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Romance is the loss of mundanity.;

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Brandy by the Fireplace

7.8K / Frankie Morales x City Girl!reader

Summary: When your best friend's boyfriend invites her up to the cabin he owns with his Delta Force buddies, she asks you to come along.

Warnings: None! Fluff! Insecurity and anxiety on reader's part, but Frankie makes it better (anxiety/comfort. My anxious girlies (gn) who think everyone hates them when they definitely don't? This one's for you 🥹). Nicknames because it's me. Oh, and Tom's alive?

A/N 1: Written and very late for @auteurdelabre's Trope Off Challenge - the trope here is Fish out of water because, well you know🤭🤭 Can be considered a Triple Frontier AU, or set before the events of the movie. Though I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this and the word count got away from me, I still think it's cute and very seasonal - I hope others do too!

A/N 2: As I understand it, the cottage v. cabin lexiconic difference is a Canadian thing. When people think of cottage country, it's primarily the luxury getaway experience in the Muskokas. Super fancy! Celebrities cottage there (the Beckhams, Cindy Crawford) and the properties are huge lakefront estates. While in Western Canada, people primarily have cabins - they're more rugged, remote. In no way am I saying that cottages are better than cabins! They are just different - both enjoyable and picturesque in their own way. But you gotta know what you're in for, cause of packing and stuff... 😅😅

Trailer / CABIN dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘😘

This was such an effing mistake.

You sniffle as you sit cross-legged on the simple threadbare sheets covering the thin mattress that you’ve called bed for the last two nights.  You’re holding your favourite fleece sweater in your hands, looking at the scorch marks where flareups from tonight’s bonfire had jumped from the pit and burned multiple holes - the black charred spots on the fabric blurring as your tears finally spill over.

I shouldn’t have come.

A ruined sweater in and of itself wasn’t the end of world.  But a ruined sweater here? Tonight? It’s just the freaking cherry on top of the already disastrous sundae that was this weeklong vacation so far.

And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

When your best friend Jenny begged you to come with her to her boyfriend’s cabin for a week, you had readily agreed.  You love Benny and he and Jenny are so adorable, if not a bit too overly mushy and cheesy (“We’re the better Bennifer!  Woo - Benny and Jenny!!”).  He and his old army buddies had gone in together on a cabin on a lake about seven hours out of the city at the suggestion of their Veterans Affairs therapist – something about working the land and finding serenity in nature to help them overcome some of the harder things they’ve seen over their time in service.

It apparently did wonders for them.  Both Benny and his older brother, Will, who you had met a few times, were easy going and kind men - maybe a little rough and tumble with each other sometimes, but you didn’t see it as anything more than filial comradery and brotherly love.  Jenny assured you that Benny’s other friends, Santi, Tom and Frankie were all cut from the same cloth.

Benny had invited Jenny up to the cabin for the boys’ annual Autumn weeklong trip – taking advantage of any remaining mild weather from the end of summer to clean and close up the cabin for the Fall and Winter.  All the boys would be there and Tom’s sisters had been invited as well – Jenny begged you to come for support and of course you had said yes.

Sure, you’re a city girl through and through, but this wouldn’t be your first cottaging experience.  You fondly recall the summers and Thanksgivings you had been invited to your college roommate’s family cottage in the Muskokas: crystalline waters and lush greenery bordered the beautifully landscaped acreage upon which your still close friend’s family’s 9 bedroom-9 bath modern estate resided.  Summer days were wiled away on the built-in dock lounging and reading, and the cooler temperature evenings were spent inside by one of the several contemporary fireplaces, sipping on cocktails and nibbling on charcuterie.  It was always such a treat to go - you haven’t visited in ages, but a similar getaway right now sounds like heaven.

Your first clue that perhaps this might not be the Muskoka cottage country experience you imagined, is when the last leg of your seven-hour journey in Benny’s truck was over a 30-minute dirt road so twisty and uneven that you started to feel a little nauseous. 

When you got out of the truck, you realized the true folly of your assumptions about where you were going to be staying this week.  The property could best be described as rustic and very "nature forward", the only evidence of landscaping being the dirt worn paths that led to the different cabins.  Instead of one main house, there is a Main Cabin – consisting of a living room area, place to eat, kitchen and the compound’s one bathroom.  All guests stay in individual cabins, isolated and spaced out at various points on the large property. Each so far apart and separated by the lush, dense forest, you don't even know where they all are: Upper Cabin (Benny and Jenny), Delta Cabin (Santi), Bunk Cabin (Frankie), Screened-In Veranda Cabin (You), New Cabin (Tom’s Sisters), Outhouse Cabin (no one), Grizzly Cabin (Will and Tom).

You’re not opposed to roughing it a little, but by the error of your own expectations, you’ve come thoroughly unprepared for your week’s stay.  For one thing, your cabin (as the name would suggest), along with all the others, has no windows - only screens.  Perfect for the hot summers, but with Fall coming early this year, the clothes you packed aren’t warm enough to shield you against the chill that blows over your bed each night.  For another, you find yourself sharing space with more critters that you were expecting, and not the adorable furry types either.

The frog that came out of the one toilet made you almost consider using the outhouse up by the parking lot (almost). And when you were washing your face that first night, the realization that the running tap was the only thing that was keeping the cricket from jumping out of the sink, forced you to stifle a scream that left your throat hoarse. There are all together more bugs indoors than you had expected (since you had expected windows). 

It's definitely more rustic that you’re used to, but you really do try to make the best of it.  The last thing you want is to appear rude or snobbish about the decidedly non-luxurious state of your accommodations.  Sure, it isn’t the glamourous cottage experience you had expected, but it’s still incredibly beautiful and serene here.  Moreover, you know that every cabin and amenity on the property was built by Benny and his friends and has served incredible therapeutic purpose for each of them.  You would never want to diminish that by somehow implying that the cottage isn’t… cottaging; this place serves a much more important purpose than impressing the likes of city girls guests like you.

You also don’t forget that the entire reason you’re here is to support Jenny.  Make sure she and Benny have fun.  And they are! Inseparable, giddy, googly-eyed fun.  No way are you going to ruin her perfectly good time by letting her worry about you, not when this is the first healthy relationship she’s had in years.

And honestly, everyone is so, so nice.  Benny and Will’s Delta Force teammates are as good humoured and sweet as they are.  There’s Santiago (or Santi), the unofficial leader of the crew – his hooded brown eyes look like they could tell a hundred stories, but he keeps your group entertained with the loudest and most fantastic ones, always framing his stories so that they rib at least one of his buddies.  Tom, the eldest of the friends, is more serious – the type who might exude an intimidating gravitas if you were to meet him alone, but next to the verbose energy of Benny and Santi and under the watchful eye of his sisters, he seems to relax, smiling pleasantly and genuinely while in the comforting presence of his friends.  Will, who is just as boyishly handsome as his brother, you already know to be as easy going and funny - though maybe a little less goofy than Benny.  Despite what Jenny had slyly insinuated to you before you left, you don’t think Will has any interest in you – and with Tom’s gorgeous and outgoing sisters both vying for his attention, the circumstances aren't right to try and see if there’s anything to Jenny's (and possibly Benny’s?) matchmaking. 

The last member of the friend group is Frankie, who the guys sometimes inexplicably call ‘Catfish’ – he was noticeably reserved at first, though you soon realize that he’s just as funny and generous as the others.  Frankie's steely and calm countenance seems borne out of necessity, likely from the many years of service where his competence and levelheadedness were needed to keep the other four in check, alive.  You notice that he often sits a little further back from the group, most likely out of habit, literally watching their backs; he’s quieter and less rowdy, but never fails to join in his friends’ laughter – it’s obvious to you that he loves his brothers in arms.  Once or twice, you think you feel Franke's deep, soulful eyes pointed in your direction, but when you try to meet his gaze, those same eyes disappear beneath the brim of his worn Standard Oil cap that never seems to leave his head.  You think you probably imagine it. 

Everyone is so much fun to be around, super nice and completely welcoming of you.

They just… don’t really need you here.  Well, that seems presumptuous!  Rather, there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here the same way there is for everyone else.

It was evident from the first day when the boys pulled a small catamaran out of the boathouse and attempted to try (again, from what you’re told) to put it together and get it out on the water.  Every person was asked to help pull on the trampoline netting – when it was evident that your limited strength and poor (manicured) grip on the netting wasn’t actually doing anything except making you an extra body in the way, you were relegated to standing on the side, holding a spray can of lubricant and waiting to spray it on the track if someone needed.  No one ever did.  The trampoline never got installed, and you can’t help but think it was partially because you hadn’t been able to provide the additional muscle needed.

During the day, everyone seems to engage in some type of cabin maintenance work from an unseen to-do list: painting screens, sanding down the canoe, pulling up old raspberry bushes, fixing doors and hinges in various cabins, retiling the one shower and installing a new sliding glass door, replacing the hot water pump’s aging parts, reinforcing the mesh around the young fruit trees to deter deer, repairing the older slats on the dock, removing the beaver dam under the dock, and so on and so forth.

All things you have absolutely no qualifications to help with and would likely hinder someone who did if you tried.

Jenny wasn’t terribly handy either, but she tagged along with Benny on all his chores and he didn’t mind patiently explaining and helping her help him with his tasks - the two of them giggling and in love as they winterized the boat shed.

Everyone else seems to know their daily assignments and go about their hard and dirty labour, leaving you alone to… do nothing?  It felt rude to sit out on the lawn and relax while others did work around you.  And even inside there's not much you can do; Tom’s sisters had brought up food for the first few meals and when you asked them if you could help, they insisted that they had it in hand and told you to “go have fun”.  You chastise yourself for having not asked more questions about what you and Jenny could have brought and if you and her could have signed up to cook your share of meals.

You hide out in the Main Cabin or in your own for most of the day, reading and feeling guilty - coming down periodically to chat with people but feeling like you’re distracting them from their duties.

Even after dinner when you volunteered to help do the dishes and clean-up, you were cheerfully shooed away by Santi after you couldn’t find where to put back the cutlery, then the glasses, then the lids to the pots (which were inexplicably kept separate from the pots themselves) – you’re sure there’s a system, you just don’t know what it is.

Maybe it would be different if you knew everyone better, but this is the first time you’re meeting everyone except Benny and Will.  You don’t know any of the guys particularly well but you do know that this cabin is their special place – you don’t want be a bother or ruin anyone’s good time.

To you, it's clear that you’re not carrying your weight here - the last thing you want to be is a nuisance as well. You don’t fit in and you definitely don’t belong. 

Tonight has finally felt a little more comfortable.  After a full day of work for everyone (else) and a belly bursting dinner, the boys set up a bonfire and everyone got together to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.  In addition to looking forward to the melty treats, you were secretly glad for the warmth of the fire in the chilly evening air.  Beers were cracked, marshmallows burnt, and the stories the boys told had your sides aching from so much laughter you’re sure you’ll still feel it in the morning.  But as the fire was dying, the conversation turned to what everyone’s up to tomorrow, you once again have nothing to say that's comparable to the tasks and chores listed by the others.  When Tom comments that there are still so many things to do in order to properly winterize the cabins and that it’ll be a wonder if it all gets done, you look down at your feet - face burning from the guilt and shame of being unable to contribute when help is indeed needed.  You’re sure everyone is thinking that you’re just a freeloader from the city, or worse, lazy and unwilling to put in some work.  Suddenly the last few bites of the s'more in your hand don’t look as appetizing anymore.

You excuse yourself from the group and quickly get ready for bed before heading up to your cabin for the night.  Once settled in, that’s when you discover that your sweater is full of newly burnt holes and you lose it.

Luckily, the cabins are all fairly far apart so no one can hear your crying, but your gratitude for the isolation and quiet of the cabins is short-lived; as it's been every night, the silence of the woods in the dark is deafening.  So used to the ambient noise of the city, you find that every snap of a branch or hoot of an owl slices through the night and rings out as loud as a gunshot.  You lay in bed like each night before, unable to get comfortable or calm and falling asleep only when exhaustion overtakes you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of chirping birds and the brightness of the morning sun punctuated by the shouts and loud chatter from down near the water where people are already starting their daily chores.  Another wave of guilt and anxiety sets in as you feel like you’ve had an undeserved lie-in - resting while everyone else got up early to do work.

On your way down to the Main Cabin, you see and wave good morning to Frankie who’s transporting relatively heavy chunks of wood tucked under his beefy arms.  You don’t ask if you can help – how could you? Each stump he carries looks like it could topple you over even if you managed to lift one. 

When you get down to the lawn, you catch Will and Tom’s sisters as they head up to one of the cabins with paint cans and brushes and Will cheerily calls to you, “Saved you some breakfast!”  His completely innocent and kind pronouncement sends your already tightly strung heart into another spiral and you try not to tear up as you call back your thanks.

You eat by yourself from the plates left out for you and feel a little better when you can at least wash them and leave them in the drying rack.  Pouring yourself the coffee that’s left in the cannister, you grimace at it’s lukewarmness, but you don’t know where the grounds are kept or even how to operate the ancient stovetop coffee maker to make more, so you make do and drink it sort of sadly as you return to the dining table and open your book.

It's here where Frankie finds you a few hours after you saw him last.

He asks kindly after your book before saying he’s going to make a fresh pot of coffee and offers to top you off; when you get up to help – he tells you he’s got it before disappearing into the kitchen.  Slightly discouraged, you sit back down; unless you spy on Frankie, there’s no way for you to learn how to make the coffee here - and you’re just debating if you should do just that when he pokes his head back in, “Do you want me to show you how to make the coffee?”

Eagerly, you nod and hurry to join him in the kitchen, making note of where the fresh coffee grounds are stored and listening attentively as Frankie patiently shows you how to work the vintage contraption that Santi rescued from a yard sale.  He smiles at your willing face, wondering why you’re so fascinated by something as mundane as their overly complicated coffee maker, but when you thank him, voice almost quivering with overly emotional gratitude, Frankie’s sure there’s more to it than he’s understanding.

He's been watching you, Benny’s girlfriend pretty friend, over the last two days and can't quite figure you out.  It’s clear that you’re not used to roughing it in these types of conditions, but you don’t complain or make fun – though there is a tinge of melancholy and anxiety to the gentleness of your expressions that he does understand all too well.  You seem sweet and friendly, and Benny certainly speaks warmly of you – but for some reason, you don’t seem entirely comfortable and Frankie wouldn’t be the Army strategist he is if he didn’t notice.  Or a very good host.

“Do you want to go for a row while the coffee drips?”

“A row?”  You look up, confused.

“Yeah, in the row boat.  Come on – this old thing takes forever. We could probably get a good way to the middle of the lake and head back before it’s done,” nods Frankie, encouragingly.

This is the first time since the disastrous catamaran trampoline that anyone has asked you to do anything with them during the day, and you’re surprised by how touched you are by the simple gesture.  Unable to find the words to express how appreciative you feel, you simply nod.

Frankie pushes the old tin boat that you saw him sealing and painting on the beach yesterday partway into the water, helping you in first before pushing the boat all the way in then jumping in himself, two big wooden oars under his arm.  He sits across from you, locks the oars into the oarlocks and starts rowing; his powerful arms rotating the paddles with ease, slicing them through the clear, calm water and gently gliding the boat across the lake.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, and you look over the side of the boat in wonder as the sand bed below slowly disappears and the water gets darker and deeper.  Sighing, you contently breathe in the fresh, crisp Fall air and enjoy the picturesque view of the far off shores and mountains before settling your gaze on the handsome man in front of you.  The ripples and flex of Frankie’s bulging muscles under his shirt as he expertly rows are near mesmerizing, every hypnotic stroke powerful and purposeful.

“You’re not having fun, are you?”

You look up, ashamed.  You've been trying so hard to hide that you're not 100% comfortable being here, it's embarrassing to get confirmation that you've failed in this regard.  Even if the others could tell you weren’t having fun, you hope you haven’t come off as an ungrateful guest or made any of your hosts feel bad.  You’re about to say so and apologize, but something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, kind and soft and not at all judgmental or accusatory, gives you pause.  It’s like he’s genuinely extending an opportunity for you to let go of what you’ve been bottling up since you got here – maybe that’s why he brought you out to the middle of the lake?  Frankie's sincere eyes bore into your own and his gentle demeanor invites you to let down your guard; deflating, you burst into tears, “I’m not!! I’m so sorry, Frankie!!”

Hurriedly, you try to compensate, “Goodness, please don’t think I’m complaining – it’s so beautiful and peaceful here, and Benny told me how much effort you guys have put into this place!  Honestly, your care and hard work really shows – everything is so nice.  It’s just really, really different from the one other cottage experience I’ve had – so I didn’t even pack right.  And I thought there would be a lot more relaxing and lazing around – I really don't know what to do with myself here.”

“Where did you cottage before?”

“The Muskokas?”

Frankie lets out such a loud, belly-shaking laugh that shakes the whole boat; you actually hold onto the sides afraid you might tip over, but find yourself beaming at having drawn out this melodic sound from the normally stoic man.

“Well, City Girl, no wonder this place was a shock to you!  The Muskokas is a very particular cottaging experience – real pretty and real glamourous.  But the rest of us?  What we have aren’t even cottages.  They’re cabins.  This is cabin country,” he laughs good naturedly.

“Right - cabins!” you grin.

“Sorry to disappoint you, City Girl.”

“No, no! Please don’t think that - I’m not disappointed at all! I just came in with the wrong expectations, that’s all.  That’s all on me, Frankie.  Really, the cabin is lovely – I was just expecting a more… cashmere sweaters and brandy snifters around the fireplace kind of a vibe.”  You hope Frankie won’t take your joke the wrong way.

Luckily, Frankie gives you another easy smile, one that reveals an adorable dimple in his right cheek you haven’t had a chance to notice before, “Yeah, we’re more of a bats in the ceiling, on-going maintenance kind of vibe.”

At this, your face falls and your own shortcomings to contribute when everyone else is working so hard claws at your chest painfully.

Frankie immediately clocks the change in your demeanor, “Hey, pretty girl, it’s okay.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes, too distressed to notice the new nickname, “No it’s not, Frankie.  You’re right – everyone is chipping in, helping out to keep this place beautiful and running smoothly, except me.  I’m not used to this kind work, so I don’t really know what needs to get done… and even if I did… I mean you saw with the catamaran?  I’m not strong or skilled enough to do any of it.  I thought I could help out with some of the indoor stuff, like cooking and cleaning up, but I don’t know where anything is and everyone is so busy, I feel like such a nuisance bothering them even more in order to show me.  So… I don’t know what I’m doing here – it doesn’t feel right to be sitting around and reading like I’m some kind of pampered houseguest while everyone around me is working, but I also don’t think I can add value anywhere.  I just don’t think I belong out here with you guys.  And I thought I was at least hiding it well, but it's obviously noticeable how much I don’t fit in because you rowed me out here to confront me about it.  I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Frankie.”

You take a deep breath after your long speech and look down at your lap, more embarrassed than ever.

Frankie leans over from his seat, causing the boat to rock slightly and tilts your face up to his with two of his thick fingers, “You’re no trouble at all, pretty girl.  It’s okay if this place is too rustic for ya.  It’s really rustic… and that’s by design.”  He smiles reassuringly, keen to comfort you, “I know Benny told you that this cabin is sort of therapy for us guys?  We saw some... less-than-ideal things on a lot of our missions.  All our missions, actually.  The VA counsellors suggested that we try and work through having seen so much that’s been broken, and maybe even having done some of the breaking ourselves, by getting a project where we come together as a team to focus on improving and building.  It’s meant to need constant ongoing maintenance and have a never-ending list of chores so we can put our energy into building up instead of what we used to do… tearing down.  For the most part, the cabin has been good for us – working with our hands, being responsible for something that isn’t life or death, working towards a common goal where we can be together and enjoy each other’s company in a setting that’s not… exploding.”

Frankie chuckles at his little joke so not to scare you off with the intensity of the topic.  He’s relieved to see that your expression is one of sympathy and understanding, your eyes warm and gentle.  He thinks your eyes are beautiful, deep, kind – he might easily get lost in them if he didn’t remember that he’s supposed to be comforting you, “It really is meant for the five of us to be putting in the work, but I know what you’re saying, it’s not a great feeling to be left out, even if you know no one’s doing it on purpose.  I’m sorry – we should be better hosts.  You’re our guest.”

