#ask golden twitchy

[artyandink]

that’s my man (and my woman)

Summary: Your kids are curious little buggers. Asking questions about everything and anything under the sun. So there comes the complications of when your kids ask you if you’ve fallen in love before. How will you explain everything? Time to put your imagination to use.

A/N - I’ve been putting out a lot of sexy fics recently. Why not some fluff?

Song Inspo: Style - Taylor Swift and Perfect - Ed Sheeran

It took so long just to get two human beings to eat breakfast.

“Charlie, Sam, breakfast!” You called up the stairs, sighing after you did. Your hands were on your hips in true mom fashion, and disbelief and faux-regret was your adrenaline high this time as you wondered why exactly you had kids. That you loved to death despite their poor eating schedule. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

The thundering of little feet on the stairs told you that you had two incoming hurricanes.

Your seven year old boy, Sam, and your five year old girl, Charlie, appeared at the bottom of the stairs with broad smiles, crashing into you for a bear hug that knocked the wind out of your sails. You laughed as you hugged them back, giving a few pats of their head each. “Hey, there. Ready for breakfast?”

“Is there syrup?” Charlie asked eagerly, running and hopping into a high chair, grabbing her plate of pancakes and bringing it to her with a familiar lick of her lips and happy, twitchy grin. Sam had gotten his father’s hair, while Charlie had gotten yours. But the eyes were swapped around, and it was always a point of laughing. Not one child could be more like one or the other.

Arguably, both kids had their father’s dimples and smile. So yes, he could stake his claim.

“And whipped cream?” Sam added with a toothy grin.

“Raspberries?”

“Blueberries?”

You shook your head with a chuckle; such chatterboxes. You opened the fridge and a cabinet, getting out the maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries. “Not too much, ok?” You passed the toppings to them, and with a chorused ‘yes, mom’, they proceeded to completely disregard your orders. It made you shake your head again, huffing out a breath when all sense of scolding them disappeared once you saw the golden morning light hitting their little heads as they squealed and laughed.

Kids. You loved them to bits.

“Mom,” Charlie asked through a bite of pancake and whipped cream that smeared over her mouth, “have you ever loved someone before?”

The question startled you slightly, but you grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning her lips with a soft smile as she shied away with a shriek of delight, little bunches waving about wildly. “Course I have, sweetie. But only once.”

“Ooh, tell me, tell me!” She giggled, while Sam cringed a little, muttering a small ‘gross’ that got a sharp glare and pout from Charlie. Out of care for his little sister, he shut himself up.

You took a slow breath in to give yourself time to think, leaning on the counter and putting down the paper towel. “Well, it started a long time ago. When I was twenty six, all young.”

“That’s old.” Sam wrinkled his nose in confusion. You scoffed lightly, because it damn wasn’t, but he was just a kid.

“Behave, Samuel.” You ruffled his hair with a laugh. “We met at my old job. 4th October, 2006. He had his brother with him. Now, I thought he was trouble. He had a leather jacket and one of those really fancy, loud cars and he was very popular with girls.” You reached out to tickle Charlie’s side, which had her squeaking. “But he was likeable, and charming, so I wanted to bump into him more often.”

“Was he cool?” Sam perked up, suddenly very interested. “He sounds cool.”

You pinched his chin affectionately. “The coolest. But our job was very tiring. We went through a lot of big stuff, like I told you in your bedtime stories. There would be vampires and werewolves and fairies of all kinds, but he and I would always save the day. And if we didn’t, we’d save the next day.”

“You saved the world!” Charlie exclaimed, making an aeroplane with a pancake bite on her fork. The action sent a flutter of warmth and love through your chest. For your family. Something you thought you’d never have.

You nodded, guiding the bite to her mouth gently before your hyperactive child sent the fork flying. “That’s right, gumdrop. We saved the world.” It was like telling a story, of you and your prince. “I couldn’t help but love him. He’d call me sweetheart and hold me tight. He’d look at me with a wide smile on his face, just for me. And he told me I was the one he was looking for.”

“That’s corny.” Sam piped up, but he also had a wide, goofy, dimpled grin on his face. He leaned forward. “So, where is he now? Did you two leave each other?”

“Well, he-” The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house, followed by soft padding steps and heavier ones not so far behind.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” A familiar voice called, the deep one which always had your stomach doing flips. That you heard murmuring sweet nothings in your ear every damn day. “C’mon Miracle, stay still- attaboy. Such a good boy.”

“That would be your father.” You sighed, not in a disappointed way, but a lovesick teenager way because hearing the word ‘sweetheart’ from your husband’s mouth never got old.

Your husband. Damn, you didn’t think you’d make it to that point. Not when Chuck was still a threat. Or even that rebar that Jack saved him from.

Your kids shrieked happily and practically flew off their high chairs, sprinting towards their dad, who was busy taking off his jacket in the hallway.

Dean Winchester. All 6’ 1” of flannel and denim, but this time with burden-free smiles and lit up looks.

When he saw his two munchkins, the jacket was off in a flash and he’d bent to one knee in order to absorb the impact of two koala hugs. “Aw, hey, squirt number one and two. Hope you didn’t give your mom much trouble.”

It felt so much better than the impact of a punch. Indescribably better.

“Dad!” The two giggled at the same time, accepting two kisses on the forehead each while being smothered by their dad’s strong arms. Warm and comforting and no longer instruments of destruction.

They’d always be somewhat like that, Dean thought in the back of his mind. The seed of doubt sowing in again.

Then Dean saw you in the hallway, and his brain forgot to work, doubts forgot to sow and crept into the dark corner it came from. You, his wife (he never got tired of the way that word rolled off his tongue), Mrs Winchester, standing there all pretty looking at him with those eyes of yours that always saw through his crap and often jackassery.

Dressed up in his undershirt, your sweats with the last few winks of sleep yet to go from your eyes, but still working yourself to the bone to make sure your kids had a good meal. A far cry of the days where he’d look up, see you covered in blood that wasn’t yours, adrenaline-pumped with that sexy fire in your eyes, machete in hand instead of that ring he bought around your finger.

He preferred this look on you. It meant you were safe.

Dean watched as you gave Miracle an idle scratch before ushering the kids into the kitchen, then walking up to him and wrapping those gorgeous arms around his neck, gorgeous eyes twinkling and your gorgeous lips stretched into a smile.

The whole nine yards, apple pie and picket fence of gorgeous and it was all his. All his personal heaven.

“Mrs Winchester.” He murmured, nudging your nose with his as his arms circled your waist, drawing you in and gripping your hips with both underlying possessiveness and a tender glow in those emerald eyes. Your soul soaring and low, warm vibrations in your body increasing until it was at the frequency of his. Syncing you both.

“Mr Winchester.” You giggled softly as you let your lips meet his once, pulling back. Then you couldn’t help yourself, letting them meet in holy matrimony again. And again. And again, over and over until you were both mentally and physically restraining yourselves due to your children being in the next room.

“We have to stop.” Dean chuckled, his hand tangling in your hair as the other inched down from its place on your hip, taking yet another hit of your honeyed lips.

“We do.” You whispered back, meeting his ministrations with the slow massage of your thumb against his scalp from where your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his chest.

Over his heart.

“Hard to when y’looking so pretty, darlin’, and you know it.” He huffed, nuzzling your nose before dipping to press a slow, hot kiss to your jugular. “Wearin’ my shirt too, hardens the bargain. And these sweats, god, you know what they do for your ass.” As if to punctuate his point (and sentence), he gave a quick, firm slap to it. “Ain’t makin’ it easy for me here, baby.”

“Dean!” You squeaked, giggling. “Our kids are in the kitchen.”

“Lil’ buggers. My sex drive’s arch nemesis.” He groaned against your neck, but listened anyway, taking his hand off your ass and cupping your cheeks, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, then hairline. “C’mon.” You two made your way to the kitchen, where Miracle then padded over, rearing on his hind legs to paw at Dean’s jeans for attention. He obliged, bending down to ruffle Miracle’s golden coat.

“Hey, boy.” He whispered, fingers doing good work to give Miracle the love he was whining for. “I love you a lot, ok? But I’ve got a wife, a very sweet, very sexy…” Dean gave you a once over with a lick of his lip and a quick bite of the bottom one, “wife. And I wanna get her in bed today, so don’t ruin this one for me. All respect given. Alright?”

A small whimper of affirmation.

“Attaboy.” Dean gave Miracle a quick scratch behind the ear before straightening up.

“C’mon, mom, tell us what happened to the cool guy!” Sam insisted, which had Dean raising an eyebrow at you in question. Cool guy? Who, what, when, where, how, why?

“Yeah, the one that stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes!” Charlie added, making a heart with her tiny hands.

Dean smirked, leaning against the counter by his hip. “Oh? Who stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes, honey? Do tell.”

“First of all, I did not say that.” You chuckled, raising a finger.

“You don’t have to. It’s all here.” Charlie pointed to her own eyes with an intense stare at her finger and a cute pout. It almost had you melting. “But tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, then took Dean’s hand and kissed the battle-scarred knuckle.

The gesture making Dean internally melt and externally making his eyes fill up with hearts and his lips twitch into a warm smile.

“I married him.” You said softly, your eyes mirroring the same look.

“Damn right.” He chuckled, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a sweet, slow kiss. Free from the stress of an Apocalypse or a battle. That tasted like coffee and toothpaste rather than beer or whiskey and had no rush. His hand cradling your cheek while yours gently cupped the back of his head. Breathing in his body wash that wasn’t low grade anymore. You still had the unlimited credit cards, so you had more time for things like these. The little things.

You became absorbed in everything Dean, the kiss not as passionate as when he’d dipped you and took your breath away in front of a crowd of hunters on your wedding day but still had the same meaning. The whispers of the vows you two had choked out through tears. He became absorbed in you, in the sweet taste of a croissant on your tongue and your floral scent dizzying and overwhelming his senses in a good way. It was you he was feeling. It felt like you, so real, so safe. It felt like home.

“Ewwww!” You were interrupted by Sam and Charlie, and you broke apart, foreheads pressing together with a soft laugh coming from the both of you.

His hand on your waist, yours carding through his hair. Comfort, assurance, something you both had been deprived of for fifteen straight years. You wouldn’t let being Mrs Winchester go. Not now, not ever.

Mrs Winchester. Never got old.

I’d appreciate a like, comment and/or reblog! Make sure to do this for all your favourite writers so they get inspiration!

