#*clinks two brain cells together*

[le4ves-1n-the-w1nd]

They're both solitary creatures? And we're very much not?

Ocelots hunt by water, apparently

Oh huh, they do.

They're good swimmers though and I am Not. Exactly opposite, in fact.😔

Womp womp

Shush

I should so assign people cats. Who wants to be assigned a cat?

[f3arth3for3st]

Fuck You, I'm Chaotic: A Creepypasta Friend scenario series

"Ticci" Toby: First Interaction

Wordcount: 2,325 (2K)

"Ticci" Toby

The two of you met in the street when you had accidentally bumped into him when you were walking.

The souls of your shoes knocked agilely against the damp cement. It's coursed surface, tinted dark as the drizzle overhead dampened the hair atop your head that hung; low, avoiding eyes of passersby. The weighted plastic bag that constricted around four of your five fingers restricting the circulation that coursed the veins, thumb pressed firmly to the baggies folding crease, feathering over it in a sort of self-soothing manner.

You were used to the constant gas station runs at ungodly times and coffee scorched tongue. You rather enjoyed the change in scenery away from your house and the walls that felt as if they were suffocating you even when your parent's shouts stain the painted walls like a blood stain. 

You were a good kid.

At least that's what others have told you. 

You've never touched a cigarette within your seventeen years of life; you've never seen a reason to for the addiction you had developed was that of the smell of aging books and foxing pages that curled under your fingers as your enchanting eyes raked the words, soaking in every and any syllable printed along the organic vellum. Along with the brain buzzing symphonies that sang enchantingly through the miniature speakers that resided within a simple pair of earbuds.

Your home didn't feel homely but more of a cell you were forced to dwell within. You had learned to stay silent during their exchange in harsh words. You've adapted to pressing your spine as close to a wall as possible when they sauntered by; steps usually heavy; ladened with anger that always stained their sharp gazes, daring you to say or do something they deemed unfitting and out of line. 

But you never did.

Despite the ball that festered within the core of your throat and the twinging that clutched the coil of emotions that grew within the confines of your chest, taut against your ribs like a boa constrictor. But you would swallow thickly and cast your gaze to the floor, slipping away till you could no longer feel their fiery gaze that seared the skin of your back.

A shuddering breath fluttered your aching lungs as you released the breath you hadn't realized you were holding as the gentle winds that clinked the browning leaves together like tangerines and the rolling thunder that sang just below a mellow hum akin to that of a muted violin. Faint grey clouds cast overhead. 

If you glanced up, you would be able to see the layers that made up of the precipitation that gathered in the normally crystal blue vastness, it was intriguing to you, watching the lower clouds drift below the others, almost like a moving picture that was blurred every so often when a droplet of water washed over one of your pupils.

You were on your way back home after being sent on one of these said quick late gas station runs by your father which took longer than you anticipated since the card your mother had begrudgedly given to you had Insufficient funds which resulted in you having to pay out of pocket with your own allowance money, which put a rather harsh damper on your already somewhat souring mood considering it was just nearing dusk that cloaked the clouds above in a dreary hue, but when you stepped out, the sun had gone, casting the noon into a thick quilt of evening. Not that you could see it anyway.

The bell of the gas station's door rang behind you as it opened with a groan of obedience and Jeremy, the man who owned the small store bid a fairwell.

The upturn of your chin and lingering of your eyes caught that the air had turned angrier than before you last stepped out into the world. The sky that was lazily quilted in a thin grey was now thick and weeping silently. Small, almost microscopic tears rained from above. Not enough to be overbearing, but enough to be comforting like watching snow fall within the first weeks of winter. 

You hadn't tended to stay out long, especially after the aging reports of the teens that were bludgeoned to death not far from the high school you attended, reporters from neighboring news announcing their unfortunate and rather horrific deaths. 

A shudder rumbled your spine.

All of them, a quartet of adolescent teens although scattered in age and size; were stabbed umpteen times, but one had passed due to an overdose. The stories gave you chills when you listened to the passive warnings and advisories to make do with the little daylight fall brought followed by the extensive hours of night that had come sooner than you had wished. 

Another upcast of your eyes caught onto the inky silhouettes of the tree canopies that waved like a slow dance to your favorite song. 

The thought of music playing to assist the mingling browned leaves made your fingers itch, the tips tingling with the impulse to retrieve the white wired headphones that wrapped around the portable device that sat heavily in your hoody pocket, weighing it down like an anchor to a roaming boat atop settle waters. 

You were always warned by those around that it wasn't a wise idea to stroll about with earbuds in your ears, deafening and blinding one of your few senses that may save your life but alas; impulse won as you slowed nearing a halt. 

The coffee that rested warmly in the palm that lacked the plastic bag now rest, nestled protectively in the crick of your elbow, the bottom resting on your hip to assure it didn't slip from between the folds of your hoodie's loose material. The hand, unoccupied; ferreted around the pocket at your stomach, grazing against the firm material of the earbuds before gingerly pulling one out. Careful not to damage the delicate cords within the thick white casing that protected them. 

Unraveled, one slipped into your ear before the other took its place in the other, the elongated button that was mainly used for volume and phone calls sat achingly under your index finger as it gives a clickyou having pressed the button. 

It was like entering a whole new world away from what you were doomed to reside in. Each tone and groan of a cord made your mind swim with a sense of serenity, the sting of the coffee's solution made your tastebuds dance, the pirouette almost correspondent to the way the leaves swayed with the Zepher, you didn't need to remove the wired earbuds to hear the way the herbiage clicked together. It brought a smile to your dried lips. 

It felt...

Tranquil. Despite the weighted plastic bag that wrapped your fingers with a deadly vice.

Reality had slipped from your fingers for a moment, your legs ambling. One in front of the other. Your brain, so caught in the fantasy of arcadian music. That you had failed to notice the unmoved form that stood before you, seeming just as dazed and oblivious to the oncoming body as you were in this time. 

The heat of the caffeinated beverage that had unknowingly taken its place back into your palm sloshed in its restraints, the fragile thin plastic that entrapped the tongue numbing warmth split, dispelling the libation, splashing against the sensitive skin of your hand, as seconds passed the warmth spread, the sticky liquid soaking into the material of your hoodie, its tint turning a shade darker than normal as it sucked the caffeine like a dry sponge to water.

With an oof the tranquility your body had subjected itself to dissipated as a headphone fell, tugging on the other that tumbled after it, the cord taut as one clinked against the hard coursed cement, the bag that bound your deadened fingers seemed to grow light as it swung forwards, knocking into the others leg before the weight returned seeming heavier. 

You stumbled back as the other jolted forwards regaining lost balance, baffled. Enlarged eyes swam with panic as you immediately discarded your own comfort, reaching out to gingerly touch the others arm that was being used to regulate their teetering balance. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry dude are you alright?" You hissed, tone laced with concern and internal scolding as you stabled the poor soul you had collided with. 

He stood around your height, maybe even taller, maybe shorter, but no words fell from their lips. "I apologize man, I wasn't watching where I was going, I didn't spill anything on you did I?" You respond hastily, tone akin to desperation as the hooded man turned to look at you, deep brown eyes that peered calloused from beneath the hood resting over his head the illumination of a nearby streetlamp cast a soft glow to his abnormally tinted skin. The dark tufts of burnt chestnut hair that swept around the hem of the hood made it look even more illish, but those eyes. Those dark, desensitized eyes; glared. The orbs benumbed, senseless, and obdurate. You paused, taking notice of the almost deathly pale skin akin to grey was marred with old faded, and newer raised pinkish-white scars but before you could explore his features farther, he yanked away. Almost as if he had touched something hot. 

"Don' fuckin' touch me." He sneered; eye lids forced into a trained glare, his voice harsh and raspy, the bite behind the barking words and yank made your arm slump back to your side, knuckles brushing against the bag that sat at your feet, you having carefully discarding it to assure the man's comfort; which was widely unappreciated according to him. 

A puff of hot air snaked past your flared nostrils, brows following close behind with a harsh furrow, the physical contortion of your features seemed to have made his own sour as he scoffed turning back to the road glazed with the light drizzle. 

Your eyes rolled, a shallow whatever filtering your lips as you spun your hanging headphones around your palm, stuffing it haphazardly into the pocket of your coffee stenched hoody, the cup that once held the energy replenishing beverage now sloshed about with little to no contents; your interaction with the man looked to have officially come to an end when he stepped off of the edge of the sidewalk, walking for a moment before slowly progressing into a nimble jog as he crossed the road leaving you alone under the nearby lamp post that flickered ominously. 

"Who pissed in your Cheerios..." You grumbled under your breath before crouching slightly to retrieve the bag of gas station groceries before your eyes caught a particular item discarded; despite the increasingly darkening surroundings as day turns to night it was littered in rain droplets. Slowly, a long breath wheezed past your throat as the bag left the ground, the plastic slick with water as you extended an arm to retrieve the item. 

The round lenses were a faded orange, a few dark stained splotches littered the glass and outer part of the googles, it was heavier than you had anticipated, the thin cold metal resting against your sticky coffee splashed palms made them buzz with numbness as the weight grew. The elastic band meant to hold them to one's face now soaked up a good portion of rainfall that pooled in the palm of your hand that gleamed under the light of the streetlight.  

Upon closer inspection of the face article under the flickering sodium light, you noticed the shallow scrapes and scratches, a few deep lacerations in the metal made the pad of your thumb grow anxious as the impulse to run the flesh over the damage crossed your mind before being shoved aside by another thought. 

He must have dropped it during the collision. 

Although the man was an ass, he probably needed these for his welding projects or something among the sorts. 

Guilt knotted your throat as you straightened your posture, head turning, and eyes raking the surrounding streets to see if the man had come to retrieve his headgear but much to your dismay not another soul strolled the worn, water darkened cement. 

The contriteness that washed your thoughts were the voices of your home folk warning you, reminding you spontaneously that it was unsafe to wander with earbuds dug into your ear ducts. Warning about how you were oblivious of your surroundings and with the recent and rather constant disappearances or slayings of neighbor of different streets; it was especially dangerous. But for some reason the notion of chasing the man down to deliver his fallen gear whispered within the dark depths in the back of your mind, the voice almost canceling the one of reason. 

Just the simple thought of the instances snapped you away from the depths of your mind as you noticed the intimidatingly darkened streets that glowed with electricity. 

A chest swelling rumble from the sky made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as paranoia took its hold, the recent thought of possibly chasing the man down and give him back his belonging was thrown out of the window for the time being as you shoved the gear into your hoody pocket, weighing it down more than your phone had. 

The lightning that flashed overhead and the ominous shadows of the trees to your fear laced mind resembled that of spindly fingers and haunting tendrils curling and stretching to wrap you in their clutches. 

The bark of thunder and nearly blinding snap of lightning was enough to make your fear numbed muscles regain consciousness and comply with your desire to return home. 

With the rhythmic pound of your shoe souls against the cement that grew damper with the hardening rain that dampened skin and slicken the bag between your fingers you bounded swiftly towards the direction of home. 

You would have to return his goggles another time...

_______

Unedited

[callalillywrites]

Anniversary Fun

This is my first official entry for @stuckybingo and I'm excited to be writing for them. What better way to kick off this bingo card than knocking out the prompt, Idiots in Love.

Now all stories, unless otherwise noted, will be using the Stucky x Reader ship. So, please be aware if these stories aren't your cup of tea.

Stucky Masterlist | Stucky Bingo | Main Masterlist

Ship: Stucky x F!Reader

Word Count: 912 words

Summary: The three of you are celebrating your seventh anniversary together. With it, you three get the chance to share in some fun traditions with your Avenger friends.

Warnings: some implied fun times; fade to black; teasing; lots of teasing; polyamory; established relationship

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

*****

"Oh, come on, we weren't that bad," you said over the loud jeers and teasing remarks others made around the long table. You shared an amused glance with your two loves even as they both shook their heads, full smiles on their faces.

Sam guffawed the loudest.

"Now, that's funny. Maybe you weren't so bad, but those two?" Sam pointed at Steve, then Bucky. His own grin grew as mischief lit up his features even more. "Those two were the worst. I swear they spent forever pining over each other, then pining over you once you joined the team. If it wasn't one, it was the other. They were downright insufferable. No end with those two. Day and night."

Several chorused their agreement.

Leave it to Nat to chime in next with Wanda's head nodding along.

"Oh, I wouldn't think for a moment that she was any better. Our little teammate here never stopped talking about how sweet these two were, how hot they looked, and a whole slew of other adjectives I'm sure she wouldn't want me repeating."

"Sixteen punching bags, all because she went on one date," Tony added, his voice raising above the others. "FRIDAY, pull up the running tally, would you?"

"No, FRIDAY, ignore that order," you shouted, your gaze meeting the gleeful one Tony wore, "and you are going to behave. It's our night after all."

Tony nodded, pushing to his feet. He raised his glass, barely waiting for the others to do the same before saying, "Yes, here's to our favorite trio of idiots. Took them five years to figure it out, and they bungled all over the place along the way. Now, we're here, right, to celebrate their, what, seventh year together? Here's to another year of their combined brain cells, few though they are."

"Hear, hear," rang out between the clinking of glasses.

You took a sip, enjoying the way the discussion devolved yet again. Several past incidents of your combined idiocy where each other were concerned took over once more. All your friends quickly forgot you, Steve, and Bucky were even there as they tried to successfully one up each other for the best story they had about you three.

"Darling, you're evil for doing this to them yet again," Bucky murmured in your ear.

His warmth breath sent a delightful shiver down your spine, even as you hid your smile behind your glass.

"But we love that you're this devious. Gives us the perfect opportunity to slip away," Steve added, not wanting to be left out. His hand slid down your back until your chair stopped his progress. Leaning into your space, his voice remained soft as he asked, "Why don't we get out of here? Our room is waiting, and I'm quite eager to see what gift you've gotten us this year, sweet angel."

"I'd much rather unwrap our sweet girl here."

Bucky shot you a salacious wink that had heat rushing to your cheeks even after all these years.

"You would, jerk."

Sensing they wouldn't stop if you didn't step in, you slid out of your chair. Your hands slid into each of theirs and tugged them out of their seats.

They didn't need to be told twice.

As the others at the table continued their lively discussion, you three snuck off to the elevator and hopped inside the moment its doors opened.

While you should've probably felt guilty for bailing on your anniversary dinner with the others, you couldn't help the thrill of spending the evening with your two men alone more. It certainly helped that the others had kinda come to expect this from you three after you managed to derail and distract them over the years. With how easy it'd been after that first year, you'd made it easily a game to continue with each new year you celebrated.

"You know we may have been idiots back then," Bucky started as the doors shut, "but I wouldn't trade any of it."

"Not even all the pining that we suffered?" you asked, recognizing this part of the ritual of your ritual all too well.

Bucky shook his head. "Nah, it got us here."

"He's not wrong, sweet angel."

You glanced between them, finding nothing but sincerity and love reflected back.

"You're both right. It did, and I'm looking forward to having many more years like we've had so far."

The elevator opened on your room's floor.

As you three spilled out, your grip on them tightened even as your grin transformed into a smirk, leaning into their shared space to whisper, "Now, what would you like to unwrap first: the gifts I got you or me?"

Your two soldiers' eyes darkened with promise of a night that you wouldn't soon forget.

Bucky had been right, you thought as you prepared to race them to your shared room. Sure, you wouldn't make it but a couple steps, but those few steps were all you needed to have their arms around you again.

That's all you'd wanted for so long, and now you had it.

All of your doubts and pining seemed mere stepping stones to get you to this moment, and it finally came. You had them, and they had you. Nothing would make you give them up after learning what love truly was for the first time with them, and they you.

Idiots in love, for sure, but now wiser and so much more in love than ever.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: The real monsters are always human.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Abductions, fear, confinement, canon typical violence.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Hey look, it's the other 'half' of chapter six! As we can see, it got... a little out of hand. So?! What do we think?! I've been sitting on this for so long waiting to get to a skill level I was proud enough to release this, and I think I've finally done it.

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ��𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.24k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The rhythmic thud, thud, thud of bootsoles against concrete pull him from his thoughts, nearly drowning Anthony in the wave of dread that acts as a prelude to the hurricane of emotions threatening to overwhelm him as reality sinks in once more. Heavy feet come to a stop outside the door to his cell, replacing the sound of footfalls with the unmistakable clatter of keys knocking against each other. His stomach tightens in anticipation. He doesn’t need to see who’s coming through the door to know it has to be one of the goons from earlier—no one with two brain cells to rub together would be able to make that much noise unlocking a padlock. Light floods the room as the door is finally swung open to reveal the mountain of a man who’d landed the lucky gut-punch that got him into this mess. Ugly #3, as he’s mentally dubbed him.

Disappointment, it seems, is his only constant companion in situations like this. The glee in the man’s eyes as they fall on him is a stark contrast to the thorny tendril of dread rooting itself in Anthony’s gut. He looks downright thrilled to see the shell of a younger man before him, all of his earlier bravado choked out not by his own treatment, but by the screams from down the hall that still echo in his ears like an infernal symphony.

The faintest huff of air escapes him—maybe a laugh, maybe a sigh of satisfaction. He circles behind the chair, keys jangling ominously from his belt as he fiddles with the ropes binding Anthony’s handcuffs to the metal chair. The clinking of metal and the creaking of the ropes create a maddening cacophony, each sound adding to the tension in the small, grim room.

Anthony’s mind races, hundreds of half-formed ideas flittering through his pounding skull, not one of them slowing enough for him to catch them. He’s torn between the animal instinct to lash out, and the human need to know she’s safe before he throws caution to the wind. He won’t lie and deny that the thought of headbutting the guard and making a desperate bid for freedom isn’t deeply satisfying, but he knows it’s a reckless–and useless–gamble. He needs to know where she is, to know what fate has befallen her, before he can formulate a plan for escape. There are too many variables to risk her safety now just to soothe his wounded pride.

The guard’s fingers are methodical as he works, his movements slow and deliberate. A thoroughly disturbing thought occurs to him; if the man was shite at something as basic as unlocking a door, how much practice must he have to be able to untie a man so efficiently?

Anthony’s wrists ache as the rope gives way and the chain between the cuffs goes slack, the sudden rush of circulation making his arms feel foreign and heavy. When he’s pulled to his feet, his legs, numb from hours of restrained sitting, barely support him. He stumbles, catching himself with a strained grunt. The pain in his joints is a sharp reminder of how long he’d been stuck there, helpless.

There were no words, no explanation shared, as the guard hauls Lockwood unceremoniously to his feet. He hadn’t really expected there would be, but it would have been nice. The silence stretches, thick and oppressive. Every stumbling step is a fight he isn’t sure he can win. His heart pounds in his chest, providing a drumbeat to the thready melody of anxiety coursing through his veins as he struggles to maintain his upright position. The only feeling capable of cutting through the fog of his panic is the clear, driving need to find out where they're keeping her—and how he can save her before the unthinkable becomes reality.

Once he’s been ejected from the room by an unceremonious shove by his apparent escort, Anthony feels a cold focus settle over him in a way he'd only experienced once before—images of sources piled within rings of iron chain, black shimmering gates, clouds of breath suspended in stagnant air, pale hands clutching colourful feathers, the sting of the unrelenting chill in the air—as his eyes scan the dimly lit hallway. The narrow concrete corridor stretches out behind him, an endless grey passage punctuated only by the occasional flicker of a failing fluorescent light. The heavy silence is broken only by the dull echo of their footsteps, and the low hum of a distant air vent. Every shadow, every echo, seems to whisper of looming danger. He fights the defiant urge to turn and spit in the face of his captor, to make one last desperate bid for freedom. He wouldn't succeed, and angering these people more than he already had wasn't going to get him anywhere.

For now, he follows, his mind rushing with strategies, and scenarios that grow more and more dire with each iteration. The real fight is coming, he can feel it in the marrow of his bones, and he needs to be ready for whatever lies ahead.

His focus is quickly yanked back to the present when a calloused hand smacks the back of his head, forcing his gaze to the floor. The impact is just as jarring as he remembers. The brute grabs him by the back of his neck, his grip like a vise as he forces him to keep his head down. With a final, almost contemptuous shove, the man propels him forward. The scuff of the soles of his shoes echoes off the walls as he stumbles onward.

Anthony considers counting the steps, but the thought evaporates quickly as he realizes the lack of distinguishing features in the hallway would render the effort futile. He turns his focus inward instead, silently organizing the pieces of the puzzle he'd collected so far, hoping to find a kernel of useful information he might have gathered without realizing. The sound of what he suspects to be distant machinery is almost as effective as white noise in helping him concentrate.

After a seemingly interminable walk down the maze-like corridor, a firm hand clamps onto his shoulder, bringing him to a sudden halt. The grip is almost painful, guiding him through a heavy steel door that seemed to materialize from the grey. It creaks open reluctantly, revealing a stark, utilitarian stairwell bathed in harsh, artificial light. One that nearly becomes his grave when his escort decides he's moving too slowly, giving him a sharp prod to urge him along. The steps are old, concrete, and worn, their surfaces marred by sizable cracks and chips. His foot slips off of one such chip—roughly the size of his fist—forcing him to do his best impression of a worm in the rain in an attempt to regain his footing.

He counts the steps meticulously—fifty-six, if he includes the longer slabs that marked the start of another flight—each one leading him deeper into the bowels of the building. A coil of dread tightens in his stomach, the loaded silence in the stairwell amplifying his growing unease. He knows every step brings him closer to the answers he desperately needs, but can’t bring himself to hope for.

Finally, they arrive at another set of doors. These are heavier, reinforced, and secured with a key from the same ring that held the key to his cell. The sound of the lock turning echoes ominously through the corridor, the click of the latch doing nothing to soothe his fried nerves.

His mind goes blank at the sight before him. No amount of wracking his brain for clues could have prepared him for this. He hadn’t given them enough credit. Even in his darkest scenario, he could never have thought them capable of this level of inhumanity. The room sprawls out before him, dimly lit and foreboding. Rows of floor to ceiling dog cages line the walls, each separated by thick, rusted, unyielding bars. Inside each cell is nothing but a filthy mattress haphazardly thrown on the floor. The stench of decay, infection, and despair permeates the air. Bile bites at the back of his throat, but he’s unsure if it’s the scent or the realization that some of the slumped shadows within the cages are silhouettes that's made him feel so nauseous.

As he is shoved roughly through the room, Anthony’s eyes dart from one cell to the next. The darkness makes it hard to discern details, but he can make out the shapes of bodies huddled together against the bars, curled into themselves in an effort to conserve what little warmth they can. Each silhouette seems to tell a story of suffering, and the sight is almost too much to bear.

A short, sharp tug on the chains of his handcuffs jolts him back to the present. The metal bites into his wrists as he’s forced to an abrupt stop. Bitter dread trickles like ice down his spine when he sees they’ve come to a stop before the door to one of the cells. The brute yanks on the chain, forcing Anthony to his knees, and begins rifling through the comically oversized key ring with one hand.

Anthony watches the best he can over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. The man’s clumsy attempts to find the right key are frustratingly slow, each moment stretching into an eternity. Finally, with a grunt of effort, he selects the correct key and shoves it into the lock. The door groans and shrieks as it swings open, its sound seemingly amplified by the silence of the room. Several of the huddled figures begin to stir, their movements slow and wary.

Instead of departing with nothing but another shove as a parting gift like Lockwood had come to expect from the miniscule eternity he’d spent with the man, he surprises him by pulling out a single key and expertly removing the handcuffs with practiced ease. Before Anthony can react, he grabs him by the back of the neck with a rough grip and throws him unceremoniously into the cell—now that was more in character for the large fellow. The door slams shut behind him with a resounding clank, the lock clicking into place with a finality that echoes through the empty space.

Ugly #3 spares no time for heartfelt goodbyes, opting instead to storm back the way they came, his heavy footsteps growing fainter as he leaves Anthony alone in the cell. The darkness closes in around him, and the cold, damp air of the cell seeps into his bones. His heart races as he takes in his new surroundings, the weight of his predicament settling heavily on his shoulders.

It takes him longer than he thinks it should to regain his bearings. His eyes slowly adjust to the dim light, and he begins to scan for any potentially useful details. The room is small, and entirely devoid of furnishings. The only object besides the mattress is a wooden pot against the wall, which he refuses to acknowledge until it becomes otherwise impossible not to.

The mattress, though stiff, lumpy, and somehow flat at the same time, is a welcome relief as he sinks onto it, pressing his back against the cold concrete wall at the rear of his cell. The physical discomfort is minor compared to the blow to his pride. He hasn’t been manhandled like this in years—not since the DEPRAC officer who still visits him in nightmares. The humiliation now feels sharper, more acute, though he was far from a novice even then.

He takes several deep breaths, attempting to steady his racing heart and calm his nerves. Each inhale is a battle against the rising tide of panic, each exhale a vow to find a way out. With each breath, the dim light grows a little clearer, and the creeping darkness in the edges of his vision recedes a little further. His hands tremble slightly as he rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The effort is a small gesture of defiance against the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind.

As he surveys the cell again with a clearer mind, he can feel the crushing weight of anxiety pressing against his carefully constructed walls. The room is still a maze of shadows and stark edges, but now he can see the minimal light filtering in from a small, barred window high above. Now he can hear that the eerie silence is occasionally punctuated by distant, indistinct noises—footsteps, muffled voices. He can’t afford to let fear control him now. He misses things when he’s afraid, and he can't afford to miss a single thing if he wants to get them all out of here alive. He needs to think clearly, to piece together a plan before the weight of drastically rising stakes make good on its threat to swallow him whole.

The cell to his left is empty, a gaping void that seems to echo with a desolate silence. The two cells to his right, however, are occupied. His own mattress is pushed against the rear wall, positioned almost exactly in the center between the two rows of bars that separate him from the others. The mattresses in the two cells to his right are close enough that they nearly touch the bars dividing them. He wonders if the occupants are familiar with each other. The proximity might suggest a shared connection, the comfort of which might make them more willing to converse with him.

His curiosity piqued, Anthony studies the shadowed figures in the adjacent cells. The mattress closest to him is eerily still, with no sign of movement. The figure on the far side, however, has shifted into a sitting position. The dim light plays tricks on his eyes, but he can make out the silhouette of long, dark hair cascading down the figure’s back. The faint light reflects off his own pale skin like moonlight, stark against the darkness, but their skin casts a warm, rich ochre glow.

There’s a tense moment as he weighs his options. He’s unsure of what to say, feeling the pressure of his recent missteps drastically reducing the faith he has in his ability to talk his way out of any situation.

The figure on the far side seems to be inspecting him with a curious, if wary, gaze. His throat feels dry as he searches for the right words, grappling with the strange sense of vulnerability and the nagging urgency to establish some form of rapport with the girl.

“Sorry, but… are you Anthony Lockwood?” A woman’s voice cuts through the gloom, soft yet tinged with a rasp consistent with days of unuse. Though she sounds undeniably rough, there’s an underlying clarity and crispness that suggests she would normally occupy a far more organized and vibrant space. The simple elegance of her voice in juxtaposition to their environment catches him off guard, momentarily overshadowing her surprising familiarity with his identity.

When he recovers, he shifts slightly on the mattress, trying to peer into the darkness where her voice emanates from. “At your service, Miss?” He mirrors her soft volume, letting the question hover between them. He’s cautious, careful not to make any sudden movements or loud noises.

“Ah, forgive me,” she responds, her voice taking on a rueful edge. “It’s only been a few weeks and I’ve already managed to forget my manners.” Her quiet laugh is laced with bitterness, but it doesn't stop the soft smirk from rising to his face at the sound. “Holly Munro, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve seen you before, in the papers. Even considered applying with you a few years back.”

Her admission carries an undercurrent of wistfulness, a longing for something that might have been. Anthony’s mind feels sluggish as he tries to process her words. He wonders about the circumstances that led her to this place, as well as any potential implications of her recognizing him, but he can't seem to hold on to the thoughts darting around inside his skull. Names and faces from past interactions blend with the immediate reality, leaving him incapable of holding any accurate memory for more than a split second. The brute's backhand is really not to be trifled with.

“How did you end up here?” Anthony asks, trying to mask his lack of tact behind a veneer of concern. He’ll chastise himself for being so direct later, when he isn't facing the horrifying unknown. Holly’s familiarity with him should afford him a bit of leniency anyway, and he’s a bit too preoccupied still scanning every visible cage for a glimpse of his agent to worry about it right now.

Holly’s voice falters as she begins to speak, her tone laden with pain. “I’ve been out of the business for a few years now, since my last employment ended… poorly.” She hesitates, and for a moment, the silence is thick with her struggle to maintain composure. “But my, um…” Her voice catches, thick with emotion. “My friend was a freelancer. She got an offer for a job that could set her up for a long time. All she needed was someone to fill in, because the client wouldn’t accept less than two agents on the job.”

The details align disturbingly well with the information from the newspaper article he’d read. Anthony nods grimly, absorbing the confirmation of what he suspected. The pattern of disappearances is becoming clearer, yet the implications are no less chilling than the unknown.

“And your friend?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. He suspects he already knows the answer, but can't bring himself to assume the worst.

Holly’s response is nearly inaudible. “She, um… They came and took her for a match two nights ago. Normally, they’d take us together, but…” Her voice breaks, wavering as if the weight of her words is almost too much to bear. She forces the next part out, each word seeming to catch like razors in her throat. “They haven’t brought her back.”

His heart sinks at her words, a pang of sorrow for the stranger's loss making him feel disgusted with himself over the selfish, single-minded focus still hounding him to push her for more answers. “I’m sorry,” he replies solemnly, swallowing his tongue for the moment.

Holly seems to sense his inner turmoil and speaks again. “You can ask me.” Her sudden offer makes him wonder if she can somehow read his mind, but he dismisses the thought as a product of stress and the possible concussion. He stares at her, feeling like an absolute imbecile, until she takes pity on him and continues. “I’ve been here long enough to know that we all come in pairs, but I’m afraid there’s been a lot of traffic in the past few days. I’d like to help you find your friend, if I can.”

Her offer to assist gives him a sliver of hope. He hadn’t realized how much faith he'd lost in the good of mankind over the past however many hours, how welcome some basic human decency would feel.

“I—thank you,” Lockwood says, his voice rough with exhaustion and gratitude. “My… associate and I were brought in for a last-minute job. Our oh-so charming host spun a tale that was impossible to resist, and sold us a story so convincing that we walked right into their trap.” He grimaces, the memory of their deceitful invitation stinging more than the physical wounds. “I didn’t realize the danger we were in until it was too late. We were vastly outnumbered before I had a chance to warn her. She was injured before I was knocked out—one of her sleeves will be soaked in blood.”

He pauses, the words hanging heavy in the air as he shifts to lean his head against the cold concrete wall behind him. The frigid touch of the stone is a harsh but grounding presence, a small comfort amidst the turmoil of emotions causing an ache behind his eyes. “She might… she might be in pretty rough shape. I could hear her screaming until roughly an hour ago.”

His voice falters as the gravity of his words settles in, the anguish evident in his strained tone. Up until now, there had been enough happening to distract him, he could avoid acknowledging the nauseating possibility that the worst had already happened. Not anymore. He can see her face in his mind, warped with the pain she must have endured, and it fuels his growing desperation. The barred walls seem to press in on him, threatening to crush him.

“Oh!” Holly exclaims, her voice rising a bit with her urgency, almost startling him with the contrast to the subdued volume of their conversation until then. She claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting anxiously toward the cell between them. They fall silent, the tension palpable as they wait for any sign of movement from the nearby occupant. After a moment, when the cell remains still, Holly continues, her voice dropping back to a whisper. “They wouldn’t have tortured her—at least, not in the way you’re thinking. They need us strong enough to put up an entertaining fight. But if she was hurt badly enough to bleed that heavily, they would have stitched the wound before sending her to the cages. Anaesthesia isn’t something they worry about here.”

Anthony's breath catches in his throat at her words. If they’d cleaned and stitched her arm without any form of numbing, it would explain the agonizing cries he heard. His heart clenches painfully as he recalls the panic in her voice, the desperate plea that cut through the darkness and filled him with a helpless dread. She hadn't been particularly fond of needles to begin with, he could only imagine how much worse it would be now.

He slumps back against the wall, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His hands move to his face, rubbing at the tension and exhaustion etched into his features. Despite the relief that they hadn’t inflicted further damage, the realization does little to soothe the ache of her suffering or his own feelings of inadequacy.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled and thick with emotion as he speaks through his palms. The words are simple, repetitive, and hardly seem sufficient.

“What’s her name? What does she look like? I can pass the word around when others wake up. We’ll find her,” Holly says, her eyes searching Anthony's, shining with a glimmer of hope.

Before he can ponder the seemingly impossible task of breaking everything she is down into a few descriptive sentences, a familiar voice calls out from the cell between them. “Lockwood…?” It’s ragged, strained from overuse, but unmistakable.

Holly’s gasp of surprise is barely registered as Anthony springs into action. He’s across the cell in an instant, his hands gripping the icy bars with a white knuckling desperation. He curses the metal that keeps them apart, every fiber of his being thrumming with frustration and helplessness.

“Sleeping Beauty, I should have known that was you,” he calls out, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and anguish. The words are intended to be light-hearted, a small attempt to ease the tension. Her soft, broken laughter on the other side of the bars briefly lifts his spirits, but it quickly dissolves into a harsh coughing fit. The sound of her wheezing, each inhale ragged and painful, tightens the knot in his stomach.

His heart can’t continue carrying the weight of his helplessness. He can almost feel the shivers of her pain through the bars, the sound of her distress cutting through him. Every instinct screams for him to be beside her, to offer comfort and soothing words, but all he can do is reach through the narrow gaps and wish desperately for a way to bridge the gap between them.

“I don’t feel particularly beautiful or well-rested right now, so I’ll forgive you for not recognizing me,” she finally rasps, her voice a low, throaty murmur. She rolls onto her side, the movement labored and pained, before trying to push herself upright. A stifled yelp escapes her lips, triggering another coughing fit, and she collapses back onto the mattress, her body curling inward in distress.

“Shit,” Lockwood hisses, his voice filled with concern as he watches her struggle. “You okay, love?”

“Just peachy,” she retorts through gritted teeth, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the obvious agony. “Caught a boot or two to the ribs after they knocked you out, no big deal.” Her attempt at bravado is undermined by the grimace that accompanies her words. Holly’s worried glance toward Lockwood tells him that he's not the only one not buying the whole ‘badass’ act this time.

“Any idea why they brought us here?” she asks, her voice wavering slightly. “Or what hell-hole ‘here’ crawled out of?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Lockwood admits, frustration edging his tone. “But I get the feeling your neighbor will be able to shed some light on the situation for us.”

As he speaks, she extends her uninjured arm towards Holly, her movements cautious but determined. She slips her hand through the narrow gap between the bars, reaching out toward the other cell. The greeting is a silent plea, an unspoken request for connection in the midst of their dire predicament. Holly accepts the proffered hand, her grip firm despite the weakness in her voice.

“Holly Munro, pleasure,” she says, her tone both warm and weary. “Though I do wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Likewise.” The other woman introduces herself and replies, her voice carrying a note of gratitude amidst the exhaustion.

Lockwood finally pulls his stiff hands away from the cold metal bars, feeling the residual chill bite at his skin. He watches as Holly brings his associate up to speed, her voice cutting in from time to time as a soft murmur of reassurance or inquiry. Meanwhile, he turns his attention to the narrow space between his cell and hers, pushing his mattress toward the metal separating them. Considering the placement of her own, the difference it will make is laughable, but he’s desperate for any semblance of closeness he can manage.

Every clink of metal and shift of the mattress heightens his sense of urgency. He’s well aware that his emotions are rapidly outgrowing the bounds of mere professional concern, becoming more personal and fervent with each passing moment. He tries to shove aside the intense feelings bubbling up inside him, but it—like so many things this evening—is an effort in futility.

Settling back onto his mattress and leaning against the wall, he shifts slightly, attempting to find a comfortable position amidst the jabbing of exposed springs. The thin layer of padding does little to ease his discomfort, but he forces himself to endure.

“So what is this place, exactly? Any luck finding out?” The question hangs in the air as Lockwood's gaze shifts back to the woman, her voice breaking the spell of his thoughts. In the dim light, he can see she’s managed to pull herself upright, her silhouette leaning against the bars, still holding Holly’s hand.

“Yes, actually!” The other woman’s voice carries a note of weary triumph. “This place is an underground facility that was once used for dog-fighting during the prohibition era. The walls here are steeped in a grim history.” She pauses, her voice trembling slightly, and Lockwood notices the subtle shiver that runs through her as she continues. “There are networks of tunnels connecting various buildings to this place. We suspect that the primary entrance for the cages is from an abandoned railway station directly above us.”

If he had to guess, he'd say she had tightened her hand around Holly's. The exchange is quiet, but the gratitude in Holly’s eyes is unmistakable. His agent’s expression softens, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“I think the audience comes in through those tunnels, though,” Holly adds. “It’s never loud enough in here to account for the foot traffic. It’s a constant low hum of activity, like a distant, eerie heartbeat.”

Lockwood’s heart swells with a mixture of admiration and concern. The bravery and compassion displayed by both women in the face of disaster is both inspiring and heart-wrenching. As he processes the new information, he feels his sense of urgency grow deeper still. That network of tunnels could hold the key to their escape—or lead them to their deaths.

“I’m sorry to cut in, but you keep mentioning ‘matches’, and now an audience. What exactly do they do here?” He can’t resist addressing the elephant in the room any longer. When Holly flinches and goes silent, he instantly regrets it.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Holly. It must be painful to talk about. We won’t push you, but knowing what to expect will help us put together a plan to get everyone out of here safely.” Her voice is gentle and Anthony can hear more than see her scooting closer to Holly.

“Thank you.” It’s barely more than a whisper, the words almost lost in the tremor of her voice. “They, um… Well, it’s kind of a morbid repetition of history, in a way. They abduct agents in pairs, interrogate us about our skills, keep us in cages, and feed us well enough we don’t lose our strength. When the sun goes down they fetch two with complimentary Talent and bring them up to what they call the ‘arena’, arm them with a silver net and a measly handful of salt bombs, and toss in the Source of a Type Two. If you win, you go back to the cells to wait for your next match. If you lose…”

He’d read enough of that paper to know what happened to those who lost. Their Ghost-Touch swollen bodies would be dumped unceremoniously miles from here.

“I’m sorry to make you think more about this, but I have a few questions if you’re up to it.” Lockwood’s voice is steady, but his eyes betray the urgency of his request. He waits for Holly’s slight nod before pressing on. “When you mention ‘complimentary Talent,’ I'm assuming you’re referring to one with the Sight and one with either the Listening or the Touch?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Holly’s voice is subdued but clear. “They used to take me and Em together because she had the Sight and I had the Listening. But...” Her words falter slightly, and guilt tugs at her tone, nearly overwhelming. “I think they figured out that my Talent faded years ago. I’m afraid they might see me as expendable now.”

Before Lockwood or his associate can offer consolation, Holly plunges ahead with the weight of her revelations. “It’s safe to assume they’ll come for you tonight, Lockwood. They’re aware of your Talent, and they’ve been murmuring about ‘the big night’ for days. I didn’t grasp the full meaning until I recognized you. The only real question is who they’ll pair with you, considering your friend is too injured to be of much use for entertainment.” She adds quickly, “No offence intended!”

“None taken, believe me.” She gives Holly’s hand a comforting squeeze before letting go. Pushing herself to her feet with a groan of effort, she waves a dismissive hand at her neighbours cries to lay down and rest. “I will, I will, don’t nag! I’m just trying to make myself a bit more comfortable. With what we know now, I’d say our best option is to conserve our energy and stay focused on surviving until we can figure out a way out of here.”

Anthony’s frustration simmers beneath his surface as he watches her struggle. She grabs a corner of her mattress with one hand and starts dragging it across the grimy floor, her movements laboured. Realising her intent, he reaches out as soon as it's within his grasp and helps pull the mattress the remaining distance until it’s pressed snugly against his own through the bars. The two beds are now practically fused together, their surfaces puckering around the narrow gap between their cells.

With a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a groan of discomfort as a particularly stiff spring pokes at her ribs, she collapses onto the makeshift bed. Anthony reaches out tentatively, his fingers brushing against hers, recoiling slightly from the cold.

“Christ, you’re freezing,” he mutters, his voice low and filled with concern. He leans closer, gently lifting her hand to his face. Cupping it between his warm palms, he alternates between blowing gentle puffs of breath over her chilled skin and lightly massaging it to stimulate circulation.

“It’s practically an icebox in here, if you hadn’t noticed,” she retorts, her tone making a play at sharp, but being softened by her discomfort. When Anthony looks up, he’s struck by the depth in her eyes—a look that’s almost hypnotic. For a brief moment, they find haven in each other's eyes, a shared understanding amidst the chaos. But then, a shiver races through her body, and the moment shatters. His concern surges to the forefront, pushing everything else aside.

She reluctantly pulls her hand away, shifting beneath the tattered blanket draped across her mattress. The thin, threadbare fabric offers scant protection against the cold, its ability to retain warmth practically non-existent. Anthony watches her struggle for a moment, his frustration mounting as he witnesses her futile attempts to find some comfort.

Without hesitation, he moves to free his own blanket from beneath him, carefully maneuvering it through the narrow space between the bars. While he can't slip through the bars himself, his arm is long enough to extend through the gap up to his shoulder. He holds the blanket out toward her.

She fixes him with a defiant glare, her mouth opening to argue. Anthony’s expression remains resolute.

“Shut it, Sleeping Beauty. You know I run warmer than you anyway,” he says firmly, his voice carrying a hint of warmth despite the cold.

Another shiver wracks her body, but it’s the look in his eyes—a blend of genuine concern and blind stubbornness—that finally convinces her. With a soft murmur of thanks, she reaches out and takes the blanket from him. She wraps it around herself, the fabric immediately offering a small measure of comfort against the icy chill.

She tosses and turns restlessly for a while, each shift only deepening her discomfort. Frustration eventually gets the better of her, and she attempts to lift her injured arm to tuck it under her head, only to bite back a cry of pain.

With a sigh that carries a note of mock suffering and a twinkle in his eye, Lockwood shifts to lay on his back, moving as close as the confined space allows. He tucks his left arm behind his head, stretching the right through the bars to gently tap her on the head with the back of his knuckles. When she lifts her head, ready to scowl, he nods toward his arm, offering it as a makeshift pillow.

She contemplates the offered limb for a moment. Finally, she relents, lowering her head onto his arm and wriggling into a position that allows her to stay close to him without displacing her meager blankets. As soon as she settles, Lockwood bends his arm to cradle her head, gently stroking the side of it. The soft, contented hum that escapes her lips is a small victory he treasures.

She falls asleep almost immediately, her breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm. Lockwood gazes down at her, his heart swelling at the sight of her serene expression—one he'd almost given up hope of seeing again.

When he looks up, Holly is still sitting, her gaze fixed on the pair of them. The expression on her face takes a moment to decipher in the dark, but he finally recognizes it as a bittersweet mix of wistfulness and quiet understanding.

“Does she know?” Holly’s voice is barely a whisper, but the question pierces through the silence like a knife. Anthony’s heart leaps into his throat. Though her words are soft, they feel as though they’ve reverberated throughout the confined space, making him acutely aware of the woman sleeping on his arm.

He opens his mouth to respond, but no sound emerges. Instead, he opts for a slow shake of his head, the gesture more eloquent than any words he could muster.

An uneasy silence stretches between them, filled only with the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional creak of the cell.

“Em, she… she wasn’t just my ‘friend’,” Holly confesses. The admission, though he had suspected it, lands with an unexpected weight, deepening the ache he's sure he'll feel for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony says. His own experiences with loss have been numerous, but to lose someone he loved in a place as merciless as this is a fate he cannot fathom.

Holly offers a weak smile, though it is tinged with sadness. “You should try and get some sleep. You’ll need your wits about you later.”

Anthony nods, acknowledging her advice. He watches as Holly settles herself, her form curling up in a bid for rest. Despite his agreement, he knows sleep will remain elusive. His mind is awash with concerns and fears, and the weight of the world resting on his arm makes it impossible to drift off.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢ ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫…

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!):

❁ @shakespearseclipse ❁ @tessas4 ❁ @chloejaniceeee ❁ @ettadear ❁

❁ @kassandra1000 ❁ @stardust611 ❁ @ell0ra-br3kk3r ❁

❁ @hellojameshowyadoin ❁ @Sarahhelpimsinking ❁ @soapshipper ❁

❁ @myownpainintheass ❁ @furblrwurblr ❁ @sleep-i-ness ❁

❁ @uku-lelevillain ❁ @autisticbiologistmess ❁ @xyaxyn ❁

❁ @forget-me-not-my-dear ❁

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[screamingmandrakes]

writing dark fic billdip rn and highkey idk why I stopped writing stalking fics bc I’m good at this shit.

In hindsight, some might argue that Dipper was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bill would insist he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Bill isn’t an honest man—far from it! In fact, he’s the epitome of deceit: a master manipulator, a skilled liar, and a cunning cheat. Hell, admitting that is the most honest he’s been in ages. If the townsfolk of Gravity Falls had two brain cells to rub together, this would be painfully obvious. The thing is: they don’t. The inhabitants of Roadkill County, Oregon are no better off than a blind man. They turn their heads to the things they should see the most, ushering their children away in the hopes the Boogeyman won’t skin them alive.

It's useless to worry about it anyway. Bill doesn’t kill children.

Teenagers, though?

Bill’s a liar, but he’s honest enough with himself to know why he’s in the shithole bar he is. He sits leisurely at the scratched cocktail table, foot wrapped around the leg of his seat. He idly twirls his straw in his drink, ice clinking softly as it shifts around. His other hand is tucked under his chin. Subtlety has never been his strong suit, so he doesn’t bother to hide his staring. Across the bar, crammed into a small corner booth, sits a crowd of friends. The sight is offensive to his eyes—this entire bar is! What kind of stupid name is "Fractured Skull"?  They all huddle together, munching on a basket of what Bill thinks is supposed to be cheese fries.

They're as mundane as Bill expects: the laid-back one in a flannel, her hair casually thrown over her shoulder. The brooding, greasy guy beside her is wearing so much eyeliner he looks like a walking advertisement for Hot Topic. And sure, Bill wears makeup too, but at least his skin isn’t greasy enough to fry an egg! The fashionista sitting among them flaunts an outfit that looks like a disaster had a meltdown. There are a few others, including one who—though Bill won’t be the one to do it because the guy’s in his twenties and he doesn’t care for that sort of thing—honestly deserves to be murdered just for the atrocious graphic tee he’s wearing.

And then, there’s Pine Tree.

Dipper Pines. Nineteen years old. Technically still a teen.

[captain-mj]

I definitely need the shadows making fun of Graves' crush on Price 💀

Oh I can definitely do that! The return of my oc Jason!! Also, Mila and Oz are here!!

Price was currently just standing there, but he was wearing one of his tight shirts that showed off his back muscles and how big his arms. He looked gorgeous.

Graves was staring quietly, admiring how he twisted and told his recruits what to do. Such confidence.

"Commander. Permission to stare with you, sir?" Mila asked, leaning in.

Graves groaned. "Please, fuck off."

"Oh come on. You're the one staring at the old man."

"We're only three years apart."

"Yeah, you're old too." Mila smiled at him. "A whole 35. Practically ancient."

"You won't be in your twenties forever. You know that right? One day you'll be just as old. Your back will hurt. Knees will ache when it's going to rain."

Mila hummed. "You think Price's knees ache? Maybe you can ask him and you two can bond over it."

Graves huffed and crossed his arms. "Let me please just stare at the man in peace."

"I mean. He is a fine man. Maybe he's into women."

Graves slowly turned to him and watched Mila bit her lip to bite back her laughter. "Get lost, soldier. That's an order."

Mila left, still laughing to herself. She must've informed Jason and Oz because they were watching Graves like a hawk. The moment he started to talk to Price, they were behind him, making kisses at each other in a way that made Graves blush.

Price tilted his head, getting Graves's attention. "You okay, darling? You're flushed."

Graves flushed more. "I... Um..."

Price's hand darted out, touching his face. "You don't feel feverish. Is everything okay?"

Before Graves could blame the heat or that it had been a long day or really anything, Jason butted in. "Nah, he just does that sometimes." Oz dragged Graves away the moment Price pulled his hand away.

"He called you darling."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Of course you'd like a Brit."

Graves groaned. "I know. I am betraying my country but I feel like the founding fathers would understand." He rubbed his face, trying to get rid of his stupid blushing. "But he's a good guy."

"He killed a bunch of Shadows."

"And I killed a bunch of the Vaqueros. We agreed to leave everything in the past." Graves hit his shoulder lightly.

Oz hummed. "I think you're too good for him, but if the weird British Dad makes you happy."

Graves hated it here.

The news spread fast and soon every time he was around Price, one of his Shadows would find some way to joke about what was going on or, debatably worse, try to help. Graves had been pushed into Price's arms at least four times.

Each time Price took it gracefully, arms circling around him until he got his footing. Occasionally, his hand would linger on his back for a moment afterward, just gently touching and it drove Graves mad. Their height difference was more noticeable when Graves's wasn't in uniform. He only came to about 5'9 and a half while Price was an easy 6'2 and he had the hands to match based on the way they pressed against the small of his back.

Gaz started to glare at him every time. It clearly wasn't on purpose, especially since Graves had no qualms about scolding the Shadows in front of everyone for once again doing this. He kept glaring all the same.

Then, Soap dropped a comment. "If Graves is the Shadow's dad, does that make us step siblings with them?"

Graves blinked slowly, his brain cells clinking together before he glanced at Price who had turned bright red. His hand quickly went from behind Graves's back to behind his own in a parade stance.

"MacTavish." He hissed.

Graves saw his opportunity. This was mostly revenge for the darling thing but a little because he also wanted to see Price's reaction. "Oh, Casanova, you turned all red." His hand reached up, feeling Price's flushed face.

"Casanova?"

"It means a man who is a romantic." Graves hummed. "Well, you don't feel feverish, is it the heat?"

Price stumbled over his words before just shrugging. "I guess."

Ghost and Mila exchanged long suffering glances.

Wow they were fucking annoying.

So they planned and then locked Graves and Price in a closet.

They luckily had plenty of wiggle room, but Price's arms still ended up going around Graves to make it a bit more comfortable.

"I'm skinning them alive when I get out of here."

"I don't understand what their issue has been lately."

Graves moved a little and found himself pressed back to chest with Price. He flushed again and tried to just breath.

"Claustrophobic?" Price asked gently, tugging him in a little closer.

"No. I'm fine, don't worry. Can you get to the door?"

Price tried it but grimaced. "Locked. Think they put something in front of it too. I'd have to break it down and that would be a bit hard considering."

Graves sighed and turned around again so they were now chest to chest. "Have anything you want to talk about?"

It was quiet for a minute, just a bit too dim for him to see all of Price's features. The kiss came out of nowhere.

The second one didn't.

[theeyoungalabastor]

Fuck you, I'm Chaotic: A Creepypasta Friend scenario book

"Ticci" Toby: First Interaction

Wordcount: 2,325 (2K)

Fuck You, I'm Chaotic: Masterlist

"Ticci" Toby

The two of you met in the street when you had accidentally bumped into him when you were walking.

The souls of your shoes knocked agilely against the damp cement. It's coursed surface, tinted dark as the drizzle overhead dampened the hair atop your head that hung; low, avoiding eyes of passersby. The weighted plastic bag that constricted around four of your five fingers restricting the circulation that coursed the veins, thumb pressed firmly to the baggies folding crease, feathering over it in a sort of self-soothing manner.

You were used to the constant gas station runs at ungodly times and coffee scorched tongue. You rather enjoyed the change in scenery away from your house and the walls that felt as if they were suffocating you even when your parent's shouts stain the painted walls like a blood stain. 

You were a good kid.

At least that's what others have told you. 

You've never touched a cigarette within your seventeen years of life; you've never seen a reason to for the addiction you had developed was that of the smell of aging books and foxing pages that curled under your fingers as your enchanting eyes raked the words, soaking in every and any syllable printed along the organic vellum. Along with the brain buzzing symphonies that sang enchantingly through the miniature speakers that resided within a simple pair of earbuds.

Your home didn't feel homely but more of a cell you were forced to dwell within. You had learned to stay silent during their exchange in harsh words. You've adapted to pressing your spine as close to a wall as possible when they sauntered by; steps usually heavy; ladened with anger that always stained their sharp gazes, daring you to say or do something they deemed unfitting and out of line. 

But you never did.

Despite the ball that festered within the core of your throat and the twinging that clutched the coil of emotions that grew within the confines of your chest, taut against your ribs like a boa constrictor. But you would swallow thickly and cast your gaze to the floor, slipping away till you could no longer feel their fiery gaze that seared the skin of your back.

A shuddering breath fluttered your aching lungs as you released the breath you hadn't realized you were holding as the gentle winds that clinked the browning leaves together like tangerines and the rolling thunder that sang just below a mellow hum akin to that of a muted violin. Faint grey clouds cast overhead. 

If you glanced up, you would be able to see the layers that made up of the precipitation that gathered in the normally crystal blue vastness, it was intriguing to you, watching the lower clouds drift below the others, almost like a moving picture that was blurred every so often when a droplet of water washed over one of your pupils.

You were on your way back home after being sent on one of these said quick late gas station runs by your father which took longer than you anticipated since the card your mother had begrudgedly given to you had Insufficient funds which resulted in you having to pay out of pocket with your own allowance money, which put a rather harsh damper on your already somewhat souring mood considering it was just nearing dusk that cloaked the clouds above in a dreary hue, but when you stepped out, the sun had gone, casting the noon into a thick quilt of evening. Not that you could see it anyway.

The bell of the gas station's door rang behind you as it opened with a groan of obedience and Jeremy, the man who owned the small store bid a fairwell.

The upturn of your chin and lingering of your eyes caught that the air had turned angrier than before you last stepped out into the world. The sky that was lazily quilted in a thin grey was now thick and weeping silently. Small, almost microscopic tears rained from above. Not enough to be overbearing, but enough to be comforting like watching snow fall within the first weeks of winter. 

You hadn't tended to stay out long, especially after the aging reports of the teens that were bludgeoned to death not far from the high school you attended, reporters from neighboring news announcing their unfortunate and rather horrific deaths. 

A shudder rumbled your spine.

All of them, a quartet of adolescent teens although scattered in age and size; were stabbed umpteen times, but one had passed due to an overdose. The stories gave you chills when you listened to the passive warnings and advisories to make do with the little daylight fall brought followed by the extensive hours of night that had come sooner than you had wished. 

Another upcast of your eyes caught onto the inky silhouettes of the tree canopies that waved like a slow dance to your favorite song. 

The thought of music playing to assist the mingling browned leaves made your fingers itch, the tips tingling with the impulse to retrieve the white wired headphones that wrapped around the portable device that sat heavily in your hoody pocket, weighing it down like an anchor to a roaming boat atop settle waters. 

You were always warned by those around that it wasn't a wise idea to stroll about with earbuds in your ears, deafening and blinding one of your few senses that may save your life but alas; impulse won as you slowed nearing a halt. 

The coffee that rested warmly in the palm that lacked the plastic bag now rest, nestled protectively in the crick of your elbow, the bottom resting on your hip to assure it didn't slip from between the folds of your hoodie's loose material. The hand, unoccupied; ferreted around the pocket at your stomach, grazing against the firm material of the earbuds before gingerly pulling one out. Careful not to damage the delicate cords within the thick white casing that protected them. 

Unraveled, one slipped into your ear before the other took its place in the other, the elongated button that was mainly used for volume and phone calls sat achingly under your index finger as it gives a clickyou having pressed the button. 

It was like entering a whole new world away from what you were doomed to reside in. Each tone and groan of a cord made your mind swim with a sense of serenity, the sting of the coffee's solution made your tastebuds dance, the pirouette almost correspondent to the way the leaves swayed with the Zepher, you didn't need to remove the wired earbuds to hear the way the herbiage clicked together. It brought a smile to your dried lips. 

It felt...

Tranquil. Despite the weighted plastic bag that wrapped your fingers with a deadly vice.

Reality had slipped from your fingers for a moment, your legs ambling. One in front of the other. Your brain, so caught in the fantasy of arcadian music. That you had failed to notice the unmoved form that stood before you, seeming just as dazed and oblivious to the oncoming body as you were in this time. 

The heat of the caffeinated beverage that had unknowingly taken its place back into your palm sloshed in its restraints, the fragile thin plastic that entrapped the tongue numbing warmth split, dispelling the libation, splashing against the sensitive skin of your hand, as seconds passed the warmth spread, the sticky liquid soaking into the material of your hoodie, its tint turning a shade darker than normal as it sucked the caffeine like a dry sponge to water.

With an oof the tranquility your body had subjected itself to dissipated as a headphone fell, tugging on the other that tumbled after it, the cord taut as one clinked against the hard coursed cement, the bag that bound your deadened fingers seemed to grow light as it swung forwards, knocking into the others leg before the weight returned seeming heavier. 

You stumbled back as the other jolted forwards regaining lost balance, baffled. Enlarged eyes swam with panic as you immediately discarded your own comfort, reaching out to gingerly touch the others arm that was being used to regulate their teetering balance. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry dude are you alright?" You hissed, tone laced with concern and internal scolding as you stabled the poor soul you had collided with. 

He stood around your height, maybe even taller, maybe shorter, but no words fell from their lips. "I apologize man, I wasn't watching where I was going, I didn't spill anything on you did I?" You respond hastily, tone akin to desperation as the hooded man turned to look at you, deep brown eyes that peered calloused from beneath the hood resting over his head the illumination of a nearby streetlamp cast a soft glow to his abnormally tinted skin. The dark tufts of burnt chestnut hair that swept around the hem of the hood made it look even more illish, but those eyes. Those dark, desensitized eyes; glared. The orbs benumbed, senseless, and obdurate. You paused, taking notice of the almost deathly pale skin akin to grey was marred with old faded, and newer raised pinkish-white scars but before you could explore his features farther, he yanked away. Almost as if he had touched something hot. 

"Don' fuckin' touch me." He sneered; eye lids forced into a trained glare, his voice harsh and raspy, the bite behind the barking words and yank made your arm slump back to your side, knuckles brushing against the bag that sat at your feet, you having carefully discarding it to assure the man's comfort; which was widely unappreciated according to him. 

A puff of hot air snaked past your flared nostrils, brows following close behind with a harsh furrow, the physical contortion of your features seemed to have made his own sour as he scoffed turning back to the road glazed with the light drizzle. 

Your eyes rolled, a shallow whatever filtering your lips as you spun your hanging headphones around your palm, stuffing it haphazardly into the pocket of your coffee stenched hoody, the cup that once held the energy replenishing beverage now sloshed about with little to no contents; your interaction with the man looked to have officially come to an end when he stepped off of the edge of the sidewalk, walking for a moment before slowly progressing into a nimble jog as he crossed the road leaving you alone under the nearby lamp post that flickered ominously. 

"Who pissed in your Cheerios..." You grumbled under your breath before crouching slightly to retrieve the bag of gas station groceries before your eyes caught a particular item discarded; despite the increasingly darkening surroundings as day turns to night it was littered in rain droplets. Slowly, a long breath wheezed past your throat as the bag left the ground, the plastic slick with water as you extended an arm to retrieve the item. 

The round lenses were a faded orange, a few dark stained splotches littered the glass and outer part of the googles, it was heavier than you had anticipated, the thin cold metal resting against your sticky coffee splashed palms made them buzz with numbness as the weight grew. The elastic band meant to hold them to one's face now soaked up a good portion of rainfall that pooled in the palm of your hand that gleamed under the light of the streetlight.  

Upon closer inspection of the face article under the flickering sodium light, you noticed the shallow scrapes and scratches, a few deep lacerations in the metal made the pad of your thumb grow anxious as the impulse to run the flesh over the damage crossed your mind before being shoved aside by another thought. 

He must have dropped it during the collision. 

Although the man was an ass, he probably needed these for his welding projects or something among the sorts. 

Guilt knotted your throat as you straightened your posture, head turning, and eyes raking the surrounding streets to see if the man had come to retrieve his headgear but much to your dismay not another soul strolled the worn, water darkened cement. 

The contriteness that washed your thoughts were the voices of your home folk warning you, reminding you spontaneously that it was unsafe to wander with earbuds dug into your ear ducts. Warning about how you were oblivious of your surroundings and with the recent and rather constant disappearances or slayings of neighbor of different streets; it was especially dangerous. But for some reason the notion of chasing the man down to deliver his fallen gear whispered within the dark depths in the back of your mind, the voice almost canceling the one of reason. 

Just the simple thought of the instances snapped you away from the depths of your mind as you noticed the intimidatingly darkened streets that glowed with electricity. 

A chest swelling rumble from the sky made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as paranoia took its hold, the recent thought of possibly chasing the man down and give him back his belonging was thrown out of the window for the time being as you shoved the gear into your hoody pocket, weighing it down more than your phone had. 

The lightning that flashed overhead and the ominous shadows of the trees to your fear laced mind resembled that of spindly fingers and haunting tendrils curling and stretching to wrap you in their clutches. 

The bark of thunder and nearly blinding snap of lightning was enough to make your fear numbed muscles regain consciousness and comply with your desire to return home. 

With the rhythmic pound of your shoe souls against the cement that grew damper with the hardening rain that dampened skin and slicken the bag between your fingers you bounded swiftly towards the direction of home. 

You would have to return his goggles another time...

_______

Unedited

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 6)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (5) | Next (7)

Word Count: 3.1k words

Content Warning: Vore mentions (no actual vore)

------ Chapter 6: Convergence ------

Tanya was tired of living in an underground dungeon. Her filthy, cramped cell consisted of three stone walls without windows, a hard floor, and a door of thick iron bars. Holes in the ceiling, interspersed at regular intervals, permitted weak beams of light to filter through the darkness, but they were poor substitutes for the sun. Her bed was a thin strip of stained, smelly padding with an unwashed blanket. The only other furnishing in the small space was a chamber pot for relieving herself, which was occasionally changed out but not as frequently as she would have preferred. 

The days blended together endlessly, the passage of time marked only by the flicker of dim light overhead and the arrival of bland meals with precise regularity by indifferent, faceless prison guards. She was fed lumpy oatmeal for breakfast, and withered vegetables with hard bread for lunch and dinner. The water she was given was cloudy, with a hard mineral taste. Needless to say, Tanya didn’t have much of an appetite. 

In the subterranean space, sounds traveled far, bouncing off the walls until they warped into an unrecognizable state, like the distant, tortured moans of ghosts. She felt lost and forgotten. She hadn’t been trapped in the forlorn depths for long, but she felt like her sanity was gradually sapping away with the isolation and emptiness. The lack of stimulation was not only boring but draining, as her troubled thoughts skittered around in her brain like roaches and ate away at her conscious mind like a corrosive acid. 

This punishment seemed excessive for just stealing food. Tanya had been hungry, and a little desperate, and she couldn’t resist the sweet cakes on display in the central plaza that she had no money to buy. She had been caught, of course. Minimaterra dealt with lawbreakers harshly, to prevent the small and insulated country from being overrun with crime. Tanya observed that the legal system seemed to punish women worse, though she didn’t comprehend the calculated reasoning behind this odd structural inequity. 

She was dozing on her mattress, huddled up in her blanket to stave off the damp cold, when she heard the echo of footsteps reverberating down the corridor lined with cells. To her surprise, two burly guards silhouetted by the dim light stopped at her cell. Keys clinked together and scraped in the lock, and the bars were pulled open with a grinding squeal. The men invaded her cell and ripped the blanket off. Tanya was hoisted to her feet, still half-awake, handcuffed, and dragged away. Her legs, out of shape from her confinement, were unsteady beneath her as she stumbled along and struggled to keep pace with the men. 

“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” she mumbled sleepily, with no response. The men hauled her up a narrow set of stairs by the thick iron cuffs on her wrists as she clumsily followed. When they opened the door at the top, she was blinded by daylight brighter than she had seen in weeks. The light shot into her skull and eyeballs with a searing pain, and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut for several minutes while her body adjusted to the stark change. She was thrown into a carriage and transported to another location, unable to see the whole way as her eyes adjusted to normal sun. 

She was marched indoors, still squinting with discomfort. Without any explanation, she was swarmed by maids who stripped her down and washed her. Her hair was cut and styled, her nails filed, and her face groomed and powdered. She was dolled up in a very flattering dress with ostentatious lace, ribbons, ruffles, jewels, and other flourishes. Tanya was highly disoriented and confused. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she held out hope that maybe she was being pardoned and released. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that the prison guards never left her side, even after she was unchained. 

She was led by the guards through a long and very fancy hallway, the likes of which she had never seen before. As she passed by rooms fit for a mansion, she spotted a room full of beautiful ladies dressed just like her, like nobility, along with a handsome gentleman. She was led into a different room, however, that contained another comely man with spectacles flanked by more guards. She was seated next to the man, who was also neatly groomed and dressed in an outfit worthy of a rich noble. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time. Nothing happened and Tanya started to get antsy. Keeping her voice low, she finally whispered to the man, “Are you a convict too?” 

He hesitated, before answering, “Yes. I’m Graham, by the way.” 

“My name is Tanya. Do you have any clue why we’re here?” 

“No. They dragged me out of my cell and brought me here.” Graham glanced over at her through his peripheral vision, not wanting to make any sudden moves with the guards watching them. “Do you?” 

Tanya gave a small shake of her head. “Do you think... they’re letting us go?” 

“I don’t know. I hope so. It’s nice... to be cleaned up and given proper clothes. I feel human again.” He stroked his chin, which felt wonderfully smooth after being shaved. While languishing in a cell, he’d grown a scraggly, untamed beard that he despised. He was relieved to feel—and smell—like a refined gentleman again, after living like a feral animal in a dank dungeon. 

The prisoners lapsed back into silence after one of the guards shot them a hostile glare. Tanya was hopeful, but a primitive instinct within her was ringing alarm bells. She sensed something was very off about this whole abnormal situation. If they were to be released, why would the guards still be watching them? Why were they dressed and groomed in such a manner, with such elaborate clothing above her lowly station? Nothing made sense. She was on pins and needles the whole time as she waited—for what, she had no idea. She considered bolting while she had the chance, but swiftly discarded the notion as foolish. She likely wouldn’t make it far with four guards chasing her, and if they really were going to let her go, she ought to be on her best behavior. 

The two convicts were kept separate from the others, so they wouldn’t learn the truth and raise a fuss. The day that would permanently change their lives had come. All the tributes were prepared for inspection, dolled up to look their finest. The humans could only hope that their offerings would pass the taste test. Now they just had to wait for the giants to arrive. 

Back in Giganterra, the giants prepared for their second expedition to the human lands. As Sir Maneater saddled up his horse, he noticed that Joey was dragging his feet. In fact, Joey hadn’t even touched his riding equipment. He had a hollow, dead look in his chocolate eyes, so different from their usual eager brightness and warmth.  

Martin, sensing an impending crisis, understood he needed to intervene. He took the young man aside, behind the horse stables, and sat him down on an old tree stump. “What’s going on, Joey? Talk to me.” 

Joey sighed heavily, averting his gaze down to his hands. “I... I don’t want to be a knight anymore.” 

Martin raised a brow. “Joey... you can’t mean that! I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked for this. You’ve trained for years! Why would you throw away all that progress now, when you’ve been pushing so hard toward this singular goal?” 

Joey slumped down. His face twisted up as if he were struggling not to cry. “You know, I used to admire knights. I idealized them for their strength of spirit and body, their discipline, their chivalry, their honor, and their vows to protect and serve. I wanted to be like you, Sir Maneater. But now...” 

He let out a shuddering breath, running his hands through his messy brown hair and tugging on his scalp. Glancing around to ensure nobody else was listening, he dropped his voice and continued to speak. “Now... all I see in my future is serving a cruel and evil master. I can’t stomach the idea of becoming the king’s right hand, to enforce his iron will upon the weak. The thought sickens me and turns my stomach. I can’t look at knighthood the same way anymore. I want nothing to do with the despicable orders of the king.” 

“Joey...” Sir Maneater leaned in and placed a kind hand on his squire’s shoulder. “I understand how you feel, I really do. You think I’ve never felt lost, or had doubts?” He gave his squire a gentle smile. “Of course I have. But you must understand, Joey... if you want to make a difference in this world, you must first make something of yourself. You can give up on your dream, but what good would that do? You’d be powerless to change anything, without a title or influence. Lost without a sense of direction. If you really want to stop evil, you must give yourself the tools to conquer it. You understand?” 

“I guess,” Joey answered noncommittally, twitching his shoulders. 

“The humans will be presented to the king whether you participate or not. Just come with us. Be alert to your surroundings. You never know when an opportunity may present itself,” Sir Maneater pressed. Joey reluctantly agreed and joined his mentor back in the stable to finish loading up the horses with their gear and supplies. He fought his revulsion as he saw the knight strap in a cage about the size of a shoebox, complete with human-sized seats lining the interior. 

Besides Leon, another giant named Chester was accompanying the party. Chester held a special position at court, for he was an individual with a unique talent. He was the royal food tester, distinguished by his extraordinary senses. His sensitive nose could detect the smallest quantity of poison in any food or drink, so he could keep the royal family safe. He could track a runaway human by scent, like a bloodhound. His palate was highly refined as well, so the king trusted his taste buds to select only the best foods. He sent Chester to sample the new humans and provide quality control. The gluttonous gourmand loved to eat humans, so he was more than happy to oblige.  

Chester was in a merry mood, in stark contrast to glum Joey, and to a lesser extent Martin and Leon, who were more hardened than the young squire to the unpleasant task that lay before them. As they neared the border crossing, Chester tilted his head back and inhaled deeply through his nose. 

“Ahhhhh,” he sighed, savoring the fragrance like a batch of fresh-baked cookies. “They smell soooo good.” His brilliant green eyes lit up and he licked his lips ravenously. Joey glanced at the man with distaste but didn’t comment. The party of giant men left their horses with the guards after presenting the royal seal for entry and passed through the gate into the tiny world. Leon, wincing, brought the human carrier along with him. Chester panted with anticipation, his stomach audibly growling. Joey curled his lip.  

“Are you... drooling?” he asked incredulously. Chester wiped off his lips on his sleeve and grinned shamelessly. 

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Can you really blame me though? Can’t you smell all those distinct, delicious flavors?” Joey shook his head as he carefully stepped over a red barn that didn’t even reach his knee and tiptoed around a field of corn. “Ah, well, I certainly can, and goodness, I can hardly restrain myself!”  

Chester, not paying attention to his feet, sloshed through a shallow pond, scattering miniscule ducks in all directions. His wet boots sank into the grassland intended for grazing nearby, tearing up the turf and ruining the land. The surrounding horses whinnied with fear and galloped away. He stepped on a dividing fence, cracking the wooden posts into splinters. He cocked a brow as he shot Joey a penetrating gaze. “Have you ever eaten a human before?” 

“No! Absolutely not!” Joey answered sharply, offended by the mere suggestion. “And watch your step, for crying out loud!” He wasn’t some bloodthirsty, uncivilized beast like the wolf across from him. He looked down at the little houses far below. He had no doubt the miniature people inside were listening to their booming voices as they talked about eating humans. Joey, at that moment, was deeply ashamed to be a giant, in such disgraceful company. 

“What a shame,” Chester remarked, ignoring Joey’s tone and warning. His boot stomped down inches from a humble house, quaking the earth and eliciting a shrill scream from within. “You’re missing out. Every human has their own flavor, you see. Luckily for me, since I’m the royal food taster, I get the privilege of tasting every single human that comes to Giganterra.” 

Joey was flooded with indignation as he opened his mouth to argue with Chester. However, a small shake of the head from Sir Maneater sealed his lips. He bit back a snippy retort with some difficulty. Chester was an important personage at court, not the sort of man anyone would want to make an enemy out of. Though the knight didn’t enunciate any seditious thoughts out loud, he did not wish for Joey to pick a fight with the one man who singlehandedly prevented the king from being poisoned. 

Chester continued to prattle on about all the different flavors that humans came in, indifferent to the looks of horror he received from the wee denizens at his feet. Joey pulled with discomfort at his hair and collar, as if trying to hide his huge face from humiliation as he was forced to listen. He struggled to keep his mouth shut as Chester related a mildly lewd anecdote about a lady that tasted exactly like a cream puff. The embarrassed squire attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Chester had a one-track mind, especially with the strong scent of humans pervading the air.  

“I’m interested in tasting a few men this time around,” Chester rambled, droplets of drool sliding down his chin. His salivary glands were going haywire with how voracious he was. “I’ve only sampled women up to this point, since King Richard usually only requests female specimens. I wonder if the human men taste the same as their women? I’ve heard rumors that women are generally sweeter, while men are more savory, but I don’t know if it’s true. What do you think, Joey?” 

“I... I don’t know,” Joey mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. Desperate to change the subject, he pointed off into the distance. “Hey look, there’s the castle!” 

The four massive giants, now that they were entering the city, had to walk in single file through the central roadway to avoid knocking over any buildings. Even Chester was cautious as the space became narrower and more cramped for their enormous feet. Mercifully, the extra attentiveness that his surroundings commanded prevented him from talking too much. Even so, as his eyes diverted to his feet, he ogled the little people like a starving man at a buffet, as if he was tempted to snatch them up and shovel them into his slavering maw. Flecks of slobber rained down from his mouth onto the rooftops and streets, to the disgust of the people down below.  

The small humans with their carts and horses scampered out the way, but Leon still managed to accidentally smash the stall of a fruit vendor underfoot, turning his wares into mush. “Ah! no!” the merchant cried as he watched his livelihood get pulverized, running out a few steps into the open street before realizing his grave error in revealing himself. He halted, face white with fear. 

Leon bent over, engulfing the man in shadow. “Oh my goodness, I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident!” he apologized profusely. The merchant, as upset as he was about losing his entire stock, was too terrified to even engage in conversation with the intimidating giant. Leon recognized, as he continued to blabber on, he was getting nowhere with his words as the merchant merely stood in place, quivering uncontrollably. After a moment of contemplation, he fetched some silver coins from his pocket and carefully stacked them in front of the merchant. The human gawked in amazement at the shiny treasures, which were trivial pocket change to a wealthy giant but worth a fortune to the tiny human, more than all the fruit and his stall combined. The coins were several feet in diameter, a few inches thick, and likely too heavy for the merchant to even lift on his own. 

“Here, I hope this will be enough to cover your losses,” Leon said, running his hand nervously through his gray-flecked hair. 

The merchant nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Y-yes, sir, that will cover it,” he squeaked timidly. Leon acknowledged his response and straightened back up to his full height. The giants continued on to the central plaza, with Leon leaving behind a giant footprint lined with fruit juice, while the merchant stared in disbelief at the huge silver coins that constituted a life-changing sum of cash. 

When they arrived at the palace courtyard, it quickly became apparent that four giants would be one too many to comfortably fit within the walls of the open space without trampling the garden, statues, or fountain. 

“Joey, why don’t you wait for us outside?” Sir Maneater suggested. Joey nodded and stepped back respectfully. He waited awkwardly in the market square of the human city, the only location wide enough for him to stand comfortably without having to contort his legs or crunch his feet together. 

Joey surveyed the area around his feet, looking down at the miniscule stalls and buildings and people. He hadn’t felt quite so bad when he was moving around, but now that he was standing in place with nothing to do, social anxiety started to creep in. So many tiny people were staring up at him, gawking at him, glaring, whispering and gossiping about him amongst themselves. He hated to be the center of attention, to add on to his deluge of guilt, but such a circumstance was unavoidable when he was a monument, towering over everyone and everything. His face flushed bashfully, and he fiddled with his glasses to mitigate his discomfort. When he wasn’t able to tolerate the feeling any longer, he lumbered off, determined to find a secluded spot in the countryside where he could sit, rest his legs, and wait for the others. 

Chapter 7

[lost-in-the-dreamscape]

A few months have passed now since everyone had suddenly remembered the lives they lived before this one. When it all started, it was like a jolt of electricity, the memories shooting through the veins directly to the brain. There was nobody I knew who hadn't felt this strange phenomenon of recollection. My parents felt it, my friend two doors down the road came running to my front porch when she felt it. The news stations bursted with people telling their stories of these memories. However, nobody had any explanation for it. Scientists tried to claim it was some sort of mass hallucination residing in their cities caused by the climate, but were quickly shut down when the entire world claimed the same thing. Many tried to blame social media or government conspiracies, but those blaming it had felt it too.

Now, it's just become a common topic for people to discuss, like asking someone their favorite color or taste in music. Most people answer the same; some sort of farmers of fields of crops or livestock, some people recall running a small bakery or jewelry store, some even remembered they were rich lords in their past lives. It all sounded like they were living in a fantasy.

As for me, unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

When my memories were somehow brought back to me, it wasn't milking cows waiting for the right time to harvest for the fall. It wasn't living comfortably surrounded by riches or raising a family in a peaceful village that I called home. What I remember is a damp, dark cell of cold stone. Through a small hole in the ceiling dripped a muddy, brown water that pooled in the corner. It was disgusting and burned my tongue, but was the only thing I could drink. I remember my claws scratching at the rough walls and ripping out the moss that grew between the bricks to stuff into my mouth, filled with sharp teeth that were meant for meat instead of the tiny leaves that grew around me. The only food I could eat to survive. My stomach ached and made sounds that would keep me up at night.

But worst of it all, I remember the jingling of keys that would come down the hallway I couldn't see. The clinking of metal boots on the floor as the wicked ones approached me, tapping their steel blades against the rusted bars that held me back from ripping them apart. They held their torches high as they laughed at me. Low growls would escape my throat in retaliation, yet I still felt powerless. Something had been stripped away from me, an organ in my throat that once held the power of mighty flames that would scorch any knight who would come to claim my head before. And they laughed. Instead of killing me, they mocked me and threw their rotten leftovers at me. I had to eat what I was given, or I wouldn't make it another day. They watched as I struggled and gagged. And they laughed. They tore the wings from my back, they took my freedom from me when all I wanted was to defend my life. They sent an army out for my head, but decided this would be better. To keep me in a tiny cage and make me their pet. Clipped the spines off my tail, made me into a big joke. And they laughed. And they laughed. And they laughed…

"So, what was your past life like? I bet you were something cool like a knight!" My little brother giggled, playing with the braid in my hair as we sat on the couch together watching TV.

"Just a common life, honestly boring." I replied. Probably the biggest lie of the century.

Everyone suddenly remembers their past lives. You’re doing everything you can to lie about who you were before. “just a common life, honestly boring.”- probably the biggest lie of the century.

[squad-dads-dumpster]

Url change!

Heyo! Just letting everyone know “erwin-smith-is-love” has been changed. Still me, different name!

[kinnporsche]

what is this? another kinn & porsche rec list by tumblr user kinnporsche? it’s more likely than you think! it seems that i literally can’t stop—it’s been an entire year since the finale and i’m still stuck in my self-imposed 24/7 kinnporsche lockdown. so, here’s a bunch more fics that are currently making life worth living for me. once again, this list is ordered according to length (from longest to shortest), and each fic is by a different author (to spread the love)! all fics that are not yet complete have been marked with (wip). lastly, make sure to read the tags, and show the authors some love, because they’re doing the lord’s work! god fucking bless. [part 6/?]

— self-fulfilling prophecy by lazulialekto – explicit / 119.4k words

Porsche stepped forward, dragging his eyes from Kinn’s chest, immediately concerned, “will things go sideways?”

Kinn grimaced, grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a large swig of the amber liquid. “They often do, especially lately.” His glass clinked as he set it back down, then his hand was running down his face, stressed.

Porsche moved closer, sitting beside him, ignoring protocol completely. “If it’s that dangerous for you to go, can’t you just… not, or change the venue, or something?”

“And let them know I’m worried?” Kinn laughed bitterly as he let his hand drop down to his thigh, the Theerapanyakul family ring glinting in the light of the lamp in the corner. “I can’t do that. In this business a great deal rides on appearances. If I look weak to them, I won’t be the only target.”

— the situationship by verses – explicit / 112.5k words

“What about kissing?” Porsche asked, and his heart did a weird thing where it twisted all the way around his lungs and then plunged to his stomach.

Kinn raised a brow at that. “What about kissing? I feel like as the resident straight boy here, you should take the lead on this conversation.”

Porsche swallowed. “Well, do you kiss your boyfriends? In front of your friends and family?”

Kinn shrugged, and for once, the movement didn’t seem entirely effortless. “Sometimes.”

“Okay, then,” Porsche said, licking his suddenly dry lips. With tingly fingers, he added to the contract: ‘Non-sexual kissing allowed to fool participant K’s brother.’

(Or: Kinn, under pressure from the patriarch of the Theerapanyakul family, entices Porsche to enter a fake, contractual relationship with him. In return, Porsche gets money, a sexuality crisis, and a headache.)

— be the best you ever tasted by martynax – explicit / 90.9k words

“What’s your name, darling?” he questions.

“Jom,” Porsche replies after a moment, it makes a snort pass through Kinn’s lips.

“You don’t look like a Jom. Forgive me for repeating myself but you’re a shit liar,” he says once more. He still looks amused, like Porsche is telling jokes. Porsche presses his lips together stubbornly, which makes a small smirk appear on Kinn’s lips; he looks delighted for some reason. “Tell you what, darling, you tell me your name and I will end the session now. How about it?”

(Or: AU where Porsche’s life is shit so he shakes his perky little butt for strangers at a strip club and Kinn books him for a private show.)

— tiger bite by verbana – explicit / 54.7k words

Kinn leaned in, raking him over with his eyes. It felt like hovering over turbulent waters, daring a wave to come and sweep him down. “What are you gonna do to make me remember?”

Porsche reached up and slid a hand through the gap in Kinn’s shirt. Two fingers traced under his left collarbone. “I’ll tattoo my name here. Then all your hookups will have to stop and ask, who’s this?”

“And what should I tell them?” Their faces were too close. Porsche’s fingertips felt like they were plugged directly into his nervous system, lighting up every cell in his body. Red warning lights started flashing in the back of Kinn’s brain but he didn’t care, couldn’t care.

— twelve, twenty, almost thirty by just2wings – explicit / 34.2k words

Kinn is twelve when he falls for the boy with the bubbly laugh and fiery brown eyes, the only one who’s ever been able to pin him to the ground during taekwondo practice.

Kinn is twenty when he runs into him in the school gym, and then again in some shady alley. He falls in love all over again on a golden-lit pier, and then remembers all the reasons he shouldn’t.

Kinn is pushing thirty when he falls into a familiar, handsome bartender’s orbit again, and finally learns to ask for what he wants.

— insatiable by thewayside – explicit / 22k words (wip)

He squints to get a closer look at it and the faintest aroma hits his nose; soft and delicate like cherry blossom petals and cloying like simple syrup they keep in the bar.

(Or: Porsche steals a watch and gets kidnapped by a stinky alpha who maybe isn’t an alpha at all. What should be a one-time thing becomes bigger than either of them realizes.)

— the shape of you fitting me by nuwildcat – explicit / 18.5k words

They say that a person’s scent is a mark of compatibility. The better someone else smells to you, the stronger a bond between you will be. Porsche has smelled a lot of people working as a bartender, and many more intimately in his free time. But he’s never smelt something like this before. The scent of this omega calls to him, tempting and consuming. It’s the kind of scent that makes him inclined to think the aunties were right about destined mates.

And then he meets the omega tied to that scent, and everything just fits.

— he wants more than a tip, i’m not talking about guidance by haeseolar – explicit / 18.1k words

“Everyone, get out.”

The temperature in the room suddenly drops, everything turning still at the sound of Kinn’s voice ringing out, stopping everyone dead in their tracks and slicing right through to them. It’s so silent that you could hear a pin drop, nobody daring to make a move just yet.

“Didn’t you all hear me? Out!” Kinn shouts, nostrils flaring and voice devoid of any of the previous calm he had.

Everyone goes into motion then, even Chan who takes the hint and goes to join the crowd in leaving the gym. Porsche straightens himself up, still clutching over the left side of his chest as he joins the rest in filing out through the doors.

“Not you, Porsche. You stay here.”

— off to the races by mirrorofprinces – explicit / 17k words (wip)

“So, what is it that you do?” Porsche asks. “Have you always been attending the swanky events I bartend at, and I just never noticed?”

Kinn chuckles, the deep timbre of it going straight down Porsche’s spine. “Trust me, if I had ever seen you before, I would have introduced myself earlier.”

— like a serpent coiling around your throat by darkknight – explicit / 9.8k words

“Will I have to beat you into submission?” Porsche said, his voice raspy as he pinned Kinn under him.

Kinn spat at him, specks of blood coating Porsche’s face. “You can try,” he said, turning on his side to take Porsche with him as he kicked out his leg, hitting Porsche in the thigh.

The other man groaned, but quickly punched Kinn in the throat, making the breath leave him as he stood up and pressed a foot down in the middle of Kinn’s chest. The hard leather of Porsche’s shoes digging uncomfortably against his bare skin.

“Khun Kinn, always needing to be in control, but wouldn’t it be such a relief if you. Just. Let. Go?” he said, stressing the last three words by pressing his foot down harder against Kinn’s chest, making his breath come out in a harsh wheeze.

“Fuck. You."

(Or: AU where Porsche is a Yakuza boss and Kinn hates his guts.)

— consider the hairpin turn by concernedlily – explicit / 9k words

“I’m starting to think you like being punished,” Kinn says, sitting primly on his pristine couch, legs crossed.

— i always know by reason_to_write – mature / 8.3k words

His words stuck in his throat. He barely forced it out.

“Kinn…”

Immediately, even with the terrible reception quality, he could sense the shift in atmosphere on the other end of the line. In his mind’s eye, he saw the fearsome mafia leader stop mid-stride and heard the sharp intake of breath. When the voice spoke again, it couldn’t have been gentler.

“Tell me where you are.”

(Or: Porsche gets kidnapped, but Kinn is coming.)

— on the nature of trust by fortunehasgivenup – explicit / 6.1k words

They don’t stop clutching at each other right away.

Even if Porsche had tried, Kinn doesn’t think that he would allow it. He needs to be pressed up against as much of Porsche as he can.

If Porsche is holding on, he stills loves Kinn.

(Or: The aftermath of the iconic bathroom scene—set between episodes 7 and 8.)

— i’ll never surrender (my control over you) by luckydragon – explicit / 5.9k words

Bottoming doesn’t come naturally to Kinn, but he knows how to get what he needs.

— second skin by vesna (mrsronweasley) – explicit / 3k words

By the time they make it back to the house, accompanied by Pete and Arm, Porsche should be exhausted. All the alcohol burned off in his system from the adrenaline of Kinn blowing into the bathroom with a gun and backup, leaving him with a crystalline sort of clarity. That, more than anything, makes him feel wide awake.

[the-faceless-bride]

Sunday was supposed to be A fun day

Lost boys x reader

The boys were just having some fun on the boardwalk, they have gotten a lot more virulent after what happened with the frog brothers and we're starting to take extra safety processions...

Even going to a witch

Marko and Paul were touching everything!! Crystals, trinkets, bottles that were sealed at the top with wax and trying to get it open

Dwayne was looking around making sure the witch doesn't try anything on them, he almost let them down once he wasn't taking any chances again.

David is talking with the witch, asking her questions and telling her what had happened that night... When he asked her what they should do she gave him an answer...

"You'll have to lay low for a little while," Ravynne said, her green eyes staring the Vampires down; she walked around them, her heels lightly clicking as she grabbed different bottles off her shelves.

"Lay...low?" David questioned as his eyes trailed after her, keeping his guard up. Ravynne pushed her dark passion twists put off the way of her face the rings and shells in her hair clinked together gaining the other's attention.

"Yes, those young boys will now be on the lookout for more Vampires, and when they go looking and they find you... It won't end well" she said slowly in her low sensual voice, causing Paul to bite his lower lip and Marko to elbow him in the ribs with a scoff.

As Ravynne whispered chants on the four gems she could barely focus from all the giggling, whispers, and grunts... She was a busy and powerful woman that didn't have all day for silly games and a group of brutish Vampires that only care for themselves... And then a vision flashed behind her eyes, she smirked and knew how to take two birds with one stone.

Protect the boys and get them to care about someone other than themselves... She knew just the spell to cast on these gems...

Marko jumped around with Paul as they laughed and joked; going back home to their cave. Paul was unable to stop playing with the Blue Gem that was now hanging from his neck. "So... What do you think they do?" Paul asked his partners.

"I... Don't know... Maybe they like... Shoot the fuck out of people how come near us?" Marko answered. David chuckled and Dwayne playfully rolled his eyes. But the calm playful mood shattered as they heard a group of people talking... And they didn't sound friendly.

They talked about terrible means to torture Vampires and they wanted to hunt them down, and then something happened.

"Did you hear that?" One of the hunters asked the others; David, Dwayne, and Marko looked to Paul who accidentally kicked a spray can. The hunters start to follow the sound and the boys started to panic, after the fog brothers they just came back... They weren't strong enough to fight yet, they are still weak.

But then they felt a strange twist in their bones and for a moment everything went black, only for a moment later being met with the hunters; only they weren't attacking them?

"It's just some stupid cats!" One of the hunters called out to the others...

Wait... What?

The boys looked down to be met with fluffy paws... When David tried to talk only a meow left his mouth... 'Well... Looks like we will be talking telepathically' David groaned.

'My feet hurt! Dwayne Carry meeeee!' Marko complained 'I can't carry you, Marko... I don't have any thumbs to lift you.' Dwayne explained

'We won't make it to the cave in time! The sun is almost up!' Paul cried out to his partners and they started to panic again... That is until they heard a voice.

"Kitties?" The boys all turned around and while David and Dwayne looked as though they were ready to scratch, hiss, and claw; Paul and Marko looked at each other getting the same idea due to sharing one single brain cell.

They both started meowing and trying to rub themselves on the stranger, 'what the hell are you two doing?!' David yelled not wanting his partners to get hurt 'think about it, the sun is coming up! We play our cards right and they might take us home!' Marko explained to his two other partners.

Before David or Dwayne could do anything they heard the sound of a zipper, the stranger opened up their bag taking off their sweater and placing it at the bottom of their bag picking the kittens up starting with Marko then Paul, the stranger looked to the other two cats wondering if they should take them too; Dwayne took the first step moving towards the stranger, then David.

The zipper closed but not all the way to allow air and they started to move; they all huddled up snuggling together burying themselves in the soft material of the sweater to hide from the small speck of sun that would be showing soon as they all slowly drifted to sleep.

They would figure out what to do later, but for now, they wanted to sleep; they were tired.

Cat-astrophe masterslist

[twilighthomunculusart]

I made a companion piece lol. It can also be read here

"I'm going to need access to your brain stem if we are going to work on body modifications."

The way Seiji could switch from goofy to serious so on a dime baffled Kyoichi. One moment he didn't know what a carburetor was, the next he was reciting the circuitry map of the human body.

Here he was staring Kyoichi dead-on, artificial animalistic features almost sending Kyoichi into fight or flight. He was asking permission to access the human body's most vulnerable part, other than the brain itself, for visual and physical improvements they had discussed over the many weeks after they've decided to team up.

This interpersonal access was assumed to be a given, especially considering all that was left of the flesh Kyoichi. But Seiji prided himself in his work and needed to know with absolute certainty to carry on before digging through the literal guts of his new companion.

"Go ahead." Kyoichi stared him back.

He was propped against a makeshift examiners chair in a hobbled together but well used workshop hidden in some back alley rental basement Seiji called home. The whole room was cluttered with various artificial limbs, wiring, hammers, screws, sockets all organized as if they would lose their object permanence if tucked away neatly in drawers.

Seiji had just finished setting up a laptop near the examiners chair with various cords and electrodes hanging off one of its ports. A program on the screen was loading titled "Neural Multimeter."

As he waited for it to load he positioned himself behind Kyoichi's head. He felt the jerk of an extension cord being plugged into the base of his neck and his optics fuzzed from the extra flood of electrons.

"Based on the logo and serial number engraved into your neck, I'd say this is a Adam 3.7 #6509AD. These guys typically put the brain within the chest cavity, I'll have to remove your battery to access it."

"Hmm." Kyoichi briefly considered the implications of the position before Seiji verbalized them.

"Typical Hojo Corp. sacrificing accuracy with ease of access, makes it easy for repairs in the long run but their weakness comes with those repairs being constant. But I guess that's why I love messing with these bodies so much," he flashed a grin at Kyoichi that did little to calm whatever was reminding him of his childhood fears of doctors and needles.

Seiji returned to face him. Above head lights illuminating him from behind casting a threatening shadow as he loomed over him. With an uncomfortable twist and a crunch he removed his left hand and replaced it with another. This one with a multitude of hand tools replacing each finger.

"You ready?"

Kyoichi's semi-conscious fears involuntarily forced him to focus on the laptop, "Go for it."

"Don't be scared. You won't feel a thing."

That was a lie. He felt the plastic of Seiji's legs clink against his own as he straddled him for a better reach, each subtle touch sending a flinch into his mind. He felt the warmth of Seiji's torso as he leaned forward to access miniscule screws that held his body in place. And he felt the tension between his hips and his chest dissipate as each screw was removed. The battery pack: not only a source of life but a source of connection between the two halves of his body, as it was slowly released from its confines he felt his balance wobble, spine too weak on its own to support his upper half. He braced his arms behind him.

He then felt himself suddenly grow cold as two clicks separated the battery from his circuit.

He turned his head. Forcing himself to watch on. The part of him that wanted to run was still there but part of him was curious. Fascinated even by the deconstruction, no dissection, happening in front of him.

Even without the curiosity, he should know how he was constructed, he couldn't rely on other mechanics for repair forever.

Two clawed hands wrapped around his "stomach" of a liquid cell battery, eyes intensely focused on the task at hand. Then slowly he lifted it up and plopped it onto the floor next to him.

"Next is the thermal plate separating the heat from the battery from all the important circuitry trapped inside you," he lightly tapped the chest to indicate the you.

The plate came off with a thump. No real screws attached itself to the rest of him so all it took was a little careful shimmying and wedging of Kyoichi's ribs.

"You ready for the fun part?"

Kyoichi said nothing but tensed up in preparation. Seiji readjusted himself, body dangerously close to Kyoichi but only touching in the places that absolutely needed support. His hands slowly crawled into the cavity carefully picking around delicate parts as they rummaged around for their target.

There was no haptic input within the cavity. Nothing to indicate exactly what was being touched, pushed, and pulled around. Forearms of those hands slowly disappeared further into the chest. He could hear the hands scrape against the harder bits of himself, clink as it avoided delicate connections, and tug against various unseen plastic cords. Each shadow of motion echoed in Kyoichi implying a maze within him that he’d never see and Kyoichi could feel none of it.

But goddamned did he want to.

"Damn. They really crammed all this in here," said Seiji after what felt like an eternity of silence. Then something tugged inside Kyoichi and Seiji lit up, "there we go."

Slowly, Seiji pulled out his arms. With them came a tangle of cords, slumping out from their tightly packed position spilling all over the examiners table and even on the floor. The further he returned, the more spilled out until finally he saw the cupped hands of his mechanic, carefully clutching the grey sphere that was his cranium, all remaining cords and wires hung off the thing like a cobweb.

He held it up for Kyoichi to see.

It was vaguely translucent as a faint shadow of folds silhouetted themselves against the light. As he looked closer he could vaguely make out veins and microchips dotting the surface.

Kyoichi had seen diagrams of the human brain before. Pictures too from various articles and posts about the subject. Every time he did he felt a slight quease and nausea of ‘that wasn't where it belonged’. Here, however, he was fascinated, eyes tracing along every bit of surface he could see pausing at every electrode, wire, and bit of metal they shoved into the thing.

Seiji gently traced along Kyoichi's gaze, fingers clicking against the casing. He could tell by his gaze that this was his favorite part of the build. The actual person behind the body. He held the cranium gently caressing its shape making great care not to drop it. He held it up close to his face as he took in the construction of the interfacing, its crude and sloppy makeup that still managed to do its job right, considering all the things that can be done with it based on how it was built. He held it so close to his face that fog from his breath clouded the surface.

It was warm.

Electrons rushed down whatever replaced his spine.

"So this is you?"

Seiji looked him in the eye, claws still creating a satisfying clackle as he cradled the casing closer to his center of gravity.

"He's beautiful."

“So, this is you?”

[storiesofsvu]

You Can & You Will

Rita Calhoun x fem!reader Technically a continuation of THIS, but can be read solo. Warnings: language, smut, spanking, bondage, blindfolds, minor dirty talk, edging, overstimulation, temperature play, impact play.

 The sound of the cell door clinking didn’t pull you out of your trance while you worked on your closing arguments, but the sudden set of Manolo’s appearing in your eyeline did. Glancing up, you weren’t surprised to find Rita there to bail you out.

“Heard you got in a bit of a snafu today?” She smirked, “What’d’you do?”

“Sassed the Judge…twice.” Her expression said it all, “I know, I know, not ideal. People usually let it slide because of the whole kid thing, but…Donnelly, not so much.”

“First time in contempt I take it?” Rita asked, pausing while you collected your things, throwing your paperwork into your bag.

“Yeah.” You followed her out to the elevator, “thank you, you didn’t have to come bail me out.”

“Oh…don’t think you’re getting out that easy.” She smirked as the elevator doors slid shut, giving you privacy, “you’re still getting punished tonight.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat at her words and the gleam in her eyes as she drank in your form. Since the Valentines Gala the two of you had continued on your little play dates whenever the time appeared. Everything was pretty causal, you’d see each other occasionally in the halls of the courthouse, exchanging a knowing greeting and nod or end up panting for breath tangled in Rita’s sheets.

You were slightly thankful you’d been charged with contempt as the entire rest of the afternoon you could barely focus, her warning haunting itself through your brain. You clenched your thighs together in anticipation and did your best to finish paperwork.

*

Rita greeted you with a sly smile and a gentle kiss, passing you a glass of scotch when you entered her apartment. You sucked back the amber liquid while shucking your blazer and shoes, placing your bag in a spare chair. Rita snuck behind you, brushing your hair to one side of your neck, laying a soft kiss on the exposed skin.

“Go get undressed.” She nodded toward the bedroom.

You paused to kiss her cheek, but did as she said, folding your clothes on top of the dresser, perching you now naked self on the foot of the bed. Rita slipped into the room, swiftly ridding herself of her suit before stepping into the closet. You watched as she flitted around, picking up a small handful of toys and the like, the most intriguing being the leather crop fitted with a heart shaped end. She placed them down on the side of the bed then turned to you, caressing your cheek gently,

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“You remember our word?”

“Cherries.”

“Good girl.” She grinned, kissing you briefly before she spoke again, “lie back, hands above your head.”

You did as she said, breath catching in your throat at the feel of her body climbing over yours, her skin hot against you. She expertly wove a silk scarf around your wrists, securing them together and then leant forward to loop the extra fabric around the headboard. You couldn’t help but nip at the skin of her hip, earning a swat on your wrist, a small ‘tsk’ uttering from above you.

“You really don’t know how to behave do you?” She cocked a brow as she sat back up, purposely grinding down against your pussy, chuckling at the way you whined at the sudden contact. Her hands picked up another silk scarf, “this will help you really feel everything, alright darling?” She wrapped it around your eyes, knotting it behind your head, leaning down to kiss you, nipping at your lower lip before she murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

You huffed out in defiance, but didn’t complain any more, you knew you were probably already in for it, didn’t want to push any further. Listening intently you heard her moving through a distant room in the apartment, something clinking against a glass, water running and the whir of you weren’t sure what. A few minutes later she returned, placing the items down on the bedside table.

“Roll over for me darling.” She muttered, smacking at your hip with the crop suddenly. You let out a breathy gasp at the feel, rolling onto your stomach. “Good girl.” Rita moved around the bed, the crop light in her hand as she trailed it up the inside of your leg, barely daring to skim past your pussy lips before repeating the action on the other side. “You got yourself in some serious trouble today, you know that? Do you think you can handle being a good girl the rest of the night for me? Hmm?” The crop paused slightly, gently swatting at the flesh of your thigh.

“Yes.” You breathed out, your body already shivering at the thought of what was coming.

“Good.” The bed dipped with her weight while she leant forward to press a kiss into the small of your back.

She repeated her movement of dragging the crop up the inside of your legs, this time twisting it so the seam of the heart pulled through your folds, pulling a small moan from you. It came up to the swell of your ass, circling at the flesh before swatting down at it. Rita started small, nearly gentle as she tested out your endurance level, smiling at the breathy ‘oh’ that left your lips at the first hit. She pulled back a little further this time, moving to the opposite cheek, the crop coming down with more power in this hit. Your body shuddered, hips grinding against the mattress, your moan louder and very appreciative this time.

“You like that don’t you darling?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Shame. It’s supposed to be your punishment.”

You didn’t even have time to react to her words before she hit you again, this one causing you to cry out, your body jolting on the bed. While the sting may have been painful, it brought a jolt of electricity between your legs, and a chuckle from Rita.

“That’s more like it.” She murmured.

The spanks continued to get harder and sharper as she teased you, tantalizing your folds with the tip of the crop, murmuring at how good you were taking it, how turned on you were getting with each hit. The entire thing was nearly too much for you, each hit pulled louder and longer moans from you, your juices slicking your thighs as you clenched them together. Her intensity of the hits increased and you knew you’d be left with a few welts the next day, secretly hoping there was at least one in the shape of a heart.

Rita slowed, her hand coming to soothingly rub at your tender skin, the gentle touch calming the stinging marks. Her lips met your back again, giving you a few moments to try and catch your breath while her hand snuck between your legs, toying with your pussy.

“This really is turning you on isn’t it darling?”

“Yes…” you whined, nodding your head against your arm, “please…don’t stop…”

“If you insist.” She laughed, spanking the crop down onto your cheek again. This time she didn’t let up, hitting the exact same spot directly after. Your cry was nearly strangled this time, she repeated the motion on the other side, adding a third spank before jumping right back to the first spot.

You strained against your bounds, your body shivering and lurching to the side, you ached to touch her, to touch yourself. You just wanted to truly feel her. The added sensation from the blindfold had you having know idea what was coming next. Her hand slid up your leg, wrapped around your thigh, pinching at the flesh as she hit you one last time in the same moment cupping at you cunt. Your body jumped, hips shooting upward at the contact, eager for more. You felt her weight shift again, suddenly the crop smacked into the side of your hip, you cried out louder, body convulsing.

“Roll back over.” She demanded, and you did with a shudder. “You want me to touch you darling?”

“Please!” You begged, your voice naught but a whine at this point.

Rita chuckled darkly and you knew she had something planned, you yelped as the crop came down on your swollen clit, a strangled moan leaving your lips. She tossed the crop aside, her hands soothing at your skin, fingers tracing up the inseam of your legs, dancing up your sides, softly cupping at your chest until she was leaning over you again. Her lips met yours in a gentle yet deep kiss, tongue delving into your mouth as you tugged against the scarf, wanting to wrap your arms around her body. She peppered your jaw with kisses, her teeth biting into the supple skin of your neck and you groaned at the feeling, curling your thighs against each other, needing more of a sensation on your skin.

You felt her body straddle yours, her weight shifting to the side as she reached the bedside table, a small tinkering sound echoing through the room. You gasped at the sudden frozen sensation against your tit, Rita circling the cube around your nipple as you shivered, goosebumps breaking free on your skin. Her mouth encased your other nipple, sucking and lapping at it with enthusiasm, mirroring the frigid movements from the ice cube. Her teeth sunk into your skin, tugging your nipple into her mouth, letting it drag out of her mouth while the cube slid to your midriff, her pointer finger flicking at your chilled

 skin. Before you could even realize what she was doing, the cube was on your opposite side, freezing the heated flesh. You gasped, your hips thrusting up against her as you heard a swishing noise, Rita swallowing back a gulp of hot tea, warming her mouth even more before it returned to your previously frigid skin.

“Oh fuck…” you moaned out, the sensations driving you wild as she continued to torment you. You could feel the way her lips smirked around your nipple, sucking it into her mouth, lapping at it with her tongue before she popped off. A fresh cube found its way to your skin, tracing patterns up your body, trailing across your neck, bringing a string of whimpers from you. Rita shifted down the bed, settling between your legs as she let the cube join the first nearly melted one near you belly button. You jolted at the feel of ice on your thighs, throwing your head back as Rita sunk her fingers into your very ready pussy.

“God you’re drenched darling.” She murmured. Her fingers skillfully fucked into you, curling and twisting before pulling out, dragging your wetness around your clit and lower lips, making sure you were well lubricated. While her hand returned into your fluttering walls you yelped at the feel of ice against your clit, your hips shooting off the bed, pussy clenching around her hand. You thought you would be able to handle it at first but then her mouth closed around the cube and your clit, tongue lapping against you, the temperature difference causing your body to nearly convulse. You were so close to coming, whimpering out your pleas, arms tugging against your bounds. Rita felt the way your walls were pulsating around her hand, slipping her hand out of you while her mouth left your clit.

“Rita!” Your whine was laced with heavy frustration and desire, she simply laughed.

“You’re getting what you deserve darling.” She smirked back, relishing in the fact that you couldn’t see what she was doing, or even imagine what her plan was.

Popping a fresh cube in her mouth she left your clit abandoned, turning her attention on your pussy, lapping up your juices while dancing the ice around in her mouth. You ached against the bed, eager to pull her closer into you, your body quaking underneath her. The parallels of the frozen ice and her warm mouth were driving you wild, you’d been so close with just the spanking you were sure you would come quickly, another frustrated groan escaping your lips when she pulled away again, chuckling at your pain.

“Maybe now you’ll learn to be good.” She murmured, biting at the skin of your thigh, swallowing back what was left of the cube. Reaching over to the pile of toys she picked up her faved dildo, slicking it through your folds, gathering up your wetness on the tip before slapping your clit with it. You moaned out,

“Please…”

“Please what?” She murmured, sliding the toy into you. You felt the ridges of it slide against your walls, dragging against the sensitive spot within you, your hips easily rolling in time with her thrusts. Her free hand occasionally came to play with your clit, watching the way your chest began to heave with each thrust, right as you were about to let out a whine, she pulled the toy completely from you and you nearly shrieked.

“Can I come? Please, please can I come?”

“If you insist darling.”

She leant over you again, her lips meeting yours in a fiery kiss that you returned with just as much vigor, tongue plunging into her mouth, rolling heavily next to hers. Her fingers curved up your cheek, moving to slide the blind fold off your face, it wasn’t like you would be needing it much longer anyways. Then her hand moved down your body, delving into your awaiting pussy, you groaned into her mouth, hips shooting off the bed while she curled into your g-spot. It was only a matter of minutes until your cunt was clenching around her fingers, fire burning beneath your skin, a shout echoed around the room as she finally let you come.

Panting, you ached for your arms to be able to wrap around her, your fluttered shut eyes not seeing her reach back to the pile of toys. You yelped at the feel of a vibrator against your folds, she nearly instantly brought it back up to your clit while her mouth plunged into your pussy.

“Wait…” you begged.

“You said you wanted to come darling.” She murmured back, flicking the speed on the vibrator up.

It only took a few seconds before your thighs were shaking, a second orgasm washing over you as you cried out. You should have known better that she wasn’t about to let up at two, she swapped the placement, sucking you clit into her mouth as the vibe twirled against your pussy. Your body was electrified, hips rutting against her mouth uncontrollably, the sensation shooting through you, a strangled plead escaping your lips as you came again. Rita instantly moved again, smirking at the amount of wetness leaking out of your pussy, the vibrator clicked up a speed as it nestled on your clit, her hand grabbing the dildo again, plunging it into you. At first you thought you could handle it, the double stimulation might not have been too much, but then her hand flipped the switch on the dildo and it began to twist and twirl within you. A strangled sob left your lips, your arms wrenched so powerfully against the tie that Rita was nearly worried about her headboard for a moment before you collapsed in a shriek. Your walls pulsing around the toy, your whimpers bouncing off the walls of her bedroom.

It was only when she pulled the dildo from you, lowering the speed of the vibe that you were able to pant out a plea as her mouth ducked down to your pussy again.

“Rita…please….I can’t” you begged, tears leaking down your face.

“You can…and you will.” She practically growled, burying herself into your cunt. Her tongue lapped around your thighs, tidying the mess your previous orgasms had made before diving into your pussy. She sucked and licked like the damn goddess she was, expertly bringing your peak higher and higher as she turned the vibe up another on your nub. Her fingers slipped into you, fucking you with ease as you thrashed against her body, the fire building hotter than you could ever imagine

Your near yells bounced off her bedroom walls as your hands wrenched against your bounds, creating tiny tears in the silk as yet another orgasm ripped through you. Rita slowly started to pause at the sound of a strangled cry leaving your lips, she clicked off the vibe, tossing it aside while her fingers gently fucked you through your orgasm. Gently she shifted off your body, moving up the bed to free you of your bonds, her hands softly caressing the reddening marks before kissing your wrists softly.

“You okay?” She murmured.

“Yes.” You gasped out, “fuck… you’re incredible.”

__________ @giftedchildturns40 @hbkpop p @clarawatson @naturalxselection @ms-calhoun @natasha-danvers @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl @svushots @whispered-tear-drops @wannabe-fic-reader @stone-hearted-seymour @venablemayfairgoode @solemnnova @whimsicallymad @oliviaswifey @screenee @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @jamiethetrans @molllss @wosoimagines @michael-rooker @alexbllake @infernumlilith @yourtaletotell @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @newyorker14 @wandas-wife @lawandorderuswnt @ex-uallyactive @wandasbrat @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @muscatmusic18 @ladysc @alexusonfire @drduckthief @dxtery @lannister-slings-and-arrows @1-lindsay83 @swimmingstudentchaos891 @mmemalwa @holycrapraewth @poisonedcrowns @when-wolves-howl @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that

[pilothusband]

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie​ for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even. 

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.” 

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin. 

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree. 

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths. 

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment. 

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?” 

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.” 

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms. 

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair,  but your arms aren’t long enough to reach. 

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

 He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

 “Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

 He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

 Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

 He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

 “Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

 You moan and break the kiss.

 “Want to take this to my room?”

 He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

 You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

 You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

 “I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

 “Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

 You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

 “So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

 It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

 Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

 “So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

 You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

 “We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern. 

 “No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

 You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

 Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace. 

 All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

 His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

 “Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly. 

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

 The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes. 

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

[silvrmoon]

" yes, generous is my middle name after all," how alistor manages to point it out with a serious expression on his features is beyond him, but he's quite proud of himself as he takes another sip of his drink. anyone with a pair of eyes and two functioning brain cells could tell that the brunette didn't want to spend time in his company, but he chose to ignore it. if she wanted to leave, he wasn't going to stop her, someone else probably would, though. " i don't know, to the games ? to life i suppose ? it's so wonderful, " sacarsm was once again lacing his words. the young snow stood against everything his father believed in, but he knew better than to act on his instinct. his father was a cruel man and no amount of protection from his mother would save him from the older man's wrath. piercing blue hues stay focused on the female's features after he clinks their glasses together, taking a generous sip from the glittery liquid. " so, what's new in your life, syra ? anything exciting ? a potential marriage in the horizon perhaps ? "

there  was  no  denying  that  the  young  snow's  reputation  was  anything  but  spotless.  the  entire  capitol  knew  that  and  her  family  loved  that  about  him,  however  messed  up  that  was.  countless  jokes  had  been  made  about  how  she  should  start  spending  some  more  time  with  alistor  as  perhaps  his  handsome  face  would  persuade  her  to  loosen  up  a  little  bit.  it  was  frustrating.  the  looks  were  the  only  part  she  could  actually  agree  on,  but  the  worst  part  was  that  he  knew  he  had  them,  clearly.  "it's  always  a  pleasure."  by  now  she  should  know  how  to  be  a  better  liar  with  the  frequency  she  had  to  do  that  and  it  was  obvious  that  the  other  saw  right  through  it.  her  hands  nervously  tangled  together  in  front  of  her  as  she  didn't  trust  him  in  the  slightest.  the  power  he  held  in  panem  was  not  something  to  be  underestimated.  despite  her  daily  struggles  she  quite  liked  her  life  and  didn't  want  him  on  her  bad  side  because  he  could  ruin  it  with  the  snap  of  his  fingers.  "what  a  generous  offer.  how  can  i  say  no  to  that?"  it  was  meant  completely  rhetorically  and  despite  it  being  a  polite  reply,  she  really  didn't  have  an  excuse  not  to  decline.  one  posca,  more  than  that  and  syra  would  start  giggling  too  much  as  she  was  a  lightweight.  taking  the  flute  of  gold-flaked  liquid  from  the  plate  of  one  of  the  avoxes  and  holding  it  up  towards  him  ready  to  clink  their  glasses.  "so  what  are  we  toasting  to?"