good?” that carried the weight of a whole conversation.

But this time? Nothing.

And it didn’t just sting—it unraveled you.

The texts stopped. The late-night calls and with it the way you could feel him across town without a word. It was like he'd ghosted his own life, and you were collateral damage.

Until three weeks later, Santi said it like it wasn’t a big deal.

You were helping him stack chairs after a backyard cookout, trying to pretend you weren’t checking your phone every five seconds. And Santi, half-distracted, said:

“You heard Frankie’s seeing someone, right?”

You blinked. Thought maybe you misheard him over the wind chimes or the clatter of metal legs.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Santi shrugged. “Some girl he met at that dive bar on the 14th. It’s new, but… he seems into it.”

You laughed. But it came out too sharp. Too forced. “Since when does Frankie get into anything that quickly?”

Santi paused, squinting at you, like he suddenly realized you hadn’t known. That maybe he’d said too much.

“I just thought—he’s been MIA lately. Figured he told you.”

He hadn’t, not a single word.

And suddenly it all made sense. The silence. The distance. Why he never answered your message. Why it felt like you’d been cut out without ceremony, like a chapter he just skipped over.

It wasn’t like it was with you. You knew that. You felt that.

But it was something. Enough to pull him away. Enough to make him forget to look back.

And standing there with your hands clenched around a folding chair and your heart somewhere between your ribs and the dirt, you realized it: This was heartbreak.

Not the kind that happens when love ends— The kind that happens when it almost begins, and then doesn’t. Impending grief for a feeling, for a connection, for him.

You tried not to spiral after that.

Tried to be the cool, collected version of yourself—the one who let things roll off your back, who didn’t let silence crawl under your skin and nest there. But the truth was uglier than that. It curled up in your stomach, sick and sour, and stayed there. A constant pain you just learned to shoulder.

You stopped texting. Stopped staring at your screen like maybe it was broken.

He’d made his choice.

And you weren’t part of it.

Still, when the group chat lit up about drinks at the bar on Friday, you didn’t bail. Part of you wanted to—wanted to ghost the whole damn night and pretend you were busy or tired or just over it. But the other part, the louder one, needed to see. Needed proof that it wasn’t just in your head. That the silence hadn’t lied.

The bar was warm and loud and exactly the kind of place you used to end up in together, laughing over too many wings and trash-talking each other over darts. You walked in and found the usual suspects—Santi, Benny, Will—clustered near the back corner table.

And then you saw him.

Frankie.

He was already there. Drink in hand. Hair a little neater than usual, no cap whatsoever and a button-down that wasn’t flannel. Beside was a girl perched close. Too close.

You didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t beautiful in that cinematic way, but she had this softness about her—easy to look at, easy to fall into, maybe. Her hand brushed his arm when she laughed. And Frankie—

Frankie smiled.

Not the dumb, half-smirk he used to give you when he was being a pain in the ass. Not the tired, grateful grin that came with late-night takeout and long silences that didn’t need filling. No. This smile was different. Smaller, careful. Like he was holding something back, but offering it anyway.

And that’s when you knew.

He brought her.

To this.

To your table, your friends. The little circle that had always been you and him and everyone else orbiting around the mess you made of each other. You didn’t walk over right away. You hovered by the bar too long, pretending to wait for your drink, pretending your heart wasn’t jackhammering in your chest, pretending you hadn’t just been sucker punched without warning.

When you finally made your way over, Santi gave you a look—one part apology, two parts brace yourself—and pulled out a chair for you to sit.

Frankie’s eyes met yours for half a second. Not a word. Not a smile. Just a blink, a shift in his jaw almost unrecognizable, and then he turned back to her.

That was it.

No hey. No you good? No flicker of the person who used to make space for you without even thinking.

And you sat there, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, with the hollow roar of grief in your ears. Because now you knew what it looked like—what it felt like—when someone moved on and left you behind. Frankie hadn’t just found someone new. He’d brought her into your world like you were never part of it.

And the worst part?

You couldn’t even blame him, because you were the one who told him to try. You were the one who pushed him. And now he was gone. Gone in the way that matters most—not out of your life, but out of reach.

You made it thirty-two minutes.

Thirty-two minutes of nodding along, sipping watered-down vodka, laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny, and pretending like your entire chest wasn’t about to collapse every time she touched him.

Every time he let her.

You didn’t even know her name until Will leaned over and said it like it was normal. Like it didn’t feel like a knife being twisted right under your ribs.

“Mira seems sweet, huh?”

You smiled. A tight, practiced thing. “Sure. Sweet.”

Mira.

The name tasted wrong in your mouth.

And maybe it would’ve stayed quiet—maybe you would’ve kept swallowing it all down like poison you could survive—if Mira hadn’t looked at Frankie, all wide-eyed and innocent, and asked, “How come you’ve never brought me here before?”

Before.

You heard it before he even answered. Before implied history. Ritual. Something that existed long before she did. Frankie paused, just a second. But it was enough.

“This used to be our spot,” he said, voice casual, not looking at you. Giving the words no meaning at all. “It’s been a while.”

Our.

As in you and him.

You swallowed hard and stood up too fast, chair scraping against the floor like a siren. “I need some air.”

Nobody stopped you. Not even him.

The night was warm and loud, headlights dragging down the street like slow thoughts. You didn’t make it to the curb before you heard footsteps behind you, you didn’t need to look to know it’s him.

Frankie.

“Hey,” he said. Not urgent, not guilty. “You good?”

You turned, eyes narrowed. “Do I look good?”

His jaw tightened. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say anything,” you snapped. “Anything real. Because for the past three weeks, you’ve been radio silent and now you show up with her—like I’m just some extra in your new life?”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d take it like this.”

“Like what?” Your voice rose, sharp and brittle. “Like I’m hurt? Like maybe you bringing your rebound into our space like it means nothing would actually mean something to me?”

Frankie’s eyes flashed. “It’s not a rebound.”

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s serious, huh? That’s why you brought her here—to mark your territory?”

“Stop,” he said. Quiet, but there was power in it. This voice meant no bullshit. “You don’t get to make this ugly.”

“You made it ugly the second you ghosted me.”

That shut him up.

You pushed forward, voice trembling. “You always text back. Always. Even when you’re drunk or pissed or halfway asleep. You always showed up. And now what? I’m just gone?”

Frankie’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t. Which pissed you off even more.

“You owe me, Frankie,” you said, stepping in close now, eyes wet but your voice firm. “You owe me honesty. Because I was there. Every time you fell apart, every time you doubted yourself, every time you needed someone—I was there. And the second you get a maybe-kind-of-working-something, I’m just background noise?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And it cracked something in both of you.

“I didn’t know how to face you,” he admitted, raw and low. “After what I said. After how I said it. I was pissed, and I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“No,” you whispered,brows furrowed deep. “I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and ugly.

Then you added, “And now you’ve got her. So I guess I was just... convenient enough”

His face twisted like you’d slapped him.

“You were never convenient,” he said, almost a whisper. “You were the constant.”

You stared at him, heart clawing at your ribs, and for one stupid second, you wanted to kiss him just to make it all go away.

But then Mira opened the bar door behind you and called out, “Hey, babe, everything okay?” her voice was so sickeningly sweet, it made your stomach turn. You didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. Frankie looked back once at her, then down at the ground like it was suddenly the only thing that made sense. He didn’t even look at you.

You stepped back, more stumbling than walking. Shaky steps, as unsafe as you felt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice steady now. Cold. “Everything’s crystal fucking clear.”

And then you walked away.

Frankie tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling, counted sheep. It wasn’t because of the heat or the creaking pipes in his apartment or Mira breathing soft and even beside him—but because your voice kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

“I was just… convenient enough.”

He’d heard a lot of things in his life. Screaming commanders. Crying civilians. Doors slamming, hearts breaking, all kinds of silence. The one that makes your ears ring and the one that makes your chest tight. But your voice cracking like that?

That was new, brutal.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The digital clock blinked 3:47 a.m in an alarming red light. Mira shifted behind him, half-asleep.

“You okay, babe?” she mumbled, barely conscious.

“Yeah,” he said. Automatically. Out of habit, out of guilt. “Just need some water.”

He got up, padded barefoot into the kitchen, and stood there in the dark, palms braced on the countertop like it was the only thing holding him up.

There was a photo stuck to the fridge—one you’d taken. Him and Santi arm-wrestling at your place, stupid grins on their faces, half a beer spilled in the corner of the frame. He remembered you laughing behind the camera, saying “Act natural, idiots.”

He hadn’t taken it down, he couldn’t.

He grabbed a glass but didn’t fill it. Just stood there, staring into vast nothingness, thinking of you. How you didn’t yell until the end. How you didn’t cry until he turned away. How you said “crystal fucking clear” like you meant it.

And for the first time, it hit him:

You weren’t mad because he was dating someone. You were mad because he’d shut you out. You were hurt because he made you feel replaceable.

But you weren’t. God, you weren’t, you never could be.

You were the one person who saw through all his bullshit and still stuck around. You were the reason he even considered fixing himself. Not for you—but because when you believed in him, he started thinking maybe he could believe in himself too.

He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye sockets like he could rub the image of you out of his head. Didn’t work. You were everywhere.

In the mug you left once and he never returned. In the hoodie Mira kept asking about—"Whose is this?" your scent still clinging to it. In the way he couldn’t laugh at dumb memes anymore without checking if you’d seen them too.

Frankie Morales was in a relationship, sure.

But he was in love with someone who wouldn’t even look at him now.

And he only had himself to blame.

The next morning, he made breakfast. French toast, Strawberries on the side, just how Mira liked them. He kissed her shoulder while she sipped her coffee and made her laugh hard enough to snort. He was attentive. Present. Trying his best to silence the ghost in the room that only he could feel.

And when she asked, softly, cautiously, “You okay? You’ve been a little... distant,”

He smiled and lied. “I’m good. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

She lit up. Actually lit up. And the worst part? She bought it.

Hook, line, and sinker.

And Frankie hated himself for how easy the lie slipped out.

It was supposed to be game night. You showed up late on purpose—half hoping maybe he wouldn't be there, half terrified that he would. But the second you walked in and saw him sitting on the couch, hand resting on the back of her chair, like it was the most natural thing in the world?

Your heart dropped.

You tried not to stare. Tried not to see it. The way her laugh came easy. The way Frankie leaned in to say something just for her, close enough to catch the scent of her hair. How she reached for his knee when she laughed too hard at something Benny said. He’d never brought girls to this. Not game nights. Not Sunday barbecues. Not this space—the one sacred little pocket of your friendship he used to keep just for the people who knew him best.

For you.

Your chest tightened like someone was wringing out your lungs.

He glanced at you once, a flick of the eyes, and then quickly away like it burned. No smile. No wave. Just... nothing. Like he hadn’t spent the last few years orbiting your every step. Like you weren’t the one who held him through half of his worst nights. Like that fight didn’t leave a crater between you big enough to swallow this whole damn room.

Santi handed you a beer. You didn’t even remember asking for one.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah, fine.”

But your hand shook when you took a sip, and you hoped no one noticed.

Mira laughed again. Loud, beautiful, perfect. And Frankie ? He laughed with her. Not that half-hearted chuckle he used to do when dates didn’t land. This one was full. Real.

You excused yourself to the kitchen before you could break down in front of everyone.

You barely made it in there before the tears started.

Silent at first—just a sting in your eyes, a tightness in your throat. You braced your hands against the counter, trying to breathe through it, trying not to fall apart like some cliché in a movie. But it wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the kind of grief that comes when someone doesn’t die, they just stop being yours.

And then you heard footsteps.

Santi.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just came up beside you, leaned his hip against the counter, and cracked open a beer like he hadn’t just walked in on a silent breakdown.

Then, quietly, observed like he always was. “Yeah... I figured this would happen.”

Your lip trembled, and you shook your head, wiping under your eyes quickly like it might hide the mess.

“I’m fine,” you lied even if your voice betrayed you in its thinness.

“You’re not,” he said gently. “And it’s okay. You don’t have to be.”

That broke something. A small, shattering sound in your chest. You let out a breath that turned into a sob and folded into him before you could stop yourself. Santi pulled you in without hesitation. No questions. no pressure. Just arms that held tight and steady while your shoulders shook, his hand on the back of your head.

“I didn’t think he’d really...” you started, but the rest dissolved into his shirt.