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[zweiginator]

I LOVE the purity ring patrick ask SO MUCH!!! what do you think happens if reader asks for it back?

seeing patrick at a party and the necklace is tucked into his shirt but you know it's there; the thin silver chain is obvious, even in the dim lighting. he's talking to another girl, which isn't surprising but it still makes you fume.

you had felt the throes of guilt, of cognitive dissonance and feeling like a fraud and a disappointment for weeks now. and here patrick is, tucking another girl's hair behind her ear, well on his way to poking another notch in his belt.

to him this is a game. a way to prove his masculinity, or maybe just that he can. he made an easy girl out of you and now he's twirling the little golden ring between his fingers while your finger is bare, the tanline of where it once sat still visible.

you ask for it back that night. tap on his shoulder and he's surprised to see you. he had been trying to find a way to get back to you, to see you again. but you were elusive to him. you also hadn't gone out since that night.

"can i have my ring back?"

patrick pulls it out of his shirt. "this thing?"

"yes, that thing." you reach for it, but he moves his body back.

"you want your purity ring back." he says it as if he's trying to clarify what's glaringly obvious already.

"can you just give it back? it's disrespectful to wear it around your neck like some sort of prize."

"you gave it to me."

you take a sharp breath. "i don't care. im asking for it back."

patrick moves so you're backed against the wall. you look up at him, and your ring around his neck taunts you as it dangles in front of your face. you feel like a small child trying to grasp for something way out of reach.

"but you're not pure anymore." his voice oozes with false pity. a mocking tone that makes you twitchy.

"i don't think you can tell me what i am or what im not." you maintain eye contact, but try again to reach for his necklace.

he swats your hand away. "i popped your cherry. so you're not pure anymore. meaning you don't need your little ring. i'd say that's sound logic."

"it didn't count. what we did."

"it didn't?" patrick unclasps the necklace. it pools in his palm, which he closes. "it didn't count when i split your little virgin pussy open? it didn't count when you were saying how good i felt? how deep i was?"

you gulp. patrick pulls your hand away from your side and drops the ring inside.

"you can have it back to continue your little facade." he tilts your chin up and you want to kiss him even though you really shouldn't. "but i'll always know that you're a dirty girl."

[tippenfunkaport]

"Hold out your hand," she said, and he did because he always trusted her, even now when everything was unfamiliar and new. She tipped whatever was in her hand into his and pressed his fingers closed around it. "Can you feel it?"  He nodded. Something tingled against his palm, the warmth slightly twitchy, like a living thing. When he glanced down, he saw golden light spilling out from between his fingertips. "What is it?"  Glimmer fit her hand over his, the two of them holding the glow together. "Ask it to do something. Anything."

Gorgeous art by the amazing and talented @dalila-nonsense for the final chapter of Going There called...

✨Glow✨

Read on AO3

[softfem-dom]

just thinking about having to break a fight between the dog!hybrid outsiders and cat!hybrid bob.

It was late at night, the moon shining up in the sky. It was cold inside the house, but a hoodie or a sweater would keep the chill away from your boys' bodies. You were in the kitchen with Darry, putting out the groceries you had bought earlier and left forgotten inside the bags on the table. The big German Sephered was helping you stock the —four different types of— cereals boxes on the cabinets while you were simply hiding the just bought cans of beer behind the vedgetables inside the fridge so Bob or Dallas wouldn't take them.

It was calm, Two-Bit and Soda were watching the mickey mouse program on the TV. Ponyboy and Johnny were in your bedroom, just reading your books —and going through your drawers but what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you—. Darry was with you, Bob was sleeping like the lazy bitch he was and Dallas and Steve were arm wrestling on the coffee table.

Or so you thought.

While you were putting the bananas inside the fridge, Soda came in with that nervous twitchy smile of his that always signaled something was going or about to go wrong.

"Soda" Darry warned, slowly turning to look at his brother with a quirked eyebrow.

Soda just gulped nervously, almost comically adjusting the collar of his shirt as he mumbled something way too low and fast for you to hear. "what?" you asked, confusion on your features as you slowly closed the door of the fridge. Sensing you were about to have to intervene in something.

"Dallas and Steve are barking at Bob about the time when he almost drowned him on the fountain" the Golden Retriever all-but blurted out. Words and 's' slurred into one another.

"shit"

You were quickly walking over to the living room, opening the door with a rushed haste to your movements. You knew that Dallas was a damn Canary Mastiff, he was both a stray and a hunting dog. A hound dog. And he had the fangs and fists to prove it. You couldn't risk Dallas getting violent on Bob and potentially sending the —not so—poor Ragdoll cat to the hospital.

,,

You walked into both Dallas and Steve snarling at Bob, and the smug shit wasn't doing much to put the situation on his favour. Dallas had Bob pinned to the floor, his hands balled into fists over the cat's shoulders. Baring his teeth at him, while Steve was next to Dallas with his arms crossed.

"you know what dogs are?" Bob spat, a shit eating grin on his face. The little bitch was way too over confident on this.

Dallas growled, Steve's right eye twiching, while Bob laid on the ground with that smirk of his. —the one you sometimes got the urge to slap off of his face—.

"dirty mutts with behavioural issues"

You saw Dallas raising a fist, one that was going to end directly on Bob's face and probably break his nose, but you were faster. In the time the three of them were glaring at each other you had strided over, and had managed to get a grip under Bob's arms fast enough to pull him up from the ground and away from Dallas' fist —that ended up hitting the floor—.

"Doll—! what the fuck?" Dallas hissed, shaking his fist with a slight wince. Both angry and annoyed at you for letting his fist hit the floor.

"stop it, no cussing" you scolded with a frown at both Dallas and Steve, who was rolling his eyes at you, as you readjusted Bob in your arms.

The cat happyly, and smugly, curled up into your arms. His tail curled around your leg, wrapping around the skin of your thigh, as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "suck my dick" the cat smugly flashed a shit eating grin at both dogs. But you were quick to tug on his ear with a frown.

"that goes for you too, mr. I run my mouth way more than necessary" you scolded again, this time to the cat in your arms, who only huffed and rolled his eyes at Dallas' "hah! fuck you"

"you're both grounded."

"what!?!? but doll—!" "the fuck? I am the victim in this situation!"

[itsabouttimex2]

LSO AU sounds really interesting! Are we allowed to ask questions about AUs or does it count as a request?

Hi, thank you for asking! Questions are always allowed, even when requests are closed! I’ll elaborate on Let’s Start Over a little bit!

After his own journey ends and MK has his own story penned and published, peace settles across Megapolis and the world in general.

He’s even got himself a new title- “Monkie Knight”, after years of working for the king.

MK still steps in to ward off greater threats and more serious demons, but mostly steps back and attends to the noodle shop with Pigsy, who’s just about ready to pass the keys to his son and maybe take up a more casual lifestyle of teaching instead of serving. Maybe a YouTube channel where he teaches basic skills and recipes to viewers. Tang comes in to both expand on the history of what Pigsy is cooking and to taste test the end result. As expected, he adores the food each time.

Things are okay.

There’s trauma and bitterness that MK needs to work through, but… things are alright. With time, they’ll get better.

And then you come around to the shop one day to visit, right as the Ruyi Jingu Bang comes toppling down from where it’s been set- and you catch it.

So starts your journey.

Our golden-hearted hero is a little soured now, having been thrust into dangerous fights again and again. He’s somewhat resentful to certain individuals-

Mei, for not fighting beside him more often, in spite of her combat prowess and draconic powers. He gets a little twitchy when she’s around, thinking of all the fun she had off on her motorcycle, all the live-streams she giggled and joked her way through. MK doesn’t hate her. Not in a million years. Never. But damn if there’s not some bitterness. He’ll still ask her to ‘babysit’ you when he needs to go off and fight.

Though he still cares about Sandy as a friend, MK has shifted his perspective to disliking the river demon’s pacifistic outlook, viewing it as naive and somewhat selfish. He still goes over to paint and have tea, but things are somewhat strained between the two. It’s easy for someone like Sandy, a side-liner, to say “I’m not fighting anymore!” but MK never had that chance. Given that he was in his mid-teens during the start of his journey in this AU, the hero finds it messed up that he had to fight, but an honest to goodness ex-soldier chose not to. Again, no hatred. Things are just a little tense.

Macaque is pretty far down on his shitlist, actually. MK has taken some time to think on the simian’s actions and kinda wishes he had just let Wukong pummel him to death. Most of these feelings relate to their first meeting, but him assaulting Tang and attacking Mei certainly haven’t helped. Or his unnecessary destruction of the Dragon Palace of the East Sea. Or his refusal to apologize. Yeah, this guy doesn’t get to come anywhere near you. MK will act civil because he does believe in redemption and second chances, but dear lord is it hard.

(And he massively regrets the “you aren’t a bad guy” speech he gave to Macaque. Looking back on it, MK thinks he was naively seeing goodness where it didn’t exist.)

And of course, Sun Wukong, for… a lot of things. He talks rather bitterly of his mentor, viewing the Great Sage as irresponsible and rather immature. He wishes there had been more effort and care in the monkey’s teaching, and less “you can handle this”. There’s still some genuine respect and gratitude for the simian, but MK majorly fixates on being ‘different’ in his own mentorship. Problem is…

He’s choosing to be different instead of better.

Wukong had genuine and honest belief in MK, enough to let him handle trouble on his own. The Great Sage didn’t step in not out of laziness, but because he knew that the kid could handle things on his own. Sure, he was way too secretive and hands-off, but his intentions were only ever to help MK grow.

So when he decides to be entirely opposite to Wukong, our newly titled ‘Knight’ becomes a massive roadblock for you. Instead of cutting you loose with confidence, MK is stifling and protective. He’ll fight for you, cook for you, tend to your wounds, etc. Wukong tried to let MK grow without any form of safety net, but MK refuses to allow any growth without complete safety, which is rare.

Instead of being a mentor who’s trying to build you into the best you that you can be, he’s trying to be a father.

And honestly? Sometimes, he’s so good at the act that you wish it were real.

[greyskyflowers]

Bits and Pieces of fics I'll never finish:

Poly crew vibes for the win

ABO dynamics

~~

Zoro doesn't wear a collar. It's one of the first things people notice.

It's usually: swords, hair, and no collar.

They always think it gives them an edge, like Zoro isn't aware of the fact that he's not wearing one.

They holler and cackle, calling out the same jokes over and over.

