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pseudowho · 11 months ago

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Infiltration, Chapter Six: Exposed

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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In the dead of night, as you slept, warm and dreamless and naked in Kento's arms for the first time, the village centre flurried. Its residents (shopkeepers, tearoom staff, enthusiastic knitters) were as ants abandoning an anthill, a hive of activity. Their queen, powerful and renewed, was to lead them to a new hive; for the old colony was in danger, infiltrated by two who were not of their kind.

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"Wake up." A gravelly whisper against your neck brushed the surface of your wakefulness, and a soft nip to your nape penetrated deeper. You rose as if from a deep dive, blinking and warm as you met sunlight. Wrapped in strong, scarred forearms, you felt so profoundly safe as you pushed back tenderly into Kento's strong body. He hummed his approval as your soft legs slid between his.

Tipping your head back on the pillow to look at him, his nose met yours, rubbing gently before his lips planted to yours in a pliable morning kiss, warm and musty and sincere. As Kento moved to pull away, you wound one arm upwards around his head and neck to pull him back. He chuckled against your lips, evolving into a low, slow moan as your tongue slipped against his, his broad-palmed hand sliding up your waist to cup your breast, his thumb grazing appreciatively over your pebbled nipple.

"Part of me was worried," Kento mumbled against you, voice sandy with sleep, "that I'd wake up and you'd be gone." You nipped Kento's lower lip intently punishment, and he groaned into the sting.

"Never," you whispered, sinking your fingers into his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp as he shivered against you, his cock solid and smooth against your lower back.

The warm tumble in the sheets evolved naturally, uninterrupted by clothes or duties. Kento hooked your leg up and over his hip, reaching round you and pinning you back to him with one large hand pressed over your belly, as he pressed into you, thrusting gently against your soft sighs, neither of you yet willing to let go of the night.

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You were unable to wipe the smile off your face as you whisked eggs in the kitchen. The muffled pattering of Kento in the shower, and the feeling of his t-shirt alone on your deliciously aching body, had you breaking into blushing grins, with the memories of your first night together flickering over your vision as you tried to make breakfast.

You heard the dull little bleepbleep, bleepbleep of your pager behind you, and, laying the eggs aside, you rustled in the pocket of your coat to find it. A reply from Ijichi, you noticed, having sent him information regarding the six outlying cult members only the evening before. His response was in decipherable code.

1 X, 2 X, 3 X, 4 X, 5 X, 6 ???

You inhaled deeply through your nose, slipping the pager back into your pocket as you returned to making breakfast. All but one of the cult members eliminated with ruthless efficiency...it was only a matter of time before number six was taken out.

The bathroom door opened, steam tumbling out into the living room. Kento stepped out, a towel hung loosely around his waist, steam still rolling off his shoulders as he bent to rummage in his suitcase, thick downy-haired thighs flexing as he squatted. You ogled him openly, eyes rolling over the taut cords under his broad shoulders, the batwings of muscle between his armpits and ribs, the stretch of his abs trailing downwards. Your eagerness to feel it all beneath your tongue and fingers was fresh and adventurous, and you ached for him as if he hadn't already had you gasping his name in bliss for half the night before.

You looked away as he looked up. Kento's eyes burned up the back of you. The gentle curves of your legs to your round arse, all too visible in the light fabric of his t-shirt. His t-shirt. While you made him breakfast. The domesticity of it all was now no pretence, and it thrilled Kento in a way that he would never have understood in his teens. His eyes darkened to wonder how wet you were, if his cum was sticking your thighs together from his relentless overnight attention. He approached you slowly, light-footed and predatory. Breakfast can wait, he thought as you gasped, his fingers slipping into the slick of your pussy from behind.

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"Ken-- toooo-- aaaaah!" Squeaking every time Kento pounded into you, his thrusts felt like he was bypassing your pussy to hit your belly instead, and you gripped onto the counter he had you folded over, gasping as your hips rucked forwards and your toes scraped the floor.

"'Aaaah!'" He mocked lightly, pitch raised in imitation, "Never seen you-- so-- aah-- speechless," he gasped, revelling in the bounce of your arse every time his hips slapped against it. You squealed, reaching back for support, and Kento gripped your hands, lacing your fingers with his. His hips increased in pace, Kento smirking as he continued imitating your delightful little noises as you blushed, mortified.

With a particularly harsh snap of his hips, you mewled, begging for release and Kento huffed out a laugh, kissing your shoulder in apology for teasing you, reaching under you to stroke practiced light caresses on your tender, overstimulated clit.

"You brought this on yourself," Kento growled, landing a sharp smack to your thigh as you trembled and whined, your noises shooting jolts of arousal through him.

He surveyed you, eyes clouded with lust and panting with his approaching orgasm as you squeaked and whimpered beneath him. Kento gripped into the fat of your hips, chastising you as he watched his cock, soaked in your arousal and his own pussy-warmed cum, plunge into you again and again.

"I just-- in my shirt-- making eggs-- what the fuck did you-- haaaah-- expect me to do?"

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"Do you want some company in the shower? It can be...lonely."

"Shut up and eat your omelette, Kento."

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"What are you doing?" You giggled at Kento, watching him stretching gingerly over the cloudy onsen water to reach his discarded trousers from the night before.

Kento grumbled at you, "My pager. It's gone. I bet it's still in there...or at the bottom of the water." Kento snagged his trousers-- "Aha!" -- as you remembered the message from Ijichi.

"That reminds me," you explained, sitting at the table to eat your own breakfast as Kento slapped his wet trousers to the stone, beginning to rustle through the pockets, "I updated Ijichi yesterday with the information from the library. He messaged back-- they've already taken out five of the six we told him about."

"Amazing," Kento announced abruptly, sincere in the rare praise of his colleagues, "that's the kind of efficiency I can get behind." You hummed in agreement, blowing steam off the surface of your mug. Kento huffed, a frustrated low growl as he stood, shaking water off his arms as he frowned down at his trousers.

"Not there," he rumbled, rolling the sleeves of his knitted jumper down as he sat opposite you at the table. His brow furrowed in thought, he reached one hand absentmindedly across the table, plaiting your fingers in his, brushing his thumb over the inside of your palm. You lowered your mug, thoughtful.

"You really can't find it?" You enquired, worried about the loss of your only shared means of communication. Kento shook his head.

"Like I said, unless it's at the bottom of that onsen, it's gone." Your lips pursed as you got up, walking to the onsen yourself and retrieving the long net used for its maintenance. Silently, you scoured the onsen. After five minutes, you admitted defeat, shaking your head at Kento with a grimace.

Kento pressed his forehead to his fingertips, mentally scolding himself. He shot you a dark look-- "You go nowhere alone, unless it's to get you to safety. Promise me." Your grimace turned to a gently chastising frown, your mouth opening to argue; Kento, sensing your disagreement, crossed the room in a few long strides, clutching the sides of your arms and lowering himself to your eye level, as he stared into you.

Completely disarmed by Kento's fear for you, you grimaced again, nodding slowly as your hands came up to cup his cheeks. Kento sighed through his nose, rubbing it against your palm and placing a soft kiss to your inner wrist.

"I can't...I couldn't bear the thought of you in danger even before we came here, but now, I-- I don't think I'd--"

Kento broke off, cold fear gnawing away at him, the stakes suddenly so much higher now you had both fallen into this promised life together. You shushed him gently, pulling him close to you, pretending to be brave, but deeply terrified by how far Kento would go to ensure your safety.

"We've got this," you urged to Kento, "all we need to do is take out the Fathers, and deal with whatever it is they've got hidden in their dirty little shrine, and we're done. You know what these cults are like...once the figureheads are gone, they basically dismantle themselves."

Kento grumbled into your hair, disquiet in his soul as he remembered the Cursed-energy he had felt approaching the shrine, still infuriatingly unable to place where he had felt it before, grasping for the memory but unable to gain purchase. The Fathers, Kento was confident he and you could manage; the thing in the shrine was such an unknown entity, that approaching it with no back-up was obscenely foolish. Kento knew that fortune did not favour the unprepared.

"Listen," Kento toned, leading you back to the table and sitting opposite you again, each with one hand clasped across the table and one hand wrapped around a warm mug, "before we make our move on the Fathers, we invite the other Sorcerers in. We don't know how many of the cult will stick around for combat, and we don't know what level the Curse in the shrine is at. Or if it even is a Curse...everything we know about it so far is based on what we felt on our way to the shrine."

You nodded slowly, eyes distant as you partook in formulating a plan, "Alright. We can page Ijichi when the time comes. We can make our move against the Fathers tonight." Kento nodded in agreement, playing with your fingers as he took a swig of his coffee.

