#honestly I really enjoyed the movie and encourage others to go see it

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Insatiable

Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :) 

Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.

You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.

Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold." 

The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.

And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.

You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.

“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots. 

"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."

Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.

You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it. 

Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?

To even consider if you wanted more...

You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.

Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.

It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself. 

But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.

And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.

You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."

You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.

"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."

That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.

Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that. 

Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.

Or it did, for a little while. 

You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more. 

Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?

Who the hell treats their friend like that?

That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable. 

You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.

You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.

You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.

All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.

It scared you.

Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.

He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.

It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.

You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a  date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.

I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.

You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.

-

He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.

He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.

The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.

He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.

He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:

"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”

"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"

"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"

It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.

And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.

Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.

Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.

He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.

Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began. 

He sat down with Pope a week after you left: 

“You look like shit.”

Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”

Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.

Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”

“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.” 

“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.

But damn it all, he still wanted you.

Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.

He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.

He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.

 In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.

He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.

And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?

You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.

Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.

Just to stop feeling.

He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:

Disgust.

-

You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.

And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?

You dial him up quickly.

You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.

The phone rings out to voicemail.

He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.

He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.

You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.

-

You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.

Thank God.

You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.

Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.

You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."

You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.

"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."

You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his. 

He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”

“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”

I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.

“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”

He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.

Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit. 

“Please believe me,” he breathes.

"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"

"That's because of you!"

You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.

“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face. 

He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did: 

"I miss you, Querida.”

He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping. 

You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“

“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.

You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away.  Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”

“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“

He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"

You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."

Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.

You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“

He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.

“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you." 

Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“

A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“

"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“

"High?"

Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”

His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again. 

“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."

You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”

He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."

"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.

You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“

"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.

He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."

He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.

His jaw hitches. “Prove it."

You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.

"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"

"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”

His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch. 

“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“

"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"

He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"

"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."

"How long?"

You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.

"Answer me!"

"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.

He haults his movements. 

The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.

Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"

You nod shamefully.

"Did you fuck him?"

You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.

"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."

“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."

He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.

You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.

You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.

Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"

You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.

You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.

"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.

You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”

He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."

You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.

"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.

You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.

He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart. 

By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.

You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.

���Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.

He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”

You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”

He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.

Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.

He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.

He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"

He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."

And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.

“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.

“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts. 

You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.

He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.

He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.

Oh fuck, he’s so gone.

He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression. 

He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.

You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed. 

“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.

He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you. 

“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.

“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.

You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you. 

He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.

"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."

His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.

His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.

You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder. 

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”

You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.

“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”

He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”

You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.

“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.  

You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.

You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.

Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.

You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking  air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.

His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his. 

“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.

-

Frankie wakes to a cold bed.

His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.

He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.

Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.

‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.

He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.

"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.

Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”

You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.” 

He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep. 

He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips. 

“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“

“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”

A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.

“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.

You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.

Your big dumb idiot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”

Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

- - - -

Series masterlist

Series Taglist: @paleidiot @pedropascalsbbg @tonakings @nerdieforpedro @thewritermj @ahintofkiwistrawberry @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @sammy-4103 @survivingandenduring @millercontracting @emilyjustemily @boiistfu @pedritoferg @missladym1981 @titlee78 @fairytale07 @multiplefandomwritings @steviesimp @marisemonteiroo @dilfluverrrrrrr @howdigetinhere @jessthebaker

Permanent Taglist: @harriedandharassed 

[hom3landr]

Homelander has a very merry Christmas

18+

Homelander shakes his head in disbelief as he lounges in his chair at the head of the Seven table. It’s been a year…a whole year since the day you entered his life. He still has the ribbon from that first package, tucked discreetly into his waistband. It’s frayed now and soft from running it through his fingers. He’ll touch his hip softly sometimes, right where he knows it rests, when his ears ring and his eyes begin to burn. Countless lives have been saved just from a little piece of fabric. It was the first gift he’d ever truly been given that didn’t have dozens of corporate strings attached. He wonders if you’ll bring him more candy, now that Christmas is right around the corner. He can still perfectly remember the taste a year later.

But your hands are empty when he sees you, and there’s a nervous stiffness to your shoulders that he’s not sure he enjoys. You’re fiddling with your fingers as you approach. He’s disappointed, he really was looking forward to some candy. But you give him a shy smile and he pushes down the sullenness rising in his chest. You hop up on the table in front of him, a bad habit you’ve picked up ever since that day you brought him the cake. He supposes that’s on him for encouraging you. He ignores the urge to tug you into his lap instead.

“Sooooooo…I don’t have anything for you today but I did want to ask you something.” You look down at your hands before pausing, trying to spark the courage to continue. He tilts his head and waits, somewhat impatient and still annoyed at being denied. He doesn’t like the way you don’t meet his eyes. Surely your fingers can’t be more interesting than him. You take a deep breath.

“IwaswonderingifmaybeyouwantedtocometomyplaceforChristmas?” The words come spilling out uncontrollably and you stiffen up a bit once they’re out, bracing yourself for a denial.

Homelander’s heart stops.

“I know you’re probably really busy and you have plans and other people you’d rather be with.” He doesn’t. “But I was going to make gingerbread and watch some Christmas movies. I don’t have any family close by or…or friends really, so I usually spend Christmas on my own. It won’t be anything fancy but I’ll let you lick the spoon.” You let out an awkward laugh, obviously insecure about the simplicity of your plans. After all, how can your humble apartment compare to Vought’s glitz and finery? How could Homelander be content spending Christmas with a nobody like you?

If you only knew how much the offer wiped away any of the disappointment he felt about the candy. If only you knew how much he’s been longing to join you in the sugar-sweetness of your kitchen. He wants to leap up and take you in his arms. He wants to agree and whisk you away to start the holidays early…and privately. He’s never had a proper Christmas before. Just Vought’s pretty, sterile, fake, holiday bullshit. He found it cruel the way they’d let him watch movies on Christmas when he was in the lab. He still can’t watch A Christmas Story without feeling sick with want. But maybe…maybe this year will finally be different.

But reality sets in. He has the Vought Christmas party. He can’t skip it, as much as he’d love to. He’s been dreading it honestly. She’d always been there before, guiding him, leading him, making sure he got through the event with his shiny grin firmly in place. But that was gone, ended by his own hand. The last fucking bit of Christmas cheer he could have possibly had. He clenches his fist and he watches you shrink back, mistaking his grief for anger at your boldness. He wants to say yes…but he can’t

“We have the company Christmas party, remember? Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. I get the honor of lighting up the tree” He beams, hoping it assures you that you are not the target of his ire. Sure he’d prefer to be tucked away with you but the party won’t be too bad if you’re there. If you’re there then her absence won’t matter.

But his hopes are quickly dashed.

“Oh I’m not high enough up on the totem pole to be invited, for business or pleasure.” You shrug, clearly not bothered by the corporate snub.

Oh

“Well…I can’t exactly miss it.” Your face falls at his reply and the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“But if you don’t mind staying up a little later, then maybe I can swing by real quick after to grab a cookie or two.” He reaches out to lay a hand warmly on your knee

You return his grin despite the disappointment in your eyes.