"Does your pack know you're out all by yourself?"

"Who's your alpha, sweetheart? We'll give them a call to come get you."

"Looks like you're missing something, omega! Did you lose it or did you get it taken away?"

They laugh.

He doesn't.

They lose their heads.

He gets paid.

~~

He knows what he looks like, bound and collarless. Morgan knew exactly what he was doing when he had Zoro tied like this.

Anyone could bite him when he's this restrained and exposed. He's been severed on a golden platter to anyone with enough balls to try their hand at claiming him. He's ripped out throats for less and he's ready to bloody his mouth again if needed.

The strange alpha that comes out of the grate doesn't comment on the lack of collar, his gaze barely running over his throat before continuing to talk. He smiles and shows sharp teeth.

The alpha unties him and just disappears. It's... anticlimactic. He's so used to people wanting something, hinting at something more, that this is strange.

~~

The beta girl is untrusting. He feels her look at his neck and carefully catalogue it in her head as a weak spot if needed. He can't blame her. After all, he's doing the same thing

The little ship smells heavily of tangerines and ink, citrus scents are always a little overwhelming. There are unknown scents under her scent that are already fading away and he doesn't care to ask who they were.

Luffy's scent of cedar smoke and salt is powerful, and he scent marks everything almost absentmindedly. Dragging his hands over surfaces, rubbing his wrists on anything within reach, even pressing his cheeks against them quickly.

~~

They don't crowd Zoro, even though he knows they want to.

Omegas are comforting, they usually mean pack and safety. He doesn't know what they think when they look at him but no one has ever looked at him and thought safe.

~~

A lot of people are uneducated. They assume omegas aren't often at sea because they're too soft, too delicate.

Pirates though, especially the good ones, know what omegas really are. Vicious, protective, and a nasty opponent in a fight.

The older generations know it, and when he eventually interacts with Garp, he'll be pleased that the old man seems begrudgingly impressed that Luffy had roped Zoro into his crew.

Pirates in the grandline and beyond will know. Omegas aren't often at sea because they're protecting what's theirs, usually a home or a pack.

If you can get a omega to call your ship home, you'll have some of the fiercest protection available.

First mates are ideally omegas. They're well loved by the crew/pack and amazing fighters. They're usually content to follow those they trust but like to do their own thing enough that being firstmate allows them the freedom they need.

~~

The clown separates them and hands Nami and Zoro off to be kept in their restraints. They're left with a alpha who keeps talking about revenge or something else annoying, getting close like he wants Zoro to think he'll bite before pulling back. He doesn't react and the alpha's scent burns with anger before he spins the wheel Zoro's on and starts trying to scare him.

The smell of his anger mixes with annoyance quickly. Every thud of the blade into the wood is meet without a flinch and the alpha gets more and more riled up. Zoro doesn't really care. Even if some of the blades hit they wouldn't cause irreparable damage. A inconvenience at best, especially if Luffy needs them to fight.

~~

They pick up another beta, twitchy and ballsy with how he goes to mention Zoro's lack of collar a few times, each time getting hard looks from Nami and Luffy to stop.

The butler turns his nose up at them and he feels painfully out of place. Everything around him is nice and expensive, he's like a street cat let in on accident.

It smells sterile in the whole manor, he keeps rubbing at his nose and sneezing. There's something in the air that he can't name exactly but it has him on edge.

Usopp is talking about the girl, Kayla or Kay or something like that. He looks at Zoro like he can help with whatever relationship he has with her but he can't. He doesn't even know what the girl is, the smell of sickness and that ever clinging sterile smell surrounding her. He assumed she must be an omega since Usopp was asking him but he's not the person to ask about this stuff.

~~

When he wakes up in the well he knows they pawed at him. There are many people who would take advantage of a unconscious and unmated onega. A chance to see him up close like he's something exotic.

His neck feels wrong, like thin threads or spiderwebs are very lightly touching the skin. The disgusting scent of the maid and chef stick to him and he even rubs his neck against some of the rocks to get it off.

~~

The waiter looks appalled when he looks at Zoro, eyes clearly aimed at his bare throat. He moves like he's going to say something about it before his eyes catch on Nami and he's completely focused on her. She catches his eye and he knows she's putting up with the waiter so Zoro won't have to.

~~

Mihawk cuts him open and calls him magnificent. It has his instincts demanding he roll belly up and purr.

~~

The stench of infection, sickness and fish are overwhelming when he wakes up. Everything hurts and his head has the cotton feeling of too much sleep. Luffy is on him and around him, talking too fast for Zoro to catch most of it but he gets the tone.

He wakes up with the feeling of someone touching him again but it's different than the well. It's not as bad when it's Luffy.

~~

Arlong's crew says omega like it's his name. They chatter at him and wait patiently for a opening to sink teeth or claw into his unprotected neck.

The clown howls with laughter from the bag at the waiters hip.

"Better teach them what omegas are really like, kiddo!"

He despises that the fucking clown has more respect for omegas than most people.

~~

The waiter, Sanji, isn't too bad once he settles in. He still seems stuck on Zoro's lack of collar but he never says anything. One of the others must have spoken to him about it.

They bicker and fight but it's never because of a comment towards Zoro being a omega. He hides a grins everytime they fight, pleased that his crew respects him enough to honor his desire to not talk about it.

~~

He tells them he thought Kuina may have claim him if they had more time together, if they'd got the chance to grow up together.

He talks about the way they were always paying attention to each other, trading harsh blows and barely there touches. She called him pretty and constantly knocked him on his knees, he was furious that it made him blush at the time.

Then she died. And it felt like the only claim he could ever get from her was Wado Ichimonji.

In a strange way, the sword is like a collar. She's still with him, telling him to draw his sword to defend himself and sitting blinding white at his side like a claim. The sword deters unwanted attention the same as a collar would.

~~

They remember the name of the sword now, make a point to say it's name and be respectful of it. He refuses to acknowledge that Kuina would be charmed by it, that she'd probably really like them all.

He also ignores the voice in his head that quietly asks if this could be the start of a pack and a home.

~~

It takes a while to notice but he's been scenting the ship. The delicate skin of his wrists red and raw before fading into a thicker layer of skin.

His scent is saturated into the ship and the crew. The start of a claim is clear.

They haven't said anything and he isn't going to be the one to bring it up.

~~

His heat is... mildly concerning. He knows Luffy doesn't expect anything from him and the rest of the crew is on the same page, but he can't help the little curl of worry in his belly.

What if something happens? What if they haven't been around a omega in heat before and get grossed out? What if they never think of him the same?

Sanji is a anxious and furious presence that lingers. He does everything he can to get Zoro to eat. Healthy snacks, fruits and vegetables, a extra serving of meat, protein drinks, etc.

He looks pleased everytime Zoro eats something and his scent goes happy. Luffy huffs a bit at the extra meat Zoro gets but someone must have explained it to him because while he still pouts, he doesn't try to steal it from Zoro anymore.

~~

He gets lathargic, finding more and more creative places to sleep.

The third time Usopp almost has a heart attack from unexpectedly coming across him, they decide to encourage him to nest in his room.

He doesn't know what to do with all the stuff given to him. It's soft in his hands, his rough skin catching on all the fine fabrics. His nests are usually small and made of whatever was available, often just a spare shirt and a few towels. These are actual nest supplies though. Pillows, blankets, cushions, etc.

Of course the ship was fancy enough to have these hidden away.

He just stares at them for awhile before he gets restlessness. Starting to arrange and sort them. He's got a nest by the end of it, the best one he's ever had. He strips and sprawls belly down in it, a few of the blankets tugged over him.

He purrs and shoves his face into the pillow under him, it smells like dust with faint hints of the crew.

~~

They haven't discussed anything, there's no bonds or claims that hold them responsible for helping him during his heat. There's no bond or claim that says he owes them anything.

It's hard for people to be around a omega in heat and not want to be close though. His scent is warm like a candle, meant to coax pack close for comfort and protection while he's unable to defend himself.

His heats aren't like normal heats. There's usually no sexual component to it. He's had too much damage and scarring to his body, injuries to critical points like his scent glands and lower belly.

His heat is usually miserable. The increased hormones and stress on his body makes everything ache. All the old injuries and broken bones that healed wrong flaring to life. He usually spends the days curled up and forcing all the whines that want to slip out down into his chest. Waking up at the end of the cycles dehydrated, starving and exhausted.

~~

He can hear them hovering outside the door. Hushed whispers and and footsteps that are meant to be quiet enough he can't hear them. It grates on his nerves and he tells himself that's why he forces himself up, wraps one of the stupidly soft blankets around him and goes to the door.

He yanks it open and they all freeze. The smell smacks him in the face and his instincts purr pack. He doesn't say anything, just turns and goes back to his nest. Burrowing back under everything and taking the opportunity to enjoy the fact that he didn't feel absolutely miserable yet.

~~

He sleeps here and there, listening to the other slowly drift closer and get more comfortable. He actually feels good.

He's more comfortable than he thinks he's ever been. Body practically boneless and a purr in his chest that he's just managing to hold back.

His scent glands don't burn, his body doesn't ache, his head isn't spinning.

It's because he has people with him. He knows, okay?

Not only do they insist on making sure that he's drinking and eating enough, the scents and comfort go a long way.

There's a reason omega seek out packs.

They stay outside the nest, respectful in a way that annoys him at the moment because he wouldn't mind them being closer and asking seems... very intimate.

Luffy watches him like a hawk the whole time, eyeing him carefully whenever he moves and new skin shows, like he's trying to make sure there's nothing physically wrong. He's restless, not sure what to do and how to make it better.

~~

He ends up dragging Luffy in first. Snagging a wrist and huffing angrily when the arm stretches instead of dragging Luffy closer.

Eventually he gets the alpha in. He can't help the purr he lets out when Luffy is under all the blankets with him. He's warm and Zoro isn't even embarrassed that he's completely bare when he presses closer.

It's dark and almost stifling with how much body heat Zoro's giving off. The air smells like them and he thought he was already relaxed but he's boneless now.

Luffy doesn't seem to know what to do. His hand hover over his hips and his waist before he seems to decide he can touch.

He's instinctively positions himself between Zoro and the door. The others are also between the nest and the door.

Luffy smells like fresh cut cedar burning and salt. It's sinking onto Zoro's skin and his lower belly is warm. He can't get close enough.

Nami's citrus and ink, Usopp's fresh earth and herbs, Sanji's palo santo and spices all cling to him and the nest.