"With everyone else in the village asleep, as long as we're sly, the back-up will arrive by the time we're ready to deal with the Curse," Kento declared, sounding confident but still plagued by uncertainty. With a moment of clarity, he glanced at his watch.

"We're expected at the village meeting first, though. Do you think you could pretend to be in love with me for a little longer?" Kento teased, eyes glimmering at you with devious affection. You bit your lip, foot sliding against his leg under the table.

"I can manage it...if we practice a little bit more, first." Kento huffed a quiet laugh, raising his eyebrows at you as he cracked his knuckles.

"It will be my pleasure," he rumbled, leaning over to take your lips against his again.

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"I'm upset that we're putting clothes on, at a time like this," Kento grumbled, only half-serious, shrugging his coat over his broad shoulders. Eyeing him unashamedly, you were delighted to see him dressed casually, in a knitted grey jumper and jeans, hair styled loosely,with thick-soled boots. He approached you with a twinkle in his eye, and took your hand, raising it to his face to breathe deeply against your palm before placing a soft kiss to its centre.

His intimacy bold, but understated, he slipped your gloves onto you, pinching the ends of the fingers to position them perfectly. Pinching your chin affectionately, Kento pondered out loud.

"So, what do we know?" He mused, eyes distant, "What have we learned?"

"That you like it when I lick your--"

"No," Kento snipped, flicking you lightly on the nose as you laughed a dirty laugh, "bad. Stop it. Behave yourself. We are--"

"--professionals," you said together, parroting him. He nodded mulishly at you as you continued.

"The Fathers' quarters are on the top level of the Temple. There's...something in the Shrine, and they performed a...a ceremony yesterday?" You and Kento both grimaced, "Which is...alarmingly vague." Kento rumbled at you, pulling his gloves on at the wrists.

"It's the Village meeting today, so we can pick out the main threats...I suppose Emi and Keisuke will be there." You almost shuddered at the memory of your bloody fight with the venom-spitting Curse-user at the party on your first night. Kento felt your trepidation, slipping his arms around you to hold you close while you mused aloud.

"So...act normal. Call the cavalry. Kill the Fathers. Take out whatever's in the shrine...and straight on 'til morning."

You nodded, reassuring yourself that you and Kento were close to the end, your heart thrumming with excitement for your bright new future with him, once the mission was complete. From how he gazed down at you, his eyes glazed over with saccharine warmth, Kento was feeling the same. You leaned up, grabbing his face firmly and pressing a kiss to his lips, hard. Kento kissed you back, enthusiastic, before leaning away slightly, rubbing his nose against yours-- "ow," he whispered, his smile lopsided.

"Sorry," you insisted, still pressed tightly against him, "cute aggression."

Kento felt his heart thud against his ribcage in a burst of affection so strong, he had to resist crushing you in his arms. Teeth gritted as he gave you a restrained squeeze, Kento felt the icy trickle of fear down the back of his neck, memories of the dead never far from his thoughts. Gulping them back, he smiled tightly at you, and opened the door into the crisp winter afternoon.

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The lower hall of the temple opened directly into its courtyard, its peaceful gardens sullied by the bitter afterthoughts of violence. You tucked your arm deeper into Kento's elbow, reaching your hand up to squeeze his bicep, a self-soothing action; he responded in like, pressing your hand firmly between his upper arm and ribs.

The hall was full, with a dozen six-person tables arranged in a circle around a little stage, set up for congress. You were amiable as you moved to sit down opposite Kento, smiling warmly to other couples around you, catching a few familiar eyes, but not the ones you were searching for. Kento covered your corner of the table with his hand as you bumped against it, distracted by the absence of Keisuke and Emi.

Kento was mathematic in his assessment of the room; plenty of Cursed power, but none of it particularly strong. Probabilities ticked across his vision; with none of the strongest sorcerers you had encountered so far being present, Kento felt how acutely exposed he and you were, outliers in a room of Grade Threes and below. Opposite him, fingers tapping lightly against the table, he saw you reaching the same conclusions.

The room buzzed with low conversation for some time, the stage remaining curiously empty. Ten minutes, turned to thirty, grew to fifty. Kento was a patient man, not unnerved by the passive passing of time. The sun sat low in the sky, and was quickly blotted out by thickening clouds, threatening a deep wintery gloom as the first flurries of snow blew on a breeze into the Temple. As the whistle of the wind died, hollow footsteps approached the hall.

An older gentleman, pale and rheumy, accompanied by a now familiar figure in a kimono, skirted apologetically onto the stage, bowing in a crescent to all of the attendees before beginning to speak.

"You've all been so patient, and for that, the Fathers send their most gracious thanks. You do all, of course, know that you are here today to pay your respects to our benevolent Mother on the hill." The gentleman gestured wanly towards the Shrine, obscured by skeletal tree limbs up the winding hill. Kento's eyes narrowed, and you felt uncertainty bubble up in your gut.

The pale-eyed man continued; "Your companions, the first half of our blossoming community, have already enjoyed their visit. I am pleased to say, they have found themselves overwhelmed by the Mothers' power." He stepped from the stage, gesturing invitingly towards the crowd, "If you would all follow me to the Shrine, you too can share in our glory."

The crowd rustled to life, man and wife sharing excitable glances, and Kento moved smoothly to you, ducking his head to whisper to you, before being gracefully interrupted by the kindly old woman in the kimono.

"I hope you don't mind," she cooed, sleeve rising to cover her lower face, "but Father Tatsu has asked to see you personally, Mr.Tsuda." Kento blinked slowly, cool and questioning.

"Oh?" Kento inquired, feigning disappointment, "That is a shame," he lied coolly, "we were quite excited to meet the Mother." The kimono lady demurred, head inclined in gentle apology.

"I am sure the Fathers will be pleased to give you a personal introduction, in recognition of your sacrifice on this occasion. I understand you have not had the opportunity to display your abilities to the Fathers, yet?" Kento nodded sagely, appearing to be in enthusiastic agreement. He leaned down to kiss you on the forehead.

"You go home then, my love," he insisted smoothly, and you felt panic bubble up in your throat; separating had not been part of the plan, and you felt an urgent fury as Kento swept the rug from beneath your feet, "I'll see to Father Tatsu. You always know how to keep busy without me, anyway. Stay warm."

While you knew Kento meant to keep you out of harm's way for long enough for you to send the "Rescue" page to Ijichi, you felt the rope pull from your hands as he confiscated your choice to stay with him, to help him. Your nose stung with tears as you were forced to nod and smile, desperate to kiss him goodbye but corseted by company. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before turning and walking away with his guide.

Kento fought the urge to turn back and pull you into his arms, but he could not ignore the visceral instinct that he was about to walk into a deadly fight. Every nerve in his body screamed out against the wrongness of leaving you behind.

Bile rose in your throat, fearful and bitter. You walked calmly through the gusty Temple, flurries of snow turning heavier, and your steps quickened as soon as you stepped over the threshold into the path leading down to the village. Single-minded, you headed home, fingering the cold plastic pager in your pocket, ready to send a message to Ijichi as soon as you closed the door. You could not make Kento's sacrifice count for nothing.

You walked through the village, which was still curiously quiet, windows shuttered. You felt a sickening realisation that your original assumption that the shopkeepers were all attending the village meeting, was certainly wrong-- not one of them had been present. The cold snap of snow on your cheeks only made you feel more naked, more exposed, and a dry sob heaved out of you; Kento's absence felt like losing a limb.

Your final thoughts before crossing into the lost sanctuary of your house, were only of Kento. A moment of silence passed as you felt for the light switch. A single agonising crack to your temple pushed the earth up towards your feet and your vision blackened from the edges, your hand reaching out hopelessly for your absent lover.

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"You really are quite deadly, aren't you, Mr.Tsuda?" Father Tatsu eyed Kento shrewdly from his seated position in the garden below his quarters, steam idly wisping up from his coffee, untouched.

Kento breathed heavily, overcoat flung off on the floor, a fine sheen of sweat across his forehead from the hoops he had been forced to jump through for the past hour. Weaponless, his raw strength had been assessed from every angle, and he was surrounded by stacks of extraordinarily heavy barrells and rocks, some intact, some roughly hewn and broken by his bare hands. Kento felt the sting of irritation as he swept one broad hand back through his hair, peeling strands off his sweating forehead.

"I wouldn't know, sir." Kento turned on thick booted heels towards Father Tatsu, his dark broad figure blotted, imposing against the drifts of snow. Father Tatsu laughed, lowering the coffee he was about to sip.