You start to shake your head in protest at this, but Frankie stops you when he picks up the oars and dips them back in the water to start rowing again, “Tell you what, it’s my turn to make lunch today - why don’t you come and help me.  I’ll show you where we keep everything so you’ll know in case you ever want to… help out in the kitchen again.  I promise you can ask me any questions you want and it won’t bother me at all.”

Perking up at Frankie’s generous offer, you nod happily, “Okay! Thank you, Frankie – that’s really sweet of you.”  It’s probably the first truly joyful smile you’ve smiled since you got here and Frankie thinks you look radiant.

The two of you glide slowly across the still lake in comfortable silence, Frankie purposefully not putting too much power into his oar strokes.  Trying to discreetly wipe your cheeks, you feel their warmth as you spy on the handsome man across from you through your tear dotted lashes.  You feel so safe and cared for - your heart grateful that Frankie noticed you were out of sorts despite having only met you a few days ago and was considerate enough to ask after you.

His teasing voice cuts through your thoughts, “Is there anything else, City Girl?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Is there anything else that's been bothering you while you’re out here?”

You bite your lip and shake your head; Frankie has been so kind, you don’t want to push it and appear to complain.

“Come on, I know there is.  Go on, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl – there’s that term of endearment again.  This time when you hear it, your heart swells and your face flushes – and maybe your thighs press together a little, too.  To try and cover up your reaction, you spill your last embarrassing grievance, “Ummmm… it’s kind of spooky at night.”

Frankie booms another side-splitting, deep rumble of a laugh and you instantly feel better, “It’s just sooooo quiet and everyone is so far from one another.  I guess I’m used to background city noises and the feeling of people being around.  It's been a bit unsettling laying in the dark in silence, hearing every little twig snap.” You cover your eyes, “Plus I packed so poorly for the trip because I thought it was going to be a… cottage.  I definitely didn’t bring warm enough clothes.  I brought a TON of self-care stuff though – maybe I should try layering some face masks.” It feels so good to be able to lightheartedly make fun of yourself again.

Frankie laughs with you, then looks thoughtful, “Ok, ok, the chilliness I think I can help you out with.  The spookiness… got to circle back to that.”

“Thanks, Frankie.”  You mean it sincerely.  Even having been able to talk to him about your unease makes you dread the upcoming night a lot less.

Back at the beach, Frankie hops out of the boat and reaches in to help you out - when your fingers touch his, a little spark lingers and your heartbeat picks up a bit.  Hand in hand, the two of you walk back to the Main Cabin together, not letting go until you enter the kitchen.

---

After Frankie patiently shows you the pantry, the freezers, and where all the kitchen items are, he makes sure you have a passing familiarity with everything before the two of you make wraps for everyone.  You find him to be endearingly funny, terribly sweet, and a wonderful conversationalist – Frankie tells you about his work and adventures as a charter pilot, and listens intently as you answer his questions about your work and life in the city.  You almost regret calling everyone in for lunch, but the feeling of being able to offer people something after their morning of hard work has brightened your spirits significantly - it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You don’t know that the obvious change in your countenance fills Frankie with pride and joy, nor do you see the way he gazes at you with fondness as you cheerfully hand out the wraps or when you jump up after lunch is over and hurry to clear the table.

The next day, you’re returning from a solo walk along the trail that runs behind the cabins on the bay, when you come upon an unfamiliar noise as you approach the boys’ property. 

It sounds like a loud and sharp sudden crack accompanied by a low manly grunt, then followed by a couple of softer thuds.  The echoing combination repeats it self at slightly varying intervals and gets progressively louder until you come upon its source.

From behind a large Spruce tree, you see that it’s Frankie chopping wood.

Frankie repeatedly brings his axe down on the log pieces he’s set up on the chopping block with precision and power.  His sweat soaked shirt is stretched taut across his broad back, the damp fabric doing nothing but accentuate the thick muscles that flex and contract with every burly movement.

Though Frankie’s breathing is heavy, you can tell he isn’t even close to being winded - his strength and rugged athleticism evident by the way he relentlessly labours on, splitting log after log.

Every subsequent swing of the axe captivates you further; a wetness pools in your mouth that you have to force yourself to swallow, lest it spill over and you get caught drooling.

"Wanna give me a hand, City Girl?"

Shit.

Emerging from behind what you now realize looks like a hiding spot, you give Frankie a sheepish smile, “Oh, ummm… you look like you have it pretty well handled.  Not sure if I could even make a dent in one of those logs.”

Frankie takes off his signature cap and uses the back of the same hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead - he chuckles and his eyes twinkle, “Could you help me gather and stack the wood I split onto that rack over there?  And bring me new logs to chop from that other pile there?”

You nod enthusiastically.  Frankie’s making work for you and you’re so thankful and excited to help.

For the next hour, you run around gathering the firewood that Frankie splinters and set him up with fresh logs.  When you apologize that it takes you so long to carry the larger rounds to him, he tells you not to worry – it gives him a chance to catch his breath and take a much-needed rest.  You don’t tell Frankie that he doesn’t look like he needs any rest at all – your own quickened breaths have very little to do with physical exertion and more to do with ogling Frankie’s broad and brawny frame, and the way the entirety of his strapping body is thrown into each axe swing, every muscle engaged, tensed.  It’s similar to the way he looked when he effortlessly rowed the two of you in the tin boat across the lake, but like… a hundred times more burly.

You try to distract yourself from openly drooling at Frankie’s sweat soaked torso by expertly arranging the firewood on the rack so that it fits perfectly together like a Tetris puzzle.  When the last piece has been placed on top, Frankie marvels that the firewood storage has never looked more organized and with one hand still holding on to his axe, he takes your soft hand in his other and leads you down to lunch.

Over the next couple of days, you notice that Frankie goes out of his way to make sure you’re not alone or hiding out in any of the cabins.

He takes you out in Benny’s truck to run in-town errands like picking up additional groceries or getting gas for the boat.  These trips are always filled with fun and easy conversation and end with a treat at the ice cream shop on the main road.  Frankie teases you on how you always flit from freezer to freezer, determined to try a flavour you’ve never had, and you groan at how he sticks to his tried-and-true mint chocolate chip.

You’re getting bolder at offering to do the indoor, more domestic tasks and chores that you know you have the skills to handle like making meals and cleaning up; more often than not, without you asking, Frankie will join you in the kitchen.  Even though you tell him to relax and that he deserves rest after his physical exertions of the day, Frankie stays and hangs out - casually drying dishes, tasting your sauces, leaning his massive figure against the counter and discreetly pointing to various cabinets and drawers when you forget where things go.

Frankie makes you laugh with his quippy jokes and clever little observations, and he makes your cheeks warm with his subtle and sweet flirting.  But mostly, he makes you feel so included, relaxed and accepted – his kindness at having taken you under his wing and giving priority to your comfort and enjoyment at the cabin makes your heart positively sing. 

Since the day he took you out on the rowboat, Frankie has come to visit you in the Screened-In Veranda cabin every night.  The first night, it’s to bring you extra blankets and one of his thick hoodies – all of it you accept gratefully; he also brings a pack of playing cards and the two of you play Big Two until you can barely keep your eyes open. Making sure you're bundled up in his hoodie, Frankie leaves you to sleep under a comically thick stack of blankets and happily swathed in his manly musk.

The next night, he brings you an old worn box of Rummy-O, explaining that he and the boys try to buy old games from garage sales to bring up to the cabin, even ones they’ve never played before.  You’ve never played either, and for the next few nights, you and Frankie spread the tiles over your bedspread and become Rummy-O experts, stopping only when you’re too tired to keep playing - then and only then does Frankie leave you before traipsing back to his own cabin.

Embarrassingly, it takes you until tonight to figure out what he's up to.

“I know what you’re doing,” you grin in the dimly lit cabin as Frankie dons a Korean face mask and lets you give him a cuticle oil treatment.

“I’m getting pampered,” Frankie murmurs from where he lays, careful not to move his face lest the sheet mask slips.

“You’ve been keeping me company every night until I get sleepy so I don’t have to lie here in the dark and be scared,” you look at him warmly, in awe of this tender-hearted man’s goodness.

You see one eye open in the eye hole cut-out of the mask and the corners of the one for the mouth tug up a little, “Has it been working?”

“Yes and thank you.  And I think your hoodie and the blankets you brought really helped too – the nights feels way cozier now.”

“Good.  I’m glad.  Now do you have anything that’s going to help with these bags under my eyes?”

You cackle, sure that the sound of your and Frankie’s joint laughter must carry clear across the lake.

It’s the last night at the cabin and the whole group is out tonight for another bonfire.  You’re nice and snug in Frankie’s hoodie, giggling with Jenny, who you feel like you’ve barely seen this whole week – she fills you in on all eight hundred of the adorable things Benny has done for her this week and you’re over the moon seeing her so completely in love.  The entire group is in great spirits, toasting to another successful season at the cottage, all the shared memories, new and old stories to tell, and the delicious food eaten over this week.  Your dinners for the latter half of the week are praised, and when you bury your face in the oversized sleeves of Frankie's hoodie in embarrassment, you feel his strong arm curl proudly around your shoulders and you positively kvell. 

The drinks flow liberally tonight with no one needing to wake up early and the only chore on anyone’s list being packing.  About halfway through tonight’s bonfire, Frankie slips away from the group; everyone is too caught up in their own conversations to notice it, but you immediately miss having his comforting presence close by.  You’re just about to ask Jenny for the tea on why Tom’s sisters seemed to be giving Will the cold shoulder when you hear Frankie’s dulcet baritone low in your ear, “Hey, City Girl, can I show you something?”

Getting up, you leave the others at the bonfire and follow Frankie back into the Main Cabin.  He ushers you towards the main living room and when you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks with a gasp.  The darkened room is lit bright and warm from the fire that Frankie’s laid in the fireplace, the flames crackling slow and calm – he must have been stoking it for a while.  In front of the glowing fire is a little carpeted area with cushions arranged purposefully to create a makeshift sitting area.  In the middle sits two brandy snifters filled with an amber gold liquid.

“Frankie, what’s all this?” you exclaim, eyes bright as you turn to look at the handsome, affectionate man who brought you here.

Gesturing for you to sit down in front of the gently roaring fire and handing you one of the glasses as you settle in, Franke shyly explains, “Wasn’t able to swing any cashmere sweaters, but I wanted to give you your brandy by the fireplace cottage experience.”

Rendered speechless by how cute and thoughtful Frankie is - all you can do is give him a doe-eyed look of awe as you sip the liquor he managed to procure.  For you.

“Thank you, Frankie.  This is perfect.  But if I’m being honest, I’ve quite warmed up to the cabin experience,” you tease.

“Good,” the tenor of Frankie’s voice is warm with the undercurrent of what’s not yet been spoken out loud.

As you both enjoy your fireside libations, you joke and flirt, keeping the conversation light - somehow tip-toeing around what’s happening between the two of you.  Your bodies, though, pay your shyness no mind, inching closer and closer until you’re practically in Frankie’s lap.  The conversation grows quieter as words are replaced by looks of longing and want until all you seem to be doing is studying the dark and rough lines of Frankie’s face, the plushness of his lips, the adorable heart shaped patch in his facial scruff.

With one final sip of brandy, the soothing burn of the liquor down your throat gives you that final push of liquid courage and you drop your gaze from Frankie’s soft chocolate brown eyes down to his waiting mouth.  Not so innocently, you lick you lips at the sight.

Then Frankie is on you, crashing his lips to yours – the empty snifters rolling away on the carpet as you pour yourself into his mouth, open wide and inviting.  This first kiss is nothing short of sensual and desperate, the feelings that have been simmering over the past week boiling over until you’re both a mess of tongues, moans and clashing teeth.

“Oh Frankie,” your soft whimpers a welcomed song to his ears, Frankie returns your sentiments by licking behind your teeth, exploring and stroking into your receptive mouth with a fiery passion.  His hands maneuver you to straddle him so that he can better feel you, roaming your back until one hand comes to a rest at the nape of your neck, the other under one of the pert globes of your ass, using them as leverage to press you flush against his chest.

As your hands go to run through Frankie’s soft waves, you knock his favourite cap onto the ground and you giggle loudly when it lands near the now forgotten brandy snifters with a little thud.  Frankie feels himself harden at the melodic sound.

You make out like teenagers, tongues dancing and teeth nibbling until you both run out of air and have no choice to break apart, panting.

“Been wanting to do that since I saw you your first day here, City Girl,” admits Frankie, eyes tender and sincere as he rests his forehead against yours.

Leaning in to lightly peck his lips, you’re surprised but can’t help teasing, “What took you so long, Morales?”

Frankie chuckles, though his eyes flash with a bolt of insecurity, “Wasn’t sure you would want to.  Benny said something about how he wanted to try and set you up with Will.”

Your face scrunches up with astonishment - so Jenny wasn’t just being facetious!  But you quickly cup Frankie’s face and run your thumbs reassuringly through his adorable scruff, “I don’t know anything about that.  But what I do know is that I can’t resist a kind hearted, handsome man who goes out of his way to take care of me, never judges me and makes me feel comfortable without pushing me to be someone I’m not.  You, Frankie – I can’t imagine wanting anyone but you to kiss me.”

Taking this as the invitation it is, Frankie slots his mouth over yours once more.  This second kiss is slower, deeper, and full of promise.  You sigh as Frankie’s tongue slides over yours in a slow and intimate waltz and his lips find yours again and again and again.

“Querida,” he murmurs, “when we get back to the city, can I take you out to dinner?”

Grinning at having earned yourself another nickname, you tuck yourself into the nook under Frankie’s chin and press one, two, three soft kisses to his neck while nodding, “I’d love that, Frankie.”

The next morning you wake up well rested, with a strong arm banded over your body and Frankie’s hard chest pressed up against your back.  Slipping slowly back to consciousness, you can’t help but smile as the memories of the previous night come flooding back.  Frankie came back up to your cabin with you and stayed to keep you company as he had the previous nights, but instead of games or spa treatments, he kept you awake with the hard and soft kisses of his expert mouth and innocent touches that by the end of the night, didn’t feel quite so innocent anymore.  Lips swollen after hours of making out, Frankie had tucked in with you under the covers and held you close, lulling you to sleep with evenness of his breathing and the soothing rise and fall of his chest.  Rolling over, you find Frankie already slowly blinking awake, “Good morning, City Girl.  Did you sleep okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Slept perfect, Frankie.  Coziest night here with my own personal furnace.”

Frankie chuckles, “I like waking up with you like this, pretty girl.  Like seeing you wearing my clothes, too.”

Shyly, you gaze into Frankie’s eyes, heart beating faster at his look of adoration, “I like it too, Frankie.  Waking up with you, wearing your clothes.”

After some tender and sweet kisses under the covers, the two of you manage to get out of bed so you can pack and get ready for the trip home.

Right before he closes the door to the Screened-In Veranda Cabin, Frankie turns around, “Wanna ride with me on the way back, City Girl?”

“Sure!  What about Santi and Will?”  You can’t help but get excited about the prospect of a long road trip with Frankie.

“They can go with Benny.  Or Tom.  Well at least Santi can ride with Tom.  Don’t think Tom’s sisters will let Will into Tom’s truck,” Frankie looks genuinely amused and you once again spot that cute dimple make an appearance in his right cheek.

“Omigod!  I meant to ask Jenny about that – what happened??”

Frankie throws you a heart-stopping wink, one that nearly sends your knees buckling, “Tell you on the way home, querida.”

---

A few hours later, everyone’s packed bags are stowed in their respective cars, the cabins locked, boats put away for the winter, and sheets and laundry stripped to go back to the city to be cleaned.

“Ready to go, City Girl?” grins Frankie, “Bet you can’t wait to get home.”

Buckling your seatbelt and looking fondly at the sweet man who made sure you felt seen and cared for this week, you say, almost wistfully, “It’s not that bad here.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, Frankie nuzzles your nose affectionately with his before putting the car in reverse.  Steering the wheel one-handedly with his other big paw cupping the back of your headrest, he winks, “Cottage country ain’t got nothing on cabin country, am I right, querida?”

You giggle as he straightens out the car and take the hand that Frankie’s holds out to you over the centre console, “Only the cashmere sweaters, but other than that, nothing.”

Frankie brings your hand up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles as he starts down the windy dirt road in the direction of the city, “An easy fix for next time, City Girl.” 

Biting your lip to keep from smiling too much, you nod happily in agreement.  Next time.

[dinogoofymutated]

Nightcrawler/GN!Reader The first Fic of the season is here!!! I'll go ahead an outright say that the other fic will NOT be this long and this in-depth. This one took me literally the whole month of september when it was only supposed to take me two weeks. I'm going to do my best to make sure that the other fics come out on time, but please have a little patience with me ;-; Also, This fic has not been beta read bc it is an absolute beast at 8k words (at least for me), so if anything seems off, or the ending was too abrupts, don't be mean lol.

You've recently moved into an old, spooky mansion that your great-aunt left you in her will. It's been uninhabited for years but is strangely well-kept. You're sure you live here alone, but every once in a while you can't shake the feeling of being watched…

Tws: Demons, stereotypical witchcraft, Alcohol consumption, Graphic depictions of blood and wounds for a minute, I'll add more if I can think of any.

    When the keys are plopped carelessly into your hands, they’re cold. They’re still cold, two weeks later when you finish moving in. It wasn't a fancy affair, no movers or big trucks, just some friends and the van they borrowed from the school. Truthfully, you didn’t really have a lot anyway. Most of them had honestly only shown up to offer their condolences for your loss.

    Your groceries feel heavier than normal when you set them on the kitchen counter, stepping back with a sigh. Never in your wildest dreams would you have even imagined of living in a place like this. You’d never even visited Aunt Maude’s house- Your, house. Sure, you and the rest of the family all knew she was well-off, but no one had a clue that when the will was read she had left you a Victorian-era mansion along with her estate. Even you hadn’t until you googled her address after the lawyer gave you the keys. 

    As surprising as it was, it was definitely your Great-Aunt Maude’s house. Every bathroom, bedroom, living space, You could see her in all of it. She was kooky and eclectic, with a love for all things strange and unusual. It was comforting, almost. To be wrapped in a house filled with the remnants of your aunt. Your eyes sting as you begin to fill up the long empty fridge, organizing it to your liking. You close the door and see your graduation photos stuck to it, along with a photo strip from the photo booth she dragged you into at your sweet sixteen. You suck in a shakey sob, tears welling in your eyes for what feels like the millionth time that day. You’re sad, and exhausted, and you haven't even unpacked yet, most of your belongings set in boxes in the Sitting room and Hallway.  But you just… couldn’t bring yourself to bother. Everything that was cold was already put in the fridge, so you decided the rest can wait till the morning.

    You trudge up the stairs with as much energy as you can muster, and when you finally make it to the master bedroom, you’re ready to pass out. The room is decorated in a way that feels much more like you than it felt like your Aunt, and you notice that the quilt on the bed was one she had shown you at Christmas one year. One you told her you very much envied. It was like she had made the room your own before she even stepped foot into the nursing home. The thought is enough to choke you up again. You crawl underneath the soft covers in a pretty pitiful manner, falling asleep almost immediately. 

    It’s only when you wake up the next morning that you start to notice something strange about this house. 

    The kitchen is a somewhat long walk from the upstares bedroom, and you’re basically starving by the time you get downstairs. You yawn as you grab the milk out of the fridge, still feeling half asleep as you turn around to grab the cereal off the counter only to find it… gone. In fact, all of the groceries you had left on the counter yesterday were gone.

     The realization is like a shot of ice through your veins. What the fuck?… You must have put them away last night, right? But you knew they were on the counter when you went to bed. You feel like you’re going to throw up, thinking about the chance that a burglar had broken in last night and you hadn’t heard it because you were upstairs. You sprint to the sitting room taking note of all your boxes and things, making sure to double-check that your TV was actually there and not a figment of your imagination, but it was definitely solid. You cautiously walk back to the kitchen, staring at the pantry door for an anxious moment before biting the bullet and swiftly opening it.

    All your groceries were in place. All are organized neatly exactly where you would have preferred them to be. Strange. You must have woken up last night and done it. Right? It wouldn’t be too absurd to assume you had put the groceries away half-asleep and forgotten about it. That had to be it. It’s not like someone broke in last night just to put your groceries away. Now that was just plain ridiculous. 

    From then on out, The strange things only seemed to continue.