His own scent, of cold steel, summer rain and tart blackberries isn't very typical of a omega but it doesn't seem to bother them. They're all taking it in like they can taste it if they try hard enough.

~~

The others end up joining him and Luffy, dragged in one after the other. The nest is big enough for all of them, which means he was planning on them joining him even if he wasn't fully aware he was.

He feels good.

He's given up trying to stop the purr and it rumbles from his chest. He's never had a heat like this and he understands the appeal if this is what it's like with pack. It's like a pleasant high, he's sleepy and very happy.

Luffy doesn't want to leave so they shuffle between Nami, Sanji and Usopp on watch. It's hard with only 3 of them but they can leave easier than Luffy, who seems to permanently be attached to Zoro.

He's touching Zoro constantly. Petting at bare skin or face buried is the omega's neck. He nips a nasty bruise on his throat but Zoro doesn't stop him. He'll worry about it later.

~~

He ends up in Luffy's lap towards the end, chests against each other, Zoro's legs around Luffy's waist and his chin on the alpha's shoulder.

Luffy has possessive arms around around him, face tucked into the side of Zoro's neck and legs crossed to support the omega.

He should have know, there's a reason captains have a reputation for being notoriously protective and territorial.

He blinks at the others sleepily when they come in, making a little noise from the back of his throat that has Luffy's shoulders dropping from where they'd slowly been raising.

Nami steals the tray Sanji had been holding, who looks like he may take it back before he seems to realize it was Nami.

Luffy back is to her and Zoro's watching her, chin still digging into Luffy's shoulder.

The kiwi is sticky in her fingers and it runs juice down her hand and wrists but Zoro perks up a bit when he sees it, the hunger and thirst of a ending heat taking over.

He doesn't hesitate taking it from her fingers, swiping his tongue to grab the juice left on her fingers before pulling away and chewing. His lips are shiney and his scent is warming at being surrounded by pack and alpha.

Usopp steals the next piece of fruit to give, and then Sanji. They keep that rotation until Zoro's falling asleep again and turning his head away from them.

The room smells like pleased omega.

~~

The nest stays, even after the heat is over. They don't talk about it because it's still a little raw. There's a lot of unknown.

The start of a pack bond has been strongly established though, centered around Zoro and waiting quietly for the next step.

[florsial]

Hi!!! What r ur thoughts on Snape???🙏

Hiii :D oh this will be fun!

I don't mind him actually! I think he's ONE of the most interesting characters in Harry Potter (Golden Era and during the 70s). I like him much more as a teenager, being a snarky and awkward kid navigating his social surroundings. I'm more sympathetic to him as a teenager (+During First Wizarding War) but I'm a little on the fence when he's a teacher (how he treated Neville and Hermione). I can understand why people dislike him for being a bad teacher.

I will be honest, I definitely think Snape is a HIGHLIGHT example of the Fandom's hypocrisy. There is a constant demand for morally grey characters in the fandom and yet when they are presented with a CANON morally grey character, they cower basically (and I mean this with Dumbledore too!).

I also do think he is demonized a lot, especially his friendship with Lily because it's the fandom's way of making up for the lack of women in every way shape, or form. Everyone is very careful about Lily (Jegulus shippers) and they fear portraying her in any negative manner because they think if they do they will get called misogynistic. So they put everything onto Snape.

If you ask me, his friendship with Lily is very complicated and I don't think either had a mass blame on the falling out. Snape thinks she was choosing his bullies over him and Lily thinks that Snape didn't think of her very highly, which makes it worse by the fact that she was muggleborn. I don't blame Snape for never getting over his hate of James, what the Marauders did to/allowed what happened to him was fucked up.

I was constantly picked on/made uncomfortable/chased around the school by a boy years ago and the adults didn't really hear me out, to this day I still feel uncomfortable. And it's been like what 7 years or so? Shit sticks and it is obvious nothing was done about it.

However, it is wrong of Severus to take it out on Harry! That I won't deny. Like I said before, I don't blame people for not liking him as an adult. It's just when they condemn a teenager for this?? Ehhhhh...

He as a character is interesting. I see him as a very "child imagination" character, going from an abused and forgotten (using that word loosely) kid to a war hero basically. It's almost like it's what everyone imagined as a kid. I think he definitely fantasized about something like that as a child. Being an abused boy and wanting out. And thinking back on it when he was dying.

When he was starting Hogwarts, I hc that he was very fidgety. Skining-picking habit, twitchy, not staying still, picking at his lip, and was physically all over the place. His friendship with Lucius can actually be pretty sweet. Severus cools out the longer he goes to Hogwarts.

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[bts-hyperfixation]

How do you think BTS members will react if another member says crush's name while sleeping 👀?

I didn't give them specific members or anything and I do think certain members might react differently to one or two members

Please send me asks to keep me motivated while I’m off work! Thirsty thoughts, Most likely to, reactions, life updates, and general gibberish welcomed!!

Namjoon:

Namjoon gets really on edge when someone else mumbles the name of his crush in their sleep. He pauses what he is doing and listens out for anything else they say. He tries to convince himself that he is being ridiculous and goes back to what he is doing but Every time they move his ears perk up like a golden retriever listening for the mailman. He watches them like a hawk around his crush for the following week and becomes a little twitchy about it. Eventually he either gets approached by that member about being weird or he hears them whisper someone else's name and goes back to normal.

Seokjin: 

He throws a pillow at them and then runs out of the room before they see who threw it, conveniently he walks back in a few moments later and just says "Bad dream?"

Yoongi:

He probably skirts around the members the next day, bringing up small talk and trying to edge them into talking about his crush. He is trying to be subtle but most of the members know what he is doing and enjoy watching him squirm trying to get the topic to fall in the direction he wants. No one has a crush on his crush, and he is not as subtle as he thinks about the fact that he has said crush so they all know who his crush is. They put him out of his misery after a couple of days. 

Hoseok:

Probably doesn't care. Actively makes fun of the member for talking in their sleep and enjoys the blush that covers their cheeks when he teases them about a crush they don't have.

Jimin:

Gets a little self-conscious about it. Doesn't want to compete with one of his friends. He overthinks and blows the whole thing out of proportion until he is all twitchy and fidgety around the member in question. He spends a lot of time trying to refocus his attention from the crush onto someone or something else so he spends a lot of long hours in the dance studio. Namjoon or Yoongi eventually talk to him and tell him to knock it off and if it wasn't one of them he encourages them to talk to the other member.

Taehyung:

Shrugs it off and goes back to what he is doing. He might bring it up at a random point in time but in all likelihood he has probably completely forgotten about it by the time the morning comes around.

Jungkook:

Wakes the member up immediately and confronts them about it, whines probably. Complains that he had the crush first. The member is still mostly asleep and very confused, they don't even remember having a dream about the crush let alone saying their name.

[sea-owl]

Ok more on the Cook and the Demon.

After such a lovely picnic Colin drags escorts Penelope back to his home. If Penelope was asked to describe the lands of the Lord of Wrath in one word it would be energetic. There was this low buzzing feeling she has had ever since she stepped over the border. It was under her skin and made her twitchy, wanting to get this energy out.

Colin for his part was twirling the knife Penelope stabbed him with. Smiling at it, probably planning on how he was going to stab Penelope herself with it. Penelope felt her eye twitch,. Maybe she should take one of her other knives and stab his other side with it.

Penelope's thoughts halted when she felt something smooth slither up her leg. It moved higher and higher, circling her leg the more it moved up. She couldn't see it with her skirts covering it. The red head let out a shriek as she kicked her leg out over and over. Whatever was on it just tightened it's hold.

Colin grabbed a hold of Penelope's wrists. She used his grip to fling her legs upwards.

"No! Let me go!" Penelope demanded. She didn't know if she was talking to the demon or whatever was around her leg. Maybe it was both.

"Will you calm do-! Fuck!"

"Ahhh!" Penelope let out another shriek as she fell forward. For the second time today her skirts have been greened by the grass as she laid underneath her demon lord.

Colin had used his own limbs to pin her's. Despite her struggles Penelope could only shiver as she felt that slithering thing move higher above her waist and making itself comfortable wrapping itself around her chest. A head popped out from underneath her neckline. It was a snake, iridescent red in color with green eyes similar to the demon above her.

"This is Hekate," Colin introduced the snake. "She will be your companion so long as you are in my services."

Penelope could only nod as she felt Hekate slide just enough out of her bodice to lay herself across Penelope's neck. Her head nuzzling against Penelope's clavicle bone.

Colin got off while Penelope looked down at her new nanny and their shared master's spy. She really couldn't think of any other reason for Hekate and she had to admit it was smart, someone had to make sure Penelope didn't do something to the demon's food.

"Hello Hekate," Penelope whispered as she held her hand close to the snake. She tried not to shiver again when Hekate's tongue flicked across her skin. It was wet, but also felt so light. Hopefully after this Penelope can just sleep or at least have nothing else surprise her today.

Without another incident they made it to the home of Lord Wrath. Any hopes of no more surprises for were dashed when they found a golden woman in the sitting room. If Penelope had to guess by her chestnut hair and similar features to Lord Wrath she was another one of the sins. Which one though? Vanity? Pride? Either way Penelope should be poliet.

Penelope lowered herself into a curtsey.

"Oh Colin she is so polite!" The golden lady gushed. "And so adorable! Let me have her! I can pay her more!"

Hekate tightened herself on Penelope, and Colin rolled her eyes. "Go find your own mortal Daphne, this one is mine."

Daphne, as the golden lady has been named, waved Colin off. "I'm Daphne, Lady of Greed. Oh you have to cook us something! I must try your food!"

Penelope bowed her head. Cooking, she can do cooking. Cooking is safe and easy. "Of course my lady. Any special requests?"

"Awww so cute!" Daphne gushed again. "Suprise me darling."

"Of course my lady," Penelope said.

"Hekate will direct you," Colin said as he waved her off.

Penelope bowed to both sins and made her to the kitchen under Hekate's tugging this way and that.

"So Colin," Daphne said as soon as the mortal was out of ear shot. "Why is Hekate, the snake connected to your emotions, doing wrapped around the girl?"

Colin held up the still bloodied knife Penelope had stabbed him with earlier. "Well it was only fair. I mean she did start the courtship."

Daphne gasped. "How?! I've been trying to get a mortal to start a courtship for three decades now!"