"You've never fought? I'm afraid I don't quite believe that." Kento remained impassive, unreadable, as he sat opposite Father Tatsu. Father Tatsu appraised Kento.

"My older brother and I...were considered freaks in our backwards little ditch of a hometown." Father Tatsu's fingers pattered in fleeting remembrance, dank memories clouding his vision. Kento remained still, silent.

"Common, in communities like that, unfortunately. But Shinzu is...we are special. And She proved it to us...when She chose us." Father Tatsu stood, his coffee abandoned, and he paced.

"Here, She-- the Goddess-- offered us all the bounties of her nature, to breed a community of sorcerers like none other before. While others out there do good deeds of ridding our land of the scourge of normal people," Father Tatsu spat, his pacing more frenetic now as he beseeched Kento, "we, the chosen ones, can multiply, ready for a new age of sorcery."

Father Tatsu stopped, one hand in the pocket of his dark suit. He paused for a moment, thoughtful, before bringing out a small black device. Kento's stomach swooped. His pager.

"Until your lot showed up, that is. Five of our members killed in just one night, last night, you know?" Father Tatsu said conversationally, "The sixth member, thankfully, remains in gainful occupation at your dirty little school. He let us know some time ago that we were to expect guests from your end. We had our eye on a few of you...but I was very pleased when our librarian found this in his store cupboard. It did rather give the game away."

Kento was on his feet now, floor creaking under the strain of his boots, Cursed energy rolling off him in waves, chin dipped downwards. Father Tatsu appeared completely unaffected.

"I've accepted that our dream for a perfect community will never flourish, while those in charge of our population fight for the wrong team," said Father Tatsu, bitter and resigned, "But it matters not. Our Goddess is revitalised, powerful, well-fed for the first time in generations. And I...I am well-fed, too." Father Tatsu slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket, and Kento felt a torrent of Cursed-energy slam into him, strong enough to slide him backwards a few inches as the Tatami floor shredded beneath his boots.

"The rest of the community can go hang, as far as I'm concerned. It was my brother's dream, more than mine. He has quite the ability, Mr.Tsuda, and it complements mine quite beautifully." Father Tatsu turned on Kento, whose fists were rolled in a white-knuckled grip.

"You don't want to fight me, Mr.Tsuda. You see, my brother can steal Cursed-energy from one living thing and transfer it into another. That is how we released the Goddess from her earthly confines in the first place. And I...I am the perfect vessel. I'm still not certain what my limit is," Father Tatsu mused aloud, gazing at his open hand and the very air around it distorting with brittle energy.

"You and your wife are the only ones left, Mr.Tsuda. The goddess, in her new body, is surely devouring the weaker members of our community as we speak. The others...well, after my brother had donated their Cursed-energy to me, they were only fit for a meal, too. We knew you would be after us...and we are ready."

The room hung in ringing silence. Father Tatsu's lip curled, observing Kento, expecting some response to his impassioned monologue...but receiving none. Kento simply watched the hands of his watch tick round.

"Well?" He boomed, furious at being denied, "Have you nothing to say?"

Kento sighed, all exasperation and delicate exhaustion, as he finished rolling up his sleeves.

"I'm off the clock, which is unlucky for you," Kento toned, low and smooth, "and I don't play with my food."

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Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess, LINK HERE!

@angelofthorr @nn-hh192 @vxmethyst @moonmalice @daisynik7 @heyitsmirae @black-swan-blog27 @vocosys @mischiefmanaged71 @silkspunweb @deegausserr

Phew. Two more chapters to go ♥️ Sorry for the delay, for anyone who's been waiting...

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seethesin · 1 year ago

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multitasking

pairing: Shane McCutcheon x F!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, facesitting, cunnilingus (mdni, 18+)

a/n: based on this prompt. enjoy :)

The dinner party invitation from Bette & Tina came as a surprise to you. You accepted, of course, wanting nothing more than to spend quality time with Shane's loved ones. However, a part of you couldn't understand why you were added to the guest list. What you and Shane had was—for lack of better words—a situationship. Neither of you expected more out of the other than incredible sex, mutual respect for boundaries, and someone who was always down to have fun. Something as intimate as attending a dinner party together screamed commitment. Regardless, the two of you agreed to go together. Shane insisted on picking you up by 7:00 to be there for 7:30.

"It makes it easier," you remember Shane justifying over the phone. She babbled on about something regarding limited parking space; in hindsight, it was a lame excuse just to spend more time with you.

As promised, Shane was punctual. She was at your home by 6:30 sharp for a pickup. However, you were nowhere near ready. Thankfully, you showered, dried, and styled your hair already. But, you still needed to pick your outfit and put makeup on. You were going to need at least a half hour.

Shane blaring her car horn while parked in your driveway brought you back into reality.

"Oh my god," you mutter to yourself, searching your bedroom for your phone. Finding it underneath the dresses splayed over your bed, you smash the call button by Shane's contact and wait. Her car horn finally stops and your favorite husky voice answers on the other line.

"I'm here, [Y/N]."

"Yes, I know Shane. As does the rest of my neighborhood."

She chuckles, tickled by your tone.

"Are you ready?"

"Not yet, I still have to do a few things."

"Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

Silence. Shane's laughing now.

"Should I come in and wait?"

You sigh, defeated. "I'll unlock the door."

You end the call and hustle over to the front door. You unlock it and hold it open for Shane as she makes her way towards you, a smug smile glued onto her face.

She looks good. She always does. But there was something about the tailored suit jacket, dress shirt, and trouser combination she donned that made her look even sexier than usual. You shake that thought out of your head; you need to get ready.

"Hey, [Y/N]," she greets you, stepping into your home as you shut and lock the door behind her. You turn to face her and she's already leering at you. Her smirk does not falter.

"You sure you don't want to wear that tonight?"

Glancing down at yourself, you blink back your shock. Since you couldn't decide on what to wear, you kept your bra and underwear on but threw a robe over yourself for modesty's sake. If you weren't crunched for time, you would have taken it to throw a smart comment back at Shane. Instead, you playfully punch her in the shoulder, unable to stop yourself from grinning back. She holds up her hands in mock surrender.

"Do you want anything?" you ask, getting ready to step into the kitchen. Shane shakes her head, settling down on your couch instead.

"I'm going to finish getting ready. If you need me, I'm in my room, okay?" Shane salutes you like a soldier, snatching up the TV remote before turning it on. Half seriously, you roll your eyes before slipping down the hallway.

Your brain kicks into overdrive as you check the time. 6:34. Okay, you have some time.

Exhaling slowly, you look at the three dresses spread on your bed. Childishly, you close your eyes and whisper out the eenie meenie miney mo spiel to yourself. Once you finish, you open your eyes and take in your randomized decision. It was a batwing, beige a-line dress with a white floral pattern. Good enough.

Shedding your robe off, you slip into the dress before smoothing it out. You check yourself in the mirror and, once content with how you look, put the other dresses away. You then pull the chair out to your vanity and take a seat.

You’ve just finished applying a layer of foundation when you see Shane enter your bedroom from the corner of the mirror.

“Hey,” you offer, looking back at yourself and you start blending blush into your cheeks. She nods in reply.

“I got bored.” she finally admits, settling down on your bed. It sounds like Shane wants to add something to her statement, but she ends it curtly. She's fiddling with her rings, looking around your bedroom as if it's the first time she's been inside. If you didn't know any better, you would think something was making her nervous.

“So you’ve come to bother me?” you question teasingly, your tone light as you move onto bronzer.

Shane flashes a boyish grin at you, watching as you paint across your hairline with great interest. “Absolutely.”

“Lucky me.” It’s hard not to smile back at her, so you don’t bother to hide it.

Shane lays back on your bed, her legs draped over the foot of it while her head hits just under your pillows. She's staring at the ceiling, eyes wandering until she notes the windowsill above your headboard. Her brows furrow and then, a wicked thought crosses her mind.

"[Y/N]?" Shane's sitting up now, watching as you finish your highlight.

"Yes?"

"How much more do you need to do?"

"Just my eyes and lips, why?"

Shane beams.

"How good are you at multitasking?"

You don't follow. Your interest, however, is piqued.

"Pretty good. Why?"

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips as she stares at you. You know that look all too well.

"Set your stuff up on the windowsill and c'mere."

You watch her incredulously through the mirror before turning around to look at her directly. She's serious; she's waiting for you expectantly as she drums her fingernails on her thighs. You glance at the clock. 6:45. Fine, you'll humor her.

Gathering the rest of your makeup and a desk mirror, you walk towards your bed before putting everything down on the windowsill. You take a moment to set up the mirror before you look down at Shane.