    Sure, a house this old wasn’t without a general peculiarity about it, but after being told it hadn’t been inhabited since Aunt Maude put herself into inpatient care, it should be dusty, right? A home of this size, cluttered with the many odds and ends she had collected over the years? You’d never heard of a house that could dust itself. Your hands wander more than ever as you traverse the mansion, they run down the banister, across the pretty wallpaper, even taking a swipe at a shelf or two, and still, they’re clean. Not a smudge or spec of dirt on your fingers. 

    Strange, but not unexplainable. Maybe she had scheduled a cleaning service to take place after her death or something. You didn’t know. But a week goes by. Then two and then three, and everything is still spotless. And that was the least of it. Lights seemed to turn off by themselves at night. Things that you’re sure you heard fall were placed upright. If you forgot to turn the oven off, it would already be cool by the time you ran back into the kitchen- and the house constantly smelled like sulfur and brimstone. At this point, you’ve called the fire department so many times worried about a gas leak that they think you’ve gone crazy. 

    You just felt… Uneasy. Like you were being watched.

    “I feel like I’m losing my mind, Jean.” You watch as the redhead tries to hide a smile on the other side of the Facetime call, and you can’t help but pout a little when she inevitably laughs. Your little image on the top part of the camera must look rather ridiculous, hands tangled in some string lights you had found in the closet. As strangely organized and spotless as everything was, it seems that the Christmas lights in the back of the closet weren’t so lucky. Yay for you. 

    “Look, you’re just overthinking things. Don’t stress out about it.” Jean says, ever the voice of reason. You know she’s probably right. “Besides, you’ve been through a lot lately. It’s not abnormal for stress to do weird things to the mind.”

    “Yeah, I guess so.” You mumble. Detangling these lights is beginning to be a bit trickier than you first expected them to be. Each tangle and loop seems to be interconnected, and no matter how gently or firmly you are with the cords, another knot seems to form with every probable success. You sigh in annoyance, and Jean raises an eyebrow at you. 

    “Do I need to ask about the Christmas lights?” You’re about ready to give up on them when she asks, dramatically dropping them in your lap.

    “Well, remember how I was gonna throw that big Halloween party this year?” Jean hums in response. “Well, turns out that all the decorations I had for the apartment only cover like, an eighth of the house. I’ve been rummaging around in the closets all day to try and find something that might work and all I’ve been able to find is this.” You hold up the old, tangled lights for her to see.

    “That’s weird. With what I know about your Aunt, you’d think that she’d have a ton of decorations.” Jean mentions. You groan loudly, pressing your palms into the round edges of your eyesockets in frustration. 

    “Exactly! She loved Halloween, and with a house like this, there’s no way she’d just leave it bare. I’ve raided practically every closet and storage room in the house and haven’t found anything at all.” You almost shout the words, exasperated at this point. You knew for a fact Aunt Maude had to have something. It didn’t matter if it was even one of those awful animatronic jumping spiders at this point, you’d take anything if it meant you wouldn’t have to tap into your inheritance to decorate this big ass house (because there was no way in hell you weren’t going to decorate, you’d never disgrace your Aunt’s memory like that.). Jean is quiet for a moment, looking sympathetic through the screen. To be honest, as much as you value Jean’s advice, you’re beginning to think she’s got nothing to help you until-

    “Are you sure there’s not an attic or anything?”

    The thought makes you pause.

    “Oh my god, I’m an actual idiot.” You practically shriek the words, quickly standing from the floor and shoving the Christmas lights to the side as you run to get some shoes on. The attic! God, you feel so stupid for not thinking of it before! All you had to do was find the access hatch!

    “Just be careful though! Even though the house is renovated, that doesn’t mean-”

    “I’ll call you later, Okay? I’m gonna go look upstairs!”

    “No no no, don’t-”

    It takes you forever to find that damn attic. You’d think that it would be easy to find, seeing that it’s sort of an important structure in this house, but nooo. It’s been almost a month since you moved in, and yet you still feel like you’re lost while you wander around the third floor. How hard could it be to find a simple hatch? You feel like you’re looking in all the wrong places, and you know you probably are. You’re pacing around one of the third-floor bedrooms looking at the ceiling when a noise from the billiards room across the hall makes you freeze. 

    Were those footsteps?

    No, you were home alone. It couldn’t be. 

    Still, the sound leaves you on edge. You stalk across the hallway, stopping at the door to the other room as you briefly debate on how to open it. A small shuffle from the ceiling makes you jump a little, and you quickly decide, Fuck it. We ball. 

    You swing the door open with a bit more force than necessary and find the room… empty. Right. Of course, it was. You sigh in relief, running a stressed hand through your scalp as you take in the sight of the room for the first time since your original walk-through of the home. 

    In your brief scan of the room, you manage to spot a small string hanging right above the pool table, swinging back and forth. You slowly look up, and there it is. The fucking attic hatch. 

    “Oh god damn it. Was it really that easy to find?” You mumble to yourself, wondering if you really were just that stupid. 

    It doesn’t take a lot of time to move the pool table over so that you can open the latch and pull the rickety old ladder down. It looked more modern than most of the house, but it was easy to tell it was about as old as you were. You take a moment to just stare into the black hole in the ceiling, wondering if all this was really worth it. Well, you already spent all this time looking for the thing, so…

    You’re a little extra careful as you climb the ladder up into the attic, using the flashlight in your phone to light the way the further you go. The attic is a little bit dustier than the rest of the house, but to be honest, it was cleaner than you were expecting. It's dark and cramped, but once you fully enter you find that you can at least stand up to your full height. The excitement of finding the place has begun to wear off, and you start to feel a little flighty as you look around and the light from your flashlight shifts. This is okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe she had lights installed, right? You look up at the roof and are thankful to see those long, industrial fluorescent lights screwed to the ceiling. Thank god. 

    It takes a minute of stumbling and carefully following the wires to a corner of the attic, doing your best not to trip over anything along the way, and you find a small light switch in the corner of the room. You breathe a sigh of relief as you flick it on, and the lights overhead blink and light up. That’s a bit better!

    You find that Aunt Maude’s attic is cluttered with various random items, some older, others a bit more modern. The exercise bike and the Zumba tapes made you laugh a little as you passed them by, while some older cloth dolls and bunnies just made you uncomfortable. You’re not really sure where to start the search, so you just walk around for a minute. One of the lights overhead is starting to flicker a little, and you’re inwardly hoping that there’s no faulty wiring or anything that might start a fire when your foot catches on something.

    “Oh Shit!”

    There’s not a lot of time for you to catch yourself when you fall, eating absolute shit as you fall face-first into a stack of boxes. You smash your nose into something particularly hard when you land, and there’s a variety of shapes sticking into your sides that have sprouted from the smashed boxes below you. Ow, ow ow! God damnit! This is what you get for not listening to Jean. You feel a little dizzy as you sit up amongst the boxes, holding your nose tightly while you wonder if you just broke it. Your eyes are blurry from the pain, and it takes a second for you to fully come to.

    “What the hell did I just fall into?” You’re blinking away the blurriness as the sight in front of you finally starts to clear, A bunch of broken boxes now greeting you. Boxes that now had a bunch of plastic bones sticking out of the torn sides. You make a fairly embarrassing noise of excitement when you realize you had found exactly what you were looking for in the first place. The Halloween decorations!! Thank god! You were so unbelievably happy to find them that you couldn’t help but reach forward and look through the boxes immediately. 

    After thoroughly inspecting the contents, you realize that there were about eight large boxes of Halloween decorations in total. Motherfucking eight! This was perfect! The only thing was that there was still one little issue: getting them downstairs. You try not to think about those rickety ladders too hard as you move each box to a place a little easier to get to. Your back is already aching when you’re done for the moment, so you decide to sit down on the floor and lean back a little, catching your breath while looking at those eight, somewhat heavy boxes you were gonna have to fool around with in just a moment. Your foot nudges something as you do so. Hm. 

    Sitting up a little bit, you can see that it’s a floorboard, just sticking out a little bit. Oh! Guess that’s what you tripped over earlier. You try and press it back down with your foot, and that definitely doesn't work. Damn. Hopefully, you could find a hammer or something to tack it back down. You scoot over to get a better look when you notice that there’s something underneath, a dark blue color just faintly catching your eye. Curious, you lift the board a little, and after a tug or two, it gives way.

    You find an old, leatherbound book underneath. It’s got no clear name on the cover or the spine, simply a rune or emblem of sorts burned into the upper left corner. Finding it a bit strange, you flip open the cover, thinking that it must be a diary or something left by the original owners as a time capsule of sorts- but it’s not. Every page in the book is blank except for the very last one. This book is not what it has been. When the Veil strains thin will the ink be seen.

    Weird, but okay. You assume it’s a novelty or a trick or something, but it looks spooky enough, so you gently set it in one of the more empty boxes of Halloween decorations. Now it was time for the hard part.

    You drag one box at a time to the ladder, and looking at the size of them vs. the skinny steps below you, you wonder just how the hell Aunt Maude got these up here in the first place. Just thinking about getting these downstairs is intimidating, but you were never a quitter. One by one, you carefully take each box down, making sure to never carry more than you can handle and to keep a good grip on the ladder no matter what. After about 20 minutes, you get about halfway through. Four boxes down, four to go. Your arms are getting a bit tired and you’re a bit sweaty from the lack of AC in the attic, but you think you’ve got it. 

     On the fifth box of decorations, your foot slips. You gasp in shock, your stomach flipping as you fall backward- a split second of absolute terror as you fall. You’re terrified that you’re gonna die, and that Jean will never forgive you and you’d never get to throw that stupid party you were doing all this work for in the first place. 

    The air is knocked from your lungs from something that felt much more like a catch than it did the floor. You don't know what’s going on for a moment, eyes shut tight as the shock begins to wear off and you realize that you’re fine… Wait. Hold on. Someone had definitely caught you, and unless Jean had snuck in…

    To be honest, whatever you were expecting when you opened your eyes was very, very much wrong. Your heart is beating a million times a minute, a chill running through you when you finally register who is above you. Or what, rather. The first thing you see are his eyes. Yellow from pupil to scelera, almost glowing in the low light of the billiards room. He’s more fuzz than skin, blue in color, with devilishly sharp canine teeth he reveals with a sheepish smile.

    “Hallo?”

    He flinches when you shriek, doing his best not to drop you as you squirm out of his arms. Your knees give out the moment your feet hit the floor, and you scramble back, grabbing the first box you can and throwing anything you can find at him. 

    “Sorry- Sorry! I had not mean to scare you!” He holds his arms up to block each decoration you throw at him. A few plastic spiders, a zip lock of polyester faux webbing, and a little floral crow or two. You can hardly even think at the moment.

    “Stop! Please stop! I didn't want to let you fall!” He flinches at each item although none of them are very heavy. You’re running out of things to throw, stalling for a moment as you debate lunging for one of the other boxes.

    “WHAT ARE YOU?!” You shriek again.  He opens his mouth to speak as he takes a step back, and you flinch as you see something move in the corner of your eye- a tail. A spaded fucking demon tail. You had to be losing it. Having hallucinations or a nightmare or something- but as it turns out, you are definitely a fight-over-freeze kind of person, and your body kicks in before your brain has caught up. The box of bones was next to go. A hand, and then two small rib cages and a slightly heavy bundle of newspaper fly through the air.

     “Careful!” He flat-out ignores the other items, going wide-eyed at the ball of newspaper and lunging to catch it in time. He takes an audible sigh of relief when he does, and says something that makes you pause from pelting him with any more Halloween shit.

    “You’re certainly Maude’s kin, but I doubt she’d appreciate you throwing her breakables.” He halfheartedly jokes, an awkward smile on his face. You’re mid-throw with another bone, hand frozen in the air with a range of emotions going on in your head.

    “Excuse me?” You ask, possibly a little overdramatic at the moment. He goes to move, probably to set the wad of newspaper down, but you raise your hand again as if to throw, making a face at him that’s a little more goofy than it was intimidating. He hands the newspaper off to his tail, raising his hands to show that he means no harm.

    “Maude? The woman who lived here before?”

    “Yeah, I got that part!” You cry out, hands shaking a bit from adrenaline. “How do you know my Aunt Maude? And what are you!? Why are you here!?” The rapid-fire questions seem to interrupt him every time he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to lose his patience with you. He very calmly places the wad of newspaper on top of a box that happens to be near, and you eye him suspiciously as he does. He sits down next to it, the tip of his tail swaying just slightly.

    “Maybe we should take a step back, Ja? I can explain everything, I promise.” He says, patting the space next to him. “Herkommen. It might be better to sit for this.” His smile is polite, and if this situation were any different, you might find his kind demeanor charming. But the situation isn’t different. He was a stranger in your house. A blue, possible-demon stranger, with a tail and what you think looks like small, pointed horns sticking out from the thick curls that cover his hairline. You eye him suspiciously, halfway wondering if this was a trick of sorts. He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to sit. Eventually, you do, but not next to him, definitely not. You sit down right where you are, hesitant and fidgety as he begins to speak.

    Of course, it would be your Aunt to summon a demon to aid her with her ridiculous (lovely) house in her failing health, instead of hiring a fucking nurse, or an assistant, or just selling the damn thing. Of course, it would be your Aunt to leave you the house with said demon in it, and not tell you. OF COURSE, It would be your aunt to tell him to take it slow while introducing himself so he wouldn't freak you out, and OF-FREAKING-COURSE, it would be you who almost killed yourself on accident and completely derail that plan. Jesus, what was worse? The fact that your aunt was apparently an actual witch who summoned demons in her elderly years, or that she didn’t explain any of this to you before leaving you the house. You didn't know how to unpack all of this, hell, you weren’t even done unpacking all of your things. 

    Well, It’s not like you could (or would) kick him out really, but in the coming weeks, you notice that Kurt is really more of a butler than a roommate.

    He’s been cleaning even before you knew he existed, but now that the grand reveal was over, you see him around the house much more often. He helps you with groceries, cooks for you when you’re exhausted, he takes the trash out sometimes too, when the sun goes down. He doesn’t go outside in the front yard very much to avoid being seen, but every once in a while, he’ll take a walk with you in the backyard. You were hesitant of him for a good bit, but you’d be a liar if you said he didn’t have a way of worming his way into your good graces. He’s… sweet. And easy to get along with. He effortlessly fits into your life, and you find yourself excited to see him when you wake up every day. You get along so well that it makes you wonder if your aunt had known that you would when she summoned him, or… you know what, probably not. 

    You learn more about him as the weeks go by. His past, his hopes for the future. You learn that his father is a demon lord of some sort, and his mothers are a bit more complicated. All three are dangerous, and all three are trying to find him. 

    “Is that why you took the pact with my Aunt?” You ask, late one night. Both of you have drinks in hand, leaning back on a pile of pillows and cushions you found in the tower room. It’s comfortable, if a bit warm. The two of you are a little flushed, words surprisingly clear as you speak. Despite being a demon, you find that Kurt is a bit of a lightweight. An accident on your part, having poured the drinks a little stronger thinking that he had a bit more tolerance. 

    “Mostly.” Kurt hums. He’s fully leaning against you, head resting snugly against your own with his tail curled around your abdomen. His horns are resting against your temple in a rather uncomfortable manner, but you don’t mention it. He takes another drink.

    “I don’t know how she knew. Or if she knew, really. Magic is specific to each demon, like a fingerprint of sorts, just a bit easier to track. When a demon makes a pact, their magic is filtered through the pact-bearer- which creates a different kind of magic. I needed a place to hide, she was offering me a home. It was easy.” His words slur a little where his accent tends to come out a bit stronger.

    “Was that all she offered you? A place to stay?”

    “That and…” He trails off for a quick moment, clearing his throat to change the subject. “Well, anyway. I was desperate, and she seemed kind, so I agreed.” You nod as you think it over yourself. You can’t tell if he’s just drunk or it's a sensitive subject, but he can’t just have accepted the many tasks of cleaning and caring for an old woman for something less in return. Was it that easy for demons to make pacts like that? Surely, she wouldn’t have offered him her soul or anything.

    You open your mouth to ask him more questions, but when a light snore reaches your ears, you know he’s fallen asleep. You can't help but smile, a warmth in your chest that you don’t really think is from the alcohol.

    A few days later, it’s Saturday, October 31st. After some long weekends and late nights, you finally have the whole house decorated, inside and out! You were so beyond excited. The whole place looked like it had come straight out of a Halloween catalog! You were so proud of how amazing it looked, but you could never have taken all the credit. Kurt was a big help, both with the placement and creativity of the many decorations. Everything that had to be put outside had to be done so at night so that Kurt wouldn’t be seen, and sure, sometimes you would wake up and see a few things were crooked, but at least it was fun! You’ve never felt so invigorated and filled with Halloween spirit, especially now, a few hours before the party. You’re shaking some full-sized candy bars into a big-ass plastic cauldron, and Kurt walks in with his arms full of Party favors for tonight.

    “You know, I’m not sure you could give away all of these if you tried!” Kurt laughs, setting them all down on the coffee table in the sitting room. It's a bunch of plastic spider rings, vampire teeth, squishy skeletons, slap bracelets, and more. All sorted into their own neat ziplock bags. The apartment complex you used to live at never really got any trick-or-treaters, so you had a lot of leftover goodies you were happy to finally use. You let out an excited giggle, taking one of the bags and emptying it into the cauldron. 

    “You’ll be surprised! With the neighborhood that’s just around the corner, I know for a fact that we’ll have plenty of kids come by!” You almost sing. Kurt smiles at you, taking a bag of his own to empty. 

    “Don’t get your hopes up, Schatz. It’s an old building, and rather scary from afar. Maude never really had a lot of visitors on Halloween.” You pout at his words, before tilting your head like you’re considering them as you continue to fill the cauldron. 

    “True, but Aunt Maude never tried posting on neighborhood Facebook groups and hyping up PTA moms before. Besides, the house is scary, but that's what the lights are for!” Kurt shakes his head, laughing as you voice the thought. You mayyy have gone overboard this year. A few extra strands of lights, blow-ups, and animatronics never hurt anybody, right? I mean, with most of your expenses taken care of due to the paid-off mansion you live in, you were able to spend a little bit more of your personal spending money on Halloween. Your new home was a whole-ass Halloween attraction, and a good bit of the neighborhood thought so too! After posting online, you were pleasantly surprised with the positive feedback from the surrounding neighborhoods, and had even personally met a few kind neighbors since!

    Kurt however, couldn’t risk being seen, and had to hide every time. Most people would freak out, just like you did, and the attention isn’t really a good thing for him. The thought sends you on the same spiral that you had been on for the past week, and the smile slowly slips off your face as Kurt takes the pot from you and begins to mix the goodies all together.

    “...You’re sure you don’t want to come tonight?” You ask, vulnerability shining through your voice. Kurt looks up from the task, brow furrowed. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then looks back down again.

    “I don’t want to scare anyone.” He says softly, making your frown deepen.

    “You won’t! I promise you won’t. None of my friends scare easily- and besides! It’s Halloween. Everyone will just think you’re in a costume!” You try to make the last bit of the plea happy and convincing, but it doesn’t seem to work very well. Kurt doesn’t look at you until he’s done with the pot, placing it back on the coffee table. When he does, his smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes,

    “I’ll be fine, Schatz. I promise. It will be easier for me to just hide. I can easily enjoy the party from a distance.” The words aren’t very convincing, but before you can say anything else, the doorbell rings. Kurt dusts himself off as he stands, tail swaying as he pulls you to your feet. 

    “Looks like your guests are early. Make sure to have fun tonight, Ja? I’ll see you later.” Kurt squeezes your hands, and you try not to look too disappointed. After all, it was his decision, and you don’t want him to feel forced to show himself when so much could go wrong. You give him a moment to head back upstairs, disappearing like he used to do back in the beginning. You can’t help but sigh a little, but there’s a hesitant knock on the door instead of the doorbell this time, and you know you can’t just stand here and ignore it.

    You don’t really know who is going to be on the other side of the door, with it being mid-afternoon and still a hot minute before the party actually starts, but the bloody, red-haired Carrie on the other side of the door brightens your spirits the moment you see her.

    “Jean!” You cheer, rushing to give her a hug that she warmly returns.

    “Happy Halloween!” Jean says before pulling away. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d come by a little early to help you set up.” 

    “Are you kidding? I have a whole ass kitchen of food I still need to plate.” You step aside to let Jean in as she laughs. You were originally to do most of the prep with Kurt, and although Jean is technically interrupting, you try not to let it get you down. This is the first time you’ve seen her in a long while, and you were already rather lucky that Halloween was falling on a Saturday this year- most of your friends/guests all working at the prep school nearby. 