“I’ll wait up for you then”

~~~~~~~

It’s late by the time he’s finally released from his shiny decorated prison. He’s sick to death of Frank Sinatra and mistletoe. He barely resisted crushing the hand of every asshole who felt entitled to his attention purely due to the holiday festivities. He gritted his teeth while he was forced to kiss the asses of board members and politicians. He barely avoided lasering A-Train’s head clean off his body when he wrapped his arm around him for a photo op. He’s so overloaded that he’s halfway to his penthouse for some much needed rest when he remembers your offer.

He pulls aside some tipsy asshole for the time, annoyed that no one seems to have remained sober. It’s not long until midnight and he worries that maybe you’ll already have given up waiting. He worries that he’ll get to your apartment to find you already snug and sleeping in your bed. He reminds himself that he can always wake you up. After all, he’s seen you bake until the wee hours of the morning. He remembers when he’d watch you bake till not long before you’d be needing to rise for work. Surely…surely, you haven’t forgotten to wait for him.

The night is frigid as he flies towards your apartment. The cold doesn’t hinder him but it isn’t exactly pleasant as the sharp wind stings his cheeks. He’d always wave away Maeve’s complaints but he reluctantly admits to himself that she had a point about freezing over the Atlantic. Luckily it’s a far shorter path to your apartment building. So he ignores it. The thought of you keeps him warm anyway.

What he can’t ignore is the distinctly human shaped figure waiting on the roof. He knows your form intimately and he’s clocked you the moment he sees you. You’re shivering, wrapped only in an old threadbare bathrobe over some red pajamas. It’s far too cold to be loitering without winter wear and an exasperated concern grows in his chest. Couldn’t you at least have grabbed a jacket? It wouldn’t do for you to catch hyperthermia before he even gets to celebrate Christmas with you. You haven’t seen him yet and he makes sure to land behind you as quietly as he can, lip twitching mischievously.

“Are you cold? You look like you’re freezing” He calls out from the other side of the roof. You leap into the air and stumble a bit too close to the edge for his liking so he rushes to steady you. Even through his gloves he can feel how chilled you are. You look back at him, disbelief on your face but surprised delight in your eyes. You shake in his arms and before his brain consciously makes the decision to, he swiftly detaches his cape to wrap it warmly around your shoulders. Your cheeks heat despite the chill and he’s deeply pleased by the way you look and the way his scent mixes with yours.

“I’m alright. I was waiting for you! I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to make it.” You clasp his cape tighter around you, teeth chattering. He pulls you closer so some of his heat can seep into you. He realizes that you may have been too focused watching for him to realize how chilled you are. He tuts at you, both flattered by your devotion and annoyed that you were so careless with your health.

“Would it have killed you to grab a coat?” He rubs your frozen hands between his gloved ones. Your answering smile is sweet and he’d blush if he could (He can. He did.)

“Are you worried about me?” You tease him lightly, eyes soft.

“I was promised gingerbread. If I’m promised something then I expect it to be delivered” He gives you a stern glare that’s tempered by the slight twitch of his lip as he fights a smile.

“Well, I can’t possibly deny you, can I?” Your lips quirk into a cheeky smirk. Your lighthearted words settle warm and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, you feel so beautifully fragile in his grip, a small precious light that he keeps warm between his palms. You’re his. You’re so wonderfully his in this moment and deep within him, so deep he doesn’t even realize it yet, he’s become inescapably, completely, ineffably, yours.

You gesture for him to follow you down the fire escape to your floor. He follows behind as though he doesn’t have the way to your apartment imprinted in his mind. But your legs are stiff from the cold and after you slip slightly on the slick metal of the fire escape, he scoops you into his arms. You cling to him, stunned at the quickness and ease at which he gathered you up against his chest. You’re disoriented and wrap an arm around his neck to steady yourself.

“Don’t drop me!” you squeak and he laughs in response. You’re light as a feather to him and he’s not hindered by you at all. He would never, could never drop you.

“I won’t let you go, ever.” He reassures you and you relax against him, trusting him. You tuck yourself into the crook of his neck, and all of a sudden he has a sharp regret that his collar rises so high on his neck. He longs to feel your softness and your eyelashes brushing against the sensitive skin of his throat. He can’t resist leaning his head against yours as he climbs effortlessly down the thin and rickety steps.

When he reaches your apartment, he assists you in finding your footing and guides you inside. You don’t question how he’s able to navigate your apartment with ease. Stepping into your kitchen is like getting reborn into another life, a life that he had been cruelly denied. You’ve decorated every inch. False snow lines the top of your cabinets and it charms him to see tiny figures and miniature buildings tucked into the fuzzy winter wonderland. Mismatched bowls of ingredients line the counter, and deep red liquid smelling strongly of spice is steaming on the stove. It smells heavenly. It’s the same scent he normally loathes, the artificial scent burning his nose and giving him headaches, one of the few pains that he can experience. But there is nothing faked or imitated here and the rich smell makes his head swim pleasantly. His mouth waters and his jaw aches at the sweet spicy deliciousness in the air. It’s lovely and warm and you immediately shake off the shiver as you enter.

He blinks back sudden tears at the sight of a brightly lit tree twinkling merrily in the corner of the living room, a yule log crackling on the television. It’s perfect. Your tiny crumbling apartment that he would have scoffed at in any other time, is suddenly finer than any palace. His chest tightens almost painfully.

“It’s not much but I did my best to make it festive! The cookie dough is chilling in the fridge and there is as much eggnog and mulled wine as you could want. Help yourself.” You nod at the pot on the stove, hands on your hips, looking as confident as he’s ever seen you now that you’re in your domain. It’s not normally the response he gets when someone sees him in their home. He takes a brief scan of your fridge.

“Just milk for me, thank you.” He responds and you shrug and take a glass out of the cabinet. You fill it up full and hand it over. He takes a big chug. 2%

Perfect

“Well, I’m gonna have myself some mulled wine.” You grab another glass and fill yourself up a healthy serving. A tiny sip has you sighing deeply in pleasure and he wants nothing more than to lick the remnants off your lips. Your temperature is rising by the second and when he’s satisfied that you’re sufficiently warmed he relaxes a bit, wandering around your kitchen to look at everything.

You busy yourself taking a large bowl of dough out of the fridge and lining the counter and a baking sheet with parchment paper and a light dusting of flour. He’s distracted looking through all your cabinets. Nothing of yours is very fancy and it’s all a bit mismatched which he finds charming in a quaint kind of way. He rifles through your dish towels, smelling them to see if your scent still lingers. Then you tap him on the shoulder. He turns to find you with your head cocked and your arms wrapped around a large bowl, eyes shining and bright

“I promised gingerbread but first you have to help.” You wink at his baffled expression before turning around to begin scooping out the dough onto the parchment paper. “And take off your gloves! This stuff can get sticky.”

He’s still standing there frozen when you hand him a rolling pin. He frowns at it disdainfully before raising a skeptical eyebrow. This is so…beneath him.

“C’mon, let your inner kid out a little. I promise it tastes better when you’ve helped make it.” You shake the rolling pin at him.

Inner kid

You don’t have a single fucking clue.

He grumpily removes his gloves. He feels naked without them. He feels so raw, the Christmas cheer welcome but also a painful reminder of everything he was denied. He wants to be here but he feels unsure how to exist in a space when there are no expectations, no predetermined role he can play. Shedding the gloves feels like shedding a layer of skin but he can’t deny you when you look at him like that. You’re still wearing his cape around his shoulders and a sharp possessive pang runs through him.

His

He reaches out to grab the rolling pin.

“Normally people avoid giving me heavy blunt objects” He remarks dryly, although he quickly regrets it. It doesn’t seem to phase you though. You’ve heard the stories.

“You are a heavy blunt object capable of plenty of damage so I don’t think handing you a rolling pin is going to make much difference. Now get to work while I preheat the oven” You reach out to gently push him towards the dough.

He stares at it, frozen.

The dings from the oven ring in his ears.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do. The mechanics of a rolling pin are not difficult to fucking grasp. It’s just…none of this feels real. It feels like he’s still back in this lab and this is some cruel dream that will fade away into empty white. It’s like making one wrong move will shatter everything

He can’t lose this.

“Here! The recipe says ⅛ of an inch so you’ll need to roll it like this.” Your breath is hot on his ear as you lean in behind him.

Your hands rest tenderly on top of his as you gently guide him.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your touch burns and a ravenous monster wakes in his chest. It howls and wails against the prison of his ribcage. He can smell you, hear your heart racing, practically taste the heavy scent of your soaking cunt into the air. The wood creaks under his grip as your thumb brushes against his. His cock is hard and leaking into the tight spandex of his pants. The ribbon on his hip is like a brand; like your hands are on him there too.

Fuck the cookies

The throb of his cock urges him to devour your brown sugar pussy instead.

But as strong as the sudden rush of his arousal, it pales in comparison to the prickling sting of tears at such a kind touch. The last person to touch him like this was…

Fake

Just like everything else

Except you

Except this.

A quiet sob escapes him but if you notice then you don’t acknowledge it. You just keep pushing your palms against his hands in a steady rhythm, the dough easily giving way. Your body rocks against his and the softness of you warms him to the core. He sees the flutter of his own cape out of the corner of his eye.

His

You’re his.

The whole world narrows down to only the two of you.

He could stay here forever with you. Life with you could be like Christmas for eternity. He’d never be alone. You’d never be alone. Just gingerbread scented air and mulled wine, and your body pressed to his forever.

“Alrighty! That just about does it. We just need to get out the cookie cutters and we’ll be good to go.” You pull back.

Something inside him snaps and he turns and grabs your shoulder, tugging you into him. You blink owlishly at him. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He reaches out to caress your cheek, relishing the warmth against his bare hand. You lay your hand over his although you make no move to pull away.

“I…” His breath catches.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly

You don’t wait for an answer before shyly pressing your lips to his. It lasts barely a second before you're pulling back with a smug little smile. You point up and he barks out an incredulous laugh.

Mistletoe

A sprig of fucking mistletoe is attached to the ceiling.

“I thought you always spent Christmas alone.” He remarks, lips still burning. He’s dreaming. He’s…this can’t be real.

You chuckle.

“I’m not alone this year.” You respond before giving him another sweet kiss that he eagerly returns.

You taste exactly like brown sugar.

He giggles into the press of your lips

Merry fucking Christmas.

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Blush | Leonardo

this isn't me being modest or fishing for compliments, but i found writing this surprisingly difficult to write for some reason? and i'm not exactly ecstatic with how it ended up, but i've spent a while trying to edit and improve it (and of course tumblr decided to not save my edits, TWICE) and i honestly think this is as good as it's going to get because the more i edit and worry over it, the more difficult it becomes! with that said, i do hope you enjoy it!!

2007 universe!!

warnings: making out? there's not much honestly, leo being a little unhinged and possessive? she/her pronouns used once or twice, everyone is 18+!!

summary: leo likes it a little too much when you blush

word count: 1930 (honestly surprised by the length)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first time you meet the turtles, you feel faint even after all the preparation you've done with April. She'd told you all about them, yet she hadn't mentioned how intimidating and handsome they were, and you stumble over your introductions, stuttering and blushing, feeling small and unimpressive, like you're back to being a schoolgirl with an unattainable crush.

You have to repeat your name, your shy mumbles too quiet even for their mutant hearing, and you flush as Leonardo smiles patiently at you and ignores Raphael’s eyeroll. Donatello is kind and tells you to not to take his brother’s grumpiness to heart, and Michelangelo talks so much that you don’t have to for the rest of the evening.

From then on, Leo makes an effort to be kind to you; he's always patiently listening to you even as you trip over words, especially on the days where you can barely glance in his direction without blushing, leaning close and bestowing you with an intense attention you're not sure you'll ever get used to. 

And maybe sometimes Leo plays up how soft-spoken you are. You are quiet, and you do have a tendency to mumble your words, yes, but he’s not deaf and he really doesn’t need to invade your personal space as often as he does. It’s just so cute the way you fluster without fail every time he leans in, his breath fanning against your face as he asks you to repeat yourself. 

His brothers and your aunt aren’t as oblivious as you; Donnie shoots him pointed looks that he pointedly ignores, Raph’s eyes are permanently rolling, and by now Mikey, who had initially been supportive, has begun to find it sickening, miming puking in the background each time Leo so much as looks in your direction. Even Splinter has joined in, completely unsubtle in his offhand mentioning of grandchildren whenever he sees the both of you, whether you’re alone or together. And April... well, she had cornered him in the dojo and promised that he'd be running back to the rainforest she found him in if he ever did you wrong. 

He had no intention of ever hurting you, or letting anyone else hurt you, for that matter. You’re just so endearing; so precious and shy, a snowflake that has yet to feel heat, and he so desperately wants to be the only one to light that fire within you and watch you melt.

Perhaps it's a little obsessive, but everything you do, usually unknowingly, draws him in like a moth to a flame. And it’s a little mean, maybe, the way he delights as you fluster and flush with only the tiniest hints of encouragement from him, but it sends a thrill through him each time. You’re so shy, so innocent and trusting, it’s impossible for him not to take advantage of that (even if April’s threats ring in his ears whenever he does).

So he invites you over, a movie night with just the two of you because of course Mikey is busy doing something silly and senseless that you won't be interested in, and you know Donnie's always busy doing something painfully nerdy that's way too boring to be fun, and Raph is busy doing something boneheaded with Casey that's far too dangerous.

It's just you and Leo.

You're both quiet for the most part, but keenly aware of each other's presence. It would be impossible for him to miss the way you practically stop breathing whenever his leg brushes oh-so lightly against yours, and he knows you're not paying much attention to the movie because he isn't either, and you're not exactly subtle with the way your eyes keep flicking away from the screen to sneak a peek when you think he isn't looking. 

The eleventh time you do this, he decides enough is enough, and lets his eyes catch yours.

He keeps eye contact for a little too long to be casual, heart racing at the way your eyes dart away awkwardly but seemingly can’t resist finding his again no matter how embarrassed you feel. God, you’re so cute, he wants to squish your cheeks and eat you alive. He must not be doing a very good job at hiding that desire because Donnie shoots him a warning look as he passes by to grab something from the kitchen, and Leo elects to ignore it, sticking his foot out suddenly and smiling innocently as his brother stumbles and glowers but continues his walk without comment.

He slides his arm casually over the back of the couch when he’s certain you’re alone again, unable to cover his smirk as you stiffen and your breath hitches. He’s not even touching you and he wants to laugh at how innocent you are; he feels like a wolf waiting to pounce on a lamb and it really shouldn’t excite him this much. The thought makes him shuffle just a little closer, disguising his movements as a casual adjustment in his seating. He flashes you a kind smile. “You okay?”

Your smile in return is tight and nervous, and you can’t bring yourself to make eye contact this time. You nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak without humiliating yourself further. That, of course, is ruined as Leo drops his hand to the bare skin of your shoulder from where your shirt has slipped, rubbing your warm skin gently. You jump, a squeak slipping past your lips, and you feel your face grow even hotter.

Leo looks at you with feigned concern, lips rolled together to hide his grin, pushing an earnest façade to conceal his amusement. Your skin is so soft, he thinks, brushing his fingers over it again. “You sure?”

You swallow thickly as his palm flattens and trails towards your neck. “Y-yes.”

He’s even closer now, muscled thigh pressed against yours as he peers at you. “You’re looking a little flushed…”

You look up and meet his unfaltering stare; his eyes are dark, pupils eclipsing warm brown irises, and you feel like they’re swallowing you whole the longer you get lost in his gaze. His hand slides up and you shudder as he cups your jaw gently. There’s only an inch or so between your faces now, and you’re not sure when you got so close, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the rush of blood in your ears as your heart beats erratically. “Leo,” you whisper uncertainly, and his eyes darken before he presses his lips to yours.

You’re still for a moment, frozen as butterflies flutter so violently in your stomach you think you might vomit – which would be the most mortifying thing to ever happen to you (and you’ve had a lot of mortifying things happen to you) and you might have to take a leaf out of Leo’s book and head to Central America and cut all contact with everyone you know.

You're not really sure what you're doing, and your actions feel delayed, like you're moving in slow motion or you're underwater and your movements are sluggish despite your best efforts, but you must be doing something right because he groans quietly against your mouth and the sound makes your abdomen clench. He pulls back and your lips are tingling as he catches his breath. 

He looks the way you feel; a mess, flushed with his chest heaving, and you feel a little smug even as you blush further when he smirks at you. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps smirking at you because he’s insufferable like that, and you realise he’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. 

It's a Herculean effort, but you manage to return his heated stare. 

“I want it all.” Leo is gazing into your eyes in complete seriousness and, as much as you want to look away and bury your face into your hands, something keeps you transfixed.

"All?" It's a miracle that you find your voice, even if it's the weakest it's ever sounded, wheezing and as soft as the skin under his calloused palms.

Leo's eyes somehow darken further. "This isn't just a game to me, or a one-time thing. I want everything with you."

You swallow the reticence that threatens to burst from your throat and lick your lips, the taste of his own a heavy weight against yours. His eyes follow the movement, the intensity of his stare making you feel dizzy. “I’ve never done this before,” you admit, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve never even been in a relationship before."

Leo smiles at you, a knowing curve of his lips, crooked and tender with a hint of mirth, eyes dancing across every inch of your face with your admission as if he can’t decide which spot deserves his attention more. “I want to be your first and last,” he says honestly, voice a little uneven as if he hasn’t yet caught his breath after your kiss.