"I'm here, Shane," you mimic her from earlier, watching as she lays back down on your bed. Raising her hands toward you, she wiggles her fingers in a come hither motion.

"Take a seat."

"Shane—"

"Multitask," she chides, one hand dropping to the hem of your dress. "Unless you really don't want to."

Truthfully, the idea of grinding your cunt into Shane's mouth sounded heavenly. Receiving an orgasm or two out of it sounded even better. So you relent, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear before sliding them off. Scooping up the skirt of your dress, you climb onto your bed and kneel over Shane's face.

"You ready?" you ask, watching Shane nod eagerly before seating yourself on her face. She grips your thighs, readjusting you so you're positioned comfortably on top of her. You reach for a makeup brush and shudder once you feel Shane lick a stripe from your slit to clit. Fifteen minutes you remind yourself as you start with your eyeshadow.

Shane, meanwhile, does not feel the same time crunch. She's consuming your cunt with open-mouthed kisses, pivoting to kitten licks to get a feel of what you like in this position. Her blunt fingernails dig into your thighs, grounding you as her mouth continues to work. A devious suck to your clit makes you whine and her smirk sears into your skin.

Meanwhile, you've managed to complete your eyeshadow for one eye and have moved on to the other. Shane is insatiable though; she rips another moan from your throat as her tongue rubs tight circles around your clit.

"Fuck," you whisper, trying to compose yourself before starting the other eye. Shane hums in pleasure underneath you; the vibration against your pussy makes you squirm. The coil in your stomach is beginning to tighten and desperately, you try to control your panting. You instead focus on breathing through your nose as you blend the powder into your lid. Shane keeps you on edge, her tongue flickering against your clit before sliding down to your slit.

It's when she slips her tongue inside your pussy that your resolve falters. You finished with the eyeshadow, but you didn't trust yourself enough to put eyeliner on. Or mascara for that matter. One hand sinks into Shane's hair, grabbing tightly as you lurch forward. You choke on a groan as your hips teeter, enjoying the feeling of her tongue pistoning inside you.

It's garbled, but Shane is snickering beneath you.

"Shane." It comes out as a pitiful rasp while you shake like a leaf. Maybe no eyeliner tonight. She pinches your thighs playfully to retort, making you swivel around her tongue. You opt instead to put your lipstick on. You remove your hand from Shane's hair to grab the tube in front of you. Popping the cap off, you twist before applying a quick swipe on your bottom lip. Another whimper peels from your throat as you feel the flat of Shane's tongue stroke against your clit. The tip pumps into you, maintaining the same rhythm as before.

The sensations are starting to overstimulate you. Quiveringly, you swipe your upper lip before mashing them together, rubbing the lipstick in. You snap the cap back and nearly toss it onto the windowsill, in favor of grabbing the edge of it for purchase. Your thighs keep Shane's head vised in place as your orgasm washes over you. You're gasping and panting as you cum, eyes screwed shut as your body goes rigid. Shane's pace slows, opting instead to let you rut into her tongue to ride out the remainder of your orgasm. A few moments later, you slump forward.

You feel her tap on your thigh gently and taking the hint, you scramble off her face. Shane takes a few seconds to rest before sitting back up. Her chin is shining with your slick and she rubs it off with the palm of her hand, throwing a half-lidded gaze in your direction.

"You look good," she slurs huskily, taking the time to drag her eyes down your face. You're not sure if you're flushing from her compliment or if it's just the afterglow.

"Thank you." You glance at the clock and your eyes go wide. "Fuck!"

7:05.

You spring back up to the windowsill, swiftly grabbing the tube of mascara before twisting it open and brushing it through your lashes.

"We're gonna be late!" you hiss, scanning through the rest of the products spread out in front of you. There was no time for anything else and you instead take a moment to look over yourself in the mirror. Hopping off the bed, you swipe up your underwear and pull them up, smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

Suddenly, Shane's hands are on your hips and she yanks you into her chest. You stop moving and peer up at Shane through your lashes. Your heart flips in your chest as she flashes you a rare, genuine smile.

"You know, there's a thing called being fashionably late, [Y/N]." She winks and you can't help but mirror her grin. You press a kiss on her cheek, almost upset that the lipstick didn't transfer.

"Doesn't mean we have to keep everyone waiting." You got her there. Nodding, she released your hips before motioning to your bedroom door.

"After you, sugar."

#shane mccutcheon #shane mccutcheon imagine #the l word #shane mccutcheon x reader #the l word imagine #tlw fandom #tlw #wlw #smut #fanfiction #fanfic

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marypsue · 1 year ago

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In that vein (hah), I just have to take a moment to gush about the costuming in The Lost Boys because. Have you seen the costuming in The Lost Boys. Like each costume standing on its own without anyone in it still gives you a sense of a whole character, which is important because some of these characters don't get, uh, lines. We have to be able to distinguish them immediately by visuals, and the thing is, we can, because they're not just dressed to look attractive, they're dressed with the purpose of establishing character.

Like, consider Michael. They kept it very simple for him, on purpose, he's a regular everyman kind of guy thrown into a Situation. But also, he's trying too hard. The white t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket call back to James Dean, Rebel Without A Cause, but the leather jacket's brand new without a scuff or a crack, not broken in, and it sits uncomfortably on his shoulders. The earring doesn't suit him - it belongs to somebody else, a funhouse mirror version of himself that he's tempted by, but also it literally belongs to somebody else. Who gave him that earring? Star's implied to have done the piercing, for him, which also tracks - the earring's a little piece of someone else, someone darker and wilder, that's been dug right down into his flesh by his association with Star. It's tasted his blood.

It's also a little piece of the boys' uniting aesthetic bleeding over onto him. There's a magpie sensibility to all of them, but then each of them are visually distinct as themselves within it.

Star's clothes have 80s cuts but form a 60s hippie silhouette, solidified in time. She's the most colourful of them all, her white tops signifying a flash of innocence, but at the same time as she climbs on David's bike, she pulls on a big black jacket that almost envelops her, a little piece of his shadow falling over her and devouring her light. Again, it doesn't quite fit her, like she's playing dressup as a darker, wilder self just like Michael is.

And speaking of David. That boy is chin to toe wrapped up in black. The coat references batwings, which is a great detail. And those gloves! He doesn't touch Star; he doesn't touch Michael; he doesn't touch the world, except through a layer of darkness. It's real Old West, white-hat-black-hat level symbolism. Except.

The real villain of the piece isn't the dangerous, sharp-edged boy in black - although of course you need to look out for him, they don't call him 'dangerous' for no reason. The real villain of the piece is the most perfectly conventional, middle-class, unassuming, don't-look-twice take-him-home-to-mother normal guy imaginable. Grey and beige. Business casual.

It's the perfect camouflage for a predator.

(And then also like. I can't wax as poetic about it right now because my brain cells are otherwise occupied. But please consider how much character is there in, like, the Frogs' army-surplus duds and Sam's terrible, incredible shirts.)

#the lost boys #costuming is characterisation. thank you for coming to my TED talk #is any of this coherent. have i just been swept away on this movie's tide of sensuality homoeroticism and oily sax man music #this is why in my 'michael turned sooner and everything went to shit' fic I have him collecting embellishments left right and centre #he's really truly fitting into the pack now. not just playing dressup #also something something borderline anachronistic details something something timelessness something

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lvndrfucks · 1 month ago

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idk if ur taking requests but if u are can u PLEEK do dylan blurbs 🙏🙏🙏

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ lil dylan minnette blurbs｡˚🕊️ ࣪𖤐💫

➤ it was one of those late night outings. you and your friends decided to go to a bar to kick off the weekend and just have some fun. that fun included drinking as much as possible to the point you couldn’t even walk.

which brings us to now.

one of your friends who had sobered up at the night’s end called dylan to pick you up. literally. you were passed out in the booth.

he thanked her for calling and had to haul you over his shoulder. in the car, you were in and out of consciousness, muttering nonsense. he glanced from time to time to make sure you were okay. he had to admit, it was kind of funny seeing you this way.

he carried you inside the apartment and laid you down on the bed. while you were fast asleep, dylan carefully removed the heels from your feet and changed you from your dress to one of his t-shirts. he went to the bathroom to fetch your wipes and kneeled beside you to remove your makeup.

then, he grabbed the trashcan from the bathroom and sat it on your bedside. he placed a glass of water on the table with some tylenol. it wasn’t going to be an easy recovery tomorrow. at least dylan would be there to help.