    “Am I the first one here?” Jean asks as you lead her to the kitchen, and you hum in response.

    “Yup, It’s been just me all day.” You’ve never been the best liar, but you think you’re a little convincing at least. 

    “Funny, I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice when I rang the doorbell.” Jean’s smug tone almost makes you stop in place. If you were even a little convinced that some of this house was soundproof, those hopes were dashed instantly. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as you pass the sitting room, the TV giving you an idea.

    “Whaaaattt? No. I mean- I’ve had the TV in the sitting room running all day, so maybe that’s what you heard.” You say, trying to wave her off. Unfortunately, Jean had the ungodly ability to pick up your anxiety like a goddamn bloodhound.

    “Really? There’s not some mystery boyfriend you’re not telling me about?” Jean teases. You get stiff and quiet immediately, biting your lip as you reach the kitchen. She takes the silence as an affirmative answer, and she’s not exactly far off. Jean cocks an eyebrow at your nervous stance, chuckling at the sweat that practically beads at your brow. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks by busying yourself with setting out different snack foods to organize and avoiding her eyes, but it doesn’t work. 

    “Oh come on, I’m not blind. You’re over there blushing like a student. Who’s the lucky guy?” Jean asks, helping you with the task. You begin to open a back of chips, looking away from Jean’s knowing gaze.

    “I- We’re- We’re not really a thing. He’s just a friend.” You say, heart thundering in your chest as you pray Kurt isn’t lurking nearby. You’re struggling with the bag still, and Jean holds her hands out as an offer. You hand it to her without a second thought, and she opens the bag easily.

    “And is this friend coming to the party tonight?” She asks. You stall for a moment. All you can hear are the soft clinks of the chips hitting the inside of one of the bowls you had set out. You’re not quite sure what to say to that, or even if you had anything to say. Your hesitance makes her frown, looking up at you cautiously. When she puts the bag back down, she reaches out to take your hand. 

    “Well, if he does stop by, I’ll be glad to meet him.” Her tone is reassuring, and you muster a small smile for her. Tonight was supposed to be fun, so you’d do your best to enjoy it.

    The night goes by busier than you ever would have expected. Everyone comes dressed to the absolute nines in their costumes, and although a few were lacking in imagination in your opinion- Logan specifically- everyone looked amazing. You quickly realize that It’s harder to be a good hostess in this big ass house than you would think. Between the food, trying to catch up with friends, and the doorbell constantly ringing with practically a line down your driveway of more trick-or-treaters than you’ve ever seen, you were constantly busy. Lucky for you, you had good people around you. Logan and Scott thankfully took over cooking hamburgers and hotdogs- and Jean promised to keep them from butting heads. Ororo and Xavier happily volunteered to hand out the candy when you couldn’t, and you had Jubilee to count on when it came to the music. The house was busy, people were smiling, and overall, everything was going really well. 

    The only downside was that you hadn’t seen Kurt since Jean arrived. Sure, it was busy, but every time you managed to pry yourself away from the crowd and look for him in his usual hidey-spots, you never found him. He’s good at being sneaky, I mean he has to be, right? Being blue and all, but his consistent absence makes you a little nervous. He’s probably just being extra cautious, and you can’t blame him for that.

    After a few drinks have been had, spirits are high, and some different party games you had planned were finished, it was time to vote for best costume. Almost everyone had gone outside, enjoying the yard and the house in all its festive glory, but you stayed inside to count the votes. Kitty and Illiyana had volunteered to help you, and it takes a surprising amount of time to count the various strips of colored construction paper. In the end, it seems like it was really more of a “most ridiculous” costume contest instead. Jubilee, dressed as the one in only Kool-aide-man in the biggest plastic fishbowl you’d ever seen, won best costume by a single point, with Kevin’s fantastic costume of Professor Xavier himself a single point behind. You try your best not to laugh, knowing that they are not going to be too happy about that. You had bought a light up-sash and a plastic crown for the winner, stopping to grab them before stepping outside to try and find the teen. 

    Somehow, you can’t find her. I mean, You think it would be easy to find a huge red bowl with a face on it, but she’s not outside at all. When you ask Hank, he says he’s pretty sure she went back inside, so inside you go. You’re starting to get a little anxious at this point, not finding her on the first, or second floor. The third floor is completely dark, aside from the colorful light coming from the windows. You call out her name with no response, and then thinking that Kurt may have seen her, you call out his name next. Nothing. He’s never done that before. Sure, there was a lot going on, but normally he’d at least try to answer you. You creep from door to door upstairs, without any luck, when a muffled sound from the tower room falls on your ears. It makes you pause for a moment. It might be nothing, but you remember telling Jubilee about the room earlier, so you figure it wouldn’t hurt to check.

    You’re hesitant, but then there's another muffled cry, and this time, you know it’s him. You slowly creep up over to the door, and then up the stairs to the room. Minutes feel like hours, and when you finally get there, you find Kurt, on his knees and doubled over in pain with his hands pressed to his chest.

    “Oh my god, Kurt!” You cry out, running over to him. His face is scrunched up in a wince, his eyes shooting open when you try to help him sit up. 

     “No, no- You can't be here- You need to go,” Kurt’s voice comes out between heaving breaths. Your hands are shaking, panicked as you spot the blood seeping through his shirt. He hisses in pain when you touch the spot, as if he’s been burned, and when his hands quickly tug your wrist away- his neckline shifts. There’s a brand over his heart. Etched into him as if it were carved with a scalpel.

    “What happened? What's happening?” The words come out faster than your brain can catch up. His nails are elongated, razor-sharp points almost digging into the skin of your wrist as hold hold shifts. The brand glows as another wave of pain washes over him. Those small points that normally hide in his curly hair have grown, too. His horns sweep over his head, prominent and black at the very tips. He cries out, slumping forward onto your shoulder as the pain passes.

    “You need to go. Bitte- I need you to leave.” Kurt almost whimpers, practically limp against you as he tries to catch his breath. “It’s Azazel, my Vater. He’s found me. He’s using the brand to track me down. It’s too dangerous for you to be here.” He stiffens as another wave of pain hits him, and you do your best to keep upright. There’s so much running through your head, concern, confusion. You don't know how to help him besides holding up up and it's killing you to see him like this.

    “I don’t understand- I thought he couldn’t find you unless you used magic?” Kurt looks ashamed when you ask the question, tucking his head further into your shoulder. It's only then that you actually take a look at the room around you. There's an open book on the ground, runes and lettering you don't understand scatter the pages, along with a diagram of a devil that seemingly shifts into something more human and back at every shift of your eye. When you see the worn cover, you recognize it as the book beneath the floorboards- and you finally understand that it's a spellbook.

    “I… I wanted to join you.” Kurt whispers, unable to look you in the eye. “My Mutter was skilled in transmutation so I…” He trails off, shaking his head and wincing when another sharp pain shoots through him.

    “It was stupid. I’m sorry. I should never have touched it without a pact.”

    “If you make one now, will the brand disappear?” 

    Kurt visibly pauses. Sitting up as best he can to get a look at your face. You're still panicking, but overall you feel mortified. Ashamed. Did you do this? Were you so instant that he came tonight that he would risk everything just to do so? What was wrong with you- and why on God's green earth would he actually try to go through with it? You're beginning to tear up, swallowing down your thoughts as you offer the only thing you can think of. Kurt doesn't answer you at first, his yellow eyes wide with shock as he stares at you. 

    “If you make a new pact, will you be able to dispel the tracker?” You repeat, trying so hard to seem confident and self-assured through your shaky voice. Kurt’s face shifts into something you can't quite place, and he shakes his head.

    “I can’t ask that of you-”

    “Kurt, just answer me!” You’re too stubborn to let it go. A trait that you and Maude often shared. Kurt takes your hands into his own, squeezing them, and shakes his head. He's insistent in his own right, conveying his worry and fears- not for his own future, but yours.

    “This isn’t the way you want to gain a pact! Maude had made preparations. She had charms and protections and rules in place! There’s no time for us to do the same. If you make a pact with me now with nothing? It would bind your soul to mine for eternity. You would have no rest, no peace- no Heaven. I won’t-”

    “I love you!” Kurt sucks in a sharp breath at your exclamation. Tears have started to roll down your face no matter how hard you were trying to blink them away. 

    “I don’t care about eternity, or rest- or any of that. I love you. Fuck- I know I haven’t even known you three months- I just…” You trail off, looking away from him in embarrassment that all of this had to come out in such bullshit circumstances.

    “Please just make the pact.”

    Kurt’s eyes soften, almost scanning your own as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth. He uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears from your face, careful of his claws, and then suddenly, he kisses you. It’s easy for you to melt into his desperate kiss, a hand coming up to cup his face as he pulls you closer with his tail. The strong limb pulls you into a straddle across his lap as he takes your free hand in his own. When he breaks the kiss, he does so with a mumbled apology as he takes your free hand. You feel a sudden stinging pain as a careful claw slices across your palm, and he apologizes again as he presses it over his heart, directly against the bleeding brand. Both of you hiss at the sudden, blinding pain as his hand continues to press your palm tightly to the wound.

    There’s an energy that begins to fill your body, like an electric current that links the two of you together. Your skin is buzzing, your head spinning as you fall against his shoulder in a mirror of his own position earlier. Kurt’s new claws dig into his own skin, and he grits his teeth as the pain from the brand grows more and more- before everything stops.

    You wish you could say there was some spark, or spoken words, or something, but it all ends almost anti-climatically. Everything stops. Everything is quiet- almost too quiet. Whatever vertigo you are feeling begins to wear off, and when you feel like you can finally lift your head, you look at Kurt.

    He’s smiling at you, horns reduced, fingernails shortened, with your hand still pressed over his heart- the brand gone and the skin healed on both of you

    “Is it over?”

    “It’s over.” He confirms, and you sigh in relief, pressing your forehead against his own. Kurt doesn't take long before he’s pressing kisses all over your face, holding you still as you giggle and squirm. You know there’s more to be said between you, but it’s been one hell of a night, and right now you’re enjoying the comfortable silence between Kurt’s fluttering kisses- until someone calls your name from the tower stairs.

    “Hey, You in there?” Jean’s voice echoes through the space, and you sit straight up, heart given a jumpstart as Jean comes into view- you don’t have time to move before she gets there.

    “You’ll never guess where we found Jube….” She trails off when she sees you and Kurt. “Oh?” Your face is as red as it can get, panic shooting through you at the realization that she’s seen the actual demon living in your home. All he does though is smile and wave, although a bit nervously. Jean raises an eyebrow, beginning to smile just as you realize the position the two of you are in.

    “Nice costume,” Jean says, and after a moment of confusion, you realize she’s talking to Kurt. Kurt looks relieved, shoulders relaxing underneath you, and you clear your throat.

    “Jean, this is Kurt.” 

    The air settles in the Tower room once it’s empty, the sound of the party downstairs is muffled through the floorboards, but still present nonetheless. There’s almost a giggle in the air, and the book flips from page to page before it closes shut, and the ink fades as the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway strikes midnight. A pact is completed, and the energy in the air begins to fade. After all, a soul can’t leave the mortal plane until its final business has been finished, and Maude had not promised her own soul to the friendly blue devil, but no one said she couldn’t offer something else- a soulmate. 

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: world champion Team Black's Joo Jaekyung is the hottest sensation in the MMA universe. His name is not only feared and respected on the streets, but desired in the sheets. Little did physiotherapist Y/n know, she was about to learn it the hard way.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 / 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧��𝐬: dark content ahead! explicit content, dubcon, graphic content, dom/sub dynamics, power dynamics, degradation, nicknames (Doc, slut, whore, etc...)

𝐰.𝐜: 1,1k.

𝐉𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 − ���𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

And who's this now? What is she doing here?'

'Please welcome y/n. She'd be our substitute physical therapist for now. hope you guys would get along.' Responded team coach Park Namwook as he gently gave your shoulder a pat.

'You keep bringing these goons around! And none of them seems to get the job done right!' He harshly dismissed your presence, looking at the coach, then scoffed as he walked back into the sparring room.

'You'll have to deal with him after the sparring matches. He's quite the hardass at times, but I know I can rely on you.'

The coach gave you a rather awkward smile, brushing off the rude welcoming you suddenly received.

-----

You stepped into the therapy room and hanged your backpack, just as he came in, skin gleaming with sweat and pitch black strands messy. His eyes accidentally met yours as he layed down on the chair.

'I'm taking the shirt off. It's drenched in sweat.'

Your heart sunk. You turned around to see his large torso on full display. He clearly did it for an understandable reason, but your brain went blank and your fingertips froze for a split second, until a deep voice shook you out of it..

'Last week's treatment sucked. The last substitute coach brought here was so incompetent. My muscles remained tense anyway. And the cramps in my left shoulder got even worse.'

'I understand, sir. I'll work on a different treatment routine. I'm sorry for your last week's inconvenience.'

You somehow fancied remaining professional at that moment. Despite his clear attitude, you knew your job as physiotherapist was to provide the team members with effective remedies in the first place.

He shrugs and looks away, closing his eyes in annoyance as he muttered,

'And better make it quick. I don't have all night ahead.'

You nodded as you approached his frame. Took a deep breath as your palms landed on his skin. It was a mix of heat and cold, a marble-like texture that you didn't expect a UFC fighter -notably the best of the best- to have.

the session went rather smoothly, no words were spoken. but at least you could tell the silence was a rather relieving sign.

'S-Sir...c-could you point to me the spot where your shoulder feels most painful, please?'

He placed his hand on the back of his shoulder, eyes still closed. And you complied as you started massaging it. His features flinched for a while, and your heart skipped a beat as you slowly neared the end of the session.

'I'll have to say that your shoulder might need a few more sessions, sir. It seems that the tendons on your upper left arm are the reason you're struggling with pain in your shoulder.'

'I'm not spending any extra time on nonsense! You figure out how to heal it. And you'll do it during the normal sessions.'

He glanced at you sternly as he stood up and straightened himself. Not acknowleging you a second further...

-----

The next day's session was just about to start, an unspoken tension grew inside your chest. The uncertainty of what could happen every time your hands stroked against his rock hard abs, toned arms, and god-like v lined pelvis had your face heating up.

He walked in as usual. you greeted him with a pale smile and performed your service as good as you could...

...'Hey, do you work extra hours? I'll pay you.'

He opened a half-lidded eye, voice deeper than you recognized.

you turned around, puzzled ..

'I...can do that. It would buy me some extra time to focus on your upper arm's tendons.'

'Good. I'm only open for extra sessions in my apartment, though.'

'B-but sir! I'm not sure if I can commute to your place at such a late hour...' You jolted immediately, almost panicking at the sudden request.

'I can tell you're not good with directions. Meet me at the entrance in 15 minutes. I'm driving there anyway.'

He muttered nonchalently as he got up and left the room, leaving you standing up there, mind foggy and racing trying to process what just happened...

...the ride home was silent. The flashing lights of the city were the only way you could ignore the heavy weight upon your heart. You got off as you arrived and made your way behind him to the apartment.

'There. You can place your stuff anywhere. And follow me quick.'

He laid down on a king-sized bed, eyeing you up and down as you set foot into the room.

'I'll make it short and quick.

I fuck before matches. For a reasonable price. Choice is yours.'

You somehow managed to stay cool and collected, but the silence that followed crushed your soul. He was still waiting for your response. Not that you were aware of his fiery eyes almost piercing a burning hole through your chest.

'W-why?...sir..' a broken protest left your throat. But he seemed so unfazed by it all.

'If it's a no you can leave now. No more words needed.'

He looked away, turning around to face the huge bay window, shining through the city lights. you felt unjustifiably intoxicated. was it his huge frame? the unforgettable scent of his room? or just the nasty desire that you kept suppressing since your eyes met his dark ones? You didn't know for sure. But the way he felt like he could crush you evertime he randomly stood next to you had you picturing all kinds of the filthiest things he could do to you...

...

'W-what would it be.... if I...agreed, s-sir?...'

'Oh. playing sly are we?'

He walked up to you with a mishievious grin on his face, then leaned down enough for his lips to meet your ears.

'If you agree, you get fucked to my heart's content. No playing around. No lovey-dovey shit.'

The brutal tone was supposed to distaste you, but for whatever messed up reason made you feel the throb straight down your womb, and between your legs.

'So?'

You snapped out. His warm breath was still ghosting over your neck, just enough to tease your senses, without ever touching you.

You looked into his eyes like a frightened deer, tho your fear merged with the heat in your belly.

'N-No one...can hear about this! sir'

'Not that anyone else can see me balls deep in you, can they?'

He raised an eyebrow, shit-eating grin still over his lips as his monster-like frame invaded your space. Your brain shut down, heart hammering as you looked back into his eyes...

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑?...

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

[boxofbonesfic]

omg i would love a dark!Peter or a Ransom prompt 👀 it can just be an idea, or a specific scene or scenario, whatever strikes your fancy 💖

Ok! Ransom x plus size reader: college au, fwb. Ransom doesn't want to be seen with her cause she's fat and she's cool with it cause she's literally just here for the d while she gets her degree right? Ransom's an ass but that dick is bomb and no feelings are involved so perfect. But then Ransom gets addicted to the p and wants her all to himself, still on the dl tho. His changing feelings don't come out till she meets someone and breaks it off with Ransom. Reader doesn't think anything of it but Ransom COMPLETELY loses his mind and starts stalking her, blowing up her phone, etc. Not caring if everyone knows now. Reader is CONFUSED and MIFFED!

Title: Breaking

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 5,374

Summary: Ransom wasn’t eager to stake any sort of claim on you—until someone else does it first.

Warnings: College AU, Stalking, Kidnapping, Darkfic, Plus Size Reader, Manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: thank you so much for this lovely prompt! i really hope you enjoy this little ficlet. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Ransom had found it kind of funny at first, when you’d stopped responding to his rather crassly worded “U up?” texts. It wasn’t until the third text in half as many weeks had gone completely unanswered that he’d tried calling instead—and found you had blocked him completely. 

What?

That wasn’t like you. Not like Ransom had taken time to really know you, but ghosting just didn’t seem like it belonged in your playbook.

“The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time. Please contact your service provider if you believe you have reached this message in error.”

It had taken a little finesse, Ransom laying the charm rather thickly on your friend in his business management class, the one whose name he could never remember. 

“She has a boyfriend,” she’d said, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger with a nervous giggle. “But I’m, um, single.”

Which brings him to now.

You weren’t the sort of girl he usually took out on dates, and, looking back on it, you’d picked it up rather quickly. Your requests to meet at parties or the bars his frat brothers regularly visited were answered with vague no’s. Or, more often than not, ignored outright until you stopped sending them. It wasn’t your fault—he had a reputation to think about. Though tonight, ironically, his reputation is the furthest thing from his mind. 

What is on his mind, is you. 

Ransom’s lip curls as he watches Isaac drape an arm across your shoulders, squeeing affectionately. He doesn’t know him well—they haven’t spoken much beyond the idle chit-chat around the keg. It turns his stomach, the thought that he’d finally realized just how much you meant to him, only to have this—this boy-scout steal you from right under his nose. Out from his fucking bed. 

Ransom isn’t used to coming in second place. It’s never happened before, losing something he actually wants. Isaac seems happy to be next to you, not embarrassed or hiding behind baseball caps and wide sunglasses. Not like Ransom. He’s angry—at you, a little, but mostly at himself. It’s not hard to recall how you felt underneath him, all soft skin, soft curves, and fuck. He hates himself for not savoring that last time more, for not knowing it was going to be the last time. 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Ransom Drysdale didn’t get dumped—he was the one who did the dumping. And, he, thinks with no small amount of derision as he watches you from across the bar, I didn’t get dumped. We were never together. You can’t break up if you’re not together. The thought rings hollow even in his own head as he nurses his fifth beer of the night. It feels stupid-no, superficial, now; the way he’d only drop by your dorm-room after midnight, showing up without calling or texting and knowing full well that you would let him in. 

But not anymore. 

You’re too far away for him to hear it, but when you laugh, you tilt your head back, attempting to cover your wide grin with one hand. Pretty, he thins to himself, taking another long swallow from the bottle. Fuck how had he not noticed how pretty you are when you laugh, before? Had he just never seen it? Now that it occurs to him, Ransom’s hard pressed to find a memory that isn’t just sweaty skin, and hungry words growled into the curls at the nape of your neck.  