He’s nervous, you realise, cheeks darker than usual and inflicted with the same timidity that's nestled in your chest – not that he’ll admit to it. His eyes keep flitting about, not in a loving caress, but in a nervy flutter. You make him nervous. You can’t stop the giggle that leaves your lips and, almost instantly, Leo’s nervousness melts away as he raises a non-existent brow. “Something funny?”

Your face is flushed, and you can feel that shyness threatening to rear its head, but you push through and beam a little bashfully at him. “I want that too. I want it all. With you."

Leo blinks slowly and leans in close again. It takes everything within you not to pull away; your face is scorching, and you wonder if it’s actually possible to burn your skin from blushing so fiercely. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is lower than normal, soft and rough at once, deep and dark like it’s filtered through gravel and dripped in honey at the same time, and you kind of want to faint.

“Haven't you already?” you mumble, eyes dropping from his as another wave of heat rushes to your face, resolutely staring just beyond the turtle that’s practically on top of you.

Leo laughs softly, hand on your jaw once more and directing your embarrassed gaze to him. He’s smiling wide and then he’s kissing you again.

It’s still sloppy and tentative, you’re still entirely unsure of what you’re doing and it’s almost embarrassing enough to make you retreat, but then his tongue, long and thick, traces the seal of your lips in question and your brain shuts-down. Hesitantly, you answer, your own tongue shy as it brushes against his and easily forfeits the short fight for dominance, letting him lick your mouth with practiced ease. Any remnants of anxiety over your own inexperience dissipate with every flick of his skilled tongue, and you melt into his embrace.

“Oh my god, Leo’s eating her face.”

Leo pulls back and you squawk, mortified and covering your face as embers of confidence sputter, fleeing from you while Mikey dramatically projectile vomits his nunchucks across the room where they hit the wall with a thud. Your face is on fire, and you die a little on the inside as you realise that the glistening around Leo's mouth is mostly your spit. 

You die a little more and make a mental note to book a flight to Costa Rica when Splinter arrives to investigate the commotion, his son still pressed against you on the couch, and simply murmurs about grandchildren before winking at you.

[suckmybigtoeoikawa]

can i req nsfw hcs for 4town?

maybe aaron z need jesse ig theres a limit to characters

If your uncomfy with what’s below then go look at something else, gracias !! i’m trying to clear my inbox with all the old stories i didn’t even respond back to

sure <33 i wrote for 4/5 of them because i didn’t know what to write for Taeyong lmao

Aaron Z

I honestly feel like he gives off soft Dom vibes but he can be a little bit shy in the beginning

he’s shy but at the same time he’s not; for example he’ll do something flirty to you and he’ll have this smirk on his face, but as soon as you do something back he wanna get all flustered 

also it’s really easy to get into the moment, it gets really intense with him 

 he's really good at complimenting your body (and the way you clench around him when he does complement you doesn't go unnoticed) 

he's lowkey kind of quiet but you know he feels good because the look on his face, it's a dead give away 

let’s say you’re riding him, his face will get red and his head will be thrown back

also he wouldn't keep his hands to himself they’d be on your ass or thighs 

I think that like when he makes music, it’s like he's very sexual and passionate (just like his voice actor’s music) and he’s like that when he gets comfortable 

ass>>> anything

he’ll slap, grab, bro lemme tell you something when he grabs he grabs, mf grips 

aftercare with him is really calm and quiet, and his hand is on your ass (no surprise) 

possessive at times, like if he sees you talking/ laughing with Robaire he’ll wait till you’re done talking to him (but ofc with a mean mug on his face) and then when y'all get home...

Jesse

makes you beg 

if you want something you have to ask for it, and then he just keeps on egging it on with a smile on his face 

he puts your pleasure first then his

most of the time you guys have sex it’s spontaneous

one moment y'all could be watching a movie and/or talking about something deep and then he got you bent over

knows just about everything about your body and will tease you about it too

he’s a dirty talker, and he's to good at it 

he’s the type to come up behind you and grab your tits (over your shirt or under it doesn't matter to him, but he prefers under) 

some of 4towns more suggestive songs or songs that he sings solo are lyrics written about you 

he’s a lip biter and a neck kisser

he’ll also tease you when you try to kiss him

you’ll lean into the kiss and so will he but just when you think his lips will press yours his thumb will rub your bottom lip 

aggravating but hot 

uses toys on you

during after he will whisper praises into your ear and trace shapes on your arm, to precious 

 Robaire

i could see him being a soft dom

honestly i think he can be a bit jealous sometimes, soooo i believe that he marks his partner, on the neck a lil bit

so when the person he’s jealous about sees the marks he’ll just give a lil smirk and pull you closer by the waist

he’s a grunter and he’s the type to make you know how good you make him feel

even outside the bedroom he’s very passionate

most of the time he’s giving because he genuinely enjoys it

he likes to make you moan (so does the others but man he’s gonna praise you while you do and will encourage you to moan some more)

his voice is so likeeee sensual when he wants it to be, like he just really says the right things that make you feel some type of way

i’m seeing this for when he does his solo shit.. but he probably would use your moans in his songs

very possessive too but he’s more in public with it, so sometimes it’s not as sexual, he’ll do things like buy expensive things or always be around you to make sure that people know that ur being taken care of

and taken care of in other ways because this nigga will brag.. idk but it’s only around like his close right circle of friends

he’s a pussy pleaser 😜

Aaron T

like robaire he brags but he does it without even noticing it

like most of the time it’s vague but enough to be like wtf bud :)

he’s a moaned and whimpering type of nigga with he’s more submissive

when he’s more dominate i see him being more of a moaner

he constantly brags to his friend and in interviews about how pretty and beautiful you are

titties typa man, like if they’re in his face he don’t know what to do, he just goes crazy on it

i feel like he’s the type to really like it messy

he’s always gonna wanna kiss you too, like he’s so sweet but also so desperate too

he’s a sucker for dirty talk, if you want to rile him up in any way, dirty talk is the way to go

i also feel like he’s a thigh dude so just put his hand on your thigh and move his hand up and down on it, he’s already feelin some typa way

he’s get flustered easily but sometimes if he’s very unaware of when you’re trying to initiate

like let’s say you’re at a party and you’re trying to get him riled up, he’s not gonna pick up the hints until you blatantly tell him you wanna fuck

then he’s gonna be flustered and blushing because he loves when your straight forward.

[lurkingshan]

Hello! I’m a Hidamari/Sunspot lurker and I am SO sorry you’ve been getting so much backlash and heat from other fans of the series. I’m honestly extremely ashamed that my fellow “fans” of the series don’t feel any remorse in outright shaming someone for daring to have criticism with the pacing. Even going as far as outright encouraging gatekeeping! So much for love and tolerance eh?

I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I really do hope you’ll check out either the live action movie or the original manga to compare and contrast. It’s one of my favorite coming of age stories and I think the slow burn in the manga is super rewarding! Plus, who knows? You might see a side of Maya, Sei-san, Chiba, etc that you’ll enjoy~

But that’s just my recommendation. I hope you’re having a good day :3

Hi anon, thank you for the kind note! Don’t worry about your fellow manga fans; I post criticism (and plenty of praise but weirdly that never seems to get as much attention) of lots of dramas and there’s always somebody mad at me, I am unphased and I am well acquainted with the block button.

I have actually watched and enjoyed the live action film! Silhouette of Your Voice is great and it’s on Viki now so I echo your suggestion for others to watch it if they haven’t yet. One of the reasons I was so excited about the drama is I thought they’d have the space to do more of the manga story justice. I do think that’s what they’re attempting, but they’ve made a few poor decisions in the adaptation IMO. Showrunners need to think about not just the arc of the story, but also the arc of the audience’s emotional experience of the show, and the way they chose to structure the material they wanted to cover interrupts and destroys that emotional arc to the extent that some of the audience is left feeling nothing but apathy heading into the final episode. And that sucks because there was so much enthusiasm in the first half. I’m hoping the final scenes will be solid enough to give folks some of the joy this story initially inspired back.

[im-robins-bitch]

A Somewhat SFW Alphabet with Robin Buckley

18+ only please.

A - Activities (what does she like to do with you?)

Anything. Robin Buckley will do anything with you and have the time of her life. 

She does have a special place in her heart for fall/winter activities. You’ll go to the pumpkin patch to pick out the perfect pumpkins and then carve them to put on the porch. 

I honestly think you would be the kind of couple where you compete against each other to make the best gingerbread house and it gets more and more out of hand each year until the store-bought kits aren’t enough anymore and you’re baking gingerbread at home and have pre-planned floor plans. There may be a ceasefire one year where you both collaborate to make your dream home out of gingerbread. 

She will do anything you want, but come the colder months, she already has your calendar marked up with must-do activities. 

B - Beauty ( What does she love most about herself?)

Besides her brain (which she sometimes thinks works against her) Robin thinks one of her best features is her eyes. Since dating you she’s come to think of her fingers as the second best. 

You love, love, love her freckles. You like to count them and kiss them until she’s giggling and pushing you away. Her hands are top-tier as well, she always has them on you. If she’s trying to learn the fingering for a new song on trumpet you can bet your ass she’s pressing them down on your thigh to get some practice in. 

C - Comfort (How does she comfort you, what kind of comfort does she seek from you?)

When Robin is overwhelmed, the only thing she wants is to feel you lying on top of her. She likes feeling your weight press down on her. She’ll curl her fingers around your wrist so she can feel your pulse. If it’s really bad you’ll lay in silence until she’s asleep, snoring in your ear. If it’s just a minor upset, you’ll encourage her to talk about what’s bothering her and play some bowie softly in the background. 

If you’re feeling down she will do anything you need, anything you ask. 

She’ll hold you all night, stroking your back and kissing your head. She’ll try her best to be quiet, but she’ll usually start talking by accident and that is usually what ends up working the best. You’re also a big believer in naked cuddling, Robin’s boobs are the best stress reliever. 

“You know cats have been known to stroke their owners because they think it will make them feel better” Robin has been staring unabashedly at your hands the entire time you’ve been doing your night-time routine.

“Really?” 

“According to a study, it also promotes bonding- Wh- why are you taking your shirt off?”

“I’m gonna come lie on you, c’mon Buckley get your shirt off we have a bond to improve” 

D - Date (What is Robin’s favourite kind of date)

Her favourite special dates are the days when you’ll go drive over to Indianapolis and spend the whole day there. 

Sometimes you’ll have tickets to a show, you’re favourite being Rocky Horror Picture Show, other times you just see where the day takes you. There's a family dinner that you go to every trip and a bar hidden down an alleyway that makes the best strawberry mojitos you’ve ever tasted. There's a thrift store you love, it always has something perfect for Robin and you always pull things out for each other and have a fashion show when you get back home. 

Otherwise, she likes going to the drive-in. It took some getting used to, she once insisted going to The Hawk was the only way to truly enjoy a movie, until she realised that at the drive-in she was free to talk all she wanted. 

E - Everything (You are ….)

You are my dearest secret.

F - Feelings (When did she know she was in love)

You were at a party, just a small get-together at Steve’s house with your friends.

You’re stood with Robin, as you usually are, holding tightly onto her hand as she rambled about the movie you went to at the weekend to you and the group of friends surrounding you. 

“It was such a bad twist because it’s like they just pulled rules out their ass so we wouldn’t see it coming, like vampires just don’t-”

“I thought it was great, the soundtrack was  fucking metal” Eddie interrupts, not letting Robin finish her sentence as he squeezed Steve further into his side, “What did you think Nance?”

Robin frows, eyebrows wrinkling in annoyance at being talked over. The conversation seemingly continues without her as every time she tries to butt back in someone talks over her. 

You squeeze her hand and it’s then she remembers you’re there because you had been even quieter than she was rendered. She turns to you, finding you pressing a kiss to her neck and then whispering into her ear, “Keep going,” You whisper, breath hitting her neck and making her hair stand on edge, “I’m listening,”

G - Guilty Pleasure

Robin loves it when you give her hand massages. 

Whether it's a full-on massage with lotions and nail oil or just the pressure of your thumb rubbing back and forth when you holding hands, she adores it. It relaxes her like nothing else and eases all the tension from her fingers. 

She used to be self-conscious of how rough her hands were from work and the trumpet. They weren't the soft hands of all the girls in the romance books. You only saw it as an excuse to love on her even more. You’ll kiss all of her hard-earned calluses and insist she use your hand cream instead of her own because it’s better. It also makes her smell like you.

H - Honesty (What secrets does she hide from you)

Robin is awful at hiding things from you, she’s learnt the hard way not to lie to your face because you catch it immediately. She tends to lie by omission instead. 

She’s a talker though and she’s accidentally ruined many birthday gifts because she’s gotten so caught up in her stories that she’s told you exactly what she bought without thinking. She doesn’t mean to, but when you ask her about her day you always insist on her telling you everything and it just slips out. 

When she does lie it’s never anything cruel, just small things. At the start of your relationship, she kept quiet about a lot of your questionable fashionable choices, smiling and nodding when you would show her the ugliest pair of shoes she’d ever seen with a beaming smile. Now she’s like Michael Kors on Project Runway, she will not hold back. 

After you had found out she had kept the whole, international monsters thing from you in your final year of high school you had been livid that she had gone through it all alone. When it happened again you joined her without question and the two of you very rarely kept anything from each other again. 

I - Injury (how would they react if you got hurt)

She’s a huge worrier, a paper cut has her brain whirling. She’ll insist that you disinfect it because she saw something about a boy who got a paper cut and then lost his finger. Tries out home remedies if you have any aches and pains, rubbing certain oils into your aching body. 

Surprisingly she’s the type to believe that rubbing tiger balm on your feet and leaving it overnight will alleviate a cold. 

If she ever hurts herself you kiss her injury better. Smooching her bruises every night until they go away. 

J - Jealousy (who gets more jealous, what are they like when jealous)

At the start of your relationship, she got jealous quite often, especially because you had to hide that you were together. She becomes a lot more withdrawn when she gets seriously jealous about something, so you can always tell because she barely speaks to you. She’s quick to break though, especially when you start pestering her about it with kisses. 

As she becomes more secure in the relationship she rarely gets jealous anymore. Then the shoe is on the other foot because now she isn’t getting jealous, she notices just how often you do. You’re just way better at hiding it than she was. You act the opposite of Robin, rubbing your closeness in the face of whoever it is that you’re jealous of. 

Sometimes it’s giving Robin back the chapstick you borrowed when a customer is flirting with her. If any boys at parties approach her you look them up and down with a death stare until they back down. Occasionally you even get jealous of Steve, sitting yourself on her lap and wrapping yourself around her like a cobra. Robin can’t deny how good it feels to have her two favourite people both wanting her company. 

K - Kiss (Their favourite kind of kisses)

Robin loves all your kisses, just the fact that she gets to kiss you sometimes blows her mind. At first, she was really shy about it and didn’t know how to ask for it, her cheeks would be stained pink in embarrassment because she would be trying not to be obvious about it. It was always very obvious. 

Her favourite kind of kisses are of an overzealous kind. When you lick your lips beforehand so you can plant a big fat one on her cheek. Even better if you have lip gloss on and she can feel the sticky residue afterwards. You always make a big smoochy noise as well and follow it with a million more little pecks. 

She likes it when you’ve had a long day and stomp into her arms, face tucked into her neck and she kisses the top of your head. She can feel the difference, your tense posture from before the kiss, to how you melt into her a little more afterwards. It’s like her kiss washed away the stress from the day. Her little way of saying ‘I love you’ and ‘I’ve got you, it’s ok’. You get the message every time. 

L - Love (Who said it first)

Look, Robin ‘motormouth’ Buckley told you at the worst time possible. I’m sorry, she just did. As soon as she realised she loved you it was so hard to keep it from you. 

The same day when you asked her what she had done for the day she almost responded ‘I realised that I loved you today’. In retrospect, it’s what she wished she had done. She wanted it to be romantic though. Had spent hours at work watching romance films for inspiration. 

So when she had accidentally spilt the beans in-between whines when she was been sitting on your face, she was mortified. 

M - Marriage 

Gay marriage is not legal for a long time, by the time it’s actually on the cards you two will have been together for so long you’d already been calling her your wife for years. 

I think maybe four years into your relationship, both of you know that you’re in it for life, and you’d have a little ceremony of your own in your garden. It means so much more than a typical wedding because you get to do your own thing instead of following shitty traditions. 

You’d go shopping together to buy engagement rings and matching wedding bands, which you found much more fun than the stress of trying to pick something the other person would like and secretly trying to figure out each other's ring sizes. 

Steve will ‘officiate’ the ceremony and not many people will probably be invited to the actual wedding bit, but everyone will be invited to the party afterwards. Eddie's speech would be one of the highlights of the night. Along with the tally chart keeping count every time Steve burst into tears.

When marriage does become legal you would have been ‘married’ so long and your wedding in the backyard would have felt more meaningful so i feel like you would have just gone to the courthouse or something. Your friends would insist on coming though, some of them probably even bringing little flags and getting a picture of you kissing on the steps. 

N- No (something that caused an argument)

Robin once thought about getting a parrot,  just to teach it how to say dingus, that she would then give to Steve. 

Now she just really wanted a bird. 

You had to put your foot down, you rented your apartment and both worked too much to give the bird the company it needed. You were willing to compromise, but every pet she picked out was just ridiculous. 

Her idea of a compromise was a lizard,  but she said you would need to be the one to feed it because she couldn’t deal with the bugs. When you told her if she wanted to get a pet she would have to be the one to feed it, she changed her mind to a snake. Until you both watched a documentary and she realised what that would need to be fed. 

You end up with a pair of goldfish named Tangerine and Lady Stardust. With your aloe vera plant named Robert, you think that’s enough responsibility for now. Robin is still checking out books about budgies and cockatiels, just in case.