Santi rubbed slow circles on your back. “I know. None of us did.”

You stayed like that for a moment, tucked against him, letting his steady presence fade out some of the noise when another voice cut through the quiet.

“Jesus,” Benny muttered from the doorway. “He’s a goddamn idiot.”

You laughed against Santi’s shoulder, the sound more broken than amused. “Don’t say that. She’s not the problem.”

“I’m not talking about her,” Benny said, stepping inside. “I’m talking about him. He’s sitting out there like you never existed. That’s not Frankie. Not the one I know at least.”

Santi nodded. “He’s... stuck. Pretending so hard he forgot he’s not that good at it.”

And they didn’t say it—no one said it—but you all knew exactly who Frankie used to be good at pretending with. You. He never had to.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, trying to pull yourself together. “I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You’re not,” Santi said firmly.

“You showing up tonight?” Benny asked. “That made the night.”

You offered a shaky smile, grateful even if you couldn’t quite show it yet.

Out in the living room, you could still hear Mira’s laugh. Still hear Frankie’s voice, low and warm and not at all the boy who used to show up at your door at 2 a.m., asking if you had Pop-Tarts and time. And maybe everyone thought he’d moved on. Maybe he thought he had, too. But if he had even glanced toward the kitchen just once—he would’ve seen the other two important people in his life holding up the one person he’d forgotten how to hold.

Nobody prepares you for the call you get late at night when you were supposed to sleep, telling you that your dad is in the hospital because of a heart attack, his condition critical.

Frankie sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair, breathing like he’d forgotten how. Mira stirred beside him, mumbled something soft and half-asleep, but it barely registered. The words from the phone call were still ringing in his ears like a fire alarm.

Chest pain. Ambulance. Unresponsive for two minutes.

His first instinct wasn’t to shake Mira awake.It wasn’t to call his mom, or Benny, or even Santi. It was you.

His hand moved before his brain could stop it—phone unlocked, your name already pulled up in the recents even though it had been weeks. His thumb hovered over the call button like it had muscle memory. Because in every other version of this moment—in every other emergency, every broken-down car, every fight, every loss—it had always been you.

He didn’t call. Not right away. He just stared at your name, and the photo next to it—blurry, laughing, eyes shining from that road trip last year when the AC broke and you threatened to abandon him on the side of the highway.

And that’s when it hit him, hard, fast and cold:

This isn’t a best friend anymore. This is the first person I think of when my world ends.

His hand recoiled from the phone, like it bit him.

Mira was sitting up now, rubbing her eyes. “Frankie? What’s going on?”

“My dad,” he said, voice as hollow as he felt. “He’s in the hospital.”

She was by his side in a second, hands on his shoulders, asking the right things, offering to come with him. She said all the things a good girlfriend should say, but they didn’t land.

Because all he could think about was you. Not just because you would’ve been there in a heartbeat—but because you’d know what to say. Because you’d reach for his hand before he asked. Because you’d sit beside him in that sterile waiting room and not talk unless he needed you to. Because with you, he wouldn’t have to explain what this felt like. You just… would.

And that’s when it shifted. In a way that couldn’t be undone. It wasn’t about dating, or jealousy, or the fight, or Mira. It wasn’t even about the timing anymore.

It was about truth and for the first time in weeks, it crushed him.

The fluorescent lights in the waiting room buzzed low, mechanical. Too bright for a place this heavy with dread. Frankie sat hunched over in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the tiled floor like it owed him something—answers, maybe. A break. Mira had gone to grab coffee, or air, or space. She hadn’t specified and he hadn’t asked.

And then he heard your voice.

Soft, tentative.

“Frankie?”

He didn’t look up at first. Thought maybe his brain had conjured you again—just like it had when he’d scrolled past your name in his phone and nearly called you on instinct, like some kind of survival response. But then you were closer and right in front of him. 

There, not just an imagination. Real. 

Hair in this messy bun you always did when you couldn’t be bothered to straighten it. Eyes wide and red-rimmed like you’d cried in the car before coming in. Like the thought of him hurting still cracked you open even if he hurt you first.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “Santi told me. I just— I needed to be here.”

His breath caught. Not because you were there. Not even because you showed up without needing to be asked. But because part of him had known you would. Even now. Even after everything.

“You didn’t have to come,” he muttered, but it came out hoarse. Hollow, useless.

“I know.” You sat down beside him anyway. Close, but not touching. “But I wanted to.”

Frankie didn’t know what to say. His hands shook. He dug his nails into his palms like that could stop the ache building under his ribs. But it was too much, everything was too much.

“I can’t lose him,” he said, voice cracking on the last word.

And that’s when you moved. No hesitation. Just reached for him, pulled him in like you’d done a hundred times before.  Only this time it broke him.

His arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face in your shoulder and for the first time since he got that call, Frankie cried. Not loud, not dramatic. Just silent, shaking tears against the only person who ever made him feel like he was allowed to fall apart.

You held him, steady and firm. Holding his broken pieces together like you always did. Your hand in his hair, your breath steady and close. No questions, no anger, no I-told-you-so.

Just you, the one constant that always has been there and it all made it worse. Because this wasn’t Mira. This wasn’t temporary comfort, this was home. And he’d spent weeks pretending it wasn’t.

You were still holding him when Mira walked back in. Frankie’s face hidden in your neck. His hands clutching the back of your sweatshirt like he’d sink without you. His entire body folded into yours in that desperate, wordless way that doesn’t look like friendship. It looks like gravity.

She stopped mid-step.

You didn’t see her at first. You just whispered, “I’m here, okay?” and brushed your fingers through his hair the way you always did when things got bad.

But Frankie did see her and lifted his head. Eyes glassy, face streaked with silent tears, breathing uneven. His gaze locked on Mira—and in that instant, everything in the room went still. Her expression didn’t crack. Not really,not yet. But her eyes said enough.

This wasn’t the grief of a girlfriend who’d been left out. It was the grief of a woman realizing she’d never been in.

“I brought you coffee,” she said, voice tight, like she was reading a script someone handed her last minute. Frankie stood up too fast. Swiped at his face like he could erase what she saw. “Mira, it’s not—”

She held up her hand. Calm, composed. Kind.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “You don’t owe me a performance.”

You stepped back instinctively, putting space between you and Frankie like that might fix it. Like that might soften the blow. But Mira wasn’t stupid, she wasn’t cruel, either. She just nodded, a silent resignation and set the coffee on the table beside him, looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

“You should’ve called her first,” she said. “I think we both know that.”

Then she left.

No big scene. No yelling. Just the hollow echo of her footsteps down the hallway and the sound of a door swinging closed behind her. Frankie didn’t move.He just stood there, looking at the coffee, shoulders stiff like they were holding the rest of him. And you?

You didn’t say I told you so or she deserved more or what are you doing even if you had every right to. You just picked up the damn coffee, pressed it into his hands, and whispered, “Drink, you’re shaking.” 

And he did, even in the wreckage, in the fallout of his silence, you stayed.

It was sometime after 2 a.m. when you finally convinced Frankie to sit down again.

The ICU floor had gone still, lights dimmed, nurses moving in hushed, practiced rhythm behind sliding glass. No updates. Just waiting. You were still there. So was Santi—sitting cross-legged on the floor with a vending machine coffee and a million-miles-away stare. Benny had shown up with tacos no one asked for, claiming ‘grief makes you hungry’ and refused to leave since.

Nobody asked questions. Not about Mira, not about crying. Not even about the way Frankie hadn’t let go of your hand since you laced your fingers through his hours ago.

Santi finally passed him a coffee. “Still hot. Miracle of science.”

Frankie took it with both hands. “Thanks.” His soft brown eyes full of sorrow. 

Benny threw an arm around the back of the chair beside him, stretching like he owned the room. Typical. “Listen, Morales, I know it’s not a great time, but if your old man pulls through and you don’t tell him we all waited like a bunch of loyal golden retrievers, I’m gonna start charging emotional support fees.”

That pulled the smallest breath of a laugh out of Frankie, which was the point. You gave Benny a grateful look over Frankie’s shoulder. He winked and shoved a half-eaten taco into his mouth like it was his life’s mission.

Santi leaned forward, arms on his knees. “You good on food? Water? Want me to harass a nurse?”

Frankie shook his head, lips pressed tight. Then softer, “Thanks, man.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you said, your thumb brushing lightly against his. “This is what we do.”

Frankie didn’t answer. But his grip tightened. Because he felt it—the thing that held him upright. It wasn’t Mira. It wasn’t some illusion of romance or a picture-perfect fix.

It was this. You, Santi and Benny.

People who’d sit with him in fluorescent hallways all night long. Who didn’t flinch at his mess. Who knew him and stayed anyway. Chosen family. And for the first time since he got that call, Frankie felt the sharp edge of loneliness dull just enough to breathe.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until the nurse smiled.

“He’s stable,” she said gently, as if the words might shatter in the air. “It’ll be a long road, but he made it through the worst.”

Frankie didn’t react at first. He just sat there, staring at the tiles like he hadn’t heard her. Then something in his shoulders sagged. His whole body exhaled. Like the fear that had been coiled so tightly in him all night finally let go.

You touched his arm. Lightly. Carefully. “He’s okay,” you said. And the words felt like a blessing.

Santi clapped him on the back, eyes tired but warm. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Get some rest if you can.”

Benny stood, stretched like a lazy cat, then leaned down and pressed his knuckles into Frankie’s shoulder. “Try not to emotionally combust while we’re gone. I’ve bonded with your old man now—I’m personally invested.”

They left without needing to be told. That’s what family does.

The quiet that followed was heavy. It settled over the waiting room in soft waves—early sunlight through the blinds, the hum of machines, the lingering tension that hadn’t quite disappeared with the good news. Frankie hadn’t let go of your hand all night, it’s been sweaty and uncomfortable at times but you wouldn’t say anything. But suddenly he let loose and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes trained on the floor. 

“You didn’t have to come.” You swallowed hard. 

“Don’t say that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I called her first.”

Your heart twisted, but you kept your voice steady. “Of course you did.”

“No,” he said. “I wanted to call you.”

He said it like it was a confession. Like it cost him something to get it out. 

“I started dialing,” he went on, “but I hung up. I told myself it wasn’t fair. That I couldn’t ask you to show up again—not after everything I’ve already taken.”

You stayed quiet, let him speak.

“I tried,” he said, voice breaking. “I tried so fucking hard to move on. To convince myself that Mira was good, that she made sense. That she could be the person I needed.”

He finally looked at you and it took all your air out of your lungs.

“And she’s not you, she’ll never be.”

The words slammed into you. Hard and simple and impossible to miss.

“I thought I could keep it buried. That if I never said it out loud, I could live with it. But when I got the call about my dad, when I thought I might lose him—I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The only person I wanted was you.”

You couldn’t breathe for a second. Couldn’t think.

Frankie scrubbed a hand over his face, tears in his eyes he didn’t bother hiding anymore. “I don’t expect anything. I know I wrecked it. I just… I needed you to know. Because if I lost him and never told you the truth, I don’t think I could’ve carried that.”

You reached out before your brain caught up, threading your fingers through his again, lifting it up to your lips and kissed his knuckles. 

He looked smaller like this. Not weak, just real. Raw. All things he never let anyone see except you. You didn’t say anything. Because some truths didn’t need answers right away—they just needed air. And this one, between you and him, was finally breathing.

It didn’t happen in a single moment. There was no dramatic speech, no fireworks. No declarations in the rain.

Just… quiet.

The kind that came with knowing someone inside and out. The kind that had always lived between you. 

A few days after the hospital, you showed up at his door with two coffees and a bag of something warm, and he didn’t question it. Just stepped aside and let you in like you’d never left. You curled up on the couch, tucked your legs under you like you always did, and when your fingers brushed reaching for the remote, you didn’t move away. Neither did he.

After that, it was movie nights again. Grocery runs together. Your hoodie hanging off the back of his kitchen chair. Your hair in his sink. He never asked you to stay, but you did.Until one day, you just… were. A part of his , his rhythm, his everything, like you always were, just without holding back now. Frankie wasn’t afraid to name it anymore.

No one asked questions. Not Benny, not Santi. Maybe because they’d all seen it before he had. Maybe because it was written all over both your faces the second the storm passed.