Fuck.  

Those were his favorite nights, the ones he spent digging his fingers into the softness of your hips while he sank in to the hilt—Ransom shudders. Even through the condoms you insisted he wear, the memory of your slick, tight heat is enough to send a hot, jealous pulse through his veins. 

“We’re not together,” you’d said, crossing your arms stoutly as you stared up at him. “Condom or nothing.”

Probably doesn’t make Isaac wear a fucking condom. He takes another bitter swallow. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the thought of you fucking that Leave it To Beaver reject, or you fucking him raw. Both make him see red. 

“Right, Ransom?” Someone claps him on the shoulder, and Ransom nods wordlessly. He isn’t paying attention, not to them, not with you here. You lean over to say something to your friend, the same mousy one who’d volunteered herself in your place. Ransom scoffs into his beer. 

“Three fucking weeks.” He mumbles, draining the bottle before placing it down almost too hard on the bar-top. “How’s it get serious in three fucking weeks?” He waves at the bartender, signaling for another. 

“Ran, we’re heading out.” Theo jerks his head towards the door. “There’s a party at Jude’s place. Hella girls.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Drunk ones.” 

Ransom shrugs bad-naturedly, grimacing. “I’m going to stay here,” he says evasively, casting another sour look at you as his lip curls. “I don’t feel like pulling your head out of the toilet tonight.” 

“Whatever, man.” Theo rolls his eyes, squaring his shoulders. He follows Ransom’s eye across the bar, and smirks. “Just because you’re not getting your dick wet with your porky little sidepiece anymore doesn’t mean the rest of us have to stay here and mope with you all weekend.” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol warming his gut, but Ransom’s up before he’s really got a chance to think about it, his hands on Theo’s shoulders as he shoves him backwards, hard. The other man stumbles backward, and Ransom squares his shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

“What, now you care, all of a sudden?” Theo scoffs. “Dude you wouldn’t even let her come in through the front door—” 

Ransom doesn’t know when exactly he grabbed a handful of Theo’s thin hair, holding his head still while he drives a frenzied fist into his former friend’s face as everyone watches. He comes to as he rears his fist back again, the sound of his name distant in his ears, like it was spoken through glass. 

“Ransom!” Your confused face in the crowd is all he can see—which is why Theo’s sucker punch catches him off guard. It makes his ears ring as stars explode in his right eye. The world tilts as Ransom stumbles, and the television static in his ears is replaced by yelling. The warm wet trickle from his nose is blood, staining the tips of his fingers red as he holds his face. Theo’s not doing much better, blood pouring from his nose, and an ugly, swollen bruise coming to bear on the right side of his face. 

“Fuck you,” Theo mumbles, drawing the back of his sleeve across his bloody lip. “Fucking asshole.” He storms out, a few of their frat brothers trailing behind him as he goes. 

“Are you fucking serious?” The bartender throws down the towel in his hands, before smacking them against the bar-top. “I’ve fucking told you guys about bringing that bullshit in here—”

“I was just leaving,” Ransom snaps, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hates that he can feel your eyes on him too; watchful, judging. Theo’s gone by the time Ransom makes his way outside. It’s almost winter break, and the icy night air feels good against the hot, painful throbbing in his cheek. 

“Ransom.” He turns, scowling at you over his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” He shrugs miserably. 

“Nothing.” 

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“What do you fucking care?” The venom on his tongue flows easily, likely aided by the liquid courage currently sloshing around in his gut. “You blocked me. You have a boyfriend.” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting from this confrontation, but your distinct lack of a reaction feels like more of a slap in the face than anything else. You blink at him, one eyebrow quirked as if in question. 

“Yeah, I did.” Why does it hurt? Ransom’s rejected hundreds of girls—some as he was fucking pulling out of them, so why does this feel like a fucking knife in his back? “I figured you wouldn’t care much, Ransom, considering.” He hates this, hates how he’s the angry one and you’re calm—the roles should be reversed. They would be, if not for that niggling, irritating feeling that you should be his, just his. He doesn’t want to admit that you’re right, that you’ve got him pegged dead to fucking rights.

“How would you know?”

“You don’t sneak girls you like in through the basement entrance.” You retort smoothly. You’ve had a lifetime of this, of learning to live in your body, of learning to weather other people’s reactions to it—it’s Ransom that’s unfamiliar with rejection, unsure of how to handle the fact that the “r-train” isn’t enough to keep you coming back for more despite his treatment. 

“But I do. I do like you.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be a thing. We can just, we can go back to how it was before.” This time, you do react, your face screwing up as you regard him first with disbelief and then anger. 

“Why would I give up being in a relationship with someone who actually likes me, who is willing to be seen with me in public places and with his friends— you know what? I don’t need this.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is what I fucking get for trying to make sure you’re okay. Silly me. I thought we were mature, here.” You gesture between the two of you before another dry laugh bubbles out from between your lips. 

“Have a good night, Ransom.”

No, no, don’t leave! The desperate thought makes his throat tight. You can’t leave me. He stumbles exaggeratedly as you watch, falling against the bus stop with a groan. The plan lays itself out before him neatly like lines on a map. 

“God fucking dammit—Ransom!” You huff irritatedly. He leans against the pole, counting the seconds until you come over to check on him. You do, and he moans pitifully. “Can you walk?” 

“No,” he hiccoughs, swaying cartoonishly as you try to help him stand. “Ju-hic-just go. I’ll be fine.” You blow an exasperated breath out as you straighten him up. She doesn’t talk to her parents. He licks his lips as you pull out your phone, holding it up to your ear as you wait for someone to answer on the other end. She told me that when we were smoking, that one time. 

“I obviously can’t. How did you get here?” You say, holding your hand over the mouthpiece as you scowl up at him. 

“Theo d-drove.” The house is only a ten minute drive from here. Fifteen, tops.

“Yeah, I’m just going to head back to campus. No, I’m gonna take an uber. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Isaac.” The little smile that curls at the corners of your lips makes him sick. “Yeah, you too.” Ransom leans on you heavily, and you don’t seem to notice when he presses his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with relish. Fucking Isaac.

“I’ll get the uber,” he says, slurring the words deliberately as he fumbles with his own phone. “M’sorry, Princess.” He taps the screen clumsily, selecting Home instead of Dorm, before hastily stowing it back in his pocket.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap sharply. You try—and fail—to stand Ransom on his own two feet. Instead he hangs over you, draped over your shoulders with his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Why?” The question comes out petulantly. “You used to like it.” 

“Stop.” 

The familiar feel of your body pressed against his is sweet in a way Ransom hadn’t anticipated. The attic’s secure. Quiet. 

When the car pulls up, Ransom allows you to wrangle him into the back seat, where he sprawls across your lap when you sit down beside him. You don’t say anything to the driver beyond a mumbled hello, which suits him just fine. Ransom plays up the drunk act, asking the driver a nonsensical question that makes you whisper at him to be quite. 

“Sorry. Just trying to get him home.” You reply, pushing uselessly at his head as he settles into your lap. Soft. He can’t help but run a reverent hand across your jean clad thigh. Love how soft she is.

You’re so distracted trying to keep him from getting comfortable that you don’t notice the cab is heading away from the dorm until the driver turns down the private road. 

“Wait—wait, I think you made a wrong turn somewhere,” you say, leaning forward to talk to the driver. He shakes his head enthusiastically, and points at his phone’s GPS. 

“No, I followed the directions,” he protests, and Ransom hides his snicker in a groan. “This is the address.” 

You lean back with a dissatisfied sigh, and look down at Ransom. 

“Let me see your phone.” He unlocks it and hands it over, his face a mask of innocence. You notice the mistake immediately, leaning forward again. “Could you turn around and take us back to Harvard campus, please—”

“This trip was already way out of my route,” the driver grouses, frowning at the two of you in the mirror. “And I don’t think he’ll make another trip. Looks like he’s about to puke any second.” 

“He’s fine.” 

Ransom retches, and watches as the cabby’s face twists angrily. 

“He’s not! I’m sorry, I’m done for the night. Maybe someone else will be able to pick you up.”

The finality in his voice makes Ransom giddy, and he clutches his stomach, gagging. He’s never thrown up—he’s not a fucking freshman lightweight, he’s a fucking Sigma for chrissakes—but he’s willing to let the two of you believe he might. You bite your lip, teeth sinking into its pillow softness as you try to undo what Ransom’s done. 

“M’sorry. Didn’ mean to put in the wrong hic place.”

You nod stiffly. “I know. I guess… Well, this place has plenty of couches, right?” There’s little humor in your joke, but Ransom makes sure to laugh a little anyway, nodding. 

“My grandfather won’t mind if you sleep in one of the guest rooms. Promise, Princess.” 

“Ransom, don’t—”

“We’re here.” The driver cuts in as the car pulls to a stop in front of the house. “Sounds like you guys have it all figured out.” 

—

As expected, the only people home are his grandfather, along with a few odd members of the staff. They’re easy enough to convince, Fran and Marta ferrying him upstairs to his room while he mumbles incoherently. You help too, tugging the blanket up over him after pulling off his shoes with a grunt. It feels nice, having you care for him like this, your soft hands on his face. 

It feels right. 

“I’ll get the guest room set up for you upstairs,” Fran says on her way out. “I’ve got a t-shirt around here somewhere.” Ransom doesn’t catch your answer, but that doesn’t matter much, not when he knows where you’ll be. It’s strange, how he’s impatient now, here at the home stretch, but he is. The smell of you, the taste, the feel, it’s all he can think about now that he’s so close.

It won’t be easy keeping you, he knows that, but nothing good comes without a challenge, right? And with the right motivation, Ransom knows he can make you fall in line. The house quiets around him, and distantly, he hears the sound of first Fran’s car, and then Marta’s. He forces himself to wait a few minutes more, and when he emerges out into the still air of the hallway, he smiles. 

The door to the guest room is ever so slightly ajar, and Ransom slides inside. You sit up sharply, and for a moment only sound between you is the quiet settling of the house. 

“What are you doing?”

“I came to check on you.” He can’t see your face in the dark, but he can see the shape of you, silhouetted in the pale beam of light streaming in from the tiny window above the bed. 

“I’m fine.” The words are stiff. “You should go to bed.” 

He doesn’t. Instead, Ransom turns and closes the door securely behind him, slipping the key into his pocket. The sound is deafening in the quiet, and he knows you hear it too. 

“Have you texted Isaac, yet?” He asks, cocking his head. The room is small, shaped oddly by the sloping roof, and Ransom himself takes up the bulk of it standing in front of the door. You seem to shrink a little in response, and your hesitation answers the question truthfully, before you’ve even spoken. 

“Y-yes. You should go to—” The way your hand strays under the pillow to feel for your phone tells him the opposite. Ransom licks his lips. 

“Have you fucked him yet, Princess?”

Your gasp is audible. 

“Don’t—don’t call me that. Ransom go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“Have you fucked him?” He repeats it, dropping to his knees on the bed.

“Get out!” You make for the door too late, and Ransom grabs you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist as he breathes a relieved sigh into your bare shoulder. Your frustrated struggle turns panicked at the sound of metal clacking against metal. “No, Ransom no—” The handcuffs he produces from his pocket aren’t the padded ones he’s used with you before—these are the real deal, and he clamps them tightly around your left wrist, looping it around the bed-frame before capturing your right. You’re writhing and fighting, but it’s easy to ignore the pain as he locks his arms tight, waiting for you to tire yourself out. 

You’re wearing just a t-shirt, and Ransom palms the heavy weight of your tits through the soft cotton with a soft groan.

“So you haven’t fucked him.” 

You open your mouth to scream, and Ransom laughs. 

“Nearest person is two floors down, Princess,” he breathes, a low,  satisfied hum rumbling in his chest as he draws his fingers through your messy hair, before tangling his fingers in it to tug your head back. His teeth scrape at your throat. “You can scream if you want to,” he mumbles against your pulse. “You know I like it when you’re loud.” 

“Ransom, stop. You’re—”

“Drunk?” He answers smartly, before shaking his head. He cups your face with one sure hand, stroking your lip with the pad of his thumb. “I know you feel bad, Princess. You let me fuck that juicy cunt so quick, you thought you needed to make him work for it.” This close he can see your face, can see the guilt you quickly try to bury because he’s right. The answer is there, written in the way you turn your head away from him, trying to hide your face in shadow. Ransom doesn’t let you, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers as he forces you to stay still, to look him in the eye. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spit hoarsely, and Ransom laughs. “You’re fucking drunk and-and—get off me!” You shrill, bucking against him uselessly. If he’s drunk, that’s what he’s drunk on; the heady sensation of knowing the truth with absolute certainty. 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” He sneers, pressing you down into the mattress. The smell of your skin is intoxicating, like orange blossoms and fucking sunshine. “Fuck, Princess, I missed this.” It’s almost reverent, the way he slides his hands down over your hips, slowly working a knee between your stubborn thighs. Your borrowed t-shirt rolls up as Ransom spreads your legs, grinning at the sight of white lace between them.

He draws a finger over the curve of your cunt before cupping it. 

“Why’d you block me, Sweetheart?” He asks, tracing the shape of your puffy lips through the cotton. 

“You didn’t want me!” You hiss through clenched teeth. Ransom clucks his tongue at you, shaking his head, before delivering a stinging slap to your cunt. You feel it through the cotton, of course, whining and writhing underneath him as you cry out. “You’re fucking crazy—” The palm of his hand cracks sharply against you again, and it cuts your complaint short as the words disappear in a pained gasp. 

“Be honest with me, Princess.” He says, grinning as you try to wriggle away from him.

“You wouldn’t even be seen with me!” Your voice cracks. “It’s not fair, Ransom!”

“You want me to stake a claim, Sweetheart? I can do that,” Ransom breathes, pushing the shirt up over your breasts, groaning at the sight of your puffy nipples. He draws his thumb across one, watching, enraptured, as the flesh pebbles underneath his touch. He trails sloppy, heated kisses up the side of your throat, nipping at the skin until you whimper. He mouths at your skin, sucking at the purpling bruise until he pulls away, satisfied. 

“We can think of a more permanent solution later.” He leans back with a satisfied sigh. It feels good to mark you, to watch the bruises spread like ink on your pretty skin. 

“Please, Ransom, just go!” You sob, the chain rattling against the bed-frame as you try unsuccessfully to loose yourself from your restraints. “We-we’ll just pretend it never happened!” You nod at him, like you’re trying to encourage him to do the same, your wide eyes fever bright. “It’ll be just like before—”

“Why would I want that?” He asks, reaching down to tug your panties tight, pulling the fabric tautly through the lips of your pussy like dental floss. “I don’t think you’re really grasping the situation, Princess, so let me spell it out for you.” Ransom spreads your legs wider as you stare up at him with fearful eyes. 

“I don’t want things how they were before.” He snarls. “Things are different now, Sweetheart. You made them different.” Ransom slips his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties, and begins tugging them own your thighs, ignoring your whimpered pleas to wait and stop. You kick at him, a frenzied wail working its way out of your throat. True to his word, he ignores it, sliding down your body until he’s faced with the slick patch between your thighs. 

“Ransom—” His name is a hoarse wail as he attaches his lips to your cunt, his tongue seeking out your traitorously swelling clit. He grins against you, dragging his tongue noisily through your folds, moaning. This is perfection, he muses dimly, lapping at you as you whine. You can’t deny how good it feels, not when he can see the evidence glistening on your quaking thighs, taste it on his tongue. You’re gasping, those precious little choking noises filling his ears as you try to swallow down the sound of your pleasure.  

“Can’t fucking get over how good you taste, Princess,” he mumbles, reveling in your yelp as he sucks harshly on your swollen bud, spreading you wide with his fingers. You shake, your body jackknifing as you murmur nonsensically. He’s always loved that flavor—like fresh peaches, why do you taste like fucking peaches—

“F-Fuck you!” He doesn’t let you cum, though, pulling away to flick softly at your clit with his thumb. He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the evidence of your body’s betrayal with a sly smile. A hoarse little whimper escapes you, and Ransom clucks his tongue, before reaching down to palm himself through his sweats. His cock his hard, so hard it almost hurts, thick drops of precum gathering at the reddened tip. He reaches for his phone with the other hand, the shutter noise clicking as he snaps a few pictures of your tear-stained face. 

“N-no, no—!” You voice your displeasure with a whine as Ransom pans the camera down your body, like he’s trying to map it out for posterity’s sake. “No pictures, please, please!” Your wild, watery eyes are frantic as you plead with him. “Please don’t, Ran, please don’t send those—” A hot pulse shoots through his body at your desperation, and his cock throbs. 

“A minute ago you were just telling me to go fuck myself.” He quirks an eyebrow at you over the top of the phone. “So which is it?”

“Please don’t send those.” You swallow thickly, the sound audible. “Please.”

He has no intention of sending them anywhere—except maybe to Isaac with your face cropped out, of course. But he smiles lasciviously anyway, blue eyes narrowing. Ransom runs his tongue across his lips, still tasting you on them.

“Let’s make a little deal, then.” He tugs his sweats down, and the fat, veiny length of his cock springs out. Ransom hisses softly as he spreads a sticky drop of precum across his tip with his thumb. “You’re going to end it with Isaac.” You open your mouth to complain, but Ransom forges ahead, ignoring you. “We’ll be exclusive, you and me, Princess.” He forces your thighs open a little wider. “Just like you want.” Ransom’s practically giddy with the thrill of it as your full lips begin to tremble and fresh tears track down your cheeks.

“I—I don’t want you!” You gasp, your attempts to buck him off only succeeding in wedging him further between your frantically kicking legs. Ransom clucks his tongue at you. 

“I don’t know about that, Princess,” he says, slapping a hand against your swollen cunt, cupping it roughly. You squeal as he draws a finger through your slick, still throbbing folds. 

“Not sure if you’ve ever been wetter.” Ransom presses your thighs to your chest. He asks, licking his lips. “It’s all up to you, of course.” Ransom lies so easily it doesn’t even really occur to him that he’s doing it. 

“You tell me to go, I’ll go. But I can’t say what’ll happen to that footage.” He shrugs. He’s got no intention of leaving this room, not really, but he doesn’t mind pretending. “But if you were my girl, I might be able to swing deleting it. After all, what would I need it for? Got the real thing all to myself.” He dips the tip of a thick finger into your entrance. “Get it, Princess? No more scholarship. No more shitty dorm-room. I’ll take care of you.”

You’re so easy to read like this, your guard down and your desperation front and center. He can see you weighing the options, trying to parse out the best win for yourself in this devil’s bargain. He can see you testing the weight of your future against the events of this evening, and coming up far short. Ransom’s not stupid—and neither are you. You know what happens to girls like you when these things make their way into campus chatrooms and local reddit pages. 

“You’ll really delete them?” You ask meekly, your mouth trembling. “You won’t… you won’t show these to anyone?” Ransom grins wider, drawing an X across his heart with the tip of his index finger. 

“Cross my heart.” Ransom steadies one hand against your hip, his fingers sinking into the soft curve of it as he aligns himself with your entrance. His eyes roll as the head of his cock meets your cunt with a lewd, wet squelch. He’s getting impatient—after all, it’s been more than two weeks since the last time he’s been inside you, and his cock twitches hard against you at the thought. 

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry Princess, you’ll need to speak up.” Ransom leans down over you, his hard eyes locked on yours. “Again.” 

“I said fine!” Your quiet voice is strained. “Fine. I’ll—I’ll break up with Isaac—”  Ransom kisses you, swallowing the rest of your words eagerly. He gorges himself on your mouth, sucking your tongue fiercely before pulling away to worry at your lower lip with his teeth until it’s swollen and red. 

“Oh Princess.” He breathes. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”  He watches with dark glee when your eyes go wide as he begins to press into you, the head of his cock forcing you open. “No condom this time, but that’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Ransom!”

“M’right here,” he breathes, his hips jerking as your slick, puffy cunt sucks at his tip. “Fuck.” Ransom watches your eyes roll as you sink your teeth into your lower lip.  “I know you missed it too, Sweetheart,” Ransom grits the words out through his teeth as he sinks in, his toes curling as your wet heat envelops him inch by precious inch. “You can admit it.” 

The warm euphoria that spreads down his spine as he bottoms out draws another curse from his lips. You feel like fucking slick velvet inside, your walls clamping down on the girth of his cock like a wet fist. It’s hypnotic, pulling out only to thrust home again, his ears barely registering the groan of the bed-frame beneath you. The space between his temples is buzzing—your compliance, the feel of you around him, the knowledge that he’d won—Ransom’s delirious with it. 