[wifetomegatron]

I’m not sure if you’re taking requests or not so feel free to delete but if you are how about some firsts! First date with First Aid in the First Contact!AU?

thank you for requesting anon <3 i hope you enjoy this !

a night full of firsts : what a first date with first aid would be like (sfw!)

i) you weren't his first date ( he had dated a couple of times back in medical school, but that had been ages ago ), but you were his first date on earth. first aid had idled outside the door of the restaurant for about ten minutes, constantly re-checking the screen of his mobile phone — which, in his opinion, was ridiculous to carry around — to double and triple check your picture. he was fidgeting, servos twitchy as he entered the place. the funny bit was you had witnessed the whole thing, the wide, clear window giving you a full view of first aid desperately trying to soothe his nerves ( you tell him this months after and he nearly breaks apart from shame. )

ii) first contact had been established for nearly a decade now, and humans were surprisingly quick to assimilate. if anything, none of the patrons bat an eye at his presence — red and white metal, shining under the golden glow of the lights. there were only five other bots inside the place, including him. and when he was the only one obviously on a date, first aid felt singled out if not scrutinized. with a more integral involvement in the council of worlds, the people of this little green planet had opened themselves slowly to the idea of 'interspecies relationships.' it was only a matter of time before someone created a dating app specialized for that. ( the secondhand embarrassment in asking velocity to help him create his profile pales in comparison to the shame he felt when he saw so many of his friends there.) less than a week of being on there scrolling, the two of you had matched. and the sweet little messages had boiled down to this very moment: you sitting across him, cheeks dusted pink. he averted his optics, suddenly feeling shy for the first time in a long time.

iii) the first hour went smoothly, with a few bumps along the way such as the occasional slip-ups and misunderstanding — you had accidentally asked him if he thinks the carbonara is better than the aglio e olio while he had slipped and accidentally called your eyes 'fascinating' instead of 'beautiful'. those he could laugh off.

until you had wondered aloud at how interesting it was that humans and cybertronians were so similar. and off-handedly, out of instinct, the medic had responded with : more than you think.

you had a playful glint in your eyes when you responded, lifting the wine glass to your lips, ' is that a promise?'

at the innuendo, his already nervous knee had jerked upwards and bumped the underside of the table, knocking the glass of water all over the surface. he immediately stood up, reaching to undo the damage by plucking the glass, only to have one of the table cloths snag in the seam of his knee. in an instant, the plates and cutlery had toppled over, loudly crashing onto the floor. but he didn't even have the time to react, the candle — which in his opinion was an evil, dangerous, thing to have on a dinner table and nowhere romantic — had set several of the napkins on fire. a dozen frightened patrons and one, messy fire extinguisher later, first aid had yanked you out of your seat and away from the chaos. this was the first time, first aid wished — what was the human saying ? for the earth to swallow him up? judging from how your clothes were most likely irreversibly damaged by the wine and pasta, disappearing was the best option.

iv) he knows ratchet was trying not to laugh at the story, failing miserably the moment he excused himself out of the room to ( not so discreetly ) tell his conjunx about the incident. velocity gave him a pitying smile, even if she was hiding her amusement. he told her that he was never going to see you again — that he ruined a beautiful night with a beautiful person over a stupid accident. considering that he was flustered enough to disappear without a word. until you had showed up by the receptionist's desk, worried hands wrung together as you asked one of the nurses for him.

at the sight of him, your eyes lit up. this was the first time first aid found himself at a loss for words, spark racing as you explained to him how you were more worried about how he had deleted the app the morning after and left without a word. determined not to get ghosted by someone who clearly enjoyed the night, you had tracked him down to ask him for another date.

' this time,' you had cleared your throat, ' i can prepare us dinner back at mines and actually make sure there'll be no candles around. if you'd want, that is ?'

he was glad he had his mouth guard up because he could feel himself grinning, velocity in the back already calling swerve to break to him the news.

'yes,' first aid answered, ' i'd like that.'

[oumaheroes]

I'm so sorry if I'm bothering, but reading "The Captain" has seriously floored, contaminated and infected me and I'm making a playlist inspired by it - But I was wondering if you had thoughts on Alfred and his people in that context? Because I... Like cowboy Alfred and I can't emphasize enough how many stories would emerge from Alfred losing a dual, lying dead on the ground, just to be gone by dawn and seen again in the next town over on death row to be hanged, just to be seen alive again some time later?

Like, it gives campfire stories and western-tales! 🥹

The Cowboy

Characters: America

The Captain (England)

The Artist (France)

The Cleaner (Scotland)

--------

Some say there are monsters out on the plains.

Unholy things. Dangerous things. Things that no man should see, and that would drive him mad if he ever did.

The cowboy does not believe all this. He believes in truth, cold and bitter. Life is hard out here, that is true, and sometimes a hard life does things to a man. Turns him inside out with wanting and regret. Makes him yowl for his momma at night like a child from loneliness. Cold nights, bitter winds, and dust choked skies- miles and miles with nothing but the hot sun and ghosts of old lives nipping at your heels.

Because to choose a life on the plains alone is to have come from something. To go far into the desert and stay there means that there is sanctuary in the sands that cannot be found in a town, or a village. And that life changes those who live it. Makes them see their fears manifested in order to understand them. Forces them to acknowledge their wrongs and mistakes by trapping them alone.

The cowboy is no different. He’s seen many things he wishes he hadn’t. Has done many more besides.

There’d been a boy. Many summers ago.

Bright blue eyes, golden hair. Rough broad hands of a working man, but the expensive clothes of a comfortable one. He’d rolled into town with fear behind his wide smile; twitchy fingers and a need for work with no questions asked. He’d been running from things, that was clear, and the cows don’t ask no questions. Nor do cowboys in need of able hands.

He’d been good. Been quick. Great with horses, could calm even the most spooked or rowdy with just a touch. A real gift for them, and a real love for the plains. He grew tall under the wide blue skies, expanded his chest outwards as he rode in a way that made you look at him. Talked much, talked often, but without saying anything at all.

When he’d died, the cowboy didn’t know who to send for. The boy had never mentioned his father, hadn’t spoken of his momma, not even in passing. No family and not even a family name to claim him. He’d had to leave him out there to the sun, nothing but a bright red blanket over his face to offer him shade and the cowboy’s own rings on his eyes to pay for something he didn’t quite understand. It had felt right. It had felt inadequate.

He’d been too young.

The memory of the boy haunts him. The cowboy sees their final ride in his dreams, sees the herd change direction and sees the boy react too late. Sees him realise across the cattle that he was pinned- rock of the canyon on one side, and the stampede the other. He caught the cowboy’s eye and that, that moment of knowing, seared something into him that the cowboy knows he will never forget.

Over the thunder of a thousand hooves, the boy’s scream is an unanswerable battle cry he still wakes to, even now.

The cowboy keeps moving. The herds do not stop. Rides must be finished. Life goes on.

He goes it alone. Wrings out his soul in the dust, lets it boil over with regret. Then he gets another partner. Then another. The cowboy is older, too old these days to head on out to watch the cattle without someone he trusts at his back. The world is changing around them but this life does not change, does not grow easier. Only harder, as his bones begin to hurt and his eyes can no longer spot unfriendly shapes moving in the shadows.

One night and a shared fire like any other- three men and a dog in the middle of nowhere- the cowboy looks up to see a face he knows all too well. It has been years, decades, but the boy’s face is unchanged. Still milk smooth, still full and whole.

He has a chain around his neck that glitters in the firelight. Thin gold links that hold up familiar rings, unused payment for a journey not taken. He catches the cowboy’s eye over a whisper of long ago screams and nods.

There are monsters out on the plains.

Things that creep around campsites, things that stir in the night. Things that wear the faces of long dead men, that put on old skin like clothes and come to sit quietly by your side.

The cowboy cannot look at him. He hears him breathing as the men around them talk, feels the warmth of the boy’s arm through this jacket.

‘Well met,’ the cowboy manages, and offers his old friend his flask to drink from.

The boy does not take it. He looks up at the stars, bright and endless above them, and holds the cowboy’s rings in one hand.

‘Strange, isn’t it?’ he says softly, ‘What things we can sometimes think we see.’

The cowboy’s heartbeat beats loud in his ears, ‘Too much sun does things to a man.’

‘It does.’ The boy turns and looks back. His eyes are old, hard things, ‘I’ve heard people tell all sorts of tales. Drunken ghost stories no sane man would believe.’

The cowboy’s gut screams a warning, that he is but prey in front of predator. He knows to listen, has enough sense not to question, ‘I’m too sane to believe most things.’

He meets the boy’s eye and does not look away. The fire before them cracks, and the boy breathes. There is no other sound. Then, he smiles, teeth emerging white and gleaming. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Maybe, it never did.

‘Well met, friend.’ the boys says. He claps the cowboy’s shoulder and settles back. The cowboy’s chest feels lighter, ‘I think we’ll get along just fine.’

I couldn't help myself Sunny, I was instantly inspired and it's all your fault

---------

AN

As it was written so quickly this may well change, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone and I had to get it out there

If this story is to have a song, it's 'Ghost Rider's' by Johnny Cash which is, and always will be, an utter banger.

[californiaboytoybilly]

Eye Candy pt 2

My apologies that this took so long. I’ve been having a hectic few weeks. Part three will come faster!

Steve had no idea how to feel the moment his eyes locked on the man who’d spoken.

On one hand, he felt distinctly caught. Something like embarrassment crawled up the back of his neck, hot and twitchy, motivating his feet to take off in a run. Robin would probably kill him if he did, however.

But he was also warm for an entirely different reason.

Because holy fuck, this just might be the single most attractive man he’d ever seen and every single one of his nerves was firing sporadically.

They were about the same height, but that’s where the similarities ended. The man had soft looking blond curls pulled back from the sides of his face with sleek silver clips. A single, perfect ringlet dangled over his forehead artfully.

His eyes- a startling blue even in the dim light- were rimmed with smoked out eyeliner, sparkling with amusement as Steve’s silence stretched on. Golden skin was showcased by a silky ruby toned shirt only half done up, tucked into a leather corset style belt with hand etched designs so intricate Steve would bet it cost more than two months of his rent.

“I… I uh-“ Steve stuttered over his attempt to answer, cheeks flooding red. The pretty man ran his tongue over a pointed canine as he waited.

“We must’ve gotten the wrong address.” Robin interrupted when she realized Steve’s brain was fully broken.