O - Origin (who developed a crush first, who made the first move)

Robin fell first, but you fell harder. 

You most certainly had to be the one to make the first move though because she keeps brushing off your flirting as you being friendly and that it’s ‘just how girls are’ 

P - PDA 

PDA is limited, at least until being gay is more socially acceptable. Around your friends, you like to sit on her lap, kiss her cheek, and hold her hand. I don’t think Robin is likely to be comfortable doing much else in front of her friends, because she’s so easily flustered by you. Behind closed doors though, it’s another story. 

Q - Quirk (what’s a quirk of hers)

Robin is a klepto, she will steal all of your stuff, at first accidentally, but then more and more often. You think it’s cute, she only steals little trinkets that you don’t need or lip balms. Sometimes she ‘forgets’ to bring back the jumpers she borrowed or the socks you lend her because her feet always get cold. She acts like she’s already given them back, but then opens the door with them on. A bit of a gaslighter, but she’s our gaslighter. When you move in together and suggest you should just combine your wardrobes she’s in heaven. 

R - Rainday (What’s a typical rainy day like)

When you’re still in your twenties you love a typical girly sleepover day. Robin didn’t get a lot of those and even if she isn’t the girliest of girls, she still enjoys them. 

You’ll do each other's makeup and practise new hairstyles, following tutorials in magazines. Her highlight is painting each other's nails, she likes holding your hands and how concentrated you get trying to make her look perfect. 

Sometimes Nancy, Max and El will join you and you’ll all eat snacks and gossip. Offering Max and El dating advice, reading those awful teen magazines and taking all the quizzes. It’s just a fun time all around. 

S - Sad (What would make her sad and how does her s/o help)

Robin often feels like an outcast and that her brain just doesn’t shut up. She doesn’t feel like she fits in with everyone else and that she’s just a bit too weird. She feels like everyone else has an instruction manual on how to be normal and hers is missing. 

Becoming friends with Steve helps. Finding out she isn’t the only girl who likes girls in Hawkins helps. When you don’t lessen her feelings, but instead just tell her that you like her for exactly who she is, weird or not, that makes her feel better. When you offer to reject society with her and go live in the Alps she perks up. She finds the biggest comfort in the weight of you resting against her and the reassurance that she’s found her people now and that they all love her because of her Robinisms not despite them.

T - Talking (What do they like to talk about)

Everything. This girl does not stop talking. She can talk about anything for an impressive amount of time. She thinks it’s annoying, you think it’s a talent. 

U - Understanding (How understanding are they of their partner's needs)

Robin is extremely understanding when it comes to boundaries and will actively encourage you to tell her if things make you uncomfortable. You don’t like the way the candy at Family Video sticks to your teeth? She swaps out the candy. 

You don’t like loud noises at parties and like to wear earplugs? She carries a spare pair in her bag.

Her pyjama top is too scratchy against your skin? She’s throwing it off and letting you rest skin-to-skin instead. 

If you don’t like to wear socks to bed she will put up with your icicle feet leeching heat from her own. She gets her own back with her cold hands when she comes back from work. 

V - Vanity (How much does she care about her looks)

Robin has perfected the art of looking casually cool. She even looked good in her Scoops uniform, which should have been impossible. She still doesn’t believe that you used to drool over her in that outfit. She isn’t exactly a perfectionist when it comes to how she looks, but she does want to look nice. 

W - Wildcard (Random headcanon)

I said earlier she loves fall and winter activities. I think she would collect vintage Christmas decorations, the weirder the better. It gets worse and worse as you get older until you have multiple boxes of super old Christmas decorations. 

She also loves learning about traditions from different religions and places. If you celebrate something else she’s going to be all ears about what it entails and want to celebrate it with you. She’ll even try to find some vintage decorations for your holiday too.

X - X-ray (relationship headcanon)

If you’re having a petty argument or trying to convince her to do something, you like to flash her your tits. It works pretty much every time and was your secret weapon. Then she started to do it to you and you’ve been losing every argument since. 

Y - Yearning (How much does she miss you)

So much! You two talk for hours every day. You’re the only person who encourages her to speak more when she rambles on a tangent and you like to have catch-ups where she tells you everything about her day. You’re also each other's safe space, you can be completely yourselves around each other and even if you’re not doing something together you like just being in the same room. 

If you’re away for more than a day, when you come back she will have written down things she wanted to tell you about but didn’t want to forget. Not before she listens to you tell her everything about your time away, whether it’s an irritated rant or a gleeful story about how much fun you had. 

When texting becomes an option, Robin’s phone bill grows astronomical. 

Z - zzz (How do they sleep)

You on top of her, if it’s just your thigh over her own or your arm across her waist, she will take it. She needs to feel your weight on her like she needs to breathe. You like to sleep without a shirt on and you like it when she does the same, even in winter. Only on the coldest nights do you relent. 

She likes to shove her hand into your underwear, it began one winter to keep them warm and now she can’t sleep without it. She also wears thick socks to bed, she’s one of the few people who’ll get wool socks for Christmas and be happy about it.

Masterlist

[findafight]

The "Robin would never date Steve's ex who broke his heart" take is FUCKING stupid for a lot of reasons.

First of off, the autonomy you're taking out of Robin with this.

Like she's not Steve's sidekick, she's not his yes man, she's an indepent girl who should be free to date any girl she wants.

She would never let her friendship with him ostacolate her love life.

Why the fuck she should do that?!

No one would.

And also, Steve is actually the one who hurt Nancy the most (slut Nancy Wheeler).

And if you think for a second that Robin would ever take Steve's side, then you're wrong.

Just stop centering everything around Steve, and stop reducing Robin to be just his sidekick, 'cause she's FUCKING not.

Hi! So. Pretty sure you found the most recent post I made (on April 6th) tagged anti rnce (and ONLY anti rnce. Not even stranger things. Just anti rnce and my personal original text post tag and a quip about choosing violence. So clearly if that’s how you got here you chose to not just send a post you disagreed with to your friends to rant about but came into my inbox and tried to start shit)And if you didn’t I truly don’t get how you, clearly a rnce fan, found me.

I’m going to be honest. Neither of us are going to change each other’s minds. I don’t like rnce for a lot of reasons, from i just don’t see a romantic spark there to a lot of the shippers being kinda shitty. I don’t care what you ship, really, just that. Claiming it’s canon or should be canon endgame etc gets annoying. And that a lot of the times the way I’ve seen the relationship portrayed (because, contrary to possibly popular belief, I have actually tried to read some fics for them. It’s also such a commonly untagged side or background pairing that I am subjected to it like that often as well) there’s so often weird terf or radfem red flags and alarm bells going off. I’ve seen someone harassed by rnce shippers for calling them out and then those shippers loudly regurgitating terf talking points like it’s fucking funny. I know all fandoms and ships have bad eggs but holy shit.

There’s been a few posts about how for some reason rnce fans try to portray people who don’t like it as making Robin Steve’s sidekick, when really we are acknowledging the facets of her characterization other than her lesbianism. Just because she likes girls doesn’t mean that’s the only thing that matters to her!

Yes, Robin liking girls is part of who she is, it influences how she acts and what she talks about, but it’s not the ONLY thing about her. She likes old movies, she enjoys pop and new wave music, she does her make up in her best friend’s car, she forgot to mention she never learned to drive because he forgot to ask if she could, she thinks combining into a super being with said best friend would possibly solve most of their problems.

Robin is a character who makes her own choices! She chooses to butt in at scoops, chooses to stay with Steve in the bunker to hold off the Russians, chooses to tell him her deepest secret, chooses to apply for jobs with Steve once they heal from the mall, chooses to spend a lot of time with him! And that’s rad. It gives us insight on who she is!

Whenever I’ve written or talked about Robin choosing not to date Nancy, I’ve always made it perfectly clear that it is Robin’s choice. Because given what we see of her in two seasons, Robin is loyal, and greatly values her friendship with Steve. Like. Regardless of how Steve feels about it, and I do think of Robin was legitimately interested in Nancy and Steve thought she had a chance, he’d encourage her to go for it. (Steve isn’t blindly encouraging Robin to hit on Vickie. He has high suspicions that Vickie is queer in some way too! She likes boobies!) I think Robin would think twice about it just because how much she encouraged stancy to get back together in s4.

Honestly, it makes me sad seeing how many times “why would robin choose her best friend’s feelings over getting a gf” is said because like. I value my friends’ feelings all the time. If I thought something I was doing was or would hurt them, I would reevaluate. Why WOULDNT Robin consider her best friend’s feelings? The first person she ever came out to? Who made her feel safe and accepted? Who made her laugh when she felt most vulnerable? Who she encouraged to get back with his ex? Romance is not a level up from friendship, it is not the endgame of life, it is not superior to any other relationship type. Treating friendships as less important to romance is something to reconsider and reevaluate.

Your last point. Anon, who is centring Steve now? Sure. He fucked up in s1. Literally no one denies that. He fucked up and he worked to make things right. He cleaned up the graffiti, he went to apologize to Jonathan, and he presumably apologized to Nancy, because she decided to date him for eleven months after that. I highly doubt there wasn’t heavy gossip about the graffiti or their breakup/makeup. I do agree that before Tina’s party Steve wasn’t helping Nancy as much as he could have, but Nancy wasn’t communicating to him either. They weren’t in the right place for each other. If we consider the alley the breakup, how is that not still breaking his heart? Yes Nancy was on a noble crusade, but it still had collateral damage. It’s something interesting about her character!

Robin wouldn’t be on board with the graffiti. But like. Steve’s changed and apologized since then. And She wasn’t there? She’s just here for the aftermath of Steve’s reignited feelings for Nancy. Idk. Both Steve and Nancy hurt each other in s1/2. It’s not a Steve v Nancy thing? It’s just an acknowledgment that of the two, Robin is closer to Steve. She’s more likely to consider him. She’s not omniscient to everything that happened or the persons feelings and reasons for doing it.

I’m sorry you don’t think friendship has an equal or greater value than some romantic relationship, it must suck. I also hope you find better things to do than to come to someone’s inbox and try to start something over a ship you like that they don’t.

[moremaybank]

LET ME LOVE YOU — s.h

pairing steve harrington x fem!reader

summary things between you and steve were simple yet complicated. you were in love with each other; there was no doubt about it. the only problem was that steve was ready to take the next step in your relationship, and you weren't.

warnings slight mentions of steve and reader having previously slept together, reader being afraid of establishing their relationship

author's note i honestly have no clue what this is, i found it in my drafts and thought i might as well post it since i haven't posted anything for steve in awhile. enjoy 🫶🏻

steve masterlist

“stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’ve seen me naked,” you say, giving steve a pointed look as you scold him.

“…but i have seen you naked,” he responds cheekily.

you roll your eyes. “steve,” you scold in a whisper, pulling him aside into the laundry room of your house. you shut the door, ensuring that the kids in the living room, distracted by a movie, wouldn’t overhear your conversation. “we’re supposed to be keeping this quiet.”

steve sighs, running a hand through his chestnut locks as he closes his eyes. “i know, i know. it’s just…it’s hard keeping the way i feel about you under wraps.”

“steve, we agreed,” you whine. “we agreed that we would keep this — us — quiet. and that’s hard to do when you’re looking at me like you’re going to pin me against a wall and have your way with me.”

steve steps closer to you as his hands find your waist. “but what if i wanted to?” he whispers. one of his hands slips toward the small of your back, pulling you flush against his front as he peers down at you. “because i really, really want to.” his hand trailed dangerously close to your butt, the tips of his fingers lingering above your tailbone.

“you’re impossible,” you huff, your own hands sliding up and finding a resting place on his chest. you fiddle with the fabric of his shirt as you look up at him through your plush lashes.

“just another thing to love about me,” he replies, the knowing grin on his face forcing one of your own onto your lips. 

for weeks now, steve had been trying to gently coax you into confessing your love for him. not pressuring, but encouraging. you made him feel brave, and he wanted to give you that power in return. he wanted you to see that you were safe with him, that your heart was safe with him. that he could quell any doubt that dared to spring its way into your mind. but he also knew that it wasn’t that easy. not after your past relationship and everything that you’d been through. 

what he could do, however, was show you that he’d be there despite your protestations and fear.

you let out a deep breath, your arms curling around the back of his neck. you looked up into his eyes, getting lost in the dreams they held in them. you knew you could see a life with steve. hell, you’ve known it for quite some time now, but you’d starred in this movie before, and you were heart-wrenchingly aware of how it ended. you’d jump into a relationship, your courage would be short-lived, and ultimately, you’d be left more broken than before you tried to pursue a future with steve. 

and he’d hate you for it.

“steve, you know how i feel about you. i just…i’m not—”

“—you’re not ready. i know. i understand. but even if a single inch of you felt like you could do this, that we could do this, i want you to know that we could. and until then, I’m not going anywhere, alright?”

your gaze softens, and you let your hand graze his cheek, stroking it softly as you take in the gorgeous sight of him. “how on earth did you turn out so sweet?”

the corners of steve’s mouth tip up in a shy smile, “it’s easy to be sweet with you.”

“i promise you, i’m trying,” you whisper, looking down at your hands as they continue to fiddle with the hem of Steve’s shirt. “i’m trying to trust what we have.”

“hey, i know. i know you are. i don’t want you to worry. i’ll wait for you,” he says, his fingers drifting underneath the hem of your shirt. “frankly, i’d wait forever.”

you swear to god that you could tell him you love him right then and there. you almost do — if it wasn’t for dustin knocking on the door that separated you two from him.

“hey, lovebirds. movie’s over. i wanna go to the arcade so i can beat lucas’s tempest score.”

“in your dreams, henderson,” lucas remarks. 

steve sighs softly, cupping your cheek as his eyes close. “okay. time to go back out there.” he tilts your face downward gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. he lingers for a moment, hesitating to end the moment between you two. still, eventually, he lets go. he exits the room, leaving you to collect your bearings.

the truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can go without being with steve the way your heart longs to be.

steve tag list (join here!): @skydisneylover @rafesdior @hemogloban @lyn07 @theesexystallion @dudenhaaa27

[midnightlovestories]

So here's the thing : The Addams Family is a very difficult fandom to write for (speaking as someone who arguably have some experience of writing for this fandom) - seriously, it is really really difficult to be creative here and here's why - they are perfect family unit, loving and supportive and whats not. Good. Great. This is why we love them, right?

Gomez and Morticia? Couple goals. Madly in love and absolutely devoted to each other. As parents - A+++ parenting. Their children are supported and encouraged to explore their independence and individuality. Brilliant. Perfect.

So where do you go with it story wise, what new content can you create that wasn't already done and recycled? Nowhere. There's no story.

There's a reason why majority of fan fiction in the TAF fandom are one shot smuts or (very few) significantly AU chapter stories (this goes for my own writing as well) because those characters are too perfect and too cartoonish to work with outside of parameters of what was already explored in the 60s tv show and 90s movies.

So what do you do? You create artificial drama - artificial, even cliché conflict which in the Addams Family works primarily between two characters Wednesday and Morticia. It's artificial and ooc but it's practically the only way to create something tangible within this universe without going wildly AU.

Charles Adams created cartoons, and those characters are just that - cartoonish. There's no depth and no real character progression to speak of, nothing to really sink your teeth in. As a writer, you practically work from scratch - 60s Morticia and 90s Morticia are practically completely different, beside the fact that they are both devoted to their family, loving wives etc.) but essentially, Anjelica Huston created her own Morticia. So realistically, where can Catherine Z Jones, in her own portrayal of Morticia, go from there? Or Jenna in her Wednesday? What can the writers do with those characters that would please the fans but without copying from what was done before because what's the point of recycling the material again and again? What story can they create within this universe that would be new, not recycled, not copied from what was already done within the Addams Family but would be close to the original idea? Honestly, I have no idea. Which is why I'm far from criticising netflix's Wednesday.

Is the new show rocking my boat? No. I have no interest in the school life of a teenage Wednesday and her friends. Zero cares given. But I can still appreciate what they’ve done to create, arguably, a completely new Addams Family content that seems to resonate with a lot of young people, Wenclair fans included - it is really not bad. Not bad at all. Not everyone will like it and that's completely fine, because not all content is created specifically for us and you're not going to enjoy every incarnation of the Addams Family no matter how devoted you are to the fandom.

Now, Gomez and Morticia are my OTP. Do I want to see the adventures of teenage Gomez and Morticia in Nevermore Academy? Fuck no, because I'm an adult and TV show about teenagers, even if it's Gomez and Morticia, doesn't tickle me at all.

Ideally? I would love Gomez and Morticia focused live action movie that would cater to older demographic. I want it dark and I want it sexy and not at all a family movie. What are the chances of that happening? Probably zero.

But anyway, this is my take on this.

[clearheartsgreyflowerss]

(I’m wondering if you do poly relationships. If you don’t, then feel free to decline this request)

How about some Robin x F!reader x Sparkle hcs. This includes the characters relationship with the reader and the poly in general. Some fluffy and chaotic shenanigans

/)/)

( . .)

( づ♡

I absolutely do! I myself am polyamorous, so i loved writing this. Ty for the request 🩷

(Everything is a little random, honestly this post may or may not have convinced me that Robin x Sparkle is an adorable ship)

To say you three had a chaotic relationship would be an understatement, almost everything was a surprise when you all were around.

Oftentimes you're with Robin, helping her along with anything she wants or needs. It's hard for her to do things when she is the robin, so she'll ask you for favors, which you get many kisses in return for.

Whenever sparkle shows up is when it gets interesting. She very much likes to show off around you two, so she'll show up in the most random ways possible. One of Robin's bodyguards? Surprise! Sparkle has been pretending to be him all day. Even Sunday isn't safe, she's pretended to be him on multiple occasions, and neither one of you figure out till she finally drops a hint.