What’s even better is he can see it, plain on your face how much you’re enjoying it—how much you hate yourself for it. It makes every mumbled curse, every moan he wrenches from your unwilling throat all the sweeter. Ransom clucks his tongue at you as he leans down to capture your lips again. They’re pillow soft and swollen from his teeth. 

“It’s my fault.” Ransom drives his cock into you, groaning. “I was stupid, Princess, I know. But I know what I need, now,” he says, hooking an arm beneath your thigh, lifting it so he can sink in even deeper. “Just you.” The shameful little wail that escapes your throat as you clamp down around him is almost enough to make him cum with you, cursing and crying as you do. He hangs on by the last fraying thread of his self control. 

“Shit, shit, shit—”

“See?” He laughs, rolling his hips into yours with heavy strokes. “You need me, too.” 

God, he loves seeing you like this, loves being the one to break you apart—loves knowing he’ll be the only one. It’s that thought that does it, aided by the miserable way you mewl his name as you cum again. His hands are tight on your hips, sinking into the heavy curve of them as he growls your name roughly in your ear. For a moment he’s lost in it; his forehead resting against yours as you milk him. 

He stays inside you for a few luxurious minutes, basking in the feel of your cunt before pulling out. Ransom slaps his still hard cock against your oversensitive clit and you whine, your hips jerking. He can’t help but admire the mess he’s made, dragging his tip through your slick, sticky folds. 

You watch him with red-rimmed eyes, your brows furrowing as he rises from the bed, pulling his sweats back up over his hips. He doesn’t reach for the keys, but instead slides his hand underneath your pillow to remove your phone. 

“Ransom let me out, now.” Your voice is high, panicked. “You promised—”

“To delete the pictures.” He finishes, nodding. As you sputter, he removes his own phone from his pocket, and faces the screen towards you as he selects the pictures and videos from the photo album, and there’s a swooshing sound from the phone’s speakers as they disappear. “And I’ve deleted them.” Frantically, you rattle the handcuff chains against the bed-frame, trying desperately to dislodge them as Ransom sighs. 

“You’re just going to hurt yourself.” You keep trying anyway, ignoring him your terrified sobs grow louder. 

“Let me go! You fucking promised, Ransom, don’t leave me here—”

He cocks his head at you. 

“Why would I leave you?” He asks, slipping both your phones into his pocket as he stands, stretching. “Winter break’s just starting,” Ransom says with a smile. “And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.” 

the end

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[random-introverted-blog]

Come Home To Me [Ascended!Astarion x F!Reader]

The 10MB limit will be the death of me

Intended Audience: Mature [May ratings never stop you]

Who be smoochin?: Astarion x F!Reader

The Bit: You leave Astarion, save the day and go back to your hometown to live happily ever after with your family. Good thing he's not your crazy jealous ex. Otherwise who knows what he'd do when he found you? Happily minding your own business? oh, perish the thought, darling. Oh, and some time later you accidentally die without permission. He is not a happy camper about any of this. He may or may not raze your town and kill your family in the process...

Warnings/Advisories: It's Ascended!Astarion, guys. Come on. Still need me to explain? Fine. *Unfurls the world's longest scroll* Expect yandere elements, forced vampirism [yes...], intentional manipulation to cause Stockholm Syndrome. Emotional abuse by proxy, possessive behavior *pauses to shimmy more of the scroll into view* "you have a sister and she kinda a thirsty ho but we don't judge you go queen". And violence. Of the graphic variety. "I would have given you a dog, but he'd have probably killed the dog". Everything is (literally) on fire. And death. Lots of it. ANGST. Bad ending? Depends on what you consider bad. If you like obsessive yandere vampire boys then it's probably a good ending for you.

Words, all the words (count) : 4,001 baebeee

And away, we... GO

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The last thing you said to him about it was in reply to his hurtful comments.

"Well, that's fine with me. My home isn't with you, anyway."

It had been some time since you defeated the Absolute and your quiet little hamlet had remained such since your triumphant return. Hardly a thing had changed, not the Wilks farmstead, not the general store, not even that old and tipping wooden signpost. Few of your companions knew of the place you called home. He had never asked; you had never told, and it seems it was a blessing you hadn't. The last thing you wanted was for him to stroll into town and go out of his way to remind you how happy he was without you.

Which definitely seemed like a thing he would do.

As if he didn't have better things to do.

Thankfully, it sounds like he has. Such an opportunity to take Baldur's Gate by the throat was one only a fool would pass up. And Astarion Ancunín was certainly no fool. In no time, he had charmed and maneuvered himself to the top of the food-chain. By means of persuasion, intimidation... and a tactic of his you're intimately familiar with.

Seduction.

Oh, the rumors of who he has or hasn't slept with. Was it necessary to get where he was now? No. It was a display of power now. Dominance. He could have anything and anyone he wanted, anyone he deemed worth his whim, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to stop it. And clearly, he didn't want you.

It stung a little. You had genuinely fallen in love with the man he used to be. But that was the keyword, wasn't it? He used to be. The man he had become now was a stranger. The warmth that once resided in his eyes had been replaced by a chilling, calculating gaze. Gods, why didn't he just listen to you? He didn't need the ritual. He was already more than enough...

With a shake of your head, you stepped out the front door of your small, two floor cottage and made the brief journey to your parents' house. A smile curled your lips when you saw your older sister waiting for you outside "Y/N, you're late!" She scolds with a laugh, throwing her arms around you.

A roll of your eyes and you returned her hug. "An adventurer is never late. They arrive always when they intend to."

"Sounds like a fancy way of admitting you're always late to me." Your brother remarks gruffly. Your mother not far behind. "You sure your time as a big hero didn't go to your head?" He adds with a raise of his eyebrow.

You move away from your sister and embrace your mother first, then your brother. "I kind of had other things in my head then, brother dearest," you remind them with a small laugh.

Your mother lightly smacked your brother's large arm and narrowed her eyes. "Don't drive her away with that attitude of yours, unless you want her to return to adventuring!" She scolds with a playful glint in her gaze.

A sigh escaped your lips. It had been five long years since you've taken up your old gear and hit the road. Part of you missed it. But you'd never admit that to her. She was just so glad to have you home, you couldn't bear to take that from her. Not after your father had passed while you were out saving the world.

"Come now, my starlings, I've got your sister's favorite on the stove for lunch," she cooed and herded the three of you inside. And like every time you come over, you spend your time regaling them of your journey and heroics. Of your friends' camaraderie around the campfire. From Wyll's many dances with Karlach, Shadowhearts' best snarky comebacks, Gale's incredible displays of powerful magic and Lae'zel's discipline, her culture and brutal efficiency.

And every time, you noticed the look your brother would give. Initially, you thought it was protectiveness. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, your family was acutely aware of the gravity of your situation back then. Perhaps your brother was merely thinking how many times they came so close to losing you, without them realizing it.

Maybe it was partly true, but it certainly was not the only reason. "Sister, I'm sorry but I must ask..." He began, gently clearing his throat as he leaned back in his chair, across the table from you. "I was in the Gate not too long ago and heard... things. That you never seem to mention yourself..."

Despite your efforts to wrack your brain, you come up blank and draw your brows together. You cast a glance at your sister beside you and your mother, beside your brother. They don't seem as confused as you... "Lord Ancunín, was he not a companion of yours? They say he is also a Hero of Baldur's Gate."

"Yes." You answer sharply, also leaning back in your chair. "And you heard he and I were involved, I take it? That's what this is about?" You were getting defensive. You knew it, but you couldn't stop it. Even now, the damned elf was a sore spot for you.

The man your brother was, he never backed down or cowed away from anything, hardly ever you and only consistently your mother. He dipped his chin and held your glare. "Did he hurt you?" He asked, his words blunt but his tone low.

You chuckle dryly, and your gaze immediately flicks towards the door. "What does it matter? It was five years ago. Astarion and I were in love, yes, love. And then he took a path I couldn't follow in good conscience. So we did what we had to, then went our separate ways."

He paused, considering your response. Your sister was practically biting her nails in an effort to silence all the questions she had for you about your evidently dramatic love life. Your mother gave you the worst look of them all.

Pity.

"If it is as you say, little sister. Then I can only commend you for remembering your worth. From what I gather, he is not a man worthy of your attention," he says with a stiff nod.

A weak smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "He was. Once..."

"So what was he like? Was he as charming and beautiful as they say he is in person?" Your sister gushes as soon as she deems there's an opening in the conversation.

You hold up a hand to stop your brother and mother from scolding her. Somehow she's older than you, if only by two years. "Yes, and yes. Even after we broke up, I found him painfully gorgeous. His voice was like velvet, he was smart and witty and knew just what to say..." now that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, you decided to indulge your sister's silly fascination about your ex. If just for today.

Afterward, the three of you, as always, did the remaining housework for your mother. A gesture of gratitude for everything she had done for you all as children, and still into adulthood. Life without your father had noticeably taken its toll, hence why your siblings had moved back home. None of them had outside obligations, and you were still trying to settle down from your adventuring days and really needed the quiet.

On your way out the door, intent on your cottage for the evening, your mother touched your arm. "Before I forget, starling!" she says, reaching for the small table next to the door, "this came here, addressed to you."

She extends her hand, offering you a letter adorned with a peculiar and ornate wax seal. You turn it over once or twice in your hand before smiling and thanking her. Odd. The only ones who wrote to you were Shadowheart and Gale and not only did they know to send your letters to your home, but they didn't use wax seals either. Not even Gale.

No one else knew where your hometown was. Even fewer that you returned here after your party disbanded. So who else could have sent it? That is clearly your name above the seal. It was not a mistake on the courier's part. But then, that was the only way this made much sense. Who could have found, cared enough to write and send a letter to you after all this time? To the wrong house, to boot?

It was a persistent question that nagged at you, making the walk home feel longer than usual. Paying only mild attention to the eerie stillness in the cool night air.

You set it down on your kitchen table to turn on the lanterns around your cottage, illuminating the room with a soft, golden glow before you decide to open it at last. The letter revealed its contents - or lack thereof, as you unfolded it and saw only two lines in the center of the parchment.

Playtime is over, pet.

It's time for you to come home.

For a moment, and only a moment, your brows draw together. And when it clicks in your mind, you toss the letter on the table as if it's poisoned, or worse, Him and you paced restlessly in front of your table. Fixated on the parchment, as if it might attack you when you least expect it. What could he possibly want now? Half a decade later, you've moved on. Hadn't he? How many others had he taken to his bed since you went your separate ways? Couldn't he have busied himself with them instead? Out of all those partners, a plethora of variety, you were sure, not a one of them had held his attention for at least a decade? And why, by all the gods above and below, did he send it to your mother's house? Such a careless mistake was unlike him. If he had gone through all this effort to find you, surely he had to at least know where you actually lived in town.

Your heart sunk as the thought crossed your mind.

It wasn't a mistake. He doesn't just know where you live...

A scream rang out, snapping your eyes to the door. More shrieks followed, and you darted to the window. Faces ran frantically down and up the road, smoke billowed into night sky, dusted with stars, from closer to the village center. You clenched your teeth, giving yourself a moment to seethe with anger before rushing upstairs to the chest at the foot of your bed. Did you have time to equip your armor? Most likely, not. Best to take your weapons. The sooner you're outside, the better.

Prepared as you were ever going to be, you dashed down the stairs and shouldered your front door open. The raiders were already in front of your house. You recognized the hauntingly pale, lifeless face of Gregory, the barman, in the claws of a half elf. His sharp red eyes weredistant as he gorges on his meal, mouth latched tight to Gregory's neck.

"Another!" cheered a nasally voice behind you. Two spawn leaped down from the thatch roof of your home. Quickly closing in. The human woman continued, "Ohh, I can taste this one already! How delicious! Perhaps I should save some for Master—"

"Don't be foolish!" hissed the half elf, tossing the drained body aside. "Master said our reward was a feast, and I intend to feast!" He lunged, fangs glistening with fresh blood in the dim light. Experience traveling with at least one vampire had prepared you for the tactic, and you stepped out of the way with ease.

It was the halfling that seemed the only one not mad with bloodlust. "B-but Master said... there was one we couldn't..." she stammered, eyeing you almost with recognition.

But the other two ignored her and threw themselves at you again.

Despite the boredom that consumed your life over the past few years, you were unwavering in your commitment to staying in shape and proficient in combat. You sparred regularly with the local guards, who were more than happy to help. They learned a few things in turn, after all, from the Hero of Baldur's Gate. So staying almost two steps ahead of these stumbling corpses was a breeze, almost comically easy for you.

Until your eyes caught sight of a burning home, the heat of the flames could be felt from where you stand. Your mother's burning home... As everything else melted away, a numbness washed over your limbs and your heart settled into stillness. Just as you were about to cry out, a blade mercilessly penetrated your back, twisting with a force that seemed intent on separating your torso from your hip. The taste of blood coated your tongue, while an indescribable agony consumed your every nerve. Fangs as sharp as razors mercilessly sunk into your neck, accompanied by the loud, insatiable slurping sounds that invaded your ears.

Except for one last sound before your world began to fade. "No! You worthless wastes of flesh, what are you doing!?" roared from somewhere distant, rapidly getting closer.

The grip on your body relented, and you crumpled to the ground. Above you, a familiar, curly white-haired, fangs and all ascendant vampire lord. His face was almost feral. Hoisting the human by the throat with one hand, her feet kicking in the air. "I gave you an entire village of fools to feed on, a vivid description of the one woman who was off-fucking-limits...!"

A serene anger washed over his face, causing a shiver to run down your spine, as he sealed his lips and glared at her with an icy stare. "You will wait, on your knees, until I am ready to thoroughly enjoy goring your body with my bare hands."

Her voice strained, she barely managed to gasp out "Master...!" before he mercilessly flung her aside, treating her with the indifference one would show to a discarded toy. The moment her body hit the ground, it rigidly rolled and moved until it settled on its knees in place. Silent sobs wracked her body, and tears streamed down her face, leaving her cheeks damp.

In an instant, his eyes landed on your unfocused one, coughing blood. You knew you were dying. But it wasn't as sad, or even as painful as you expected. "You spiteful son of a bitch..." you hissed, spitting blood from your mouth. He opened his to reply, but you wouldn't let him. You were going to enjoy this... You panted, wheezing the last of your energy into your last twist into his heart. "I damn you, Astarion... I damn you to the Hells. I damn you to misery..." Quoting the man that you knew haunted him still.

You take the clenching of his jaw and his balled fists to your grave with delight as your eyes fall closed, and you breathe your last.

You finally find peace, a gentle presence that settles within your soul. It was a peace so pure, so profound, that it felt almost otherworldly. There was a weightlessness in the air, as if burdens had been lifted and freedom embraced. Your eyes are drawn to the path ahead, its surface adorned with pristine, pearly white stones. Your brother stood at the end, ready to greet you. There stood your father and mother, beckoning you with open arms. And your heart swells with an untameable warmth as you start down toward them.

A cold, deathly grip catches the back of your neck, sending a sudden jolt of fear through your body. Pain squeezed you with an intensity you had never felt before. Your mouth opens, but not even a whimper escapes you as you're forcefully dragged back, kicking and flailing.

With a heavy gasp, your heart pounds in your chest as you lurch forward. Or at least you start before cold, familiar hands grab hold of you, pulling you into his arms. "Now, now, darling, just relax..." Astarion sighs in your ear, his voice thick with... relief?

You died... you were free of this... of him. "I was... going home..." you whimper, unable to fully choke back the sob, not even sure how he managed to forcefully bring you back.

"You are already home, pet."

In your frantic attempt to escape, you notice that the sights, sounds, and smells are completely different - you're no longer in your village, but a large, opulent bedchamber. Lavish furniture and ornaments of gold, silver, so many you quickly lose count. The gentle, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock provided a comforting background noise. A luxorious silk gown, likely worth a kings ransom, has replaced your weathered tunic and trousers you knew you were wearing before. The softest linens you've ever felt in your life gently caress your bare legs.

His hand petting your head snaps you back from your observations. "Why the face?" Astarion murmurs, "did you truly think death would keep you from me? Little love, I can take anything I want. Even from the jaws of death itself." He briefly looks away as he giggles that short, airy sound that used to melt your heart. "Or did you think your heroic brother would, what, break my nail before I ripped out his throat?"

It's enough you try to wrench yourself from his arms again, stopping short of beating your fists against his stupid, fancy white and blue doublet. "You spiteful bastard..." you repeat from your memory as he keeps you held against him with little effort. "I was there with them, my family—"

"Hush, darling, you're not being reasonable," Astarion mutters, his fingers on your back drawing shapes and patterns that you reluctantly admit still soothed you. "I let them have you long enough. I let you play house in that backwater, and now it is time for you to take your place at my side. You were fated to be mine, and mine, you will always be." He explained, as if he was making perfect sense and stating the obvious.

You scoffed, trying again to leverage your hands on the bed, or his lap to put any amount of distance between you and him. "So dying and forcing me back, all reasonable?"

The look in his eyes turned sharp, reminiscent of the way he eyed that spawn. "Well, if you had been where you belonged, none of that would have happened, would it?" He chastised, lulling his head to one side. "I've already cast the insignificant wretch into the kennels. You are welcome to watch her suffer. Perhaps I'll grant her a blessing and allow her to kiss your feet before I peel her lips off her face... Or maybe after..." Astarion trailed off thoughtfully, his eyes up and away a moment as he considered the grotesque torture, as if casually deciding what flavor tea he'll have in the morning. "How comfortable are you with blood between your toes, my dear?"

You were experiencing such emotional turbulence that you momentarily wondered if any of this was actually happening. If he was aware, he paid no mind to it, as another wild thought captivated his mind. "And why did you not tell me you had such a deliciously submissive sister? Honestly, my love, if she can watch me kill your brother, drain your mother and still stare so eagerly at me, why can't you?"

Your heart froze, and you swallowed hard. Unwanted images of what he could have, and probably had done to your family flashed through your mind. As you stilled in his arms, he moved a hand into the air and snapped his fingers. And like a well-trained puppy, in she waltzed, wearing a black simple dress. Expressionless and silent as she stood before you. Watching you with scarlet eyes. "You know I'd never hurt you, of course. But perhaps your sweet sister can model the obedience I expect from you..."

Infinite threats, insults and visions of violence cross your mind, and like he can read them, Astarion gives you a stern, scolding look. From the corner of your eye, you catch a tear rolling down her cheek and it takes everything from you to not jump to embrace her.

Not that Astarion would let you out of his arms to do so. Fear spreads through your body, numbing your limbs and clouding your thoughts. For every outburst, act of defiance, misbehavior, denial of compliance, Astarion will ensure your sister suffers in your place...

"There you are, my treasure..." He cooes, catching a loose lock of your hair and twirling it in his fingers, pleased with whatever he sees in your eyes, "learning already... you're going to be so wonderfully obedient for me, aren't you?"

You turn your head away, down at the bed, never feeling so... small in your life. He grabs your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks as he forces your attention back to him, denying your escape. "Aren't you?" He repeats, voice firm, commanding.

Without thinking, you scowl at Astarion, noticing the frosty disappointment in his eyes. He lets out an impatient sigh, as if handling a temperamental child, and then glances behind him. "On your knees, darling, it seems your little sister needs your example already..."

She stiffly collapses to the ground like an anchor to the seafloor and Astarion groans, as if he expected a more graceful motion from her. He starts to rise from the bed and a whimper from your sister has you catching his sleeve. "I'll do it." You force out, inwardly cringing at the implication.

But that's not enough for him. "You will do what, pet?" He says lowly, lazily turning to you.

"Behave..." The word hung in the air, its bitter taste lingering on your tongue, surpassing any foulness you had ever known. Again, you try to look anywhere else, any semblance of escape you can find from this, from him.

Astarion continues to press, his fingers brushing against your cheek, coaxing you to face him, locking eyes. There was a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes, like a flickering flame. "And...?"

"And... I'll be obedient..." Your chest tightens, your lip quivering and Astarion's face lights up with a tender smile.

He resumes his position on the bed in front of you. "Oh, my love, I know you will." Astarion smirks, his arm curling around you, pulling you back into him, his lips feathering yours, teasing before connecting them in a sweet... loving kiss. Just as you remember it, his lips are like a delicate caress, and you know better now than to pull away.