More of those pearly teeth flashed at them with the answer. “Ah, of course.” He didn’t believe them at all, the dimple in his cheek twitching with the effort not to laugh. Robin grabbed Steve by the wrist, yanking him towards her and the door none too subtly.

“Sorry, we’ll be- uh, on our way!” She gave the guy a tight smile, tugging at Steve again. Giving in, the brunette man started to follow her towards the door, only to be stopped by a larger hand clasping around his opposite wrist.

Steve’s eyes shot up and back to lock with an intense blue gaze. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come in, I promise I don’t bite.”

*Unless you ask nicely*, Steve could’ve sworn he heard exhaled afterwards.

He should’ve said no, apologized and left probably. They didn’t know this guy and this had already been an embarrassing start. But Steve really was a sucker for pretty boys.

“Uh-uhm, yeah. Okay. Why not?” His voice was a little strained and he tried to ignore the stunned look Robin shot him. He was gonna get an earful for this later, that was clear.

“Perfect…” The man smiled more genuinely, letting go of his wrist. Steve tried not to mourn the loss. “You can call me Billy, by the way.”

Billy. Steve rolled the name around in his mouth and decided he liked it. He would’ve expected the fallen angel currently guiding them through the other guests to have a name as elegant as his clothes but for some reason the commonality of it almost stood out more.

It suited him.

“Steve. And that is Robin.” He replied with a tongue that felt too big for his mouth, trying not to drool. The entire back of Billy’s shirt was taken up by a sheer panel that showed each fluid shift of his back muscles as he walked.

Steve wanted to bite them.

He was shaken out of his trance when they arrived to a smaller living room than the one at the front, where only a small handful of guests lingered. Five or six people besides them, max. A guard stood at the entrance, but paid Steve and Robin no mind as they trailed in at Billy’s heels.

He led them to a couch, where only one other person was sitting. A lithe, wisp of a girl in a lilac satin cocktail dress, a silver chain belt draped over her hips and wild brown curls she’d hauled up into a bun. She was almost as captivating as the blond, with pointed, lovely features that reminded him of a little of the elves in Dustin’s movies.

Her eyes brightened as they landed on Billy, then turned sly as she moved to their guests. “Ooh, where’d you find these ones?” She all but purred, getting to her feet with feline grace. Steve didn’t have to feel guilty about his mind’s preoccupation with Billy, though.

Most of her attention seemed locked on Robin, who was currently wide eyed like a deer in traffic.

“They ah… got a little lost. Figured I’d be a good host and let them stay.” Billy sounded amused repeating their bad excuse, which made Steve bite down a little harder on his lip.

“I’m not complaining. Have a seat.” She said, taking a step back and lowering herself onto the black couch once again. “Heather.” She held out a hand towards Robin, who took it expecting a shake.

“Nice to meet you. I’m um- uh…“ Steve almost wanted to laugh at how flustered the girl was, but he was self aware he’d been even worse than her before. He wasn’t going to invite her to call him out.

“Robin?” She finally managed, though it sounded a little like a question. Heather let out a pleasant peal of soft laughter. “You’re an awfully cute one.” She said like a fact, Robin’s freckles officially vanishing as her blush darkened impossibly more.

Oh god, what had they gotten themselves into?

[aintgonnatakethis]

Fun Line Tag Game

Thank you @lancedoncrimsonwings for tagging me!

Rules: Post a line that you're tremendously pleased by and a line that’s just out-of-context ridiculous

I'm taking massive creative licence with what the word 'line' means, but cut me a break 😂 Both these excerpts are from the untitled 450k SGU story I was working on during lockdown and have recently been rereading, setting aside bits that I like and think I can use in other stories.

Pleased by - Telford is the one to recruit Rush, Rush bonds in strange ways:

"Do you have any--" He paused to inhale more smoke because he was still feeling twitchy and he needed to focus. "Good stories?" "About aliens I've killed," Telford replied casually. It wasn't a question but Rush shrugged anyway. "That's really what you want to know." "In for a penny," Rush muttered. His cigarette had burned down and he ground it into the ashtray and lit another. Telford shook his head and Rush was weighing up his options on how to get him to talk when he shrugged carelessly. "Before we practically wiped the Goa'uld out, they used to camp down in lakes when there weren't any hosts around. Pretty much impossible to see them if they didn't surface and we couldn't avoid every body of water we came across. Kid called Murray was washing dirt off his hands when one of them came out of the water and burrowed straight into him." The detached, impersonal way Telford was recounting the memory made Rush feel sick, even though he had asked for it. He wanted to know this. He did. "One of the other guys held him down and I tried to pull it out. It was young and hadn't aimed quite right; got more of his shoulder than his neck, so it couldn't wrap around his spine. We'd gotten to him quick and I managed to pull it free." Telford took a last drag and flicked the stub out of the window. "It brought his shoulder blade with it. But hey. He lived." Rush felt cold and shivery, but he deserved this. He’d asked for it. "What did it feel like?" From the corner of his eye he saw Telford look at him but refused to turn himself. There was a long silence and he thought he wouldn't get an answer. "Like… a baby eel," Telford said finally, "before they get their tough skin. Too soft for what it was." Have you killed a lot of baby eels, Rush wanted to ask. He couldn't seem to get his tongue to work though, which was probably a blessing. He imagined smooth skin beneath his hands, slimy and slightly wet from a lake. He imagined the blood, the screaming, having to pull a man's bones out through his skin; because it was to save him, from something worse, from walking around in his own skin a prisoner. He imagined dropping the alien on the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. He imagined never being able to relax around water again.

Ridiculous - completely normal and safe things to say when you're being "interviewed" by the US military:

The first man hummed irritably and shuffled his papers again. "You are not a US citizen. Who did you vote for when you were based in the UK?" The sudden change of gears made Rush laugh. "You’re asking me about my political opinions?" They all looked at him expectantly. The ice still hadn’t worn off and Rush didn’t know what to say, so he said the first thing that came into his head. "I’ve always thought communism was quite good."

Tagging: @fortunatetragedy @the-golden-comet @moltenwrites @viscerawrites @aggsh-shs + OPEN

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes (Affinity Series)

Alpha!Bucky x Sweet Little Omega!POC!Reader x Alpha!Steve

Wordcount: 3990

Summary:

You celebrate your first Halloween together as a mated pack.

Warnings:

Gratuitous Smut, Smut, Shameless Smut, Halloween Costumes, Porn With Plot, Voyeurism, Pole Dancing, Lapdance, Lap Sex, Threesome, Double Penetration, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Mating Bond, Mating Bites

Notes:

Hello Heathens! It's time for some sexy Halloween shenanigans with our favorite pack! Happy Reading!

Bannner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

Another year, another Halloween bash thrown by Tony at the compound. This year you had the added benefit of not one but two Alpha’s on your arm. Not to mention the lovely claim marks decorating your collarbone.

You couldn't be happier that the boys went along with your costume choices for the night. Preening over how sinfully handsome your Alpha’s looked. Both of them grew their hair out for the event. “Anything for our sweet little Omega.” They both stated upon your request. 

Bucky looked otherworldly dressed as a vampire, devilish fanged smirk and all. The contacts you purchased him turning his steel gaze, cold as ice. The subtle clenched jaw was even working in his favor.

Steve was almost unrecognizable. His blonde shaggy locks dyed brown and a full thick beard covered the lower half of his face. A couple well placed bloody cuts, dirtied up, torn clothing and a set of top and bottom fangs completed the werewolf ensemble. 

Then there was you. Dressed as Queen Akasha herself, sans the neck piece. You wanted to show off your claims, not hide them. It took some serious convincing and time on your knees for your Alphas to agree to let you wear the barely there costume. Based on the looks the three of you were receiving as you made your way through the crowd outside, it was well worth it. 

“I need a fucking drink. All these eyes on you are making me twitchy.” Bucky grounds out.

“Oh Sarg, they aren’t all on me.” You stop, turning your back to Steve as you face him, running your fingers down his Adam's apple. “I can practically see knees weakening watching your tall, dark, mysterious frame walk by.” 

You place a kiss to his chin and pivot to look up at Steve. “And you my dear Captain. You’re perplexing them all. Who knew America’s Golden boy could look so unruly.” You nip his Adam’s apple and head towards the bar inside, to gain some much needed warmth.

“I want to be angry, but for the life of me, I can’t think straight when she looks like that.” Steve states.

“Fucking little vixen.” Bucky shakes his head. “C’mon Stevie. Best not leave her alone too long. Trouble loves to follow her round.”

Drinks had been partaken, conversations shared and the party was starting to wind down. Only the team and those closest to them remain, congregating in the common room. As a joke, or maybe not, Tony had a stripper pole placed in the middle of the couches. 

The girls were curious as to your excitement at seeing the pole and you divulged that you used to choreograph for your sex worker friends for extra cash. “Plus it's a great workout in general. You really should give it a try.”

“You can’t tell us something like that and then not show us.” Wanda blurts out.

“I have to agree.” Nat nods along. “What level of routine were you choreographing for your friends? How do we know you’re not just trying to impress us with your words?”

With the rum still slightly running through your veins you had no qualms about educating them on your skills on the pole. “I know your goading me to get a free show but I really can’t back down from a challenge.” You smile devilishly. “Go ahead and take a seat, bring the men over too if you wish.”

“Oh I’m so game for this.” Maria exclaims, grabbing Wanda’s hand and pulling her toward the couches, currently occupied by Bruce, Clint, and Sam.

“Where’s the smoke?” Clint asks as the women take their seats.

“We’re about to get a lesson on how to work a stripper pole.” Nat explains.

“Yo!” Clint yells to Tony, Thor, Steve and Bucky at the bar. “We’re about to have some entertainment of the sexy variety. You might want to make your way over here.”

They all shrug and head over to the couches. Your Alpha’s noticing that you are not among the women sat waiting. A haunting beat begins playing as they spot you sauntering towards the pole. Almost recreating Akasha’s walk from the film. 

“Is she about to pole dance to Forsaken from Queen of the Damned, dressed as Queen of the Damned?” Sam questions.

“I have no idea what this Queen of the Damned is but I am most enjoying where this is going.” Thor imparts. “Once again Barnes, and not to now exclude you Rogers, I am very impressed by your Omega.”

“Shush. We’re trying to enjoy the show.” Nat hushes them. 

Unbeknownst to the team you could do this routine in you sleep. It’s one of your favorite go to's when your feeling yourself and need a little outlet. And yes you have taught your two best friends this routine for when they need to hit the pole as a side hustle. You even taught a class using a variation of this routine to bored housewives.