You were all at Benny’s one night—barbecue smoke thick in the air, beers half-drunk, someone playing music off an old speaker—and you were curled into his side like gravity had always meant for it. Your head on his shoulder, a small gesture but so monumental to him. 

And Santi, mouth full of ribs, just grinned and muttered, “Finally.”

Frankie looked over at him. “What?”

“You two. Took you long enough. Benny and I had a whole betting pool.”

Benny snorted. “I lost, by the way. Thought it’d take ‘till Christmas.”

You laughed into his shoulder. Warm and soft and unmistakably you. Frankie rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile pulling at his mouth. “Real supportive friends I’ve got.”

Benny raised his bottle. “We’re rooting for you, Morales. Doesn’t mean we can’t roast you while we do it.”

Later, after the sun dipped low and the night got quieter, you tugged him out onto Benny’s balcony. Just the two of you. The city stretched out in front of you, all hazy lights and faraway sounds. You leaned on the railing beside him, arms brushing against each other.

“I know you were a bit slow at times,” you said, eyes on the skyline. “But this… this was slow motion.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I had a lot of shit in my head, okay?”

“I know,” you said, voice softer now. “But I was right there.”

He turned to you. Took in your face, lit by the dim glow of porch light and stars above you. That expression he’d always known but only just let himself hold onto.

“You’ve always been there,” he echoed.

And then he kissed you.

Not like the end of something, not even like the start. His hands in your hair, your mouth meeting his like it already knew the shape of him. Slow, sure and welcoming.

The sun eased into the room slowly and quiet, like it knew better than to speak after the kind of night that changed everything.

You lay on your side, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him—like heat and skin and something you’d waited years to have. Frankie was asleep beside you, one arm stretched toward where your body had just been, hand curled loose on the pillow as if even in sleep he couldn’t let you go too far.

You reached for him instinctively, fingers brushing the curve of his shoulder, then trailing down his arm like you were retracing last night’s map.

It played like a movie behind your eyes. His hands, his mouth, the way he said your name like it broke something open inside him every time. The first kiss, not rushed but anchored, like he’d known exactly what he was doing—like he’d been dreaming about it and was just finally awake. Your lips tingled at the memory of where he’d kissed you. Where he lingered. Your skin still hummed in the places his hands had claimed, like he’d memorized you with his fingertips.

You pressed your fingers to your own mouth, not to stop a smile, but to feel him again. To remember how it felt when he whispered things you never thought you’d hear from him—need you, been dreaming about this, can’t believe it’s real.

Your breath caught. Not from lust, but from how right it all had felt.

The mattress dipped behind you and suddenly, there he was—still half-asleep, hair a disheveled mess, voice low and rough as he murmured, ‘Where’d you go?’ Only one eye open, just enough to peek at you.

You smiled, settling back into the warmth of him as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest like you belonged there.

“Was just thinking.”

Frankie pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, slow and warm and so him, it made your throat go tight.

“’Bout what?” he mumbled.

You smiled. “When it happened for me.”

He went still behind you. “What?”

“When I fell for you.”

His breath hitched, just slightly, and his hand tightened at your hip. “Yeah?” he whispered. “When was it?”

You let out a soft laugh. “That day you showed up at my apartment soaking wet ‘cause your car broke down and you needed to borrow a charger. You were dripping water on my rug and swearing in Spanish under your breath like the world personally offended you. I made you tea, remember?”

He groaned. “I do. I was a mess.”

“And I just… looked at you. And felt it.”

Frankie was quiet for a second, then leaned in, lips brushing the back of your neck. “You know when it happened for me?”

You turned your head slightly. “Tell me.”

“That night we crashed at my place after the bar. You passed out on the couch, and I tried to sleep. I thought I’d be fine, but I had one of the nightmares. Bad one.”

Your breath held in your chest.

“I woke up sweating, choking on my own damn breath, and before I could even sit up, you were there. Not scared, not freaked out. Just there. Sat beside me, hand on my back. Let me breathe. Didn’t say anything stupid. And most importantly you didn’t run.”

Your heart clenched. 

“That was it,” he said quietly. “That’s when I knew.”

You turned in his arms, met his eyes, your hands cupping his face like he might disappear if you blinked too fast, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

He looked at you with those warm, deep brown eyes—like melted earth after rain and it felt like he’d never seen anything more certain. More beautiful. The same way he looked at you that night on his couch, when you didn’t flinch at the worst parts of him. When you just held him, no questions asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like maybe love had already happened and neither of you had realized it yet.

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t wild or desperate—it was soft. Full of all the things neither of you had said for years. The things you didn’t need to say anymore.

Because you knew.

You both knew.

thank you so much for reading <3

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

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@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring

[aurorawritestoescape]

THE PHOTO

Frankie Morales x f!reader || 580 words

Summary: you find Frankie’s photo.

Tw: none, fluff, young Frankie, insecure reader, pining, loveeeee

A/n: I needed some comfort so I wrote this little thing, inspired by the picture above. Hope you’ll like it<3 kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more Frankie

You’re looking at a photo of Frankie and soon tears well up in your eyes. Strong emotions overwhelm your heart and you take a deep breath and press your palm to your chest, trying to calm down.

Frankie and you were group mates in college. You saw each other almost every day but you tried to keep your distance, hiding a huge crush on the guy. Full of insecurities and fears all you dared to do was to steal glances at him here and there, but sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, you couldn’t help but stare.

During classes you would daydream about taking his cap off, running your fingers through his soft curls, hugging his broad shoulders, kissing his plush lips. He often chewed on his pencil, brows furrowed, gaze full of thought, and you were sure that it was the cutest thing in the world.

Whenever Frankie caught you looking at him, he would smile, and your cheeks would immediately heat up. You’d drop your eyes to the desk, frozen, trying to stop your heart from beating too loudly.

That smile of his, playful but never mocking, when directed at you, was a highlight of your day. Yet you were not the only one he smiled at, you thought, he was just friendly like that. You weren’t special.

Frankie was wonderful - kind, helpful, handsome. He’d never be with someone like you. You tried very hard not to idolise him but the nagging voice in your head always reminded you that you didn’t deserve him, weren’t worth his attention. You used to avert your eyes from his, as they were too piercing, too beautiful, they burnt you every time you felt them set on your face.

One day Frankie and you came to classes early and the hall was empty except for the two of you. He began chatting with you and you talked back, shyly at first, shaking like a little bunny inside. But the more you talked, the lighter you felt, and soon you were laughing at his jokes, looking him right in the eye. The fire that had scorched you before turned into the sun, warming and gentle, breathtakingly exciting but comforting at the same time. Your soul was singing when he was there with you and you thought that your heart was right when it had chosen him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on your part but Frankie seemed upset when the other students joined you.

Lost in the memories, with the picture still in your hand, your eyelashes still wet, you don’t notice Frankie walking up to you until his strong arms wrap around your waist from behind and you feel his bearded chin rubbing the delicate skin at the crease of your neck. His naked chest is warming up your back like a furnace through your thin nightie and you happily sink into his embrace as he asks,

“What are you doing here, my love? You know I hate waking up alone.”

“Nothing. Just found this photo of you by accident. Look, you were so young and handsome.”

“And now I’m old and ugly, uh?” He grumbles with a fake annoyance in his voice and you giggle, turning around and throwing your arms around his neck.

“Well, maybe less young but as handsome as ever,” you whisper against his lips before giving him a soft kiss. Frankie hums with pleasure, hugging you tightly, and then parts from your mouth to gruff,

”C’mon, let’s get you back to bed, Mrs Morales.”

“Love when you call me that,” you purr and gasp when he lifts you in his arms and carries you to the bedroom.

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story<3

MASTERLIST || more Frankie

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[flightlessangelwings]

To Feel Your Body Against Mine

Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word count-4.5k

Prompt- secret relationship

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), secret relationship, feelings, praise, sex in a public bathroom, softness, oral (f receiving), creampie, alcohol mention, a shitty ex, attempted assault (not detailed), mild violence (not against reader), happy ending, reader is a bartender/waitress, reader is Santi's sister but not physically described at all other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- For @burntheedges Roll a Trope writing challenge! I'm so excited to be able to participate and I got such a fun trope too! And I definitely made myself hot and bothered writing that second spicy scene lol! I hope everyone enjoys this!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

~

“Mmm… Frankie…” you moaned as you leaned your head back against the bathroom mirror.

He hummed your name in your ear as he smirked against your face.

“We’re gonna get caught if we take too much longer,” you huffed as you felt the warm embrace of his body against yours. 

“Yeah,” he groaned as he thrust into you, “But you feel so fucking good, baby,” his tone dropped as he thrusted again, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Frankie had you on the bathroom counter in the employee bathroom at the bar you worked at. The moment the two of you had the chance to slip away, you took it, and quickly you clawed each other’s clothes off, desperate for one another. To have his cock fill you up again filled that need that left you feeling empty. To be connected to him once more was something that your body, and your heart, craved more than anything. To feel his strong arms around you as you wrapped your legs around his waist made everything feel perfect, even if you were currently in a dirty bathroom. 

And Frankie’s feelings reflected yours. From the moment he first met you all those years ago, he instantly fell for you. And to finally have you in his arms, to feel himself inside your pussy, to be able to call you his… it was better than heaven for him. Even from the second he walked into the bar and saw you with the drink mixer in your hand, the way your breasts swung then you shook it, he knew he was going to fuck you in the bathroom the moment he got the chance.

Your relationship was perfect. Even from the first night you spent together, it felt as if the two of you had been together for years. Everything just fell into place perfectly, like you were two puzzle pieces that finally clicked together to form the picture that was your life. Everything felt right. Everything felt perfect, like things were the way they should be.

It was almost perfect that is. There was only one problem: no one knew. No one could know. Because you were Santigo’s sister. 

“He’ll freak out if he finds out about us,” you had once told Frankie, “Let’s just keep it between us for now. We’ll figure out the right time to tell him later.”

But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered to Frankie now was you. You were the entire world to him as he fucked you in the bar bathroom. The way your mouth dropped open to let the beautiful cries flow freely was more intoxicating to him than the drinks you served. The way your breasts swung with his every thrust was captivating. The way your inner muscles clenched around his cock sent jolts of pleasure up his spine.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. 

Sweat lined your brow as you clung to Frankie. One hand buried itself in his hair, tugging hard, while the other dug into his broad shoulder. All you could do was scream in pleasure as he rocked faster into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck! Frankie, right there!” you moaned as you arched your back.

With one harsh grunt, Frankie thrust forward and both of you fell apart at the same time. You and Frankie both cried out as your bodies trembled against each other. Clinging to each other for dear life, you moaned loudly. Thankfully, the loud music from the bar drowned out your screams, yet at the time neither of you cared about that. All you cared about was the other as you rode out your climaxes together. 

Frankie huffed as he stilled himself inside you for a moment, hot and sweaty from the passionate lovemaking in the tiny bathroom. He let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes for a moment before closing them again to kiss you deeply. He savored the taste of you on his tongue as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you, swallowing the whimper you let out. His hand cupped the side of your face as his thumb stroked your cheek tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbled as he rested his forehead against yours.

“So are you, Frankie,” you smirked back at him before you kissed him again. But, as much as you wanted the moment to last forever, you knew time was against you. “We really do need to get back now,” you sounded disappointed, “Don’t want anyone to get suspicious.” 

Frankie’s face dropped; he didn’t want the moment to end yet either, “Yeah,” he nodded as he helped you dress before slipping his own clothes back on.

Placing his trusty hat back on his head, you gave him one last kiss, “You go first. I’ll be behind you in a second.”

His dark, pleading eyes looked into yours as three words rushed to the tip of his tongue. But, just like every time before, they remained unspoken as he unlocked and left the bathroom.

You let out a deep sigh as you turned to the mirror and adjusted yourself for a moment before you also left your little hideaway and went back to the real world. The real world where as far as anyone was concerned, you and Frankie were just friends. 

*

You grinned from behind the bar as you watched the guys at their table. Santiago, your brother, and the guys who got each other through tough times that you couldn’t even imagine all laughed together. The four of them best of friends, brothers in arms. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but you could tell they enjoyed their time together, as they always did when the four of them convened. 

“There you are, nena!” Santiago exclaimed as you walked up to the table with a tray of drinks, “Where’ve you been?”

Frankie swallowed nervously, but hid it under the brim of his hat.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s busy in here,” you gestured over your shoulder to the crowd at the bar, “Some of us work for a living,” you added with a smirk. Glancing over for a brief moment, you caught Frankie’s eye and saw him relax his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah,” Santiago shrugged, “As long as these assholes keep their hands to themselves and off my sister.” He shit a pointed glare towards another table of guys who made no effort to hide the way they checked you out when you walked by.

Will and Benny burst into laughter before Will spoke up, “Man you really have the overprotective brother thing down pat, don’t you, Pope?”

“Yeah,” Benny added as he sipped his drink.

Santiago rolled his eyes, “Shut up, assholes.”

You mirrored your brother’s eye roll before you turned and walked away, aware of a pair of eyes stealthily on your ass as you did so. A grin lit up your face while your back was to the guys.

Chatter echoed around him as he lost himself in your figure as the guys went back to their conversation. Vaguely, he was aware they were reminiscing about good times in the past before they turned their attention to Benny’s upcoming fight. The Miller brothers seemed to focus more on each other as Will gave his usual encouraging words to his little brother.

“Que pasas, hermano?” Santiago asked, noticing Frankie’s distant expression.

Frankie shook himself out of his thoughts and back to his best friend, “Nada,” he replied a little too quickly, “Nothing,” he repeated in a more leveled tone, “Just thinking is all,” he said as he took a sip of his drink and savored the taste that mixed with your that lingered on his tongue.

“That’s dangerous,” Santiago quipped playfully.

He rolled his eyes as he adjusted his hat. After a breath, Frankie chose his words carefully so as to not arouse suspicion, “Would it really be so bad if your sister found someone? Like found the right someone who treats her well?”

He pointed a stare at him for a moment before he took a swig of his drink and answered, “If it were the right person, yeah. She has a habit of picking real shitty ones though,” Santiago made a face as he pictured a particular ex of yours. But, he decided Frankie’s question was harmless, “But for now, I got my best friends watching over her when I can’t,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Thanks man, I know I can count on you.”

Frankie gave him a smile that hid the way he truly felt, “Anytime, man.”

*

“Oh Frankie… Ay mierda,” you moaned as you writhed on his bed.

The moon was high in the sky, illuminating Frankie’s bedroom. It was just the right amount of light to make for a romantic night in, and Frankie took full advantage of it. In between your legs he found a bliss unlike anything else. There was only one place he loved kissing you more than your lips…

Frankie groaned into you as he dug his hands into your thighs. As much as he wanted to tell you how beautiful you were or how delicious you tasted, he just couldn’t break himself away from your pussy. He slurped loudly, not caring how obscene the sounds he made were, especially when they made you moan and make such lovely sounds.

“Ay dios mio,” you cried out as one hand landed in his hair while the other clutched onto the sheets for dear life. The way his tongue so expertly found all your sensitive spots never ceased to amaze you… and always left you breathless.

Another growl emitted from deep within Frankie’s throat as he devoured you with even more fervor. His tongue swirled around your clit, making you whimper with every pass, and he could tell you were close.

Let me taste your cum, baby, he thought as he ran his tongue up and down your folds. The tip of his nose hit your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, darting it in and out a few times before running back up. The moment his lips wrapped around your clit, you screamed and tugged at his hair.

“Frankie! Fuck!” you cried out as your legs trembled on either side of his head.

He tightened his grip on you as he sucked hard on your clit. And that was all it took to send you over the edge. With a loud scream, you came hard against his face, rocking your hips against his prominent nose as you rode out your climax.

Like a man dying of thirst, Frankie greedily lapped up your release as he kept his rhythm with his tongue. He didn’t want to waste a drop of your sweet juices, and he didn’t want to stop until you were entirely spent. His cock strained with need, but he ignored it in favor of your pleasure.

With one last gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed, and Frankie broke away from your cunt with a loud pop. He wanted your body through glazed over eyes as his chin glistened with your cum. He watched with fiery eyes as your breasts rose and fell with your heavy breaths as you came down from your high.

“Fuck you are so fucking sexy, baby,” he growled as he lunged forward and captured your lips with his own.

You moaned into him as you wrapped your arms and legs around his body as he covered you. A rumble from Frankie’s chest reverberated between your bodies as he rutted against you.

“I need you, baby,” Frankie sounded so desperate, “Fuck I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then fuck me, Francisco,” you mewled as you bucked your hips against his, feeling his rock hard cock against your slick pussy.

All he could do was growl as he angled his hips against you. Frankie slipped a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your entrance, and the moment the tip hit your wetness, you both gasped.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed as he easily slid into you, your pussy still soaking wet from how avidly he devoured you.

“Oh my god…” you dropped your head back onto the mattress as you felt his cock stretch you out. You groaned and dug your nails into his back as you surrendered yourself to him completely. 

“Shit I’m not gonna last long with how fucking good you feel,” Frankie muttered as he started to rock in and out of you, feeling your walls around him with every thrust.

Any words escaped your mind the moment he started thrusting in and out of you. All you could do was moan and hold onto him as his cock filled you over and over again. In the moonlight, Frankie fucked you with everything he had. You felt the passion behind every thrust of his hips, and the way he held you while he ravaged you was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

This was not just fucking. Frankie was making love to you in both the sweetest and roughest way he could. And it was everything you needed and more. Just as he was addicted to you and your pussy, you were addicted to him. You clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to feel every inch of his body against you while his thick cock filled you up over and over again. You wanted… need him more than air.

Frankie was mesmerized by you. Before you pulled him closer, he watched as your breasts swung wildly with every thrust of his hips. And as he covered you with his body, he could feel your heart pound in your chest. He couldn’t get enough of the way you wrapped your arms and legs around him, wordlessly telling him you needed more, needed him closer. 

And he was happy to oblige. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he murmured your name over and over with every thrust, “Baby I’m close.” Sweat lined his brow, making the thick locks of hair stick to his forehead.

“Cum in me, Frankie,” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against his, “Let me feel you.”

Your words alone almost made him lose control. But Frankie wasn’t going over the edge without you, so he snaked his hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as his touches sent jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Frankie…”

“I know baby,” he moaned, “I’ve got you…”

His thrusts became erratic as the room spun around him. Moans and cries of pleasure echoed between your bodies, and neither of you were sure who made which sounds. It didn’t matter anyway, you were connected at one, fitted together perfectly as if you were meant for each other.

Frankie felt his orgasm quickly approaching; with every thrust he was closer and closer. And from the way your inner muscles squeezed his cock, he could tell you were just as close. Pounding into you with fervor, Frankie growled your name as he came hard enough to see stars.

You screamed against his lips as your second climax hit at the same time. Clutching onto Frankie tightly, you trembled underneath him as you came together. Passions exploded between your bodies as Frankie rode out both your climaxes. Tears fell down your cheeks as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body. And a shiver ran up your spine as you felt Frankie’s release fill you to the brim while he moaned against your face.

With one last huff, Frankie thrust as deep as he could into you before he collapsed down on top of you with a grunt. You wheezed as the added weight was sudden, but you both burst into laughter as you both went limp against each other. Frankie planted light kisses on the side of your head as he caught his breath and his cock softened inside you. A chill of his own ran up his spine as your laughter sent shocks to his overstimulated cock.

“That was amazing, baby,” Franie murmured in your ear.

“You’re amazing, Frankie,” you whispered back, kissing him wherever you could while you ran your hands up and down his broad back.

Frankie broke away to gaze into your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. Again, three words were on the tip of his tongue. He could have said them. He should have said them. You looked so beautiful underneath him in the moonlight. There was no better time than now…

Yet, he didn’t. Instead he said, “I got you,” as he slowly pulled out of you, causing you both to hiss. Frankie gave you an apologetic look when he was fully out of you, and he couldn’t help but glance down and watch his release spill out of your pussy.

He licked his lips, and for a moment he contemplated devouring you once more. But, his muscles ached, and Frankie felt the overwhelming need just to hold you close, to feel your body against his.

Reaching for a tissue on his bedside, Frankie gently, tenderly cleaned you up as you whimpered from the touch. You were overstimulated as well, but in the best way possible. Not wanting to leave your side even for a moment, he just tossed the tissue aside and laid down next to you, gathering you in his arms. You sighed contently as you pressed a light kiss to his chest before you laid your head down comfortably. 

“Hey baby?” Frankie broke the silence after several moments. 

“You alright, Frankie?” You noticed the change in his tone, which made you worry. You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heart under your palm. 

“Do you ever think maybe we should tell Santiago about… us?”

You let out a deep sigh as you savored the warmth of his embrace for a moment, “I do hate hiding from him,” you admitted, “But I’m just scared to, you know?” Truthfully, you were sure he wouldn’t be as mad as you feared, yet something nagged at you about it. Perhaps because he reacted so badly to the last person you dated, yet he had good reason to. This time, however, it was Frankie, and who would deny Frankie? And the longer this went on, the more frightened you became. You dug yourself in this hole and the longer you hid in it, the more difficult you knew climbing out of that hole would be.

“I know,” he comforted you with a squeeze, “But we can do it together. He can’t be mad for too long,” he let out a soft laugh.

You chuckled, “You’re right,” you hummed in agreement, “We’ll pick a time to sit down with him and tell him the truth, and Will and Benny too.”

“Sounds good, baby,” he kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right there with you, I promise,” Frankie paused and took a deep breath, “But for now, let’s get some sleep.”

*

It was a quieter night at work, which you were thankful for. So many crowded nights were great for your paycheck, but left you completely exhausted. A few regulars and some newcomers sat scattered around the bar, but you still had some time to just lean against the wall and rest for a bit. It was a calm, peaceful night.

Until the one person you never wanted to see again walked through the doors.

Immediately you were on edge from the moment you saw his sly face, “Ernesto,” you spat through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here?”

His grin sent shivers down your spine, “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I don’t miss you,” your tone was cold as you held yourself strong, “Get out of here.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he leaned in close, invading your space and placing a hand on your shoulder, “Give me another chance. I’ve changed.”

“No!” you pushed his hand off your shoulder. But, before you could step away from him, he grabbed your wrist, “Let me go, Ernesto!”

Just as he tried to yank you close enough to him to kiss you, he was ripped away in a flash. Before he could even grunt in confusion, Ernesto found himself stumbling away from you and a man stood between you and him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“Frankie,” you breathed in relief.

“She told you no, so get the fuck out of here before I have to hurt you,” Frankie growled, sounding very unlike his usual self. 

“Fuck off, she’s mine,” Ernesto lunged for Frankie, fists winging.

Frankie clenched his jaw and waited for the opportunity to present itself. In between the flurry of hands from Ernesto, there was an opening. It only took one hit, one precise punch from Frankie right in his nose to send him careening back. Ernesto landed on the floor with a grunt, and all the air was forced out of his lungs as he saw stars from hitting his head.

In a rage, Frankie stepped forward and grabbed Ernesto’s collar, peeling him off the floor, “Have anything to say now, pendejo?” he growled.

It took him a moment to re-orientate himself before he stuttered, “N-no,” all the fight had left Ernesto’s body, “I’m going. I’m going,” he pleaded as he scrambled away and bolted for the door. Frankie watched to make sure he left before he quickly rushed over to you.

*

Santiago hopped out of his truck before he strolled toward the bar you worked at. He had some free time and decided to come see you, especially since he noticed you had been acting differently lately. He cared for you more than anything, and he only ever wanted the best for his sister and only family. He was in a good mood, but as he got closer to the bar, someone burst through the doors and slammed right into him.

“S-sorry,” Ernestro muttered as he looked up from where his gaze was pointed at the ground, “I didn’t mean to… You!” he gasped, recognizing Santiago.

“You!” he snarled as he grabbed Ernesto’s shirt, “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Santiago was ready to hit him, enraged when he thought about how he treated you in the past, but when he noticed the broken nose and blood from his face, he paused.

Ernesto took the opportunity in his hesitation to slip out of his grip and run away. Santiago thought about going after him, but his priority was more on his sister’s safety, so he ran inside to check on you. And when he rushed through the doors, the sight that met him froze him in his tracks.

Frankie was there, holding you tightly and whispering into your ear as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He couldn’t hear what exactly he said, but he could tell Frankie was whispering words of comfort into your ear in between feather light kisses. Santiago wasn’t sure how to feel and he stood in dumbfounded stillness for several moments.

“What the hell is going on here?” his voice was a low grumble as the emotions slipped out before he could stop them.

You gasped as you snapped your head up from where it rested on Frankie’s shoulder, “Santi…” you breathed, tears still fresh in your eyes, “I can explain,” you scrambled out of his arms and up to your feet.

Frankie followed right behind you, “Pope, I…” he started before he was interrupted.

“Wait,” you hissed to both of them, noticing the stares from the few patrons in the bar, “Can we take this outside?” You really did not want an audience.

Santiago remained tense, but looked around and nodded. In silence, the three of you slipped out and towards your brother’s truck for some privacy. The tension was palpable as you made your way out of the bar. Yet, Frankie still slid his hand in yours despite the glare from Santiago.

“Santi, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you blurted out, “We just…”

“How long?” Santiago cut you off with a simple question, “How long have you kept this from me?”

All the breath felt like it was punched out of your lungs and suddenly you realized why he was so angry. All your life, it had been just you and Santi; brother and sister alone in the world. You trusted each other with everything, and you were all each other had. This was the first time you kept something from him, and you noticed the hurt in his eyes that you felt like you had to hide this from him.

“A few months,” Frankie answered for you in a quiet voice.

Santiago let out a heavy sigh as his shoulders dropped and the tough person melted away. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked between the two of you, “And you couldn’t tell me this whole time?” his tone was softer than before, and the hurt was apparent. 

“Santi,” you started, taking a step forward, “I’m sorry.”

He glanced at you before he stepped past you and met Frankie face to face, “Will you take care of her?” he asked, “You’ll never hurt her?”

Frankie’s eyes softened, “Yeah,” he breathed, “I swear, man,” he continued, “I’d never do anything to hurt her,” he paused, “I’m in love with your sister, man.”

The confession made both you and Santiago’s mouths drop open in surprise. “Frankie…” you gasped in a whisper from behind your brother.

Santiago recovered first, “Fuck, bro,” he smiled through the emotions, “Guess I can’t be too pissed at you… You did kick her ex’s ass pretty damn good.” He turned over his shoulder and smiled genuinely at you before turning back to Frankie, “Just don’t make out or do any of that shit in front me, ok?” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

The relief showed on Frankie’s face as he too broke out into a smile. His hand landed on Santiago’s shoulder as you also sighed in relief behind them. “Deal,” he said before the two friends embraced.

Santiago turned to you and took you up in his arms, hugging you tightly.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Santi,” you whispered to him as you hugged him back.

Breaking away from the hug, he kept his hands on your forearms, “I get why you didn’t,” he said softly, “I can be a little much when it comes to my family.” He turned between you and Frankie, “How about we celebrate? Drinks are on me.”

“Do I have to make them?” you teased.

Santiago and Frankie both laughed as you all embraced each other. Your brother patted you both on the shoulder before he ushered you both to his truck. Frankie slipped his hand in yours, happy to finally be able to take your hand in public without the fear of getting caught. A new chapter in your lives was just starting, and finally everything was absolutely perfect. 

[duvetchico]

requesting flirty xinyu pls pls pls we need more tripleS content on this app 😭🙏🏽

can u act normal for once

summary public flirting... that's all.

genre fluff / crack / secret relationship

pairing zhou xinyu x tripleS!25th!member

masterlist.

you knew dating xinyu meant signing up for a lifetime of minor heart attacks.

you just didn’t expect one of them to come in the middle of a fanmeet with fifty goddamn cameras aimed at your table.

“can you act normal for once?” you hissed at her through your smile, your hand discreetly reaching under the table to physically restrain her leg from bumping yours for the fifth time in two minutes.

“define normal,” xinyu said like a menace, leaning slightly closer, chin propped in her palm. “because if it means not flirting with my very hot girlfriend while we’re stuck here for four hours, then i’m out.”

“shut up,” you hissed again, eyes darting to your left where nien was absolutely side-eyeing the both of you.

“you love it,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her pen against your knee on purpose.

you did. unfortunately. so much that you wanted to throttle her.

the problem was you were dating xinyu. in secret. you two were in the middle of promotions. the company was watching. the fans were watching. the girls were watching.

and xinyu had not gotten that memo because she was busy trying to write i love you on the back of an objekt mid-signing.

“you’re literally—” you snatched the card before she could finish and shoved a different one into her hand, gritting your teeth. “we’re gonna get exposed and it’s gonna be your fault.”

she winked at you.

winked.

“worth it.”

-

the thing about xinyu was: she flirted like breathing. whether it was with her words or her dumb little smirks or the way she’d call you “baby” in the tiniest whisper while holding out your mic for you.

you hated it.

you hated how warm your ears would get when she’d toss you her water bottle and go “i made sure it’s cold for you.”

you hated how she always ended up sitting next to you on every couch, every car ride, every interview.

you hated how the fans started noticing the stolen glances and the shared jackets and that one time xinyu casually fed you a grape during a signal live broadcast like it was the most normal thing ever.

“you guys are so close!” one fan cooed, standing at your table now during the hi-touch.

xinyu beamed. “she’s my favorite.”

you choked on your own saliva.

FAVORITE??

you kicked her ankle under the table.

she barely flinched.

“she’s just shy,” xinyu added smoothly, grinning at the fan before turning back to you with a deadly glint in her eyes.

you were going to die.

you were going to kill her first.

-

during breaks, it got worse.

xinyu kept accidentally leaning into you every time she got up.

kept whispering dumb things like “your hair smells nice” and “i think you should hold my hand under the table just to test if anyone notices.”

kept looking at you like you were the only one in the room.

“stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, hiding behind your water bottle.

“like what?”

“like you’re about to kiss me in front of the manager.”

“wouldn’t be the worst thing i’ve done.”

you slammed your head onto the table.

-

seoyeon was onto you. sohyun was suspicious.

nien said “do y’all have something to tell us?” every three hours.

you pretended to be confused every single time.

xinyu?

“oh? no? we’re just close.”

bitch you were making out in the dorm hallway two days ago.

-

eventually, it happened.

you were mid-hi-touch, your cheeks already pink from xinyu’s latest attempt to write “mine <3” on your sticky note when a fan slid their phone forward with a tweet on the screen.

“I swear xinyu and y/n are dating. look at the way she LOOKS at her. that is not platonic behavior. that’s ‘i’ve seen her in my hoodie at 2am’ behavior.”

“oh that’s funny,” you said nervously, shoving the phone back with a strained smile.

xinyu leaned over to peek and immediately laughed. laughed.

“they’re not wrong though.”

“xinyu!” you elbowed her, face going red. the fan was now cackling with both hands covering their mouth like they just witnessed a crime.

your girlfriend just smiled, shameless and proud.

you were going to strangle her.

-

that night in the dorm, you sat on the floor, arms crossed, refusing to look at her while dahyun cackled behind the camera editing your vlog footage.

“you two are terrible at hiding things,” she said.

“you’re not even slick,” added sohyun.

“i think you should just soft launch already,” said nien with a knowing smirk.

you were fully about to give up.

“babe,” xinyu whispered next to you, nudging your knee with hers. “babe. i’ll buy you a pastry tomorrow. forgive me.”

you ignored her.

“okay two pastries.”

you looked away.

“three pastries. and i’ll shut up for a whole hour.”

your lip twitched.

she leaned in close, soft and smug. “you look really good when you’re annoyed at me. it’s kinda hot.”

you cracked.

“FUCK YOU,” you whisper-yelled, throwing a pillow at her.

she caught it and hugged it like it was you.

“you’re literally the worst,” you grumbled, finally facing her.

“but i’m your worst,” she said with a cheeky grin, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before running off like the bitch she was.

you were so doomed.

and so in love.

and honestly?

you didn’t even care anymore.

[monkebearness]

He, She, & Her [Pt. 2.5.1]

Kim ChaeYeon (tripleS) x Male Reader (ft. Lee JiWoo)

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: smut, some fluff, poly relationship, blowjob, titjob, creampie

Word count: 5k

a/n: writing the third chapter is much harder than I thought, so I decided to just write a shorter “mini chapter” in the meantime.

“Fuuuuuuuck—” Jiwoo’s pitch reaches sky high, feeling the taste of heaven as she sucks on each of the sweaty mounds of her girlfriend while still keeping up with the pace and rhythm of their cunts smacking together. “Mmmm...Mom…mmmy! I misssed—you—”

Only a couple of days have passed since Chaeyeon returned from her business trip to Jeju, Honggi has been hearing the unadulterated carnal rejoices and howls of his two girlfriends from their bedroom. Even from the living room, not even the clacking of his own laptop's keyboard can deafen the noise of their moans breaking through their walls. However, it’s not that Honggi is bothered by their passionate and unbridled moments.

In fact, he cannot be happier that they all have reunited. Jiwoo and Chaeyeon have been together way before they met him. Since she came back, he and Chaeyeon have had their own fair share of makeouts, although he agreed to have the latter spend a lot more time with the woman he’s been fooling around with over the past weekend. For most people, Monday tends to be the worst day of the week for almost anyone who works and studies.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” was the first question she asked him earlier. “We haven’t even started yet… I’m sure you wanna have a little moment to unwind.”

For Honggi, this Tuesday evening has become an exception to that experience. It’s only been two hours since he arrived at their apartment, but he should’ve said otherwise. At least, his own primal urges wanted him to say otherwise.

“No, no! It’s fine, you two have fun, babe. You deserved it… You might’ve flown to Jeju, but you rarely got the time to relax and have fun there.”

“Actually, we’ve gone on some team activities, so it wasn’t all work the whole time.”

He’s just too much of a disciplined gentleman or a reasonable idiot, or both to give into the temptation of feeling her once more. Feeling both of them at the same moment.

“Yeah, we’ve seen your updates… Even the company’s…” He leaned closer to her. “But I doubt they’re the same kind of fun as the one we’ve had here.”

“Oh, wow…” She bites her lower lip. “I really thought you wanted me to spend more time with Jiwoo.”

He could’ve put on his headphones and listened to some of the latest K-pop comebacks, and he would’ve most likely made more significant progress to his sheet within the past half an hour. But, he’s already made his choice.

“I still do…” he tries to assure his girlfriend, slowly fixing her hair.

“What you’re doing right now… Makes me wanna have both of you, Honggi-yah.”

Too bad for Honggi, he’s also got deadlines to commit to before the weekend. And the continuous intermissions of smacking and groaning from their room in the past hour are not helping with his concentration to accomplish his sheet. Fortunately for him—their noises would subside. The couple exit the mint room, driving him to play it cool, while his member remains hot and hard at the sight of their now partially nude bodies, wearing their shirts and panties.

“Bet you got hard listening to us from the room…” Jiwoo teases—if the smirk on her face isn’t obvious enough. “You should’ve joined, you know? Hehe, you missed your chance.”

Honggi scoffs at her, yet a sense of annoyance prickles through him. “I ought to do…”

“Do what?” she raises her tone, her smile widening. She’s doing this on purpose, he can tell from her looks.

Realizing her teasing getting to him, Honggi places his laptop beside him. “Nothing…”

Jiwoo leans down with her hands latching on the shoulder of the couch and inches closer before shamelessly smacking her lips with Honggi’s with eyes closed shut, humming into their kiss.

His mind almost goes blank while his senses take over. The taste of sweat, lip balm, and perhaps milk, unless his own imagination just deceived him. She basically just gave him a glimpse of what they did inside—and her surprise did not help with his erection, which returned while his lust drove him to wrap his hands around her body, leaving his laptop to the side. That is until Jiwoo herself breaks their steaming moment, pulling away with a smirk on her face, almost running out of breath, yet still satisfied by her own mischief.

“What was that?” Slowly opening his eyes, he chuckles in disbelief, instinctively scratching his hair.

“Geunyang…” She raises both her shoulders. “Just wanna give you a taste of unnie…”

“Oh…” And with that, she succeeded.

“And checking up on your little junior.”

Out of embarrassment, covers his boner with a blanket. “Yah… I’m working right now.”

If he only wasn't stranded on a heavy workload tonight, Honggi would have most likely spent no time to pull Jiwoo into the couch with him under the drive of his lust. Hell, he would’ve even joined earlier, but all these thoughts are nothing but his fruits of regret.

Sure, he’s done it with her as well as one would with a fuck buddy or casual girlfriend, but her boldness clashing in with his work mindset only makes him unsure on how to react, whether to entertain her or dismiss her, which he definitely does not want to.

Regardless, not everyone gets to be in a poly relationship. Even he himself is not sure if that’s the term he should be using, because, this is a whole new thing for Honggi in his mid-twenties, experiencing most of the good aspects, and hopefully more than bad.

“Hwaiting,” she shoots back with a giggle, playfully raising a fist in the air while she walks to the kitchen shamelessly, with her underwear dangling for him to stare at.

“Don’t disturb, Honggi,” Chaeyeon joins. “He’s close to finishing the statistics report. Distract him and it’ll get us fired. You wouldn’t want that for us, do you, Jiwoo-yah?”

“All right, all right, I’ll stop. Mianhae, oppa…” She gives him soft pats on his shoulder.

“It’s fine…” Honggi assures both women while moving his laptop mouse. “Jiwoo’s always been a jokester. Nothing new there, so don’t worry about anything, Chae.”

“Aww…” Chaeyeon puts her palms on her chest at his remark, while Jiwoo lets out a chuckle while gulping down her glass of water. “You too really have softened at each other during my trip, haven’t you?”

“Hmm…” Jiwoo places her glass on the counter with a wider smile. “I don’t know about him, unnie… But I’d say he got much, much harder.” She looks at him with a quick wink.

Chaeyeon’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes at her girlfriend’s quip, Honggi muffles his laughter through his knuckle. “That’s, uhh, that’s one way of putting it.”

= = =

The next day has passed. Over lunch, employees of the broadcasting station make the time to enable their caffeine addictions and refill their hunger after four hours. Honggi feels utmost consolation surges through his heavier exhales, realizing he had gotten the approval of his supervisors. “Ratings are indeed looking good... Great job, Honggi-ssi!”

While exiting his office with his colleagues, Honggi receives a text from Chaeyeon. He did not stay at her place last night simply because he didn’t pack up any extra clothes, hence reading her message on time makes him yearn to meet her even more, since he has been itching to check out how she’s been doing at the other office.

“Hey,” he greets her with a warm smile, although concern arises on his thoughts, seeing the woman’s simper. “How’s your morning?”

She scratches the back of her hair. “Could’ve been better, to be honest…”

He already knows, having read her somewhat blank and forced expression. His mind is washed with regret, wishing he should've stayed long enough at their place. Maybe they would've played a long game of Minecraft on her server, took a late night snack, or just watched the latest hockey match with Jiwoo while he sits on the cuck chair, as he calls it. After all, they're in a committed relationship now, so not everything has to be about sex. Thankfully, they're both mature enough to confide in each other, especially during their lowest points.

“Ever since our team has reached out to additional partners,” she continues. “There’s a demand for new proposals from the execs on what our next programs should be… Like, it’s three times more than last time, you know?”

“That’s true,” he nods, slowly rubbing his fingers on her palms. It’s always been a subtle way for him to comfort her in this situation. “We’re back to hell week, aren’t we?”

“Exactly…” She slowly looks down on the floor, grumbling. “And well, I didn’t expect that overseeing a lot of them would be just as difficult, if having to come up with one myself wasn’t hard enough.”

He feels for her struggle. Even when they’re on the same level, they worked their asses five to six times a week, pitching ideas and executing projects for their station. He may not always hear such complaints from her, her face evokes signs of doubt and perhaps, defeat. It’s as if Chaeyeon’s role and tasks haven’t changed much at first glance despite being promoted to being a leader of her own team. Nevertheless, he wants to show his support and presence to her, reminding her that nothing has to change for the worse just because they’re not always together every morning.

He places his palms on the left side of her face, warming up her cold demeanor. He adds his comfort with a peck on each of her cheeks, making Chaeyeon coo while looking down in shyness. “Yah… Babe…”

“Chae… Just because we’re together, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out like any other colleague. Your position may be much higher now but we’re still in the same department, aren’t we? You shouldn’t forget, it’s okay to ask for help at times…”

“You’re right…” Chaeyeon leans her head on her beloved’s chest, finding comfort in the soft yet tender surface of his chest, catching his latest berries-flavored perfume—which she bought for him from Jeju—and his calming heartbeat. “Gomawo, babe.”

He wraps his arms around his beloved, nuzzling his nose on her hair as his nose whiffs the alluring scent of her brand new organic shampoo. “Anything for you, Peachae…”

They close their distance, passionately touching lips. The woman, savoring the rising heat between their mouths, closes their distance with such insurmountable yearning.

“Fuck—” Honggi takes a breather, chuckling alongside his lover. “That was… Wow…”

“I know,” Chaeyeon giggles. “And, umm, you know… I may need some help for now.”

“Sure, babe,” he complies, still a little lightheaded as he is gullible to her advances. “What may I be of assistance?”

He sees her smile of innocence widen into a suggestive grin. She trails her fingers on the edge of his blazer until they reach his crotch. “I just need a little moment… To unwind.”

Without any other response aside from “Follow me,” she walks and takes him into the emergency exit stairs of the upper floor. They’ve never been adventurous at work since all their nights of releases take place at each other's places, but Honggi has always been open-minded enough to follow her lead and explore each other… Elsewhere. Reaching a blind spot from any active camera, Chaeyeon pins Honggi on the white wall, latching her lips on his neck. The man lets out soft groans, closing his eyes to savor her dripping lips.

“Are you sure you wanna do this here?” And now that they’re here, his professional mind and burning libido comes clashing right in front of his lover. “You don’t want somewhere else more private?” he asks, almost paralyzed by his own standing cock.

Looking into her captivating eyes, his girlfriend nods while maintaining her gaze at him.

“I know you said you didn’t want to join Jiwoo and me last night, but—”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“It’s okay, babe. I know you were stuck at work, and it paid off… I just remember the stuff you’ve been doing.”

His head tilts to the side. “Did that make you jealous?”

“Of Jiwoo?” Her tone comes off as defensive. “No, no, I’m not jealous of anyone. I’m probably the happiest, finding out you did it together and all that.”

Still, he believes her. “But I’m guessing there’s a but…” he infers. So he listens on.

Chaeyeon chuckles without a sound, although her face still radiates with hesitation. “You two have been a little more adventurous.” She doesn’t know whether to feel more embarrassed or bold, considering that she’s feeling both. “At least, compared to us back then… That's, uh, kinda what I was jealous of, Honggi.”

There’s a heap of relief and intrigue flowing through him. “Oh…” He suppresses a smirk.

“And if you didn’t notice before…” She takes a step closer to him. “I realized that I've been used to being the dominant one…” And another. “Both with you and Jiwoo…”

He's got a hunch of what she's implying. “Now, you—”

“I want to feel those things, too, baby..." she coos. “I want you to take the lead this time.”

His smirk finally arises from his lips. This will be a little milestone in their relationship. “Well… Your pleasure is mine to fulfill, Mommy.”

Hunger pulls their lips back together like a primitive magnet, exchanging saliva and howling in-between while their fingers climb and tug onto the fabric of their blouse.

Until… She stops right as she reaches his bulge, much to his confusion. The woman rests on his forehead, catching up to her breath. “Mianhae, oppa…”

“Hey, hey… It's okay,” he huffs. “It’s not that weird to take a breather.”

“That, and I just thought of something that can help us speed things up, you know?”

“Well, you don't have to worry that much. We still got less than thirty minutes.”

“Yeah…” She lowers her voice. “But that's not what I mean by speeding things up.”

The woman slowly kneels on the smooth, cold floor, bending closer to his erect member. “It must’ve been dying to get out of these pants, hasn’t it?” Chaeyeon slowly tightens her fingers around his scrotum, making the man bite his lower lip. “Well… It’s time to let the big bull out.”

Honggi can only muffle a groan out of anticipation while he hears her unzip his pants.

“Just relax…” she whispers. “Just give me a moment… Then you… can fuck my face.”

With her mouth, the woman finally envelops his cock. A familiar yet irresistible process. It has only been a month, but she already misses this cock. Maybe even from the day she met him at the airport Monday morning. Even she was conflicted by her lust, having had many opportunities to pull Honggi him to join her and Jiwoo, the same way he would’ve pulled Jiwoo on the couch last night. But since she has this man all to herself, she shuts down any desire towards both her partners as the final half of his member reaches her tonsil and inches deeper into her throat.

Despite feeling the chills crawl up his spine, Honggi pulls her head in a little deeper and pulls her out the following second, allowing her to start her work on his cock by bobbing her head in and out. The view down there makes it more luscious for him as he catches a glimpse of Chaeyeon’s throbbing cleavage every time he looks down, bouncing along her head with his balls smacking her chin every back and forth.

“Oooooooohhh~~Fuuuuuck, baby… I’m gonna fu—” he gasps. Chaeyeon leans down his scrotum, opening her mouth wide enough to take both nuts inside. Her last-second trick incites a reaction from him, adding another groan from Honggi, while more and more of his seed drips down her face. Although still panting, the man feels the weight of his love tugging on his hands, immediately prompting him to help her get back on her feet.

“Oh, God… You, you… Wow,” Honggi wheezes, laughing with her in astonishment since she just made him speechless. In his heart and mind, Chaeyeon’s never failed to deliver and please and, eventually, he’ll have to live up to her expectations the next chance he gets. For now, his lightheadedness drives him to pepper kisses across her collarbone.

“I’m glad you liked it, Daddy,” she giggles, before holding his hand. “But that’s not all…”

= = =

They’re now inside the restroom, thanks to Chaeyeon’s direction. Locked shut without disturbance from anyone else, they found themselves locking lips and dancing tongues once again, now inside the leftmost stall. Aside from the gratification of exploring each other's mouths, they only smell each other's sweat and perfume, thanks to the room's premier ventilation, instead of catching the filth of piss and crap usually found in this area. In fact, that is a little too clean from the lowermost floors, but he's not complaining.

“I never knew they had a restroom like this in the building,” he chuckles.

“People rarely go here… So thankfully, this place should be ours to claim this time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow, as is the left side of his lips. “You sure you haven’t done it here before me?”

“No… But I saw a few folks coming in and out of here every once in a while. It caught on, but no one reported anything about it.”

They first dated a year ago, but more and more surprises from her still turns him on.

“I thought—”she continues. “This would be the perfect time to take someone I’m with here… and find out what the fuss is all about.”

He thought he had taken the lead, yet she’s been the one guiding him in this sexcapade.

“We could’ve stayed outside the stall,” he suggests. “We have all the room for ourselves.”

“But a king needs his throne,” she retorts. “Even if it’s a makeshift and unexpected one.”

He shakes his head in embarrassment. “It’s fine, Chae. And I’m not a king, but you’re definitely the qu—”

She places her index finger on his lips. “Uh-uh… Not this time, Daddy. You’re leading this time, remember?”

Even though such a remark still confuses Honggi, this newer side of Kim Chaeyeon is going to drive him insane the longer he wonders about how far she's willing to go with him, just as how he assumes how wilder she must've been with Jiwoo long before they met. How crazier would it be if he learns more of it alongside both women? Having both their presence will probably melt his mind, while his cock might even explode due to his uncontrollable libido.

Before he could've done a move to lead his woman, she pulled him closer, resting her head on his chest, still savoring his heartbeat for a second time. “You really worked so hard yesterday. I guess your report this morning knocked it out of the park, didn’t it?”

“It did…”

“And not to mention the time you fought for me and Jiwoo-yah.” Recalling his fight at the bar, he knows he’ll do it again, if he has too. But considering how stunned he feels at her soothing influence and gratitude, he lets her slowly push him into the corner behind the now closed toilet bowl. “And because of all that, you should just buckle up… Relax… And let me help you—”

As if having two girlfriends weren’t enough, having one of them to be your coworker is on another level… The thrilling persistent thought of it is revitalizing the man while he watches Chaeyeon's seductive tease of a show with his erection itching out of his pants.

From bottom to top, Chaeyeon unbuttons her blouse with a grin. “Loosen up for a bit.”

And she unbuckles her bra from the front, making him gulp in surprise. In their year of relationship, Honggi hasn’t seen Chaeyeon wear a front-end bra before, considering he has only seen her naked at work through certain texts and pictures—either he or Jiwoo had seen. Salivating down his mouth, his eyes widened with her luscious mounds and nipples exposed. “Holy…” The woman takes his right hand and places it on her left tit.

“Eat up, oppa.” That term is something that has always triggered his own psyche. Their eleven-month age gap was never a bother, since they’re the same age, seeing each other as equals with no need for honorifics. Yet, at every moment she mouths that term—that  needless yet arousing word—it drives his desire to feel her body tenfold. It drives him to dominate her in some shape or form. Spreading his own saliva all over her soft and pale mounds, taking his time and turns to kiss and nuzzle on each of her motherly knockers, allows Chaeyeon to relish with moans and giggles, unable to react with only one. From playful peppers of kisses, hunger takes over Honggi, forcing him to open his mouth inches wider, similar to how Chaeyeon had always taken his girth and balls earlier.

Honggi can’t help but exhale a chortle. “I've finally earned them, haven’t I?”

“You’ve always earned them, Daddy,” she retorts right as she softly pushes him to sit on the cover. “And so will this.” She kneels on the floor, much to her boyfriend’s confusion.

He tries to stop her from placing her left knee. “Chae, don’t you think the floor’s dirty—”

But she soothes him with another kiss. “Gwenchana. I’m already dirtier than you think.”

There’s no doubt in his mind about her willingness to go bolder, be bolder than last. Chaeyeon inches her chest closer, sliding the crevice of her breasts between his now slobbered manhood. There’s still traces of his semen left from both her astounding blowjob and his decent mouthfuck.

Who cares who’s taking the lead? Chaeyeon knows what she’s doing, he calms himself internally. Fuck, she’s the best. Yet, she's only getting better and better.

With both hands, she holds each of her mounds and begins sliding them up and down between his shaft. A rock hard, throbbing hotdog between two fresh and smooth buns, squeezing him tighter and tighter as if it couldn’t breathe. “You–like it?” she asks while increasing the speed of her movement, making Honggi feel and imagine like he is going in and out of a second cunt, or getting sucked on and off by the gap of her jugs while her lips leave some peppers of kisses on his moist, squirting tip.

“Sooooo~~fucking—goooooo~~” he wails, keeping his open palms on both sides of the stall. He finds it odd, yet exhilarating to feel both tension and invigoration at the same time. This unorthodox massage is something he hasn’t ever felt in his years of dating. Experiencing it with this stunning woman only emphasizes just how grateful he feels.

“I’m… glad,” she chuckles, keeping her eyes up Honggi's while his head looks up into the ceiling in venereal ecstasy. Within a few seconds, his eyes roll backwards as this moment takes him to heaven, a state neither of them are strangers to back at home. Even a day or night of hell grants him a trip to paradise, whenever he gets a moment with Chaeyeon.

“I'm chch—” he stutters, his body slowly shivering out of overstimulation. Despite this, only he knows the limits of his own body, sensing the fluid building up. “Cclo—ooose!”

“Let it out, Daddy,” she cheers. “Like you—ngghhhaaalways—have—beefore!”

He jizzes all over her face for a second time, with several splatters latching onto her breasts like a warm glue, a substance that she can’t get enough off.

Honggi helps Chaeyeon up, leveling with her once again, while his left hand reaches the woman's right ass cheek, giving it a slow and gentle, massage-like pinch, like a dough. Perhaps, now’s the time for him to prove his initiative over her however he can.

“I wonder what's that naughty hand up to,” she muses, keeping herself from squealing with pleasure.

It's time to take the lead. “Now, just hold on… And let me return the favor, Mommy.”

His dampened lips crash against hers, inevitably whiffing the bleachy scent and sticky texture of his seed on her smooth face. Within moments, they devour each other's face whole in a battle for dominance, although the strength possesses Honggi with his new determination to take the lead now—considering Chaeyeon’s nonstop and exceptional services to reward him of today’s success.

His conscience alerts him for a second, compelling him to ask her, “Can I?” as his right hand wraps around her waist, starting to shiver in excitement towards their closeness.

Chaeyeon nods as soon as she itches to take her panties off of her now unzipped pants urgently, to which Honggi assists and places on the coat hanger above her, dangling as he catches the remains of her dried juices. She must have gotten her own fair share of satisfaction when she sucked him off, much to his relief that she's also having fun as much as he did.

“Don’t go easy… On me,” the woman huffs with a giggle, anticipating with what Honggi has always known as her usual fuck me eyes. Following her command, he aligns his rod with her entrance, being able to do it with ease thanks to her flawless coordination. Her folds remain as tight as he last entered her, only about a month ago, yet plunging inside her once more triggers a deep giggle that he can’t hold in while his lover keeps moaning the more his cock crosses her walls, revisiting her through the loosening and tightening sensation around him. “Mmmmmngggghhhhh,” is the only first response Chaeyeon can grumble with her muffled lips, putting the trust of her balance by holding her arms onto Honggi tight until his tip makes it just below her cervix. “Always so big for mmmmm…”

He trails right hand down on her ass before lifting her left leg, raising it onto his waist. As their genitals finally make contact, the man speeds up his thrusts, slowly deepening his cock inside her each time he slides within her canal. He maintains his hold of her leg as his poundings intensify, shaking the sturdy door behind Chaeyeon like an earthquake gradually increasing its magnitude. They keep up this pace with his thumping abandon, expressing their glee through huffs and moans amidst their staminas decreasing. They pound against each other like machines, only programmed to repeat the same sets.

In the tenth minute of their carnal fusion, their lips part for the nth time; the woman's breath running thin with the peak of her climax. Despite their tight and enclosed space, Honggi takes delight in his partners’ tits still jiggling against his chest as Chaeyeon’s eyes roll to the back the longer her lover's cock keeps ramming her in and out.

“Imma—cumming, Daddy—” she warns him as her pitch raises without restraint, arching her back and slightly pushing Honggi for a little more space.

“I'm—grrrhhh—close, tooo… Momm…ahh!” he catches up, feeling his throbbing shaft like a rolling boil, its cover no longer able to hold in the water vapor from getting out, until he can finally release—

“Inside!” she begs with a tumultuous volume, squeezing her fingers. “Safe to—hnggghh!”

With four more thrusts and a primal grunt at the top of his lungs, Honggi’s seed bursts deep inside Chaeyeon’s womb. Her head throws back, leaning and howling into the ceiling as she loses her voice out of ethereal pleasure, embracing her lover’s semen gushing on the bottom of her cervix with her arms still wrapping around his shoulders. They steady their breathing, slowly huffing and puffing in front of each other's mouths without much rush. A panting Honggi cautiously lowers his lover’s left leg on the floor.

The two dress and clean up, not long after a final makeout session. Honggi leaves the stall first, leaving Chaeyeon inside for a few more minutes to give her own space. Even with her limited breath, she teases him for being too classy, something which he doesn't deny. Chaeyeon deserves everything good. Pleasuring her now was the least I could do.

“So, do you wanna have lunch or..?” he brings up, right as he wears his jacket, inserting his arms on each hole.

“Oh, I would love to, but I set up a team lunch in five minutes,” she answers, buttoning her blouse. “Would be nice to discuss some of the proposals with my team through a brainstorming session, like you said… You can come along with us if you want.”

“I think you guys and girls have fun on your own... Plus, I wouldn't wanna disturb your whole synergy or somehow steal all your ideas for my own team’s sake,” Honggi shoots back with a sarcastic tone.

“All right, all right,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “But you still should know that you're always welcome to tag along with us some other time, babe.”

He gives the disheveled bangs on his hair a little fix to the side while he walks to her. “That, I wouldn't mind. I’ll be seeing you at the lobby by six, then?”

He receives a peck from her. “No need, Honggi-yah… I’ll pay you a visit later. Right outside your office. Hmm?”

Those butterflies still remain in his stomach just hearing those kinds of simple remarks and reminders from this woman. “I love you,” he just mutters instead of answering her, holding her hands right as she parts from him with some reluctance.

Chaeyeon steals another, much longer kiss from Honggi. “Love you too, babe…” With a sheepish smile, she quickens her pace and walks away from him as a tease; he can only chortle at her silly yet adorable movement.

“Hwaiting!” he adds, raising his fist in the air. She mirrors his cheerful gesture with a wider smile before walking to the nearby escalator, joining the queue of other COSMO employees on their way to lunch.

As she leaves for the third floor, Honggi wastes no time to give her a little wave, before going on his way to the cafeteria before his tummy alerts him of his primal necessities after their thrilling “intermission.”

In this moment of enthusiasm, another thought pops in his mind. Perhaps, he ought to text Jiwoo and give her a little tease about what she missed, that is if Chaeyeon has yet to spill the tea first about their little adventure.

If he’s lucky enough, maybe he can even demonstrate it to her after work. Chaeyeon may definitely be pleased with that. = = =

it may not be as good as the previous ones, but I still hope you liked this one. there will be one more mini chapter of this before the third one. In the meantime, I'll be writing shorter one-shots next time (as in 1k-3k fics, hopefully), if I'm not updating any of my series yet. and yeah, that's it for now. thanks for the read & have a nice day!

[iceprincehoonpark]

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘺, “𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭”

Park SoHyun - 02 line!

Park Sunghoon - 02 line!

[kokokoula]

what you do

a/n: wowow everyone's been putting out their incredibly stunning works it simply intimidates me. i coughed up something for the new year though, i hope it's good enough :) thank you everyone for your continuous support!!

----

you were the one who suggested going out this late after watching a movie together at his place.

"i'm not tired yet." was your explanation. although the clock's hands indicate minutes past midnight, tsukishima complies. he was never a morning person anyways.

the only other thing awake at this ungodly hour is the empty family mart down the street. so here he is, standing with you along an aisle stocked up with packaged swiss rolls, melon bread, etc. tsukishima is already itching to leave the shop; the airconditioning is too cold and the boy behind the counter has been sneaking glances at you ever since you walked in.

"which do you think is better, sponge cake or doughnut?"

"sponge cake. can we go yet?" kei grumbles, pulling you to him with an arm around your shoulders and chest. your warmth helps, plus he needs to establish that you're his.

"oh wait, we forgot to check out the fridge." you're oblivious to your boyfriend's predicament, slipping out of his embrace and heading off in search for more options. he sighs and follows you closely behind.

a familiar tune starts to play over the store's radio. tsukishima instantly recognises it as one of the songs in your shared playlist. (of course he does, he knows the list like the back of his hand.)

you're beaming to yourself. you hum along to the song, fingers drumming to the beat on the door of the fridge. kei prides himself in having an exquisite music taste; your voice is his favourite thing to listen to. you grab two cartons of strawberry milk and head to the cashier with a skip in your steps.

"you're very happy over just a song."

"excuse you, it's an amazing song." you retort.

the young employee only snaps out of his lovesick daze when tsukishima clears his throat, and hurriedly scans the items with a flustered look. your boyfriend whips out his wallet before you could.

"hey, i can pay for my own things."

"just owe me later." besides, he has something to prove to that kid.

the bell jingles as the two of you finally leave the shop. you hand one of the strawberry milk cartons to tsukishima.

"i wanted to treat you to something since i kept you up late, but i guess you ruined that." you're crazy adorable.

"i appreciate the thought." he places a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

on the walk back to his house, your hands are interlaced. you used this to make him give you a twirl midway. he can't help but smile.

to be honest, he'd be a hypocrite for faulting the boy for gazing at you with such lovesick eyes, because he always has that look when he sees you, and probably worse. it's your charm, and funnily enough, you don't even know it.

it's what you do, and kei doesn't mind it one bit.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Hiiiii sending a valentine’s request!!

I’d love something about first Valentine’s with Benny. Is he nervous? Excited? Horny as fuck? All of the above 👀

Perfectionist.

benny miller x female reader

warnings - smut.

valentines masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.

“Ben, please.”

His head whips around to look at you, brow quirked in questioning.

“Hmm?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you,” you laugh. “Who else?”

You look around exaggeratedly, shrugging dramatically when you don’t see anyone else in your living room.

“What is the matter with me?”

“That’s what I’m asking, Benjamin. You’re making me nervous.”

“I am?”

You grab onto his thigh, anchoring it down where it shakes. He’s been bouncing his leg for the last forty five minutes, and you’ve finally had enough.

“Are you okay? The anxiety is practically radiating off you.”

He sighs deeply, sinking backwards into the couch.

“I’m a little on edge.”

“You don’t say.”

He laughs all rumbled and genuine, and the sound makes you grin.

“Tell me why, babe.”

Benny’s hand rests over yours on his thigh, fingers tightening around yours.

“I want tomorrow to be perfect.”

“Tomorrow?” you ask, wondering why a random Friday is so important to him.

“Valentines.”

“Oh, of course. That’s come around quick.”

“Baby.”

“Benny.”

“It’s been stressing me out.”

“Honey… why?”

“Because it’s our first one together. And I haven’t really had a Valentine before that I care about as much as I care about you. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

“You are.”

He chuckles, shuffling in to cuddle into your side. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, the repetition of the movement calming him down instantly.

“Ben,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss his neck gently. “Stop worrying. It’ll be alright. We’ll have a beautiful dinner, and then later on I’ll show you the lingerie I bought just for you.”

He groans, his grip on your thigh tightening.

“What colour is it?” he croaks, eyes slipping closed.

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

He’s shaking now, desperate to grab you and put you where he wants you. But he doesn’t, sensing that you have bigger plans for him tonight. Instead, he sinks back into the cushions, breathing deeply.

You drop to your knees in front of the couch, spreading his legs so you’re perched in between them.

“You want a teaser? Of tomorrow?”

He nods, smirking at the sight in front of him as he looks down at you.

“Show me what you got, baby. Give me a spoiler or two.”

The only sounds that can be heard are both of your lungs panting, and the button on Ben’s jeans popping open.

[cosmic-kid-in-motion]

First Date

Wheelchair user!Santiago Garcia x gn!reader

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist

Summary: You've all but given up on dating apps when you swipe right on the hottest guy you've ever seen

Warnings: Some ablism from the concert venue just in that their accessible seating is really shitty. Reference to Santi being shot. Being in a wheelchair isn't the main plot, the first date is but the limited mobility is a part of things. Just know there no "oh, can I date someone in a wheelchair?" type of thing.

Fake tinder by @quiet-night-sky-writers-blog thanks bb!

Written for my Disability Visibility event! Gotten so many fun responses from the oscar and pedro fandoms!!! thanks so much to every! I will be extending it through MAY because frankly i have a lot I wanna write but alas im in my last few weeks of college and wanna cry!!!! so much papers to write ;-;

I tried my best with this, I am not a wheelchair user and have no close friends unlike other disabilities i've written for so I've consulted people in various internet groups over langauge, and taken what I learned from my disability class I took. Once again, I cant recomend the book disability visibility enough, so many good perspectives on various disabilities! Still, if you use a wheel chair or need mobility aids, and I said something offensive PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

2k words

***

Tinder fucking sucked.

“Looking for a submissive-” Swipe left.

*Holding up a fish* Swipe left.

*Name: Tyler* LEFT!!!!

Okay so maybe you were a little picky. SO WHAT! You're happy single, you didn’t need a relationship… but you did want one. You were just a girl. A girl who did dream of marriage and a family, but only with the right person. So, okay, maybe tinder wasn’t the right place to find a relationship. So maybe you also weren’t opposed to getting some dick or pussy before you found the one. So sue you.

That’s when a profile caught your eye. Handsome. Almost too handsome. Suspiciously handsome, in fact. You meant to swipe left, assuming he was a bot or a scammer or a catfish, but accidentally swiped to see another picture. Him and 5 friends, this one more obvious what you’d missed in the first photo. He was in a wheelchair. This picture looked real, him and friends out on a hike. Kudos to him for not putting the group photo first. You didn’t mind a nice group picture; you liked a friendly person, so having friends was a plus, but if it was their first it seemed like they were hiding something.

You look at his name. Santiago.

All his pictures looked nice, even the candid ones. You liked how wide he smile in the last one. Cute teeth too. You’ve never actually said that about anyone, but there’s always a first. 

“Looking for a nice girl to go to a Metallica show with. No expectations - see where things go. I’m in a wheelchair- but don’t worry- all the right parts still work properly ;)”

That made you laugh, you liked a little playful flirting, as long as they didn’t get out of pocket. A Metallica concert sounded fun… maybe a date and see where things go wouldn’t hurt… if it was just a hookup, then god, what a hookup.

You swiped right, and to your glee it was a match. 

Santiago: Hello!

You: Hi!

Santiago: This is going to sound like a line, but I was really hoping to get a notification I matched with you…

You: Oh yeah, out of the hundred of people you swiped right on?

Santiago: You’re right, the 700th guy holding up a fish was also on my mind

You: Mine too. I guess you’ll do okay though, tee hee

Santiago: My friend Ben set up my profile, tried to convince me to let him put up a fish picture, actually

You: Oh 🤢are you a fish guy?

Santiago: I’m not I swear!! Ben is though. I do go with him sometimes.

You: Well, I suppose we all have our vices. Me, I cry everytime I watch Star Wars III

Santiago: Anakin fan, are we?

You: Always. That's my sweet baby boy who's never done anything wrong.

Santiago: Well, theres child murder.

You: HE”S JUST A BABY!!! Besides, didn’t we say we all have our vices, fish boy?

Santiago: Fish boy cannot be a nickname, I already have a friend named fish

You: Fine, what cute nickname do I get to call you then?

Santiago: Well, my callsign in black opes was Pope, but if I play my cards right, baby is always a good one.

Santiago: *black opps

You: Black opes. Midwest task force

Santiago: shut up 🥺 I’m just a baby

10 minutes in, you were on your bed giggling and kicking your feet. Santi was funny, talked passionately about his friends, his job, and his love of music. Frankly, he was really endearing. Things between you seemed to flow so effortlessly. You agreed to be his date to Metallica, and planned to get dinner beforehand. While setting up the details, he got somewhat serious.

Santiago: Just to be clear, you do know I’m in a wheelchair right? That picture wasn’t just a one off injury. I can walk a little with my crutches, but not long distances and not super comfortable. Honestly, in most situations I just prefer my wheelchair. I’ve been in it a few years now and it’s me and my wheelchair against the world sometimes.

You’d be lying if the idea of dating someone in a wheelchair hadn’t given you a bit of pause in the beginning. Not that you actually cared, but more that you had 100 questions, questions you couldn’t just ask someone when you first start talking. You were curious, but he was hot and he was nice, so of course you wanted to see where things went.

You: Don’t worry, I figured as much when I saw the pictures. Just let me know how to help when/if you need any help getting around the venue. 

Santiago: Don’t worry, we got great tickets in the probably obstructed view of the accessible section.

Santiago: Holy shit I just saw what Ben put as my intro on tinder. I SWEAR TO GOD I’M NOT LIKE THAT IGNORE THAT I'M NOT A PERVE

The date was planned, and a week later you were panicking about getting ready for the concert. You weren’t sure if you’d dressed right. First dates, you try to dress nicer, but this was Metallica after all. A cutesy dress wasn’t exactly going to cut it. Sexy would have to distract from the fact it wasn’t going to be classy. Jean shorts over black tights, and an old Guns ‘n Roses shirt. Yeah okay you looked good, it’d do.

You two met at an area near the venue. Santi drove, he was able to get a modified SUV. You looked into it, being nosey. It was NOT cheap. He said he did security, didn’t elaborate. Did he own the whole damn company? When you saw a handsome man outside the bar, you knew it was him. 

Santi lit up when he saw you, coming over and extended a hand to shake, which you accept. “Sorry,” He says looking a little sheepish. “Handshakes are such a force of habit to me, guess it’s kind of weird on a first date.”

You can't help but laugh. It was odd seeing a man so hot be so clearly nervous; you should be and are the nervous one. “Don’t worry about it. Lots of handshake deals going on?”

He relaxes, going over to open the door for you with the button. You notice the bars accessibility; wide doors that open with the press of a button, a small metal ramp easing the transition. You also admired how easily Santi moved, the confidence, the grace, like his wheelchair was an extension of himself.

“Well, partially. Owning my own business is half of the reason I’m weirdly formal sometimes. 15 years in the army is another.” Santi went to a table after the bartender greeted him by name, sliding into a spot that didn’t have a chair in it. 

“15 years!” You bawked. “Helluva stint. You didn’t want to go for the full 20 and get all the fancy benefits?”

“Well, I was going to. Getting shot in the spine tends to fuck up some of your plans.” He said it with a little smile, but the mortification hit you dead on. You facepalm into your hands.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You can’t look at him, even though he’s laughing.

“No, I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist. Shit, please don’t feel bad!” But he was still laughing. Finally, you peak out through your eyes and laugh too. Santi’s smile was contagious, his full upper teeth on display as he grinned.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

He did. And you were beginning to love him for it. 

You got to the concert not too long before it was supposed to start. Since you had seats, it didn’t matter how early you got there. Santi bought you drinks at the bar and even bought you a tour shirt he saw you eyeing, even though it was -jesus christ $80!??!?!- He didn’t even seem to notice. You’d be lying if you said being on a date with a financially well off man wasn’t at least a little hot. You were an independent person, you had your own money… but it still was attractive. Most men you had dated were bums, boys who never actually grew up. This was a man.

When you get to the disability accessible seating, you realize Santi was not joking about an obstructed view. The seats were way off to the side, and unless the band was going to be way to the right the whole time, you wouldn’t see them while sitting very much.

“Shit.” Santi mumbles. “I didn’t think they were THIS bad.” 

“It’s okay!” You try to reassure him. “We’re still close, so whenever they're over this way, we’ll be right there! Plus, it’s Metallica. I’m just thrilled to be here.” And you were! With the world’s hottest man on your arms as well. What more could you want?

“No, I just- Jesus.” Santi scrubs his face with his hands a few times, clearly frustrated. “I should’ve just gotten nose bleed seats and tried to walk here on my crutches. I knew, i fucking knew the accessible seating would suck because it always fucking does.” He maneuvers into his spot and you take your seat. “But that shit always hurts after too long. Or tried the general admission but even then if even one group is front of me and my chair I can’t fucking see- there’s no winning.”

Your heart felt for him. He’d told you this was his favorite band, and it made you mad that the venue’s “accessibility” just meant shoving him off to the side. Santiago was a grown man, well enough off, former military, and certainly could hold his own… but you felt protective of him. Not because he was in a wheelchair, but because he was someone you cared about.

“I have a plan. And it’s going to make me look like a dick, but I don’t really care.”

For most of the concert, you stayed where you were, enjoying the show and his company. Sometimes, if he was feeling up to it, since he brought his crutches you’d help his stand if he really loved a song. And yeah, James Hetfeild and other members meandered around the stage, coming awfully close, which was a lot of fun. But when the last song on the setlist came on, Until it Sleeps, you took Santi by hand and went down the ramp. Everyone expected people to push their way to the front in the beginning, not the end.

No one expected a nice person and a man in a wheelchair to be so… assertive. But for this man? You were. You weren’t going to be a dick and do this at the start of the concert, but for one song at the end, your man deserved to see his favorite band up close, since the venue wanted to be shitty.

A few 'scuse me, pardon me’s and people politely scooted. Many already began leaving to try and beat the concert crowd off the downtown streets. Because of this, you managed to get Santi close, and when people scattered, you and him went right to the gate. You made it in time for the encore and got to listen to Nothing Else Matters with him. The joy on his face as he looked up at the stage was worth it.

*

“That was amazing!” Santi was full of joy, almost giddy energy as you and him walked to the parking garage he was at. You were both in no hurry, knowing the streets would be chaos for a while as everyone left but also just enjoying each other’s company. 

You two went down the street side by side, laughing together as he told a story of some of his army friends. Santi drove you home, as you sat outside your house in his car, you didn’t want the night to end.

Santi looked at you, a soft smile on his face. He was still buzzing from concert energy. “Would I be being weirdly formal again if I asked to kiss you?”

You giggle, but shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Well… can I?”

“Absolutly.”

You both lean in, and Santi tangles his hand into your hair. He kisses like a slut, mouth open, letting you take the lead and submitting to your lips and tongue. He moans too, then pulls away. “Fuck, that was embaressing.”

You grip his curls and pull him in again.

***

Thank you so so much for reading!!!

I'd really appreciate reblogs as i try to rebuild over here, plus it seems im either shadow banned or marked as explicite to some blogs, either way my visibility is decreased.

Still lots of time to enter the event! Would love to see more awesome creations, especially some art! I got one beautiful art piece and would love to see more! Could be a moodboard type thing to, not judge drawings! <3

tagging some people i thought may enjoy @my-secret-shame @winniethewife @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @ivystoryweaver @miraclesabound