➤ dylan wasn’t the biggest social media advocate. he rarely understood what was trending nowadays and opted on trying to stay off his phone. it was hard to do, though, when he loved showing you off.

ever since you two started dating, his posts had mainly been about you. shared meals, shopping together, simply just holding hands. he wanted the whole world to know his love for you.

it didn’t stop there. you were his lockscreen, of course, and he kept a photo of you in his wallet. whenever he had to get his card out to pay, he’d always smile seeing the polaroid of you tucked away.

at first, you were a little camera shy. you’d always cover your face and complain you didn’t want your picture taken, but dylan didn’t take no for an answer.

you were minding your own business sitting on the couch, heavily engrossed in your book, when you noticed dylan’s phone pointed towards you. you simply raised the book higher to cover your face.

“hey.” his voice had a slight whine.

“can’t hear you. reading.” you couldn’t even read the words with the pages so close to your face.

you peeked your head out to see his phone still pointed at you, no doubt, recording the interaction. you rolled your eyes while dylan simply smiled.

➤ it was date night. instead of going out, you both decided to stay in. but still managed to go out? well, more like in the backyard. you guys decided to have a dinner in the privacy of your own home. you spent the evening preparing food while dylan decorated the backyard. you both decided to keep it a surprise.

“it smells delicious in there,” dylan called from the living room. you had banned him from stepping foot in the kitchen. if he needed something, he would holler out and you’d bring it to him.

“and i’m sure it’s beautiful out there!” you let out a final breath after preparing the last dish. you hoped it tasted as good as it looked.

you pushed open the batwing door and approached dylan sitting on the couch. you noticed the curtains to the backyard were closed shut. you couldn’t even sneak a peek if you tried. you leaned down to place a kiss upon dylan’s lips.

“is it ready,” he asked.

you nodded. “i’m gonna go change and then, i’ll bring the food out.”

“you don’t want any help?”

you were already walking up the stairs. “if you touch any of my dishes, i’m chopping your hands off.” his laugh echoed throughout the room.

after you changed and fixed your hair and makeup, you headed back downstairs where dylan awaited next to the backyard door. he was rocking back and forth on his feet with an excited grin.

“come on, come on.” he beckoned you over. “you have to close your eyes.”

you complied and waited for further instruction. you could hear the sound of the curtains lifting. dylan grabbed your arms to guide you outside. it was only a few steps until he stopped.

“okay, open them.”

a small gasp emitted. there were twinkling lights set up around the patio roof and covering one of the large trees nearby, a candle-lit table set up with rose petals trailing down the middle and a single flower in the middle in a thin vase.

“oh, my god, it’s beautiful.” you turned towards dylan, placing your hands on either side of his face to kiss him.

“i’m glad you like it.” he grinned. “do you need help bringing the food out?”

“no. i’ll bring it all out. you wait here with your eyes closed. actually, go wait in the bathroom.” he started laughing as you ushered him inside. “i’m serious. go, go, go.”

“okay, okay,” he called over his shoulder and disappeared down the hallway.

once you heard the door click, you quickly grabbed the dishes to place outside. your heels clicked rapidly against the wooden tiles as you raced back and forth. it wasn’t long until you were calling dylan back. your hands went over his eyes as you were the one guiding him out now.

“i already know i’m gonna love it,” he commented.

you giggled and removed your hands. “ta-da! i made chicken adobo with lumpia, and pork barbecue. plus, there’s dessert in the freezer for later.”

dylan’s smile couldn’t get any bigger. his arms wrapped around your waist, kissing your cheek once, then twice.

“you’re amazing, you know that?”

you laughed while placing your arms around his neck. “i didn’t actually. you should tell me again.”

dylan leaned in to kiss you. “you’re amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “and stunning. and beautiful.”

you pulled away, patting his chest. “how about we eat before the food gets cold? then, i can show you how much i appreciate my handsome boyfriend.”

he raised his eyebrows, a look you returned before leading him to sit.

➤ you heard the front door unlocking from your seat on the couch. you looked over your shoulder as dylan entered your guys’ house. you smiled at him before returning to your book.

“hi, hun. how was rehearsal,” you asked.

he let out a tired sigh. “fine.” the exhaustion was evident in his tone.

you looked back up as he appeared by your side. wordlessly, he laid down on the couch with his head on your lap. you set your book aside to give him your full attention.

“do you wanna talking about it?” you fingers combed through his hair gently.

“just wanna make sure everything’s perfect,” dylan answered. “i don’t wanna disappoint the fans or anyone else. we have a few other performances that’ll be recorded along the road, so we’re trying to figure that out. it’s just a lot.”

you hummed. “you know they’re going to love whatever it is you guys decide to do. they know and i know how much time and thought you put into your work. don’t overthink it too much.” his eyes were closed, but he still nodded in acknowledgment. “how about we spend our night in and i’ll go with you tomorrow to help you with the rest of the arrangements. okay?”

dylan readjusted himself so he was facing you. “i love you. and thank you.”

“i love you too.” you leaned down to peck his lips. “do you want me to get you anything right now? are you hungry?”

he turned back over, snuggling into your lap. “not right now. this is good.” he grabbed your free hand and placed kisses over your palm.

#wallows #wallows imagine #wallows x reader #dylan minnette #dylan minnette imagine #dylan minnette x reader #braeden lemasters #braeden lemasters imagine #braeden lemasters x reader #cole preston #cole preston imagine #cole preston x reader

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harveyguilleniconodelamoda · 2 months ago

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Disney Emmys After-Party 2024

Harvey attended Disney's Emmys afterparty in a third gorgeous Siriano ensemble featuring the lapel waistband trouser from the designer's Spring 2024 collection. (Thanks to @weakformemo for pointing this out!)

This is a reprise from the Critic's Choice Awards earlier this year, when Harvey paired the pants with a gorgeous cropped suit jacket that, like his outfit for the red carpet and awards show last night, also featured a large bow at the shoulder. Love that callback!

The lapel waistband trouser is designed to tease the look of a partially open fly, creating a slightly asymmetrical V shape. The folded over material is styled to mimic a lapel--thus the name--and is satin to contrast the matte material of the pant.

The open area created by this design is covered by a mesh inset with a wide satin waistband. The final effect is pants that are both high waisted and low rise, that give the sophistication of a suit pant with just a cheeky suggestion of being a bit charmingly undone. These trousers are made to order for $1,700 a pair and come in sizes up to a US women's 30.

Harvey paired the trousers with a white button-up shirt with a black faux leather batwing collar from Unique Vintage. The shirt has gathered shoulders for a light puff effect and retails for between $54 and $60. It is currently sold out in plus sizes on Unique Vintage's site, but is still available up to size US women's 3XL (size 18-20) on RebelRebel.

What a weekend! And what a week. Harvey served us not one but three gorgeous, glamourous, bat-themed outfits over the past few days. Custom embroidery, big bows, dramatic trains, and frickin' bats...this is such a perfect example of why, of all celebrities and even all plus sized celebrities, his is the fashion journey that I can't look away from.

#harvey guillén #fashion #plus size fashion #menswear #red carpet looks #media event looks #christian siriano #emmys 2024 #unique vintage

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susoriginals · 7 months ago

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Vintage Blue & White Blouse Dolman Batwing Sleeve Top by A New Approach Women's XXL Fits Extra Large to 2X Only $10

#vintage dolman sleeve top #vintage batwing sleeve top #batwing sleeve top #dolman sleeve top #XXL top #vintage XXL top #Vintage 2X top #vintage white blue top #vintage blue white top #angel wing sleeves #batwing sleeves #dolman sleeves #susoriginals #vintage #etsy #vintage clothing #womens vintage #vintage shirt

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sori-the-selfshipper · 13 days ago

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Here is how my selfshipsona/self insert (And my view on shipping) changed over the years!

[Warning, a lot of nonsense and rambling!]

February, 19, 2019

Og Sori

I was very much anti-ship at this point of my life and very rude about it too. I was basically a big bully at this point lol.

June, 27, 2022

"Elliot" Sori

I was starting to lean closer to being a proshipper but I was very scared and nervous about it. I kept it hidden from my friends because they all are antis. I was basically a proshipper in denial and in hiding.

May, 6, 2023

Gacha Sori

finally quit giving a damn, left my old anti-ship accs but still kept it a secret from my antishipper friends.

Jul, 1, 2024

Alien Sori

I decided to completely leave all of my antishipper friends except one at this point. I also decided to change up some stuff and make them an alien because I am alienkin.

Oct, 30, 2024

Skelly Sori

I decided to mostly abandoned my old acc and antishipper friends at this point and said fuck it before I decided to go back to my old undertale roots and turn Tori into a kinda skeleton monster, I kept the batwings, shirt and spiked collar from gacha Tori. I just changed the colors. I also add the purple inner ears from alien Sori.