You can't help the way your body caresses and moves around the pole. As always the beat takes over you, turning you into a siren of the flesh. You're flawlessly doing sunwheels, corkscrews, and ballerina spins. Intermingled with inverted splits, a cross knee layback, and secretary sits. You’re sure to show off a bit of floor work as you perform an assisted shoulder stand down onto all fours, whipping your hair around as you sit back on your heels. You smile smugly at the girls' slack jawed faces before continuing on. 

Your boys are transfixed by how you have captivated the attention of everyone in the room. The prideful Alphas can’t help the satisfaction they feel knowing that you’re all theirs. Brazenly showing their marks to the world. They may have to put a pole up at home, make a whole naughty playroom for your enjoyment.

“Another!” Thor proclaims as you land on your feet and bow to the small applause of your super friends. 

“I always knew there was something you were hiding. That sweet face, so unassuming. No typical Omega could handle having one supersoldier Alpha, let alone two. Let me guess, you're proficient in lap dances as well?” A tipsy Tony inquires.

“But of course.” You smile mischievously at your Alphas. “Friday. Dim the lights and play Unholy by Sam Smith and Kim Petras.”

You confidently strut over to stand between Bucky’s legs as the lights lower and the song begins. Your hips bounce to the beat, sinking low, using his powerful thighs for balance, leaning forward into a body roll, pulling back until you're upright. 

You slowly lift your left leg into a standing leg extension, holding it for a moment before releasing it and straddling both of Alphas thighs with a cheeky giggle. You grab onto their shoulders, throwing your head back and quickly whipping your hair back and forth. Snapping back forward and throwing your hips up and back, bending over for all to see. 

You eye your Captain, as you spin on your heels, swaying your hips side you side you back up into his lap. You roll your body against his, running your right hand up the back of his neck, weaving your fingers in his silky locks and gently pulling as you grind your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Omega.” He growls in your ear.

“Shhh, Captain. Just enjoy your dance, Alpha.” You tease.

“You're lucky you’re already mine, doll. Doing this with everyone watching, testing our patience.” He nips behind your ear. “Risky business. Making your Alpha’s want you so badly. Just look at Bucky.”

You turn your head, still working Steve over, as your eyes lock with the dilated pupils of Bucky's. You lick your lips and swallow as you feel your slick begin to soak through your thong.  

You feel Steve inhale, as Bucky’s nostrils flare, both clearly scenting your arousal. “Everyone out.” Bucky growls to the room.

“Excuse me, this is my compound.” Tony snaps back.

Ignoring him, your Alpha continues on. “You all have 30 secs to get the fuck out before your stuck watching Steve and I take our Omega apart.”

“I would quite enjoy viewing you ravage such an enticing Omega as I am not allowed to partake per your Midgardian customs.” Thor declares. “A shame really.”

You turn over to straddle Steve’s lap, continuing to dance, lost in the combined scent of your Alpha’s. “I don’t even think these two would notice right now.” Tony quips. 

Bucky leans in, gripping your chin. “That right ‘mega? You getting floaty already?” You subtly nod your head. “Want me to kick everyone out or do you want them to truly see who you belong to?”

“Depends on who’s staying.” You whisper out.

“Apparently just Thor and Tony” He quickly scans the room. “Everyone else seems to have found their way somewhere else.”

“Probably to go work out all the sexual tension you guys have been putting out.” Tony snarks.

“Most certainly. I saw Natasha practically dragging Bruce behind her.” Thor agrees with a chuckle.

You look up to see the room clear of everyone but the Demi God and the Billionaire Playboy. “What do you think Captain? An audience of two, okay with you?”

He nuzzles into your neck. “I don’t care either way. I just really need to have you squirming on my cock.”

“I need a verbal yes or no, Alpha.” You respond. “I’m not about to have you get all possessive and violent because someone other than Bucky is getting turned on watching you split me open.”

You feel the growl emanating from his chest deep in your core as he leans back and looks you in the eye. “Yes, Omega. They can watch how good you take my cock.”  

“You heard the man.” Bucky addresses the two men. “Don’t take this opportunity for granted.”

Zoning in on the Alpha you’re sat upon, you lean forward, running your hands through his shaggy hair, kissing him deeply. You're granted the taste of the whiskey and Asgaurdian liquor he’s been sipping throughout the night on his tongue. The scent of him around you combined with his current taste has you grinding your slick soaked thong all over the font of his pants. Making quite the mess. 

A devilish smile appears on his bearded face as he wraps his fist in your hair and pulls your head back. Forcing you to look him in the eyes. "Unzip my pants and pull me out." He quietly commands.

Without hesitation you undo his pants and pull out his thick length. Subconsciously licking your lips at the sight of his precum already leaking out of the tip. 

“Pull that flimsy piece of fabric to the side and sit on my cock, Omega." Eyes glazed over, hindbrain kicking in at the order you lift yourself up enough to pull your thong to the side, exposing your leaking slit. You place his tip at your entrance, sliding down onto his thickness, filling yourself up inch by inch. 

Hand still in your hair he pulls you down into a heated kiss, tilting his hips up as your pelvis’ meet, getting as deep as he can. Pulling away, he wraps a hand around your throat, groaning as you involuntarily clench around him. "Now be a good girl and hold on to my shoulders." 

Once your hands are securely placed, Steve begins to piston his hips up into you. Practically using your body like his own personal ‘rutlight’. You start to bounce along with him, meeting in the middle with a grind of your hips. 

His hand tightens around your throat, the sweet pressure muffling your screams as you notice cool metal fingers trail along your spine. "That's it Omega. Look so pretty taking your Alpha’s cock.” Bucky whispers in your ear. “Fuck. I bet you're squeezing his dick real good, huh, baby girl?"

You can feel yourself ready to explode, his words adding fuel to the fire. You feel more than see, his flesh hand traveling down your torso, stopping at your mound. He takes the opportunity to play with your clit, rubbing tight little circles against the sensitive nub. You bite your lip from the overwhelming sensations of being surrounded by your Alpha’s, right on the knife edge of control, rapidly hurtling towards the cliff of your climax. Not to mention the fact that you have an audience, witnessing your destruction. 

"Oh baby you're so close. Can feel your sweet little pussy trying to pop my knot.” Steve grits out. “Gonna cum all over my fat cock?" 

You moan and nod your head yes, lost in a haze of lust. "I can’t hear you, Omega. Use your words. Do. You. Want. To. Cum. On. Your. Alphas. Cock?" He punctuates with his thrusts.

"YES! Please, Alpha. Want to cum all over your cock. Want to make a mess just for you." You manage to whimper out.  

Bucky groans, nipping your shoulder. "There's our sweet ‘mega. Always so good for her Alphas." He increases the pressure and speed on your clit. Making your grind against Steve all the more. 

"Now! Cum for us right now, Omega. I want to feel this little tight pussy of yours clamping down on my dick like a vice." Steve commands, setting off your orgasm. Throwing your head back, you let out a deep guttural moan, writhing on his dick, as you ride out the climax.

Unwilling to knot you and have you stuck on this couch for who knows how long, but still needing to remind the room who you belong to, Steve removes his hand from your throat. Within seconds each Alpha has latched on to their respective marks and bit down, freshening up their claims.

Like the turning of a switch, you melt into Steve, losing yourself to the lovely feeling of Omegaspace. Floating in a haze of pheromones, enveloped in the safety of your Alpha’s arms. You could care less who was left in the room other than Steve and Bucky. 

“You can put your tongues back in your mouths now boys.” Steve addresses the awestruck duo frozen to their seats. “Thank goodness you didn't pull your dicks out at least.”

“I was tempted to.” Tony blurts out.

“If I had, I would not have been able to refrain myself from trying to partake in the festivities.” Thor confesses. 

“Been there.” Steve agrees with a chuckle. “Anyway, have fun getting rid of those, boys. We’re going to go knot our sweet little omega til she passes out. See ya in the morning.”

“You’re staying here?” Tony asks.

“There is no way in hell I can last til we get to our place before I knot her properly.” Bucky growls out. “So yeah, we're staying in our apartment here. That a problem?”

“Not at all. I'll have Friday double the soundproofing and warn Sam.” He squeaks out.

“Thanks Tony.” Steve responds, scooping you up and walking down the hall to the apartment they keep on the compound.

You're undressed and placed down on what you know to be Steve’s king sized bed, based on the scent wafting up from the sheets. You sense them on either side of you as you burrow your nose in the pillow beneath your head.

“Feeling good, Omega?” Bucky asks.

“Mmmhmm” You nod your head in response, opening up our eyes and catching the steel grays to your right.

“Need more? Or are you good for the night?” Steve queries.

“More. I know you both didn’t come.” You quirk a brow at them. “Can’t have that.”

“That right ‘mega?” Bucky teases.

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ for emphasis.

“Okay.” He caresses your chin. “Can’t disappoint our sweet little Omega now can we. What do you have in mind, babygirl?”

“I want to ride my Captain while you fuck my ass from behind Sarge.” You calmly state.

The supersoldiers let out simultaneous growls at your request. 

“I want to be stuffed full. Need you both to use me for your pleasure. Please.” You can’t help but pout as you plead for what you want.

Bucky runs his metal thumb across your bottom lip. “No need to pout, sweet ‘mega. You’ll get what you want. Stevie, toss me the lube I know you keep stocked in your nightstand. You heard what she wants. Let her ride you some more while I prep that glorious ass.”

You smile triumphantly as you throw a leg over Steve’s naked waist. Somehow you just now realized that you’re all undressed, naked flesh on full display. You tease his turgid length, re-coating him in the fresh slick leaking from your cunt until you feel the vibration of his growl against your thighs as he stills your hips with one of his massive hands. With the other, he grabs his dick, teasing your clit with the tip, pulling a whine from you that is cut short as he lines up and thrusts, sinking his cock deep inside you. 

Your head falls back and your spine arches as you push yourself up and undulate your hips, burying him even deeper. Your Alpha’s following your every move, entranced by the way you swivel and bounce, losing yourself in the ebb and flow of your own little private show being put on for their eyes only. 

Worked up and ready to be inside you himself, Bucky, having sufficiently lubed up his cock, climbs between Steve’s spread legs. Placing a hand to the middle of your spine he kisses up your throat until he reaches your ear.