Despite her tricks, she really enjoys being "sparkle" around you two. Even if she is just playing a character, you two make her feel like that is who she should be, trickster and all.

Robin also feels like her truest self around you two. She never has to put up an act, she can laugh genuinely at both sparkle's antics and your jokes, it never feels forced.

If either you or sparkle stay the night, she will absolutely sing you to sleep. Sparkle always needs to be listening to something to fall asleep, so it helps her immensely. You've developed the same habit ever since you started living with Robin. She sings around the house and at night, so you always want to hear her singing!

Robin is also very lovey dovey, she would always hold your hand if she could. Whenever sparkle graces you two with her presence, Robin is most definitely playing with her hair (would also do the same with yours if it is long).

Here's some more silly little head cannons (but in bullet point form :D)

. Sparkle is a big fan of PDA with you, anything that will surprise other people is what she's going for. She'll wear lipstick just to leave kiss marks all over your face, and you won't figure it out until you finally get home that day.

. You probably do most of the cooking in the relationship. Of course Robin helps whenever she gets the time, but she tends to have lots of duties to attend to. (And I'm pretty sure sparkle would burn the food or make something that she finds to be good, and it's actually like almost inedible.)

. Dates in public rarely happen between the 3 of you, even if you (hypothetically) found a time when none of you were busy, Robin can't exactly go out as herself, nor is it really a good idea to take sparkle anywhere. Most dates consist of either a spa night, watching terrible movies, or cuddling.

. I mentioned this earlier, but Robin's love language is a mix of physical touch and words of encouragement. If she's in public with you and sparkle, she'll rain down compliments on both of you. She never fails to notice little things in your outfit, or how sparkle is luckily holding herself back from bothering the shit out of other people. When you all are in private, her hands are definitely busy with one of you.

. Sparkle is a mix of acts of service and giving gifts. She'll never say it out loud, but it's always her doing when suddenly your schedule will miraculously work itself out whenever you want to spend time with her or Robin. She'll do just about anything to see you two smiling and laughing, so she'll use her connections quite often for you two. As for gifts, she always makes sure you know those are from her. Even if it's just a silly little bracelet, Sparkle will write a long theatrical note to go with it, usually making up some crazy plot about how she found the item.

Anyway, even if all 3 of you walked down very different paths, each person brings their own love and happiness to the relationship <3

How to write an ending no glue no borax (literally kill me I hate writing the end of anything T-T)

Once again, ty for the request! It was lots of fun to write, and honestly challenged me a little. I have lots of my own little head cannons for Robin, but I never really was a big sparkle fan, so I didn't know too much about her. I tried not to write her ooc, so sorry if it came off that way :(

I do know more about her now though and I am happy to say I do like her! I was honestly considering pulling for her bc she's coming up in the next banner, but I'm not trying to pull another Jade and Argenti rn.

Thank you for reading!! If you like my work please consider liking and rebloging it 🩷

Daily click to help those in Palestine

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 10

Read on AO3. Part 9 here. Part 11 here.

Summary: You're starting to think you're never getting back home.

Words: 6800

Warnings: Serious attempts at historical war nerdery

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia

Hi, quick note here - we are not following the timeline of the film, since it's completely fucky and doesn't really adhere to any of the major battles closely enough for our nerd-brains to enjoy. As such, please note that the Battle of Camden occurred on August 16th, 1780, not whatever time the movie made up in 1778.

HELLO, WELCOME BACK. Sorry for the delay! We've had an insanely busy two weeks with family visiting, work being insane, and just generally having way-too-much-shit going on. However, we plan to have a new chapter out next week (though the one after that might be... uh, LONG), so please keep in mind we're doing our best to keep to a schedule of every 1-2 weeks!

(I used to write shit that was like, 2k words per chapter. What happened to that??? lmao how did I even do that. I don't even know)

THANK YOU EVERYONE for your very kind words and thoughts for last chapter. We were SO excited to write it and honestly I have been thinking about it non-stop? Idk I just want his cock so bad.

ANYWAY CHAT SOON <3

William.

William.

He’d asked you to call him William.

It had been about forty-two hours (not that you were counting) since your thoroughly unwise, thoroughly unfinished tryst with the colonel of the Green Dragoons. You had spent that time trying to purge yourself of his scent, his touch, his taste. So far, your greatest measure of success had been in slapping your hand whenever it crawled to relieve the pressure between your legs.

You cupped your hands in the creek, splashed your face cold.

Your thoughts needed to be clearer than the damn creek. To even offer this desire a place in your mind would encourage it. And the memory of his name in your ear continued to invite it to stay.

Another palms-worth of water, another splash.

Even more infuriatingly, it had managed to wriggle its way into your thoughts. Most of the time, he passed through your mind as Tavington, or Colonel, or both of them together. But there were moments. Weak, inane moments, wherein the only representation of him bore the name William.

William, as if he were a man who had introduced himself with a bow, a man who might call on your father and ask permission to write, a man who’d done anything other than everything he had done.

William, a name so representative of nothing William Tavington was to you.

And yet, in the dark of night, your fingers itching to chase away lust, that name drifted like foam on the sea of your thoughts; a word whispered in your voice; a soft, reluctant plea; a fantasy of a fantasy—that not only was he your relief, but a man who deserved his name at all.

You groaned, thrust your face in the creek and screamed into the rocks. A voice called your name from beyond the surface, and you jerked back to sit on your heels. Panting, water dripping down your face, you turned to see Lottie.

“Is everything all right?” She studied your expression. “This is, what, the third time you’ve dunked your face in there today?”

You exhaled, waving her off dismissively. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” you replied, wiping the remaining drops from your face. “Warm day, isn’t it?”

She nodded, gazing back toward camp, squinting in the sun. “I suppose we’d best try to enjoy it before autumn comes.” Her attention turned back to you. “Did you want to play cards before dinner? Best out of seven?”

“Seven?” You grinned, pushing yourself to your feet. “Omitting last night, are you? Fairly certain I recall a winning streak.”

“I don’t know at all what you mean,” she replied with a smile. “Come! I’ve grown weary of stitching circles and gossip.”

You looked to the sky. The sun was cresting away from high noon. Daylight was in waning supply, and this was the first time since the storm that Tavington had left camp—your first chance to venture off without fearing him heeling at your shadow. There was no telling when he'd return, but you'd already spent at least thirty minutes of that time trying to wash him from your thoughts. You needed to get going.

“I thought I’d eat a bit later, actually.” You offered an apologetic smile. “I wanted to forage for some supplies before the day is out.”

“Later?” Lottie tried and failed to conceal a grimace. “With, er, everyone else?”

“Yes.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, well I…” She looked at her shoes, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. “It just may be uncomfortable. With Alice.” When you replied with only a confused blink, she continued, “She’s still, ah, a bit upset.”

“Still?” You scowled, folding your arms. “Why?”

A sigh escaped her as she searched the ground. “I don't suppose it's that strange,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “Her miscarriage was only a month ago.”

“So?” Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “I said I was sorry. To her face, even.”

Lottie nodded sympathetically. “You did,” she said. “But—”

“But nothing,” you said. “I apologized. It’s done with. She needs to gather her skirts and start anew.”

“Perhaps…” Lottie pursed her lips, regarding you as she considered her words. “Though I'm sure she feels differently.”

“Perhaps she shouldn't have started it, then.” You shrugged. “I certainly don't start arguments that I don't plan on winning.”

“As I've come to learn.” Lottie smiled wryly. “Give her time. Alice clings to her grudges even tighter than she does to her Bible, I think.”

You nodded. “Precisely,” you said, comforted in your knowledge that Alice was the problem and definitely not you, or anything you’d done. “She won’t disturb me. I’ll scrounge some food and find you afterwards.”

“Lovely,” Lottie replied. “Don’t stay out too late. Benedict said we’ll be moving to Camden soon, and you know how the colonel is about giving notice for such things.”

“Camden?” You frowned. “Did he say why?”

Lottie shrugged. “Apparently we are to meet the general and his men there.” She wrung her hands. “Do you suppose it’s to do with those rebels who attacked us?”

“Most likely.” You sighed, forcing down a disquieted squirm. “Though if they know what’s good for them, they’ll have long since turned tail by now.”

If only you didn’t suspect that to be a false hope.

“Might they still be in the area, though?” A little line of concern folded along Lottie’s brow, and she glanced out toward the woods. “Planning an… an ambush, or something?”

“I doubt it,” you said. “Those men got a whipping they shan’t soon forget.”

Lottie let out a relieved half-laugh. “They did, didn’t they?” Skipping forward, she took your hands in hers. “Still. Do promise to be careful.”

“Of course.” You offered a small smile. “I’ll not allow Alice the satisfaction of my abduction.”

She grinned and pinched your arm. “Don’t say such things!”

“You’re right,” you said through a giggle, flinching from her. “Far more likely I’ll be tarred and feathered.”

“Oh, you!” Lottie swatted at you as you retreated, lip pinched between your teeth.

“Strung up as a warning,” you said, pantomiming your own hanging as you flounced away.

“Cards. Tonight.” Lottie shot you a final, quelling look as she began to turn back. “This time you’re done for!”

“You’re on,” you said, and watched as she departed toward camp.

Smile withering on your lips, you breathed deeply, turned your head north. Continentals were not only patrolling the road that direction, you knew militia were stationed toward that way as well. If the Wilksburg company had joined up with them, then that would be the best opportunity you had to find someone—anyone—who knew anything about your father.

In an ideal world, of course, he would be there when you arrived. But you knew better than to practice idealism.

After casting around to ensure that you weren’t being watched, you started down the road. Keeping to the sides, in the grass, was the best strategy for now. It gave you plausible deniability if someone from Tavington’s legion did happen across you.

You hadn’t considered, yet, what you’d even do if and when you found the Continentals. You just knew you needed to do something, anything to peel the guilt from behind your eyes. Kissing Tavington had been an incredible mistake that would require incredible redress. Providing the Continentals with whatever knowledge you possessed was your first attempt to achieve that.

The sun dripped down the sky as you walked, a bead of honey making its way to the horizon. Its heat had gathered sweat at your temples by the time you reached the bridge crossing. With a strange pang of disappointment, you found it deserted, the ground scarred by boot and hoof. The Continentals must have made good on their plans to fall back, spooked by the numbers they encountered at Tavington’s camp.

Huffing a sigh, you hiked your skirts and started over the bridge, reveling for a moment in the rush of cool air above the river.

There was always the possibility that you wouldn’t find the Continentals at all. That they had retreated all the way back to North Carolina, and you were following their long-cold trail. That no trace of them would be found by the time evening fell and forced you to circle back.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t circle back. It would be so simple. All you would have to do is continue walking. Forever. You would never have to see or touch or taste or dwell upon thoughts of William Tavington ever again.

And without you, your home would be burned.

And without you, Grace would be killed.

And you would never know if your father would live to learn of any of it.

Anger lashed you, quickened your steps. It settled into its chosen home of late: a dull, scraping throb in the back of your skull.

No, such whispers of despair would not seduce you. You would keep its lips just as far from your ear as you would keep Colonel Tavington’s lips from your own.

Continentals had to be here. You would find them. And this cacophonous discord in your mind would finally cease, so long as you could affix your sights upon—

“Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

To the west, a nearly-familiar voice. You turned to meet a mounted horse trotting over the hill. As the rider drew closer, you recognized his face.

“Wilson?” you said. “Is that you?”

Wilson gaped, kicking the horse to a canter until he reached you. Your heart was torn between relief and elation, tempered by confusion, since the last time you’d seen Wilson he was waiting out a hanging in Dorchester. Given his appearance now—closer to a bedraggled, bearded orphan than a soldier—you would’ve thought he’d just escaped.

“By God, it’s you,” he said, examining you. He glanced around. “What are you doing out here?”

You grimaced. Perhaps Wilson was trustworthy. But this wasn’t something you wanted to bet your safety on. You needed someone of higher rank.

“There’s a lot I need to explain,” you said. “How did you manage to get out of Dorchester? Do you know anything about my father?”

“Your…” Wilson frowned for a moment before realization dawned across his face.. “Of course. Your father broke us out of that lobster pit. He’s back at camp.”

“What?” It was definitely elation, now. You sidled up to the horse, grabbing at the cantle. “I must see him.”

“Indeed you must.” Wilson held out a hand and vacated his stirrup, letting you clamber onto the back of his mount. “We’re only a couple miles over the valley.” He urged his horse into a trot and laughed. “Oh, he’s going to be thrilled to see you, kid.”

Your chest tightened with excitement. “I know,” you replied, smiling.

You explained on the short ride to camp that you’d been paroled, but omitted anything about working for the British in the encampment down the way. And obviously omitted anything having to do with any superior officers or your attraction to them and how that potentially endangered everyone in your life.

Guilt trailed the horse’s stride. You’d be rid of it soon. Your father—your father—was at the camp. Safe. Alive. You brought your focus to that and that alone. It didn’t matter, the weeks of struggle, the fear and torment over your family’s well-being, the weight of it on your shoulders. It would all be worth it to hear your father’s voice.

A white mass of canvas bloomed into your field of vision, split into distinguished tents as you rode nearer. When you were close enough to shout at them, you could restrain yourself no longer. Squealing, you hopped off the horse, stumbling to the grass and nearly grinding your face into the dirt. You didn’t care. You scrambled to your feet and ran, ran toward the camp, waving your arms above your head, calling a single word out to the air.

“Papa!” you cried. “Papa!”

A dozen heads poked out of or around the side of the tents, squinting in the direction of the wild running woman. Realizing you weren’t their daughter, they dismissed you, nudging their comrades to look in your direction. It wasn’t until a head crowned in a tricorn hat emerged from the crowd that you met recognition in someone’s eyes.

First it was disbelief. Then a yielding, laughing shake of his head. Then he stepped, ambled, bounded toward you, his arms outspread in joy. To see his face was to see a mirror etched with age. He called out your name.

“My girl!” your father hollered. “It’s my girl!”

In long, loping seconds, you crashed together, your arms curling around him, his own embrace crushing your shoulders and head against his chest. You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder, every single shred of shame, panic, and fear withering to the ground. He was warm. He smelled like home.

Papa. Papa was here.

“Papa,” you mumbled. “I’m so glad you’re faring well.”

Papa squeezed you again before holding you at arm’s length, and looking you over. “No worse for wear, yourself.” He met your eyes. “Now what in God’s holy blessed green-and-blue earth are you doing here, cub?” His attention fell to Wilson, riding up behind you. “Where did you find this rascal?”

“She was looking for us, Captain,” Wilson replied with a sheepish shrug.

You fought off a grin, tilting your chin to the sky. “I found him,” you said, fixing your hands on your hips. “And we have much to discuss, Papa.”

“Oh-ho.” A laugh broke out of him, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into another hug. “Of course you did. Of course we do.” He rubbed your back before guiding you around to face the camp. “But first—let me introduce you to everyone!” Papa led you forward, hand raised triumphantly in the air. “My girl is here!”

As you entered the Continental campground, men parted for you, greeted you, tipped their hats in your direction. Miss, missus, good day, pleased to meet you, pleasant to make your acquaintance; all floated in your ears, the words melting together in unfamiliar groups of sound. Never had you been treated with such deference. And never had men seemed so interested in earning your favor.

Even back in Catawba, where Papa was well-known and well-regarded, the local boys had grown up with you. Knew you too well to try speaking to you any more often than courtesy demanded To the Continental men, you were a potentially pretty stranger exposed only through anecdotes shared by a respected, impressive man.

Unfortunately for them (and, given your recent inclinations, perhaps you as well) not one of them impressed you. Though they were, potentially, not at fault for that.

Men shambled through the camp without shoes, without trousers. Handfuls waddled in mud only draped by blankets. Those who sought you to introduce themselves appeared to have gone without shaving—or washing, given the crescents of dirt under their nails—for days. Wilson had not been unique in his swamp-mongrel regalia, you realized.

The condition of the Continental encampment was abominable.

You looked to your father. Glee beamed from him like sunlight. If he was concerned about the deplorable circumstances of his soldiers, it didn’t show. He directed you toward a fire, where several men were seated in a circle, all of them outfitted in some sort of blue coat. They each eyed you as you approached, their gazes flitting between you and your father in confusion.

“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward you, “this is my daughter.”

You gave them your name, bowing your head toward them. One of the men shot to his feet, his eyes wide and locked onto you. The rest of the men followed, standing and nodding toward you as they introduced themselves with names you didn't remember. The first man to stand tipped his cap in your direction.

“Miss.” He was dressed in an outfit that resembled your father’s and stood tall, with tawny hair and high cheekbones. “Captain Pearce. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Your heart stalled. Pearce. That name pierced your memory in a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning. Your eyes widened, and you offered him a tight smile in the most normal manner you could possibly muster.

It had been dark. Storming. He hadn’t been the one speaking to you, and no hint of recognition stirred within his gaze. When you met his eyes, he grinned and returned to a seat around the fire. Your chest fell in relief.

You planned to tell your father what you’d been doing, but involving anyone else seemed foolhardy. If Tavington learned from some desperate Patriot soldier that you’d been dipping between camps with the desire to undermine him, you didn’t think you’d be able to get to Grace before he strung you up on the nearest tree.

Besides, the thought of even considering, let alone explaining, what sort of game you’d been playing with him made your stomach sink. Now that you knew your father was alive and occupied by the war, you could even dare to hope you might never play that game again.

The thought sparkled like a distant star. You imagined bidding your father farewell, escaping back to Catawba, whisking Grace away to Pennsylvania and never seeing William—Colonel—Tavington again.

Why, oh why did some awful, craven piece of you wilt at the very thought of it?

“Cub?” Papa said. “Everything all right?”

You blinked alive. You’d been staring into the fire. “Oh!” you said, laughing. “Yes, yes, Papa, sorry.”

“Go ahead and have a seat, my girl.” He sat on one of the benches by the fire and patted the spot next to him. “You said we have much to discuss.”

Nodding, you took the seat. Your hands folded into the fabric of your dress, your palms sweat onto your knees. You weren’t sure why you were nervous.

“I have information. About the British Army.” There was something important Lottie had mentioned earlier, too. “And about Camden.”

One of the named-but-forgotten men sat forward. “You know about the attempt—”

“Hold on.” Pearce extended his arm as if to quiet him. “Hold on, now.” He met your eyes before setting his jaw, sitting up taller. “By what means did you attain this information?”

You stiffened, looked toward Papa. “I’d rather reveal that to only my father, thank you.”

“Is there a reason you refuse?” Pearce sat forward, gesturing to his uniform. “I’m a captain, just like your father.”

“That’s evident,” you replied, “but my father you are not.”

Pearce glanced at Papa before continuing. “Well, yes, miss. I understand. But I can assure you that I, too, can be provided with sensitive information. My accomplishments in the war—”

You frowned. “I care little for your achievements, Captain Pearce,” you said. “Your behavior is what engenders my trust, and I have seen nothing of that thus far.”

Papa held up a calming hand. “Pearce, it’s all right. She’s a skeptical type. As well she should be.” He grinned at you. “We can talk in a moment.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You folded your arms over your chest.

Pearce huffed, but relinquished, easing back and glancing around. “Very well, then,” he said. “Should we gather the militia?”

“No need,” Papa said. “I’ll inform Colonel Martin later. He and his boy went out scouting a couple of hours ago.” He nodded toward you. “Go on.”

You took a breath, glanced around the circle of men, then at the fire. Your chest tightened. You swallowed the feeling.

“First,” you began, “how long since your forces returned to South Carolina?”

Papa pursed his lips, glanced at Pearce. “Six days, I believe,” he said. Pearce nodded in agreement.

“And how far out have you managed to scout in that time?”

Pearce straightened, shifted where he sat. “Well…”

“Not as far as we’d have liked, cub,” Papa said, raising a hand to the back of his neck. “Our General, you see—”

“Our resources are occupied elsewhere at this time,” said Pearce, a hint of what almost resembled distrust flickering over his face as he regarded you.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yes,” Papa said, and you caught a mote of frustration in his tone. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Show me the most current map you have,” you said. “Much has changed, even since you were last here, Papa.”

Papa nodded, then gestured to a man seated across from him, who sprang to his feet and made for one of the surrounding tents.

“Changed, how?” Papa asked, turning back to you.

“Well,” you sighed. “The British have not rested a day since taking Charleston. They fan the flames of Loyalism across the colony as we speak. By force, or by…” You swallowed. “Enticement.”

Papa frowned. “This land has more backbone than that, surely.”

“Evidently not,” you returned, perhaps too sharply. “More towns pledge fealty to the crown by the day. Lord Cornwallis has dispatched entire legions of men to sweep the countryside and ensure it.”

“Perhaps they lie,” offered Pearce. “Swear whatever oath they must to be left in peace, while their allegiances truly lie elsewhere.”

“Precisely,” said Papa, holding a hand out as if to showcase Pearce. “The soul of liberty is not so easily snuffed.”

You met Pearce’s eyes. His shoulders rolled back. Words of doubt on your lips were distracted by the soldier returning with the requested map. He held it out to your father.

Papa frowned. “I wasn’t the one who asked for it, Private.”

The private’s back hunched in submission and he handed it over to you. As you spread it on your lap, he retreated to his seat around the fire, and you shot him a glare for good measure.

“So.” Your finger swirled over a swath of land in the backcountry. “All of these towns have sworn loyalty to the Crown over the past months.”

Scrutinizing the map, you hummed, leaned forward, and plucked an old charred stick from the edge of the fire pit.

“And there’s a road you’ve not accounted for. Here.” You scratched a charcoal line into the map. “It’s part of what they’re calling the King’s Highway. Supplies move from Charleston to be disseminated to outposts across the backcountry. These seem to be their primary fortifications, as far as I know.” With each new trail, you drew a new, black line. “Fort Ninety-Six, to the west. Stono Ferry, in the south. And Fort Carolina, here in the north.”

“New points of attack,” Papa said, staring into the map. “They’ll be vulnerable along those routes.” He gazed at you, face splitting with a smile before he slapped your back so hard he earned a small oof. “That’s my girl!” He looked to Pearce. “I told you that she was quite a woman, didn’t I?” Before you could begin to question that that meant, he continued, “Do you have anything else, cub?”

“What about the movements of their officers?” Pearce asked.

Your mouth parted as your pulse skipped. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Captain.”

Pearce sighed. “We believe colonel of the Green Dragoons—William Tavington, if you know him—”

If only he knew how well.

“—was spotted here not more than a couple of days ago after our patrols encountered a redcoat encampment. We nearly captured him.”

Papa nodded. “Too bad, too,” he said. “Would’ve been excellent information for Gates.”

“General Gates continues to resist suggestions for the procurement of further intelligence,” Pearce said, partly to you, partly to your father.

“Well.” Papa scoffed. “Gates is a damn fool.”

Pearce gave a commiserating look before turning back to you. “We have reason to believe Tavington’s legion is in the area.” Grey eyes scrutinized you, flicked over your face and hands before meeting your gaze again. “Do you know anything about that?”

Had it been Papa asking, your answer would have been instant. But this was something you didn’t want to confirm for a stranger who could sell you out with the right amount of pressure. And you couldn’t discern Pearce’s intention, couldn’t figure if he already knew the answer to the question he was asking. He was studying you in a way that made your skin want to flutter off in flakes.

“No.” You spun to face your father. “I have something I want to discuss with you.” You glanced at Pearce. “Privately.”

Pearce frowned, looking between you and Papa like he was lost. Papa scanned your expression, chewed his lip before acknowledging Pearce, nodding at him and the other men around the fire to dismiss them. Exhaling, Pearce’s shoulders sank. He stole a final glimpse of you before tipping his hat again and following the rest of the soldiers to the tents.

Before he could speak, you lowered your voice. “Papa, how are you men surviving?” you said. “The state of this camp is horrific.”

Papa grinned, shaking his head. “Don’t be preposterous! No, it isn’t.”

“It’s atrocious.”

“What do you mean?” Papa craned his head, surveying the grid of tents. “Can you not see the fervor here? The thirst for revolution?” Like a poor boy on the eve of Christmas, the reality of his circumstances were obscured by delirious thrill. “These men are Patriots! They believe in something.”

From your perspective, it was difficult to identify what they believed in other than not being fully dressed. Perhaps the British encampment wasn’t possessed by passion, but they at least had the provisions to make it through a single battle. You weren’t sure how the Continentals had gotten this far.

“I’m just a bit concerned with the state of your men right now, is all.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “The colonel of our militia is a legend from the French and Indian war. If I could only tell you of his feats at Fort Wilderness.” He looked at you with utter conviction. “A word from that man could stir even the most phlegmatic hearts to fervor.”

You nodded. “All right then. Perhaps I need time to see it.” Giving him a sly grin, you added, “As of now, I see no such stirring man.”

“Not one?”

“Not one.”

“Ah…” Papa rubbed his knees, shooting you a rueful grin. “So, Captain Pearce didn’t impress you?”

Your brow furrowed. “No, he didn’t,” you replied. “Speak your meaning plainly, Papa. From where did this question arrive?”

He leaned back, sucking in air through his teeth. “Oh, I don’t know, cub,” he said. “He’s been a great help to me, and he’s around your age. He’s intelligent. Ambitious. I know you’re not easily impressed, so I thought maybe…” He waved you off. “Forget it, forget it.”

“Wait.” Your jaw dropped. “Were you trying to…” A laugh of disbelief escaped you. That’s why Pearce had been acting so strangely in front of you. “You were trying to arrange something with him?”

Papa threw up his hands defensively. “No!” he insisted. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just thought perhaps if you met him…”

“What, he’d—he’d… wing me away in a fit of infatuation?”

“Not a fit—no!” He clapped to silence further discussion. “Anyway. Just. Forget all of that.”

You grumbled, but nodded along anyway. Papa had never cared if you were married and had never tried to foist a man into your arms regardless. The romance of war had swept him in flight. He’d simply hoped to pass it on to you, as he’d done with all of his other idealistic aspirations.

The relics of your rage from a couple of nights prior resurrected themselves. If it hadn’t been for these very idealistic, romantic aspirations over something incredibly dangerous, you wouldn’t even be sitting in this camp. The three of you could have fled the encroaching war together, could have done something sensible for once.

Instead, just one of you was left with obligation.

Just one of you was left to put out the candles, to sweep the porch, to lock the doors, to tuck the sheets under the mattresses.

What had Tavington said, that first night you’d met him?

Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?

You ground your teeth together. He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t allowed to be.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” you said, shaking off all thoughts of the colonel and how right or wrong or whatever he was. You dropped your volume to a whisper. “I’ve been traveling with the British army since mid-June. Grace and I were taken—”

Papa’s eyes widened. “You—cub, you’ve been what?”

“That’s where I came from!” You inched closer to him. “Tavington’s legion is just south of the river. That’s where I’ve been. Papa…” You glanced around. “Do your men mean to advance on Camden?”

His face fell. He drew in a long inhale, gazing into the fire. “Dammit. So they know, do they?”

“You must withdraw,” you said. “Cornwallis is on his way north to defend it. Whatever you’ve got planned, it won’t be enough.”

Papa nodded, silent, chewing on his cheek in thought. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Though I’m not sure what good it will do with this fool Gates commanding us. I doubt he’ll hear a word of it.”

“Then you must make him hear. Relief though it brings me to have informed you of it.” You could let the load of this war die in its own wake. After seeing the state of the Continental camp, you were more determined than ever to get home and get Grace out of South Carolina. “More relief still to know you’re alive. I’ve spent all of these weeks thinking you might have been dead. Or hurt, or… I don’t know. Worse.”

“And that’s what had you out here staying in… did you say Tavington's legion?”

“I did.”

He hummed, giving another knowing shake of his head. “Tavington isn't known for being obtuse. Or charitable.” He laughed. “You might have gotten yourself killed.”

Or worse—deflowered. “I can handle myself,” you said. “Besides—”

“I know you can,” Papa said. “Just don’t give them too much hell when you get back there.”

Your fingers wound around each other. There, as in return to the British encampment. Not head home. You swallowed, panic creeping up your neck and bringing a wave of sweat with it. You’d thought it would be clear for you to abandon this entire charade and put the devilish whims of war—and Tavington—behind you.

Had you been neglecting some duty when considering your plan? Was there some important piece of information you’d omitted?

“But…” The word sounded wrong on your tongue. “How will I… what will I be doing?”

“What you’ve already been doing,” he said. “We need Tavington crippled. He’s been slaughtering us.”

“But how will I get you information?”

He shrugged. “Write letters to Grace, if you’d like. She can keep them for me. But I’m not worried about the information. I trust you to do what’s right.”

It wanted to leave again. “But I…”

You would never do that. There was no way you’d even accidentally implicate her anything. The fact that he’d even suggested it irritated you.

“Of course.” And then, with far more acidity than you realized you’d been holding, “Grace is well, by the way, since you asked.”

Papa frowned, face drawn with concern. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “I’m glad she is. But I never doubted she would be with you there.” He paused, considering you. “Everything all right, cub?” He nudged you playfully. “Aren’t you inspired?”

Shame consumed you. Your stomach fell to your feet. You hadn’t been careful. You’d been selfish. That was the problem.

You held importance to people like your father, who was clearly awe-struck by the vigor of rebellion. You served a crucial point in preventing him from coming to harm. At least with the information you’d given him today, he might stand a chance in escaping certain death from a confrontation at Camden.

This was your father. Of course he trusted you, of course he assumed the best in you. How was it possible you considered doing anything but what he hoped for?

You’d been so stupid.

Nodding, you looked at Papa. Forced a smile just like you had when he told you he was heading off to join the Wilksburg company.

“Yes, Papa,” you replied. “I’m going to do my best for you. I promise.”

Papa smiled and pulled you into a strong, close hug. You closed your eyes, a knot bubbling in your throat and escaping as a pained laugh. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

“I lost your boots,” you whimpered.

His body shook with a chuckle. “My boots?”

You nodded. “Redcoats took them.” Your voice strained the words. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn the boots,” Papa said, holding you closer. “Damn the redcoats, too. It’s hardly the most consequential thing they’d take from us, given the chance.”

Warmth spread through you. Your father was right.

Tavington hadn’t been, wasn’t, and would never be right.

You allowed yourself to feel safety in your father’s arms for a few more moments. The sun was painting purple streaks through the sky, and you needed to return to camp with at least a few plants in your pocket. But for just a few seconds, none of that mattered.

After you bid Papa farewell with another long embrace, you waved at the Continental officers and their poorly-clothed subordinates. Wilson offered a ride at least to the bridge, but you declined it. You were not going to put yourself or anyone else at greater risk than you were already in.

The walk back to camp was long, but helped to soothe your racing mind. And at least it gave you the opportunity to collect whatever vegetation you could find. You managed to snatch a handful of a few different prophylactics for swelling along the way—the sumac and plantain would be best for that—and added in some dogwood to help reduce fever.

By the time you returned to camp, the sun had tucked itself into the trees, the eastern skyline bleeding black into the dying day. You neared the perimeter, and a couple of soldiers seated by a tent spotted you. Their eyes widened. One stood and slipped into camp.

Your mouth dried. Instead of waiting to find out what that was about, you scurried to the hospital tent, hoping to make yourself appear very busy instead of very delinquent. It was empty when you entered. You couldn’t decide if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Holding your breath, you hovered over one of the work tables and grabbed your mortar and pestle along with a few bottles. There had to be something you could start on that would allow you to perform innocence. If William—Colonel, dammit—

The flap to the hospital tent parted. Colonel Tavington stalked through.

You turned to see his brow relax when he saw you, only for his jaw to shift and tighten when his eyes met yours. His lip twitched.

You looked at your hands. “Good evening, Col—”

“Where were you?” He stepped toward you, hands behind his back.

“Sir?” You gave him a placating smile, gesturing to your bottles. “I was out gathering supplies.”

Tavington raised a brow. “Is that so?” Nodding toward the table, he said, “Show me, then.”

“What I gathered?”

“Unless you believe there’s something else I’d rather see as proof of your reason for absence.”

You pulled your lips in over your teeth and retrieved the vegetation from your pockets, spreading them all on the table. They sprinkled across the surface like a handful of hay on a pig’s belly. The amount now seemed pitiably inadequate for the time you’d been gone. Heat flushed your neck.

He stepped closer to you, looming over your shoulder. A slow breath left him as he examined them.

“This,” he said, pitch lower and quieter than you anticipated, “is all you managed to find?”

Ignoring the twist in your lower abdomen, you shrugged. “This was all that was worthwhile. And they’re all that I needed.”

He reached around you, lifting one of the crimson sumac clusters from the table and spinning it in his fingers. “Tell me about this, then.”

“That’s staghorn sumac.” You forced a small grin. The breadth of his chest, the rumble of his voice there almost unsteadied you. Almost. “Helpful for inflammation.”

“Sumac,” he said, twirling it again. “I remember you asking me if I could identify it.”

Your heart thumped against your chest. “I did.”

“Does it always look like this?” He slid his thumb up the tender stem, flicked it across the base of the fruits. “This color.”

“It does.” Your chin quivered, your insides writhing in a knot. The very fact he’d even asked made you want to hop on the table and wrap your legs around his waist. “You'll…” You exhaled a steadying breath. “You'll know it, now.”

“I should hope I never need to.” You didn’t reply. Only watched as he laid the sumac on the table and cradled one of the white flowers in his palm. “What does this do?”

“Dogwood,” you murmured. The heat from his body was not distracting. You were not thinking about how his palms would feel on your hips, your breasts. “For. Ah. For fever.”

“I see.” He brought the flower—and his arm—closer to your waist. “Have you noticed any…” he said, the next word hanging on his tongue, “neglected instances of feverish behavior recently?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just preparation.”

“Ah.” Returning the dogwood, he picked up a plantain leaf, humming thoughtfully. “And this?”

“It’s good for insect bites,” you murmured. The memory of his lips, the moan he’d made into your mouth stole the stability from your knees, and you braced yourself on the table. “I know the men have been complaining of mosquitoes recently.”

“How thoughtful.” He stepped closer, hips grazing yours. “And unlike you.”

“Perhaps so,” you said quickly, stupidly. You needed him out of your space. “But I’ve found them bothersome as well.”

His tone grew cold. “I believe that’s the first honest sentence out of your mouth all evening.”

You straightened, moving to the side. “I really must ask—”

Tavington gripped the table, barring your escape with his arm. Spinning to face him, you found his chest an inch from yours, his gaze boring into you. Every good intention you had to tell him to leave chilled to ice.

“Where were you?” His tongue rolled in his mouth. “This,” he said, crushing a handful of the flowers in his palm, “did not take you hours.”

“We’ve been camped here for weeks. I’ve picked these woods bare,” you replied. “I had to go far out into the field.”

His eyes narrowed. “To find scraps?”

The wicked edge in his tone cut a shiver up your spine. You could almost taste his lips again, could feel the yearning to dissolve against him. Clearing your throat of need, you lifted your chin to the air.

“I’m being honest,” you lied.

“Honest, are you?” That smirk that you found so irritating, so devastatingly irresistible, quirked on the mouth you did not want to kiss. “Then tell me this, my little soldier.” Tavington’s hand drew close to your hip, found the edges of your skirts, tugged at them by only an inch. You flinched. “Do I detect the vestiges…” He leaned close to whisper with soft, trembling rage. “... Of desire?”

Your nails dug into the table. Finding his eyes, you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Lottie!” you shouted. “Lottie, come quick! I want to show you something!”

Tavington’s brows rose, and his jaw stiffened.

“I knew you to be a liar,” he muttered. “But I did not take you for a coward.”

With a short exhale through his nose, he withdrew from you. Seconds later, Charlotte Goddard charged into the tent.

“I’m here! I’m here!” She was heaving. “What, what is it? When did you get back?” Spotting Tavington, she stood tall. “Oh, Colonel! Excuse me, sir.” She bowed her head. “Good evening.”

Colonel—yes, Colonel, thank you very much—Tavington’s attention flipped between the two of you. He marched out of the tent without a word. Lottie looked to the table, then at you.

“About as good as that’s going to get,” she said, walking over toward you. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

A long, heavy breath slid from your nose. An ache lingered between your legs. There were so many things you could have shown her, could have told her. All of them had to remain secret to your grave. So instead, you scooped up the sumac, dangling the clusters from your hands.

“Look,” you said, half-grinning. “It matches your hair.”

[hibischush]

What kind of music, or song that instantly comes in your mind each FoM bachelors and bachelorettes would listen to?

God this is going to reveal so much about me y'all better not judge my odd musical escapades 😤🌺

Seriously though, I love character playlists so if any of y'all make one please share!

Bachelors;

Balor

Okay...I dunno why but

Fall Out Boy

Balor just seems like the type of guy to like the content sung in their songs and I think he definitely enjoys pop-punk

Like I immediately thought of "Sugar, We're Goin Down" from Fall Out Boy

Literally any other emo-rock/punk band too

Think MCR

March

Anything from The Offspring tbh

I was listening to "Want You Bad" and I was like. Yep that's him

Same goes for "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid"

For music that he listens to, I also think he would be a rock enjoyer

NOT BECAUSE HE'S A BLACKSMITH. OK?

But more specifically older rock (think Bon Jovi, Journey, The Rolling Stones)

Hayden

Yes I know he looks like he listens to country

But its more folk-country than the pop-country that's super popular these days

I thought of "Southern Nights" by Glen Campbell

Also pretty much anything from Johnny Cash

Specifically "Ring of Fire"

Ryis

I think he would like some country artists similar to Hayden, but I thought of Jimi Hendrix honestly

Like Hendrix's "Purple Haze"

Soft rock basically

"Drive," "Just What I Needed," and "You Might Think" all by The Cars

Eiland

This man definitely listens to classical/orchestral music I mean look at him

I can't really point out any artists for that

But like... if video games/movies existed in Mistria

He'd listen to video game OSTs too

Like you'd be catching him listening to Indiana Jones' OST while digging up artifacts 😭

Bachelorettes;

Celine

I think Celine would listen to pop or pop-punk for sure

Like she's listening to Billie Eilish idc

Esp Billie's HIT ME HARD AND SOFT album

I think she'd listen to Kali Uchi too (her "Moonlight" song came to mind)

But I think she'd also like R&B too (Specifically Ravyn Lenae)

Juniper

She'd get down with rap and R&B man

"Paint the Town Red" and "Agora Hills" by Doja Cat

"Dang!" by Mac Miller ft. Anderson .Paak

She likes the soft beat packed with words or hype music I suppose

makes her feel powerful

Reina

Reina is another R&B enjoyer-- but specifically a huge SZA fan

I thought of "Snooze" by SZA

But Reina seems like the type to enjoy any type of music honestly

Her family really encourages music as a past time with her mom singer and her father playing stringed instruments

Valen

Only piano music

Literally she's the type to dislike music that hypes her up/makes her feel strong emotions like anger

She likes music that calms her and piano music does just that

Adeline

Adeline is similar to her brother in that she enjoys classical music

She enjoys ball room dancing, and often "classic" or orchestral or waltz music plays

But I also see her enjoying Brazilian Bossa Nova music as well

"Brazil" (Aka Aquarela do Brasil) by Antonio Carlos Jor

"So Danco Samba" by Stan Getz & Luiz Bonfa

I think she likes bossa nova because the rhythm is so different from more western music

It challenges to adapt to the beat while dancing and she likes it

Bonus; Caldarus

For Caldarus, it has been a long time since they have heard music

When they hear it from your nearby farmhouse, they find it very pleasing

If they ever get outta statue form then I think they are very eager to seek out all types of music

Whelp hopefully none of these are musical hot takes.🥲 Whenever I mention certain artists just know that I primarily mean the vibes/style of the artists, cause you wouldn't find Doja Cat in Mistria lmao

[rollercoasterwords]

PLEASE tell us your barbie opinions!!!!! pls pls i also have opinions

happy 2 share but i will be putting it under a cut bc. a lot of people seem 2 think this movie is god's gift 2 earth and i am not in the mood 2 deal w barbie evangelists lol so if u do not want 2 see barbie movie criticism just scroll away

will preface by saying i enjoyed the movie i thought it was fun etc + i don't think there's anything wrong with enjoying it or finding it fun or even feeling very personally empowered/seen by what the movie had to say. that's all very nice on a personal level and i understand why so many people are finding the movie cathartic.

that being said i do not think the movie was feminist or subversive by a long shot and seeing so many people talk about how radical it was makes me feel like i'm being gaslit!!! like. did we watch different movies lmao. maybe i'd understand a little more why everyone was being taken in if barbie had like, gone to the real world and fought patriarchy in the movie--but she didn't even do that! they introduce the concept of real-world patriarchy only to have barbie go back to barbieland and destroy fake barbie patriarchy (which is rooted simply in one man's insecurity and easily resolved by gently encouraging him to seek self-worth outside his relationship--not exactly a cutting examination of the material investment that men have in patriarchy which makes it so difficult to challenge) and leave real-world patriarchy intact at the end (the big #feminist moment for real women is...mattel's sexist ceo saying he'll use a woman's idea for the next barbie, since he can make a lot of money off it? he doesn't even say he's going to pay her for the idea lmao).

so all in all the whole "barbie destroys patriarchy" bit of the movie just. did not feel particularly feminist to me beyond a very surface level acknowledgment that sexism exists and is bad. and like--i get that it's the barbie movie, and people could say "well of course it can't be that subversive but it did a good job for what it was!!" but i'm just like. ok yeah then let's call it what it was...instead of calling it subversive?? also every feminist message the movie tried to champion was immediately undermined by its fundamental investment in gender essentialism, which remains unchallenged throughout the whole film. like--barbies are literally canonically sexless and so u can't even try to argue that the gender binary which their society is based around is anything but 100% socially constructed, and we see that that gender binary affords privilege to some and not to others and also leads to ostracization of those who fail to conform to it, yet the happy ending of the movie is barbieland just...staying that way. and i feel like the movie then kinda says the quiet part out loud when barbie becomes a "real woman" by getting a vagina like...ok. lol

so like. even the interior politics of the film i struggle to understand how it could be considered groundbreaking feminism; and then when we zoom out and look at the material impact of the movie that just cements it as un-feminist to me. this is a really good article about the beauty standards being pushed + perpetuated by barbie marketing, and of course as with basically any hollywood movie the rich (and mostly rich men) will be getting richer, cycles of consumerism will be perpetuated, etc. honestly the "feminist" aspect of the film almost feels insidious to me in this context, as if it's meant to provide the catharsis of feeling like there's been some big challenge to patriarchy while quietly reinforcing the systems of oppression it publicly decries.

and like. at the end of the day i was not expecting barbie to be a subversive feminist film nor do i think it like...has a responsibility to be one. and it's nice that so many people feel like they're getting something out of it! but i think it's important to evaluate both the personal and societal impact of the media we're critiquing, and in that context it just seems silly to me to claim that barbie is subversive. i also find the amount of rhetoric i've seen about how the movie "encapsulates the female experience" so fucking irritating lmfao like...i am sorry but the idea that watching a group of hyperfeminine women flirt with men as a method of destroying patriarchy (<- not an exaggeration that is literally the plot. flirt with each other's boyfriends to make them jealous so they fight each other. zero lesbians in barbieland i suppose) is THE quintessential experience of #womanhood...well alright then.

anyway. there is more i could say but i am going 2 get dinner w a friend so. stopping here <3 not gonna post the link but i do have a full/in-depth review on my substack if u wanna poke around over there!

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Do the Reincarnated girls have a favourite line in the film? Or least favourite (in Mirabel’s case)? - 🌸 anon

Oohhh!! This is something I hadn’t really thought about until now, but they definitely do!

Specifically only doing lines (spoken dialogue), favourite and least favourite lyrics is a whole different ask.

“I thought we would have a different life… I thought I would be a different woman.” - Alma

Not surprising given how close Isabela and Alma were in life, but this is probably something that she actually told Isabela. If not before, definitely after Casita’s fall; when she let down those walls. She really feels for her Abuela. This is probably the one part of the film Isabela takes seriously and will sit quietly through.

In addition, there’s also an added layer of bitter sweetness here as it can be applied to Isabela herself. She had her own dreams and thoughts about what she would be like in the future - Bruno’s vision acting as a beacon of hope as she became weighed down with expectations and perfectionism. Only for it to all go completely wrong and nothing like anyone had predicted for the golden child of the Madrigals.

“ISABELA!?” - Mirabel

Inaccuracy aside, as that is not how Mirabel actually reacted to the vision. Both Bruno (in previous life) and Mirabel have confirmed that was not the case. It hurts to think that she would have believed this was the truth, if she hadn’t been told otherwise. It’s just kind of the realisation that her and Mirabel’s relationship had gotten so bad, that there was so much disgust and hatred in the line. That the idea of hugging her sister could be such an awful thing.

“Dolores, I see you.” - Mariano

She never got to have the love match she wanted, but… it is still something she thinks and dreams about. Ignoring the romance, just getting some recognition and being seen is a wonderful thing and she won’t take it for granted. The film doesn’t spend much time with her (for understandable reasons) but she is very appreciative that they gave her this moment.

“Abuela says, it’s time.” - Dolores

Compared to the other’s least favourite line, this isn’t quite as weighty and honestly is a bit petty. But Disney seriously couldn’t have had her simply whisper “good luck” to Antonio!?!?!? This was a big moment for her brother, who was clearly nervous and in need of some encouragement, and all they have her say to him is this!?!? What the fuck!?

“And when I went to throw the donkeys in the barn, they were… HEAVY!” - Luisa

What were you expecting? Luisa enjoys the more dramatic and comedic lines, they take away some of the sting of the more emotional parts of the movie; and, of course the fact that this is a retelling of how her baby sister died. And she feels Jess really acted the hell out of her lines, giving it so much character and charm, she can’t help but laughing. Even if on the inside she’s like “welp, that was the time I had that really bad panic attack lmao”.

“I gave you the ‘special’ since you’re the only Madrigal kid with no gift. I call it the ‘not special’ special. Since, uh, you have no gift. … Oh, and tell Antonio good luck. Last gift ceremony was a bummer. Last one being yours that didn’t work.” - Osvaldo

This is technically multiple lines but the point still stands, these are the lines Luisa hates the most. Which is saying something given how much she loves the film. Bonus: this is what he actually said to Mirabel. Or, well, the meaning is still the same. And Luisa hates it - she was near earshot at the time when bringing in the wagon. He was an absolute dick. If you were to ask Luisa what was her biggest regret in her first life, it is that she never killed (or at least beaten him up) him when she was still alive.

Nothing. Mirabel has no favourite lines. They all trigger her in some way or they are so neutral/unimportant that she has no emotional attachment to them. As she said in one of the incorrect quotes her favourite part of the script was the simple words of “the end”.

In saying that, she also has no specific line that she hates. She hates all of them with a burning passion and would remove them all if possible. There are definitely some she hates or finds harder to listen to than others (because of the past and PTSD or alternatively they are things Disney added and are completely out of place/inaccurate in her eyes), but there is no exact one.

If you really made her pick, it would probably be literally anything from or about Bruno. Close second is definitely Isabela’s “I NEVER WANTED TO MARRY HIM! I WAS DOING IT FOR THE FAMILY” - if only because Isabela still married a man against her own wishes and ended up dying. It’s horrid.

[dankfarrikfifi]

A Night in and a Day Out

Pt 4 of Some Version of You, 4.5k

WARNINGS: 18+ only, MDNI, explicit content, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v, fingering, slight choking, discussions of rough sex, discussions of a safe word, let me know if I missed anything <3

A night in with Frankie and the boys, and some discussion of what you and Frankie like to do together.

It’s honestly startling how solidly Frankie has managed to cement himself in your life. It’s been two months since you met, and you’ve made a routine together already. Monday, Frankie stops by the coffee shop before his shift, and you share drinks between customers. Tuesday, you bring him lunch, sitting on the picnic bench behind the garage. Wednesday, you don’t always get to see each other much, your shifts often lining up perfectly to not give either of you an opening until late in the night. Thursday, you have breakfast at his house, taking a walk around the park in the morning before you both head off to your jobs. Friday was different from the rest of the week, being the only day you both consistently have off. 

Since reaching adulthood, Fridays have always been reserved for writing, cooking, and having dinner with Will and Benny, every week without fail. You spend the day working on whatever idea had sprouted into your head earlier in the week, words falling out of your fingers with ease, and that night you and the boys take turns cooking. Then, Santi and Frankie joined the three of you, and you aren’t sure if you could handle going back. You and the four boys have created a bond, and soon you have a whole new world of traditions. But Friday never changed. This week, Frankie was hosting, and you were being his sous chef. 

 The evening was filled with the smell of your and Frankie’s cooking mixed with Will’s baking, while Benny and Santi set the table and made drinks. You all sit around the table, sharing stories of your week, and having the time of your lives. This was the wonder of Fridays, spending time with your closest friends. Friday nights, however, are for you and Frankie, and no one else. Once the table is clear, and the other boys have left for their own shenanigans, you and him have all the freedom you could need to appreciate each other, fully. 

The two of you are sprawled out on the ground in front of the fireplace, a forgotten movie on the screen as you talk over it. You ask each other questions about your week and make plans for the future, all while your hands remain intertwined between you. Eventually you find yourself with your head on his stomach, gazing up at the underside of his chin while you chat. It’s then that he looks down at you, an almost shy smile on his face. You raise your eyebrow at him, encouraging him to say whatever it is on his mind. 

“The other day, I asked you if I had been too rough,” he stumbles a bit on his words, and you know exactly where this is going, your heart starting to beat a bit harder, “You said you don’t mind when I am, I just, I wanted to ask you specifics.”

You flush, a warm heat settling in your cheeks as you try to avoid his gaze. He coaxes your face closer to his, noses almost touching when he continues talking. 

“Let’s be clear, I am asking because I like it,” he clarifies, and you find it much easier to meet his eyes, “Like, really enjoy the idea of that. But I want to make sure you’re completely comfortable with anything we even consider doing.”

“Fuck Frankie, why are you the best guy ever?” You whisper, suddenly overwhelmed, but you try to focus as hard as possible, “I, uh, yea I really wanna try some stuff, and I don’t know I just like when you call the shots and take control, it’s hot.”

You barely have the last word out when his lips are pressing against yours, stealing your breath away as you try to keep up with his kiss. You suddenly find yourself underneath him, and you can hear him talking as he starts to strip you. 

“Tell me what you like, baby,” he eases your shirt over your head and starts on the button of your jeans, “If you tell me I am happy to oblige, we do anything you don’t like and I will stop. Just pick a word.”

“Ok, um, red, that’s my word. Red means stop.”

“Good girl,” he hums, appreciating the view of you in nothing but a bra and underwear. “So, you like me calling the shots? What else, tell me, pretty girl.”

“I like when you kinda, I don’t know, manhandle me?” you struggle to find the right words as Frankie starts gliding his finger along the wet spot now forming in your panties. One look at his dark eyes encourages you to keep going, and suddenly you can’t stop talking, spilling every detail. “I want you to be rough, and not be mean but be firm? I just, I like not having to be in control, and I mean I’ll tell you when I don’t like something.”

When your voice trails away, he takes the opportunity to connect your lips again, and you soon find yourself completely naked, while he remains fully clothed, and you can barely contain your gasp when his fingers slide inside of you. He pulls back, taking in your facial expressions as you fall apart. 

“Fuck Frankie, Frankie,” the words fall out of your lips like a prayer, like his name is the only thing that will bring you salvation, “God please, I-”

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, his fingers flexing inside of you to find that spot only he seems able to reach. You pant into his welcoming mouth, words suddenly very hard to find with the pads of his fingers relentless inside your aching body. Your hips squirm as you try to find some relief from the constant pressure. He pulls back enough to see your eyes, a hint of amusement in his own when he sees just how desperate you are. 

“Yea, that feel good, pretty girl?” he grins, seemingly unaffected, at least to the extent that you are. Your head bobs up and down in agreement, and he can’t help it when he reaches out and grabs your chin between his finger and thumb. You instinctively tilt your head back, wanting more. He adjusts his grip, settling his hand under your jaw and cradling your soft throat. You enjoy the feeling of his calloused hand, large enough to span from one ear to the other. The whimper that leaves your lips when his hand tightens ever so slightly is enough for Frankie to know the answer to the question he is about to ask. 

“How do you want it, sweetheart?” his tone is light, but you can still hear the strain in his voice, “Do you want it rough? Want me to fuck you ‘till you can’t take it anymore?”

You can’t be embarrassed by the moan that leaves your lips, by the resuming of your nodding despite his grip. How could you be embarrassed, when he’s reading your mind and saying everything you want him to say? He lets you nod for a few seconds, lets you babble about how much you want exactly that, before his attitude shifts just the slightest. You can see his eyes harden as his hand tightens on your throat, just enough to make you slip deeper into the headspace he wants you in. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go, sweetie,” his voice is deeper than you’ve heard it before, “I’m gonna make you cum so many times you can’t think. You need me to stop, you say ‘red’ and we stop right away, got it?”

“Yes Frankie, fuck I need you so bad,” at your whispered pleas he grins, a feral thing that sets your body on fire, and his fingers start moving inside you again in an unforgiving pace. You whine, a high-pitched noise that spurs Frankie on in his efforts to get you to reach that peak. His thumb begins circling your clit, the perfect amount of pressure that shoves you right over the edge. 

“That’s it baby,” he talks you through it, his voice a soothing anchor in the haze, “Fuck you look so pretty, such a good girl.” 