Btw, I am thinking about changing their name to something else rn but idk what yet!

#profic #proship #antis dni #ex anti #proselfship #proud proshitter #proshippers please interact #proshipper safe #self ship #self shipping #self insert #s/i #op is a proshipper

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sunflowersandsapphires · 7 months ago

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From Bright Light

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 5

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: swearing (as always), very general descriptions of dissociation, Frank is clearly hurting and not handling things well, small descriptions of violence, last fluff chapter before angst

a/n: I am finally a few chapters ahead on both my WIPs! Hopefully I can start posting more regularly this spring/summer. As always, reblogs and comments fuel me!

w/c: 5.3k

Gritting his teeth as a rogue biker almost knocked him to the pavement, Frank ignored the man’s irritated screaming and stalked forward down the block. Despite the early hour of the morning and the lack of activity in the city, it seemed that the disgustingly high temperature had already put everyone in a mood. He certainly wasn’t a fan of the way the heat coated his skin and drew beads of sweat from his pores, soaking his freshly washed shirt all the way through before he even reached the cafe. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but stopping at your workplace for coffee had become his new normal. And, given his deteriorating mood this week, deviating from his routine was sure to ruin his day.

So he persisted. Yanking his beanie further down on his forehead and shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared straight ahead and soldiered through the remaining few minutes in the heat before clasping his hand around the handle on the glass door, pulling on it hastily—and nearly falling to the ground when the door didn’t budge. The smirking face of your coworker Leo appeared through the tinted glass shortly after.

“Sorry about that,” The kid apologized, shoving the door open for him and stepping aside. “We technically don’t open for another hour.”

Staring at him quizzically, Frank threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Shit, I can go, if ya want. I didn’t—“

“You kidding?” Leo gave him an incredulous look. “The princess would have my head if I turned her prince away. C’mon in. I’m sure she’s expecting you.”

Rolling his shoulders, the marine straightened his spine and set his jaw, expression stuck in an embarrassed grimace. Stepping over the threshold and into the bakery, the air around him seemed to suddenly grow colder, a shiver running down his back. Glancing upwards to find the offending vent, he frowned when his eyes met a stretch of blank ceiling. Your coworker's smug voice brought his eyes back down.

“She's in the kitchen, Pete.” Though the kid wasn't meeting his gaze, Frank had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying not to laugh.

Flushing, he gave a curt nod, stepping around the counter and into the back room. It wasn't his first time past the batwing doors, but the scene felt surprisingly intimate nonetheless. Through the maze of steel tables and rows of ingredients, he found you. You were perched on a stool in the back corner, away from the dingy windows that peeked out front. Your back was turned to him, displaying the lopsided bow cinched around the waist of your dress. Spine hunched, you were gesturing wildly with one of your hands, the other holding a phone to your ear as you spoke in a hushed voice.

As the kitchen doors whooshed shut, you looked up, eyes wide like a fawn's. Giving him a tiny wave and a strained smile, you spoke with a bit more clarity.

“I gotta go, mom. I'll see you soon. Ok, bye.” Making a big show of hanging up the phone and slipping it into your apron pocket, your smile widened, finally meeting your eyes as you exhaled forcefully. Standing from the stool, you traipsed over to him, skirt swishing around your calves.

“Hey Frankie! Sorry about that,” You wrinkled your nose at the mention of the call. Finally reaching him, you wound your arms around his waist. While he normally melted into your warmth, his nerves were still on edge after the interaction with Leo—his body stiffly returning the embrace but maintaining a small, emotional distance for his own sanity.

Withdrawing from him, you frowned, brows curving inward with confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking as he tried to form a coherent thought from the symphony of anxieties screeching in his brain, he shook his head. “Nah. All good.”

Narrowing your eyes, you moved away skeptically, headed for the front of the shop. “Alrighty then. Let me start a pot of coffee and—”

“D'you usually open early for me?” He blurted out, face itching as it was overtaken by his furious blush.

Your expression remained bemused as you shrugged. “Depends on when you get here, I guess. Why?“

”You shoulda told me.“ He murmured, heart pounding as your face began to fall. What he meant to say was that he didn't mean to put you out. That he had no idea why he'd been blessed with someone who was sweet enough to open her shop an hour early every day for weeks just to make him a cup of coffee. That he felt like an idiot for thinking that you were just especially slow in the mornings and not even considering that he'd been receiving special treatment. That he felt awful for interrupting your morning preparations for almost a month now because he was a sorry sack of shit who couldn't handle being restless and alone in his own apartment, so he decided to bother you every morning instead.

But all that his exhausted and anxiety-ridden mind could come up with were those four words. And his throat was so tight with emotion that they sounded gruff and angry.

Watching you swallow roughly and avert your eyes, he ached to apologize, to correct himself, to wipe that horrible expression of hurt from your beautiful face—but he was cemented in place, awaiting your response.

”I'm sorry, Frank. I saw you out there weeks ago while I was baking and I let you in without thinking. After that, I just never corrected you. I didn't want you to feel bad. I'm sorry.“

As if you'd flipped a switch, the life returned to his body, his posture sagging as you apologized. The pained expression you wore shattered his cold heart, driving him to finally explain himself.

”Shit, no, don't be sorry, sunshine.“ He cursed, striding over to you and pulling you into a second embrace, a real one this time.

Sighing into his chest, your arms tightened instinctively around his waist as he kneaded a circle into your back with his palm. ”Are you mad?“

Resting his nose in your hair, his heart sank at the fear in your tone. ”Course not, honey. Next time I’m early, tell me to fuck off, ok?“

A few giggles burst out of you and you squeezed your arms around him one more time before pulling away. ”Not a chance, tough guy. Did you still want that coffee?”

“I mean, if it’s bein’ offered,” He shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk gracing his lips as you grinned and dashed out of the kitchen.

Grabbing a stool and yanking it across the floor, he set it next to the station you appeared to be working at. Straddling the metal seat, he studied the array of items strewn across the bench, trying to decide what you'd been working on before he arrived. Before he could decipher what half of the ingredients were, you'd returned with his coffee and a latte of your own.

Handing him the paper cup, your eyes crinkled as you smiled softly. “Here you are, sir. Your disgusting, unedited, hot black coffee.”

“Ya know, I don't think I'd get this much crap from the cafe down the street.” He scoffed, taking a sip of the scalding drink to hide his smile. “Maybe I oughta start goin' there instead.”

“That's always an option,” You shrugged, handing him a danish wrapped in thin brown paper. “But then you'd have to jump through those same hoops again to get free breakfast. Court the baristas, and all that. Whole lotta effort for someone who's already a fan favorite at another bakery.”

“Fan favorite, huh?” He tilted his head at you, poorly hiding his amusement with a raised brow.

“What can I say, Frankie? You've really grown on us. Even though you have shit taste in coffee.” You grimaced dramatically, eyes dancing with humor.

A laugh tumbled from his lips mindlessly. He shook his head before raising the danish. “Thank you. For the free breakfast.”

You responded with a clumsy curtsy. “Why, of course, sweetheart.”

“So,” Frank said around a mouthful of the danish, “What are you workin’ on?”

Beaming at him, you jumped up and down gleefully. “Eek! I’m so glad you asked. So—“

As you launched into an energetic dialogue about the myriad of new ingredients you were hoping to work with this week, Frank felt at ease. Somehow, your presence always seemed to have that effect, pushing away his negative thoughts and anxieties until he relaxed fully. You brought out a side of him that he’d locked away for years. Your voice was a soothing melody, washing over his head like ripples on a beach. The soldier inside him–that was constantly on high alert–was content turning away, resting while you were there to watch his back. Sighing deeply, he felt a smile creep across his face as you kneaded dough in front of him, narrating the process and answering his questions as they came.

But, of course, the divine bubble you’d created for him was destined to pop.

“Hey, lovebirds. We've got a line.” Striding right past you to the walk-in, your other coworker–Stacy–looked a bit exasperated with Frank’s presence, prompting him to blush sheepishly.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to distract ya, sunshine. I’ll head out.” Standing inelegantly, and nearly bowling his stool over in the process, Frank avoided your gaze as he started to exit.

“Oh no you don’t,” You scoffed, snatching him around the waist and burying your head against his chest. “You almost forgot your goodbye hug.”

Cradling your waist in his rough hands, he returned the embrace. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Absolutely not.” You giggled, releasing him from your hold. “Have a wonderful day, Frankie. We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure, if you ain’t found better company.” He smirked at your resulting eye roll.

“There’s no such thing, sweetheart. I’ll see you then. Take care of yourself please.”

