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The moment you heard the update crackle through the team’s radio, you were already moving, grabbing your medical pack and heading straight for the nearest emergency truck before anyone had the chance to call your name. 

“We got em’.”

That was all it took. 

Your feet hit the pavement faster than they had all night as you hauled yourself into the passenger seat, barely waiting for the rest of your team to pile behind you. You weren't far from the extraction site, already staged just outside the search perimeter in the desperate hope that they’d be found somewhere—anywhere. Since Leon had gone off-grid after heading into raccoon city, you’d been pacing the breakroom like a ghost, chewing at your nails, trying to ignore the way every minute stretched longer than the last. 

The trauma response breakroom wasn't much: a shared space, old tile floors, a coffee bar that barely worked half the time, a couple of cots shoved against the wall for whatever sleep you could steal between calls, and a table in the center that usually saw more card games than paperwork on slower nights. 

Tonight had not been one of them.

Being DSO trauma meant things were always moving, always going wrong, and always urgent, but it had never been him. Leon had always handled himself, always come back, and always made it look easier than it probably was. Still did. But these last eighteen hours had carved something sharp into your chest, something you hadn’t felt this deeply since the day you married him. 

The truck was packed tight, your team crammed shoulder to shoulder, each carrying basic kits while the heavier equipment rattled behind you. Hound Wolf squad had already called in full trauma for other areas of the estate, redirecting units to where they were needed. 

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t letting them pull you from Chris’s team. 

Not when they were the ones who had pulled your husband out of whatever hell he'd been buried in. 

Your grip tightened around the rail near the window as the truck sped forward, your stomach rolling hard enough to make you think you might lose it if you let yourself breathe wrong. Your face, however, stayed neutral and controlled, exactly what they expected from you. 

To everyone else you were steady. Focused. Professional. 

Or else they wouldn't let you tag along to work on Leon, and the only thing keeping you upright right now was the fact that he was alive. 

When the truck skidded into the muddy clearing just outside the site, the world looked like it had been left to rot. Wet earth, broken ground, and the air thick with something that clung to the back of your throat. 

The chaos hadn’t settled—it had just shifted. 

Sirens cut through the air, red lights flashing across cracked pavement as medics moved quickly through the scene, voices overlapping in sharp, practiced commands. The threat was gone, but the aftermath lingered heavy in the air, clinging to everything it touched. 

You stepped out with the rest of the team, already moving before anyone could direct you, your expression set, your posture straight, every inch of you falling into the role you’d trained for as your eyes scanned the area. 

Then you saw him. 

Leon stood near the back of an ambulance, shoulders slumped, the weight of everything he’d just been through written plainly in the way he held himself. The missing FBI agent Grace sat nearby on the edge of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped tightly around her as she spoke to him, her face pale and shaken, just as much a part of the aftermath as he was. 

You registered it. Then let it go. 

Because your focus had already locked onto him, pulling tighter with every step you took, the world narrowing until it was just that one point, just him, standing there, breathing, alive in a way that didn’t quite feel real yet. Your gaze caught on the axe strapped to his belt, dark with someone else's or something else's blood, the metal dulled by it, not even wiped clean yet. 

If you didn’t keep your shit together, they’d pull you off the field, and that wasn’t an option, not now, not when he was right there. The urge to break formation and run to him hit hard enough to make your chest tighten, but you forced your pace to stay measured, even as your grip tightened around the handle of your medical bag. 

It wasn’t Leon who noticed you first. It was Grace. 

Her eyes landed on you as you approached, soft but alert, taking you in like she was trying to place you. She didn’t know who you were, but everyone knew her. Knew she’d been missing. Knew what it meant that she was sitting here now, alive. 

“Agent Kennedy,” you said, voice level and professional, like this was just another routine assessment, like your pulse hadn't been racing for the last eighteen hours. 

His head lifted at the sound of your voice, his attention following Grace’'s line of sight until it landed on you. 

And for a second—just a second—something in his expression shifted. 

Recognition. Relief.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth before it disappeared just as quickly, tucked neatly behind the same guarded composure he wore for everyone else. 

“You’re late,” he muttered, dry as ever. 

It almost made you smile. 

Almost. 

Instead, your gaze moved over him, clinical and precise, cataloging everything without letting yourself linger. Blood. Some his, some not. Dirt, and the remnants of something far worse than either. 

“Status?” you asked, already stepping closer. 

“Still breathing,” he said. 

Of course he was. 

You nodded once, sharply. “Good. Stay that way.” 

“I—I'm Grace."

You peeled your attention away from him to look at her, huddled inside the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Up close, she looked worse. Shaken and exhausted. Trying to hold herself together in a way that felt all too familiar. 

Your expression softened just slightly. “Hi grace,” you said, stepping closer as you set your bag down beside her. “Have you been checked yet?” 

She hesitated, her eyes flicking back to Leon like she was looking for reassurance, and you followed that instinctually, catching the way he gave her a small, steady nod. The same quiet reassurance you’d seen him give a hundred times before. 

The movement passed quickly as she looked back at you. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You gave her one last reassuring nod, adjusting the blanket more securely around her shoulders, your hands steady even if everything else in you wasn’t. As you did, your gaze flicked up briefly and caught him watching.

Leon didn’t say anything. He never did in moments like this. He just stood there, quiet, letting you do your job, like he trusted you with it without question. Like he always did. 

You only held his gaze for a second before pulling your attention back to Grace, your hands moving automatically, checking what has already been done, making sure nothing had been missed. Yet your mind didn't stay where your hands were. It never did when it came to him. 

Because even now, standing there like nothing had happened, you could see it. The way he held himself just a little too still. The exhaustion he tried to tuck away. The way he stayed close enough to Grace without hovering, like he needed to make sure she would be fine. Safe. of course he did; that’s who he was. The man stepped in front of things no one else would touch. The one who carried people out when it would’ve been easier not to. The one who gave everything he had, again and again and again, without ever stopping to ask what it cost him. 

Your fingers adjusted the edge of the blanket again, smoothing it down like you had something to fix, something to focus on. 

Grace. A girl he didn’t know, a mission too risky. Still... He stayed. You didn’t need details to know what had happened in here. You didn't need a report or a debrief to understand the look in her eyes when she glanced at him or the way he hadn’t moved far from her side since you arrived. 

He’d protected her, like he always did. Like he had for so many people before her. 

Like he would again. 

Your jaw tightened slightly as you kept your attention where it needed to be, your movements controlled and practiced, and your voice calm as you spoke to Grace, but the thought settled anyways, heavy and familiar in your chest. 

If it had been you… he woudlve done the same. Without hesitation. Without question. Given everything. 

Always. 

You slipped into autopilot with Grace, telling her to stay put, that someone would be with her shortly, your voice steady even as your attention had already shifted. You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye when Leon pulled his glove free, flexing his fingers slightly. His hand looked…normal. No dark veins, no sign of the infection that had been eating at him. Just skin. Just him. Then he slid the ring back into place, settling it over his finger like it had never left. 

His wedding ring. 

It caught for a second, something tight pulling in your chest as it settled there like it belonged. Like he needed it there, even now. 

Grace said something, but you barely registered it, already turning, already shifting your stance just enough to move. 

“Will you give us a minute?”

You offered her a soft smile, the same calm, reassuring expression you’d been holding onto since you arrived, even as your hand closed around Leon's arm, guiding—no, pushing—him gently away. Grace nodded, her eyes flicking between the two of you, something curious there but no questions. 

You didn’t stop walking until you reached your truck, the tailgate still folded down, equipment scattered where it had been hastily pulled out. You maneuvered him in front of it and gave him a small push to his shoulder, just enough to get him sitting on the edge before you dropped your bag beside him. You glanced around once, quickly, making sure no one was paying too close attention. 

Then you broke. 

Your hands were on him instantly, firm and urgent, moving over his shoulders, his arms, and his ribs, checking, searching, needing something solid to tell you this was real.

“Where are you hurt?" You demanded, your voice low but tight, the control slipping at the edges. 

Leon caught your wrist, not stopping you, just slowing you, grounding you. “I’m okay.”

“No,” you snapped, your eyes snapping up to his, something sharp and raw cutting straight through what little composure you had left. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

Your hands didn’t slow, pressing more deliberately now, searching for any sign of damage, any flinch, anything out of place. Your fingers brushed along his side and lingered. 

He flinched. 

“Damn it kennedy.” 

You were tugging his shirt up before he could protest, your movements sharper now, more frantic as you tried to get a better look, and your heart climbed into your throat. 

"Hey—" he started, trying to catch your hands again, but you didn’t stop. 

“Ah,” he huffed, half a breath, half a protest, as he tried again, softer this time. “I said i’m fine, hon.” 

If anything, your hands moved with more purpose, tugging his shirt higher despite the way he tried to catch your wrists, your fingers pressing along his side again like you were trying to force the truth out of him through touch alone. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” you muttered, already scanning for anything out of place, your voice tight. “You flinched.”

Leon let out a quiet breath through his nose, something caught between a sigh and a tired laugh, as his hand came up to steady your wrist again, not stopping you so much as trying to slow you down. “Yeah,” he said, dry even now, "because you’re digging into it like you’re trying to make it worse.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop lying to me.”

That made him pause, just for a second, the smallest break in that usual deflection of his before he shifted, his grip loosening as he reached down himself and hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt. He lifted it just enough for you to see, not making a show of it, just giving you what you’d been looking for all along. “Already handled,” he said, quieter this time, the edge gone from his voice. 

Your eyes dropped immediately, locking onto the clean wrap around his side, the bandaging tight and deliberate, already doing its job. It wasn’t fresh, and it wasn’t ignored. Someone had taken care of it, or he had. Either way, it wasn’t what your mind had been bracing for. 

Your hands were still for a moment before settling back in, slower now, more careful as your fingers brushed along the edge of the bandage, checking the placement, the pressure and the heat of his skin beneath it. 

“Who did it?” you asked, your voice softer without you meaning it to be. 

“Field kit,” he answered easily. “Had help.”

Of course he did. 

Of course he managed. 

Your thumb traced along the wrap again, this time not searching, just confirming, your movements losing that frantic edge as your shoulders slowly started to come down from where they’d been sitting since you got the call. 

“You could’ve started with that," you murmured, the words slipping out more to yourself than to him. 

Leon watched as you said it, really watched you this time, the way your hands had changed, the way your breathing hadn't quite settled yet, and the way something was still holding tight beneath the surface even after you’d found what you needed to. 

That was the moment it shifted. 

His hand came up again, not to stop you this time but to guide you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist as he eased your hands away from his side and back toward him. "Hey," he said, quieter now, waiting until you looked at him, until your eyes finally met his instead of the injury. 

“I’m okay.”

No deflecting or brushing it off. 

Just steady. Serious. 

Your jaw tightened like you wanted to argue anyways, like you weren’t ready to let it go that easily, but the fight had already started to slip from your grip. 

“I thought—” you started, then stopped yourself, shaking your head slightly as your gaze dropped for a second. 

Leon didn't let it stay there. 

His hand shifted from your wrist to your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he tipped your face back up toward him, grounding you in the same way you’d just tried to ground him. “You don’t get to go there,” he said quietly, his voice softer than it had been since you walked up to him. “Not when im sitting right in front of you.”

Your breath caught, just enough for him to notice.

His hand lingered there for a moment before sliding back to the nape of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, not enough to draw attention, just enough that you could feel him, solid and real and right where he was supposed to be. “I told you,” he added, the faintest hint of that familiar tone slipping back in, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

Your lips pressed together, something between a breath and a laugh threatening to break through as you shook your head, your hands finally settling against his chest again. Not searching this time, just resting there. 

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, the tension in your voice loosening just enough to let it sound like you again.

Leon huffed quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting as his hand covered yours where it rested against him, holding it there for a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he said, softer now, “and you still married me.”

And just like that, the edge of it all dulled, not gone, not really—but easier to carry.

Leon’s thumb was still brushing slow, absent circles over the back of your hand where it rested against his chest, the two of you standing just close enough to forget, for a second, that you weren’t alone.

Your breathing had finally started to even out, the panic ebbing into something quieter, something steadier, and in its place was him, solid, warm, and alive under your touch. Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, like you needed to feel the fabric shift just to remind yourself he was real.

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

It was subtle. Quick.

But you caught it, and just like that, the air shifted again.

Your hand slid a fraction higher against his chest, your thumb brushing along the line of his collar as your eyes lifted back to his, something softer settling there now, something that had nothing to do with triage or protocol or the dozen people moving around you.

“Still think I’m late?” you murmured, quieter now, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

Leon’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, his hand tightening slightly at the back of your neck as he leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping with you. “Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking between yours and then your lips again. “Could’ve been here sooner.”

“You’re alive,” you whispered back, like that alone should settle it.

“It’s a start.”

The space between you closed without either of you really deciding to do it, instinct pulling tighter than reason, your forehead nearly brushing his, his nose just barely grazing yours. His hand slid a little firmer at your neck, your fingers tightening in his shirt as the world around you blurred into noise you didn’t care about.

It wasn’t a kiss.

Not yet.

Just close enough to feel his breath, warm against your lips, just close enough that if either of you moved—

“Alright, Romeo.”

And there it was.

Leon’s eyes shut for half a second, his forehead dropping lightly against yours in a quiet, of course, before he pulled back just enough to glance over your shoulder.

You didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Chris stood a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too amused for a man who’d just come out of hell himself. One of the Hound Wolf guys behind him muttered something under his breath, earning a low chuckle from someone else as they tried and failed to pretend they weren’t watching.

“Didn’t realize we were running a reunion special out here,” Chris added, brow lifting slightly as his gaze flicked between the two of you.

Your hand dropped from Leon’s chest immediately, professionalism snapping back into place like it had never slipped, even if the warmth was still lingering in your cheeks. “He’s cleared for transport,” you said smoothly, like you hadn’t just been half a breath away from kissing your husband in the middle of an active scene.

Leon snorted quietly beside you, dragging a hand down the back of his neck as he stood a little straighter, composure sliding back into place just as easily. “You always this nosy, Redfield?” he shot back.

Chris didn’t miss a beat. “Only when it’s entertaining.”

There was a pause, then, just long enough for the tension to settle into something lighter, something almost normal despite everything around you.

Leon glanced at you again, just for a second.

Quick. Quiet.

But it was there.

That same softness.

Like the moment hadn’t actually been interrupted…just…delayed.

And something told you he’d finish it later.

Frank treated your pregnancy like you were made of spun glass and holy water. Not in an overbearing way.

Okay—sometimes in an overbearing way.

But mostly in the kind of way that made your chest ache every time you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Like every kick, every ultrasound picture taped to the fridge, every tiny onesie folded in the nursery felt borrowed from somebody else’s life. Some nights you’d wake up at three in the morning to find him sitting beside you in bed, one massive hand spread carefully over your stomach while the baby kicked against his palm. And every single time, Frank would look just as stunned.

“She’s strong,” he’d whisper once, voice thick with something emotional enough to make your throat burn.

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“Because she’s already beatin’ my ass.” You laughed so hard you snorted. Frank looked devastatingly pleased with himself for hours afterward.

But God, the pregnancy itself?

Absolute hell.

Your ankles were swollen.

Your back constantly hurt.