“Be a good Omega and lean forward for me so I can join in on the fun. You don't look stuffed enough yet.” The cool palm in the middle of your back helps push you down until you're laying flush against Steve’s chest.

He then proceeds to run his lube covered fingers along your stretched out lips, gathering the slick that continues to pour out of you with one hand as the other grabs a cheek and spreads you out, exposing your puckered little hole. Running his coated fingers around your hole teasingly, slowly adding more pressure until he is able to get the first one, then two fingers inside you. Opening you up little by little, as you gently roll your hips back and forth, grinding down on the Alpha beneath you.

“You’re doing so good for me ‘mega. Gonna add another finger. Open you up a bit further so you can take me nice and deep. Want you to focus on how good my fingers feel.” Bucky instructs you.

He works his third finger into you and proceeds to scissor them all and open you up further until you can take them with ease and are a whimpering mess. As he pulls them out, you whine at the feeling of emptiness left behind. 

He grabs a cheek in each hand and spreads you out, signaling Steve to still your hips. Lining himself up he breaches your tight little hole. “Relax, ‘mega. Take a deep breath for me.”

You do as you're told and on your exhale your tight ring of muscle relaxes, allowing Bucky to sink right in. “Fuck. So tight. How ya feeling, Omega?”

“Full.” You moan out. 

“Good.” Bucky grits out.

That is the last thing you are able to comprehend, as they begin to pull out and thrust into you, never leaving you empty. As one retreats the other pushes in, playing you like a well strung violin. Pulling moans, whimpers and orgasms from you like notes on a page. Creating a sinful melody to feed their carnivorous appetites.

You can feel the haze of overwhelming pleasure start to take over your body. Your senses are so keyed up and overloaded, that it doesn't take long before you are crying out and clenching down on the cocks lodged inside you as you crest over the edge into a blissful climax. Head buried in Steve’s chest as tears begin to flow from your eyes at the overpowering ecstasy. 

“That’s it, Omega. Love it when you squeeze me so tight, trying to make me pop my knot, lock me in place.” He lifts your head from his chest and places a tender kiss to your forehead as they slow their thrusts, allowing you a moment of reprieve. 

He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. “How are you feeling?” 

You’re just coherent enough to get out a few words. “So good. Need more. Want your knots.”

“I couldn't dream of denying her anything right now.” Bucky states.

Your pussy and ass squeeze around your Alphas, as you imagine being filled with their hot cum, causing them to start to lose their rhythm. Pounding into you erratically as they chase their own highs. 

“Fuck. That’s it ‘mega.” Steve grunts out. “Take my cock. I’m so fucking close. Gonna pop my knot and paint your insides white. Gonna lock you to me as you take every drop.” 

As Steve’s words hit your ears, you instinctively squeeze around Bucky, setting off a frenzied pace in the Alpha as they race to the finish line. 

“Fuck Steve, you make her clench around me like that again and her pussy wont be the only thing getting filled.” Bucky groans out.

Having them talk about filling you up like you're not even in the room is the spark that lights the match on the fire that is your impending orgasm. You detonate in a blaze of pleasure, almost blacking out from the sheer force of it, taking both of them along with you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Bucky loses it first, hips stuttering until they still, popped knot resting against the outside of your ring of muscle as he groans and empties his balls into your abused little hole. Gripping your ass cheeks so hard you're sure he left bruises behind.

As he slowly pulls out his still hard member, your hole clenching trying to pull him back in, Steve lifts his hips and lodges himself deeper into your cunt. He pulls you into an intense kiss just as his knot pops, making good on his promise, as he shoots rope after rope of his seed deep into your womb, coating your walls white, triggering a minor orgasm of your own. “Can’t get enough of filling you up. Especially when it sets you off again like that. Come on, ‘mega, milk your Alpha dry.”

He grips your hips, grinding your clit along his pelvis until you come one last time for him, biting down on his shoulder as you undulate against his chest. 

You feel cool metal and warm flesh dance along your spine as you come down from your final high. Removing your head from the crook of Steve’s you turn to look upon the satisfied face of your head Alpha.

“Hey there sweet Omega.” You smile at the softness in the rough Alpha’s voice. “You did so good, baby. Made your Alpha’s feel amazing.” 

You preen at the praise, cuddling closer to Steve’s chest. “So so good. Go ahead and rest, doll. You’ve earned it.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re starting to drift off, listening to your Alpha’s speak around you.

“You know, last year, I knew you had her locked on your knot while we watched Scream.” Steve confesses. “Even though you were trying to be quiet, I heard you going at it before I came out. Might have even gotten off to it so I wasnt coming into the room hot.” He chuckles.

“Steven!” You jolt upright, to smack him on this peck.

“You dirty fucking dog. Just couldn't help yourself could you?” Bucky shakes his head. “Bet that wasn't the last time you jerked it to us.”

“That night wasn't even the first.” He replies with a shit eating grin as he pulls you back down, locking you in his arms. “Certainly won't be the last.”

[miasmaghoul]

*shaking the bars of my cage* Dewdrop is never the dom because he is the smallest but with the right leverage strength isn't even a factor *angsty rattling continues* if you're still taking ficlet asks i would love to see him to get a turn, especially with one of the bigger ghouls. Authors choice, ofc.

So uhhhhhh how do we feel about a primal chase?

Just wondering.

(cw for blood, consensual rough sex and, y'know, primal behaviour)

They don't do this often enough, he thinks. This game they play when Dewdrop is in a certain mood and there aren't duties to attend to. When they have all the time in the world to focus on nothing but each other.

Well, in a way, at least.

Mountain grunts as he stumbles, catching himself on the rough bark of a massive pine. His legs ache, his chest burns, his head is spinning. He's been running for so long now, gone so deep into the forest that the thick boughs overhead blot out the afternoon sun.

He rests his forehead against the tree, fighting to catch his breath as silently as possible. His muscles are twitchy and aching, shot through with adrenaline and exertion. His mouth is so dry. He can hear water nearby, a soft rushing sound, and all he wants to do is find its source and lay there until he can feel his feet again.

He's so hard he can barely stand up straight.

But there's no time for him to pause, to rest. Not when the forest is whispering at him.

He's coming.

Watch out.

He's getting close.

He -

"I can smell you."

Mountain's whole being goes cold, and just like that he's running again, eyes cast down, arms pumping. He knows these woods like the back of his hand, knows every nook and cranny, but the chase has gone on so long that he's started to get turned around. He recognizes the grouping of boulders to his left as one he passed some 20 minutes earlier.

"Fuck," he gasps, forced still by a stitch in his side. Dew's icy voice is still wrapped around his brainstem, and every bit of Mountain's energy not being poured into running is working to suppress his overactive scent gland. He heart hammers against his ribs and the earth ghoul can't remember the last time he felt so...alive.

The sound of a twig snapping nearby sets him off again and Mountain sprints what he thinks is west. Towards the edge of the forest, he hopes. He needs more light, the thick blanket of branches overhead providing too much shadow and cover for everything that wasn't him.

He bobs between trees, bare feet skipping around thick roots and clusters of nettles. The forest opens up before him, the evergreen canopy thinning just enough for the ground to be speckled with golden light. Sunset tones. Mountain can hear that stream again, but it's calmer now. He must be further downstream. He's still hopped up on adrenaline, on the thrill of it all, but he's so fucking thirsty. His mouth is unbearably dry.

Mountain holds his breath and closes his eyes, tucked between a pair of tree trunks. He lets himself melt into the bark, and tunes back in to the song of the forest.

He hears the growth of the trees, the creak of their heavy branches. The flow of the water, how it carves through the earth below to bring life elsewhere.

He's coming.

Mountain cringes, focusing harder. He knows Dew is coming, that was the point of the chase, but he needs direction. He can't hear footsteps anymore, hasn't been able to since the broken twig. His nose is filled with sap and wildflowers, unable to hone in on the smoke-and-spice smell of the fire ghoul.

He's coming.

He ignores the warning, reaching deeper into the earth. Into the roots of the trees and the dirt itself, searching for a hot spot. For any hint of where Dewdrop lies, hunting Mountain like his own dinner. His flagging cock twitches, painful and sticky against his jeans. He feels like he's so close, like if he just get a little deeper -

He's here.

Mountain's eyes fly open and they're met with molten copper.

"Caught you."

Dewdrop is on him claws first, digging into Mountain's shoulders and dragging him to the ground. The fire ghoul is stronger than he looks, and the element of surprise paired with Mountain's exhaustion makes him hard to fight. The earth ghoul tries anyway.

"No, no-" he scrabbles at the ground, tries to force himself up and away, but Dew has the advantage. He's small and squirrely, evading Mountain's flailing hands easily. His fangs dig into Mountain's shoulder and the earth ghoul cries out, already chubbing up again.

They're a tangle of limbs and claws and teeth, matching each other swipe for swipe. Dew's claws slice right through his shirt and jeans, fangs sinking into every soft spot he can find until the air is tinged with copper. Mountain can't fight as long as he wants, and now he's realizing it was intentional. That Dew dragged the chase on for so long for this moment. The one where he shoves an utterly exhausted and shaking Mountain onto his stomach and scruffs him.

"Mine," Dew hisses in his ear, yanking Mountain's tattered jeans down, "mine."

Mountain's tears come hot and fast when Dew spits in his hand and shoves two fingers into him with no warning, ripping a shout from his throat. The claws at his neck dig in deeper as Dew preps him fast and rough, like always. His pulse is thready and his head is swimming. He can't hear the forest any longer, lost in the sounds of his own quiet sobs and the slick slide of skin on skin when Dew pulls his hand away and strokes himself. He presses his full weight over Mountain's back, teeth at his ear, the slick tip nudging at his twitching hole.

"Who do you belong to?" It's growled into his ear as Dew's claws dig into his ribs. Mountain whimpers and Dew's cock spits pre against his hole. "Say it, say it."

There's an edge to his voice that would be bratty in any other context, but now it just shoves Mountain further down. Everything that isn't the press of Dew's body against his fades away, stripped bare and open. The sting of the shallow cuts and bites makes his skin sing. Dew's other hand snakes into his hair and yanks, and Mountain's cock throbs against the earth.

"You," he chokes out, the air forced out of him at Dew pushes in to the hilt with no warning. "Fuck, I'm yours!"

Dew sets a punishing pace that has Mountain's eyes rolling back, the hand in his hair sliding around to grip at his throat.

"Then fuckin' take it."

Dew's fangs sink into the back of his neck, and Mountain does.