“You too, sunshine.” He gave a limp wave, ducking his head as he braved the rush of customers out front.

Curling his fingers tighter into their respective fists, Frank inhaled deeply as his fellow New Yorkers sped by him. The mass of bodies writhed along the city streets, blurring together as each person invaded his space, leaving as quickly as they came.

Frank pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from retching. The amount of time spent in close proximity to strangers, even in the short walk to the restaurant, was enough to make him physically nauseous. His skin itched, the sensation flaring as each individual nearly barreled into him.

The pinpricks of other people’s gazes dotted along his cheeks and neck, and he refrained from looking over his shoulder again to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Nostrils flaring he rounded the corner and marched down the sidewalk. His eyes were glued to the red awning attached to his destination. Just a hundred more yards. Eighty. Fifty.

As he closed in on the building, his breathing was rapid, his muscles tense with adrenaline. He gave a stiff nod to the man holding the door and slid past him, into the overly air-conditioned restaurant.

You’d warned him the place was uppity. A friend of a friend was the head chef, or something, and you wanted to support them during their grand opening.

He wasn’t in the mood to be well-mannered, or consciously think about what utensil he needed to use at any given moment. And he sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to be surrounded by drunk, wealthy people complaining about the quality of their meals that cost more than a month of rent in Queens. But you’d invited him. So he came.

He wasn’t dressed well enough. That much was made obvious by the look he got from the hostess as he stepped through the door. His dark jacket and worn jeans stood out like neon orange on a hunting trip. As he began stammering out his intentions to the uptight brunette, he heard your voice.

“Hey Frankie!” Smiling as always, you were quite dolled up. You were wearing an ankle-length dress that he’d never seen before, and it accentuated your figure in a way he was incapable of processing in his given state. Your lips were coated in a shade of gloss darker than you normally wore, your hair styled and jewelry immaculately placed. He let his eyes roam fully over you before catching himself.

“Shit. Sorry, honey. Hi.” He greeted, lamely. “You, uh, you look…good. Real good, sunshine.”

Giggling, you looked at the ground bashfully. “Thank you, sweetheart. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear, to be honest.”

“Me either.” He huffed, looking down at his clothes with a frown.

“Well, I think you look very handsome, Frank.” You chuckled, beaming at him.

“I’m under-dressed, I—“

“Hey,” You rested a hand on his shoulder, halting his words. “I think you’re perfectly dressed, ok? Don’t worry.”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you studied his face. He could feel you reading him, flipping through his metaphorical pages as you searched for the answer to your question.

“Frankie, are you sure you want to have dinner here? I know you had a long day, and—“

Frank scratched the back of his neck. Long was an understatement. The universe, ever determined to undermine the progress he made, had apparently decided he'd had enough peace for the month. Sleep, which had finally been coming easier for once in his sorry life, was once again escaping him. Night after night he jolted awake as the sounds of his wife's screams echoed in his ears.

Usually, his nightmares included his children too. Their disfigured bodies riddled with gore, haunting him well into his waking hours. Recently, his dreams consisted of Maria and Maria alone. Her manicured nails clawing at his chest as she choked on her own blood. Screaming for him, and sometimes at him. Because he didn't save her. He could never save her.

The disturbing imagery had compelled him to stay out of the house more often than usual, taking out his building rage on the cement and drywall of his team's current construction site. He was averaging a 12 hour work day in the hope that wearing himself out physically would force his mind to tumble into a dreamless sleep. It had yet to do anything more than accost his aging body with pain, add to the tab he was racking up at the dog boarding place currently watching Max, and make him almost late for his dinner with you.

Brushing off your concern with a shrug, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. ”'M alright, sunshine. Too hungry to turn back now.“

You smiled at his joke, leaving the space between you open for him to follow as you turned to move.

Petrified by the various stimuli his brain was trying to process, he didn’t tread after you. Giving him a once over as you stepped back, you gently pried one of his hands from his pockets, tugging him out of the doorway and towards a table in the back corner.

It was away from the windows and within sight of two exits, settling his uneasy nerves a bit. The restaurant was filling up as the minutes ticked by, but the tables were spaced far enough apart that Frank could continue to breathe. As he focused on your hand in his, and the way your eyes shone in the flickering candlelight, he could feel his stiff muscles slackening. Your soft thumb drew a line across his knuckles as you slid into the chair across from him.

“Say the word and we’ll bail.” Your expression was adorably serious, bottom lip protruding with concern.

“I ain’t bailin’, honey.” Frank forced a chuckle, biting back a sigh as you took his other hand across the table. “Did ya have a good day?”

Face brightening, you nodded as your smile wormed its way back onto your face. Launching into a story about a squirrel you’d saved from a busy street that morning, Frank found himself being lulled into a state of half-consciousness. Internally, his soldier instincts and logic battled fiercely, apparently too viciously for his brain to handle. After moving a mile a minute for hours, his mind had short-circuited when presented with safety.

He wanted to lean into the comfort you always provided.

To indulge in the stillness and feel content.

To stop. Fucking. Fighting.

To find a new home.

“Frankie, you ok?” Your soft question brought him back to reality.

Eyes flicking to meet yours, he tried to speak, the words catching in his tight throat. Coughing around the emotion clogging his esophagus, he nodded. “Fine. Why?”

Tilting your head, you raised one eyebrow at him. “You just seem...” You waved a hand around his face as if that would clear everything up.

“Sorry, sunshine.”

“Don't be. Did you want me to be quiet, or..?”

Shaking his head frantically, he squeezed his hand around your fingers. “No. Keep goin', honey. I like listenin' to ya.”

Biting your bottom lip, you looked at the table with a pleased hum. “Ok, well, you know our neighbor in 213B? Ms. Kaminzki?”

Nodding, he could feel his focus drifting once again, though you seemed more comfortable with the idea the second time around. You were too perceptive. It scared him sometimes, if he was being honest. He hadn't had a connection this deep since...

Before he could finish that thought, a waiter approached to ask for your order. Grateful to let you take the reins as he regained control over his frazzled mind, he watched with an amused fondness as you bonded with the newcomer over a love of root vegetables.

Following your server’s arrival, dinner passed without incident–though you and Frank agreed that the prices were far too high for this to become a regular spot. Despite the fact that it was far from the best meal he’d ever eaten, he was happy to spend time with you.

Which is why he let you clasp your delicate fingers around his broad hand as you walked back to your apartment building. You were uncharacteristically quiet as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. Given his actions over the last couple of hours, he wasn't in any position to scold you for being distant, but the behavior worried him slightly.

Letting his eyes drift sideways to study your face, the corner of his lips twitched upwards at your focused expression. Your face was contorted into a small scowl, pinched in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. A small, but distinctly annoyed, huff parted your lips as he watched. Clearly something was on your mind.

Bumping his hip against yours, he stifled a smile. “Ya plottin' my murder over there or somethin'?”

Nearly tripping as your concentration broke, you looked up at him sheepishly as he pulled you into his side to steady you. “Sorry, Frankie.”

“It's a'right, sunshine. Why's the cat got your tongue?”

Sighing, you stared at the cracked pavement beneath your feet, placing each step carefully so you wouldn't stumble again. “It's nothing, Frankie.”

“Fuck, you're startin' to sound like me, honey. That ain't good.” Frank frowned as you chuckled sadly. Your usual bright giggles sounded pensive and hollow.

“Just thinking.” You shrugged.

Internally groaning, he tried again. “Work with me here, darlin'. Thinkin' about what?”

Your lips quirked with a smile, lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. “Family stuff. I don't...I don't wanna bug you with it.”

“Would ya tell me if I swore I wanted to hear it?”

A glimmer of sass shone through with your smirk. “Maybe.”

Throwing a hand up to show the distance you still had to walk, he looked at you with a raised brow. “We got time. Hit me with it.”

“Fine. But know that it's stupid.” You pointed a finger at him with a stern look, inspiring a smile of his own.

Exhaling, you chewed on your lower lip between words. “Um, so I haven't told you much about my family. But they're, er...complicated. To say the least.”

Frank listened intently, squeezing your hand encouragingly when you hesitated.

“My mom and I still keep in contact but she's...difficult. She makes me kind of miserable, to be honest. But she's all I have left, so I put up with it. Unfortunately, that means she visits from time to time and I always sort of…” You trailed off, eyes becoming misty as your words failed.

“Sorta what, sunshine?” Frank prompted softly.

“Shut down, I guess?” You looked up at him, lips pursed. “Not to burden you with the details she just...she makes it really hard to not fall back into bad habits. And she's planning on coming up in a few weeks, so I was just lost in thought about it.” You gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“When's she comin'?”