You cried once because the grocery store was out of the popsicles you wanted and Frank nearly threatened a minimum wage employee before you dragged him away mortified.

Then came the complications. The hypertension first. Frank took one look at the blood pressure monitor and immediately transformed into the world’s most terrifying personal nurse. Suddenly you weren’t allowed to carry groceries. Or stand too long. Or stress about literally anything.

“You need water?” he’d ask before you even realized you were thirsty.

“You hungry?”

“You dizzy?”

“Baby, when’s the last time you sat down?” It became constant. And the anemia somehow made him worse. The first time you nearly fainted in the kitchen, Frank caught you before your knees fully gave out, panic washing over his face so fast it scared you.

“Hey. Hey—look at me.” His hands cupped your face tightly. “Talk t’me.”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled weakly.

“No, you’re fuckin’ not.” After that, he watched you like a man trying to hold the world together with bare hands. You’d catch him hovering in doorways.

Watching to make sure you ate.

Watching to make sure you slept.

Watching your chest rise while you rested beside him at night.

Like he still believed happiness could disappear if he looked away too long. And through all of it—through the nausea and headaches and exhaustion and hormones so bad you once sobbed because Frank bought the wrong pasta sauce—he never made you feel difficult. Not once. Even when you snapped at him. Even when you cried over nothing. Even when your body hurt so badly you didn’t wanna be touched. Frank just took it. Softly. Patiently. Like loving you through this was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

By month eight, you were done.

Absolutely done.

You waddled into the apartment one miserable July afternoon, kicked your shoes off violently, and announced:

“I want this baby evicted immediately.” Frank looked up from cleaning one of his guns at the table.

“…That bad today, huh?”

“She’s sitting directly on my spine.”

“Mm.”

“And my feet look medically concerning.” He nodded solemnly.

“They do look pretty tiny.” You stared at him.

“…Frank.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “Tryin’ t’boost morale.” You burst into exhausted laughter despite yourself before immediately groaning and clutching your stomach.

“Ow.” Frank was beside you instantly.

“Hey.” All humor vanished from his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you sighed. “She just kicked me in the ribs again.” His expression softened so fast it nearly hurt to look at.

“C’mere.” You let him guide you carefully down onto the couch with one hand braced at your lower back. The second you settled against the cushions, Frank crouched in front of you automatically, both hands spreading gently across your stomach. “Alright, tiny terrorist,” he muttered toward your belly. “Quit beatin’ up your ma.” Right on cue, the baby kicked hard enough for both of you to see it through your shirt. Frank froze. Every single time. No matter how often it happened, he still reacted like it was the most miraculous thing he’d ever seen.

“…Jesus,” he whispered. You smiled tiredly down at him.

“You say that every time.”

“Yeah, well.” His thumb stroked slowly over the curve of your stomach. “Still can’t believe she’s real.”

---------

You don't register the pain at first.

It's late, and you're making yourself a snack in the kitchen while Frank watches TV.

You've been having weird practice contractions all week, so when your gut twists painfully, you brush it off and keep on slathering the peanut butter on the celery stick, getting read to get your dried raisins to make your ants on a log- one of your more tame cravings. Another cramp rolls through you. Sharper this time. You pause with the raisin box halfway open, sucking in a slow breath through your nose.

“Y’alright in there?” Frank calls from the living room immediately.

“Fine,” you answer automatically. A beat passes.

“…You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m pregnant,” you call back. “None of me sounds fine anymore.” That earns a soft snort from the other room. You smile faintly to yourself and shake a few raisins into your palm. Then the pain hits again. Hard. Your fingers tighten against the counter instantly.

“Oh,” you whisper. It wraps low around your stomach and back this time, squeezing so tight it steals your breath for a second. Not like the weird tightening you’ve been getting all week. This hurts. Deep and mean and hot enough to make your knees feel strange. You brace both hands on the counter until it eases.

Okay.

Okay maybe that one sucked a little.

You glance toward the microwave clock. The contractions have been random for days. Everybody said that happened at the end. Braxton Hicks. Practice. False labor. Your doctor literally warned you not to panic over every cramp. So you don’t. You pop a raisin into your mouth stubbornly and reach for the peanut butter again. From the living room, Frank raises his voice slightly.

“Baby?”

“Mhm?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, dad,” you tease weakly. Frank appears in the kitchen doorway so fast it’s honestly alarming. Before you can recover from that emotional catastrophe, another pain crashes through you so violently your smile vanishes.

“Fuck—” Frank is beside you instantly.

“Hey.” His hands find your hips automatically. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” You breathe hard through it. “Just hurts." His expression sharpens immediately.

“Contraction?”

“Maybe?”

“How long apart?”

“I wasn’t timing them.”

“You weren’t—” Frank cuts himself off with visible effort. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart, sit down for me.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are bent over a counter holdin’ celery like it personally betrayed you."

You almost laugh.

Almost.

Then something suddenly gives low in your stomach. A strange popping sensation. And warmth gushes down your legs. You freeze. Frank freezes too. The silence lasts exactly one second.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. Frank looks down. Then immediately back up at you with eyes wide as hell.

“Did your water just break?”

“I think so?”

“You think so?”

“I’ve literally never done this before, Frank!”

“Right. Right, okay.” He’s already panicking. You can hear it under every word even while he tries to stay calm. “Hospital bag. We need—” Another contraction slams into you before he can finish. This one is unbearable. Pain rips straight through your spine and lower stomach so hard your knees buckle instantly.

“Oh my God—”

“Hey!” Frank catches you before you hit the floor, both arms locking around you. “Easy, easy—breathe, baby, c’mon.” You clutch his shirt hard enough to wrinkle it in your fists.

“It hurts,” you gasp.

“I know.”

“No, Frank, it really hurts.” The pressure in your stomach keeps building instead of fading. Your entire abdomen tightens painfully hard, sharp enough to make tears spring instantly into your eyes.

This must be normal.

Right? Everybody talks about how bad labor hurts. Nobody describes it specifically because apparently women enjoy being cryptic about childbirth for some reason. So this is probably fine.

Probably.

“Okay,” Frank says quickly, voice tight now. “Okay, we’re goin’. Can you walk?”

You nod automatically. Then another wave crashes into you before you even fully straighten.

“Oh, fuck—” Frank’s face drains of color.

“That close together?”

“I dunno—” Your breath stutters painfully. “Maybe?” Your legs feel weak. The pain is everywhere now, wrapping around your back and hips so intensely it almost feels like your body is splitting apart from the inside. You cling harder to Frank without thinking.

“Hey, hey.” His hand cups the side of your face instantly. “Look at me." You try. “You’re okay,” he says, even though he sounds terrified now too. “I got you.” You nod shakily. Another cramp twists through your stomach before the last one fully leaves, and this time a broken sound slips out of you before you can stop it. The whole way from the apartment to car is a blur. The ride to the hospital is even foggier. All you can focus on is the sharp pain blooming on your pelvis, and the way your whole body is shaking.

At first, it’s almost weirdly normal.

Terrifying. Painful. Chaotic.

But normal.

Frank stays beside you the entire time, one massive hand wrapped around yours while the other rubs your back through every contraction. His hair’s a mess already from dragging his hands through it for hours, exhaustion written all over his face, but every time you look at him he straightens immediately.

“You’re doin’ good,” he keeps saying. You hate him a little for it.

“Don’t patronize me,” you snap through clenched teeth as another contraction rips through your spine. Frank blinks.

“I’m not patronizin’ you.”

“You did this to me.” That actually makes one of the nurses laugh. Frank looks deeply offended.

“I did not do this alone.”

“You looked me in my eyes and got me pregnant.”

“Sweetheart, that is biologically not how—” Another contraction hits.

“Oh, fuck you,” you gasp, nearly crushing his hand.

“Okay, yeah, there she is,” Frank mutters immediately, relief flickering across his face despite everything. “That sounds more like you.” Hours pass like that. Pushing. Breathing. Crying. Threatening Frank’s life. At one point you grab the front of his hospital gown and hiss,

“If you ever touch me again after this, I’ll kill you.” Frank nods solemnly.

“Fair.” Then ten minutes later you’re clutching him again because the contractions hurt too badly to let go. The nurses keep reassuring you everything’s progressing.

“She’s almost here.”

“Baby’s doing good.”

“Just a little more.” Frank lives off those words. Almost there. Almost done. He kisses your forehead every chance he gets.

“You’re so strong,” he whispers against your sweaty temple while you cry through another push.

“I hate you,” you sob weakly.

“I know, baby.” Then suddenly— Something changes. Frank notices it before anyone says anything.

Your screams stop. Not because the pain stopped. Because you physically can’t make noise anymore. Your entire body goes rigid beneath his hands, face drained white while you pant shallowly through clenched teeth.

“Hey,” Frank says immediately. “Hey, look at me.” You don’t. Your eyes are glassy now. Panicked.

“It hurts,” you whisper. Not angry this time. Terrified. One of the nurses checks the monitor again. Her expression shifts. The doctor frowns.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “Baby’s not descending.” Another contraction hits and you scream hard enough to make Frank’s heart stop.

“Oh my God—get her out—” Frank’s stomach drops.

“What’s wrong?” The doctor doesn’t answer right away. He checks again. Then looks up.

“The baby’s shoulders are too broad. She’s stuck.” Everything in Frank goes cold.

“What does that mean?”

“It means your wife’s pelvis may be too small for vaginal delivery.” The doctor’s voice stays calm, but the room suddenly moves faster around them. “We need to move quickly.” You’re crying openly now.

“It hurts,” you gasp again. “Frank, it hurts so bad.” He’s instantly at your face again, both hands cradling your cheeks.

“I know. I know, sweetheart.” Then your monitor spikes. The baby’s heartbeat drops. The room changes instantly. Nurses moving faster. Machines beeping harder.

“We need to prep for emergency C-section.” Frank barely hears him because you suddenly go limp against the bed, exhausted beyond words.

“Baby?” His voice cracks immediately. “Hey—look at me.” Your eyes flutter weakly toward him. The doctor turns to Frank. And says the words that rip the floor out from under him.

“If complications worsen during surgery, we may have to prioritize one life.” Frank just stares at him.

“What?”

“The baby or your wife.” The answer comes before the doctor even finishes speaking.

“My wife.” Immediate. Absolute. The doctor nods once. Then they wheel you away. Everything after that feels unreal. Bright operating lights. Blue scrubs. Cold air. Frank stands beside your head while they work behind the curtain. Your hand is limp in his now. Medication makes your eyes heavy.

“You okay?” he whispers desperately.

“M’tired.” His chest physically hurts hearing that.

“I know, baby.” Then suddenly— A cry. Tiny. Sharp.Alive. Frank’s head jerks up instantly. One of the nurses lifts your daughter briefly over the curtain and Frank actually stops breathing.

She’s real.

His daughter.

Dark hair plastered to her tiny head. Red-faced and screaming. Alive.

“Oh my God,” he whispers. The nurse carefully places her into his arms. Frank looks down at her like the entire world just cracked open. His hands shake violently around her tiny body.

“Hey there,” he says softly, voice wrecked beyond repair. “Hey, sweetheart.” You choke on a sob, reaching for him weakly.

"Frank." You rasp. "Is- Is she okay ?" You manage. Frank’s head snaps toward you instantly. You look barely conscious. Pale. Exhausted. Sweat-damp hair stuck to your forehead while your eyes struggle to stay open through the medication and pain. But the second you hear the baby cry, you still reach for her. For him. For your family. And that absolutely destroys him.

“She’s okay,” Frank says immediately, voice shaking hard. He moves closer to your head carefully, cradling the baby against his chest with one arm while his free hand catches yours. “She’s okay, baby. She’s perfect.” Your face crumples. A tiny broken sound leaves your throat as you look at her. Frank lowers her carefully so you can see. And for one impossible second, everything else disappears.

The monitors. The doctors. The fear.

It’s just you staring at your daughter with tears sliding silently into your hairline.

“She’s so little,” you whisper. Frank laughs once through tears.

“Yeah.” His voice breaks completely. “Yeah, she is.” The baby squirms weakly in his arms, making tiny angry noises. Frank looks at her like she personally hung the moon. You smile faintly.

“I love you,” you whisper suddenly. Frank looks at you immediately. Your eyes are heavy again. Too heavy.

“I love you too,” he says fast, squeezing your hand. “Hey—stay with me, alright?” You nod faintly. But your grip is weaker now. The nurse beside Frank suddenly goes still. Then looks toward the monitor. Everything changes instantly.

“Doctor.” The tone makes Frank’s stomach drop. Another nurse moves quickly toward your bed. Then another. The beeping starts speeding up. Wrong. Too fast. Frank straightens immediately.

“What’s happening?” Nobody answers him. The doctor appears beside your body again, expression tightening as he checks something beneath the curtain.

“Her pressure’s dropping.” You blink slowly toward Frank, confused now.

“…Frank?”

“I’m here.” He’s at your side instantly again, clutching your hand harder. “I’m right here, baby.” Another alarm starts. Shriller this time.

“We need more blood in here now.” Frank’s heart stops.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s bleeding.” The room explodes into motion. Nurses rushing. Machines screaming louder. Doctors talking too fast for him to understand. Your eyes start slipping shut again.

“No.” Frank leans over you immediately. “No, hey—look at me.”

“M’tired,” you whisper again. Terror rips straight through him.

“Baby, stay awake.” You try.

God, you try.

But your eyes keep fluttering. The doctor swears quietly under his breath.

“We’re losing too much—” Frank’s entire body goes ice cold. The nurse carefully lifts the baby from his arms. He barely notices. Because suddenly your hand goes limp in his.

“…Baby?” No response. “Hey.” Panic floods every word now. “Hey, c’mon, look at me.” Nothing. The monitor drops sharply.

“Pressure crashing.”

“Move.”

“Get him out of here.” Frank jerks violently when someone grabs his shoulder.

“No.”

“Sir—”

“No!” His voice breaks apart completely. “That’s my wife!” You’re not responding. Doctors swarm your body fast enough that Frank can’t even see your face anymore. All he catches is blood. So much fucking blood. Then someone physically pulls him backward while he fights hard enough to nearly stumble.

The last thing he sees before the OR doors slam shut is your hand hanging limply off the side of the table. And for the first time in years, Frank Castle feels completely fucking helpless.

It's only when those doors close does Frank realise he's covered in blood.

Your blood - that covered your daughter as he held her.

A sign of her life.

A sign of your potential death.

He rips the blue scrubs off, and throws them to the floor.

"Frank ?" Frank's entire body goes rigid. Curtis's voice feels loud in the waiting room, and Frank can't bring himself to turn around and face his friend. His hands are shaking as he desperately tries to pick dired blood from out under his finger nails.

"Frank." Micro.

God.

Frank can’t answer them.

He can barely hear them over the sound of the monitors still echoing in his skull.

Pressure crashing.

We’re losing too much.

His wife lying motionless under operating lights while people shoved him away from her.

His breathing turns sharp and uneven. He scrubs harder at the blood beneath his nails like he can somehow dig the memory out with it.

“Frank,” Curtis says again, gentler this time.

Still, Frank doesn’t look up.

Because if he looks at them, this becomes real.

The baby becomes real.

You dying becomes real.

And he can’t—

He finally lifts his head then. And Jesus Christ, he looks destroyed. Eyes bloodshot. Face pale beneath the scruff. Still covered in your blood from chest to wrists.

Curtis reaches for him instinctively, but Frank jerks away immediately and surges to his feet.

“No.” He starts pacing now. Fast. Agitated. Like he’s trying to outrun his own skin. “No, this is—this is what happens.”

“What happens?” Curtis asks softly. Frank looks at him like the answer should be obvious.

“To people like me." The words land heavy. Certain. “I shoulda known better.”

“Frank,” Micro says firmly, “that is not—”

“I got greedy.” That shuts everybody up. Frank drags both hands over his face hard enough to pull at the skin. “She was already too good for me.” His voice drops quieter now. Worse somehow. “Then she loved me anyway.” His chest hitches once. “And the universe let me keep her.” For a second, his face almost softens remembering you. The way you laugh half asleep. The way you curl into his side automatically every night. The way you looked at him when you told him you were pregnant. Then his expression caves right back in.

“But a baby too?” he whispers.His eyes shine suddenly. “Family?” A wrecked little laugh escapes him. “Nah. That’s too much. Universe don’t let men like me have that twice.” Curtis stands slowly.

“That’s not true.” Frank finally snaps.

“It shoulda been me!” The shout cracks through the waiting room hard enough that a nurse startles down the hall. Frank’s breathing turns ragged instantly afterward.

“She was scared an’ I couldn’t fix it,” he says hoarsely. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t—” His voice breaks completely. Curtis grabs him then. Hard. One hand gripping the back of Frank’s neck while the other braces against his shoulder before he can completely come apart.

“This is not your fault.” Frank folds forward slightly with a strangled sound somewhere between rage and grief.

“I can’t lose her.” The words are small. Nothing like Frank Castle at all. Just a husband terrified out of his mind. Curtis’s grip tightens.

“You hear me?” Curtis says firmly. “She is still fighting in there.” Frank nods once. But it’s shaky. Unconvinced.

Then— A baby cries somewhere down the hall. The sound cuts straight through him. Frank freezes. Because his daughter is alive. Your daughter. Tiny and helpless and real. And suddenly the thought hits him hard enough to make him nauseous:

If you die— He has to go tell your little girl about you someday. Frank physically doubles over at the thought.

“She’s in there dyin’ because of me.” The waiting room goes dead quiet.

Curtis’s face tightens immediately.

“Frank—”

“No.” Frank shakes his head violently, stumbling backward out of Curtis’s grip. “No, don’t—don’t do that thing where everybody pretends this ain’t exactly how this was always gonna end.” His voice sounds shredded raw now.

“She loved me and now she’s payin’ for it.”

“That is not what’s happening,” Micro says sharply. Frank laughs again. Jesus, it sounds awful.

“You didn’t see her.” His eyes are glassy and distant now, fixed somewhere far beyond the waiting room walls. “She was lookin’ at me while they cut her open an’ she was scared outta her fuckin’ mind but she still kept askin’ if the baby was okay.” His throat works hard. “Always takin’ care of everybody else first.” The image clearly hits him again all at once because he abruptly drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying not to throw up.

“She trusted me.” Curtis steps closer carefully.

“You love her. That’s not a crime.” Frank’s eyes snap toward him instantly.

“For me it is.” Silence. Heavy. Brutal. Frank starts pacing again before anybody can answer. Fast uneven strides across the cheap hospital tile.

“She shoulda had somebody normal,” he mutters. “Somebody safe.”

“She chose you,” Curtis says quietly.

“Yeah, well.” Frank’s jaw clenches hard enough to twitch. “She deserved better judgment.” Another cry echoes faintly down the hall. His daughter. His little girl is out there somewhere breathing for the very first time while you fight for your life behind those doors. Frank presses both hands hard against the back of his neck.

“I didn’t even get t’hold her right.” Micro blinks.

“What?” Frank looks wrecked.

“I was too busy watchin’ my wife die.” The confession lands like a bomb. “She was in my arms for maybe thirty seconds an’ all I could think was your mother’s bleedin’ out.” His chest caves inward slightly. “I didn’t even look at her proper.” Curtis exhales slowly.

“That doesn’t make you a bad father.” Frank’s face twists immediately.

“How the fuck would you know?” Regret flashes across his face the second the words leave him. Curtis just nods once. Because this isn’t really about him. Frank drags his fingers through his hair violently.

Nobody answers.

Because nobody has an answer for that.

Hours pass before the waiting room doors swing open suddenly.

Frank is on his feet before he even realizes he moved. The doctor looks exhausted now. Cap gone. Surgical mask hanging loose around his neck. For one horrible second, nobody speaks.

Then— “She’s stable.” Frank’s entire body locks.

“…What?”

“Your wife is stable.” The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “The bleeding is under control. She’s awake.” Awake. Frank actually sways. Like the word physically hits him.

“And the baby?” he asks immediately, voice shredded raw. The doctor smiles faintly.

“Your daughter is completely healthy.” Something in Frank’s face breaks. Not dramatically. Quietly. Like tension pulled too tight finally snapping apart. He covers his mouth hard with one hand and turns slightly away, shoulders shaking once. Then again. Curtis exhales behind him like he’s been punched in the chest with relief. Micro mutters,

“Jesus Christ.” But Frank barely hears them. Awake. You’re awake. He’s already moving before the doctor finishes explaining where they moved you. Long fast strides down the hallway like if he stops for even one second the universe might change its mind. The nurse barely gets the room number out before he’s there. Frank pushes through the door hard enough it almost rebounds behind him. And there you are.

Pale.

Exhausted.

An IV in your arm and monitors still clipped everywhere.

But alive. Your eyes lift slowly toward the door at the sound. The second you see him, your expression softens weakly.

“…Hey.” Frank stops breathing. Because you sound sleepy. Normal. Alive.

“Oh, baby.” The words leave him wrecked. He crosses the room so fast he nearly trips over the chair beside your bed. “Jesus Christ.” His hands are on you instantly. Your face. Your hair. Your shoulders. Like he needs physical proof you’re real. You blink up at him tiredly.

“Frank?” And then he completely falls apart. A broken sound rips out of him before he bows over you, forehead pressing hard against your stomach while his arms wrap carefully around your waist. You’ve never heard him cry like this before. Not once. Not even after nightmares. Not after funerals. Not after gunshots. Pure relief tears through him so violently it almost sounds painful.

“You scared me,” he chokes out. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you scared me.” Your own eyes sting instantly.

“I’m okay,” you whisper weakly, fingers slipping into his hair automatically. Frank shakes his head against you like he still doesn’t believe it.

“They told me you were crashin’,” he says hoarsely. “I saw all that blood an’ they shoved me outta the room an’ I thought—” His voice breaks completely. “I thought I lost you.”

“Oh, honey.” Your throat tightens painfully. Frank lifts his head then, eyes red and swollen and absolutely devastated. And guilty. Still guilty. Like some part of him genuinely believes he caused this. “She okay?” you ask softly. “The baby?” Frank’s expression crumples all over again.

“She’s perfect.” A tiny shaky smile pulls at your mouth instantly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He laughs weakly through tears. “Got hair like you. Loud as hell already.” You smile wider. Frank just stares at you for another long second like he still can’t process the fact you’re here. Then suddenly his face tightens hard.

“No more.” You blink.

“What?”

“No more babies.” The words come out immediate. Raw. Terrified. Frank grabs your hand carefully against the blankets and presses it hard against his chest. “Not unless we talk about it first. Not unless a whole fuckin’ team of doctors tells me you’re not gonna almost die again.” Your chest aches at the fear still bleeding through every word.

“Frank—”

“I can’t do that again.” His voice cracks instantly. “I can’t stand there watchin’ you disappear in front of me while everybody tells me to pick between you an’ our kid.” Your eyes widen slightly.

“They asked you that?” Frank goes pale. For a second he looks like he regrets letting it slip. Then he nods once.

“They asked who to prioritize if things got worse.” His jaw clenches hard enough to shake. “Didn’t even take me a second.”Your throat burns instantly.

“Frank…”

“You hear me?” His eyes lock desperately onto yours. “We can make another baby someday if we want one. I cannot make another you.” That one completely destroys you. Your face crumples immediately. Frank sees it and softens all at once, climbing carefully onto the side of the hospital bed just enough to gather you gently against his chest despite all the wires.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair immediately. “I know that sounds awful.”

“No,” you cry softly. “No, it doesn’t.” His arms tighten around you.

“I got lucky once,” he murmurs shakily. “With you. Thought maybe the universe was lettin’ me keep somethin’ good again.” He kisses the top of your head hard enough to linger there. “But I can’t bury another person I love. I can’t.” You hold him tighter as best you can with weak arms.

“You’re not gonna have to.” Frank doesn’t answer right away. Just buries his face against your neck and breathes. Like he’s still convincing himself you survived. A soft knock thuds on the door. A nurse enters the room, carrying a swaddle. She smiles, bouncing up and down.

"Hey, mom and dad." She hums, walking over to your bedside. Frank goes completely still. Not tense. Not panicked. Just still. Because for one terrible second, his brain doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. The nurse smiles warmly, stepping closer with the tiny bundle tucked against her chest.

“Thought somebody might wanna meet their little girl.” And Christ. That does something to him. Frank slowly lifts his head from your shoulder. His eyes drop. And there she is. So small. Swaddled tight in hospital blankets with a pink knit cap slipping crooked over dark hair.

Your dark hair.

His breath catches so hard it almost hurts. You make a soft sound beside him.

“Oh…” The nurse moves carefully toward the bed.

“She’s been checked over twice,” she says gently. “Healthy as can be. Strong lungs too.” She laughs quietly. “You’ll notice.” Frank doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares. Because suddenly she isn’t an idea anymore.

Not an ultrasound. Not kicks against your stomach. Not fear and blood and monitors. She’s real.

His daughter.

And God help him—he looks terrified. The nurse notices immediately.

“You wanna hold her, dad?” Frank physically freezes. His gaze snaps up like she just handed him a live grenade.

“I—" His voice fails.You look up at him weakly from against his chest.

“Frank.” He swallows hard. His hands—those huge scarred hands that have held rifles and knives and broken bones—suddenly look uncertain.

“I don’t…” His jaw tightens. “I dunno if—”

“You held her already,” the nurse reminds softly. His face twists.

“Yeah.” His voice drops rough. “Didn’t exactly do a good job.” The room goes quiet. Because underneath the joke is that same guilt still eating him alive. The same thought:

I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at blood.

You squeeze his hand weakly.

“Frank.” His eyes lift to yours. And your heart breaks a little. Because he still looks like he’s waiting for somebody to tell him he doesn’t deserve this. You smile tiredly. “She’s your baby.” Something in his face cracks. The nurse steps closer and very carefully places the bundle into his arms. Frank inhales sharply.Like he forgot how breathing works.

And suddenly— Silence.No pacing. No fear. No shaking anger. Just Frank Castle staring down at something impossibly small in his arms. He holds her like she might disappear. Like the whole world might.

“Oh,” he whispers.

God. Your chest aches watching him. His hands look absurd around her tiny body. One palm supporting her back. The other cradling her head so carefully it almost hurts to see.

And your daughter— Your loud, furious little girl— is asleep.

Perfectly content. Frank looks wrecked. Absolutely ruined.

“She’s…” He swallows. “Jesus.” The baby shifts slightly. Tiny mouth opening. One little fist escapes the blanket. Frank’s eyes widen.

“Oh, hey.” His voice softens instantly into something you’ve never heard before. “Easy, sweetheart.” The fist brushes against his thumb. And Frank breaks. Not loudly. Just tears spilling suddenly and helplessly down his face while he stares at her.

“She got your nose,” he whispers. You laugh softly through tears.

“Already judging her?”

“M’bein’ objective.” The nurse quietly slips out of the room. Leaving the three of you alone. Frank lowers himself carefully onto the edge of the bed beside you. Still holding her. Still staring. Like he physically cannot stop.

“She’s real,” he says quietly. You smile.

“Yeah.” His throat works.

“She’s ours.” That one nearly kills you. You shift carefully despite the soreness pulling through your body.

“Lemme see her?” Frank looks up immediately. And for a split second— Just a second— Something tightens in his expression. Fear. Not of you. Of letting go. Because he almost lost both of you tonight.

And some terrified part of him still thinks if he loosens his grip, the universe might take this back. Then he catches himself.His face softens.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. Carefully—so carefully—Frank helps settle her against your chest. And the second she touches you— Your daughter opens her eyes. Tiny. Sleepy. Dark. You suck in a breath.

“Oh my God.” Frank watches the two of you like a man witnessing religion. His hand comes up automatically to cup the back of your head. Then gently brushes one finger over the baby’s cheek.

And for a moment— Just one moment— The fear quiets. No machines. No blood. No grief. Just this. Then Frank leans down and presses his forehead softly against yours. Still watching her.

“I spent half my life destroyin’ things.” His voice stays soft. Honest. “Men like me don’t usually get…” His eyes flick between you both helplessly. “This.” Your throat tightens. So you reach out. Weak but steady. And cup his face. He finally looks at you. You can still see it there. That fear. That old wound. Like he thinks love is borrowed time.

"Frank Castle." You whisper. "You deserve every bit of this." You hum, shaking your head. Frank just stares at you. Like he wants to believe you. Like he’s trying to. Your thumb brushes gently through the dampness still clinging beneath his eye. “You hear me?” you whisper softly. “You deserve her.” Your gaze drops briefly toward the baby curled against your chest. “You deserve us.” His face folds inward for a second. Not grief this time. Relief so deep it almost looks painful. Frank leans into your hand automatically, eyes falling shut for one tiny moment like he’s exhausted all the way through his bones. Then your daughter makes a tiny squeaky noise between you both. Immediately, both your heads snap down. Frank huffs out a startled laugh through the remnants of tears.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

“She sounds like an angry guinea pig.”

“She sounds like me before coffee.”

“God, don’t curse her like that.” Frank grins weakly for the first time all night. It changes his whole face. Your daughter stretches one tiny fist up toward him again, and Frank immediately gives her his finger like it’s instinctive.

“She’s got your attitude already,” he says softly.

“You literally met her twenty minutes ago.”

“An’ she already screamed at three nurses. That’s you.”

“I was in labor for fourteen hours, Frank. I earned the right to yell at medical staff.”

“You threatened t’bite me.”

“You deserved it.” His eyebrows lift.

“You called me a dramatic little raccoon.”

“You were breathing too loud.” Frank laughs again. Quiet and helpless and still a little disbelieving. God. You love him so much it physically aches. The room settles around the three of you slowly after that. Monitors humming softly. City lights glowing dim through the hospital window. Your daughter warm and impossibly tiny against your chest while Frank keeps one hand on her leg like he needs constant proof she’s still there. Still real. Still his. After a long quiet moment, he clears his throat.

“So." You narrow your eyes immediately.

“Oh no.”

“We gotta name her eventually.”

“There it is.” Frank looks offended.

“That’s a reasonable concern.”

“You tried to name the dog ‘Shotgun.’”

“Great name.”

“It was a pug, Frank.”

“He had the spirit of a Shotgun.” You laugh softly, careful of your aching stomach. Your daughter squirms sleepily at the sound. Frank melts instantly. Completely gone for her already.

“What about something normal?” you murmur. “Something sweet.” Frank pretends to consider this very seriously.

“Alright.” He nods once. “How ‘bout Beatrice.” You blink.

“…Beatrice?”

“Yeah.”

“You hated that name.”

“I do.”

“Then why would you suggest it?”

“Compromise.”

“That is not what compromise means.” Frank shrugs with absolutely no shame whatsoever.

“Well, you almost died. Feels like that gives you an advantage."

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Wanda reaches out and skilfully unbuttons your shirt, finally pulling your gaze away from Natasha. Wanda doesn’t lock eyes with you like Natasha did, instead her gaze drinks in every inch of skin revealed to her.

“Good girl,” she murmurs quietly as she slips the shirt off of your shoulders.

You preen slightly but try to hold yourself back. Holding still for Wanda isn’t hard. At least not when she isn’t teasing you. She holds your arm as you step out of your pants and Natasha is standing in front of you a moment later. Her eyes drop to your lips and she leans in but a sharp click of Wanda’s tongue has her stepping away.

“Go sit in the chair,” Wanda says, pointing to the one conveniently facing the side of the bed.

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t protest. You try not to show how disappointed you are at not getting to kiss her as she walks over to it. Wanda lightly grips your chin and turns you to face her. She pulls you in for a long, deep kiss that has you melting against her. You barely notice as she backs you towards the bed. It’s only when the backs of your knees hit it that she pulls away. You chase her lips but a hand on your chest stops you. She coaxes you towards the centre of the bed and you watch in awe as she crawls towards and then on top of you.

“Just relax,” Wanda says softly as she gently runs her hands over you. You’re already in that spacey place and it’s easy to sink back into the mattress. Wanda gently running her hands over your skin isn’t helping. Her hands run over your inner thighs and a small sound escapes you.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, “is this where it hurts?” You nod desperately. “Oh, poor thing. Nat was so mean to you tonight, wasn’t she?” She pouts sympathetically. Natasha snorts which Wanda ignores and you don’t dare to look away from her. “Mommy will make it better.”

You watch her with wide, trusting eyes as her hands move from your thighs and up to cup your breasts. She leans down and you meet her lips eagerly as she plays with your nipples, worsening the ache they both had spent the evening growing. You reach up to wind your fingers through her hair but she stops you.

“Ah,” she scolds, “No touching.” You pout but she only raises an eyebrow, “Does mommy need to tie you up?” You shake your head with pleading eyes. Even on the nights Wanda tells you not to touch, she ends up begging you to before the end, except when you’re hands are tied. 

You press the back of your hands onto the bed either side of your head to show you’ll behave. Her eyes softens at your obedience and she leans in again. It’s easy to lose yourself in her soft lips but you lose control when she pinches one of your nipples. It’s mean and she knows it is but she loves the sweet sound you make. Your hand flies to her shoulder without thinking. Wanda grips your wrists in a bruising grip and shoves them against the bed. A second later the padded cuffs are around your wrists. It takes you a long moment to catch up. You hadn’t even realised you’d been touching her. You tug at them and Wanda gives you a scolding tap on the thigh. You give her a pleading look. You didn’t mean to. 

She happily ignores you and leans over to the bedside drawer. You watch curiously. You haven’t been naughty enough to be worried. Natasha uncrossing her legs catches your eyes. You look up to find her solely focused on you, a small smirk playing about her lips. She knows something you don’t. You turn your head back to Wanda as she pulls out a strap-on and harness. A bit bigger than usual but the dim lighting doesn’t let you see anything significant. It doesn’t look familiar.

Wanda settles back on her heels and looks down at you with blown pupils. 

“Mommy bought a special toy for tonight,” she says in that breathless excited way she sometimes gets. You perk up curiously. Is it a vibrating dildo?

“Why don’t you let me put it on for you?” Natasha asks. You try not to smile. Normally she wouldn’t ask but she’s pissed Wanda off enough to be a little submissive. Or…at least not so directly dominant.

Wanda gives her a considering look. Natasha hasn’t protested once about the side-lined position Wanda has put her in and she’s listened to every command she’s been given so far.

Wanda nods and waits for Natasha to come to the bed and hold her hand out. Wanda grabs it and Natasha helps her gracefully get out of the bed. Natasha kisses the back of her hand as she slowly lowers herself to her knees.

Wanda had lost her shirt when getting you into bed and Natasha takes advantage of this by pressing gentle kisses over Wanda’s stomach while she unbuttons her pants.

Natasha kisses a path down Wanda’s thigh as she pulls her pants down her legs before stopping to allow Wanda to step out of them. Natasha toes the line again when she sits back up on her knees to nudge Wanda’s clit. Her tongue sneaks out and Wanda’s head falls backwards with a soft moan. She basks in the attention for a few moments, until Natasha dips her tongue lower. She immediately pushes Natasha’s head away and clicks her tongue.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” she says. Natasha is completely unrepentant but obeys the silent command anyway. She’s too focused on the straps to continue to tease Wanda but you’re still fascinated by her concentration. Natasha has worn a strap-on a thousand times. She could put one on with her eyes closed. And yet she is still so focused when putting one on Wanda. Testing and adjusting as needed, fingers brushing against skin only slightly longer than needed. It’s is own form of worship.

When’s she’s done, Wanda leads her to her feet and kisses her soundly. The only other point of contact is Wanda’s guiding hand on Natasha’s chin. A thank you.

Wanda pulls away and tilts Natasha’s head towards the chair in a silent command. Once again, she obeys easily. Wanda turns her full attention back to you. You watch with wide eyes as the strap sways with each motion. You manage to pull your eyes away when she climbs on top of you.

“I’m going to go slow to start with, okay baby?” she reassures.

You nod your head and spread your legs wider. Wanda runs the head of her strap through your soaked folds a few times before she guides the tip to your entrance. She pushes in slowly and your head falls back at the delicious feeling of her stretching you open again. Wanda murmurs quiet praises as she slowly pushes in to the hilt, watching as your face slowly relaxes with pleasure. She gives you a moment to get used to the slightly bigger toy by peppering soft kisses all over your face. You smile wide, almost to the point of giggling.

“Ready?” she asks, eyes flicking between your own.

“Yes, please,” you say, wishing you could tangle your hands in her hair.

Smiling, Wanda slowly pulls out halfway before pushing back inside of you. She does it twice more before you can’t take it anymore.

“Faster. Please,” you beg. You know it’s bigger than usual but the slow pace after hours of teasing is torture.

Wanda mustn’t be in the mood for getting you to the point of desperate begging because she speeds up immediately. Her hips slam against yours and you try desperately to meet her thrusts as that heat inside of you builds. She’s still not pounding into you and you try to squirm to get what you want, irritate her just enough for her to lose that little bit of control, but the handcuffs and her tight grip on your hips stop you from moving too far. Wanda’s thrusts stay deep but you try to get her deeper inside of you anyway by arching.

 “That’s it, take it,” she groans, “Take it, baby. All of it.” You don’t know how she can possibly get any deeper inside of you but you spread your legs further anyway.

“It’ll work better with her legs up,” Natasha muses from her chair. Wanda cuts her a glare.

“Then I won’t be close enough,” she says. Natasha shakes her head and says something in Sokovian that has Wanda’s pupils blowing. Her eyes turn to you and you swallow.

“Mommy’s going to try something new, okay?” 

You nod slowly. Trying something new with Wanda has always ended well but there’s a sharp, desperate edge to her tonight. Similar to the first time she had collared you, yet you don’t know what’s different tonight.

Wanda grasps under your knees and slowly pushes your legs up. You let her move you how she wants like you always do but your expression is obviously confused.

Wanda slowly pushes inside you and let’s out a quiet “oh.”

“See?” Natasha says smugly. Wanda doesn’t deign to respond, pushing so deep inside of you that you moan.  “No legs to get in the way, you can get as deep inside of her as possible.” 

You whimper at the words and Wanda opens her eyes. They’re ravenous.

“Stay just like that, baby,” she says like you have any control in this situation. Wanda slowly pulls out before pushing back in again. Her strong hands keep you still even as you moan beneath her.

“She’s going to look so pretty when you ruin her,” Natasha continues. “Dumb baby probably doesn’t even know what’s happening to her.” Wanda’s thrusts get harsher with every taunt and it’s not long before you’re a writhing mess under her.

“Is that right?” Wanda’s breath is hot against your face, “You don’t know what mommy is doing to her little girl?” She thrusts into you when you try to answer and you’re too choked by pleasure to continue. Pleasure is hot in your veins and the effort to think just isn’t worth it. “Answer me, baby.”

“Fucking me,” you manage to gasp. 

Wanda laughs and Natasha isn’t far behind her.

“Poor baby,” Natasha’s mocking tone has you arching into Wanda. “I bet you don’t even know what this position is called.” You can’t remember your own name right now. A hand on your face has you turning. Wanda is so focused on fucking as deep inside you as possible that she doesn’t snap at Natasha to sit back down. “It’s the mating press,” Natasha says, “Mommy’s breeding you.” 

That thing snaps inside of you and white hot pleasure floods your brain. You arch as you peak and all you can feel is Wanda buried deep inside of you. She’s muttering something against your skin and Natasha is stroking your hair as you lie limply in their hold. 

It’s only when you’ve managed to get ahold of your breathing that Wanda carefully lowers your legs. One hand quickly returns to your stomach and you blink owlishly at it. You feel…wetter than normal but Wanda is still so tightly pressed against you it’s hard to tell. Natasha tugs your chin up so that she can kiss you.

“So hot,” she murmurs between each kiss. “So hot when mommy’s ruining you.” 

You melt. Her hand snakes down to pinch and twist your nipples and soon you’re whimpering pathetically into her mouth. Wanda’s patience doesn’t last long.

“That’s enough,” Wanda snatches Natasha’s hand away. “She can go again.”

“Can she?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, “She looks pretty beat to me.” 

Wanda turns soft eyes on you and she coos, “You can do one more for me, can’t you? My special girl.”

You mange a nod and Wanda grins.

Natasha chuckles and shakes her head, “She always bites off more than she can chew.”

You caught them in your bed, on your Egyptian cotton sheets. Three hundred thread count sheets that you let him keep, since you knew you couldn’t wash the filth out of them. To make matters worse, she was much younger -barely legal-, and half your size. It was just your luck that her billboards were posted all over town. A fucking model. Yeah, that was a never ending cycle of self-denigrating that you had to unpack with your therapist. You swore up and down you'd never let it happen again. 

But you were better now. Well, at least you hated yourself less. It took some time, a LOT of therapy, and the help of loved ones letting you know you were loved. Plus you have learned how to love and take care of yourself better. You’d given that man all of you and expected nothing of him and you know what they say about expectations right? Keep them low and you’ll never be disappointed. Bullshit. Even if you don’t have any, expect to be disappointed. 

The bus rolled to a stop. The neon lights  wrapped the building and entrance. Large posters of scantily dressed, well-oiled men stood stories tall. Big burly guards stood out front of the entrance, you guessed, to drag any woman who got too handsy with the dancers, out and off the premises. You all piled off the bus, bride and her maid of honor first. All of you, except the bride in her tight white dress, were in an array of green. 

Your dress was a dark emerald color. The satin dress hugged your body just right, hitting you mid-thigh, with ruching around the stomach to hide anything you didn’t want to show. Like your tummy. You stood back, not too excited to see sweaty men gyrating in your face. But your thoroughly plastered friends would beg to differ. “Party for Standfield.” 

One of the guards checked his tablet and nodded. He talked into his earpiece and opened the velvet rope. “Your host will meet you inside. Enjoy your stay at Taste, Male Revue.” He gave a knowing smile as your group sauntered past him and into the red glow of the front door. You were blasted by air as you entered. Rosemary and bergamot invade your senses almost immediately. 

“It smells like a man in here.” One of your friends noted as she swooned.

“Acqua Di Giò, it was what my ex used to wear to be exact.” You were perturbed. You wanted to have fun tonight, let down your hair. Not be reminded of the insufferable douche you thought was the one. 

“Great nose you have there ma’am.” You jumped as you were greeted by the host. He smiled. His features made him look like a fox, he was absolutely adorable. He looked way too young to be associated with a den of sin. What was he doing here? “We pump the fragrance into our system, it’s one of the owners favorites.” He nodded and bowed, greeting your party officially. “Welcome to Taste, male revue. I am your host for the night, Ian.”

You squinted at his name tag that clearly had the letters ‘i’ and ‘n’ written on it. You wanted to speak up about it, but when you looked around at your friends you realized it wasn’t worth the concern. “We have set up the v.i.p lounge for your party. Your bartender is starting on your first round of drinks as we speak. Your food will be served after the first hour of performances. Any booked solo time will be conducted after dinner and dessert. Please make sure to reserve your favorite dancer for any solo time before the conclusion of dessert.” He nodded, giving you all a once over, as if counting the party. 

“It seems everyone is accounted for. Please follow me so we can kick this night off.” The main club area was a huge space with white tables and chairs that contrasted with the black carpet flooring. The stage was black, but shiny, making it a smooth surface for the dancers to glide over. The main stage area was packed. An oiled up dancer was grinding on some pretty blonde girl while she giggled. 

"Must be nice.." you mumbled under your breath as you watched her get flipped upside down, her barely clothed vagina now in the dancer's face, her face in his crotch. The scene disappeared from view as you were ushered into the v.i.p area. Over the door it read "The Chapel", The tall frosted glass door looked like it had been hit with a blast chiller. I.N led the group past the doors, an odd but pleasant smile on his face. The floors were still black, but everything else was white and silver. Light lines the floor to help people navigate the darkness. 

By the looks of the room the theme had to have something to do with ice. There was a bar that was made from glass that was back-lit with blue and white lights to give the illusion of frost. The ceiling was mirrored and also lined with lights around the perimeter. "Dibs on the seat next to Imogen!" Your friends clamored as they practically raced to the front near the stage. There was a chair sitting directly in front of the stage, a sash with the silvery letter of "bride" written on it.

"You want to sit next to me, Y/n?" Imogen asked as she grabbed your hand. The two of you had been friends for so long that she could tell when something wasn't completely right with you. She squeezed your hand to get you to look at her. "If you feel even a little uncomfortable here, let me know, okay?" She smiled and you reciprocated.

"I'm fine Imogen. Plus, this night is about you. One last night of free looks before you're tied to Jerry from accounting forever." She laughed.

"That doesn't mean I don't want my girls to enjoy the night too. Honestly that's what I want the most out of it. So, sit next to me. Okay? Allana said the guys here are extremely hot" You hesitantly nodded. There was no way you would have picked a seat that close for yourself, but this was about what she wanted. So, naturally you would agree.

His days never started before noon. Anything before two pm was entirely too early for him. Days always shifted into night and then into the wee hours of the morning. So sleeping until the sun was high in the sky was a must for him. 

Chris reached out to the other side of his bed, feeling the cool sheets against his hands. It had been a while since someone occupied that side, his last relationship ended over a year ago. But they were still close friends, since it ended amicably. 

He groaned, forcing himself to roll over and swing his legs off the side of the bed. His hair was messy, curls pointing in different directions, face and lips a little swollen from activities the night before. Also known as late night ramen with his best friend, Changbin. His phone buzzed on the night table, alerting him that it was time to wake up. "I know, I know." He groaned, shutting it off.

He eventually forced himself to leave the comforts of his bed and padded to the bathroom right outside his room. After showering and grooming, he made breakfast for him and his roommates, as well as pre-workout shakes. The three of them headed off to the gym a few blocks away from their apartment, together. He loved the atmosphere there. People were kind and supportive and it was never too crowded. He put on his playlist and zoned out.

After a good shower and lunch, he and his friends headed to work. You'd think after coming home so late at night they wouldn't be ready to go back.  But they loved their job. It was fun to interact with people and dance. Getting to see the smiles on clients' faces made everything worthwhile. Plus it didn't hurt that he had some of the highest requests. Becoming so well known that he had danced at parties for some elite celebrity clientele. He couldn't tell you who though, he signed a n.d.a for that very reason.

"Alright, A team, we have a bachelorette party coming up tonight. They requested all six of team A. The maid of honor said and I quote, 'Give us all of them. We all like something different.' So, be ready for a wild night and a lot of bookings." Jeongin, the club manager and host stated. Bachelorette parties were always a mixed bag. It could either be a group of tame women who let go when they got a few drinks in the system. Or wild women who got even wilder after a few drinks. Or it could be the ones who ended up with their photos posted in the hall of shame. Those were the ones no one could let back in because they caused so much of a ruckus.

A year and a half ago, Chris had an encounter with a hall of shame inductee. She thought it would be a good idea to sneak backstage and hide in his dressing room. He was taking off his make-up when she popped out from behind his clothes rack completely naked. Telling him how she saw how he looked at her and that she knew she was just his type. He tried to talk her down, but no wasn’t in her vocabulary. It took two guards and Jeongin to pull her off him. She scratched his arm up so bad that even when it healed he had to get a tattoo to cover it.

But thankfully, hall of shamers were a rare occurrence. "Chan, they asked you to be the headliner for the night. Maid of honor says you're just the bride's type. So make sure to work your magic on the bride to be." He nodded. Once their briefing was over he headed to the dressing room to get ready for the night. 

"Did you see the pictures of the bridesmaids?" Changbin asked as he caught up with him in the hall. "I wonder how many are single. Because the bride has some gorgeous friends." He showed him the folder with their pictures in it, just a few random girls on top. Folders were usually provided for parties that might be willing to spend a little extra to get "special" treatment. Not all the dancers participated, but they had rooms past the party lounge, just for extra services. Changbin frequented the rooms, especially if he found a party goer that really caught his eye.

Chan used the rooms at first. But he felt cheap everytime he saw the extra money on his check. It felt like he lost a part of himself each time he did it. So, eventually he just stopped. The owner understood, telling him that he didn’t need to force himself. He didn’t look back and had no desire to.

The hours had quickly passed him by. It was nearly showtime. The guys could see the bridal party shuffling in, taking their seats. A few of them battling over the two open seats next to the bride. The bride was off to the side talking to another woman he couldn't see, before she dragged her along to one of the seats next to her. The house lights dimmed just as the woman was about to step into view, so he didn't see her face. "Alright guys, it's showtime." He spoke to the room. He pat Minho's back, since he was the first one up. Minho simply smirked as he headed out of their waiting room and to the curtain for countdown.

A few of Imogen's sorority sisters were giving you death glares. She chose you and her maid of honor, her sister Allana, to sit at her sides. The rest were situated in comfortable white arm chairs. Drinks had been served, not that the ladies in this party needed any more to drink. They were already inebriated. Minus you, also known as pedestrian Pattie, because of your one drink policy. The lights on the stage slowly brightened, revealing the host from earlier in the center of the stage. His outfit had changed completely. The suit he wore before was traded in for a black mesh shirt with a cassock. A matching black stole with silver and white crosses on it. Dress pants and boots. He was a priest, and this was his chapel.

"I hope you ladies are ready to get on your knees... and pray." A few of your friends screamed, exhibiting just how ready they were. "The temptations will be high tonight, let's see if you can survive it and join me on the other side. I hope our first performer can tempt you to let go of your inhibitions and pull you to the dark side." He moved from the center off to the side, "Anyone need their pipes cleaned? Welcome to the stage, Lee Know." 

Thirsty by Taemin started to flow through the speakers. You could hear the little water droplets at the beginning of the song. From the line I.N threw out about cleaning pipes and the water drops, you knew exactly what the theme would be. Plumber. As the lights focused on the performer, you noticed how handsome he looked. Worn jeans with rips in them. Working boots and tool belt. Long hair that covered his eyes added to his mysterious charm. He wore a white tank top and his arms were so well oiled you could almost see your reflection. 

Was this what male revues were like? He slid to the end of the stage, right in front of you and Imogen. Your eyes were wide, hands unconsciously moving to cover your chest. He ripped the shirt, but not completely. He left a little of it to cover some of his abs. He reached a hand down slowly as he thrusted, practiced fingers making quick work of his button and zipper. His body rolls were immaculate. You swallowed hard and he noticed, winking his eye in your direction. A girl behind you squealed thinking it was meant for her, but his eye contact told you differently. He smirked and stood, jumping down right in front of Imogen. He grabbed her hand trailing it down his torso to where his pants were undone. 

Her mouth dropped as she blushed furiously. She shook her head profusely, adamant about not even touching a man that wasn't her fiancé. He smiled, and it was one of the most dazzling things you had ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. His eyes landed on you and you stiffened. He smirked again, clearly sensing your hesitancy. He moved to the girl who screamed for him earlier and by all that was holy you were glad it wasn't you. If he fucked anything like he danced, some lucky someone was definitely walking out if here pregnant tonight.

 He had somehow removed his jeans without taking off his boots, a feat in itself. You had no idea where he pulled a water bottle from, but his ripped shirt and tight boxer briefs were soaked. The way his body moved, his thick thighs, the devilish smile he wore, all of it was heart attack inducing. No wonder they called this room the chapel, it was aptly named. You were certainly in need of prayer after witnessing him work his magic. From him picking her up to bounce her on her like he was fucking her while standing. To him putting her down and grinding into her rear. This first dance was surely an eye opening experience.

Once the song ended, I.N made his way back to the stage, sly smirk on his face. "You've been blessed by Lee Know. But are you ready for the next performer? Or do you ladies need some holy water?" He eyed the crowd. "It seems like you're in the mood for something sweet after quenching your thirst. Anyone like….. peaches?" He moved to exit the stage again. "Welcome to the stage, Lix." 

The names seemed to get stranger as time went by, first an Ian that was spelled I.N. Then Lee Know, who clearly knew a lot, judging by how his body moved. Now a Lix? Was he going to show tongue tricks? The room filled with fog, the lights fading from white to peach as Kai's Peaches started to flow through the speakers. You excused yourself, letting Imogen know you were taking a break. You headed past the bar, making eye contact with the bartender, who tipped his head at you. You returned the gesture with a smile before smacking dead into a hard chest. 

"Oh- sorry." Hands flew to your waist as an assurance that you wouldn't fall. You let your eyes travel to the man in front of you. He had on black boots, slacks, and a black tank tucked into them. A sleeve of tattoos that you glanced over, but couldn't help but immediately noticed the snarling wolf on his hand, while brushing your eyes quickly over the rest. He had a stud in his beautifully large nose, messy smokey eyeshadow. His hair was styled in an unkempt way, but it looked attractive on him. 

"It's my fault, I should have been looking where I was going." The accent threw you through a loop. He let you go, taking a step back. "Are you with the bridal party?" He nodded towards the small crowd who were cheering for Lix. It was now the hallway guy’s turn to give you the once over and truth be told you had to press your thighs together at how his eyes lingered on your lower half as he bit on his bottom lip.

"If they continue like this, yes. But if they somehow cause trouble while I'm away… I've never met those people in my life." Your little joke caused him to laugh, putting his pretty smile and dimples on display.

"Are you enjoying the show?" His brow rose as he leaned against the wall. It was almost as if he had all the time in the world to chat you up in this corridor.

"Yeah. I mean, this is my first time at a male revue, so it's a little different. Takes a little time getting used to seeing male bodies gyrating in your face." You looked back at Lix who now had one of Imogen's sorority sisters grinding on his lap. You quickly looked away and back at the confidently relaxed man in front of you.

"As opposed to a female, I'm guessing?" His voice seemed to deepen with his question.

You hummed, "I've been to a few strip clubs. My close friend invited me to his bachelor party a few months ago, and I've been back a few times since then. But Allana, the maid of honor, she's been here a couple of times, so she decided to book this for her sister." He nodded slowly, taking in your words.

"But are you enjoying it?" He tilted his head to the side.

"I mean.. it's different." You chuckled, "It has its charms. The dancers so far have been different from the last, so that's good."

"So, I take it you haven't found a dancer you like yet, is what you're saying." He had this smug look on his face as he said it.

"I liked the first guy, he was cool." 

He hummed, nodding to himself. "Cool, huh?" He smirked, "Okay. So, what can be done to make this a good experience for you?" You tilted your head as you looked at him. Why was he asking you this? This was a night for Imogen to enjoy, you were just here in support.

"For me?" You purse your lips in thought, softly humming. "As long as Imogen- well, the bride to be is happy, so am I." He shook his head, not liking how you answered for your friend and not for yourself.

"Taste is an experience for all of his patrons, brides, bridesmaids, and whoever else comes in here. So, I'll ask again.” He plastered on the most charming, panty melting smile he could manage. Dimples on full display. “What can be done to make this a good experience for you?" He leaned in towards you, your faces a mere breath away from the other as he looked you square in the eyes. “What would have you coming back for more?”

"It would be nice to see someone get flipped around, I guess." You shrugged. He asked, so you threw it out there. “I saw someone getting thrown around on the mainstage as we made our way back here. They were practically sixty-nining on stage. That was pretty cool.”

"See someone get flipped around, yeah?" he nodded as he leaned back to his original spot against the wall. "Not willing to be the one getting flipped?" You laughed unexpectedly, taking both you and him by surprise. You cleared your throat as a way to cover up the abrupt chortle.

"Do you have Hercules or Captain America back there or something?" You nodded to the door that had a small 'restricted access' sign on it.

He shook his head. "No. But I -" You cut him off again, this time with a piteous sigh and a shake of your head.

"Do you see all of me or is your vision half off like the happy hour drinks?” You clasped your hands together as you tried to find the words to explain how insane he sounded. “It's cute that you want to try, it really is. But, sweetie, you'll throw your back out trying to flip me around." You moved next to him and pointed towards your group," You have all of them to choose from. Pick one that you can handle." You pat his shoulder. "Break a leg." You left him there stunned. 

You quickly made your way to the bathroom to freshen up. That man was hot, absolutely everything about him was attractive. His accent, his eyes, lips, nose, dimples, tattoos, the way he stood there, that ass that you noticed as you passed by him, every single last thing. Too bad he had delusions of grandeur for thinking he could handle a woman like you.

Chan had a routine and for the most part he stuck to it. He'd put on the bottom part of his stage outfit, do his hair and makeup, then scope the crowd for whomever his victim would be for the night. The poor unsuspecting soul would never see it coming, until he was in their face seducing him.

He usually watched the crowd, to see how they reacted to the dancers before him. He noticed a few of the women in the party were down for anything. That could be fun, but they usually ended up wanting more than just a private dance. A few were reserved, only dancing a tiny bit in their chairs to the music. 

Then there was you. The one who looked in awe of everything that was happening, like this was a totally foreign concept to you. Like you were having your male stripper cherry popped, so to speak. As if this was an eye opening experience. He eyed your expressions before his eyes traveled down your body. Every last inch that he could see of you was stunning. As if he didn't already have you as his pick for the night, you pulled him even more with your radiating beauty. 

Plus it helped to see that you were clearly on edge. The way you kept shifting in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs let him know you were aroused by the show. He could make good use of this information. He was told to go for the bride, since he was her type. 

But by the way she was redirecting dancers to her friends, knowing exactly who would be the best candidate for each dancer, says she is loyal and might be the best wingwoman in town. He needed to make good on his promise to approach her first, and hopefully she would direct him right to you.

Bumping into you was purely coincidental. He usually didn't make contact with his person for the night until he locked eyes with them on stage, he liked for things to seem organic. But talking to you only made the fire inside of him grow hotter. He was desperate to prove you wrong. To show you that he just simply needed to be Chris to flip you around or do whatever else it is you fancied.

You were confident, he'd give you that. You knew what you wanted. He liked that. But what he didn't like was you dismissing him like that. Hercules? Captain America? It absolutely boggled his mind that you thought you were incapable of receiving what that girl on the main stage received just because you had a few more curves. He settled at the bar and nodded to the bartender. He always took a ceremonial shot before his stage, tonight would be no different.

"What's on your mind?" Seungmin asked as he placed the empty shot glass in front of Chan. "Because I can see you overthinking from here." He poured the top shelf tequila into his glass then slid it closer.

"The woman who passed by here not too long ago, did you get a good look at her?" He really didn't know why he was asking, it was like Seungmin had photographic memory, he could probably tell him what time you passed by and everything.

"I did. Why?" He narrowed his eyes, "Don't tell me you're going back on your rule." Chan took the shot, shaking his head as the liquid burned down his throat.

"No. I just.." He sighed as he slid the shot glass back across the bar. "Do you think I'm strong enough to you know… flip her? Because she has me second guessing myself." 

"Possibly." Seungmin shrugged. "You know Changbin hyung is the better candidate to answer that question." When he didn't say anything further, he knew he was done with the conversation.

"Thanks, Seungmin." The bartender nodded, getting back to making another round of drinks for the party goers.

Chan headed back backstage, passing you again as you exited the bathroom and headed to the bar. You didn’t even spare him a glance, sending him even further into the abyss that was self doubt. 

Chan found Changbin in his dressing room, exercising before his set. "Bin. Question." Chan flopped on the couch, not too far away from his friend. "You scoped all of the bridal party, right?" 

Changbin grunted and stopped his bicep curls. "You know I did. Gotta pick my person for the night." He grabbed a weight to do bicep curls, he had to make sure his muscles looked good under the lights. "Why? What's up? You look a little worried."

Chan was chewing on his lip nervously, not even realizing he was a bit frazzled by her comments. "There is this girl -" He stopped mid-sentence as Changbin nearly dropped his weight. 

"A girl- wait- seriously?" He carefully put his weight down so he didn't accidentally injure himself with any more news. "You plan on… you know.. Going back on your rule?" 

"No- why do people keep asking me that?" He sighed exasperatedly. "Where is the folder?" Changbin nodded towards the makeup table. Chan grabbed the folder and skimmed through the photos until he found yours. "Her." He gave his friend the photo, you didn’t have many full body pictures, so Allana provided them with the best one she possibly could. "Do you think it would be possible for me to flip her?" Changbin eyed the picture for what seemed like forever.

"Yeah. I think you can do it. Why are you asking this suddenly? This isn't like you." He slid the picture back into the folder.

"She said I couldn't."

"You felt challenged, huh?" Changbin laughed.

"I- I did and I don't normally let things like that get to me. But- I felt like she dismissed the thought before she'd even seen me work. She told me I'd throw my back out trying to flip her. Then told me to 'break a leg.'" He mocked your tone while rolling his eyes.

Changbin laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his stomach from the pain of it.

"It's not funny!" Chan usually had unwavering confidence when it came to stage presence, for him to be shaking in his boots over one little comment was the highlight of Changbin's day.

"You're right, it's not funny. It's hilarious. I like this girl. She managed to shake the unshakable Bang Chan.” He smirked and Chris groaned. “But seriously bro, just prove her wrong. Pull her on stage, seduce her, then flip her. Simple."

"But I'm supposed to go after the bride." Chan protested, his face somewhere in between a scowl and a pout.

"Forget that. Minho already said she's denying dances for herself. So go after the friend." He picked his weight back up. "Now get out so I can get ready. I can hear Hyunjin's music playing and I'm up next."

Chan nodded and took his leave. Taking everything his friend said into account. He was going to win her over. He was going to give her exactly what she wished for and a little more.

Bored. That's exactly what you were at the moment. You didn't want anyone to take it the wrong way, these men were talented, there was no doubt in that. They were also too pretty to be real. Like somehow they were all AI generated. You flashed a smile at the unbelievably pretty man on stage as he made eye contact with you. His flowing black locks were mostly pulled into a ponytail, showing off his alarmingly beautiful face.

You figured his theme was that of a prince and honestly, he fit the bill. Regal looking from head to toe. You sipped your drink as he rolled his surprisingly toned body. You appreciated the view even if your usual type was a little bit beefier. You preferred a man that could pick you up, toss you around a little bit. And truth be told, you looked like you could break him just by looking at him. Him, the cute chubby cheeked boy before him and the small fairy-like blonde named Lix. At least the first guy, Lee Know, looked like he'd put up a fight. His thighs at least made him look sturdy. Plus he looked like he might be into a little pain, and you liked that.

You weren't even going to think about the cocky guy from the hallway. Sure, he had nice shoulders and an even nicer ass. But the mere thought that he thought he could flip you was laughable. He didn't look strong enough to flip a table to be honest. You were too caught in your own thoughts to notice that the prince had vacated the stage and I.N. was announcing the next performer. It wasn't until the lights changed from the pretty, calming, pale blue, to the fiery red that consumed the whole room. Alarm bells rung, pulling everyone's attention to the stage. Smoke snaked its way from behind the large white panel that covered the expanse of the back of the stage, giving a hazy feel to the room. “What's my name?” 

A few of the ladies must have been paying attention to I.n. seeing that they replied with a roaring “Changbin!”. That included Allana, who wasn't sitting not too far away from you. His voice was gruff, sexy. Your eyes hadn't moved from the stage since the atmosphere changed. His silhouette was the first thing you saw of him. This thick, muscular man. Everything from head to toe looked sturdy and well crafted. You sat up, gripping the armrests of your chair. A smooth r&b track flowed through the speakers as he sauntered out. A fireman. His pants sat low, suspenders keeping them in Place. His Coat was slung over his shoulders, his hat pulled down over his eyes. This man was sexy.

He tossed his coat out into the crowd. He literally fanned the flames of tension between two girls as they started fighting over it, both tugging on the yellow fireman's cloth. What was this effect he seemed to have on all the women, that included you. He held eye contact with Imogen with every step he took off stage. You could see the faint blush on her cheeks as he got closer and closer. 

Even he seemed to have a pull on her and that alone spoke volumes. He straddled her legs and grabbed her hand putting it right between his peck before making them dance. She covered her face with her free hand, giggling like some adolescent schoolgirl. You'd only seen her like this a few times in college, but this had to be a first, at least since she'd met her fiancé. He slid her hand down his oiled torso as he body rolled. She was as red as a tomato and you were just as or even more green with envy. 

She'd been adamant all night about keeping her hands to herself, what changed? You sighed, deciding to push your jealousy to the side. You took the final sip of your drink. Opting to let the cool liquid calm your nerves. He stepped back, and grabbed Imogen's hand, pulling her to the stage. Maybe she'd had one too many drinks and forgotten the strict rules she had set for herself? Either way, this was her party, something to celebrate her and her upcoming marriage, so you had no ground to stand on when it came to being upset.

But it did look fun. The smile on her face and blush on her cheeks said it all. He picked her up and carried her to stage, all while she covered her face out of sheer embarrassment. Some girls really had all the luck.

Nerves. They weren't something he was used to dealing with before a show and any he did feel would be washed away by the shot he took beforehand. Not today. Chris was beyond just nervous, he was two seconds away from having a full blown panic attack and it was all because of you. You and your words. He knew better than anyone just what he was capable of, but you had him second guessing himself at every turn. Turning to others for advice and reassurance, which was very unlike him.

He looked out at the crowd while Changbin did his thing, taking one for the team and seducing the bride to be, so Chris could have a little more of an opportunity to try and get to you. He eyed your expressions, your movements. Noticed the slight grimace on your face as you looked on at your friend and Changbin with what looked like jealousy. “Ah, so that's your type.” He couldn't help the little smirk that formed on his lips. He and Changbin were gym buddies and even though they had very different body types, they still did the same things when working out. He had this in the bag.

Chan usually fluffed his cock before a show. Though he looked pretty decent without it, fluffing before he went on stage ensured he looked just as above average as he was. He went back into his dressing room to finish getting ready. He took his usual routine, pulling up a video, locking the door so he wouldn't be interrupted. He landed on a video he liked and started to stroke himself. But his cock seemed uninterested in something that had gotten him off time and time again. To say he was frustrated, would be the understatement of his lifetime. You insinuating that he couldn't handle you kept flashing in his head in big, red, neon letters. 

What is the off chance that you were right? That he really couldn't handle you. That he'd make a fool of himself and you in the process? What if he dropped you? He'd never be able to forgive himself. He'd never be able to show his face here or anywhere for that matter. What if this followed him for the rest of his life. Like somehow everyone knew he dropped a girl who told him he couldn't handle her. He groaned loudly, so loud he almost missed the knock on his door. “Five minutes.” He sighed. There was no use, his dick was disheartened. He tucked himself back into his boxers and pants and threw on the rest of his outfit. 

He did a self check. Breath. Minty fresh. Outfit. Every detail in place. Makeup. Subtle, mostly just a tinted moisturizer and an alluring smoky eye. Hair, straightened and pushed up and back out of his face. He nodded to himself in the mirror. “You got this.” He hit his chest a few times to really pump himself up before heading out towards the stage. It was almost as if everything went mute. He couldn't hear the crowd screaming Changbin's name, practically begging for an encore. 

He couldn't hear I.N. trying his best to calm them down so he could announce Chris as the next performer. He couldn't hear the stage hand telling him to wait. He snapped out of it as the young woman touched his chest. “Are you even listening? I.N hasn't announced your name yet.”  she rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by him at the moment.

“I'm so sorry. You know what it's like when I'm in the zone.” He gave her an apologetic look. She sighed and nodded, deciding to let things go. Chris tried his best not to look out at the crowd, he didn't need anything knocking the confidence he'd built up. But he couldn't help himself. He peeked out, finding you and your friends fanning yourselves while giggling. Probably still giddy about Changbin's performance. He couldn't understand why, but that gave him a little confidence boost.

While Changbin was a wonderful performer, Chris was in the top stop for a reason. He couldn't wait to shock the crowd with the routine he had planned. “You ladies have been very naughty tonight. You know that? Now that the flames have been put out, I think it's time we arrest the culprit behind it all. Don't you-” Sirens filled the room again, but this time it was police Sirens. “Oh no, the cops are coming. Is that…” I.N. pretended to look off in the distance as if this was a totally believable bit. His dedication to the scene was impeccable. “It's officer Bang. Be careful ladies, I've heard he's a very bad boy with a badge. I hope you all are ready to submit or be charged.”

The stage hand nodded and Chris finally walked out on stage. With one hand on his belt, the other twirling the cuffs, he walked out to the middle of the stage and stopped. His lips curled into a smirk as he looked over the crowd. He made it to the end of the stage and pointed at a still flustered Imogen. She covered her face and shook her head. 

Changbin had clearly done some work on her, if she was back to refusing dances. She glanced from her sister to her best friend as if she was contemplating which one to pick, between the two. She grabbed your hand lifting it into the air, declaring you the winner of the lap dance from officer Bang. Much to his delight and your chagrin.

He extended a hand towards you, a slick smile on his face, while you visibly panicked. “Go, Y/n. Have fun. For me, yeah?” It was like she said magic words. You closed your eyes and sighed. It was for Imogen. That is the reason you relented. At least that's what you tried to tell yourself.  You took his hand and he held it until you made your way up the tiny staircase to the stage. 

“Before we get started, do I have your consent to do what I need for entertainment purposes?” Your eyes scanned his face before darting to Imogen who nodded profusely. 

You sighed again, shoulders falling slightly in defeat. “Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it.” You waved him off just for him to catch your wrist, slapping the cuff around it.

“Then, you're under arrest.”

“What's the charge officer?” One of the ladies yelled from the back. She was a lawyer, so this was probably very familiar for her.

“Underestimating me.” He once again invaded your space, his face dangerously close to your own. You could smell the fresh mint toothpaste on his breath. “You're guilty, until I prove you wrong.” You were so distracted by the alluring look in his eyes that you didn't feel him grab and cuff your other hand until you heard the faint click. “Play my music.” He yelled back at the dj. You felt this overwhelming sense of embarrassment. Was this man about to do what you knew he couldn't?

He bent you over, with your cuffed hands placed on the back of a chair that you hadn't realized had been put on stage. “I can't take you in until I frisk you. So spread those legs for me.” You did as told, spreading your legs a little, feeling your dress ride up the backs of your thighs and settling right in the undercuff of your booty.

 You tried not to be self conscious about slightly exposing yourself to not only your friends but a bunch of strangers in the process. You felt the warmth of his hand on the small of your back as he pushed it down ever so lightly, making you arch. The fabric covering your ass was hanging on by a thin thread.

You could have sworn you heard him curse behind you as he rubbed your sides softly. “You aren't hiding anything, are you?” You couldn't see his face, but he was trying his best to continue playing his role. The way your curves looked in this dress was already tugging at the strings to make him come undone. You, bent over like this, this was causing the frayed ends of his sanity pull as well.

“No.” You sighed heavily. You couldn't look at the crowd. To you they could only be responding in either two ways. Disgust or bewilderment. There was no in between in your mind. 

“I'm going to pat you down to make sure you don't have anything on you to hurt me.” He knew that was a lie. You'd already hurt him. You couldn't possibly do more damage than you already did to his ego. Or so he thought. With both hands situated on your hips, he ground his own hips into your backside before letting his hands slip down to your thighs. 

He dropped to his knees, his hands traveling down with him over the outside and then the over inside of your parted legs. He was immediately faced with more pain than he could possibly manage. He was face to face with the wet patch in your lace panties and it immediately threw him off guard.

 It wasn't that he didn’t know you were wet, he'd figured that out much earlier in the night. No, it was because it was much worse than you just being merely wet, you were soaked, panties clinging to your pussy for dear life he was desperately doing to his sanity.

You felt exposed. Chewing on your lip, just waiting for the moment you could finally sit down. The rest of the girls who were danced on were seemingly having the time of their lives and that included Imogen. Why couldn't you just get out of your head? Whether he could flip you or not could be pushed to the back of your mind for the time being.

You just wanted to relax and enjoy the moment. Because when was the next time you'd get a dude to touch you like this? You were more than touch starved for a reason. In a perpetual dry spell. Plus, it didn't hurt to admit that there was this overall sexiness about this man. You sighed, arching your back a little more, spreading your legs a little more. Giving him more of the view he didn't know he needed.

He had to calm himself. The view he had in front of him right now, had to be one of the best things he'd ever seen in his life. It almost felt as if he was receiving the lap dance instead of you. He shook his head lightly, bringing himself back from being too distracted by you. He ran his hands down the outsides of your legs then moved between them to rub back up. 

Standing back up, he grabbed your hips once again to grind into you, hands moving up your sides slowly, then up your back to the nap of your neck. He grabbed tight, not tight enough to hurt and pulled you back to him. Your back now flush to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, hips still moving sensually against your own. You could feel his steady breaths against your neck, as if he wasn't doing a routine. As if his heart beating quickly in his chest wasn't enough to alert you to how he was feeling. 

“Turn around for me.” You took a moment, but complied. You couldn't have him thinking you were eager enough to comply immediately. You waited a beat before turning around and facing him. He didn't let go of you, but he gave enough slack in his arms for you to move freely enough. Your chest rose and fell with each of your panicked breaths. Being this close in proximity to such a handsome man was making you nervous. 

It'd truly been that long since you've been touched? Yes. You were genuinely surprised he wasn't covered in cobwebs from the contact. He hooked his hand under your thigh, lifting it, settling it againsts hip. His other hand sat  firmly right above your ass just to keep you in place. You could feel his bulge against your heat, just the thought of his proximity made you salivate. And it turned out that he didn’t need fap material when you were in his presence. He'd recovered just fine after not being able to get it up with his usual means.

From where the audience was sitting, it looked like the two of you were caught in a passionate moment, unaware of the spectators. He ran his nose over your jaw as he pulled you in even closer. There was little to no room between the two of you. It took everything in him to pull away. There was the magnetism you held that made him not only curious about you, but made him want to stick to you. “Why don't you sit down for me, huh?” You sucked in a shaky breath and gave him a faint nod.

He let you go, even if his instincts told him to keep holding on. He took a step back as you took a seat. He tossed his hat to the side of the stage and took his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt. He threw the garment to Imogen who surprised the heck out of you as.she sniffed it. She mouthed an “Oh my gosh he's so fucking fine.” To you while fanning herself, successfully making you giggle. 

But those sweet giggles were soon replaced by A gasp as Officer Bang stood shirtless in front of you. You finally got to see the full extent of his tattoo placement. Random little red and yellow flowers, some flags, a cute portrait of a dog. None of it matched his almost sinister hand tattoo. That snarling wolf that looked as if it was staring you down, ready to rip you to shreds.

He leaned into your face once again, pulling you away from ogling his half naked, tattooed body. His finger hooked under your chin so that you'd look up at him. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Something about the way he looked at you as the sensual sounds of the Cuff It remix playing in the background made you press your legs together in an effort to stop your pussy from getting any wetter, as if it could. You were undoubtedly soaked, you knew that and unbeknownst to you, so did he.

“Never.” You whispered to him, a smirk spreading on your lips. “You'd have to earn that, Officer Bang.” You leaned back in the chair, his hand falling from your face and back to his side. The music playing in the background drowned out the conversation the two of you were having.

“Earn it, huh? Alright, bet.” He was putting on an air of confidence, he wanted you, if no one else, to think he was as confident as they came. Even if his feelings had been wavering all night. He took your cuffed hands and placed them on his stomach as he rolled his body. Your fingers slid until they caught onto his belt. He moved in, straddling your legs while towering over you.

“Take it off for me.” His voice was clear and commanding. He watched you carefully as you unbuckled his belt. Your brows were furrowed, lips tucked between your teeth. The amount of concentration exerted just undo his belt, let him know that your mind was working ten steps ahead of you right now. Even the look of innocence you gave him after you completed your task did not negate the fact.

“Thought you weren't going to be a good girl for me?” He whipped the belt through the loops then folded the belt in half. “What happened to me earning it? Huh?” He tapped the leather accessory under your chin. His eyes were so piercing they almost broke the barrier of your confident facade.

“How does that make me a good girl? Maybe I just want to see you with less on. Did that thought occur?” He chuckled, grabbing the back of your head while grinding towards your face. You flashed him that innocent look again, but with your adjacency to his crotch and you darting your tongue out to wet your lips, there was nothing innocent about you. 

If anything you straddled the line between playful and something deeply sensual, with little to no effort. You knew what you were doing. You were teasing him, and he loved to be teased almost as much as he loved teasing. “It did. But you're a little too eager for it to be just that.” He stepped back again, hands moving to your thighs again. He pushed them open and lifted them, letting your legs rest around his waist. He grabbed the back of the chair with one hand, the other was placed on your hip. “Just admit you want me. It'd make things easier for you.” The way he ground his hips into you had a moan slipping past your lips

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just give in to me.” He moved in like he was going to kiss you. At least to your hazy visions that's what it looked like. He fit so perfectly between your thick thighs and the way he moved against you was dizzying. Your friends were on the edge of their seats as they watched this dance. It was flirting with being hardcore pornography on the stage. The way your wetness was now dampening the front of his trousers. How your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in with the sharp heels of your shoes.

You moaned again, nails dragging down his stomach. “I could do much more to you if you let me. Just give in to me.” He was staring into your soul. He was touching you, but just barely and yet it felt as if every nerve ending of yours was on fire. As if another part of you was reacting, you nodded. It had to be that part of your brain that was too horny to function. The touch-starved beast that was desperately seeking attention from this beautiful specimen of a man that had you pent down to a chair in front of your friends.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. “Good girl.” He unhooked your legs from around his waist and moved them to his shoulders. His smirked shifted into a cocky smile as he left open mouth kisses down your clothed frame till he was right above your heat. He stealthily placed a kiss to your exposed panties, eyes still focused on yours, but now with a playful glint in them. He placed kisses on your thighs then nipped at the skin.  

Chris had never been this drawn to a client before. He wanted to feel your skin for real. To feel your touch, maybe even to taste you, if you'd let him. With him this close to you, he could smell your sweet scent. And if he was honest, he'd tell you just how tempting you were. But, the man had a job to do. He was meant to entertain, and he had no reason not to fulfill that task. 

He switched your position, your thighs were once again around his waist. “Put your arms around me.” You didn't hesitate. You looped your arms over his head, letting your arms settle around his shoulder, fingers accidentally threading into the damp patch of hair on the back of his head. He lifted you up, almost as if you weighed nothing to him. The look of shock on your face said enough. 

He chuckled, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place. “Hold on tight, okay? I got you.” He used the grip on your ass to swing you back and forth, your hips crashing into his crotch, like he was fucking you. Your hold on his neck tightened. A bit of fear he'd drop you was creeping back up into the back of your mind, no matter how much you tried to trample it down. 

“I won't drop you, I promise.” He smiled, “If I do, you can take it out on me however you like…. Deal?” That however you like sat with you. You almost wanted him to drop you, just so you could take it out on him. You nodded in agreement and relaxed your body, so that he could do what he wanted. “Plus, I don't plan on flipping you in front of all these people.” You looked at him confused, what was he even saying?

“That should be something done in private.” The next thing you know, your back is pressed against the cold stage and his hips are giving you a barrage of quick fire strokes just to slow it down once again. Now all he needed to do was a few finishing moves to close out the show, then things would come to a close. That would be the end of his time with you. For some reason, that just didn’t sit right with him. 

He wanted to at least know your name. He’d tell you his name in return. He didn’t want to leave off with you knowing him as Officer Bang or Bang Chan. He wanted you to meet Chris. He placed your leg on his shoulder, feeling from your ankle down to your thigh. You don't know how but he turned you quickly on your stomach and maneuvered himself back between your legs. Rolling his hips into yours. You had nowhere to run, and truthfully you liked feeling him pressed against you.

You were flustered, face slightly damp with sweat. Chest rising and falling rapidly. Body racing with adrenaline. Loving the feeling of his hips grinding in circles against yours once again, making the heat of lust crawl back up your body once again. Fogging your mind until you couldn’t think of anything else but the way he felt moving against you. The lights dimmed, music faded, your friends roared loudly as they cheered from the crowd. You’d forgotten they were there, mind too gone with the man that was still on top of you, though his routine had ended. 

“Come back stage with me?” He asked in your ear, voice hoarse from speaking over the music so you could hear. You nodded, too aroused to actually verbalize an answer. “Was.. was that a yes?” He chuckled lightly as he sat up. He grabbed your hips, helping you to get up from the floor, knowing it'd be pretty hard to do with your hands still cuffed. He stood to his feet before helping you and leading you carefully off stage, hand in hand.

That part was still dark and he didn't want you to take a tumble. You squinted as the darkness turned to light once behind the curtain. He pulled you off to the side, retrieving the key from his pocket. “You did great, by the way.” He kept your hand in his as he tried to unlock your cuffs. “It felt.. natural.” He wouldn't look in your eyes, at least not for long.

“I should be saying that to you, honestly. You're an amazing dancer.” You nodded, but noticed just how shy he got. He was still shakily trying to put the key in the hole, biting down on his bottom lip. “Take your time…” You encouraged him. “I'm sure Imogen still wants to party while a few of the girls.. you know.. partake in the other services offered here.” You didn't know why, but the thought of one of your friends asking to sleep with him bothered you immensely.

“And… What about you? What are your plans… if I ever get you uncuffed?” He was cursing himself out in his mind, how hard was it to take off a cuff? He'd done this many times before. Why was he so nervous?

“I'm down for whatever. I mean, I have to wait for my ride, right?” You chuckled. “Plus I'm sure one of the girls is booking you as we speak. Especially after that performance. I only saw a few of them from my peripherals, but they were beyond impressed. I think you got a standing ovation.” You chuckled half heartedly, the thoughts of him and one of the girls was still swimming around in your head. Leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Ah- yeah, nah. I don't offer those kinds of services. I leave that up to the rest of the guys.” He finally heard the click of the cuff and sighed out of relief. “Fucking.. finally.” He removed them and placed them in his pocket, then grabbed your wrists to message away the little indents left by them. “It doesn't hurt, does it?” His eyes were fully focused on your wrists.

“Not really. Rope burn is far worse, in my opinion.” You shrugged. “The marks will be gone within the hour.”

“Rope Burn- heh. Is it?” God, you were still doing things to his mind. His erection hadn't calmed down yet, either. “Are you.. Ya’know.. into that type of thing?” He could hear his heart in his head, beating loudly.

“I'm into all types of things, Officer Bang.” You teased.

He had to look up to the ceiling to gather himself. The image of you tied in rope, just waiting there for him almost made him cum in his trousers. He cleared his throat, focusing his attention back on you, “Chris. You can call me Chris.”

You smirked, “Chris, huh? Are you expecting me to tell you my name now…. Chris?” It was something in the way you said his name that almost made his knees give out.

“That would be nice. But it's not necessary, not if you don't want to tell me.” He was sweet, you recognized that. He finally let your wrists go, and you immediately missed the contact.

“Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous.” You gave him a soft smile, “I'm Y/n. It's nice to meet you, Chris.” You didn't ask or hesitate, you just took his hand in yours, giving it a shake. But he took you off guard when he pulled you hand to his mouth, giving you a kiss on the back of it.

“Pleasures all mine.” That mischievous glint was back in his eyes as they traveled from your face down to your chest and back up.

“It's not. But it could be.” You don't know who broke first, but you were suddenly engaged in a kiss, your back pressed against the hallway wall that you first met him at. He had you boxed in, a hand on each side of your head. Your hands started at his waist and worked their way up his abs to his pecks.

He needed to feel more of you. Just your lips touching was not even close to being enough to satisfy this growing need he had for you. He pressed his body yours, moving one hand to grip one of your thick thighs, resting it at his waist. You could feel him against your core, the contact igniting something within you.

He moved his kisses from your lips to your neck, taking his precious time with leaving his mark behind. He didn't know who needed to know, but he wanted people to know he'd been there. You moaned as his teeth grazed over the most sensitive spot on your neck. “There, yeah?” He ran his tongue over the bite, just to suck a hickey into the spot. 

“Turn around for me.” Letting your leg fall from his side, he took a step back, watching you carefully as you turned to face the wall. Face and chest pressed to the faux brick. “Fuck…” Your dress had ridden up, but not far enough in his humble opinion. He grabbed the fabric and pulled it up over your ass, watching your ass drop-out of the material. The glimpse he'd gotten earlier didn't do you justice, not in the least bit.

He landed a smack to your ass, gripping that same spot before smacking it again. You looked back at him, lust dripping off of your expression. “Don't look at me like that.” He could feel his cheeks flush, his ear burning.

“Like what?” You asked, genuinely curious as to what your expression looked like to him. There was still lust burning in your eyes.

“Like you want me to fuck you. Right here, right now.” He had taken hold of your hips again, his body pressed to yours once more.

“I wouldn't object, if you're asking.” His fingers dug into your hips lightly. He leaned his head on your shoulder and let out an exasperated sigh. He was convinced you were sent to get him to back out of everything he'd once vowed he'd never do again. Maybe Changbin sent you. An agent of chaos.

“You don't seem like the reckless type and that… would be very reckless.” He felt as if he was on the edge of desperation. “You aren't a bad girl, are you?” You whimpered. He hadn't realized you were feeling just as desperate as he was. “You don't want to be a good girl for me? Haven't I earned it?”

He was breaking you down with every word utter from his beautifully plump mouth. “Can't I be both for you?” He nodded against your shoulder.

“Yes, yes you can. Yes, you absolutely can, baby.” His fingers toyed with the lacey waistband of your thong. “As long as I'm offered the same courtesy.” He traced along it until he got to the string sitting snugly between your cheeks. “May I?” He pulled away, just to get another glimpse at your ass.

“Go right ahead.” You by all accounts, were a straight shooter. You usually told it like it was, especially when you'd had a drink or two. But being this bold? With a stranger? Never. This was far from who you usually were. He pulled your panties to the side, taking in the glorious sight before him.

“Fuck…. I've been waiting to see this all night.” He spread your cheeks to get a better view and the visual was almost too much to take in. Your pussy was already ready for him. Your puffy lips were smeared with wetness that had collected throughout the night. He ran his fingers over your lips, shuddering from the warmth of your slickness. 

You moaned feeling his skin make contact with yours. It'd been so long since you'd been touched that you'd almost forgotten what it felt like. “I want to tease you so bad…” His voice was breathy, fingers running up and down your slit, “But you're so fucking wet I can barely contain myself. Your pussy is begging me to fuck it.” He slipped a finger in. You were wet, but he could still feel resistance. He groaned. His mind filled with how wet and tight you were. 

He added a second, knowing almost immediately that he'd have to stretch your pussy out if he expected to fit. If he even made it that far. You  clenched around his two digits as he slid into your wetness. You bit down on your bottom lip, to stifle the moan that was rising in your throat. He gave you no time to adjust, his fingers pleasantly grazing against your walls, in and out. Your eyes fluttered shut, you were numb to any of your surroundings that weren't him

He twisted his fingers, palm now facing down, the eye of a snarling wolf on his hand now watching your back. He was intoxicated by the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of you. Imagination running wild with the thoughts of what it would feel like to be deep inside of you. To feel your tightness squeezing his length, wetness coating it. To see just how your fat little cunt swallowed him.

He needed to add a third, for his sanity. Just as he slipped that third finger in, people rounded the corner. He stuffed them inside of you, covering your mouth with a kiss as he shielded your lower half with his own. You couldn't even comprehend how indecent this was. Your mind is completely consumed with lust.

“Oh- didn't mean to interrupt.” Allana giggled, hands wrapped tightly around Changbin's arm. Changbin gave his friend a knowing look, a smirk dancing across his lips.

“The lounge is free. All the guys booked tonight.” He smiled, patting his shoulder before toting off his client for the night.

“We can't stay here.” Chris spoke lowly into your ear. “Come with me, yeah?” He pulled his fingers from your grip and couldn't stop himself from getting a taste. The way your wetness coated his fingers like the sweetest drips of ice cream from a melting cone, he truly couldn't resist. 

He indulged in sweetness while you adjusted your dress, pulling it down to make you look presentable once again. He was still licking his fingers even after you were done. Needing more than just a taste, he grabbed your hand and tugged you gently along to the lounge. It was a shared space, but with his dressing room being too small and him not having a designated room anymore, the lounge would have to do.

Chris made sure to lock the door. “I don't know how much time we ha-” He was stopped mid-sentence by your lips on his. You pulled him by the belt loops on his pants to the plush white sofa in the middle of the room. Pushing him down on it, you quickly straddled his lap and wrapped your arms around him, resuming the kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, mingling with the lingering minty freshness. 

Everything was telling him to be a gentleman, to be responsible. To find out how you'd get home if your friends left. He'd gladly take you, but he knew how it would look if he knew your address. Most people wouldn't be comfortable with that, he understood. “Get out of your head.” You spoke against his lips. You could tell he was thinking? That it had nothing to do with the nasty things his other head had been thinking for hours now? “Hey.” Pulling away from the kiss, you grabbed his face, making him look at you. “Whatever it is, worry about it later. I feel like I’ve been edged all night and I really need to be fucked stupid. Okay?”

He chuckled, “Okay.” Your little not so peppy-talk seemed to do it for him. Any and all thoughts not pertaining to this moment he was sharing with you were now out of the window. He needed to see you in all your glory, and thought he appreciated the way that dress fit you, he would much rather see it on the floor. He slipped the straps off your arms, fingers gently trailing down your skin, leaving little goosebumps in its wake.  You let it fall, pulling your arms out. Next to go was your strapless bra, expert fingers quickly rid you of the garment, tossing it somewhere in the vicinity. “You’re perfect.” His thumbs traced over your collarbones, before his fingers joined in over your chest and down to your breast.

“Hardly. But I know how to take a compliment.” You joked, “Thank you.” He touched you like he was trying his best to savor the moment, not wanting it to end. He shook his head, cupping your breast, feeling the weight of them.

“You look perfect to me.” You just hummed, not wanting to argue him down about it. It wasn't worth it and you wanted to stay in the moment. He kissed your sternum, “Get up for me for a second.” You were taken off guard, but you moved off his lap and stood up. He laid down flat on the sofa and beckoned you over with his finger. “Sit on my face. I want to taste you.” It took a second for your brain to catch up with his words.

“Look, just because you might be capable of flipping me does not mean I wouldn't suffocate you-” He groaned, interrupting you.

“I didn't ask. Just come sit on my fucking face.” Your eyes went wide, not expecting him to talk to you like that. But you would be the first to admit it kind of turned you on. You moved with haste, kneeling next to his head before straddling his face. “Good girl.” You were beginning to really like the sound of him calling you that.

You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, careful not to put all your weight on him, keeping most of it on your knees. Chris grew impatient the way you were hovering over him, after pulling your panties to the side once again, he roughly grabbed your hips pulling you down on top of him. His face made the perfect seat for you, enveloped between your cheeks, nose and mouth slotted between your lower lips. His tongue immediately went to work, making you squirm on top of him.

You bit back your moans, even with the other guys being otherwise occupied, you didn’t want to risk being too loud. A hard smack landed on your ass, making you jump and squeeze your thighs around his head. Deft hands spread your cheek; that gave him a little more room to move between the thickness of your ass and pussy lips. Not wanting to be the only one to receive pleasure, you leaned forward, sliding a hand into his pants. You gripped his member with one hand and pushed his boxers under his balls with the other.

You gasped at the sight of his thick cock; mouth immediately salivating. He slid his thumb into your cunt, making your grip on him tighten. He groaned against your clit, stopping for a second just to commence his torture of your pussy. But two could play that game, right? You went to work, testing out the waters first.  Seeing just how much of his big cock you could take. You spit on it, letting it dribble down his length. “Good girl.” He spoke between your folds.

Making sure his member was completely wet, you gripped the shaft with two hands and took him back in your mouth. Your mouth and hands moving simultaneously on his dick made him sigh with pleasure. It'd been a while since he'd been touched by anyone besides himself and he needed the relief more than you knew. Your mouth was the perfect amount of wet and the way you slurped was the perfect amount of nasty. He replaced his thumb with his index and middle fingers, going slow at first before quickening his pace to match yours. 

Wet noises replaced the background club noise that filled the room earlier. Chris loved the way you tasted on his tongue but he needed to get his dick wet with more than saliva. With a hard smack to your ass, he spoke up, “Turn around for me.” He had figured out that in order to get his point across with you he needed to be assertive. He was normally polite, but politeness could wait for later. “I need to be inside of you.” 

You were so needy you didn’t even think twice about his request. You let his cock go with some resistance, a small pop resounding through the room as you pulled him from your mouth. You must have been moving a little too slow for his liking, because the next thing you knew, you were flipped over onto your back, legs spread but also close to your chest as his cock slid between your folds. “I don’t mean to be impatient…” He paused, groaning as the back of his tip brushed over your clit, sending chills through his body. You were beyond wet, more especially now that he’d added his saliva to the mix. “I need you.”

You could feel the heat travel from the center of your chest, up your neck, to your face. His words felt genuine, even under the circumstances. He leaned in, kissing your lips, distracting you from him lining himself up with your entrance. The kiss was intoxicating. Enough so that it made your hip buck up into his, the tip of his cock consequently sliding into you. Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back at the unexpected stretch. “Patience is a virtue, beautiful.” He chuckled darkly. Was this the same man who couldn’t even give you time to flip around yourself? He was now telling you that patience was indeed a virtue, but it was clearly something neither of you had. “Fuck you feel so good..” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since he flipped you over, and honestly, he didn’t know if he would be able to. You were gorgeous to him. Every single last inch. The wet sound of his hips harshly slamming into your filled the room, tuning out the muffled club music.

The way he was filling you up, stretching your walls deliciously, was absolutely mind boggling. He felt so good inside of you that you almost didn’t know what was up or down. Your nails dug into his forearms. Your jaw was slack, eyes threatening to close. “Fuck…. Yes.. there…” He had readjusted his hips, digging his knees into the couch, pushing your legs towards your armpits. You’d never been stretched like this, and you meant that in more than one way. He focused his eyes on the mess that was accumulating between the two of you. Your wetness was accompanied by your cream, his cock was dripping with your essence. The sound, the sight, the smell, the taste, everything was getting to him. You moaned loud, eyes glossed over, unable to hide your feelings from him anymore.

Your eyes were just as dark as his, both of you caught in the torrent of ecstasy. He leaned in, pecked at your lips, then your jaw, over your neck and chest, to your breast , draggin his tongue across the flesh before haphazardly sucking the pebbled bud into his mouth. Your hands flew to his hair. Fingers tugging on the sweat slicked curls at his nape. He moaned and that sent you barreling towards orgasm. You spread your legs wider, begging to feel more of him. He picked up his speed, his wet mouth dragging across your chest to give your other tit the same treatment. His ability to multitask was truly astounding.

Normally you’d put in some type of effort, hell-bent on not being some random man's pillow princess, but the way this man was putting in work all you could do was lie there and take it. You squeezed your already tight walls around him, making his hips stutter. “Don’t play games you know you won’t win.” He spoke gruffly, lips still pressed to your feverish skin. “Quit while you're ahead, baby.” That felt like a challenge. Part of you wanted to know just what he planned to do if you didn’t ‘quit while you were ahead’. So you tested it.

Every drag out of your cunt earned a clench. The first time he let it go, but the second time caused him to groan, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “You’re fucking killing me…” He grumbled, doing a few shallow and quick thrusts just to throw you off. He pulled out completely, tapping his slick riddled cock against your clit. A tiny drizzle of cum shooting from his tip and landing on your already messy pussy. “Look at how wet you have my dick. You even have me cumming a little already… fuck… you're perfect” He bit down on his swollen bottom lip, teasing you with just the tip of his dick. He enjoyed the way your cunt looked wrapped around him. You tried to wrap your legs around him, groaning when he caught on, pushing your legs back towards your chest.

“Nuh-huh, you think after all of that I’ll let that pretty pussy of yours get what it wants?” The sinister look he gave you as his lips curled into a smile would have been terrifying if it didn’t turn you on. “Not a chance, sweetheart.” He laughed innocently as if he didn’t just stuff you full of cock moments ago. “You’ll be lucky if I let you come.” He smirked, sitting back on his legs, he grabbed at your hips, swiftly turning you around. You didn’t even get a chance to protest. It happened faster than your mind could process. A few throw pillows were stuffed up under your stomach, successfully elevating your hips. “Fuck… would you look at that?”

You didn’t even know him well, but you could tell he was pleased with himself. He smacked both your cheeks before spreading them wide. Wild thoughts were running through his mind at the sight. He spit on your pussy before using his tongue to lap up all of the cream that was spread over it, your asshole, and your thighs. A man starved. That's what he ate like. It was your turn for your eyes to roll back, you gripped at the armrest, pushing your hips further into his face. Those plush lips in combination with that thick tongue? Heavenly. You could feel the coil in the bottom of your belly twist up and just as it was about to snap, hell pulled away with a soft chuckle.

You whined. You needed that release. “My turn…” You don't know what exactly came over him, but it was like he snapped. He slid back into your wanton cunt, causing your pussy to queef from suddenly being filled to the brim. You squealed, not used to your body making that sound. He placed his hand over the lower part of your back, just above your butt, pressing down to make you arch for him. And that's when all hell broke loose. This man had to be the spawn of the devil with the way he was after your soul. He was desperately trying to snatch your life force right out of your body with every deep thrust he gave you. Your walls fluttered around him, he moved his hands to your hips, nails digging into your skin as a way to ground himself. He was muttering things to himself, it honestly sounded like a bunch of gibberish to you. But then again, it was hard to concentrate on anything other than how hard he felt inside of you. “Fuck… this pussy is so good.” He groaned, pressing his hips flush against yours, hitting the deepest spot inside of you.

Your toes curled, vision turning white from the sensation. You didn’t even realize you were cumming until he pulled all the way out. “Please… please put it back in.” You begged, hole begging to be filled again, even though you just came. He obliged. He wanted to get off just as you had, but this time he wasn’t out for revenge, he slowly entered you, letting you feel every inch and vein. It had been a while since you last had some, and then it wasn’t much to write home about. This? Him? You’d shout it from the rooftops if you had to, this man’s dick game was impeccable. You moaned and writhed under him. He trached a hand up your sweat slick back, grabbing ahold of your neck and pulling you up and back towards him. His other arm wrapped around your tummy as he drug his lips over your shoulder, speaking a melange of your name and several curse words. He was in heaven. His heart pounded hard against his chest, any sounds but the ones that reverberated off the walls in this room were a non factor to him. He was here, at this moment, with the beautiful woman he spotted out in the crowd.

You hoped there was a hidden camera in this room that could pinpoint your time of death, because you could have sworn you ascended. Your tongue was hanging out of your mouth, eyes slightly closed, a severely fucked out expression on your face. You were dripping wet, walls still quivering around him, and he loved every bit of it. “You’re so fucking good, baby… so tight.. Wet… fuck..” His voice progressively got whinier, his end was near.  His hand moved from the back of your neck to the front, squeezing lightly. His conclusion was right on the tip of his tongue, the words begging to fall from his lips. His hips stuttered, his arm around your middle pulling you impossibly close. He gave a few sharp thrusts, “Fuck- baby, I-I’m gonna come… I’m gonna..” He cried out, once against pushing his pelvis completely against yours as he spilled his seed inside of your begging cunt. You moaned, the feeling of his warm cum painting your walls was enough to make them quiver again, threatening to overstimulate him. “Fuck, baby.. Too tight..” He spoke, while thrusting his cum deeper into your cunt. It took a spell of labored breaths and soft whimpers before he came down enough to pull his softening cock from inside of you. If he let you go right now you were sure you would fall face first into the cushions of this couch. 

You were blissed and fucked out, a crooked smile set on your face. He laid you down gently, watching your cunt to see if any of his seed dripped out, to see if he indeed fucked it deep enough. He smirked to himself when the only proof that he came inside of you was the small snail trail he broke when he pulled out. The room was silent for a while, the sound of the muted club music was no longer drowned out by the sound of sex. You’d close your eyes, honestly ready to knock out for the next couple hours if he let you.  He on the other hand had his eyes focused right on your pussy, still wet from the night's events. “My gosh… you are a dangerous, dangerous woman.” His dick twitched when you pulled your knees together to get a little more comfortable. He sighed, this just wouldn’t do. “I don’t usually do this… but.. I honestly don’t think I’m done with you for the night.” His words caused you to quickly open your eyes and turn around. Your eyes traveled from his face to check if he was serious, down to his semi-hard dick. “Would you mind… coming back to my place for.. Round two… or three?” 

Your eyes were wide. There was no way this man was serious. “Only if you are down. If not, we can hit the showers and I can escort you back to you-” You stopped him with a sensual kiss.

“Yes.” You spoke against his lips. Maybe being a bridesmaid paid off this time.

FIN

As you hurriedly shuffled through your bag for your notebook, your phone slipped from your grasp and clattered loudly onto the floor.

A few heads turned, and you quickly bent down to retrieve it. Just as you did, a sharp voice sneered behind you.

“Did you drop your brain along with that?”

He leaned slightly over his desk, eyes glinting with amusement as he pointed at the red 87/100 inked on the corner of your paper on your desk. “Here I thought I had competition.”

At first, you genuinely thought he hated you—his snarky comments and dismissive attitude made that pretty clear. But after a few similar encounters, you started to realize that he saw this as a game in which he wanted to prove he was better than you. Once you figured that out you started treating it like a game. And soon you learnt that irritating him was incredibly fun.

Now, you and Tsukishima weren’t friends—far from it—but you weren’t enemies either. You could even have a decent chat once in a while (though not without some banter). Still, being in the same course meant constant competition. As exhausting as it was sometimes, it also kept you motivated to study harder. If it weren’t for this rivalry you would be slacking off a lot more. But you didn’t. Not when he made sure to drop a snarky comment whenever you got a question wrong; in return, whenever you scored higher than him on an exam or assignment, you'd make sure to rub it in his face just as much.

So yes, Tsukishima was a jerk. He was dry, sarcastic, and lacked any redeeming qualities. He’d slam the door right in front of your face if you were walking behind him, he would purposefully bump his shoulder into yours in the hallway just to annoy you. Which is why it was a complete surprise when you woke up in the library with a jacket draped over your shoulders. A jacket that definitely wasn’t yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Turning your head slightly, you saw Tsukishima sitting on your left, focused on some assignment.

Huh. That was odd. He only sat next to you if the library was full.

Feeling your confused gaze on him, his usual cold eyes met yours, his indifference unchanged.

“You’re awake,” he stated flatly before turning back to his work. “If you keep dozing off instead of actually studying, you won’t even have a chance of passing me on this assignment.” His eyes never left his notebook, but a smirk crept onto his face as he added, “Not that you ever had one to begin with. But keep dozing like that, and you'll definitely fail.”

You blinked a few times. Still feeling a bit drowsy but amused, you chuckled softly and shot him a smirk of your own, tilting your head slightly.

“Is the great Tsukishima worried about me falling behind? How sweet of you.”

He always liked teasing you. You always reacted to his taunts and that only fed his already humongous ego. But honestly? You liked teasing Tsukishima just as much.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you said with a playful grin. “I’m perfectly capable of beating you on this assignment. Actually, that’s why I was napping—I don’t even need to do the assignment to pass you. I’m just that good, y’know.” You stretched your arms lazily and grinned wider.

Tsukishima just snorted, “Right.”

It was when the jack slipped from your shoulders as you stretched you remembered about it.

“Even made sure I wasn’t cold. Truly a gentleman, Tsuki!” You picked it up with a giggle and handed it back to him.

He took it back with a scoff “Oh please,” he dismissed, "you were shaking like a leaf on a tree. It was impossible to concentrate with the sound of your teeth chattering. And don’t call me that.”

"Aww. Don’t tell me your cold heart was warmed up by little ol’ me. "

Tsukishima simply raised an eyebrow at your cheeky smile, clearly annoyed.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he drawled in his usual condescending tone, "you were simply an inconvenience, nothing more."

You quietly smile to yourself, knowing he didn’t really mean it. Because if he did, he’d be sitting anywhere else in the empty library, not right next to you.

Maybe Tsukishima Kei wasn’t such a jerk after all.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Reblogs and comments are appreciated though!

The first day was fine, you and Hannibal were lazy in bed, tangled under the fluffy sheets, crackling coming from the fireplace soothes you but when night came he said he wanted to try the pool and asked you to join him. How could you say no? So you wore your swimsuit and followed him.

You places your towel on one of the chairs by the pool, steam coming out of the pool and warming the environment, it looked nice for a normal person to enjoy but as you watched Hannibal get in and making himself comfortable you could feel the fear clutching your throat like your ex boyfriend’s fingers. Before meeting Hannibal you had sworn off all types of relationships because of your ex who used to torture you with water. Your mind was replaying the gruesome memories of you being drowned, your heartbeat in your ears…

Hannibal noticed your hesitation and wanted to encourage you to”Come here, love.” He extended his hand for you and you held it, slowly you got inside the pool, water caressing your thighs, it was fine at first till you could feel water climbing to your stomach and then your chest, “I- I can’t..” you cries as you tried to get out. “Y/N, what’s wrong?!?” Hannibal asked but without a word you slipped from his hands and ran inside.

Once you reached your shared bedroom you took of your swimsuit and wore a white robe, sitting on the armchair by the fireplace. You were shivering, not because of cold, the past memories made your insides run ice. Hannibal knocked on the door first them waited for your soft reply and entered.

“Darling…” he called and you started crying, shoulders shaking. He immediately came by your side, knelt and cupped your cheeks, “What happened back there?” He asked with calmness and determination. He was going to get to the bottom of this. You explained everything and all he did was to pick you up and carry to the bed, he kissed your cheek and asked you to get some rest because tonight’s events drastically changed for him.

Suddenly, he craved for meat.