He gives you a moment to catch your breath, his hands brushing against your thigh in calming circles. You catch his eye and grin, leaning up for a quick kiss. He complies immediately, and you can catch the curve of a smile on his lips as he pulls his fingers out of you. You can’t help the little whine that leaves your lips at the loss of his warmth.

“Shhh, be patient baby,” he teases, “That was only one, you’ll get more. Come on, get up.” 

Frankie pulls you to your feet and you follow, collapsing into his chest when your shaking legs don’t want to hold your body upright. Neither of you hold back your laughter as he yanks you into his arms, your legs circling his hips while he carries you to his bedroom. He practically tosses you on the bed, making you giggle mindlessly as you bounce a bit on the mattress. You stare up at him, breathless, as he strips his shirt off, his hand traveling down to his belt buckle. You watch, captivated by his large hand undoing his belt before whipping it out of the loops of his jeans. 

 Grinning up at him, you reach forward to palm him through his jeans. He groans and savors the feeling of it before grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. He tuts at you, shaking his head and smiling broadly. 

“Uh uh,” he teases while pulling his pants and boxers down in one move. You take his body in with hunger, lifting your hands up to pull him down to you. He goes happily and plants his hands on either side of your head, resting his weight on top of you. His nose bumps yours as he brings his lips to yours, pausing just before they meet. “You ready, pretty girl?”

Letting your enthusiasm talk for itself, you press your lips to his eagerly. He snakes his tongue in when you part them and you can’t help the loud moan that leaves you. He lets you run the show for just a moment before pulling away, sliding down your body and settling himself between your legs. He catches your eyes, grinning before he dives in. 

“Holy shit, Frankie, oh my-” Your voice is cut off with a cry when he latches onto your clit with a harsh suck. He takes the opportunity to slide his middle finger inside your aching core, bending and searching. Your hips squirm uncontrollably at the intense pleasure he’s doling out, and the warm roll of his tongue from your dripping entrance to your clit breaks you. Head tipping back, you moan and gasp, basking in the feeling of his mouth continuing to work over you until it starts to turn overwhelming. “Frankie, fuck, I don’t know-”

“Yes you can,” he tilts his head while his thumb brushes your clit. Reflexively you reach for his wrist, but before you get even close his own hand has your arm, pressing it against your lower tummy. He holds it there and pulls your other arm to join it. Soon, you find yourself with his hand sealed around both of your wrists pinned to your body. “There, now I can take my time.” 

You can’t keep looking at the smug look on his face, tilting your head back into the pillows. With your eyes closed you can hear him shifting on the bed while he presses two of his fingers into you this time, finding that spot immediately. You’re restless, yanking at his grip while his fingers fuck into you over and over again. The volume of your voice rises when he slips in one more finger, the final step to getting you prepped for him. 

“You ready for me?” he teases, pulling his hand away from your center and briefly releasing your hands from your stomach. You nod rapidly, reaching up to pull him in for a kiss. He obliges and you barely notice him reaching over to grab a condom. He doesn’t let your lips part while he slides it on and lines himself up. In one push he’s sheathed inside of you, your overwhelmed gasp eclipsed by his deep grumble. He fits his face in the crook of your neck, panting and trying to compose himself at the feel of your warm walls clenching around him. 

The longer he stays like that the more impatient you get. You start to roll your hips, encouraging him to move, when he pulls back to look at you. His one hand grips your hip tightly and the other slides up your arm, placing it at the top of the mattress. He does the same with your other arm before grabbing both your wrists in one hand, anchoring them to the bed. He rests his weight on them, and pulls back and punches his cock back into you, all while keeping you still with the hand on your hip. You cry out at the intensity of his thrusts as he makes room for himself in your body. 

“Fuck, fuck you feel good,” Frankie groans, before composing himself and rising above you. He winks at you, a sly smile on his face, before he doubles his speed, pushing a strangled noise out of you. You try to pull your wrists down, seeking anything that will relieve the building pressure at the base of your spine. His grip only tightens, pulling a cry from your lips. 

“Frankie, please touch me please,” you beg, and he immediately complies, letting go of your hip in favor of rolling his thumb over your clit. You can’t help the noise that falls from your lips, a little mewl that spurs him on. He slots his mouth against yours, swallowing your sounds as he continues to rain pleasure down on you. 

“Fuck, god damn,” he’s moaning continuously, praises falling from his lips as you cum again, falling to pieces beneath him. “That’s it baby, come on, good girl.”

You’re breathless, writhing under his solid body as he doesn’t relent, chasing his own high. It’s just starting to get too much when he cums, shuddering above you and groaning. Frankie takes a moment before pulling out, savoring the feeling of your warm body. You lay there, limp on the bed as he gets rid of the condom. You stay put as he crawls back in bed with you, facing each other on your sides. 

“How was that?” He asks, brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes. You grin at him, reaching up for a kiss before answering. 

“Fucking amazing Frankie,” your voice is slightly hoarse when you respond, “You’re the best, thank you”

You’re starting to trail off, the need for sleep taking over your brain. He smiles, a soft thing that melts your heart, before laying on his back and pulling you into his chest. It’s less than five minutes before you’re asleep. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s barely light out when you wake up, the shortening days providing less sun this early. The sky is a stunning blue when you catch it through the window of Frankie’s bedroom. You stretch out on his chest, unsuccessfully trying not to wake him. He stirs beneath you, also stretching and looking at you with sleepy eyes. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, still half asleep. You can’t help but smile at his boyish face in the morning, his now shaggy hair falling over his forehead. “Sleep okay?” 

You nod at him before tucking your face into his throat, breathing in his aroma. His hand rubs aimlessly at your back, pulling you closer into his chest. You both know you should start your day soon, and yet the scene you currently occupy is so enchanting it’s difficult to pull away. 

An hour later finds you in Frankie’s kitchen, sipping on some coffee as he makes pancakes. The domesticity of it is not lost on you, and the thought makes your heart beat just the slightest bit faster. You observe him as he moves around with ease, his hips swaying slightly to the music drifting in from the living room. 

While eating, you make plans for the weekend. Frankie’s brother is coming into town on Sunday, so the two of you only really have today to spend with each other alone. 

“Do you wanna meet him?” Frankie asks while you’re mid-bite. You look at him in confusion, eyebrows scrunched together with a mouth full of pancake. “My brother, Nick, do you wanna meet him?” 

“Oh, uh yea! If you want me to, definitely!” You are well aware of how much Frankie values family, and it makes you a little mushy to realize he wants you to meet them. He beams at you, nodding his head a bit. 

“Amazing, I can’t wait,” he responds, the smile not leaving his lips for a moment. You can’t help but return it, his positivity infectious. You finish the rest of your meal, legs tangled together under Frankie’s kitchen table. As you’re cleaning up, he bumps his hip against yours, gaining your attention. You respond by flicking water at his nose. He laughs, startled by your teasing, before talking.

”Wanna do something fun today?” He asks, as if you would say no to that. You affirm, nodding your head to tell him to continue talking. “Aquarium or zoo?”

”Hardest question anyone has ever asked me!” You laugh, pretending to ponder for a moment. “It’s not much longer we can be outside, let's go to the zoo.”

—————————————

Frankie takes you back to your place to get changed, your pajamas of his shirt and a pair of shorts not quite cutting it for a walk outside. You change quickly, stopping to say hi to a hungover Benny in the living room and grabbing an overnight bag. Before long, you and Frankie are walking hand in hand down the trail of the zoo. You’re having the time of your life, pointing at different animals and sharing snacks. 

You’re waiting for Frankie to finish washing his hands when you feel your phone buzz. You fish it out of your purse and check who the incoming text is from. You get excited when you see it’s from your second older brother, Theo. You generally check in once a week but it’s been a bit since you’ve talked to him. Your excitement disappears when you see the content of the text. 

“From mom” Theo writes, followed by a screenshot of a message he had received from your mom. Your stomach drops in anger when you see what she had written, “Asked your dad if you guys could be with me this Christmas, he said you guys have plans already :( asked if I could join and he said he’d rather not. It’s hard to remember we were married sometimes! Love you.”

You know for a fact that only Noah, your oldest brother, had plans with your dad this year, the rest of you had planned on surprising your mom. The idea that your dad had lied to your mom on your behalf was making you furious, and the fact that your mom was so used to it does as well. You were only eight when their relationship had finally crumbled, but you could still see how much it had broken your mother. She had truly been in love with your dad, though you never could understand why, and it seemed the feeling was not reciprocated from him. 

You’re startled from your thoughts by Frankie sidling up to you, pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. Your mind is quickly filled with brighter thoughts brought on by the man next to you. You slip your phone away, no energy to respond at this moment. For now, you’re blissfully happy by just being with Frankie. Why change that?

The rest of the daylight is spent walking back to the car, a comfortable silence falling over you while Frankie navigates his way back to his house. Your eyes are a bit heavy, and you decide to milk it for all it’s worth when he pulls into the garage. You rest your head back, eyes closed as you pretend to sleep. You know you’re not being convincing when you hear his deep chuckle. 

“Sleepy, baby?” you can feel his cheek nuzzle against your neck and you can't help the little giggle that you let out. You squirm away from the tickle of his newly grown scruff, but he follows you swiftly, undoing your seatbelt so he can push you flat against the bench of his truck. You gasp, a soft cry of his name swallowed by his lips as he presses them against yours. He pulls back a bit to tease you,  “Want me to carry you in?”

You nod, head tilting back in mock sleep again. He scoops you up, reaching behind him to open the driver’s side door. He carries you in, your head resting against his shoulder and face tucked into his neck. You barely process the walk to his bedroom, too comfy in his arms to really care. Before long you’re sitting on the edge of Frankie’s bed, his smiling face staring up at you as he pulls your shoes off. The air around the two of you has electricity, a charge that holds a handful of promises. 

You’re quiet as he slides off your pants, keeping his eyes on yours as he starts to rain kisses across your ankle, up your calf, and around your knee. He’s just reaching the point on your thigh that gets your breath sped up, when he switches over to your other leg. He repeats the motions, reaching that point before continuing up. Spreading your thighs apart with his hands, his breath starts to fan over your aching core, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Frankie,” you whisper, a hand reaching down to tangle in his hair, “Please, I need you to touch me.”

He doesn’t respond, simply pushes slightly against your stomach to lay you on your back. You go willingly, spreading across the sheets and tilting your hips up to entice him. It seems to work, as it’s only seconds until he has your panties pulled to the side, his mouth devouring you. You start to squirm, the feelings overwhelming as he flicks his tongue over your clit with intense speed. His strong arm reaches up, banding against your waist to stop your movement as he uses the other hand to slip two fingers into you at once.

“Jesus Frankie, fuck,” you moan, unable to do anything but take what he’s giving you. Your head tilts back as he continues giving you immense waves of pleasure. “I’m gonna-”

Your moans are cut off when he slides in a third finger while also rolling his tongue against your clit, over and over again until fireworks explode behind your eyelids. You cry out, trying to pull away despite his grip on your waist as the pleasure becomes almost too much. He pulls away for just a moment to wink at you before diving right back in. 

“Fuck! Frankie keep going, please keep-” You can’t keep talking as he does exactly what you ask, his mouth unrelenting on your aching center. He doesn’t let up until you’re practically screaming through your second orgasm, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He finally pulls away, grinning at you in your overwhelmed state. 

“You look so pretty when you cum, baby,” he coos at you, standing to get on the bed next to you. Resting against the headboard, Frankie pulls you up onto his lap. Despite the fact that you just came twice in a row, you can’t help but grind down onto his hard cock, pulling a moan from him. You reach down to yank off your sweater and he groans when he sees you didn’t bother with a bra. He buries his face in your chest, nipping and licking at your salty skin. You tilt your head back, giving him more room. 

“Let me ride you, please,” you whimper into the air, and his answering groan is response enough. You help each other out of your remaining clothes. Before long, you’re sinking down onto him, gasps of pleasure tearing from both of your lips, as he feels so much bigger from this angle. You take a moment, struggling to adjust.

“Feel good, baby?” he smiles at you, brushing your hair away from your forehead and leaning up for a kiss. You oblige, whining into his mouth when he bucks his hips up into you. You take a moment to catch your breath before lifting up and dropping back down into his lap. It’s his turn to groan this time as you grind down, his cock seemingly taking up every inch of space inside of you. 

You take your time, lifting up and dropping back down onto him as much as your muscles can handle. You’re getting close, thighs shaking with the effort of moving up and down. He can sense it, can feel your imminent release, and flips you over so that he’s now on top of you. 

“This ok?” he pants, hips now working into you at new speeds. You nod happily, words escaping you as you’re now hurtled towards bliss. Your moans reach a peak as you break underneath him. “You feel so good, baby, such a good girl for me.”

You can tell he’s getting there too, his hips stuttering before he releases. He takes a second to compose himself, face buried in your neck as he catches his breath. He pulls back, ready to get you two ready for bed, when you grab his cheeks in your hands. He looks at you with a question on the tip of his tongue, one he doesn’t get to ask before you’re pressing your lips against his. He smiles against you, kissing back with as much fervor. You lay like that for a while as he softens inside of you. 

“Fuck, Frankie, that was amazing,” you whisper, smiling softly at him. He returns it, pressing another kiss to your mouth before pulling out. You whimper a bit, missing the warmth of his body against yours. You don’t have to miss it for long as he quickly returns to the bed and gathers you up in his arms. 

“Goodnight, pretty girl,” he presses a kiss against your temple, and it’s not long until you’re both out cold, satisfied and happy. 

[good-beanswrites]

Same Lights, Camera, Sing Your Sins anon here (you know if I'm gonna keep sending anon asks because of ideas, I need a shorter name...) Glad they're getting time to cool off on what happened during the trial. This project is hard on them all QvQ

Okay another thought! While working on the Trial 2 MVs, you think the prisoners get to watch everyone's first MVs? Like, maybe praise how each video looks ("Oh my gosh, Amane you look amazing!"), making comments with Jackalope's artistic choices (Shidou's flower mummy) and how stiff some of the prisoners look ("Fuuta you're walking like a tinman." "Shut up!"), some singing along to songs they've overheard earlier (Kotoko singing Weakness), and...er...shirtless Mikoto ("Amane don't look!"). Idk, this makes their filming for the next MVs sound more fun as they hang out.

Hello again!! omg Thank You for sharing once again, I’m obsessed with that 🥺🥺🥺 That's so wonderful picturing a little movie night... (And yes, feel free to pick a name :D else I will dub thee 🎬 next time given the theme lmao)

Okay so my original idea was that those first videos were actually watched on the down-low. There were a few days of nothing going on while the prisoners debriefed, made plans, and communicated their song ideas to the writers to start working with. (Minor detail but I think they’re cut off from the world still, no internet access though they can exchange a few messages/visits with family). They do, however, get access to the others’ T1 videos on their phones/ facility computers. Everyone gave permission to watch them, but there’s a bit of hesitancy. They haven’t started filming their new videos yet, so no one has gotten a look that deep into anyone else’s hearts. Just because they’re closer in this au doesn’t make them better communicators -- there’s still a lot that’s been left unsaid regarding near-murders and their true selves. So they only watch them in secret out of respect.

Haruka hides under the covers to watch After Pain on loop late into the night (going “she’s just like me fr”). Fuuta doesn’t care much for the others’ songs but tries to decipher the crimes as best as he can. He probably gets one stuck in his head the next few days that he finds really embarrassing. Mahiru gets very emotional over the other lovers, doing a poor job of hiding her sympathy toward Yuno, Shidou, and Kazui in the following days. Kazui is embarrassed to watch Throw Down so often, but Shidou is such a subtle man and it’s nice to see a more open side to him (who admits to lying as well). Amane takes a while to watch them -- they’re videos supporting murder and sin, after all -- but once she convinces herself it’s to help the experiment, she allows herself to enjoy  them. Kotoko does the same as Fuuta but jumps straight into Fandom Mode and starts taking notes and analyzing the others’ videos. She keeps a secret folder on her phone of theories and symbolism and screenshots for reference. 

HOWEVER

You have opened my eyes to Milgram Movie Night 👁️👁️

Everyone realizes they’re going to need to get comfortable with a lot of personal info really quickly, since T2 filming starts in a few days. Rather than Jackalope’s suggestion of undergoing a painful group circle talk, they go with Mikoto’s idea to all sit down to watch the videos together. This keeps the atmosphere up while they watch, allowing for many compliments and encouragement. It also lets the singer defend things in their video if they see fit, though most let it speak for itself. (Fuuta: “ah, back when I was a menace online.” “You’re still like that Fuuta.” “I’m a changed man!” “You got one guilty verdict and nothing’s even happened yet.”)

I love all of those reactions so much ahhhh! Amane getting showered in compliments like she deserves. Honestly, all of them getting showered in complements because it's what they deserve ;-; Playful teasing getting thrown around for everyone. Not even Jackalope is safe from their heckling (see: Throw Down flower person), and he's not even there to defend himself. There’s lots of blushing and eye covering during MeMe. And a singalong aspect!! I don’t know I didn’t think to incorporate that into the fic so far -- there’s nothing quite like heckling your friend onstage by echoing their lines really loud from the wings asdfsdfsd. Mikoto recognizes the video game from Fuuta’s and makes his whole day. Mahiru and Shidou realize they have both flowers and food in common, and get to talking. All at once, everything clicks into place for why Amane hated Shidou him so much.

I'm also realizing Kazui would have a Moment TM while seeing all the prisoners talking so comfortably about their deepest selves and struggles. I don't think he'd break down and open up just yet, but I bet it's be a pretty big change of heart for him to see such honesty/vulnerability...

Plus, most of my original ideas can still stand after the fact! There's no shame in seeing too much personal info about another prisoner, the only shame comes from just how many time the video was looped in private lmao