“Three weeks from tomorrow.“ You whined, shaking your head. “It'll be fine, I just need to prepare for it, you know?”

“Would it help if you had company?”

Frank's question caught you off guard. “What?”

“I was wonderin' if it would help, if I was there I mean.”

Shaking your head furiously, you frowned. “Oh I can't ask you to do that, Frank–”

“Last I checked, you weren't askin'.” Frank snorted. “If ya don't want me there…”

“No Frank,” You turned to look at him earnestly. “That would be amazing! I just...you would do that for me?”

Nodding slowly, he brought his free hand up to cup your cheek. “In a heartbeat, sunshine.”

Giggling, you shook your head gravely. “What would I do without you?”

The rest of the walk back to your apartments was spent joking about things you could buy for Frank and slowly start placing around his house. You reached the front door to your building as he was finally talking you out of replacing all of his so-called “boring” glasses with vulgar mugs.

“Look, Frankie! This one is perfect for you!” You squealed, turning around your phone to reveal a poorly photoshopped white mug with the words “Moody Bitch” written on it.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, strutting into the building ahead of you, not hiding his smile as you cackled gleefully.

You scrambled up the stairs after him. “Wait! I found a better one!”

“Nope. I'm done lookin' at your shitty mugs.” Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlatched the door, giving Max a scratch as the dog poked his head out in greeting.

“Hi, Maxie!” You cooed, your voice igniting Max's overactive tail. Crouching in front of him, you happily let him kiss your face as Frank slipped his shoes off.

“Ok bud, let her up.” Frank scolded gently as the massive canine began to tip you over in his eagerness to kiss every inch of you.

Standing with too much difficulty, you giggled as you finally managed to drag yourself upright. “Yikes. Pretend you didn't see that.”

“See what?” Frank asked, smirking.

“Thanks for a good night, Frankie. Oh, wait before we part ways for the evening...” You trailed off, shoving open your own door and dashing inside.

Still standing in his own doorway, Frank chuckled to himself as he heard you banging around in your kitchen. “Ya know, I was hoping to go to bed at some point.” He called down the hallway.

“One more second!” You called back.

Pretending to have fallen asleep against the doorframe, Frank's eyes were closed when your footsteps tread back down the hall.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” You deadpanned. “If you don't want this dessert, I can absolutely eat it myself.”

“Dessert?” Frank opened his eyes enthusiastically, accepting the plate you handed him.

The slice of whatever you'd handed him was thick and smelled of cinnamon. Its bread-like texture and swirl of filling looked painfully familiar...

“You promised to try the babka I made! So, here you go.”

Dread pooled in his stomach as his shaky hand grasped the fork you handed him. The enticing smell of the cake suddenly turned to something sinister, drawing acid up in this throat.

“I, uh...I what?” He stammered out, staring at the plate like the pastry had pulled a gun on him.

”The babka I made for Ms. Kaminzki? I mentioned it at dinner and you said you would try it for me?“ Your eyes were shining with anticipation, your tone edged with an anxiety that caused his own heart rate to spike.

His mouth remained shut, drying out as if he'd eaten a bowlful of sand. Spearing the slice of cake, he nodded as he took a small bite.

The blend of spices was something he'd tasted many times before, and he felt like someone had smashed a bottle over his head. Adrenaline surged through every vein, his hands trembling viciously. Bile was clawing up his esophagus, chills suddenly wracking his body.

“It’s great, sweetheart.” He muttered, still staring at the bread.

“Yah?” You asked eagerly, dress swirling around your ankles as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“Mmmhmm, I love it.” Prying his eyes away from the ceramic plate he held, he glanced at you. Your face seemed to flicker, briefly—another familiar face forming a mask over your wide eyes and small smile. As his nausea suddenly became unbearable, he opened his door. ”I gotta go.“

“Oh, ok! Have a good night, Frank!” You called. He gave a limp wave.

Stepping backwards into his apartment, he locked the door behind him, chucked the pastry across his counter, and bolted to the bathroom.

Using your thumb to steady the piece of tape, you pressed it against the serrated edge of the dispenser to tear off a piece. Carefully draping the adhesive side onto the brown paper, you folded the final edge of the parchment over the babka. You couldn’t help but smile at the beautifully wrapped loaf.

All things considered, you’d been having a great week. The bakery had seen steady traffic, one of your favorite market booths had given all their regulars a huge discount on seasonal fruit, and your adorable elderly neighbor had been so thrilled about the babka you made her that she’d paid you to make one for her knitting club. Speaking of… A quick glance at the clock was enough to hurry you out the door to prevent being late.

Cradling the weighted parcel to your chest, you rushed out the door and down the steps—thanking your lucky stars that you didn’t break an ankle in your haste to make the delivery.

Ms. Kaminzki was an adorable older woman who lived on the floor below yours. You had offered to help bring her groceries in after she’d gotten hip surgery a few months ago, and the woman had been downright motherly to you ever since. She was constantly bringing you home cooked meals and complimenting your outfits, it was about time you made her something in return.

Of course, she’d tried to pay you for the first one and refused to accept a second for free—but there was only so much you could do to combat her sweet stubbornness. Which meant that this time, unfortunately, you needed to let her press a crumpled 20 dollar bill into your hand as you passed her the babka.

Accepting her cheek kisses and endless praise for your “baking talents” more readily than the cash, you ushered her into a taxi so she'd make it to her meeting on time. With the promise to visit her for dinner this week, you waved her off—nearly smacking someone behind you in the process.

“Oh fuck, I'm so—” Tilting your head as you took in the hooded figure in front of you, your brows shot up. “Frank?”

The man looked rough, to put it simply. Deep purple bruises sat under his puffy eyes, his posture hunched and face swollen around a split lip. He was avoiding your gaze, and he visibly flinched as you stepped into his space.

Straightening your fingers, you displayed your palms in a gesture of harmlessness. Though he was still curled in on himself, he met your gaze as you rested a hand on his bicep. “Sweetheart, what happened? Are you alright?”

Frank nodded curtly, recoiling from your light touch as he yanked open the door to your building. “Fine, sunshine.”

Huffing as he slipped into his old habits, you trailed after him.

“Thought we were past the whole 'pretending to be fine' shtick but, ok.” You muttered, nearly tripping over your skirt as you chased him up the stairs.

“I ain't 'pretendin' to be fine'. I am fine.” Frank snapped, not even sparing a glance at you.

“Sure,” You nodded, unbothered by his bad attitude. “Seems like it.”

Scoffing, Frank whirled around on the landing. His glower softened as he registered your furrowed brow. Deflating like a helium balloon, he flushed pink. “Sorry, sunshine. I'm just...havin' a shit day.”

“You sure it hasn't been a shit week?” You asked with narrowed eyes, hand coming up to cup his stubbled cheek. “This cut doesn't look fresh.”

Frank usually leaned into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him together. While others made you feel self-conscious about your love of physical contact, your grumpy neighbor seemed to be as starved for it as you were.

Today, however, he remained rigid in your hold. His eyes were hollow shells, not holding the range of emotions you'd come to expect from his beautiful irises. Wherever his mind was, you were confident that it was not here with you.

Withdrawing your hand, you nodded your head toward the final flight of stairs. “C'mon, sweetheart. Up we go.”

His stare remained blank, but he followed your direction, marching up the stairs as if he was ready to drop—which, you realized, he probably was.

As he fumbled with his keys, you ambled towards your own apartment, trying not to look like you were prepared to catch him if he collapsed. As he tumbled over the threshold into his apartment, you caught a glimpse of the trash accumulating on his coffee table and counters. If you weren't worried before...

Eyes narrowing as he noticed you staring into his apartment, he gave a small wave. “Have a good night, sunshine.”

Though his words were sweet as always, his tone was flat and you weren't quite sure whether he meant what he said.

“You too, Frankie.” Before he could slip inside his apartment, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. As your lips made contact with his scruff, one of his rough hands wrapped around the curve of your waist, squeezing gently. Smiling as you retreated, you let his hand linger on you for as long as he needed.

“I'm right next door if you need me, ok?” You promised gravely.

Finally dropping his hand, he nodded, a spark of the warmth you usually found in his expression finally igniting behind his eyes. Shoving lightly at him with an exaggerated frown, you pointed a finger at his chest.

“Go get some rest, Castle. You need it.”

He chuckled softly, finally disappearing behind the chipped white door.

Pondering for a moment, you could practically feel the cartoon light bulb pop out of your skull as the epiphany struck you. Flexing your hands in anticipation, you rushed into your apartment and beelined for your freshly washed mixing bowls.

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