Your lips sync with his in a hypnotic rhythm, and his distinct taste lingers on your tongue - a blend of red wine with a faint metallic undertone. The scent of him surrounds you, a unique blend of rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, unmistakably his. His fangs only barely graze your bottom lip as he guides you down onto your back, maneuvering himself on top of you, "because I'll have eternity to teach you..." Astarion whispers against your mouth like a promise, and you can feel him smile at his own words.

Astarion's lips travel from the corner of your mouth, they leave a trail of soft kisses along your cheek, descending to the spot beneath your ear, until they eventually reach the pulsating artery, echoing the frantic pace of your heart. One last time... "My beloved consort..." He whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your skin, teasing his fangs against your neck, as if trying to be gentle in his own way. "Welcome home..." He purrs.

Then at last, he sinks his fangs deep. Drinking slow, steady gulps. One hand taking yours, interlocking his fingers with it, the other soothingly petting your hair. And at last, as your vision blurs and darkens, your body shivering under his, you start to believe it...

Maybe he does want you after all...

Maybe he's been your home all along...

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A/N: Honestly, I could probably write this one forever, it was so much fun. The perfectionist in me already spent more time than I should've on this. Two days of neglecting my main fic on ao3? Ugh, take me to the gallows. Apologies to my partner, friends, coworkers, family, dogs... I have a sacred duty to update that sucker at least every other week.

Also, I apologize for the quality of the gif. I make a lot of my own gifs and screenshots for these and tumblr's 10mb limit is going to throttle my sanity until it dies twice over.

[athanza]

Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

[russellsppttemplates]

Max teasing graphic designer!reader and Lando because it took them so long to admit they liked eachother

"And the worst thing is that he was so obvious about it and you didn't see any of it!", Max yelled as the four of you sat in the gaming room, you and Pietra spending most of the stream talking to eachother and keeping away from the camera, but your social understanding abilities were being questioned and you had to defend yourself.

"It wasn't that bad, Max", you tried to reason as Lando adjusted your body on his lap, kissing your shoulder before looking at his bestfriend.

"Lando couldn't care less about the accounting as much as he's concerned that Quadrant doesn't go bankrupt, it's as simple as that", Max stated as your boyfriend nodded before he hid his face on your neck, knowing the story he was bringing up, "Lando was not planning to attend the finance and budget meeting, but when you asked if you could be there because you were curious about how it all worked, that guy was the first to go to the meeting room and make sure everyone else sat together and you could sit right in front of him and in the meeting, he started talking about percentages and tax names he had never even heard of before - why's that? Because he wanted to impress you, Y/N!", Max concluded.

"No - c'mon, you're exaggerating", you looked at Max before noticing your boyfriend's blushed cheeks, "really, Lan?", you wondered.

"From the beggining, I knew you wouldn't be swooned by flashy dates or fancy gifts, so I had to really show you I was serious about you and, I don't know, like I was someone worth your interest? You can't imagine rollercoaster of emotions I felt in that meeting, I was so confident at the start and by the time you suggested something about a system I don't remember, I was ready to curl up and cry because I thought I didn't have a shot with you", Lando pouted.

"It's true, Y/N - he went home with Max that day while I was there and he was having a full on meltdown", Pietra complimented the story, "what was it you said? Oh I remember - he was slumped over the sofa like this", he mimicked, "and he was going on about how you'd never look at him the way he looked at you and that he was miserable - he actually said he was miserable", she chuckled.

You gasped at the information before turning around to face your boyfriend, looking for his eyes as he whispered "It's true" before you cupped his handsome face in your hands, "Oh, baby, little did you know I was falling for you by then", you cooed, "I didn't think you'd feel like that for me, though - you could have anyone you wanted and I didn't think Quadrant's most recent hire for the graphic design team would be on your radar", you shrugged your shoulders, kissing his pout, "I wouldn't say I was miserable", you giggled, "but I was quite sad and just tried my best to not show it", it was your turn to blush.

Max cackled loudly as his girlfriend followed along, "Y/N! You had to sew the button on his shirt and I have never ever been in a room with so much tension - you were eating him with your eyes! And your hands were so shaky I was worried you'd poke him! And that time where Lando helped a mother with her child - do you remember? The little one was so fussy and Lando asked if she wanted him to rock the buggy because she needed to take something from her bag! You, Y/N, you looked at him like he was the love of your life, that moment you were not hiding it!", he reasoned.

"Seems we were not as subtle as we thought we were", Lando chuckled, kissing your cheek and pulling you closet to him, "chat also seems to agree that we were pining for eachother for a while, someone says the friendship bracelets video - guys, that was an easy one, why do you think I wanted to do that video so much?", your boyfriend joked as you flicked his ear.

"You said you liked them", you mumbled on his ear, "not as much as I liked getting a proper sniff of your perfume, pretty girl".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[gremlingottoosilly]

Asking out of curiosity since you HC König as a man in his late thirties to early forties, what interests do you headcanon König to have? Like music taste, fashion, movies, shows etc? Interested to know! :)

His fashion is whatever shop he can into without a flock of consultants watching his every move. He has outgrown the stutter and excessive anxiety in social/retail settings, but he still finds the small talk that most retail workers are engaging in annoying. Besides, he hates the stares and whispers that always follow his imposing figure...he would shop online, but it's very hard with his body, so he usually finds himself stuck in some semi-sport brands like Under Armor, because they cater to the muscular giants like him and he doesn't really care all that much about fashion. He has money, so he usually buys stuff in bulk - he can wander into some fancy store sometimes, but he can't, for the sake of his life, understand why he would need a belt made out of virgin crocodile leather if he can just wear his gear in a civilian setting. He doesn't like shops for younger people, like H&M, because he saw slim pants here once, and his nuts immediately started to feel the phantom pain. I headcanon Konig as a Loser(TM), so this man still watched Shounen anime at his grown age. I actually wrote about him watching Kakegurui in Lovefool, but I feel like he would be really uncomfortable about fan service with school girls, so he usually watched battle animes and shows with action that don't relate to real-life military. He likes escapist shows with fantasy, often reads books, and watches isekai shows - even though most of them are really stupid if you're not 16 years old, so he watches them just for the sake of nice graphics. He doesn't like to watch movies about military, even though he is a huge history of war nerd. He specially doesn't like movies about most recent wars because there is a big chance he fought in one of those, so it brings back bad memories. He can be a sucker for a really flimsy comedy with dirty humor and barely any plot - he likes to just turn off his brain while he is on leave. His anxiety and the requirements of working as a leader fries his brain bit by bit, so when he is at home, he likes to just stare at the wall sometimes. It all changes drastically when a woman appears in his life though - he will literally consume any of your interests, from silly romcoms to shops like Zara, he spend so much time being alone that he is ready to mold his personality for his wife.

[machine-saint]

Eka, do you have any beginner tips for learning Linux? Or recommendations? 🪡

hello mysterious sewing needle anon! I'm not sure what the "beginner" distro is these days, maybe Mint?

in no particular order:

definitely make sure you have a "backup" machine.

get comfortable using a terminal. you'll want to do this sooner or later. if you have a command called foobar, "man foobar" and "foobar --help" (that's two hyphens) will generally show you help.

fish is a good shell, imo more newbie friendly than sh or bash or zsh or whatever.

get comfortable with your distribution's package manager of choice, and prefer installing stuff from it if you can. it's a vastly better experience than windows's "download random shit and let it install itself".

for other things, flatpak is a reasonable alternative.

if you're editing config files by hand, make a backup copy of them. there are some fancy tools for managing config files but I'm not aware of any that are beginner-friendly.

if you fuck up your system so bad you can't get a graphical environment, you can use ctrl-alt-f2 to switch to a virtual terminal

if you fuck it up so bad you can't even boot, you can boot off a USB stick, mount your hard drive, and fix it that way. the installer you use for your distro will work for this.

when it comes to desktop environments, I have no particular opinions on gnome vs plasma vs. whatever else is out there because I use sway because I'm cool. anything that describes itself as being based on "Wayland" is newer, and some things might not work as well (screensharing), but will have better support for HiDPI displays

many Steam games that are not officially supported on Linux can be made to run anyway, and will run just as well. I don't remember the setting for this. for non-Steam games, not sure.

overall, have fun! it has its quirks but I'm happy knowing that my computer isn't going to try to force telemetry and AI nonsense onto me

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-1

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Word count: 2,4k

Masterlist

Part 2

Your feet hurt, throbbing in your worn-out sneakers that you’ve owned since your first day at university. Your legs feel like jelly, and not in the good way, in the way where the back of your knees hurt, and the earth’s gravitational pull seems to be so much stronger. You feel like you’re being cooked like the way you’re preparing your sauce. Boiling, bubbling.  

The sweat gathers at the brim of your chef’s hat and the back of your neck. The head chef is screaming at you, again, like he always does. You swear that he gets some sick thrill out of yelling at one. Forcing you to do 15 tasks all at once, while telling you just how horribly you’re doing all of them. Not only that, but you feel like you must think for the other four cooks you work with. 

How you’re not used to it yet, you’re not sure. Maybe you’re not cut out for the industry, but you refuse to think of it. That would be your life’s dream down the drain. Not only that but, 20 000 euros down the drain. “Y/N, *il nous faut la sauce pour le jarret d'agneau!” Again, that damn head chef calls and you can feel your frustration burning in the back of your eyes. *We need the sauce for the lamb shank! 

“*J'apporte ta foutue sauce maintenant!” You can’t help but let your anger bubble out. You give the sauce for the cook preparing the lamb, ignoring the fiery glare of the head-chef. “**Je prends ma pause.” You say, throwing your hat and apron on my station, once again ignoring your boss’ threats. You throw the door open, sighing in relief at the fresh air. *I'm bringing your damn sauce now **I’m taking my break.  

You sigh, sitting on the dirty alleyway floor, leaning against the old brick wall. You pull out a pack of cigarettes, take one out, light it and take a deep pull. And as you sit, you can’t but groan as you read the invoice for your rent. You’d been so good on your bills, but then you got sick, again, then the bills started piling up.  

“Fucking hell...” You mutter, rubbing your temples in annoyance. You get a message from your mom, asking how you are and when you’re coming to visit. You avoid it, you can’t face her. Your family all believe you to be this fancy five-star-chef, making it big in the capital of France. You don’t have the guts to tell them of your failure. Or the fact that you’re sitting on a dirty floor, after being verbally abused all day.  

When you were little, you imagined being a princess in a big castle. With lots of gowns and jewels and shoes. You’d use your mom’s old dresses and put on a show. Whenever you’d get hand-me-downs or the new outfit once a year you’d put on a whole show. When people would ask what you want to be when you grow up, you’d always say a model.  

When you got older, late teenage years, you, of course, had to think of something more realistic. And with chef-ing having the easiest job to find and the easiest degree to get, you chose it. Now, you regret it more than anything. Your dreams have been sucked dry and aspirations have little left. At home, you spend your time scrolling through the vogue Instagram, dreaming of the day that someone can do all this adulting for you.  

Out of nowhere, a loud scream is heard. You snap your head up to the direction it came from, after watching the newest runway from Versace. Suddenly a man come barrelling down the alleyway. He keeps glancing over his shoulder in panic and almost fear. His skin is a golden tan colour, and his beautiful dark hair flies as he speeds down the alleyway. He looks ready to to climb into a nearby dumpster before he spots you.  

He seems beyond relieved to see you. And then another scream is heard, and his expression becomes one of alarm. “J'ai besoin...uh...help?” His French is sloppy and mixed with English. But his accent is not one of an American. You cross your arms and lift your brow. “Aide?” You translate his words for him. He nods, glancing to the alleyway entrance again. “Si, si-” very much not French. “Now. Uh...” Then another scream and his urgency grows. “I speak English.” 

This news gives him a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Dios.” He mutters and then his relief turns again to imperativeness. “You to hide me. Now. I can’t tell you why. But you need to hide me. Now. Uh-please.” His dark brown eyes seem frantic, and his accent sends shivers down your spine. You’ve never met someone with this accent, in your whole 23 years of life and something about this intrigues you.

“And why should I, for all I know you could’ve just killed someone!” You reply, standing up and stomping your cigarette out. And yet your firm stand buckles when he gives these big brown eyes, which are filled with fear. “I’ll pay.” Your expression changes almost instantly. At this point you’re ready to do just about anything to get the insurance off your back.  

“Yeah? You like that, cosa bonita? How much, pretty girl?” Then he pulls out his wallet and takes out a stack of hundred-euro bills. “You name the price, doll face. Here, two hundred? But please be quick with your decision.” Never before have you had this opportunity to make money this quickly. And you need to money now more than ever. How can you say no? What’s the harm? If he was a criminal, he would’ve hurt you by now, right? You don’t mutter a word.  

Not to mention the way he uses the pet names don’t seem gross. He’s charismatic, so much so that you hope he doesn’t see the blush creeping up your ears. Not only that but his smile seems almost comforting. Like you could trust him with your drink in a busy club. How far are you willing to go to pay your bills? You grab his warm hand, with the money in, and shove the both of you through the back door.  

“*Je suis malade. Je prends le reste de la journée.” You call out, shoving your chef’s jacket and the rest of your work attire into your bag, all with the man still trailing behind you. “I do like it when a pretty girl like you speaks French. I must thank you, not many girls would usually do something like this.” Suddenly his worried nature turns into a more welcoming, flirty one. *I'm sick. I'm taking the rest of the day off. 

It’s rare that you’re called pretty by an utter stranger. Frozen in place as you stare up at the handsome stow-away. “Where is he?” It’s the same girlish voice as before, the slightly above standard’s restaurant doors slam open. “I must say though, my French isn’t very good. I’m sure you noticed. But I do hope you were telling your manager that we are leaving, no?” He asks and this time blush creeps from your cheeks all the way to your ears.  

“Uh- yes- something like that. Come, we’ll hide in the worker’s bathroom.” You stammer your way through your sentence. Though you regret it the moment you close the bathroom stall. It’s small and barely above regulations, this place is cheap on their worker rights. His chest is pressed up right against yours. His body is so warm, like a nice fire in a winter cabin.  

You know if you were cuddle with him in the cold snowy months, you wouldn’t even need a heater or warm socks. Wait, why are you thinking this? You’ve just met the man! Now you’re already thinking of burrowing yourself closer to him. His big hands stabilize themselves on your waist, trying not to topple over you. And you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, hoping the handsome man won’t notice.  

At the same time, you wish your hair isn’t tied up, so that you could hide behind that piercing gaze. Especially now that your bodies are pressed against each other in the small bathroom stall. Your hands grow clammy, and you can feel that his eyes are trying to catch yours. Trying to see more of your face and you’re merely hoping the earth would swallow you whole. Feeling inferior to be admired by a man with such heat.   

“I knew coming to France would be fun, but I didn’t expect being so close to such a pretty girl.” He seems entirely too big for the little stall and now you wish they had aircons that the American’s talk about. You too are forced to also steady yourself on his big, hard chest. Those dark unruly brows furrow. “Why are you so quiet now? Earlier you were quite happy to talk, no?” 

Now you’re really blushing. “I assume when you someone like you, pays someone like me, you expect them to keep quiet.” You say avoiding his gaze, this seems to aggravate him. He takes you by the chin and forces you to look at him. His gaze softens when you look up at him through your lashes. But your legs feel like jelly when staring into those chocolate brown eyes.  

“Someone like you? Someone like me? You should watch what you say.” Those dark golden eyes seem to stare right through your insecurities. “Why is that?” His words cause a spark in your mind, you’ve always been jealous of the rich ones. Not only that but the way they look down on you. This causes a smirk on his face, “So the mouse does speak?” You scoff at his words and start staring him down.  

“The mouse does speak, and she’d love to ask why on earth she’s hiding with you in a bathroom stall?” His jaw snaps at your words and this time he looks away. “If I tell you, you might just be another person I need to hide from.” This time it’s your turn to laugh. “Tell me now, or I’m throwing you to the wolves.” He snaps down to look you in the eyes again. “You wouldn’t dare.” You smirk, “Watch me.”  

His hand snaps up and then falls to his side again. Your heart is racing, it’s unlike you to be so daring or disobedient. But something about him makes you feel bold and confident. “Alright, niñita, tell me do you know about the Tifosi?” He asks, mixing his language in between and you can’t help but want to beg to know what he’s calling you 

You shake your head no. “Alright, what about Formula 1?” Again, you shake my head no. He sighs and rubs his head. “Let’s just say I have a few loco, um, crazy fans.” You laugh, full on head back laughing. “Really? You paid me two-hundred euros to hide with you in a bathroom because you have some passionate fans.” Your eyes are twinkling with delight.  

“No, no, no, niñita, you don’t understand. They had scissors! They wanted a piece of my hair!” This causes a flash of fears in his eyes, and he subconsciously rakes his fingers through his luxurious dark hair. You shrug and lift your hand, wiping a strand from his forehead. “I can see why.” It goes quiet then and the both of you can’t help but notice the screaming has died down.  

“Well, if you’d ever like to know more about someone like me-” He sends you a wink and then grabs your phone from your back pocket. He shows you the lock screen and you roll your eyes but give in and open the phone. He puts in his number, adding a chili next to his name. ‘Carlos Sainz 🌶️’  

 You frown, “What’s the chili stand for?” Once more, he winks. “You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. And here-” he pulls out his wallet and hands you another hundred, “-for the trouble.” You blush again and shake your head. You hesitate, eyeing the money, biting the inside of your cheek, churning over if you should take it or not.  

It’s been the first time that you’ve laughed in weeks. Not to mention the previous money already helps so much. “Tan testarudo que ya lo puedo ver. Está bien, me gusta un poco de coraje en mi chica.” He scoffs and shoves the bill in the back pocket of your jeans. “I think they’re gone now, I’ve got to go, I’m sure my manager is looking for me.” He says after his rant in the language I don’t understand.  

He unlocks the bathroom stall door, and clatters out, yet somehow makes it look so hot. You escort him out of the restaurant and find yourself staring at him on the sidewalk of Paris. You can’t but remember, when he looks at you like he’s ready to devour you, that this is the city of love. Again, he steps up close, feeling his hot breath on your forehead. He’s six inches taller than you, he’s looming.  

As if thirty minutes ago are happening again. He’s quiet and contemplative. His sweet, cocky attitude turns dark suddenly. His warm, rough hands gently caress your cheek. “I’m only in Paris for one more week, before I’m off to the Netherlands. If you don’t message me, I’ll make sure to see you again.” He looks so serious, so much so that your stomach turns slightly.  

“Wouldn’t that be going a bit fast? Seeing me at my work a week after we met?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. His eyes turn slightly darker and yet he smirks. “I like a fast pace.” As if he’s a villain in a bond movie, a bright black SUV pulls up next to him. “Don’t tell anyone about this. It’ll be better for the both of us. I don’t want the world to know about you just yet.”  

His wink sends shivers down your spine. He then takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles. “I will see you again, muñequita.” He then slides into the back of the SUV; his gaze makes your core warm. And when he rides away you can’t help but lean against a close-by streetlamp. Your legs feel like Jello.  

[kitkinnie]

games w. species euphoria

please don't spoil any of the games with stories in the replies or reblogs!

Ori and the Blind Forest - felinekin, maybe some kind of fae or angel kin too ori is very good little creature design and it moves around so fluidly but there's zero customization, if you vibe with ori it's great and if you don't, might not be for you. it's a puzzle platformer similar gameplay-wise to hollow knight (but not as difficult)

Hollow Knight - bugkin, ghostkin, voidkin difficult but very pretty and atmospheric. i've played some of it before getting stuck/being unable to progress because i'm not good at video game. hard platformer with boss fights.

Stray - robotkin, catkin this is one i've been meaning to play for ages (and haven't gotten around to pirating yet, cough) Stray is a 3d game set in a cyberpunk/sci fi world. You play as a tabby cat trying to find its way back to its home and it looks stunning. I assume the story is great, too.

Roblox Creatures of Sonaria - there are so many creature designs there you're bound to find something that's youcore their colors can be customized. It's a multiplayer survival game so it's more stressful than the other games on this list, you gotta be trying not to die the whole time

Animal Jam Classic / Animal Jam Play Wild - lots of real world animals you can dress up and change the colors and patterns of your animals. ajc is in 2d and ajpw is in 3d and has more animal options, but i find ajpw really confusing personally.

William and Sly/William and Sly 2 - foxkin old flash games available as a set on steam, a quest platformer where you run around a pretty forest environment as a red fox and find various things. the music is lovely, both games have a great atmosphere, played it a ton as kid on armor games. i dont think i ever even finished either game i just loved running around as sly (in the second game there are also little kitten-fairies that you can collect and that follow you around)

Postmouse - mousekin free on steam, 3d puzzle platformer where you're a mouse that delivers letters. it can get a little obtuse and confusing at times which is why i never finished it, but it's very charming and free to play! you run around all these huge and pretty environments as a fancy-dressed little mouse .

Lost Dream 1 and 2 - foxkin abstract/stylized/polygonal walking simulator where you play as a red fox. doesn't seem to be much story and the reviews are mixed because walking sims like this need to be like, your cup of tea.

Spyro Reignited - dragonkin of course had to mention such an OG dragon game. never played it but like, it's spyro. cartoony 3d platformer in a fantasy environment.

Oneshot - catkin pixel rpg where you play as a cat child and the gimmick is that you only have one life. the steam page tags it as story rich and having multiple endings/story choices you can make, and the graphics are beautiful, the whole game seems to be made of dark colors and poppy accents

Honorable Mentions:

Way to the Woods - an in-development 3d game where you play as a deer and fawn exploring different enviroments.

The Isle - an early access survival MMO where you play as a dinosaur and try to stay alive.

feel free to add more in reblogs, i know i'm missing a lot of classics but i'm getting tired

[klapollo]

some basic tips for getting a job in this horrible market

hi all -- long story short, as many of you know, i just finished a three+ month job search after being laid off. here's what i learned:

Your resume should be your accomplishments, not your tasks. When I started searching, my bullet points in my resume were things like "used x software" or "wrote x content." Your resume should be you bragging. EX: "I used x software to turn around 100 deliverables a month," "I managed [x amount] sales associates and was named highest commission earner x months in a row." These don't have to be lifechanging things or massive projects -- any metric that demonstrates your capabilities well can do the job.

Make sure your resume is ATS optimized. Most jobs/companies use automated resume processing, and lots of great people get rejected this way. If you're getting rejection emails on Sunday morning or in the middle of the night, these are probably auto-rejections. ATS is the automatic system that sifts through resumes -- you can find free ATS-optimized templates online, I got min through resume.com. Do NOT use fancy graphics, headshots, any extraneous info. Use sites like jobscan to see if your resume is able to be parsed by an auto resume processor.

Use numbers. Make sure your resume has lots of numbers indicating your skills. "I helped my franchise achieve X% of revenue growth," "I drove x amount of deliveries daily." Any impressive numerical amounts are useful. If your company is tight-lipped about numbers, go to press releases. Ex: an app I did a considerable about of work for generated a lot of money that my company disclosed, so I put down that i contributed to that revenue via my work.

Have a template cover letter. Cover letters can give you an advantage, but they're tedious. Take note of what qualities are most sought-after in your field/ideal role, and write a generic cover letter that applies to most of them. When applying, do minor tweaks such as including the company name or any unique qualifications. Be careful about typos and leaving in old tweaks!

Use the free month of LinkedIn Premium if you're on there. I got some results from cold DMing recruiters for jobs I was interested in, and Premium lets you do that freely. Remember to cancel at the end of the month!

If you're looking for remote work, here are some boards I used: Remote.co, Otta, Remote Rocketship, Swooped, Best Writing (writing-focused)

[fisheito]

here's your accursed tier ranking

17

sex yakumos that i had to meticulously screenshot and edit into slottable little squares

4

times i redid this list (over the course of several days)

The tiers (in words):

😔👌: Unfortunately, I Am Into That Shit (☆•̀‿•́): i quite enjoy these 🤔( ͡ಠ_ಠ)🔎: some parts i like, some parts i don't ¯\_(ツ)_/¯: ehh i'd rather watch something else

i COULD rearrange these rooms over and over and over (especially the middle tiers)

but we are nOt GOing to because if i spend ANY MORE TIME sliding yaku's horny squares around i'm goign to fmkkin lose it (it being my peanuts) I could end up rambling about specific rooms at a later date..... but not today. Today we will Restrain Ourselves.

So for now, here's 1 thing about each room that i like (same order as above)!!

Crimson Phantom R5: i can be uyuor devil

Dark Nova R2: THE FOFKIN COLLAR

Ocean Breeze R2: the way he tries to keep his voice down thru his pathetic little whimpers

Fateful Aegis R2: ENSLUTTIFICATION BEGINS **NOW**

Story H scene: ok.,, but he actually stopped. when eiden said slow down. tha't's unheard of in typical yaois

Cocoa Liqueuer R5: eiden purposely chooses the wrong dialogue option at every prompt and i'm laughing so sahgrd

Cocoa Liqueuer R2: yaku's stupid blissed out face *grips my glass so hard it shatters*

Shadow Lineage R5: *adds Snake Bondage [Quantity: 999] to cart*

Incognito Cafe R5: HOLY SHIT HE OBTAINED DICK RESTRAINT

Dark Nova R5: SNAKE TRAITS SNAKE TRAITS MONSTER TRAITS LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SR R5: something about those big doe eyes staring up at eiden while pounding into him

Shadow Lineage R2: yeah sure crush me against a wall

Ocean Breeze R5: the ECHO 🤣

Fateful Aegis R5: eiden predicting yaku's AssPoundXXXL initiation sequence with the foreboding "i'm sorry"

OG SSR R2:

Crimson Phantom R2: b. bite.

OG SSR R5: eiden worrying about getting yaku's ceremonial robes dirty and yaku's response is an instant I Don't Care 😳 (tbhypothetical if i were wearing an intricate cosplay that i spent foREVER on, all handstitched and made of expensive silks and crafted by my own labour,, and i was about to fuck someone against a wall? I am DEFINITELY taking that thing off. NO ONE is getting cum on that. you will sit there in horny silence while i safely store this garment out of range of the Splash Zone. so for yakumo to have no regard for his FANCY CEREMONIAL OUTFIT? to IMMEDIATELY focus on sloppy makeouts with eiden? that either speaks to his textiles skill or all-consuming horny.)

~~~ and if, for some reason, u want to know why the lowest 3 are , well, the lowest 3:

OG SSR R2: the room itself is aight, but it is unfortunately a near copy of the story H scene. Ahhh, death by comparison. This one gets shrugged to the side simply because i like more things about its twin.

Crimson Phantom R2: yaku is not having a good time, y'all. he is not in the right headspace and his evident suffering is a boner killer. if i were ranking based on character development and lore, this one would rank higher (thank you, surprise tragic stories about yakumo's childhood), but. he's kinda fighting a losing battle against his self-hatred so can eiden give him that hug pls

OH!! and no lie-- his voice unsettled me here. i know he's playing big into the roleplay thing but that Uncharacteristic Vocal Behaviour mixed with Big Sad spiralling is uhhhhhhh . so where's that Eiden hug??????

OG SSR R5: i unlocked this waaay late so it had to (unfairly) compete against newer rooms that I unlocked before it.

it's similar to when I played FF/X-2 before trying FF/VII (original PS version)?! i wish i had played the older one when it first released. that way, i would have appreciated it properly? BUT!! because i played out of order, i was spoilt with modern graphics and improvements that made the old game impossible to finish. I was too warped by then...

and that's what happened with this room. although i liked the concept + their dialogue, the art was too off-model for me to fully engage. i kept fixating on the anatomy or eiden's face. sigh... it was one of the earliest rooms so of course the art's improved since then!! but i was unlucky and watched it too late :( i could not enjoy its full splendour :(

[autistic-sidestep]

sidestep scar map

here's all the physical scar mentions of step's ive discovered so far that aren't choice dependent! (choice dep scars will be in another post). lemme know if i missed any!

edit: hi people from r/hostedgames o/

edit 2 (nov 8th): added some more i missed!

(cw for sh/sui mentions and graphic injury description)

general

"Have you seen me?" You don't bother to hide your sneer. Even with your clothes on, there are enough scars and marks that many people would pay dearly to remove them. (ch 22, argent meetup) Regenerate…the notion is a tempting one; could it work on your tattoos? You've tried cutting and burning, but there's just too much, you'd be scarred and mutilated before you were done, but this…this prototype, could it help you too? (ch 19, etc, regenerator discovery) "What?" A moment's confusion and then—finally—he adds up the dots. His frown deepens, and he looks between your face and your chest, marred by scars and brightly orange tattoos, marking you as other. As not human. "Are you saying that—" (ch 22, flystep apartment scene) "Do you like scars?" you tease, taking one of [Daniel']s hands, tracing it across one on your chest. An ugly one, a remnant from an angry attempt to carve away your tattoos until the drugs couldn't keep the pain at bay any longer. (ch 22, flystep apartment date) It's a slow, circling motion over the small of your back, palm against skin, warm fingers tracing the deep scars you both know are there. And a few that ${he} doesn't. (ch 17, hoots makeout) ${his} hands are running over your skin, over your back. You know ${he}'s tracing scars, the same as you, and having an easier time of it. No fancy hospitals for your body, just your own skills, and no need to make it look pretty. (ch 21, chargestep apartment nsfw)

autopsy (incision) scar(s?)

"I obtained…pictures." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Classified. Highly classified. I assumed they were from the autopsy." He focuses on you. "Your autopsy." […] "The damage from the fall was horrific…you looked dead. Opened up." (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

legs

You remember that [Psychopathor] fell against the wreckage, and it moved and caused you to scream out loud as it dug into your leg. There's still a scar there somewhere. (ch 2, warehouse fight)

face

"Yeah, things changed. For me." You touch your face without intending to. The thin scars there are the most obvious legacy of your fall, of the window tearing into you like memories. (ch 21, hoots) "I'm not the only one with scars." He rubs the side of his face as he looks at you, and you have to fight not to do the same. You can feel your own face itch with the need to pick at your scars. "Yeah," you admit with a tired sigh. "Looking into the mirror is not fun." For more reasons than one, but you'd be lying if the scars weren't one of them. Bad memories imprinted on your flesh, a reminder of nightmares you can't ever forget. It's interesting, really, the way they see you as another vet. Are you looking out of place enough for that? A helping of scars. The nervous awareness. (ch 22, steel bar meetup)

hands/wrists

"Does it say that the scar on your hand always itches when you're stressed?" (ch 22, flystep apartment date)

"I'm not sure about this," he says, looking down at your scarred hands as if he could read your mind. Soft. Human. He doesn't want to hurt them. (ch 25, post puppet crash step leg rights, chen apartment minddive)

You let Ortega take your hands in [theirs]. Warm. Calloused. Scarred. Just like yours. You can't help but trace the edge of ${his} mods where they break the skin, strangely cool to the touch. (ch 21, trans mc ortega apartment reveal)

You look down at hands so much cleaner than your own. $!{puppet_name} hides all scars. (ch 18, puportega stakeout)

"It feels like they do," you say, scratching one of the scars on your hand a little nervously. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't." […] Your hands are clenched. Hard enough that your knuckles are white. There are a few scars across them, memories of punching things you shouldn't punch. People. Armor. Walls. […] You press two fingers against your wrist, feeling your pulse, feeling the scars. It's a familiar sensation, but instead of the weight pressing against your shields, you feel like a balloon, ready to burst. (ch 17 - finch therapy scene)

arms

tattoo removal attempts

You tried to get rid of them after your first escape. A specialist, suitably coerced. You still have the scar on the inside of your arm where the lasers didn't quite take. Too deep. Something she had never seen before, and she wasn't lying. Almost as if they were regenerating. (ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag )

You've tried lasers to remove them. You've tried dermabrasion. You even flayed off a piece of your own skin, and while that worked, it left another scar, a deep one. You know it's not possible to do that for your entire body. It's too much surface area; the process would kill you or leave you maimed. Not exactly the life you want. _(ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag / ch 19, puppet auction)

You tug at your sleeve; it keeps clinging to your sweaty skin. The small hairs on the back of your arm stand on end. The scars are visible now, the ones you made yourself. The ones where you tried to remove them. (chapter 19, argent regene reveal)

"I'm not lying anymore." You very slowly tug your sleeve up, rolling it past the scars, past the places where you tried to obliterate the tattoos, up to where they peek out beneath the fabric. Sharp. Orange. Inhuman. Like you. You look away, regulating your breathing, keeping a straight face as ${mhis} fingertips trace the edges of the design. There's a slight "tsk" at the burn scars that cut them off, no doubt ${mhe} is adding the clues together. […] "I tried to burn parts of them off," you say, […] so ${mhe} doesn't need to ask. "Didn't work too well. Needs third-degree burns, or they'll grow back." "Really?" $!{mhe} bends your arm, and you shift to allow it. "Fascinating." "Flaying works if you cut down to the flesh." Your voice sounds dispassionate even to your own ears, and Dr. Mortum takes a step back with a shocked look on ${mhis} face. "I'd hate to know how you found that out." "Other arm." You tug your sleeve down now that ${mhe}'s stopped touching you. (ch 20, "good" mortum mc reveal at the lab)

Holding your breath, you raise your arm in front of you, watching the pale green hospital robe slip back, revealing the intricate tattoos etched into your skin, broken only by scars. Neon orange. (ch 24, mccrash, revoked legrights)

dog bite

Some [dogs] were kept to guard the perimeter; you got bit once for straying outside. You still have the scar on your arm, a reminder that things that are hurt inevitably turn on each other. (ch 15, 1st boneyard scene)

general arm scars

It's so easy to feel human around ${him}. So easy to ignore the fear. Your sleeves are rolled up to your elbows. Anything more would risk revelations you aren't ready for, but even like this, the scars are enough for conversation. […] *if suitag: The bubbles hide most; you keep them buried deep in the soapy water to make sure ${he} doesn't look. (ch 21, ortega apartment dishes)

sh scars (suitag dep)

The scars on your arms are hidden under your sleeves, and maybe they would be something you could talk about. Something she would expect. A safe revelation of self-harm. *if suitag: Across. Not lengthwise. Your one deal with yourself. Not yet. You have things to finish first." (ch 17, finch therapy scene)

[navybrat817]

Valentine's Day Tradition

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky wants to get you the perfect Valentine's Day gift. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Fluff, mix of nerves and confidence, slight feels (it's me), canon divergent, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: For @the-slumberparty 's Blast From the Past challenge, I went with A New Tradition Bucky. ���️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass, and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

As Bucky circled the shop for the umpteenth time, he felt like the worst boyfriend alive. Valentine's Day was almost here and he had no idea what to get you. Even though you assured him that he didn't have to get you anything, he refused to turn up at your place empty-handed. He also knew he wanted your gift to be something special, especially since it was the first holiday the two of you were celebrating together as a couple.

Why is this so difficult?

He knew well enough that you didn't want anything extravagant, like an over the top fancy dinner. The traditional route of flowers and chocolate didn't sound like a bad idea, but any guy could do that for you. What could he do to make it unforgettable? How could he make this Valentine's Day stand out?

"You're overthinking again, aren't you?" Steve asked.

"Steve, this is hopeless and I'm not overthinking," Bucky replied into the phone as his friend chuckled. "Okay, maybe a little, but why can't I figure this out?"

"Because you're overthinking."

"Like you didn't overthink with your gift," he argued.

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you," Steve said.

"I used to be good with women," Bucky sighed.

"You still are, otherwise you wouldn't be in a relationship."

Fair.

"The jury is still out on whether she made the right choice by choosing me as her man," he said.

"She's good for you and you know it," he said.

Steve was happy that Bucky started dating you. God knows he had to hear enough about you before you got together. It was only fair since he got to hear all about his writer girlfriend. He wondered when his best friend would pop the question.

Hopefully soon.

"So you really don't have any ideas?" Steve asked.

Bucky stopped in front of one of the displays where a few other guys stood. "No, but she did jokingly request no jewelry."

"Well, she does make jewelry," Steve teased.

A small smile touched his lips. You put so much thought and care into every piece you made. As nice as it was to maybe get you more tools and supplies, he could do that any day of the week. It wasn't romantic enough.

"Buck, I can practically hear you overthinking again," Steve sighed.

"Because I'm stuck!" he said, wincing once he realized he raised his voice and ignoring some of the funny looks he got. "I just want it to be special, you know?"

"Then get her something from the heart."

"That's your advice?" he scoffed as he walked away from the jewelry. "This is for the beautiful woman who made me personalized dog tags. I'm just an old science nerd who likes to read and…"

Bucky trailed off as he stopped at another display. The answer was so simple. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

"You figured it out, didn't you?"

"I did," he answered, smiling as he looked back at the jewelry. "And I may have even come up with a new holiday tradition."

"That's it. I can't eat another bite," you said, dropping your fork on your plate and rubbing your stomach. "You've outdone yourself."

Bucky's cheeks warmed as he smiled. He expected to be nervous tonight, but he felt good. Confident. It was nice to be comfortable in his skin.

He knew he wouldn't feel that way every day, but your smiling face made a huge difference.

"You helped me make the meal," he reminded you, reaching over to brush the corner of your mouth with his thumb. "But keep stroking my ego. I like it."

You grabbed his wrist before he could pull his hand away and teasingly nibbled the tip of his thumb. "Play your cards right and I'll stroke something else, Jamie."

This woman might be the death of me. What a way to go.

"So, you're telling me you want dessert," he smirked, purposely deepening his voice and licking his bottom lip.

You inhaled sharply as you released his wrist. Even though the two of you decided not to go out to dinner, he dressed nicely for you. The short dress you picked even matched the color of his top.

Proof that we fit together.

"I very much want dessert," you said, leaning forward on the table to give him a generous view of your chest. Was it impolite to stare? "I also want to give you your gift before we watch a movie."

Homemade meal, gifts, and a movie. It was the perfect, low-key evening. As long as you liked what he picked out for you.

If you hate it, I'm blaming Steve for the advice he gave me.

After clearing the table, because no way in hell was he making you clean, he joined you in the living room. The blanket and pillows were already set up on the couch and he wondered how far you two would make it through the film. Would you prefer for him to be a gentleman or an animal?

Maybe a bit of both.

"Since I didn't have your gift ready in December, I think it's only fair that you open your gift first," he said, setting the box on the coffee table.

"If you insist," you smiled.

The confidence Bucky felt earlier began to slip away as you examined the box and began to unwrap it. Maybe he should've picked prettier wrapping paper, even though it was going to end up in the trash. No, he had no reason to be nervous. You were going to love your gift.

I hope.

"Oh, my God," you gasped, smiling as you lifted up your present and looked it over.

The flower inside the glass case was unique and beautiful. The gold leaves shined as you spun it in your hand, along with the rainbow colored petals. The additional LED lights would bring an extra layer of brightness to your gift.

"I did some research after I saw a Beauty and the Beast display at a shop. It's called a galaxy rose. I know flowers are traditional for Valentine's Day, but I wanted something that would last," he explained, wiping his palm on his pants as you lifted the gift from the carton. When did he start sweating? "So I got you a rose that will never fade away."

Is that romantic or lame?

"It's perfect," you said, your eyes shining as you set it down and shifted on the cushion to face him completely. He let out a breath as you placed your hand on his cheek. The happiness that radiated from you was worth every moment he agonized over your gift. "I love it."

"I know it isn't the Beauty and the Beast rose, but it'll do," he smiled, placing his hand over yours.

"I'm clearly the Beast since I would gift you with a library if I could," you giggled.

We can build a library together.

"You're Beauty and you know it," he smiled, reaching into his pocket. "But there's still one more thing."

"There's more?" you asked as he pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened his fist.

In the palm of his hand sat a heart shaped rose quartz with the word "heart" etched in the middle.

"The science nerd in me and the jeweler in you. I mean, I'm not a geologist, but I thought this was fitting," he said, placing the stone in your hand. "You said you wanted to start new traditions. And for every holiday I spend with you, I want to give you a new stone with a new word. Something small, but meaningful for both of us."

Something from my heart.

Your eyes watered as you closed your hand around the quartz and for a moment you didn't speak.

God, you hate it. So much for new traditions.

"Jamie," you sniffled as a tear slid down your cheek. You opened your mouth to speak again, but instead pressed your lips against his. Heat rushed through him as he tenderly returned the kiss. "Thank you for making tonight so special. I won't forget it."

Mission success.

"The night isn't over yet," he whispered, unable to resist teasing you with his next statement. "I still have my gift to open."

You giggled, the quartz still in your hand as you pulled him back in for another kiss.

Best Valentine's Day ever.

New tradition in the books! Wonder what the next holiday will be. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi