#must see again for a nighttime set

[imustbeamermaidrango]

Drab Majesty <3 <3 <3

[citruswriter]

Bayverse Turtles x Animalistic Reader

A/N - This will be broken up in four different parts. Each turtle will have a reader with animal traits that I feel like just kinda... matches them. Like "yes that adds up".

Listen with me! ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Your eyes fluttered open as you groggily groaned. "What time is it?" You yawned to yourself, hand sleepily finding your alarm clock. 2:30AM is what it read and you rolled over, groaning loudly. You tried to lick your lips but realized that your mouth was incredibly dry. Pulling yourself out of bed, you stumbled to the kitchen for a drink. Grabbing a glass, you briefly glanced at the bowl on the island only to do a double take. April's keys were gone. Checking your phone as you drank, you didn't see a text from her telling you where she might have been. "Where the fuck is this bitch?" You mumbled, going to check Life360. Her location? In an abandoned sewer. Oh fuck. You immediately thought. Did she go out for a nighttime walk only to be abducted? Was she dead? Your mind was going a million miles a minute as you tugged on shoes, grabbed your bike, and lugged it down the stairs. You cycled as fast as you could. When you reached your destination, you looked around. You couldn't find her... Fuck is she IN the sewer? I swear to god, if she's still alive I'm chewing her out. You thought bitterly. Lifting the manhole, you shimmied down the latter, drawing the manhole back over you.

"Uh guys? Somebody's in the sewers". Donnie spoke up, interrupting Mikey from whatever tangent he had been talking to April about. Everybody sprang up to look at the cameras. "Shit". April cursed and Leo looked at her, "Friend of yours?" He questioned and the brunette rubbed her temples. "Yeah. They're my roommate. Fuck I must have forgotten to turn off my location." She groaned. "April?!" Your voice called and April sprang into action. "Hey roomie!" April said, sprinting out before you could see the turtles. You hugged her tightly. "Oh my god, thank goodness your alive. I saw your location in the abandoned sewer and I immediately thought the worst. Never do that to me again." You sighed. "Hey uh... You moving into the sewer or something? I know rent is crazy, but come on. The sewer?" You teased, pushing past the beaded curtain. The turtles held their breath as they sort of hid in a corner. You turned back around to April to grin. "Look um, you can't exactly be here". She muttered and your expression immediately dropped to a glare. "April I adore you but maybe next don't, oh I don't know, GO TO AN ABANDONED FUCKING SEWER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!" you yelled.

"Yeah I guess you're right. I should have told you, texted you that I was ok". She agreed guiltily, rubbing her arm. You sighed in frustration, muttering something about her going to be the death of you. "Look you really should leave". She said, tone more firm. "Absolutely not. You're going to explain yourself because ain't no way you're setting up some cool underground hideout and then just not tell me about it," you shot back. "You really think it's cool?" A voice said excitedly. Spinning around, a sight beheld you.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Leonardo x Reader 🧡

Reader is: A wolf

A/N - Idk why but I feel like a wolf-like partner would suit Leo. Loyal and on guard but also caring and fun loving.

Ears pinned back, you bared your fangs and growled at the creatures in front of you. "Thought I smelled reptiles," you growled, golden irises eyeing the creatures in front of you. "Is that supposed to be an insult?" The one with a blue headband questioned, tone cold and threatening as he rounded you. Lowering your stance, you made sure to keep him in your sights. "If the shoe fits," you said, ears still pinned back. "Woah, woah, woah!" April yelled, planting herself in front of you. "They're friends, (Y/N)! Ok?! Friends!" She said. Lifting your head, you sniffed the air. Her scent was quite strong in the lair. She had been here many times before. Relaxing you stood back up, ears perking back up as you wagged your tail softly. "Sorry. You know how I feel about strangers," you said sheepishly. "Yeah well, cool it. Because I don't need you and Leo fighting." She said, letting out a stressed sigh. "Leo?" You tilted your head, looking at the giant turtles. "Wait. Ok. Are these your old turtles? Like, from the lab?" You asked with a shocked laugh. Leo seemed to have relaxed and approached you, "That's correct. The mutagen that her father was working on ended up mutating us and Master Splinter," he confirmed.

He eyed your outfit, blue boxers with a grey tank top and loose lighter grey jacket. "You didn't get dressed before you left, did you?" He questioned and you immediately got embarrassed, looking down at your outfit. "Ah- no. I was kinda focusing too much on making sure that April wasn't dead or kidnapped," you replied, one of your ears drooping to match your embarrassed facial expression. Leo couldn't help himself, he touched one of your ears, scratching it lightly. You leaned into his touch, tail wagging happily. Quickly he withdrew his hand, "I apologize. I shouldn't have touched you without consent". He said, bowing softly and you laughed, a sound he thought sounded absolutely melodic. "Oh please. You're perfectly fine, just don't tug on anything. I joke that I'm April's dog since we can't afford one," you assured him and April laughed at your words, rolling her eyes before going to sit on the couch with Mikey. Leo shook his head and chuckled softly.

"You look good in blue by the way," he murmured and you went to hide your face in your jacket sleeves. "Shut up or I'm smacking you," you muttered back and he just laughed. "As if you could hurt me, blossom," he replied, going to sit down on the couch. You followed, sitting in his lap and swinging your legs over April. He looked at you curiously and you flicked your ears at him. "Blossom, hm?" You teased as he went to pet your ears once more. Now it was his turn to become flustered. "Shut up. It slipped out." You couldn't help but giggle.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Raphael x Reader 🧡

Reader Is: A cat

A/N - I'm sorry but this is absolutely perfect for him and your about to see why.

You unleashed your claws, nails becoming pointed as you swung forward in a fight or flight reaction. A hand grabbed your wrist. "Kitten's got claws," a gruff voice spoke up, an edge of amusement to his tone. "Let me go," you growled, tail bristling. "And why should I? Hm kitten?" The tall turtle in red teased, smirking down at you. You hissed, ears finding a way to flatten themselves even more. "Raphael please let (Y/N) go. They will find a way to claw your eyes out." April mused, going to the kitchen to get a snack. Raph let you go and your pupils narrowed to slits. "Raphael?" You questioned. "Don't wear it out, kitten". He replied and you turned to April, pointing to her and then to the turtle and she could only shrug and nod. "Wait your dead serious? These things are the old turtles?" You scoffed in bewilderment. "That's right, kitten. Little April here found us in the rubble and set us and Master Splinter free in the sewer. Little did she know, the mutagen mutated us," he said, relaxing on the couch once more.

You stalked to stand in front of him, studying his body. "Like what you see, kitten?" He teased, smug smirk drawing up the corners of his lips. You growled and flattened your ears once more. "I know I'm enjoying my view," he said, nodding to your jammies. Red lace bra you didn't feel like battling off your body and black sweatpants. You felt your cheeks heat up and you crossed your arms, growl vibrating through your chest. "Gotta say, kitten. Red looks good on ya. Mind if I add some more?" He taunted. You tried to be pissed, really you did. But you couldn't help but absolutely lose it. Laughing at his flirtatious comments, fangs glinting in the low light of the sewer. "Aren't you cute? You that desperate?" You teased back, causing Raph to become flustered. "Get burned!" Mikey called from the kitchen, causing Raph to snap at him. "Relax, big red." You said with a roll of your eyes, plopping down on the couch beside him, tail brushing against his arm. He grabbed it and softly twisted it around his hand to pet it, causing you to purr. "Look at you, kitten's not as ferocious after some pets, huh?" He said, causing you to glare at him. "Do me a favor and shut your fucking mouth." You snapped, leaning your head back onto the couch and closing your eyes. You went to pull your tail away but he gently brought it back to keep petting it.

"How about you make me, babydoll?" He challenged and you cracked your eyes open to side eye him. "Maybe another day. Preferably one where I'm not dead tired". You replied, causing Raph to chuckle in understanding. And so the two of you just sat side by side. Him watching whatever show was on TV and you asleep beside him, tail curled around his arm and chest vibrating with a loud purr.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Donatello x Reader 🧡 (💚 if you squint)

Reader Is: A moth

A/N - This man is an absolute night owl so um, hello? Nocturnal bug? Perfect right? Also I feel like it would be funny for this giant hunk of a man to have a partner that could easily reach his level bc the bitch can fckn fly.

You let out a loud moth squeak and almost fainted at the sight in front of you. "Woah there!" April said, rushing forward to keep you from dropping. "Chill out, roomie". She said and you almost flipped, antenna twitching in annoyance. "Chill out? April they're GIANTS! They could easily squash me like the bug I am!" You said, voice high pitched from panic. "(Y/N)! Calm down! Besides, you know them". She said softly and you tilted your head in confusion, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. "Remember my old pets? The four turtles and the rat?" She questioned and you vaguely remembered the project her father had been working on. "Y-Yeah. Um, Project Renaissance right? They injected the animals with these serums. But then the entire facility went up in flames." You recalled. "Well thanks to the mutagen, and April setting us free from the rubble, the mutagen well... mutated us," a voice spoke up and you turned to the tallest of the four, a purple bandana under his glasses. "Donatello?" You questioned softly, squinting up at him. "Or just Donnie." He said with a grin.

"You good now?" April asked gently and you nodded. She nodded back and went off to play a video game with Mikey. "This is so cool..." You marveled, moth wings expanding so you could flutter up to his height. "D-Did you not get dressed before you left the house?" Donnie stuttered out and you looked down at the purple boy shorts and baggie grayscale gradient hoodie you wore. Cheeks heating up you hid your face. "Oh my gosh, no I didn't. I was kind of too focused on finding April." You confessed and you laughed in embarrassment. "Could be worse though. Usually I sleep in less." You added before fluttering over to the other side of his head. "This is all super fascinating. Who knew the mutagen would transform some pets," you said in wonder and Donnie chuckled. "You're quite the fascinating creature yourself," he confessed and you giggled, landing gently onto your feet. "Thank you. I'm not sure why I'm... like this. I've been this way for as long as I can remember," you confessed, brows furrowed in thought. "I'd love to study you. If you'd allow me," he said sheepishly, moving towards his desk. You followed him and looked at all the gadgets he had, staring at them all with child-like wonder. "How's your sight? Moths aren't exactly known for their 20-20 vision," he asked and you glared up at him. "Neither are you from the looks of it," you retorted, making him laugh, a sound that made your heart flutter like the wings on your back. "Fair enough."

He raised a hand above your antenna, "May I?" He questioned and you tilted your head towards him, giving him silent consent to touch them. He gently brushed his fingers along them, rubbing them between his fingers. You jerked your head back, biting your fingers. "Ok so bad idea. Maybe don't touch them," you said, turning your face to hide your flustered expression, chest slightly heaving. "So they're sensitive to stimuli". The turtle muttered under his breath, jotting down a quick note. "Can I touch your wings?" He asked and you fluttered your wings softly. "Maybe not today. I'm not used to my moth bits being touched and that alone was a bit overstimulating. I'm sorry," you apologized, gently brushing at your antenna as if to calm them. "Oh no don't apologize! Here, why don't I show you some trinkets I'm working on?" He reassured, quickly changing the subject.

You perked up, fluttering up to sit on his leg. He swallowed, not expecting the move but he quickly relaxed as he began to essentially infodump on you. You listened intentionally, moth appendages occasionally twitching or fluttering with fascination. He couldn't help but feel happy that somebody took an interest in his little gizmos. It was nice. He could get used to this.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Michaelangelo x Reader 🧡

Reader Is: Avian (large white feathered wings and pointed elf like ears)

A/N - I love how Mikey called April angelcakes in the movie and we just RAN with it. So what better partner for Mikey than an actual real life "angel"?

Fluffing up your wings in a defensive measure, you backed away a few steps. "April what the FUCK?!" you said, tone bordering on a shriek. "Woah babes! Cool it! I swear we're super chill!" Said one of the turtles. He was the shortest with an orange bandana. You looked at the other turtles. Blue, red, purple, orange. "These guys kind of remind me of those pet turtles you had," you muttered to your roommate, and she gave an anxious laugh. "Well actually... they are my pets," she replied back and you let your wings soften, turning to look at her. "Come again?" You said, shocked. "Yeah dude! So like, after the building burned down, April took us and Master Splinter and saved us by sending us down the sewer. And then we grew up and became super cool ninjas!" Mikey said excitedly and you turned to him, ears drooping slightly as you relaxed.

"The mutagen that my father had injected in them ended up turning them into mutants," April said, answering your question before you even asked. "I'm way too tired for this..." You groaned out, rubbing your eyes. "That's ok, angelcakes. Why don't you sit on the couch? You can play Mario Kart with me!" Mikey said excitedly. You yawned and stretched, wings expanding to their full length. Mikey couldn't help but step forward and gently grab one of them.

"These are so cool..." Mikey murmured, rubbing the bone with his thumb, his other hand petting the fibers of your wings. You groaned and your wings twitched under his grasp. "Oof. That actually feels really good," you sighed out. "Hey, you know how to preen wings?" You questioned, half joking. "That's like, removing broken off feathers right?" He questioned and you eyed him. "And straightened out any feathers that might be tangled, yeah". You confirmed and Mikey got excited. "Yeah sure, I can give it a try!" Leo and April looked at each other before laughing softly at his antics. Mikey snagged a beanbag chair and plopped it up in front of the couch. "For you, my angel," he said with a dramatic bow and you couldn't help but laugh. Mikey looked over to his brothers with an excited expression. Oh boy. He's already head over heels.

"Nice outfit, by the way. I think orange looks very flattering on you, birdie," he teased and you stared down at the orange sports bra and light grey sweatpants you were wearing. "Pervert," you said with a playful smack to his arm. You sank into the beanbag chair, letting your wings drape over and expand slightly. Mikey sat on the couch and got to work. Surprisingly, he was very good at preening. Your ears would occasionally twitch or droop in relaxation. You would sigh against his touch when he got a particularly sore spot, humming in delight when he fixed it. A few minutes passed by but eventually Mikey gently rubbed the bones of your wings. "Alright I think I'm all done". He said proudly and you stood up, yawning and fluffing up your wings. "ugh that feels so much better. Thank you so much, Mikey," you said, crawling onto the couch and resting your head and arms on his lap, one wing extending down your body and the other dropping off the couch.

"O-Of course, angel," he stammered back, trying to hide his chirp as you got comfy and sleepily snuggled into him. "Sounds like somebody's happy," you teased, closing your eyes as you chuckled. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Mikey argued with a flustered expression, picking up his controller to resume the game he had previously been playing before you entered the lair. "It's ok. I do it too sometimes," you murmured. "That would be cute to hear," he said but you didn't reply. Glancing down, he saw you fast asleep. Looking over at his brothers he pointed at you, "They're so freakin beautiful," he whisper yelled and April couldn't help but giggle at him. How cute.

I feel like this is just more than a tiny bit cringy and I'm crying. Anyways, should I expand on it at all? You guys remember those like, boyfriend scenarios on Quotev and WattPad? Bet I could turn these kind of into one of those. But mini. Like confessing, going on a date, when you're in danger, maybe a smut. It would probably help me with my sharpening my writing skills. Idk if I write them well at all but I legit tried. Anyways hope you guys like this um...... goodbye.

[hotluncheddie]

Day 4: Edging

"Bi Freak"

Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

written for @subeddieweek <3

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

‘Jesus, are you hard?’ Steve asks, incredulous at how fucking ridiculous Eddie’s cock can be at times. Even walking just behind him Steve must spot how Eddie’s hands shift to tug at his belt buckle, the way his gait is a little more awkward than usual.  

Eddie freezes, readjusting again as Steve saunters past. Cheeks feeling a little hot over being caught. He was Subtle, or so he thought, but his jeans must just not be tight enough to hide his boner. 

They're walking back to the beamer after eating at the diner in town. A few familiar faces around since its summer. The two of them included, back over from Indi for a visit to see Wayne for his birthday. 

Unfortunately, seeing Wayne means staying with Wayne and while that is wonderful, the walls of the trailer are still, absolutely, the width of paper mache. So, Steve had decided the concept of sex was much too mortifying in those conditions. A different consensus from when they first got together, Eddie had pointed out. But, Steve had just laughed and kissed him, in that condescending way that just made the whole situation so so much harder, figuratively and literally.

Its been a week, basically, and Eddie’s getting desperate, and Steve is getting mean. 

Eddie jogs to catch up to Steve's long strides. ‘Did you see her though? Christ Steve she, she's a vision. A fucking goddess dude.’ 

‘I saw I saw.’ Steve shoves his hands in his jacket, Eddie looming in close at his side.

‘Like she was something then, but now? Bigger and better, did you see? You saw them right?’ Eddie moves his arms around, cups his hands, clenches his fingers. A horny interpretive dance. 

Steve sighs, faux wistfully. ‘Every day I almost forget how much of a tits guy you are, and everyday you just gotta remind me, huh? Munson? What's up with that?’ Steve jabs his elbow into Eddie’s side. Grins at the cackle it elicits. 

‘You know I fundamentally disagree with that question, Stevie. No one should be subjected to a choice like that.’ Eddie laughs, swooping in close to Steve's neck for a moment, in that way he loves. Steve’s elbow coming out to make him back away. 

Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket, the car coming into view, parked in the furthest corner. 

‘Your tits are amazing by the way.’

Steve laughs again. ‘Thanks dude, I know. Lucky for you my ego is big enough to handle your crazy libido.’ 

Eddie grumbles, kicking at a can. ‘Only crazy because of the damn “no touching” rule you set.’ 

‘Aww’ Steve coos, ‘baby cant handle a little teasing anymore?’ He smirks at Eddie, unlocking the car but not opening the door, instead watching Eddie slump over, pouting. 

Steve stalks around to the passenger side, opening the door for him and pulling his arm, shoving Eddie down onto the seat with a hand on his head. 

Eddie whimpers, feels pre-cum leak out of his tip and soak into his boxers. Fuck, he’s hard - worse now. Steve’s not let him have more than a peck, more than a nighttime spoon, for days. 

‘Wanna know a secret?’ Steve asks. 

Eddie’s slumped on the passenger seat, feet still on concrete. He rubs his hands over his burning cheeks and peeks up at the sunshine being blocked from above. Steve leaning a forearm in the car hood, looming over Eddie, caging him in. 

Steve steps right up into Eddie space, shoving his knee onto the seat right between Eddies thighs. crushing his cock. Steve leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Eddie's ear, making him shiver. 

‘I know how she tastes.’ 

Eddie feels like all his air gets gut punched out of him, feels his fucking pupils dilate so much his vision goes blurry. He makes a strangled sort of moan. His boxers flooding with cum.

‘…Did? Did you just?’

Eddies panting so hard all he can really do is nod his head. 

‘You’re so pretty.’ He slurs, staring up at Steve, haloed and lovely and how did Eddie get so lucky?

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he smiles down at him, strokes his cheek and looks at him with eyes full of stars. ‘You can go again through right?’ He asks. 

Eddie beams. ‘Fuck yeah!’ 

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He closes Eddie’s door and gets behind the wheel. Puts on his sunglasses and lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh. ‘No touching while I’m driving. Let's go break into my parents house.’ 

Eddie leans back in the headrest, grinning. ‘By break in, do you mean use the spare key?’

‘Sure do baby. They won't even be there.’ Steve says, and pulls out of the diner parking lot. 

-

Back at Steves Eddie sprawls out in his bedroom, familiar in its ugliness but the mattress has always been to die for.

Eddie listens to the sound of Steve moving through the house, not sure what he’s doing. But they’ve fallen into routines like this before, Eddie waiting upstairs while Steve did whatever it was that made a big empty house like this run smooth. He works the same magic on their apartment; structuring Eddie enough to not get overwhelmed by chores and eventually listening to Eddie’s please to not do it all himself. Steve could work himself to the bone and still ask if Eddie needed a glass of water. But now they have a chart, and Eddie’s always had a knack for laundry. 

But, at times like these, brain directly attached to his dick and almost nowhere else, Eddie wants to be directed.He wants Steve to do exactly as much as he wants, do so exactly as he pleases, Eddie almost an afterthought. 

Yeah, Eddie wants that. He shivers, hears Steves footsteps on the staircase. 

‘Unzip your jeans but don’t take them off.’ Steve says, coming into the room, searching for something. 

Eddie complies quickly, standing. Steve walks out of the room.

Steve walks back in with his shirt off. Looking Eddie up and down, face blank. 

He lifts the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and shoves it in his mouth, saliva soaking the fabric between his teeth, cool air hitting his exposed nipples. ‘Show me.’ Steve says, calm and neutral, like Eddie is his doll to play with.

He pulls at the waistband of his boxers and his eyes burn as he watches Steve. Refusing to blink, refusing to miss the look on his face once he sees the mess. 

Steve’s eyes roam Eddie’s face for a moment, steely and almost cold. He looks down, raises his eyebrows. Eddie feels his cock twitch at the attention, at the judgment. 

Steve looks back up. ‘Look at it.’ And Eddie glances down, breath hitching at the sight of his cock covered in his own cum, some of it starting to crust but the tip still shiny and wet, leaning against the sodden fabric of his boxers. 

Eddie looks back up at Steve, sees that he watched his whole reaction. Pupils blown wide and Steve's hand has migrated up to tweak at his own nipple. Jealousy burns in Eddie’s gut; that he’s not allowed to touch Steve like that, not yet. 

Eddie whimpers again, he wants to kiss him, wants to eat him. 

‘Fuck’ Steve murmurs, like he can read Eddie’s mind. Maybe he can, or it’s just how good Steve has gotten at reading Eddie’s face.

‘Colour?’ Steve asks.

‘Super fuckin’ green.’ Eddie says around the fabric, grinning, watching Steves smile bloom right back 

‘Good’ Steve pecs his top lip. Eddie surging forward, chasing, letting the wet hem fall. 

Steve stops him with a finger on his chest. His expression smoothing back into one of mild disgust. ‘So needy.’ Steve drawls. ‘Take off everything but your boxers.’ And he’s gone again, leaving Eddie to struggle out of his clothes in a rush. 

Steve walks back in, now only in his boxers too, Eddie can see the outline of his cock through the material and it makes his mouth water. It takes him a second to register that Steve’s holding the Polaroid camera now too. 

‘Show me, like you did before.’ Steve says, fiddling with the camera, waiting. 

Eddie does as he’s told and he feels goosebumps dabble over his skin, heat rushing south so fast it makes his nipples hard. 

Steve takes a photo of eddies cock covered in his own, slightly crusted, cum. The flash taking Eddie’s breath away. 

But Steve just leaves again, without a word. Eddie stands stock still and hears the shower turn on, the faint sound of the camera again. 

Steve comes back in flapping the polaroids. He sets the camera down and walks back over to Eddie, handing him a damp wash cloth. 

‘Clean yourself off.’ He says, leaning on one hip, looking board. ‘And fold your clothes on the desk, boxers on top, they need washing.’ Eyes flashing to Eddie’s, bitchy and judgmental. Eddie moans, even more heat rushing south, his gut churning. 

But Eddie does as he’s told, ignoring the heat between his thighs, Steve’s eyes on him as he settles the clothes in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now grab a pillow and kneel down. You’re gonna watch my photos develop while I shower. That sound okay?’ He asks, condensing, but the question is laced with sweetness, infused with the knowledge that Steve knows Eddie loves him like this, loves being talked to like this. But he can end it any time. Any time either of them want. 

Eddie just nods, bites his lip, turning to the bed to grab a pillow and situate himself on the floor. 

Steve bends and lays the photos in front of where Eddie’s kneeled. Then strokes his cheek with a thumb, making Eddie preen, blinking his eyes closed slowly. 

The crack of the slap registers after the feeling, Eddie’s head turned slightly to the side. Low moan distant to his own ears. 

He blinks his eyes back open, looking up at Steve’s and his pretty face. He thinks there must be spit sliding down his chin, because Steve’s thumb comes to wipe something away, dipping into Eddie’s parted lips gently, for a moment. 

And then Steve turns swiftly for the door, stopping just at the threshold. Eddie eyes snapping back up from where they were looking at his ass and Steve’s stifles a smile. Eddie’s own growing slow and dopey on his face. 

‘You can touch, I want you hard once I’m back. But if you cum again I’m not doing anything with you for a week.’ He says and Eddie blinks at him. Nodding as the words filter through his brain. 

He closes his eyes once Steve leaves and the water turns on. Lets his fingers dance towards his cock, cheek hot and tight and he moves it at the same time he wraps around himself, shoulders hunching around another guttural moan. 

Then he remembers the photos. 

He looks down and laying in front of his bent knees there’s two polaroids. The one of Eddie is almost fully developed, his dark thatch of hair speckled with globs of his own cum, white in contrast and just as noticeable in half crusted patches over the pink flush of his cock. It’s a mess. 

Eddie works himself at the sight, getting to full hardness with a strangled gasp. Remembering Steve eyeing it, remembering what he’d said that caused Eddie to finish so quick. 

The other is still only half developed. But the photos edges are rendering sections of the familiar Harrington bathroom, white tiles and blue walls, shower curtain and the edge of the large ornate mirror. Tan skin starts to become clear, Steve’s big hand holding the camera aloft, taking his own photo using the mirrors reflection, the back of his head. 

Eddie’s hand speeds up and he watches, wide eyed, as Steve’s broad shoulders come into view, the arch and strong length of his back. Eddie bites his lip again, harder, as Steve’s back ends in his bare ass perched on the counter.

The dark ring of a plug just visible between his cheeks. 

Eddie strangles a cry, gripping himself hard at the base, stifling his orgasm and feeling tears spring at his eyes. Steve’s must’ve been wearing that all through their time at the diner, all through the day. Stretched and wet and Eddie clenches his thighs together, covers his mouth with his palm and squeezes his eyes shut. 

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ He mumbles behind his hand, breathing shakily through his nose. Steve is something else.

Finally the shower shuts off and Steve returns. Eddie still kneeling, panting heavily, cock hard and leaking between his thighs. Still coming down from the brink. Steve just smirks at him, running a towel through his hair. 

He lays down on the bed, settling against the headboard. He trails his fingers over himself, tracing his nipple and stomach before giving his cock a few tugs, getting it hard. 

Eddie watches the whole thing, hands still gripping his thighs. 

Eventually Steve’s eyes slide open, that little smirk on his face. He opens his arms for Eddie, motioning him in. 

Eddie scrambles up and into them, kissing and sucking at Steve’s neck and shoulders. Cock already grinding desperately between Steve’s damp cheeks. 

‘You liked the pictures baby?’ Steve whispers, smile in his voice, mouth hot on Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie shivers and pulls back, disbelief on his face. ‘I can’t believe you.’ He gushes. 

Steve smiles at him and his cheeks are flush from the shower, his damp hair is falling into his forehead. ‘Fuck, you’re so pretty.’ Eddie says, always always amazed by Steve. He needs him, wants to be inside. 

He grinds again, catching Steve’s hole, relishing in Steve’s eyes rolling slightly. ‘Get me wet first.’ Steve demands pulling at Eddie’s hair, shoving his head away. 

Eddie bites his lip, cock twitching, he pulls at Steve’s thighs, bending him in half. Dips low to lick a long wet stripe across his ass. Tongue pressing at Steves hole, breaching the already stretched muscle and fucking his tongue in until there’s spit sliding down Steve’s crack. 

Eventually Steve pulls Eddie off by his hair, chest all flushed and nipples hard. 

Reaching over Steve gets the condom and lube from his bedside table. He doesn’t live here anymore, hasn’t for years. But the remnants of their sneaking around before Steve up and left with Eddie and Robin are still there. He never completely fell out with his parents, but he didn’t really tell them where he was going either. They continue to essentially ignore Steve and Steve continues to sneak into their house whenever he’s in Hawkins and fuck his boyfriend in whichever room he pleases. It’s not ideal, but it works. 

‘Gonna show me what that useless cock can do?’ Steve goads, sitting up to roll the condom onto Eddie and slicking him with lube. 

Eddie whines. 

He hitches Steve’s thighs up, forcing him Back flat, hands beneath his knees. Steve sighs into the touch and Eddie watches his length get slowly swallowed by Steve’s tight, wet heat. 

Eddie bottoms out, watching his length disappear. He feels his balls draw up, ears ringing and he’s so close. He’s so close. 

The slap makes him stutter, eye wide as he stare at Steve. ‘Do not cum.’ Steve seethes, finger in eddies face, like he’s a misbehaving child. Eddie moans, gripping Steves thighs to hold himself still, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm. 

He stays buried in Steve, willing himself back down. Panting, he feels tears prickle at his eyes again. ‘That’s it.’ Steve soothes, hand coming up to stroke over the red mark he left on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie breaths, eyes closed, feels the tendrils in his gut uncoil slightly. No longer right on the brink. 

Eventually he opens them, Steve’s eyes on him. Eddie leans down, hands either side of Steve’s face. He starts moving his hips again, building a steady pace. 

‘You should’ve touched yourself in front of her today.’ Steve says, looking up at Eddie with that closed off look again, haughty and judgmental. Eddie moans. ‘What do you think she would’ve done? If you got your stupid needy cock out in the diner, you think she would’ve laughed?’ Steve asks, voice mean and even, the only sign of arousal the flutter of his eyelashes as Eddie thrusts especially deep. 

‘Fuck Steve.’ Eddie pants, thinking about it. ‘I used to think about that while you were at Scoops’ He admits, eyes watching Steve, watching his smirk broaden. 

‘Yeah? You would’ve got your big dumb cock out on the counter for me while I scooped ice cream?’ 

Eddie’s hips stutter, he’s getting close again. ‘Yeah, used, u-used to go jack off in the bathrooms after seeing you at that mall. In that outfit. Fuck Steve, wanted you so bad.’ Eddie whines. 

Steve coos, finger trailing up Eddie’s sweaty neck. ‘Who knew the freak would be so needy’

Eddie whimpers feeling a blush spread down his chest. He moves his hips faster, wanting to get in deeper. 

Steve cracks, moaning. ‘Fuck, make me cum baby, get me there.’ Steve says, gripping his own cock now. Other hand holding him in place with the headboard. Eddie going faster, deeper, grazing that spot he knows so well inside Steve. 

Steve throws his head back, releasing all over himself with a shout, soft hair splayed across the pillow and cheeks flushed pink. Eddie slows, grinding. He’s so close again, so achingly hard he can feel his pre dripping out, filling the condom. 

‘I think I would’ve let you. Maybe Played with your cock while I worked.’ Steve pants. ‘But only if you cleaned up after yourself.’ And he scoops up some of the cum from his stomach and chest, feeding it into Eddie’s slack mouth. 

Eddie sucks, swallowing and tasting salt, flooding his mouth with saliva, some slipping out down his chin. ‘’Teve.’ He pleads, garbled. Begging for permission. His eyes wide and wet, hips unable to stop. 

‘You wanna cum baby?’ Steve asks, holding Eddie’s jaw with his spit slick fingers, fucking his own hips down onto Eddie’s cock. 

Eddie nods, whining, digging his fingers into the sheets, trying not to think about what will happen if he comes too soon. 

‘What are you baby? Are you my little freak, my little perv?’ Steve teases. 

Eddie shivers, nodding, his whole body shaking in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. Shame writhing filthily in his gut, threatening to spill. 

Steve pulls Eddie closer, kissing his cheek and letting him burrow his face in Steve’s neck. Eddie licks over his moles, wants to mark him, burrow his cock inside and never leave. ‘Thats it, my dumb thing, fucking me so good.’ Steve pets over Eddie’s hair as his hips speed up, thrusting into Steve harder, the sounds of skin slapping echoing through the house. 

‘Cum for me.’ Steve whispers, hot breath sending shivers down his back. Eddie’s rhythm turning sloppy and desperate as he thrusts deep one last time. Cumming and crying out into Steve’s neck, tears slipping onto Steve’s skin and Eddie clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks. 

He cums for so long he’s almost numb, shaky and boneless as he falls on top of Steve. 

Steve holds him close, threading his fingers through Eddie’s sweaty hair and whispering praise in his ear. 

Eventually Eddie moves slightly from on top of Steve, letting his softening cock slip out and his head rest on Steve’s chest. Listening to his heart beat. ‘Good boy, you’re my good boy Eddie.’ Steve says softly, threading his fingers into Eddie’s curls to massage his scalp. 

Eddie groans, boneless and satiated. ‘Was I too mean?’ Steve asks from above him. 

‘Fuck no. Made me cum my whole brain out.’ Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead between Steve’s hairy pecs. 

Steve tsks him, tugging at Eddie’s hair. The sharp pain making Eddie hiss and he sucks one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, clamping down on top of him so he can’t wriggle away. 

‘Okay, okay! Quit it, you monster.’ Steve laughs, shoving Eddie’s face off. 

Eddie sits back in his heels, laughing, finally taking the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. ‘You want another shower before we head back to Wayne’s?’ He asks, petting distractedly at Steve’s pink hole, still shiny with lube. 

‘Ye just gimme a sec.’ Steve says, stretching, making Eddie’s fingertip slip inside. ‘And quit playing with that, what are you, a perv?’ He asks, smirking up at him. 

Eddie grins, lunging back on top of Steve and biting his shoulder. 

Steve yelps and Eddie scoops him up, carrying him bridal style to the bathroom. 

‘Oh! Stevie, remind me to put those polaroids in my wallet. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of ‘em.’ Eddie says, dumping Steve on the closed toilet and turning the shower on. 

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 10

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I don’t know if I’ll have time to post tomorrow so I’m posting an extra chapter tonight. Sorry in advance for this one…

Content Warnings - Death, violence, mayhem, people get captured

After you calmed down, Finnick carried you down to the beach to spend the afternoon with the rest of the group. They all kept their distance but you were too exhausted to try anything. You ended up sleeping for the first real time in the arena.

You were asleep for so long, you woke up to find a fresh bandage on your arm and some bread from District 3 being split amongst the group. Finnick brought you some bread and water as he sat down to watch the sunset with you.

You can’t talk anymore, not even to him. It’s like your voice has run dry and nothing will come out. You don’t even know what you would say though. He seems content enough to just sit in silence with you.

Nighttime falls and the group makes the trip up to the tree again. Finnick lets you walk in front of him but he has to help you at some of the steep parts. You fight the urge to claw at him every time he touches you, despite the fact you are telling yourself that he is safe. He wouldn’t hurt you.

At the tree, Finnick helps Beetee with the wire. You sit down close by, waiting for something bad to happen. The game makers haven’t had a death in awhile.

You emerge from your thoughts as Beetee hands the spool of wire to Katniss and Johanna, instructing them to take it down to the water.

“I’m going to go with them as guard,” Peeta states.

“No,” Beetee states. “You’re too slow.”

They continue to argue a bit before Peeta relents and let’s Katniss go with Johanna. Splitting them up must be part of the plan.

They don’t question why Beetee doesn’t split you up from Finnick. He’s the only one who can control you. None of them want to go anywhere with you if he isn’t tagging along.

Finnick and Beetee are whispering to each other, putting you and Peeta on edge. What are they planning? They seem to come to a consensus when the wire goes slack. Someone must have cut it.

“Stay with her,” Finnick tells Peeta. “I’ll go find them.”

Peeta goes to protest but Finnick has already bolted off into the jungle.

“Do you think they’re ok?” he asks you.

You shake your head no.

Moments later you hear a zap and see Beetee sprawled out in the grass. He must have made contact with the force field. There’s a cut on his arm that you didn’t notice before. When did that happen?

Seeing Beetee, Peeta quickly takes off towards where the girls went, scared that you’ll be set off at any moment. A cannon goes off and all you can hope is that it wasn’t Finnick.

You can hear people yelling and screaming. People must be fighting. You’re too exposed here.

You make your decision, you have to hide before you go rogue. Bolting into the trees, you look for one that would be easy to climb. You find one a few minutes later but quickly realize that you can’t climb it with one arm. Instead, you huddle down at the base of it, hoping people will go towards the fighting and not you.

It’s minutes later when you hear the loudest boom you think you’ve ever heard in your life. Finnick is screaming for you but it must be a trap. Why would he want you to go close to the explosion?

Pieces of the arena fall from the sky and you realize this must be the plan Finnick was talking about. He must be calling you to the pickup point.

At this revelation, you start running towards him, colliding with someone in the process.

“Where’s Katniss?” an out of breath Peeta asks you. You point towards the explosion, guessing that’s where she is headed.

Peeta makes it two yards before a dart flies into his neck and sends him to the ground. You want to scream but are cut off by a sharp pain in your neck, followed by darkness.

You wake up to a white room, the cuffs digging into the bandaged cut on your wrist. The smell of this place is recognizable. You must be in a capital hospital.

The door to your room clicks open and Snow approaches with his guards.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he states. “I’m disappointed to see that not much has changed since the last time I saw you.”

You glare at him, which only makes him smile.

“Tell me what you know about the plan,” he commands. You shake your head. You really don’t know much.

Snow furrows his brows and a sudden pain flashes through you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he states. “You know how much I value honestly. Tell me what you know about the plan.” You shake your head again and feel another pulse of pain, darkness creeping in at the corners of your vision.

“I see you’ve decided to be difficult again,” Snow chuckles. “Very well. Plan B it is.”

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Ghostfacers | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: reader's a little traumatized by this one, angst, canon violence, canon gore, slightly NSFW (MDNI 18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6023

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“Do we have to do this?” you asked Dean. 

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replied. 

You, Dean, and Sam were heading toward the lair of “the Ghostfacers,” as they had dubbed themselves; otherwise known as the “mooks”— Dean’s words, not yours— you’d met at the Hell House in Texas. 

After exchanging some awkward “hello”s with them, you settled into lawn chairs in the Ghostfacers’ “office,” otherwise known as Ed’s parents’ garage. 

You and Dean had been to Batman Begins in theaters a few months prior, and from that experience, you knew neither of you would be capable of silence during this viewing of the Ghostfacers’ documentary. 

With Dean on your right, Sam to your left, and the Ghostfacers sitting in front of you, you turned your attention to the projector one of them had set up and aimed at the garage door. 

***

The screen faded in on Harry and Ed sitting in fancy chairs holding glasses of brandy and wearing suits. 

“Hello. I am Harry Spengler”

“And I am Ed Zeddmore. Now if you have received this tape, you must be some sort of bigwig network executive. Well, today is your lucky day, mister.”

“Because the unsolicited pilot you are about to watch is the bold new future of ‘reality TV’,” Harry continued. 

Ed hummed. “We know you've had it hard during the crippling writer's strike.”

“Lazy fat cats.”

“Who needs writers when you've got guys like us?”

Harry reached for a cheap dimmer switch. 

***

“Why wouldn’t they edit that out?” you whispered to Dean. 

“Skill issue,” Dean replied, smirking. 

***

Ed appeared on-screen, voice carrying loudly through the basement once more. “Our team faced horrible horrors to bring you the footage that will change your world forever. So strap in for the scariest hour in the history of television.”

Harry stupidly continued, “In the history of your life…”

“Strap in for…”

“Ghostfacers!” Harry and Ed disjointedly exclaimed together.

Then, a horrific theme song started playing over the introduction to each of the Ghostfacers, and, to your surprise, Sam was introduced as well. The man in question went white when his face appeared on screen. 

You snickered, but your laughter didn’t last long when you appeared next. Your name flashed across the screen in bold white letters while they played a clip of you pointing your finger in Harry’s face and yelling at him. Dean laughed at you, but again, his laughter was short-lived when he was introduced flipping off the camera, his finger censored by a weird drawing of a skull. 

You turned to him smirking, and he jokingly rolled his eyes at you. 

***

“You know,” Ed began, western music playing in the background of a shot of him and Harry walking forward, “it can get kind of hard balancing our daytime careers with our nighttime missions.”

“Yeah, but Ed and I pretty much call the shots at the Kinko's where we work, so we can usually pretty much get off by six every night?” Harry chimed in. 

***

You shot a look at Dean. 

***

The video continued. “Yeah, six o'clock. It used to be just, you know, you and I taking on the cases— just Harry and me.”

“Two lone wolves,” Harry added, his face appearing on-screen again. 

“And two lone wolves need, uh… other wolves,” Ed finished. 

***

“I can’t tell if I find their remarkable stupidity endearing or not,” you whispered to Dean. 

***

“Morning, 'facers,” on-screen Ed announced. 

“It's seven p.m., dude,” Spruce chimed in from behind the camera. 

“It's morning to a Ghostfacer,” Harry said. “Corbett, what do we got, buddy?”

“Oh, I'm just putting up some of the—” 

Ed cut Corbett off. “Yeah, this has got to go up here. That's got to go here. got to see the whole field. Markers, eraser— good job.”

Then, the video cut to Corbett introducing himself. “I first saw Ed putting up flyers down at the— the outlet mall in Scogan, so I- I read one, and I thought to myself, ‘huh. Where do ghosts come from?’ And now here I am.” He smiled awkwardly. 

“Ed, your sister's abusing staff,” Harry said, appearing back on screen.

“That's adopted sister, thank you very much,” Ed replied. 

It then cut to Maggie, the sister in question. “Ed has been obsessed with the supernatural since we were kids, y’know, and then he meets Harry at computer camp. And love at first geek.”

***

“I genuinely do enjoy her,” you whispered to Dean. 

“What, you got a crush?” he whispered back. 

“Hell, no. Harry can have her,” you said, nudging his cheek with your nose playfully. 

***

“Spruce here.” He’d turned the camera around on himself. “What up, playa?” It then cut to him driving a cart picking up golf balls. “I am fifteen-sixteenths Jew, one-sixteenth Cherokee. My grandfather is a mohel, my great-grandfather was a tallis maker, and my great-great-grandfather was a degenerate gambler and had a peyote addiction.”

It cut back to the interior of the garage. 

“Okay, people,” asserted Ed. “Let's cut the chatter and get on a mission. Okay? Morton house. One of our big fish. Alright, we all know the legend. Every four years, supposedly, this becomes the most haunted place in America.”

“The leap year ghost, some call it,” Harry added. “The ghost returns at midnight just as February 29th begins.”

“And no one has ever stayed the night, right?” Maggie chimed in. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, well, every testimony that we dug up, every eyewitness has cut and run well before midnight.”

“Well, that's all about to change, baby,” Ed commented. 

Harry nodded proudly beside Ed. “Absolutely true, Ed. Absolutely true.”

***

Dean leaned down to you. “You think they’ve ever fucked?”

“Oh, definitely,” you answered.

***

Corbett handed Ed a coffee. “Mmm. That's good,” Ed told Harry. “It's French vanilla, 'cause the other day, you said how much you liked it, so…” Corbett cut his own rambling off. 

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Then, Harry appeared in the driver’s seat of his car. “I like Corbett. I do. Shows up early, does his job, lot of good hustle out—” Suddenly, Corbett knocked on the window of the car and waved. 

Harry awkwardly waved back. “I think he's got the hots for Ed, and that could spell trouble for the whole team.”

The camera cut back to Corbett. “Ed's kind of the more rugged, with that really golden… beautiful sort of beard. Definitely nice. Uh, and Harry's nice.”

While the antics on-screen continued, you reflected on how you’d ended up in this situation. 

***

Coincidentally, Dean had always had an interest in busting up the Morton house. According to him, it was your “Grand Canyon” as Dean called it; whatever that meant. And with Dean running out of time, you and Sam were eager to appease him. 

When you looked back at the screen, the Ghostfacers had broken into the Morton House, as had you and the Winchesters. 

You remembered seeing the van Harry and Ed had driven their friends to the house in as you approached the house with Sam and Dean. From there, you and the brothers were as silent as possible while moving into the house. 

***

Either Corbett or Ed had a camera on their head when you confronted them upon your entrance into the house. 

“This is spooky, man. This place…” Ed trailed off. 

Three flashlights appeared on screen with the three of you in shadow. 

“Freeze!” Dean demanded. “Police officers! Don’t move! Let's see some identification.”

Corbett began to panic while you and the brothers confronted them. ““What— are we under— under arrest?”

“We are unarmed!” Ed squeaked. 

“Oh, god,” Corbett mumbled, handing his wallet to you. 

For the first time, your face was visible on-screen. “What’s with the get-up, Mr…” you trailed off, reading the I.D. in his wallet, “Corbett?”

“I know you,” said Ed. 

Apparently, you’d recognized him at the same time. Still, you chose to keep up the act. “Yeah, sure. Lemme see your I.D.”

“Yeah, ho—” Ed snorted. “Whoa, hold on a second. I know all three of you guys. Yeah!”

“What?” Corbett asked. 

“Holy shit!” Sam cursed.

Dean hadn’t caught on by that point. “What?”

“West Texas,” you rolled your eyes. “The Hell House. These fuckers almost got us killed.”

“Yeah, the hellhounds or something?” Sam remembered. 

“Fuck me,” Dean sighed. 

***

Pulling your eyes from the screen, you turned to Dean. “You’ve got a face for camera. Anybody ever tell you that?”

A chuckle rumbled deep in Dean’s chest while the interaction continued on-screen. 

***

Ed had informed his friend Corbett that the three of you weren’t cops. 

Dean was asking Ed where Harry was. 

“He's running around, chasing ghosts,” Ed had told him. 

“Okay, well, listen, you and Rambo need to get your girlfriends and get out of here,” Dean grumbled. 

“Alright, listen here, chisel chest, okay?” 

You snorted at Ed’s comment, both in the video and while watching it. 

“We were here first. We've already set up base camp. We beat you.” On-screen Dean rolled his eyes, mockingly telling you, “They were here first.” He grabbed Ed’s shoulder. 

Ed’s face paled, and he said, “Oh, god.”

***

You smiled proudly at your boyfriend as you watched the video. 

***

“Where's your partner?” Dean growled in Ed’s face. 

***

Dean leaned over to whisper to you as the video continued, “You look a little uncomfortable, sweetheart, you okay?”

He had obviously noticed the way you pressed your thighs together. “Fuck you,” you whispered in response. You turned your attention back to the video. 

***

Spruce, Maggie, and Harry were poking around somewhere in the Morton House. They’d stumbled across the first of the death echoes you’d encountered that night. 

Back in the living room, Dean was interrogating Ed. “What are you doing in the Morton House, Ed— on leap year— what are you thinking?”

“We're here to spend the night, okay? It's for our TV show,” Ed scoffed. 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as the camera turned to him. “What? Great. Perfect.”

“Yeah, nobody's ever spent the night before,” Corbett replied from behind the camera. 

“Uh, actually, yeah, they have,” you said. 

“Well, princess, we’ve never heard of them,” Harry replied. 

“Don’t call me that!” you snapped, stepping up to him. “The ones that have, haven’t lived to talk about it!”

Ed shrank away from you. “Oh, come on, I don't believe you.”

*** Dean leaned down to your ear. “Can you yell at me like that?”

You shoved his head away from yours, cheeks burning.

***

“Look: missing-persons reports going back almost half a century.” Sam was showing Ed the research on the house you’d gathered. “John Graham stayed on a dare— gone. Julie Wilkerson— gone. There are tons more. All of them came to just stay the night through, always on a leap year. The only body they ever found was the last owner, Freeman Daggett.”

“These look legit,” said Ed. 

“That’s because they are, dimwit,” you told him. 

Sam kept going. “Look, Ed, we ain't got much time here, buddy. Starting at midnight, your friends are going to die.”

Harry, Maggie, and Spruce ran into the living room screaming about the apparition they saw in their bizarre ghost-classifying nomenclature.

“Hey, aren't those the dickheads from Texas?” Harry asked Ed, suddenly noticing the three of you were in the room. 

“Alright, let's have this reunion across the street, guys,” Dean encouraged dryly. 

Harry spoke over Dean as he continued to urge them outside. “Crap. What are you guys doing here?”

Maggie pulled up footage on her laptop of the apparition which you began to pay attention to. It was of a man in a sharp, 1920s-style suit, who then got blown away by an invisible gun shot. 

You lightly hit Dean’s arm to get him to walk away from the group, and Spruce followed the three of you walking off with his camera. “Death echo, guys,” you said. 

“Think we’re off on this?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, but what's it doing here? Did anybody get shot here?” Dean replied.

“No, not that we could find,” you told him. 

“What’s a death echo?” Spruce piped up from behind the camera. 

You sighed and turned to him. “Look, there’s a real problem here. But that ghost ain’t it.”

“What's a death echo?” Spruce repeated. 

Dean was clearly exasperated. “Echoes are trapped in a loop, okay? They keep replaying how they died over and over and over again; usually in the place where they were ganked. It's about as dangerous as a scary movie.”

“So the echo’s not our goon,” you added. “Something else is, though.”

“You're right,” Dean nodded. “Alright, we need to get out of here, guys. Come on. Let's go. Let's go. Let's go. Pack it up.”

You helped the boys shove the Ghostfacers toward the door despite their rising protests.

“Wait! Wait!” Ed shouted. “Where's Corbett?”

***

“Oh, this poor bastard,” you whispered to Dean, who shot you an empathetic look. 

***

The camera then cut to the feed rolling on the camera attached to Corbett’s head. 

“I wish to communicate with the restless spirits here,” Corbett’s voice carried through the upstairs room. Then, the camera and the lights flickered. Corbett switched on his night vision. As soon as he flipped the camera around to himself, a ghostly, looming figure appeared behind him. 

The camera cut back to the living room. 

***

“That’s not a bad editing choice,” Dean told you. 

You slapped him lightly, knowing poor Corbett’s fate. 

***

“No man left behind,” Ed was saying on the screen. 

Suddenly, Corbett’s scream echoed through the speakers in the garage. You shut your eyes and squeezed Dean’s hand, knowing the unfortunate fate Corbett had suffered. 

Ed’s face appeared on screen when you reopened your eyes. “That was Corbett.”

The Ghostfacers were making a run for the second floor while you and the Winchesters protested. 

“Guys!” Sam called. “Fuck!”

The camera cut to the remaining Ghostfacers searching for their friend among harrowing screams. 

Spruce caught sight of you searching for the missing man. “Corbett!” you called. 

“Help me!” Came his anguished reply. 

The Winchesters took Spruce and began shoving him down the stairs with the rest of his group, the camera leaving you behind. 

Dean made Spruce turn the camera off, which you thought was funny to watch back. 

Back in the living room of the Morton House, the group was panicked. They tried to search all of the camera angles while Spruce turned his camera to you and the WInchesters bickering in the corner. 

“Well, it’s 12:04, Dean,” Sam told his brother. “You good? You happy?”

“Yeah, I am happy,” Dean grumbled. 

Sam continued his mockery. “ ‘Let's go hunt the Morton house,’ you said, ‘it's our Grand Canyon’.”

“Sam, I don’t wanna hear this,” Dean responded. 

“You got two months left, Dean. Instead, we're gonna die tonight.”

“Lay off him, Sam,” you grunted as you picked up a chair and smashed it against the sealed front door as hard as you could. 

“Whoa!” Spruce cried. “What the hell is going on, guys?”

“Every door, every window, every fucking exit of this house— they’re all sealed,” you announced to the room.

“Wh— Why are they sealed?” Maggie asked you. 

Dean took over the explanation. “It's a supernatural lockdown, okay? Whatever took Corbett doesn't want us to leave, and it's no death echo. This is a bad motherfucker, and it wants us scared.”

“Or it just wants us,” Maggie suggested. 

The EMF detector somewhere off screen went wild. The camera flickered, and Harry slid up to Maggie to hold her hand. 

“Uh, guys, the camera's fritzing again,” Spruce told the group. 

“Whoa. Whoa. Guys, the EMF's starting to spike. This is a big one!” Harry said. 

“Everybody, stay close. There's something coming,” Sam instructed. 

Another apparition appeared before the camera. 

“That’s not the same echo!” you noted off-camera. 

“Multiple echoes? What the hell's going on?” Dean’s frustrated grumbling came from behind the camera. 

“Beats me,” Sam replied. 

“Hey!” you cried, waving your arms in front of the echo’s face, form visible on-camera. “Hey, man, you’re dead! Hello!”

“What’s she doing?” Harry asked the Winchesters from behind the camera. 

“It's rare, but sometimes you can shock an echo out of its loop if you can talk to the part of the ghost that's still human, but usually you have to have some kind of connection to the deceased,” Sam explained.

“You’re dead, man! Time’s up! Cross the veil, or whatever!”

The apparition flickered and turned around while the screen flickered. 

“You guys hear that?” Harry whispered into the microphone. 

You kept yelling at the ghost. “Yo, dude!” You jumped in front of it again. “You’re so very dead! Super dead! Wake up!” Suddenly a bright light appeared on the apparition’s stomach, and a train horn approached. It seemed as if the train hit the man as he flew backwards and disappeared. 

You had cowered and covered your eyes to avoid potentially being hit by whatever was heading for the death echo. 

“Where the hell did it go?” Harry asked. 

The camera cut to footage of the outside of the Morton House. 

***

“This is getting kinda painful,” Dean whispered to you. 

“Absolutely,” you replied. 

***

Back on screen, the group was following you, Sam, and Dean with the camera as you peeked around upstairs. 

“Dude, there's no records of any of this here,” Dean grumbled. “No one got shot here. Obviously, no one got run over by a fuckin’ train.”

“Stay close,” you ordered the group. 

“Did the echoes take Corbett?” Maggie asked from behind the camera. 

“Yes. No. I don't know,” Dean huffed. “We don't know what's doing what here; that's what we're trying to figure out, okay?”

“Okay, look, um, death echoes are ghosts, okay?” Sam was now close to the camera and talking into it. “Now, ghosts, they usually haunt places where they lived or where they died.”

“Except these mooks didn't live or die here,” Dean added from a few feet ahead. 

“So, what are they doing here?” Maggie asked. “Hey, give the lady a cigar.” Dean turned to the camera. “Alright, seriously, does looking at this nightmare through that camera make you feel better or something? I mean…” He trailed off, frustrated.

A string of disjointed replies ended in, “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

The smirk on Dean’s face faded. “Oh.” He kept walking forward. He led the group into a room where deer heads and kills of Freeman Daggett hung on the walls. 

“Freeman Daggett, house's last owner, officially commended for twenty years of fine service at the Gamble General Hospital.” The camera turned to Sam, holding a broken frame with a certificate inside he’d just read from. 

“He was a doctor?” you asked. 

“Janitor,” Sam replied. 

“This looks like his den. When'd you say he died— '64?” Dean chimed in. 

“Yeah, heart attack,” you nodded. 

“What are these, c-rations?” Maggie’s hand came out from behind the camera to point at a few objects around the room. 

“Yeah, army-issued, three squares; like a lifetime supply,” Dean noted. 

“God, is that all he ate?” You could almost see Maggie grimacing behind the camera. 

“One-stop shopping,” Dean quipped. 

***

“Hey,” Dean whispered as you continued watching, “this ‘Dean’ guy’s pretty funny.”

You rolled your eyes. “Egomaniac.”

***

You turned your attention back to the screen as Ed came into view. “Oh, come on, guys. This is ridiculous. I mean, how the hell is this supposed to find Corbett, huh? We should be digging up the fuckin’ floorboards right now.”

Maggie panned over to Sam. “Huh. ‘Survival Under Atomic Attack’.” He was holding a dusty pamphlet. “An optimist.”

Dean pried the safe open in the corner of the camera’s view. “Crap. Crap. Taxidermy. Okay. You said Daggett was a hospital janitor?”

You nodded. 

“Ew,” he grimaced. “Got three toe tags here: one, death by gunshots, train accident, and suicide.”

“Oh, shit,” you sighed. “Well, hello, death echoes. Their bodies ‘ve gotta be somewhere in the house, then.”

“Daggett brought the remains home from the morgue. To… play,” Dean explained to the camera. 

A chorus of disgusted sounds came from around the room of the Morton House. 

Maggie moved the camera across a mirror and clearly startled herself. Dean tried to herd her closer, and the camera landed on you and Dean standing next to Sam. Then, the camera flickered, and you were gone. 

You grimaced watching what happened to you. The room the ghost had brought you to smelled horrific, the scene was grotesque, and being in that room with Corbett… it was almost too much for you. You squeezed Dean’s hand at the memory. 

Back on the screen, Dean was frantically shouting your name. You almost smiled at the sentiment. 

“Where'd she go?” Spruce asked from behind the other camera. 

Dean picked up your dropped flashlight. “(Y/N)!” he yelled. 

The camera cut again, and as soon as it picked up, Dean was yelling for you again. Sam was, too, and the rest of the group was yelling for you and Corbett. 

The camera swung around to face Maggie and Harry. 

“God, I am so scared. I'm so scared,” Maggie said. “It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay, Maggie.” Harry hugged her close to him before stooping to kiss her. 

Then, the camera cut to Ed in a hallway. 

***

Dean grumbled, “Sure, my girl’s missing, but cut to a fuckin’ love story.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’m back now. All good.”

***

On screen, Ed stumbled upon Maggie and Harry. He immediately flipped out. “My best friend... and my best sister. Are you banging my sister?!”

“No! No!” Harry shouted back. 

“Hold my glasses,” Ed sneered. 

“You got it,” Spruce said from behind the camera. 

Ed jumped at Harry, albeit weakly, and the tussle carried on until Dean and Sam came to break it up. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Dean roared. “Cut it out! We're down by two people. (Y/N)! Sweetheart, answer me!”

“(Y/N/N)!” Sam called. “(Y/N)!”

Their voices became distant while Spruce stayed with the group recovering from the fight. 

Then, the camera cut to a night-vision camera on the table in the room you’d been brought to. 

***

You squeezed Dean’s hand tighter. 

***

The camera was lying awkwardly on the table across from Corbett.

“Corbett!” you whispered from off-screen. “Corbett, buddy, wake up!”

“It’s My Party” by Leslie Gore was playing statically in the background. 

You remembered the table in front of you had been set with a cake, confetti, and party hats. 

“(Y/N)?” Corbett whispered weakly.

“Corbett, hey, you gotta keep listening to my voice, okay? I'm right here. Stay awake,” you urged him. 

Off-screen, the ghost murmured, “Don’t listen.” He picked up a knife and moved behind Corbett. “It stops hurting, so don't worry.”

“Corbett, stay with me,” you pleaded. 

You knew at that point you were struggling against your restraints. 

“Stay with me!” your voice came from off-screen. “I’m right here, Corbett! Oh, god— no, no!”

Daggett stabbed Corbett through the throat. 

***

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill these guys, I swear,” Dean muttered to you having watched you tear up as you relived the horror on-screen. 

“Dean, it’s fine,” you whispered back. “I’m okay now.” You sniffed. 

***

“Corbett! Where'd you guys go?” Harry called on-screen. “Dean, what are you doing?”

The camera pointed to Dean rummaging through Daggett’s belongings. “Okay, so Daggett was a cold war nut, okay? He was— he was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were c-rations, so what the hell are we looking for?!”

“Horrible little life,” Maggie commented. 

“Dean, that’s it,” Sam realized. 

Maggie turned the camera toward the younger brother. 

“He was scared!” exclaimed Sam. He took off into another room. 

Dean followed close behind. 

Another camera closer to Corbett showed you on the opposite end of the table from him. On either side of you were two rotted corpses. The smell of that horrible room would never be erased from your mind. 

“Get away from me,” you begged on-screen. You struggled even harder against your binds. 

“This won't hurt,” Daggett sing-songed. “It's okay. It's okay. Relax. Relax.” He strapped a party hat onto your head. 

The camera cut to Corbett, who was slumped over dead at the other end of the table. 

***

“I swear, I’ll never forget what that looked like,” you whispered to Dean, referring to what Corbett’s corpse looked like six feet away from your face. 

***

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are you going?” Maggie asked from behind the camera, the video having cut back to Dean and Sam. 

“Guys like Daggett back then, the ones who were really scared of the Russians,” Sam explained, “they built bomb shelters.”

“I'm guessing he's got one. I'll bet you it's in the basement,” Dean added. 

Suddenly, Dean and Sam were cut off from Harry, Ed, and Maggie while Spruce was with them.

Dean yelled from behind the door, “It wants to separate us! Ed! listen to me! There's some salt in my duffel. Make a circle and get inside.” The group did as they were told despite some minor miscommunications. 

Spruce’s camera showed Sam and Dean running down the basement stairs. 

The camera cut back to the Ghostfacers getting in the salt circle. 

“Harry, listen— listen to me, okay? listen. If we don't die... it's totally okay if you, uh, do my sister,” Ed told Harry. 

Maggie pushed Ed from behind her camera. 

“Ow!”

The camera flickered again. 

“Hey guys, hey guys, it's coming again,” Maggie said. 

The group huddled together as the lights continued to flicker around the Morton House, but Corbett appeared in front of them. He was bloody, the wound gnarly and gushing. 

“Oh,” Ed muttered. “Corbett.”

Cutting back to Spruce, he had a question for Sam. “Hey, can I ask you something?” “What?” Sam asked. 

“Earlier, you said he has three months left?” 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “A while ago—” Dean cut him off. “No, no, no. We’re not gonna whine about our fuckin’ problems to some shitty reality show. I’m gonna do my fuckin’ job.”

“Is it cancer?” Spruce asked after a moment. 

“Shut up,” Dean growled. 

“You hear that?” asked Sam, shushing Spruce and Dean. 

The camera cut back to you. 

“I've been waiting for some more friends. I get lonely. But you're coming to my party, aren't you?” Daggett asked you, his melodic voice haunting. 

You were crying by this point and trying to get to the dagger in your jacket sleeve. “Dean, help me!” you screamed, voice raw. 

Dean squeezed your hand and traced circles on it with his thumb. 

“Is that music?” asked Spruce, the video returning to Dean and Sam.

“Yeah, it's coming from behind this wall,” said Sam. 

Dean shoved a cabinet away from the wall single-handedly. 

“Wow, you're strong,” Spruce commented. 

Dean flipped the camera off. 

***

You laughed, but your joy was soon cut off by the camera returning to you. 

***

“You’ll stay a good, long time,” Daggett sang, tracing your chin with his hand. 

Then, Dean burst through the door to the bomb shelter. “(Y/N)!” He shot at Daggett while Sam untied you. 

You hugged Sam briefly before throwing yourself into Dean’s arms. He hugged you close to him and buried his face in your hair. 

Spruce panned his camera around the room to reveal the other guests at the party and Corbett, the new addition. 

“Oh, no, Corbett,” Spruce sighed. 

Back in the living room, Ed, Harry, and Maggie were still in the salt ring. The group realized the poor man was now a death echo. 

The camera cut back to you, Spruce, Sam, and Dean. 

“What's this Daggett guy's problem anyway?” Spruce asked you. 

“Loneliness,” you said. 

“What, he's never heard of a Realdoll?” Dean scoffed.

“Shut up,” you snorted. “He’s the… Norman Bates, stuff-your-mother kind of lonely. He threw himself a party, and the corpses he stole were the only ones that would come. If he wasn’t so scary, I think I’d feel bad for him. Anyway, so, at midnight, he sealed them in the bomb shelter and O.D.’d on horse tranqs upstairs.”

“How do you know this?” Sam asked. 

“He told me,” you replied. 

“Jesus,” Sam murmured. 

“Okay, so now that he's dead, what? Same song, different verse, trying to get people to come to his party?” Dean wondered aloud. 

“Pretty much, yeah. Stay forever,” Sam nodded. 

Spruce paused and pointed the camera down to Sam’s and Dean’s guns. “Are those real bullets?”

“It’s rock salt,” replied Dean. 

In the living room, Harry was quietly singing the Ghostfacers theme song to himself. Corbett kept coming in and out of view.

“We gotta try and pull him out of his loop. We have to,” Ed mumbled, more to himself than the others. 

Ed stood to face Corbett. 

“Ed?” Harry asked. 

“Corbett. Corbett, it’s— Oh, god.”

“Don't cross the line of salt,” Harry insisted. 

“I gotta do it, Harry.” He hesitated but stepped over the line of salt. “Corbett, listen to me. Okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Listen. Listen. Oh, god. Corbett. Oh.”

“Get back!” Harry told his friend. 

Corbett started to flicker, and Ed quickly moved back into the circle. 

***

“This is such crap, (Y/N), they’re profiting off this guy’s death,” Dean whispered. 

“Cool it, okay? I’ll handle it,” you said. 

***

On the video, Dean was trying to break down the basement door still separating you, the Winchesters, and Spruce from the others. 

Sam turned to face the camera. “Seriously, you’re still shooting?”

“It makes him feel better. Don't ask,” Dean responded, out of breath. 

The video continued to show the Ghostfacers trying to snap Corbett out of it by playing into the crush he had on Ed while you and the brothers were fending off Daggett in the basement. 

Harry convinced Ed to pretend to be in love with Corbett to snap him out of it. 

Hesitantly, Ed stepped out of the circle again. “Corbett, look. Hey, it's just Ed, buddy. It's just me. Hey, hey, Corbett, listen to me. Listen to me. I— You meant... Corbett, you meant a lot to the team. You meant— You meant a lot to me. You know, never back down. I remember that, Corbett. I- I remember that. I remember because I love you, Corbett. I really, truly love you.”

“Hey,” Corbett said. “Ed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Corbett, it's…” Ed trailed off, surprised by what he’d been able to do.  “Corbett, yeah, it's me. It's me. look at me. You got to help us, man. you have to help us, Corbett. Please. please. Please help us right now.”

The camera cut back to the basement where you and Sam were holding shotguns and Dean was continuing to try and break down the door. Suddenly, Daggett appeared behind Dean. 

“Dean, look out!” you screamed, shooting at Dagget. You missed, and your gun clicked to let you know you were out of rocksalt. “Fuck!” 

Dean went sailing past your head into the wall, followed by Sam, and then Daggett kept stalking forward to you and Spruce. 

Suddenly, Corbett appeared behind Daggett. In a flash of blinding light, both spirits were gone. 

Spruce turned the camera toward you running to Dean and Sam on the floor. 

“You okay, guys?” you asked them, helping them sit up. 

Dean picked himself up, dusted himself off, and shoved the camera to point toward the floor. 

***

You laughed at his sourpuss attitude.

***

The epilogue showed you and the Winchesters bidding the others goodbye with Ed voicing over the background. “Leap year, February 29th, the Morton House. A tragic day. A day of souls bound in torment, of lives held in cruel balance. But the Ghostfacers, they did the best that they could.”

“We lost a beloved friend, but we gained new allies,” Harry continued. 

It then cut to the two in their suits again. 

“We know this much: that every day, including today, is a new beginning. We learned more than we can say in the brutal feat of the Morton House.” 

***

Ed’s dramatic, phony voice was making you angry given the situation. 

“You’re tense,” Dean whispered to you. “Relax.”

***

“You know, Corbett, we just— we just like to think that you're out there, watching over us,” Ed was saying back on-screen. 

“As far as we're concerned, you're not an intern anymore. You have more than earned full Ghostfacer status. Plus, it would be cool to have a ghost on the team,” Harry added. 

“And here we were thinking that, you know, we were teaching you and all this time you were teaching us, about heart, about dedication, and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Thank you, Alan J. Corbett.”

“Go well into that starry night, young Turk. Go well,” Harry finished. 

The camera cut to a clip of Corbett, and you were genuinely saddened for the sweet young man. 

“Come on, Spruce, I gotta get all this stuff packed up!” he was saying to his friend. 

“So, pack and talk!”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Say what comes to mind. This is one of our confessional moments, Corbett, so confess,” Spruce pressed. “What did you think was going to happen tonight? What do you think is going to happen on this trip?”

“I think tonight, I really do, I think all of our dreams are going to come true. Does that sound stupid?” Corbett smiled. 

“Kind of does, yeah.”

“In Memory of Alan J. Corbett, 1985-2008 King of the Impossible,” flashed across the screen, and the video ended. 

***

Genuinely, you and the WInchesters were stunned. 

All of the Ghostfacers stood and turned toward you, prompting the three of you to stand as well. 

“So, guys, what do you think? Are you alright?” Ed asked. 

“You know, I kind of think it was half-awesome,” Dean nodded dryly. 

You fought a smirk off your face at the thought of the snarky comment that was sure to follow.

“Half-awesome? That— that's full-on good, right?” Maggie rushed out happily. 

Sam nodded and spoke evenly. “Yeah, um, I mean it's bizarre how you all are able to honor Corbett's memory while grossly exploiting the manner of his death. Well done.”

In the meantime, you discreetly left a backpack under the computer table. You knew Dean was the only one who’d caught sight of you and that he’d have some questions for you later. 

“Corbett gave his life searching for the truth, and it's our job over here to share it with the world,” Ed told the two brothers. 

“Right. Well, um, our experience, you know what you get when you show the world the truth?” Sam continued. 

“A straitjacket. Or a punch in the face. Sometimes both,” Dean added. 

“Oh come on, guys, don't be 'facer haters just because we happen to have gotten the footage of the century,” Harry protested. 

“You got us there.” Dean held his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, c’mon, guys. We gotta hit the road,” you said, walking past the brothers toward the door. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where you goin’, dollface? We didn’t really have much time to, uh, rekindle our connection,” Ed awkwardly flirted, chasing after you. 

You scoffed. “ ‘Our connection’? What the fuck are you—”

Dean got between you and Ed. “We’re leaving now.”

Ed backed off immediately. “Yeah! Yeah, okay. You, uh—”

“Shut up already, will you?” Dean grumbled, leading you out of the door with a hand on the small of your back. 

“Bye, guys,” Sam told them. 

As Dean led you away from the house, Sam turned to you. “What’d you do? We clean?”

You stopped by the door of the Impala, smirking when you heard someone— possibly Ed— scream, “N0!” in the distance. 

“Electromagnet. Every tape and hard drive they have is clean,” you grinned. 

Sam mockingly sighed, “The world just isn't ready for the Ghostfacers,” as he ducked down into the car. 

“It's too bad. I kinda liked the show,” Dean remarked, closing his door after settling in his car seat. 

“It had its moments,” Sam noted. 

“That theme song is abhorrent though,” you chimed in. “And a total ear worm.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll be stuck in my head for at least the next hundred miles.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

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Strawberry Shortcake (part 2 of 2)

13.4K / Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Summary: How are you supposed to avoid Frankie when your son and his daughter are becoming best friends?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Angssssst and mutual pining. Single parenthood, mention of the death of a spouse, divorce (no detail). Mention of f!masturbation, slow burn, nicknames (Shortcake, baby, hermosa), minor appearance by TF boys. Everyone is a dummy. Wee bit of spice for these dummies at the end (no spoilers but let’s just say Frankie may be a dad, but he's also daddy).

A/N: Uhhhh sorry for the word count 🫣 Thank you so much for the lovely reception to Part 1 🥹🍓🍰The feel of this part is very different than the first; due to the setting of Part 1, it was a lot more sensual. This part is more domestic, almost a friends-to-lovers slow burn - I hope people who liked the first part will still find it enjoyable 🫣 Unfortunately, Frankie does not get 🍴😺 in this part (spoiler) which is honestly just a darn shame, so I wrote an Epilogue that I will post together with Part 2, which is a bit more of mixed vibe of the two previous parts. Thank you for reading!

Part 1 / Epilogue / Series Masterlist 🍓🍰

Strawberry dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘🍓

It could be two seconds.  Possibly a whole minute.  Maybe even ten.

You honestly can’t tell how long you and Francisco stand outside the kindergarten class room staring at each other.

At a loss for words, you don’t even know how to begin a conversation that you couldn’t have imagined ever having.  You never thought you’d see Francisco again, and certainly not under these circumstances – that he has a daughter is entirely news to you, though not unfair.  Afterall, he didn’t know you have a son.  During your time together, you had omitted certain personal details out of self preservation and it would seem, so did he. 

After you had left the club, Francisco remained an ever-present figure in your fantasies: your handsome and courteous gentle giant who made you feel safe and desired, and whose touch you only knew once – a first and last kiss that still makes your body strum just to recall.  His soft looks and soulful expressions dominated your nighttime dreams and sometimes even your daytime ones.  He wasn’t supposed to come to life. 

And yet, here he is, standing in front of you looking even more striking than you remember.  Your memories failed to capture the way his brown eyes fleck with gold, or the way the facial scruff you loved running your fingers through is adorably patchy in that one spot along his left jawline.  His hair is slightly longer than you remember, but the curls that peek out from beneath his familiar Standard Oil cap look to be just as touchable as the ones you’d twist around your fingers in that private room at the club.

Your fingers itch as if recalling some latent muscle memory, but it’s Francisco who moves first.

Stepping forward, he approaches you with his hand out to shake yours, “Hi, I’m Frankie. Valentina’s dad.”

Oh.

That’s what you’re doing.  You’re pretending you’ve never met before.

Your heart constricts painfully in your chest as you reciprocate his gesture and introduce yourself as your son’s mother.  Francisco’s smile at your name is kind, but you see nothing more to it behind his eyes. 

It’s not lost on you that this is the first time Francisco has reached out and touched you of his own volition.  Unless you counted that soft kiss you had felt on your back after he helped you redress on your last night together; in this moment, you think you must have imagined it – perhaps it would be best not to count it at all.

Frankie’s warm, firm hand lets go of your softer one as quickly as he had grasped it, darting past you to shake the hands of the other parents standing in the same hallway.  You turn and smile, introducing yourself as well, and for the next several minutes your small group of parents makes small talk about your children and continue to sneak peeks into the kindergarten classroom until the teacher comes to close the door with a reassuring smile.

Once the remaining parents have said their polite goodbyes, you turn to look for Francisco but find that he’s already left the building.  You see his retreating figure halfway down the path to the parents’ parking lot, walking hurriedly.

He can’t get away from you fast enough, you realize, devastated.

You manage to hold your tears in until you park outside of work.  Sitting in your car, you sob stupidly.  You had thought of Francisco every day since you left The Midnight Palace.  Wondered if he had been hurt when he had come back and found out you had left.  Thought about what he might be doing and if work at the hangar was less stressful these days.  Fantasized about where your relationship might be if you had met and dated like regular people.  Heard his soft voice in your head while in bed, guiding your hand between your legs and bringing you to a thundering climax to images of his handsome face, playful smirk and lustful gaze.  But never in your wildest imagination did you think he would pretend not to know you.

The rest of your work day is filled with free floating thoughts about Francisco popping up to distract you from your work - all depressing.

Could he be married?  You suppose you had never asked, just assumed he wasn’t from the lack of ring.  With some distress, you allow that you didn’t know he had a child - a hidden wife wouldn’t be too farfetched.

Suddenly ashamed, you realized that while there had definitely been some kind of connection, due to the nature of how you met, every physical advance had been made by you.  You were the one who had pushed forward your physical relationship, taking every next step that he had never asked for. 

No.  You can’t bring yourself to believe it.  The Francisco you had met didn’t seem like the type to cheat – he had been honourable, respectful, kind.  But then again, it’s possible you didn’t know him at all, you concede sadly.

Maybe his reaction this morning’s reaction had been due to shock.  You had felt it as well, and you suppose everyone processes the unexpected differently.  Perhaps after school you’ll get a chance to speak with Francisco, or rather Frankie, and the two of you can figure this out together.

But pick-up goes much the same as drop-off.  You see Frankie among the other parents waiting in the hall, amiably chatting, and though he acknowledges you with a small nod when he sees you join the conversation, he otherwise ignores you.  You’re grateful for when the bell rings, not sure how much longer you can maintain a neutral expression and keep the tears prickling the corners of your eyes at bay.

The children stream out of the room in a sudden burst of activity, each ramming themselves into a waiting parent, excitedly chatting about their day.  Your full attention happily turns to Raynor, and you don’t even realize that Frankie has left until you see him drive by on the way to your car, Valentina’s smiling face pressed up against the back window waving wildly to your son.

And it’s the same every day after: simple salutations and impersonal small talk at drop-off and pick-up.  More often than not, Frankie barely looks at you - he’s never rude or unkind, but disappointingly detached and uninterested.  It’s as if those summer nights in that private room never happened, or worse, they did but didn’t mean to him what they had meant to you.  It becomes painfully clear to you that they didn’t.

Some time during the third week of school, an epiphany hits you like a ton of bricks: he’s embarrassed.  Maybe even ashamed.  And while you don’t think it’s warranted, you can empathize.  Maybe he’s embarrassed to have seen the mother of his daughter’s friend half naked.  Or maybe he’s embarrassed that someone outside his army buddies knows how often he frequents a strip club.  As far as you could tell, he had been candid and honest with what he did choose to share with you in that room, and perhaps he hadn’t expected those raw and vulnerable feelings to be known by someone he would see nearly every day.  Maybe he was just embarrassed by it all, you.  It crushes you that what are cherished memories for you would cause Frankie any distress, but you’re not so unfeeling that you would want to force him to feel any more discomfort than he already does.

So, you don’t push and you don’t engage; you let Frankie ignore you and even though your heart is broken, you can’t find it within you to harbour any malice towards this man who was once the source of so much comfort and desire.

This works as well as it can until Raynor starts asking if he can have a playdate with Valentina.

“Just call her.”

Completely useless advice.  His friends are full of absolute nonsense suggestions.

Frankie has no idea what to do.  You’re slipping away again and he has no clue how to coax you back to him.  And neither do Santi, Will or Benny, apparently.

Every recommendation they make is predicated on Frankie having not made a total ass of himself since the start of school.  So absolutely useless.  Frankie presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and groans in frustration.  You’re an idiot, Morales.

On that first day of school, he had been so preoccupied with comforting Valentina that he hadn’t noticed you until you turned around in that hallway.  It was you – in a much more covered up state of dress, hair and face softer in the light of day that he had been used to, but it was you.

A million emotions race through his very soul the second he recognizes your face: shock, disbelief, relief, desire being the most prominent.  Frankie’s immediate instinct is to pull you into his arms and cup your pretty face in his hands – to trace every slope and line with his fingers (and maybe his lips) to make sure you were real.

Fuck.  He had missed you so much. 

Returning to The Midnight Palace two weeks after that unforgettable kiss, Frankie had been confused, then worried when you weren’t there.   He knew you were planning on going back to your lab assistant job at the end of the summer, but that wasn’t supposed to be for a few more weeks.  Your unexpected absence left him hallow and worried, realizing that he actually knew very little about your life – something could have happened to you and he would never know.  He had sat stage side with the boys, fidgeting and anxious the whole night; eyes darting to the employee entrance every time there was movement - thinking, hoping you might walk in and flash him that drop-dead gorgeous smile of yours that he took comfort in every day.

But you never showed.

And two weeks later you still weren’t there.  After Frankie had sulked for hours, terrifying the new cocktail waitress with his scowl, Will had taken pity on him and asked Sasha, the dancer from whom you borrowed the strawberry scented glitter gel that he loved so much, and that’s when he finally learned that you had left three weeks ago. 

Frankie was despondent.  He hadn’t felt the way he felt about you in a really long time and he had harboured secret hopes that the two of you might try take what you shared in the private room out of the club, into the real world.  After one too many pep talks from his friends, he finally worked up the courage to ask you out only to discover you gone for good, leaving him no way to find you.  The boys tried to cheer him up by offering to buy him a lap dance, but Frankie had refused – he didn’t want it.  He wanted you.  He had cut the night short and hadn’t joined his friends at The Midnight Palace since; he didn’t need your absence thrown in his face on a regular basis.

He dreams of you constantly.  Hazy, dimly lit dreams illuminated by that smile he can’t forget; flashes of soft curves and barely-there wisps of fabric that laid snug overtop.  Your lithe fingers dance into his mind’s eye until his sensory memory kicks in and his skin prickles while he sleeps, remembering how it felt when you would touch him – silky soft caresses along the worn lines of his face, lips, hands that always made him long for more of you.   He wakes up hard and missing you more than when he went to sleep, deflating when he remembers that he’ll never feel your touch again.

Now here you are and it’s not a dream.  You’re here.  Close enough to touch.

But just as Frankie is about to reach for you, two things happen simultaneously.  The first is he realizes the two of you aren’t alone and that a few other kindergarten parents stand behind you.  He suspects that you might not want to share your reunion with strangers or field any potential questions about how the two of you might know each other.

The second is that he’s hit with a wave of crippling doubt.  What if you weren’t happy to see him?  Maybe you hadn’t thought and dreamt of him every day since that last, incredible encounter together like he did you.  Afterall, you hadn’t left him a note or any way to contact you; perhaps you had put him out of your mind and left him behind as a memory of the summer, much like you did the club.

So, at the very last second Frankie pivots and shakes your hand, introducing himself then immediately does the same with the other parents, not wanting to single you out in front of them.

The look of hurt on your face flashes for only a millisecond, but Frankie sees it.  He immediately regrets his actions, but as the subsequent minutes tick by, filled with inconsequential small talk among the parent group, he can’t think of a way to recover and like a coward, he runs.

Frankie meant to start over with you at pick-up, but once more the two of you aren’t alone so he again opts for a polite interaction over an overly familiar one.  And then his priority is Valentina, as yours was your son, and the chance to reconnect once again slips through his fingers.

It’s same the next day and the next, and the following week and the one after that, until it’s been so long and the list of things left unsaid between the two of you grows overwhelming, that even if you had missed him and wanted to rekindle something, you most certainly didn’t anymore.  Maybe you even hated him a little.

So, Frankie resigns himself to having what he can of you without crossing any lines, just like it was for him back at the club.  He steals glances at you at school when you’re not looking and catches up on your life based on what he overhears you sharing with other parents or when he’s lucky enough to be part of the group you’re addressing.  The more he learns about you, the more he admires you – you make juggling parenthood and an impressive career look easy.  You were still the sweet and gentle creature he had fallen for over the summer, but now he knows you to be whip smart and a wonderful mom.  He didn’t think you could be any sexier or more beautiful than how he remembered you, but he’s happily proven wrong day after day. 

And you still smell like strawberries. 

Sometimes it takes all of Frankie’s self control not pull you into his embrace and spill out his feelings right there in front of your children’s hung artwork, so he tries not to look at you too much.

His heart calls for you.  But you aren’t his to have.  Maybe you never were.

It’s possible that Frankie may have just gone on living with this ever-present dull ache in his heart, resigned to being near but so terribly far away from you, if it weren't for his darling precocious daughter who insisted on being best friends with your son. 

Fed up with her father’s evasive answers and non-committal promises of talking to you about a playdate, young Valentina Morales decides that she’s going to try her hand at those “good decisions” her teacher is always talking about.  She and her best friend Raynor whisper secretly as they exit their classroom at the end of the day, looking up in tandem when they’ve stopped right in front of you.

“Raynor’s mom?  Could Raynor and I have a playdate?” Valentina smiles sweetly.

“Oh!” they’ve surprised you but not really - Raynor has been ask for the same for the past two weeks.  Your son and his best friend look up expectantly at you, eyes full of hope and excitement – manipulative little buggers, you chuckle to yourself.  Valentina’s little smile is especially beguiling; Francisco must never be able to say no to this face. 

Francisco.  Right.  You look up to see Frankie looking at his daughter with a mortified expression – you almost laugh out loud.  Yep, it’s clear who the boss in the Morales household is.

You kneel down to get to the kids’ level, “Alright.  How about this, girly-pop?  I’m taking to Ray-ray to the aquarium this weekend and if,” you pause here for effect and reiterate again, “if your father says it’s okay, you should definitely come with us and we can get lunch, and catch the walrus show, and stick our hands in the touch pools until they tell us to stop.  What do you think?”

Valentina and your son nod their little heads eagerly.  You smile at them and then up at Frankie, the two of you exchanging soft, familiar smiles.

“What about right now?”

Your head snaps back to your son and his friend, the two of them now smiling conspiratorially.

“Mama, Valentina says her and her dad are going to the park right now.  Can we go too?”

Ohhhh… you had underestimated these two.  Completely unable to come up with an excuse on the spot, you open and close your mouth two or three times, “Well… um… I’m sure that… uh…”

Frankie saves you, “If you’re free, we’d love for you and Raynor to join us at the park.  It’s the one a few blocks from here and we were just going to walk.”

You look at Francisco, wide-eyed.  This might be the most he’s spoken to you since the start of school; this smidgen of attention shouldn’t make your heart beat the way it does, but you feel nervous and maybe even excited about spending some time with Frankie after all this time.  Dumbly, you nod.  The children cheer and high-five each other.

The walk to the park is short and easy, the children happily skipping hand in hand ahead of you and Frankie – but between the two of you, there is a vague undercurrent of tension that settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk.  This is the first time since the club that you’ve been alone with Frankie – it’s funny, in the private room you wore nothing but your underwear and never felt as exposed as you do now.

The children run straight to the playground as you and Frankie settle on a nearby bench, sitting on opposite ends with snacks for the kids laid out between you. 

Frankie opens a Tupperware container full of cut vegetables and unscrews a little container of ranch dip, sucking his fingers clean of any overspill; you can’t help but stare, practically drooling at the sight of him popping his thick, meaty fingers between his plush lips.  When Frankie catches you looking, he chuckles and you avert your eyes quickly with a smile. 

To save face, you say the first thing that comes to mind, “That’s a lot of snacks.”

The two of you share an easy laugh while Frankie offers you the container and you gladly select a few cucumber slices.

“Gotta have all the options,” explains Frankie, “Valentina changes her mind about food constantly.  Never know if this is the week she decides grapes are evil.”

“Oh, Raynor is the same way.  Some days I feel like the lunch I pack him is just performance art for the teacher.”

There’s a pause of quiet after you both chortle at the ridiculousness of your children’s eating preferences.  It’s not uncomfortable, but it is palpable.

You find yourself obliged to fill the unaddressed divide between you and Frankie; you’re almost loathed to broach this topic, but you can’t be sure this new pleasantry isn’t a one-time thing so tentatively you ask, “Does Valentina’s mom ever do drop-off or pick-up?  I work at home at night as part of my flexible hours arrangement so I can do both, but it can’t be easy as a mechanic and pilot.”

It’s the first time either of you has made even the slightest allusion to having known each other previously, and though you look nervous to have done it, Frankie finds it a relief that you broke the ice.

“Twice a month I work weekends to make up the hours, but the boss isn’t that strict – it’s Pope,” he grins, and you do too, having forgotten that his friend helped run the hangar Frankie worked at. 

“Oh my goodness!  How is he?  How are Will and Benny?” you ask amiably.

“They’re all great – I don’t see Will and Ben as much as I do Santi, but at least once a week, they come by for tea time with Valentina,” Frankie grins.

Your giggles at this image are so pure and unadulterated, Frankie feels his heart lighten just from the sound.  You seem to have forgotten the part of your original question about Valentina’s mom, but Frankie hasn’t, “… and Valentina stays every second weekend with her mom.  Friday night to Sunday afternoon… so no school stuff.”  He flits his eyes to the playground to check on the kids who are playing some type of pirate ship pretend, and mouths the word ‘Divorce’.

“Oh,” you nod, sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”  You realize this explains why Frankie would only come in to the club every second Friday.

“It’s okay,” says Frankie, matter-of-factly, “it’s better this way.  We’re both happier.  And I think that’s a good thing for Valentina.”

You nod because you vehemently agree.  From what you’ve seen of some of your friends’ marriages, divorce is hard on kids, but an unhappy household is worse.  You follow Frankie’s lead and watch the kids for a bit too before you hear him hesitantly clear his throat, “And Raynor’s dad?  He isn’t one for pick-up and drop-off?”

Eyes shiny, your tone is gentle, “Raynor’s dad passed when he was just a baby.  He never knew him.”  It’s been over five years and your grief still comes and goes, sometimes sharp, other times dull.  Sometimes Raynor will do something that reminds you so much of your late husband, you find yourself locking yourself in the bathroom and sobbing.  Other times, the resemblance will fill you with nostalgia and joy, and you’ll startle your son with your seemingly sudden burst of affection – you never really know how it will go, but you’ve learned to let it come in whatever form it chooses; just feel it and ride it out.  Today, here with Frankie, it’s a small tug to your heart that prickles just a little so that tears mist your eyes but don’t spill over.  You glance over at Frankie who’s looking at you with such a kind and loving expression that you have to turn away, afraid your naïve heart will misinterpret his look for feelings that don’t exist; you finish softly, “It was a car accident.”

Frankie feels his heart clench upon learning that you’re a widow.  He would have never guessed.  At the club, and during the limited time he’s spent with you at the school, you always seem to carry yourself with such an unflappable grace - voice gentle and laughter ready and light.  That you do so having suffered such tragedy in your life makes him admire you more than he already does; Frankie’s heart is bursting with emotion and his hands itch to pull you in for a hug.  Instead, he clenches his fists and says with as much tenderness as he can, “I’m sorry for your and Raynor’s loss.”

“Thank you,” you say softly; you don’t detect any pity in Frankie’s voice – only sympathy and compassion.  You’re grateful for him.

You wouldn’t have predicted it, but this small moment of vulnerability seems to wash away all the awkwardness and hesitancy that you and Frankie never even acknowledged.  Your conversation flows easily afterwards, much like it did back in that private room when you would sit in his lap and the two of you would just talk.  Talking to Frankie now is as easy as it was then - he’s as good of a listener as you remember and his own stories and comments are shared with an infectious light humour, engaging and inviting.  In fact, you end up so engrossed in the conversation, you absentmindedly eat half of Valentina’s snacks – for which Frankie teases you mercilessly.  In response, you pull secret snack bags out of your purse and he doubles over in laughter, “You’ve been holding out on me!”

When the kids have had their fill of play and snack, your foursome starts on the walk back to the cars.  During this time, you easily pull from Valentina that she prefers your snacks over her fathers; you mockingly pat Frankie on the shoulder and declare that it’s about variety.  When Valentina pointedly says to you she hasn’t forgotten about the aquarium playdate, Frankie leans over and whispers, “Now we know why she said your snacks are better,” and you giggle uncontrollably.  Frankie thinks his heart might burst out of his chest.

And that’s how your friendship with Frankie Morales begins.

He comes to aquarium on Sunday and the visit is beyond pleasant, all the more so due to the company – you and Frankie hang back while the kids walk hand and hand from exhibit to exhibit, only being called forth when they need an adult to read from info cards about the exotic marine life.  The two of you chat animatedly with no awkward pauses, the only breaks coming from gentle looks exchanged when you pause to take in the happiness and joy of your children.

You have to admit, in the darkness of the aquarium, Frankie looks exceptionally handsome – reminding you a little of how he looked in the dim lighting at the club.  The shadows cast by the watery tanks accentuate his strong jaw line and aquiline nose, making Frankie’s already striking profile all the more breathtaking.  When you unexpectedly see him through the jelly fish tank, a gasp escapes on the soft exhale of your breath at how his expressive eyes catch the light reflecting off the water; he’s really so beautiful.  You quickly look away so not to be caught in your ogling – the two of you have only begun to reconnect as friends; you don’t want things to go back to being awkward and stilted just because you can’t keep things appropriate.

The walrus and seal lion show put Raynor and Valentina in such high spirits, that you can’t bear to separate them so soon after; all agree to extend the playdate longer to a fun and lively dinner, where you and Frankie show off your crayon colouring skills on the restaurant placemats. The children declare your masterpieces to be a tie.

Your renewed ease with one another and Raynor and Valentina’s fast blooming friendship lead to more afterschool park playdates with Frankie during the week and you hosting playdates at your house on the weekends.  Every so often, Frankie’s friends will organize an activity for the kids; it might be a small cookout, some mini sports game for the kids (t-ball, soccer, touch football), or even one of those famous tea parties that Benny likes so much – but Uncle Santi, Uncle Will and Uncle Ben welcome your son with open arms and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

You don’t have any brothers, and one thing you’ve always felt a little insecure about is the lack of male figures in Raynor’s life – you don’t think it means anything’s missing, but the truth is you don’t know how what you can’t provide impacts your young son.  You’re thankful for the positive male camaraderie energy and filial love that Frankie and his friends demonstrate and shower upon your son; when you tell Frankie this, his heart shatters and soars at the same time.  He finds single fatherhood to be more challenging that he’s sometimes willing to admit, but in some ways, he chose it with open eyes – he can’t imagine what it must have been like to have Raynor’s father, your partner, ripped from you, and have to carry forth taking on both parental roles.  Frankie thinks you’re doing a more than admirable job and when he tells you so, you cry a little.  

You’ve watched Frankie as a father: he’s kind and doting, gentle and patient when he needs to be, and models for Valentina how to be selfless and considerate.  Ever aware of his own and his daughter’s limits and boundaries, he keeps her safe while encouraging her in the most energetic and supportive way in all her endeavours.  You find Valentina to be a charming, smart and forthright child, capable of a wonderful mix of compassion, sweetness and playfulness – her outgoing personality is such a welcomed compliment to your son’s sometimes more cautious nature; Raynor’s own strong confidence often tempering her impulsiveness.  She’s such a lovely friend to Raynor and you find that you love her very much.  You attribute so much of what you love about to Valentina to her fantastic father; for him to compliment your own parenting means the world.

As the months go on, the children’s ever more frequent playdates tie you and Frankie together for most days and even some nights.  Daytime play easily extends to include dinners at your respective houses, and somehow dinners start to transition into movie nights on your couch that are spent with the four of you under blankets and passing the popcorn back and forth.  On that first night of many where the kids fall asleep before the movie ends, you agree with Frankie that it would be a potential disaster to move Valentina too much when transporting her home and risk a full out melt down – you offer the guest bedroom as a much more amenable option.  A relieved Frankie sleeps on the couch. 

The next morning, the two of you wake before the children and meet in your kitchen, already bright with sunlight streaming in through the big bay window that overlooks your backyard.  You realize with an ache that Francisco does smile at you in the morning light the way he used to in the club: soft and disbelieving.  You hope he can’t hear the loud beating of your heart as you make coffee, and try to settle the racing of your heart before the two of your sit at your kitchen counter and enjoy the luxury of a warm cup of coffee in the quiet, a rare respite from needing to cater to the needs of your small children.  The quiet conversation during what becomes a regular weekend morning occurrence is always comforting and comfortable; it confirms what you’ve always known: Frankie Morales is a catch.

During these tranquil mornings, there’s always a moment when you have to catch yourself from falling into the dangerous trap of admitting just how attracted to Frankie you are.  Sometimes you do deep breathing exercises while you rinse out the coffee cups, other times, you’ll have to step away to ignore how sweet Frankie is when he draws smiley faces on the kids’ waffles with the whipped cream.  But you always have to do something.  You can’t let yourself fall for Frankie.

As your children grow closer, so naturally do you and Frankie, but neither of you ever bring up your past together at the club.  Not a word about how you met or what you shared those months in the summer, and certainly no mention of that last night where you bared your body to him and the two of you shared a kiss that still haunts your dreams.  Any time one of you alludes to something about the other that you could have only learned during your time together in the private room, you carry on without acknowledging how you might be privy to that tidbit.  It’s as if it never happened.  And while those summer months live in your memory as a time when you had felt special and desired, you accept it doesn’t hold the same sentiment for Frankie. 

Frankie.  Always Frankie.  You never ever call or think of him as Francisco.  Francisco is a man who only exists in your dreams – a fantasy who openly desired a you who was sexy, in control and mysterious.  He was kind, respectful, and made you feel gorgeous and wanted.  For your own sanity, you force yourself to separate him from Frankie.  Frankie is the father of your son’s best friend.  You’re no mystery to him: he sees you at your most frazzled, tired - when you forget it’s pizza day or when you’re so late for drop-off that you’re still tucking your shirt into your skirt while rushing Raynor down the path to school.  He’s kind and respectful as well, but about different things – he understands your struggles as a single mom and knows just how to lift your spirits and encourage you when you need it the most or lends a helping hand with the kids and household tasks before you even had to ask.  He makes your life happier, lighter. 

Francisco had been yours for a short time, and for that you remain grateful, but he wasn’t someone you would ever hold or kiss; you’d never know him like you had known him for those sweet summer months.  He was gone.

Frankie is your friend.  He’s here now and you don’t ever want to lose him.

You don’t conflate the two men because you can’t – it’s too dangerous to want something that isn’t meant for you.  So, you mourn Francisco and you cherish Frankie, always holding yourself back from loving him, except perhaps in the deepest, most secret chambers of your heart.

Raynor’s birthday party is in full swing.  You found one of those bouncy castle rental places that set-up inflatables in people’s backyards for a totally reasonable price and now your backyard is full of happy, bouncy kids having the times of their lives tumbling and scrambling through giant blow up houses and castles; there’s even a maze that ends in a massive ball pit.  There are kids from school, kids from the neighbourhood, a few of your friends and co-workers’ kids, and even some kids whose moms have moms that play mahjong with yours.  Raynor is over the moon and as far as you’re concerned, the more the merrier.

Frankie and Valentina had come over before the party started; Valentina wanting to give her best friend his present early and maybe sneak in some extra bouncy castle time.  While the kids bounced, Frankie helped you set-up tables and chairs and inquired if he could run the BBQ for you; you had protested, saying that you would be able to handle it, but Frankie insisted.  Now that the party is underway, you have to admit that between greeting all the kids and parents, supervising the bouncy castles and making sure that drinks and snacks are readily available, you would have struggled to cook lunch as well.  As a bonus, you admit, grinning to yourself, Frankie is looking pretty good at the grill.

Getting an early start on dishes before prepping the cake, you have the perfect view of Frankie through your kitchen window; turning over hotdogs with his tongs and plating cooked hamburger patties in an adorable blue apron, Frankie looks positively delicious.  His tan face brightened by his good mood and sweat from the heat of the grill dotting his rugged neck, he’s smiling a smile that reveals his elusive dimple as he takes pride and joy in his domestic responsibility. 

Maybe, you think, just maybe you can allow yourself just one moment of fantasy where the food Frankie’s currently grilling is the main course to a side salad you’re preparing in the kitchen of the house the two of you share.  And he’ll come in when the meat’s done the way he knows you like and wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing sweet, but hungry kisses to your neck before murmuring cheekily that he really could eat.  In your daydream, you squeal when he spins you around with blinding speed before sighing into the slow, tender kiss pressed to your lips. 

And perhaps your imagination might even take your make believe even further if at that exact moment you didn’t see Amanda, your mom’s mahjong friend’s daughter sauntering up to the grill flirtatiously.  The happy illusion you conjured dissolves as you watch her chat up Frankie and put her arm on his bulging bicep just before his piercing brown eyes crinkle and he throws his head back in a loud laugh at her touch.

Immediately, your eyes fill with tears and the devastating scene in front of you blurs.  Unable to stop them from spilling over, you strip off your dishwashing gloves and run to the bathroom as quickly as you can; locking the door behind you, you lean over the sink and sob.

Stupid.  Stupid.  Why are you crying?  Frankie isn’t yours. 

If anything – he’s less likely to be yours than anyone else’s; the two of you forever separated by your shared past at the club that embarrasses him so.  And yet, you can’t help wanting him, and not even Francisco, but Frankie – the considerate man who derives simple joy from helping others, whose unwavering support has made you a more lighthearted, joyful parent, and who has readily taken up the mantle of being a calm and stable presence in your son’s life.  It seems this same Frankie can also be flirty and coy, but that was for other women.  Not you. 

Stupid.  Stupid.  He doesn’t want you. 

But you still wanted him.  Gosh, you wanted him so much.  But he isn’t yours to have.

It's so dumb to cry over a boy, you tell the tear-stained you in the mirror.  You grin, imaging yourself saying that to an older Valentina one day; but even that small comfort is ripped from you as you realize with sadness that it may not be your place.  No.  Frankie will meet someone, it’s inevitable.  He’s sweet, smart, funny and kind, and stupidly gorgeous – one day, there will be a woman who captures his heart and then you’ll have to give up your friendship for fear of succumbing to a broken heart.

Wiping away your tears and cleaning up the best you can, you tell mirror you to get it together.  It’s your son’s birthday – today is about him and not your pathetic pining over his best friend’s father.  The comically accusatory look you give yourself galvanizes you enough to exit the bathroom, and you walk back to the kitchen ready to finish your chores and check in on the party.  Instead, you find the object of all your desires and the source of your current distress waiting for you in the kitchen.

---

Frankie’s sweating – the BBQ is hot and the party guests are gobbling up everything he cooks before he even has a chance to put more on the grill.  As sweltering as it is, he’s very glad to play grill master if it means one less thing for you to have to do.  He’s spent most of the party watching you juggle your multiple roles with hurried grace: mom, party host, snack fetcher, drink refiller, clean-up crew, boo-boo fixer.  When he saw you bravely dive into the ball pit to help a child find her lost shoe, he had grinned to himself so goofily he almost burned the chicken wings. He didn’t think he could be more hopelessly in love with you, but he should have known you would prove him wrong, as you often did with matters of his heart.  The only downside to being stationed at the BBQ is that he hasn’t spent any time with you today.  He thinks he saw you duck back into the house with a stack of dirty dishes – have you eaten today?  He closes up the grill and does a quick check on Valentina and Raynor before plating you some food and heading in.

He's just been standing in the kitchen wondering where you were for a few minutes when you emerge looking a bit off coloured and somewhat startled to see him.

In what has now practically become second nature, Frankie forces his body to ignore the near constant urge to reach out to you – his immediate impulse being to hold you close and stroke your face with his fingers to soothe and comfort you.  You wouldn’t want that, though. 

Instead, he shows his concern another way; holding out the plate of food in front of him, he looks at you with some tenderness, “Have you eaten, Shortcake?”

Heart racing upon hearing this long lost term of endearment, you’re too stunned speak, able only to silently shake your head in response.

Frankie knows that you’ll come up with some excuse to put your needs behind that of the party goers, so he puts the plate down on and guides you to sit before you can do so, “You have to eat.  I’ll keep an eye out on things from here.”

Admittedly, you’re starving and the food Frankie’s brought you smells mouth watering good; with a small nod of thanks, you acquiesce.  For several minutes there’s a comfortable silence while you eat and Frankie looks out the window to keep watch on the party.  Between bites, you gaze adoringly at the handsome profile of the sweet man before you - he knew you hadn’t eaten and he came to take care of you, feed you with food he cooked himself.  Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness and quietly you say, “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

Frankie looks back at you.  He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, “I didn’t think I should.  Not in front of the other parents.”

You nod, understanding, “I guess it would be rather embarrassing to have to explain.” 

Brows furrowing, Frankie looks at you for a beat before turning to face you fully, trying to keep his voice even, “I want you to know, I would never tell anyone about the club… please know, I’m not embarrassed by it and I don’t think you should be either… not saying you are, just that you don’t have any reason to be… but some people can be weird and judgemental about that kind of thing… I want you to rest assured that I won’t ever put you in a position like that.”

It’s the first time since the start of the school year that Frankie’s acknowledged how the two of you met or even mentioned the club – it never occurred to you that his avoidance of the topic was to protect you.  For the billionth time since you met him, you’re touched by the considerate nature of this man, “Thank you, Frankie.  I wasn’t worried that you would, but I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Always, Shortcake.”

The two of you exchange a soft smile, not unlike the ones you used to share back at The Midnight Palace, as if you’re each thinking back to your time together there.  Afraid of becoming too wistful, Frankie jokes lamely, “Plus, I would be outing myself as a loser who has to pay a beautiful woman to talk to me every two weeks.”

Even if he’s saying it like a joke, there’s an undercurrent of melancholy to Frankie’s tone that you don’t understand – but you try to reassure him anyways, “No, no - don’t say that, Frankie.  I could never think you’re a loser.  And it was never about the money for me – I wanted to talk to you, really.”

Lifting his cap and running his hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck, Frankie chuckles softly, “Ok, thanks… that’s good to hear.”

It strikes you that he may be looking for some similar reassurance that you won’t “out” him, the way he had assured you, “And same here.  I would never share that about you.  You’re right, you never know how people might react to that kind of thing.  I look back at the time we spend together so fondly and I’m so very appreciative of how well you treated me… I could never forgive myself if how we met somehow caused you any problems, or got in the way of anything you wanted.  So, please don’t worry about me telling anyone either.”

Your wording choice seems a bit odd to Frankie, but still, his heart perks up a little to hear you say that your memories of your time together at the club are pleasant, and he simply says, “Ok, thank you.”

You didn’t realize that having this unspoken thing between you and Frankie had been like an albatross around your neck, but suddenly you feel a lot happier and cheery.  Having finished your food, you clean up after yourself and head to the fridge, chirping, “Do you mind helping me with the cake?”

You know Frankie’s answer without even seeing him nod; this generous man has never turned down an opportunity to help you.  When you place the cake in front of him, he beams, “Oooh!  Strawberry shortcake!  My favourite.”

Smiling, you say somewhat shyly, “I remember.”  Your mind immediately travels back to sitting in Frankie’s lap, scantily clad, the very glitter gel that inspired him to tell you this fact about himself spread generously over the ample curve of your breasts.  Frankie’s mind goes straight to the same memory and his face reddens.

Practically stuttering, you try to explain, “… but that’s not why I made it!  Raynor requested the cake!”

Your flustering doing nothing but endearing you to him further, Frankie can’t help but tease, “Sure, sure.”

You swat at his arm, playfully, “He did!”

Grinning, Frankie lets you off the hook, “Okay, okay - lil’ dude has good taste in cake then.”

And though your heart is still far from healed, this is the best you’ve ever felt around Frankie, so reminiscent of how he and you would flirt and tease back when you first met, easy laughter always coming naturally to the two of you.  You smile gratefully at him and pretend not to notice when he steals two strawberries off the top of the cake while you go to get the candles.

---

“Hey, come look.”  Frankie calls to you softly from the kitchen doorway that leads to the living room.  Putting down the containers of leftover food you were trying to fit into the fridge, you wander over to be greeted by the sight of Raynor and Valentina completely passed out on the couch.

A smile comes over your face when you hear their peaceful snores and you whisper to Frankie, “Can I admit something to you?  It’s been ages since Raynor dropped his nap, but sometimes I really miss it.”

“Oh, I know.  Sometimes I want to say to Valentina that she might be willing to give up naps, but I never agreed to forgo MY nap.”  The two of you chuckle heartily. 

If it were Friday or Saturday, you would offer to let them sleep and then stay up for a late sleepover, but tomorrow is the start of the school week, “What do you say we let them sleep for… an hour?  Enough to burn off today’s sugar, but not too long to ruin bedtime?”

“Sounds good.  I can help you clean up.”

You try to protest, Frankie has already helped so much with the party today, “Oh!  Don’t feel like you need to at all!  You’ve already helped me so much today, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.  You really can just put on some TV or something.  Sit and relax, I’ll bring you a drink.”

Frankie cocks his eyebrow at you, and it takes you a minute to realize the humour in you offering to serve him a drink.

“No!  That’s not what I was… shut up!” you laugh, spinning to return to the kitchen with Frankie following, snickering.

The two of you in good moods start to do the dishes, you washing and him drying – him knowing where to put things away, having done this with you many times over the last several months.  It’s quiet and comfortable.  You hum to yourself a little, and while you seem content – the party having gone off without a hitch, Frankie can’t help but remember the sad look on your face from when he had come into the kitchen earlier to bring you food.  He could have sworn you had been crying.

“You had an okay day, Shortcake?”

You nod, “Just a little tired, maybe?  But it was so worth it.  The kids all had so much fun!”

It was just like you to put others before yourself, Frankie thinks; he finds it to be one of your sweetest traits, but wishes you would take care of yourself too.  Maybe let someone take care of you.  He tries to push down the plea from his heart that wishes he could be that someone.

He’d like to think he’s gotten rather good at reading you after all this time together and is sure that there’s something still bothering you.  While he dries the dishes, he thinks back to your conversation earlier; it had a been a long time coming and he’s glad the two of you finally ripped the band aid off the one topic you never seemed to talk about.  He didn’t know how heavily your opinion of the time you shared in the private room mattered to him until he heard you say that you looked back upon it fondly.  Upon him fondly.  That you hadn’t thought him a total creep.  He had felt a weight lifted off him immediately, and in truth, a little hope started to burrow into his heart that maybe that time had meant something to you the way it did him.  He suddenly recalls something you said that he remembers puzzling over, but hadn’t asked you about at the time.

“What did you mean earlier when you said you didn’t want how we met to ‘get in the way’?  Get in the way of what?  You said something I wanted.”

“Oh,” you look down, embarrassed at the tears that are starting to form at just the thought of Frankie dating, “I just meant… like you said, sometimes people get weird and judgmental about strip clubs… and if you were interested in someone… like that girl, Amanda?  I wouldn’t… I mean…”  You’re tripping over your words.  The last thing you want to talk about is Frankie being interested in someone else, the whole concept feels like a vice around your heart.  “… you shouldn’t be judged for something like how you and I met before they get a chance to know you.  You’re so sweet and respectful, and just kind and such a good father… but… I… any girl would be lucky to date you.  And I would never want to get in the way of that,” you finish lamely.

“Is that what you want, hermosa?” Frankie takes a step forward, causing you to look up.

There’s a look in Frankie’s eye that you haven’t seen before.  No, wait – that isn’t exactly true.  You’ve seen it before but on Francisco’s face.  It was the expression he had sometimes when you would just look at each other, no words exchanged – one filled with longing and desperation.

“You want me to date other girls?” he practically spits out the words, as if they don’t belong anywhere near his mouth.

You don’t know how to answer, except honestly. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say quietly.

Frankie looks at your fallen face and thinks he might have to walk back his earlier self assessment that he knows how to read you.  You seemed sad, disappointed – but why?  A big part of him just wants to comfort you and make you feel better, regardless of the cause of your unhappiness; but another part of him, the part where hope had been planted earlier and is starting to grow at a rapid pace, watered by the mere idea that you might care at all who he dated, has to know if you feel something for him.  His selfishness wins out and he decides to go for broke, “It matters to me what you want.”

Your eyes soften at this declaration, and the downturn of your mouth rights itself slightly into a quizzical ‘O’, but still you say nothing so Frankie presses on.

“It matters because I’ve thought about you every single day since I met you.  The whole summer, all I thought about your sweet laugh and the way you always smiled at me like what I was saying mattered to you.  And how those pretty eyes of yours would light up every time you said something you already knew was really funny and you were just waiting to see if I would catch on and laugh.  I thought about what it would be like to take you out, court you, treat you like you deserve.  Hold you without a time limit,” the look Frankie gives you at this confession is of both despair and relief, as a dam has broken and now nothing can stop his words from overflowing. 

“And since that first day of school when I found you again, I’ve only thought of you more.  I think of the way you’re so full of patience and compassion, and that your son is so kind and considerate because of you.  And that my daughter and I are so lucky to have you both in our lives.  I think about how Valentina told you once that she liked those cheese biscuits you made, and now every time you bring her a snack, there’s always at least one included.  I think about how you always take of others and how everyone around you is happier for being in your presence.  I think about how I want to take care of you too.  I think about how I used to think you were beautiful in that club, but now you blow me away time I see you at school, or in the park, or when we’re just hanging out with the kids.  I think the way you look in the kitchen on those mornings when it’s just you and me before the kids wake up is the most gorgeous a person has ever looked.  It makes me think about how much I wish I was waking up next to you instead of just meeting you in the kitchen.  I think about what it would be like to fall asleep holding you.  I think about making you feel good, the way you deserve to feel good.  I think about what it would be like to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”  You’ve never heard Frankie talk like this before and your breath hitches in your throat – this is everything and more that you’ve always dreamed of hearing him say; you’re afraid to interrupt, for fear he might say it’s a mistake and take it all back.

Frankie seems to collect himself, calming, “Did you know the night I went to the club and you were gone, I was going to ask you out?”  You shake your head, you didn’t know – you had harboured your own hopes, of course, that you and Francisco might see each other outside of the club, but the possibility seemed so slim and laughable, you had never even spoken them out loud.

“The guys finally hyped me enough to convince me you might say yes.  I wasn’t sure, you know?  I only saw you every two weeks, and I thought I was probably making more of our time together than it really was… it would have been perfectly within your rights if you were… just doing your job, you know?” Frankie is miserable at the thought.  In truth, he still harbours this insecurity – since the two of you have reconnected, you haven’t given him any indication that you had thought him as more than just some patron you had to entertain every two weeks.  Then again, the two of you never spoke of the time at the club at all; he had worried that this was a sent message in and of itself.  Moreover, you haven’t said anything since he started his confession and he’s starting to think he might just be humiliating himself and ruining your friendship at the same time.

You shake your head violently.  No, no, no.  This won’t do at all! You really don’t know how Frankie could have ever thought that, but then again, you had thought he was ashamed of your time together – you can’t let another minute go by without him knowing how you felt, how he made you feel, “No, please, Frankie – don’t ever think that please.  It wasn’t my job – I never went to the room with anyone but you.  I never wanted to go with anyone but you.  I only wanted you.  I looked forward to out time together and every two weeks never felt like enough.  You were so sweet and respectful, and you made me feel so perfect and desired, and so very cherished.  I wanted you more than you know, Frankie.  Everything that happened in that room, everything I said, everything we did – I loved it all.  It was real to me.”

“Yeah?”  Frankie’s feels hope he’s never felt before when he sees you smile and nod, “When you weren’t there, I was so confused.  You didn’t say goodbye, so I didn’t know if something had happened to you, or if you were sick, or… I don’t know.  Then I realized, you didn’t owe me a goodbye – I was just some guy whose lap you sat in…”

“Oh baby,” you reach out to touch his face.  Baby.  Frankie closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“I’m so sorry!  I wanted to leave you a message, but I… didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t know what was okay to ask from you.  Maybe I was just a girl who sat in your lap, you know?”

Eyes still closed, Frankie nuzzles deeper into your palm, “No, hermosa… you weren’t.  You’re so much more than that.  You’re everything to me.”

Tears now prick at the corners of your eyes for a much happier reason and you cup Frankie’s face fully in your hands and soothe him by scratching his scruff, hoping he’ll recall the affectionate gesture as you say sincerely, “I would have said yes.”

“Hmmm?” Frankie revels in the feel of your soft strokes on his face – this simple but loving gesture taking him back to the club when he had you to himself, when his want for you always simmered close to the surface but where he wasn’t allowed to let it boil over.  But he’s not at the club now.

Smiling wide, your heart bursts with joy and affection for this sweet man in front of you that you’ve wanted for so long - you never want him to be unsure of your feelings for him ever again, “I would have said yes, if you had asked me out.”

“Yeah?”  Finally allowing himself to believe that you return his affections, that you’ve always felt the same for him as he did you, Frankie opens his eyes and allows his grin to overtake his face.

He’s so cute and boyish when he smiles like this – you spy that cute dimple making its appearance again and you beam back, “Yeah.”

Happy emotions spilling over, Frankie breathes out the question that he’s wished to ask since the first night he laid eyes on you, “Can I touch you, Shortcake?”    

Voice husky and so full of need you’re practically vibrating, you nod with conviction, “Yes please, Francisco.”

Upon hearing his full name roll so sweetly off your tongue, the only name you ever called him back at the club, Frankie closes the remaining distance and is on you in an instant - lips crashing to yours with a force that nearly knocks you off your feet.  His hands immediately encircle your waist to catch you just as you throw your arms around his neck and pull him close. 

It’s another first kiss of sorts, this one needy and expressive and full of emotions previously thought unrequited.  You kiss Frankie like you can’t quite believe you are, part of you still can’t - by some miracle of a second chance, he’s here: Francisco is here and he’s real.  And he’s also Frankie, who knows you in the real world and still wants you.  The very thought makes you dizzy and you take off his worn cap so you can thread your fingers through his soft curls for something to ground yourself.

Your mouths clash and tangle, every brush of your lips is frenzied, desperate, greedy.  Frankie urges you to open your mouth to his and when you welcome him, he licks in, over and over, exploring and claiming every soft moan you emit as his own.  His tongue slides alongside yours reassuringly and lets itself be captured by your teeth; you teasingly tug and suck on the muscle before letting it invade your mouth once more. 

You’ve dreamt about your and Francisco’s first kiss a hundred times, but this, this first kiss with Frankie is something for the books.  He can touch you – his hands won’t stop touching you and it makes your entire body sing.  Frankie cradles you head in his big hands and lightly tugs your hair back so that you arch into to him.  Once he’s satisfied, his hands roam your back, stroking up and down your spine with that just right pressure that toes the line between relaxing and electrifying; you want to melt into his touch and let him caress you with this type of reverence everywhere.  Then when his hands wander down over the plush globes of your ass with feather light touches, you giggle from the ticklish feel only to dissolve into a puddle when he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and kneads – his hands so big that the tips of his fingers nearly graze the core of you that’s already warm and clenching just from all this kissing.  And throughout all this touching, as if to make up for lost time, Frankie never stops kissing you.  He kisses you like he’s been starving for your touch, because he has – and now that he’s been given the go ahead to satiate his hunger, he positively devours you.  You think you might pass out from the way Frankie kisses.

As he continues to overwhelm your senses, Frankie slowly walks you backwards towards the dining table and helps you hop on top; without being asked, you spread your legs to accommodate his width as he presses himself against your centre; unable to help from grinding against him, you’re sure Frankie can feel how wet you are through your leggings.  You lean back, putting yourself on display and he takes the invitation readily, kissing down your neck sensually and teasing you slowly - a marked contrast from how greedy he’s been with your mouth.  First, he lets loose breathy groans by your ear right before lightly nibbling your earlobe and leaving you shivering.  Then, Frankie places fluttering kisses that alternate with the nuzzling from his strong nose below your ear; the subsequent transition to open mouth kisses, all nips and sucks, down your neck that ending in the laving of his tongue across your collar bones has you gasping for air.

Lightheaded and giddy, all you can do is take and whimper words of praise that have Frankie moaning against your skin:

“Oh god, Frankie, that feels so good.”

“Fuck, baby, right there… yes, oh god, right there.”

“Never stop, please.  Please, Francisco, I’ve wanted this for so long, I – OH!”

Frankie’s hands have found your chest, groping and palming – somehow managing to zero in on your nipples even through the layers of your shirt and lingerie.  He pinches and twists, tugs and rolls as you throw your head back and positively whine.  Chuckling into the sweet spot at the bottom of your neck, he murmurs, “Can’t wait to see you in some slutty lacy thing again, Shortcake.”

You’re practically bucking into him now - wet and throbbing, all the build up to this moment has the waves of your desire and arousal cresting shamefully quick; you’re starting to feel the telltale coil below your belly tighten when you realize with a start - “Frankie!  We can’t!  The children!”

Frankie looks like he wants to say something else as he pauses in his efforts, but he stops and presses his forehead to yours, panting, “Right, the children.”  And mutters something about how this might be worse than the no touching rule.

You giggle. 

Looking at you with a mixture of unadulterated joy and devotion, Frankie finally asks, months in the making, “Next weekend when Valentina’s at her mom’s, can I take you out, Shortcake?  Like a real date?  Dinner?”

Shyly, you nod, “It’s a date, Francisco.” And you press your lips hard to the giant grin that spreads across Frankie’s face, catching a glimpse of that dimple you love so much before closing your eyes and sighing in happiness.

---

*Bzzzz*Bzzzz*

“Hey Frankie!” Already laying into bed, you answer your phone - giddy when you see the caller ID.

“Hey Shortcake.”  You can hear Frankie’s smile.

“I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, baby.”

“Did everything go okay with bedtime?”

“Uhhhhhhhh….”

“Same here.  Valentina fought sleep like it was her job.”

“Raynor tried to bribe me with a ‘it’s my birthday’.”

“Little devils,” Frankie chuckles good naturedly, unable to hide his affection for your children.

“Totally.  We can’t ever let them gang up on us!  It would be the end, I fear.”

“Can’t be the end, baby.  It’s only the beginning for us.”

“I’m so excited for our date, Frankie.”

“Me, too hermosa.  I’m going to wine and dine you like you deserve.”

“What about the other thing you said you wanted to do, Francisco?” You’re feeling cheeky.

“The other thing?”

“Something about making me scream your name?”

Immediately, he’s stuttering, “Oh… fuck, sorry.  I- that was out of line.  I promise, I don’t expect anything like that…”

“Frankie.”

“I would never put any pressure on you for sex or for anythin-“

“Frankie.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you might like to make me scream your name right now?” Suddenly shy, you cover your face even though Frankie can’t see you.

His head spins, “Wh- oh, fuck.  Yes, baby.”

Your voice breathy and low, “You want to know what I’m wearing, Francisco?”

“More than anything.”

“I’m wearing that black lacy bra and panty set from the club,” you had put it on after getting ready for bed, inspired to set the mood for a solo session starring Frankie, but then he had called.

“The one from our last night together?”

“Mmmmhmmmm…. Do you remember, baby?”

Frankie groans, picturing you and the lace set so perfectly in his mind, “Remember? I can’t get the image out of my mind.  You know what it felt like to see you at school everyday in your pretty work clothes and know that underneath is the sexiest, hottest body I’ve ever seen?”

“Tell me what you liked about it, please.”

“So polite, baby.  Such a good girl.”

You actually whimper.  “Thank you, Frankie.”

“Love your pretty mouth, Shortcake.  And love how that pretty lace sits on those curves of yours.  Your ass bouncing just right, peeking out below the fabric.  Love how those gorgeous tits of yours look, ready to spill over the tops of your bra.”

“Ohhh… Frankie baby.  If we were back in that room and you could touch me, what would you do to me?”

“Holy shit, hermosa.  So many things…”

“Tell me, please.”

“First I’d ask you to dance and touch yourself like you did the last time, but over your bra.”

“Nghhh-huhhhh.”  You feel a warmth spread over your skin, remembering how sexy and desired Francisco always made you feel.

“Are you touching yourself right now, baby?”

Fingers tingling from just his voice, you run your hands over your breasts, softly rubbing and massaging, imagining your small hands are his. “Yes, Frankie.”

“Good girl, baby.  Feel those pretty tits for me, ‘kay?  I want you to grab them, be a little rough with them.”

“Oh god, yes…”

“How do they feel, hermosa?”

“The lace is smooth but the edges tickle my fingers.  My tits feel so soft and full, but Francisco, baby… they’re aching for you.”

“I’m right here, Shortcake. Hook those little fingers of yours in your bra and think about me pulling those lace cups down and playing with your pretty nipples when they pop out.”

“Please, yes… daddy.”  The honorific just falls from your mouth, wrapped around a soft moan that emanates from the very chest you’ve now uncovered.  Yes, he may be a dad, but right now, as you arch your tits up towards the ceiling towards his imagined touch, Frankie is also your daddy.

No one has ever called him that before, but fuck if Frankie’s dick didn’t just twitch.  “Oh fuck, baby… Daddy’s going to take real good care of you.”

“Feels so good… they’re so hard for you.”

“If I we were at the club, I’d roll them in between my fingers, pinching and pulling on them until you cried out, hermosa.”

You tug a little harder on your nipples at his words, before letting them drop, letting your breasts jiggle, “It hurts… but it hurts so good, daddy.”

“Let daddy kiss it better, Shortcake.  You’ll feel even better when I suck on your pretty tits, baby, don’t you think?”

“Ohhhh goddddd, yes please, daddy.  Want you sucking on my nipples and flicking them with your tongue.”

“Holy sh-.  Run your thumbs over them gently, ‘kay?  I wanna suck on those pretty peaks until you cry.  I still remember them from that night, so perky and pointy.  Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Francisco.  I love being your pretty girl.”

“You are my pretty girl.  Tell me what my pretty girl wants now.”

“I wish you were here to touch me, baby.” Your voice comes out needy, bratty.

“Need your words, hermosa.  Where?  Tell me where you want my fingers and daddy will give you what you want.”

“My pussy, please.  I want you to touch my cunt, daddy.”

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth on you, baby.”

“I’m going to keep my lips and tongue on those gorgeous tits of yours and start to drag my hands down your sexy body.  Think I’ll take my time tickling your stomach and hips.”

“Then when you’re squirming and begging for more, that’s when I’ll dip my hand down the front of those lacy black panties.”

You follow the guidance of his words and goosebumps rise on your skin in the wake of everywhere you drag your fingers.  “Ohhhhh... baby.  You’re making feel so good.  I’m so wet, Francisco.”

“Want you to tell me, baby - are you touching that pussy the way you want to be touched?”

“Yes, daddy.  I’m petting my pussy so slow and gentle and I love it, but I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“I know, Shortcake, and I’m not going be.  Waited too long for this to be gentle.  Tell daddy how wet you are.”

“I’m so wet, daddy – I’ve soaked through these panties and I’m dripping out of my needy hole.” 

“Can you hear how I’m spreading it everywhere, even all over my swollen clit?”

“Holy fucking shit, Shortcake, the mouth on you.”

“I’m your dirty girl, Francisco.  My dirty mouth is all yours.  Wish I could take your cock in this mouth.”

“Jesus.  Baby, I’m supposed to be making you scream, not the other way around.  Slip a finger into that slutty little cunt for me, hermosa.”

“Ohhhh god yes, baby, I’m tight.  My pussy is hugging my finger so close.  Wish it was yours.”

“Oh, Shortcake, if you wanted it to be me, you would need to add a finger or two.”

You hiss at the stretch, “Gahhhhhhh – oh fuck, Frankie! It’s too much.”

“How many, baby?  How many did you add while you were thinking of my thick fingers?”

“Two more, daddy.  It’s too much, please.”  Whining now, you feel stuffed and full, the slight sting turning you on even more and a fresh wave of arousal coats your hand.

“No, don’t take them out.  Need you to stretch out your pretty hole for me.”  Frankie’s tone is dark and stern, and it makes you clench down on your slippery fingers.

“Uhhhh... Fuckkk.  Francisco, I can take it.  Please.” 

“Baby, your fingers are no match for this dick.  This dick is going to ruin you.” 

“I can feel my pussy gushing and dripping down my wrist.”

“If we were back in the club, I’d take your hand and lick those fingers until you were clean.”

“Frankie.  Mhhmmmhhhhmhhh.”  You make sure Frankie can hear you stuff you glistening fingers in your mouth and every single slurping and smacking noise you make as you lick them clean of your own juices.

“So fucking dirty.  Fuck, I’m so hard for you baby.  Need to get you ready so I can feed you my cock.  You want that, Shortcake?”

“Yes, oh yes please daddy.  All I ever wanted back in the club was to sink down on your thick cock.  Wanted you to fuck me till I was cock drunk and dumb.”

“I’ll give you everything you want, baby but we have to prep that greedy cunt of yours, okay?  If you want my cock, put three fingers back in baby.”

“So big, daddy.”  Sighing, you ease your wet fingers back in; the squelching sound of your fingers sliding through your slick makes you quiver with anticipation.

“Do you know now much I wanted to taste you when we were in the club?”

“Oh god, Francisco.  Please.”

“Wanted to run my tongue over that pussy of yours.  I knew it would be the prettiest pussy I ever saw.”

“Your pussy, baby.  This pussy is only yours.”  You sigh at the simple truth of your words as you work your fingers in and out of your cunt, pretending they’re Frankie’s.

“You still have my pussy stuffed full of your fingers, Shortcake?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.  Now use your other hand to rub your little clit and pretend it’s me stroking it with my tongue.”

“Uhhhhhhh, nghhhh, fuckkkkkkk, Frankie… your tongue feels so good against my slippery clit.  Are you touching yourself, baby?”

“Got my cock out the minute you told me you were wearing that same slutty lingerie you wore at the club, hermosa.”

“Did you like what I wore at the club, Francisco?”

“Hell yes, sweetheart.  Everything you wore made me so hard.  You made me so fucking hard.  Made me want to rip those skimpy outfits off of you with my teeth.”

“I wish you did.  Wish you were here to do that right now.”  You look down and see your tits, having spilled over the band of your bra, bouncing while both of your hands are stuffed in your panties, and you visualize looking down past your feet and seeing Frankie’s gaze upon you with his big dick in his meaty hand, “Stroke yourself for me, daddy.”

“Stroking my cock right now, imagining what it would feel like in your tight little pussy, Shortcake.”  His hands glide over his length, throbbing just from thinking about the way you’re stretching out your cunt so that you can take him.

“Wanna feel your thick cock in my pussy, Francisco.  Can’t wait for you to ruin me.”

“Going to wreck that little hole of yours, hermosa.”

“Need you so bad, daddy.  Can you hear how wet you’re making me?  I’m going to come so soon.”  The wet sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy fill your bedroom - an obscene percussive beat to the song of your moans and cries; your arousal leaking down your ass and making a mess of your sheets underneath.  Frankie can hear it all and your whorish symphony urges him thrust into his fist faster to keep up.

“Keep rubbing that clit for me, Shortcake.”

“Wish I could see you, baby.  Wish I could see what your pretty face looks like right now, imagining my fingers curling deep inside that sweet pussy.” 

“Can’t wait until you give me that dripping wet cunt and I show you what I want do to you.”

“Please!! Francisco.  I’m close!  Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I’m going to lick your clit until it’s swollen and puffy then I’m going to suck and nibble it with my teeth until you push my head away.”

“Gonna pound into that pretty pussy until your walls are stretched and bruised.”

“You won’t be able to breath.  I’ll punch every breath out of your lungs.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you scream that this is my pussy.”

“My pussy.”

“To fuck.”

“To ruin.”

“To wreck so no other man will ever be able to fill you the way I do.”

“Fuck you the way that I do.”

“Fuck you stupid like I do.”

“Fuck you until you don’t know your own name.”

“Fuck you until you’re just a cock drunk slut who isn’t good for anything other cock.”

“My cock.”

“Frankieeee! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…. Frankie I’m coming…. I’m coming, daddy, I’m coming!”  You seize and cry out to his name, chanting it over and over like a prayer as your orgasm overtakes all your limbs and you arch off your bed, practically pushing out your fingers from how hard you’re clenching down.

“Ohhhh fuck, hermosa.”  Frankie’s grunts are followed by heavy panting, his uneven breaths as he comes down from his high like music to your ears.

“Daddy, I came so hard.”  You giggle as you wipe your cum covered fingers on your stomach.

“Me too, Shortcake.” You can hear him grinning through the receiver.

“Really?  I made you feel good, Frankie?”  You wish so much that he was next to you right now.

“Always, baby.  You always make me feel good.  The best.”

“Good.  You made me ruin my sheets.”

“And I made you scream my name.”

“Just like you promised.”

“I always keep my promises, Shortcake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I promise I’m always going to take care of you, baby. Never letting you go again.”

“Oh, Frankie… how did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one, hermosa.  My perfect woman, screaming my name while she comes.  I’m living in a dream, I swear.”

“I always come so hard when it’s you, Frankie.  But it’s never been like this.”

“Yeah?  You touch yourself to the thought of me a lot?”

“Yes, daddy.  Always you.”

“I think of you all the time too, hermosa.  Always make such a mess, just like I did tonight.”

“If we were together right now, I would clean you up with my tongue.”

“Fuck… baby, you’re going to make me hard again.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Francisco.”

“That’s what I’m going to make sure of, Shortcake.  You’re always going to have a good time with me.  Going to make sure you come every time.”

“I believe you, daddy.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.  The moment I met you in that club, I knew you would make me feel so good with your hands.  And your tongue.  And your cock.”

“Jesus... Baby, what did I say?  Don’t start what you can’t stop, because if you keep talking like that I’m going to be hard again really soon.”

“Well, I’m still sloppy and wet, daddy.  Ready to scream your name again.”

“You’re a dream, Shortcake.  I’m going to make sure you come harder than you ever have.  Tonight, tomorrow, every day after.”

“Promise, Francisco?”

“Promise.  And I don’t break my promises.”

“Ok, daddy.  Show me what you got.  Just remember, tomorrow is a school day, so we can’t be up too late.”

“I also don’t make promises I know I can’t keep, Shortcake.  Now be a good girl and take off those messy panties.”

Epilogue

Tagging a few people who commented on Part 1 they were interested in Part 2 (thank you! 🥹): @aurorawritestoescape @magpiepills @pastelpinkflowerlife @southernbe @heareball

@mermaidxatxheart @nandan11 @mellymbee @jessthebaker @milla-frenchy

@littlemissoblivious @tuquoquebrute @inept-the-magnificent @posting-my-time

[quietblueriver]

Because I can't imagine Imogen was ready to let that moment in the basement go, some quickly written Southern Gothic angst/love/comfort set between their nighttime excursion and Imogen's visit to the temple the next day. Light spoilers for ep. 77.

-

When the door closes, the sounds of Fearne’s hoofs fading down the hallway, Imogen turns quickly to her pack, doing what she can to look busy as she shuffles clothes and tries to catch her breath. She needs a minute. She needs more than a minute. She needs…

“Imogen.” 

It’s loving and soft, because of course it is, because it’s Laudna, but it’s also…she’s doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesn’t know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement. Promise me. 

As if Laudna wouldn’t burn the world down for her. As if they don’t both know it. 

It’s not the first time she’s dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudna’s life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow just…let Laudna go. Because what? She’s a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobody’s trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudna’s life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesn’t…like Imogen should just be able to…

Her veins crackle, shoulders so tight they rival Ashton’s, and when the sound of Laudna’s boots stepping closer reaches her ears, she says, sharp and unyielding, “Not now.” 

The steps halt immediately, the room quiet aside from the settling fabric of Laudna’s skirt and Imogen’s heaving breath. 

“I’m…I really am sorry, darling.” 

Her body moves before her brain can stop it, eyes bright and anger flaring as she turns fast enough to surprise them both. Laudna is running her eyes up and down Imogen’s body a bit frantically, like she’s working out a puzzle, and it’s not fear, but it’s a close enough cousin that Imogen sees a flash of her daddy, hard eyes turned on Imogen in the barn after one of the foals got out. The shame is enough to temper her, but it means all the rest of it comes up instead: anger, still, but hurt and fear and the deep grief that lingers in the corners of her dreams, in the desperate way she sometimes holds to Laudna. 

“For what?” Her voice breaks, but she shakes her head again as Laudna holds out a hand, so Laudna drops it, fists her skirt nervously instead. “Why are you sorry?”

There’s genuine confusion on her face as she says, “For everything in the basement. I know…I know how it must have seemed, when my form of dread looked so much like her. I know it can’t have been pleasant to watch me lose control that way. Being there just…” 

Imogen holds her hand up, light licking up her fingertips, and Laudna’s words trail off, her eyes caught on the lightning running through Imogen’s scars, worry furrowing her brow. Imogen forces down the impulse to comfort. She’s started this conversation, and she needs to finish it. For the both of them. If she lets herself get close enough to run a thumb over the crease between Laudna’s eyebrows, to hold the hand still playing with the material of her skirt, that’ll be it. So she doesn’t, focuses instead on the memory of Laudna’s hands in hers in that room. Promise me. 

“I’m not mad ‘cause you looked like her, Laud. Or ‘cause you…I know what that place was to you, an’ I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you to be there again. You don’t,” she works to keep the frustration from seeping into her words, “you don’t have to keep apologizin’ for her. You’re not her, Laudna, even though everybody keeps actin’...you keep actin’ like you are.”

She crosses her arms tight across her chest and stares at the floor, blinking hard as her vision blurs with tears. 

“I know I’m not her. I know that, darling.” 

The toes of her boots come into Imogen’s line of sight and she doesn’t tell her to stop but she does back herself up, pressing as hard as she can into the table behind her and wincing slightly as a sharp corner digs into her skin. The boots come no further. 

“Do you? Because it feels like you…” She uncrosses her arms to wipe her palms swiftly across her cheeks. “It feels like you’re just waitin’ on her to take over. Waitin’…” Her voice cracks again, and she grabs behind her, finds the handkerchief sitting beside her pack and brings it to her face. 

“Imogen.”

She shakes her head fiercely, forces a deep breath and then looks up to meet Laudna’s eyes, fist clenched around damp fabric. “Waitin’ to leave.”

Laudna takes half a step forward and stops as Imogen tries to back up further, managing only to dig the corner of the table further into her flesh and guarantee herself a bruise. Laudna’s going to gnaw through her lip, Imogen can already tell, and there’s black pooling at growing nails, ichor waiting to be pulled between nervous fingers. Still, Imogen holds the line, appreciates the distraction of pain, the sturdy wood that won’t yield to her body’s pressure. 

“I don’t want to leave, darling. I don’t want to leave you. I’m not giving up. I promise.” 

Promise me. Her eyes shine, anger forcing its way to the front of her mind again, and Laudna begins to say something, but Imogen beats her to it, words cutting.  

“Oh, do you? Promise? Should I go get Fearne, then? So there’s a witness?”

“Imogen, what…”

“Is it…d’you think I’m so out of line that…or maybe so ridiculous? So naive that…” Her scars burn now, heat across her skin and in the tears pressing against the corners of her eyelids. They continue to leak despite her best efforts, tracking down her cheeks until Imogen brings the yellow fabric of the handkerchief back to her face, letting her eyes slide closed for a moment. 

When she opens them again, Laudna looks stricken, her body fighting its instinct to close the distance between them, frozen in the face of Imogen’s obvious desire for space. 

She presses out through the thickness in her throat, voice rough, “You made me…you made me promise to…in front of Fearne, Laud. Did you…how was that fair? What was I supposed to do, when she was right there? Are you…are you that scared to talk to me about it? You think I’m that…that absurd, that you needed somebody else there to…to keep me in line?” Imogen laughs bitterly, and shrugs. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m standin’ here provin’ your point, yeah?” She ducks her head and stares at the worn leather of her boots, breath shaky as shame heats her face. 

“No. No, of course not. Imogen. That’s not…” 

Darling, can you look at me? Please? 

She does, because Laudna asks her to, but even as their eyes meet, Imogen’s jaw aches as she holds herself together, shuts herself off, refuses to give up any more of herself. She can’t bring herself to deny Laudna’s request, but she doesn’t force herself to vulnerability. Not now. It’s strange, to put up her walls this way with Laudna, but it’s Laudna who has hurt her this time. 

Laudna, whose black eyes are nearly as wide now as they are when she transforms, full of concern and confusion and a love obvious enough that it makes Imogen grind her teeth in resistance. 

“I’m so sorry, Imogen. I didn’t realize…” Her lips are black with ichor and her hands are in constant motion at her sides, strings of black magic expanding and contracting as she fidgets. “I thought it would be…You were…you were so alone, last time. I thought maybe, if you had Fearne, if she knew what I wanted…what I wanted for you…Imogen, I don’t want you to have to carry it alone. Not again. That’s all, darling. I don’t think you’re absurd. Of course I don’t. I wasn’t trying to…to trick you. Or trap you. I would never. Please.” 

The pleading tone makes no dent in the wall Imogen has put up, is nothing in the face of the voice in her mind, reminding her of Laudna’s words in the basement, the look on Fearne’s face. I’m quite literally a dead end. Promise me. 

“Why are you so sure I’ll have to carry it at all? Why are you so sure she’s gonna win?” 

The tears are constant and furious, dripping unchecked down her cheeks, and she hates it, hates feeling this exposed, but she forces herself to keep her head up, to hold Laudna’s gaze. 

“Imogen.” 

The same tone–love, yes, but something far too close to pity for Imogen to let it lie. 

“No. No. I’m not stupid, Laudna. I know what you are. I’ve been in your mind, remember? I’ve seen her there. I’ve known since the day we met that you were different, and I still…I fell in love with you, knowin’ full well what you are and what that means. I’ve seen your form of dread, seen your body split open. 

The curtains on Pate’s house are made from my old shirt. Your hound has laid its drippin’ head on my lap. For fuck’s sake, Laudna, I slept next to your dead body. Your truly dead body. An’ I sleep next to you every night. Have for years and will for as many more years as I’m alive, if I have anythin’ to say about it. 

I love you, want you, all of you, and you know that. I’m not quiet about it. So why do you keep actin’ like I’m gonna wake up one day and be surprised by what you are? Why the fuck do you keep callin’ yourself a dead end?” 

“Because I am one, darling.” It’s sad, and resigned, and there is ichor dripping down her cheeks now, thick tracks left on pale skin. “I don’t want her to win, my love. I don’t. Please believe me. But I have to be realistic. For me. For the both of us.

And Imogen, even if she doesn’t win…

I love you so very deeply. More than I’ve loved anyone or anything in any of my lives. But I am dead. I’m not meant to be here, and you deserve someone who can…who can live, really live, with you. You deserve everything, and I can’t give you that.”

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. The part of her that understands why, understands what Laudna’s been through and the demons that pull at her, whisper to her, the part that drives her almost always, that keeps her soft–it’s gone, lost for the moment to a lifetime’s worth of hurt, of being abandoned or tolerated, never quite good enough for love. 

She aches as she spits out, voice as hard as it ever has been with Laudna, with anyone, “If you don’t wanna be with me, you can just say it. You can just…” She shudders, hardens. “Just stop pretendin’ you’re doin’ this for my sake, alright? It’s insultin’ to the both of us. If you don’t want me, just say so.”  

“Imogen.” 

She can’t do it, not anymore, so she turns to the table behind her, grips the edges as her body shakes. She clenches her jaw until she’s overcome, until a sob escapes, loud and ugly and broken, and then Laudna’s arms are around her waist, cool lips and cool breath against the shell of her ear, “Imogen. Darling. My love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.” 

She turns and buries her face in Laudna’s neck, her own arms wrapped around Laudna’s fragile ribs as tightly as she can manage without hurting her. A hand buries itself in her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as she’s held close. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. Come sit with me? Please?” 

She nods into Laudna’s shoulder, body still shaking, and Laudna hums as she holds her for another minute, pressing kisses to her temple before pulling away just enough to grab Imogen’s hands and lead them both to the bed. They settle across from each other, Laudna holding one of Imogen’s hands between them as she brings the other to Imogen’s face, pressing two fingers gently against her chin until their eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She’s so sincere, so unfailingly honest, and Imogen fights against the urge to duck her head again, ashamed and sheepish. 

“No, Laud. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t…I know you love me and I know you’re tryin’. I do. I’m just…I’m scared. I lost you once and I can’t…I don’t think I can do it again. And sometimes it feels like you think it’s an inevitability, that you’re gonna leave me. That she’s gonna…

And I get it. I do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have her with you, to know she’s there all the time. But to have you ask me to…to let you go? To move on? To be happy? With Fearne right there like it was…What would you say, if I asked you to do that? Could you promise me?” 

Laudna flinches at the thought, her head almost unconsciously shaking in denial. 

“I know I…I know I’ve said some things. About Predathos and Ruidus and what it might take, what I might have to give up. But I hope you know I don’t…I’m not bankin’ on that, Laud. I don’t want it. Especially not now. Not when we…” She brings Laudna’s hand to her mouth and kisses her palm, her wrist, her knuckles. “I want you.” 

Laudna rocks forward, kissing Imogen fiercely, catching her bottom lip with sharp incisors and settling a hand possessively against Imogen’s throat. 

I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you. 

Imogen lets herself be pressed back into the bed, sighs as Laudna trails her mouth across her jawline, bites at the lobe of her ear before making her way down to her collarbones, nipping and soothing with a cold tongue. 

I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you. 

A hand drags at the fabric of her dress, pulling up and up until nails run sharp against the skin of her thighs, fingers moving until a palm presses against her hipbone, holding her down as Laudna’s mouth finds hers again. 

Let me show you, darling. Let me show you how much I want you. Please. 

Later, tucked into the stupidly nice bed, with Imogen’s head resting on her chest, Laudna says, “It’s still difficult for me to believe that you want me. That you’d give up a normal life for me.” Imogen runs her palm over Laudna’s ribs, waits quietly. “Selfishly, I want you to, even though it…it’s not what I want for you. You deserve so much more, so much better than what I can…” Laudna squeezes at Imogen’s arm before she can object, and Imogen snaps her jaw shut. “Thank you, love.” She feels the press of lips against her hair. “I understand why you were angry with me. I…I would be, too, if you tried to tell me to leave you. To live without you. Even if I knew you were doing it for good reasons, as you undoubtedly would be. 

I know you want to be with me, even if I don’t understand why. Even if I worry that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry that I keep trying to take that choice from you. I'm going to try to do better. I promise.

And as for me…I want you, Imogen. I want to be here, with you. And if I’m lucky enough that you want me, too, well. Please believe me when I say I have every intention of trying my hardest to stay.” 

Imogen pushes herself up to kiss the sharp point of her chin, the corner of her mouth. 

“I love you. I wanna live my whole life with you. A stupidly long and real happy life. And anybody who tries to get in the way of that is gonna have a real hard time of it. You hear me?” She’s not talking to Laudna, and they both know it. “I’m gonna fight for you, Laud. And I’ve been told I’m real capable.” 

She kisses her again, and again, until eventually they settle, Laudna’s breath evening out slowly the way it does in sleep, muscle memory stronger than the reality of her undeath. While she sleeps, Imogen plans. She might be capable, but she’s also owed a few favors, knows how to make sure she’s owed a few more. She’s never really prayed before, but she can learn. For Laudna, she can do a whole lot more than that. 

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 15 - Hit me on the head

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Nothing I don't think? Some angst!

Hi again! Sorry a bit of a shorter chapter as the next one is quite long and I'm still fiddling around with the dialogue. Also...sorry for making Peter Q the bad guy...I don't know why that happens often in my fics hehe.

You sat in the car considering your options. Too far to walk home, especially at night by yourself. Too far to walk back to Peter’s – not that you’d want to, anyway. God, no.

You caught yourself replaying the events of what had happened with him and screwed your eyes shut. Not now. Leave that in a box for the time being, concentrate on getting home first.

You tried to pull up a mental map of the area in your mind, but you didn’t really know it well enough beyond the way back to Granny’s place and the fuzzy outline of everything else. You were pretty sure there was a gas station not too far from here that would surely let you call a tow or Wanda, but you weren’t sure of the exact direction it was in, and you didn’t want to set off the wrong way in the dark by yourself.

You got out of the car and popped the hood, trying to use the dim light of the nearby streetlamp to illuminate the inside. You attempted to fiddle with a few things, but the poor visibility and your limited knowledge of engines meant you didn’t get far. Everything ‘looked’ as it should…in the dark at least...so you sighed heavily as you admitted defeat and slumped back inside.

After running through every possibility, including hitchhiking (too murdery) and trying to push Sally a little to see if that nudged the engine (too superheroy), you got out of the car briefly and wandered down the road in both directions to see if you could find any signs of life – but there was only the occasional car in the distance, too far away to notice you, and the sounds of the interstate nearby.

Sally’s digital radio said it was 11pm and you accepted the best option you had was to camp out here for the night, then regroup when the sun came up. You would set off to find the gas station, maybe try flag a passing car to use their phone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all you had.

Fortunately, you had a blanket and old hoody stashed in the trunk, so you splayed across the backseat and attempted to get yourself as comfortable as you could. You kicked off your heels and wrapped yourself up. You laid in the dark, stifling a derisive chuckle as you thought about how ridiculous this all was. Your body already pulsed from the discomfort of your position and the dinner from earlier felt heavy and acidic in your stomach. But you did your best to ignore it all, closing your eyes and hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep.

*

You must’ve somehow drifted off as sometime later you were awoken by something. Your eyes blearily focused as your initial confusion cleared and you grimly remembered where you were. You couldn’t see the car’s clock from this angle, clueless as to what time it was.

You heard a noise, a loud hum that seemed to be getting closer. That must’ve been what woke you.

You sat up, groaning at the stiffness of your limbs as you wiped the condensation from the back passenger window and peered outside – finding nothing but darkness. It was still nighttime, you leaned over the seat and saw on the radio it was a little after midnight.

The humming noise was getting louder and louder, it sounded like a lawn mower…or a chainsaw. You couldn’t make sense of it. It felt familiar but you couldn’t place it in your sleepy haze. Groggily, you pressed your face to the glass as your brain caught up.

You saw it then, the bright light that illuminated the road and Sally as the noise became deafening, and you suddenly understood.

A headlight.

A motorcycle.

The bike came to a sudden stop in front of the car and the noise ceased, causing you to sit up sharply and check the doors were locked. You unsteadily shrank back under the blanket as a figure approached the car. Was that…?

“Sugar?” called the voice as the figure moved around the car, muffled through the window glass but still unmistakeable. “Is that you?”

“B-Bucky?” you croaked in surprise as he came into view, squinting as he shined his phone torch through the windows at you.

Relief flooded you as you saw him lean over and squint as he looked in, his face concerned and confused.

Thank God for that!

But your feeling of respite soured as embarrassment surged. As grateful as you were…why did it have to be him of all people? Even another member of the MC would’ve been fine, although you knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. You were still furious with him, still wounded by his earlier betrayal, and now here you were – intensely vulnerable and desperate for his help. You hated that he would now have this over you, that you had no choice but to lean on him.

But you did have a choice, even if it wasn’t the right one.

He knocked on the window, “Sugar? I was just passing saw Sally parked up. What’s going on? Are you alright? Did you break down?”

You turned away, mortified.

“Sug? Open up. I can help”.

“No…” you said quietly.

“What?”

“No!” you snapped, loud enough for him to hear. “Leave me alone, Bucky. I don’t want your help…”

“Sug…”

“No!” you shouted again, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I said no! I’d rather take my chances by myself”, your voice was shaky.

You knew you were being wholly unreasonable. But you couldn’t help it. After the night you’d had, how tired you were, you simply didn’t have the bandwidth to add him to the mix and ‘owe’ him this favour.

“You’re being ridiculous…this is stubborn even for you,” he chastised, “C’mon. You’re sleeping in your car on the side of a road miles from home, for fuck’s sake. Just open up. And what’s happened to your face…?” He paused, softening as he watched you through the glass, “Look…it’s not safe out here, let me help you”.

You frowned at his admonishment despite knowing he was right. You could go home! Help was right there! You were being a stubborn baby! You were drowning at sea, and someone had thrown you a life preserver!

But why did it have to be that person who found you, of all the 7.9 billion human beings on the planet?

Even in your worked up state you knew full well you were acting insanely, logic was not winning out.

“No! I’m still mad at you, and I’m always gonna be mad at you…” you scoffed childishly.

He exhaled in frustration, pressing his hand against the glass as he looked at you defeatedly. “Sug…”

You turned away from him fully, burying yourself under the blanket and trying to stifle your sobs.

“Okay…” he sighed, “Have it your way”.

You laid perfectly still, keeping your eyes shut and hoping to somehow skip all of this and get straight to morning. After a few minutes you peeked out, but Bucky was gone. You weren’t sure why you felt a faint glimmer of disappointment, as he’d done exactly what you asked him to, but today wasn’t a day of rational emotions. Thankfully, tomorrow would bring a new day. Maybe you’d be a little more sane by then.

Your eyelids weighed heavily as you settled back across the seats, and rest finally came.

[breannasfluff]

“Mr. Hero! Come on!”

“Ravio, it’s freezing out. It’s winter! There’s snow!”

“Yes, but you need to see this!”

Legend stands, hands on his hips, and glares at the merchant. “I have to put on snow clothes.”

“Just boots!” Ravio has a full robe; he’s got no room to talk. 

“I’ll freeze.”

“I’ll walk close to you.”

With an exasperated sigh, the vet goes to pull on his boots. Why he gives into Ravio’s whims is a mystery. Certainly not because he likes him, or anything. 

The nighttime chill is enough to make him lunge for the safety of the house. 

“Oh no,” Ravio says, catching his hand. “Come on, buddy. We don’t have to go far.”

Legend is distracted from escape by the feel of his fingers twining in Ravio’s. If he rubbed his thumb, he could trace the merchant’s knuckle. He doesn’t. 

Ravio pulls him down the slope of the house and up the hill on the other side. He doesn’t let go of the vet’s hand, even when he slips. 

Panting, they both make it to the top. 

“Now look at this!” Ravio drops his hand and throws his arms wide, spinning in a circle. He’s a showman, through and through. 

Legend looks around. The faint moonlight sets the snow glittering. The air holds the unique smell of snow and winter; so hard to pin down. And overhead—

Oh. This is what Ravio wanted him to see. 

The sky is a blanket of stars; more than he normally sees. Maybe the cold of the air makes them more visible. Maybe he just appreciates them more when he’s freezing. 

The merchant moves right up behind him and wraps his arms around Legend, who stiffens. 

“Relax, you’re shivering.” Warm hands wrap over his chilled ones. “Look at it all. Isn’t it amazing?”

It is. Yet somehow, Legend finds himself focusing not on the sky, but on Ravio. His steady breaths against his back. The way his robe pools over their hands, keeping away the chill. 

The vet tilts his head back, resting it on Ravio’s shoulder. The merchant still stares at the stars. It could be a trick of the light, but they seem to reflect the sky. Constellations caught in his eyes, framed by long lashes. A world Legend could get lost in, if only he let himself. 

Ravio looks down, which isn’t very far with Legend’s head on his shoulder. “So? What do you think?” His breath is warm as it brushes the vet’s cheek. 

“It’s…beautiful.” Ravio is beautiful. And amazing, and caring, and charming. Annoying and stubborn in turns. Flawed, yet perfect in the imperfection. 

“I know some stories about the constellations. They were harder to see in Lorule, but we share some common ones. Did you know I chose my name from one of those tales?”

Only…Legend isn’t listening. He tuned out the words and focuses only on the merchant’s lips. Plush and full, pulled into a pretty pout as he realizes the vet isn't listening. 

Maybe it’s the stars glittering overhead. Maybe it’s the winter chill, pushing rational thought from his mind. Maybe Legend wanted this for a long time but never acted. 

Because when Ravio tilts his head closer to ask a question, Legend turns his head as well and captures his lips in a kiss. 

The merchant freezes. 

He’s not letting this stop him. Legend spins in his arms and grabs his shoulders. To keep him from fleeing? To pull him closer?

Then he presses their lips together again, gentler. 

Ravio…softens, molding his lips back. 

When Legend pulls back, the stars are caught in Ravio’s gaze. And maybe they’re caught in the vet’s too, because the merchant says, “I love you.”

This is what the stars must feel like to touch. Uncontainable, yet burning warm. Filled with magic and mystery. Beauty and home, all wrapped up in one. 

Legend leans in for another kiss and forgets about the cold. 

[maddiethedogstories]

The Floor Routine

Inspiration struck Erica while watching the Olympics cuddled up with Mads. Snug in her soggy nighttime diaper and favorite Winnie the Pooh two-piece pajama set, she stared up at her boyfriend. Erica had been living her best life since Mads had agreed to be her boyfriend and caregiver. Only one issue had cropped up.

As time went on, Erica could tell Mads was losing respect for her as an adult. That loss of respect was expected when someone was tasked with changing your messy diapers everyday, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Erica still wanted to be seen as the sexy, intimidating, and mature woman Mads used to see her as, if only just occasionally.

That's where gymnastics came in. In high school, Erica had been a gymnast. However, like with many youthful endeavors, age, injury, time, and resources cut her gymnastic career short. But, the Olympics reminded Erica how strong, powerful, intimidating, and sexy the sport was.

Two days later, Erica stood just inside the door to her nursery, dressed in the sexiest leotard she could find, ready to surprise Mads.

"Are you ready, Daddy?" She called out flirtatiously.

"Yes, baby," Mads responded.

Erica stepped out from behind the door, revealing her sexy body wrapped in spandex that barely covered her naughty bits. Mads looked at her, appreciating the view. Erica grinned as his eyes lingered on her ass.

"Sweetie, you aren't even wearing a pull-up?! You're going to ruin your cute outfit!" Mads said.

Erica could have screamed. She almost did. She resisted though. Tonight, she was a big girl. She wasn't going to throw a tantrum. Instead, she walked up to her boyfriend and grabbed his crotch.

"I'm only worried about needing protection from this!" She said, kissing Mads as she stroked his cock through his pants.

After what Erica deemed an appropriately long make-out session, she pulled away.

"Are you ready to see some of my special skills, Daddy?" Erica asked huskily. Mads just grinned.

"Other than being the world's cutest pamper packer?" He asked, squeezing her mostly exposed ass.

Erica did stomp her foot at that.

"Daaaddddy!"

Mads tussled her hair before saying, "I know, baby, I'm sorry. Let me grab your diaper bag and we can go."

Erica huffed again, but knew from experience there was no getting Mads to go anywhere with her without her diaper bag.

The couple reached their destination in 20 minutes: the Little City Gymnastics Center. Erica led Mads into the building with all of the energy of a toddler dragging their caregiver into a toy store, excited to show off her moves and re-establish herself as a capable woman to her boyfriend.

Once inside, they were greeted by a beautiful, younger woman at the front desk. Her name tag identified her as Sammy. As Erica looked at her, a familiar sensation struck her stomach and bowels. Not concerned, Erica dismissed the feeling as butterflies.

Sammy spoke cheerily, "You must be Erica? You rented out the whole gym for an hour? Come this way, let's get you where you want to go!"

Sammy led the couple down a hallway and into the main gym. A large, springy floor for floor routine was surrounded by various other gymnastics apparatus, pads, and training devices. Erica's eyes went wide as she walked in, and the sensation she was calling butterflies intensified. It was beautiful.

"Here you go, have fun! I'll be in the corner if you need anything," Sammy said, grabbing her cellphone and leaning against a wall.

Erica grabbed Mads hand as she turned and looked at him seductively. "Are you ready to see how much of a 'big girl,' I can be?" She said as she dragged him towards the space for practicing floor routine in the center of the room. Erica didn't even notice her other hand subconsciously rubbing her stomach as she walked.

"Of course, baby," Mads said with a smile.

Erica moved to the center of the floor and prepared for her first move, a standing back flip. She hadn't done one since high school, but she was sure that didn't matter.

Making eye contact with Mads, Erica squatted down, threw her arms back, and launched. The world blurred for a moment before Erica realized she had screwed up.

Erica undershot her landing, leaving her feet splayed out behind her as she belly-flopped into the hard floor. Failing to land wasn't the worst thing to happen though. As she hit the floor, Erica lost control of the cramps she had chalked up to nerves. With a trumpeting sound, her bowels released themselves, forcing Erica to push out a lumpy brown mess into the back of her leotard.

Mads quickly ran to Erica's side, diaper bag in tow. "Oh, baby, did you have a little accident?" He said as he hugged her.

Erica couldn't form words. She just sobbed as she felt her mess squish in her leotard.

With deft hands, Mads quickly undressed and diapered Erica. Sammy also appeared, holding a new, much less sexy, pink leotard that looked suspiciously like an infant's onesie. Mads quickly dressed Erica in that as well.

Staring at Erica, now dressed in the pink onesie with a substantial diaper bulge at her waist, Sammy pressed her finger to her lips.

"You know, sweetie, I don't think this room's for you," she said, grabbing Erica's hand. She led the waddling woman out of the room and into another one, a gym clearly meant for a toddler tumbling class. "This place seems much more your speed!"

Erica blushed as Mads came up from behind her, placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her to go play. "Go on, little one, enjoy your time! Show Daddy what you can do!"

Erica toddled into the middle of the room and released her bladder, soaking her diaper in shame. Standing in the middle of the glorified daycare in a wet diaper and onesie, Erica knew she was precisely where she belonged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my entry for a little, friendly competition with @baby-erica! I may have lost, but she is still the bigger baby.

[danieyells]

i am politely begging for lucas lines 🤲

LUCA MY BELOVED LITTLE BRIT KNIGHT. Luca is a darling but the thing about him is that he's so focused on his goal that he really seems to have no mind for anything else. . .well it's not a problem, but it does make him feel a little distant I guess.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"You're here 10 minutes early—I'm impressed. Let's check the details for today's mission."

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"A letter's arrived for you. It could be important—you'd better open it right away."

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"So this is all we have to go on for the next mission... Don't worry. No matter what anomaly awaits us, I'll keep you safe."

"I haven't trained nearly enough. I need to go on more missions... I have to do more, to find a way to subjugate them..."

bby you're already doing everything you can. . . .

"If you're ever in trouble, you can always come to me. I want to be there for my friends."

"Do I find it tough training every day? Those with strength have a duty to use it for others. I'm perfectly all right."

"I'm sorry. I haven't troubled you again with my thoughtlessness, have I?"

BABY YOU ARE THE MOST THOUGHTFUL MOST OF THE TIME DO NOT EVEN WORRY YOURSELF.

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"{PC}, good morning! An early training session will warm you up for the day. Would you care to join me?"

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I'm sorry, I'm about to head out. A dangerous anomaly is wreaking havoc on campus again, and it's a threat to the general students."

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I invited Kaito to train with me, but he turned me down. Apparently, he's got a lot on his plate, but I'm worried about his lack of strength..."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"There's something I want to investigate a little further… You'll join me? Thank you. You really are very kind."

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Phew... I'm finished with today's revision. Still, it's not quite bedtime. Perhaps I could fit in a casual training session."

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I've heard in Japan it's believed you're more likely to encounter evil spirits at twilight. Let's go find out if it's true."

hey let's go wander out alone at night and see if we can find demons to fight! don't worry tho i'll protect you nbd.

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Kaito invited me to have ramen with him again today. He says it's Tokyo's signature dish."

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Jin has been calling you to his room a lot lately. Is everything okay? If you feel uncomfortable, I'll have a word with him."

let's say she was uncomfortable, what would that resolve? you think jin's gonna listen to you? but lmao it's kinda funny to me that like Ritsu and Luca see Jin putting you to work and go like "hm. that seems concerning." IT'S FINE THO WE'RE INTO IT EVERYTHING'S GOOD.

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"You think everywhere in Frostheim is cold? That's not true—the bedrooms are properly heated, like the cozy spot in front of the fireplace in winter."

everywhere outside of that though, freezing. including the bathrooms. especially the bathrooms.

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"If you're struggling to sleep, the Sandman will come and pay you a visit. That's what one old folktale in the UK says, at least. He must have been some sort of anomaly, too."

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"I'm fond of the morning air. My brother, on the other hand, always said he found the nighttime more relaxing. Which do you prefer?"

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Today in Anomalous Combat I was scolded by Professor Dante for defeating a mock anomaly. I believe I made the right call, so I'm quite confused..."

PAY ATTENTION IN CLASS JESUS CHRIST THEY EXPLAIN THIS IN EVERY SINGLE CLASS THAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO CAPTURE THE ANOMALIES NOT DESTROY THEM. Jesus christ is that what they teach in Emrys?

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"In many ways, Frostheim etiquette is quite different from etiquette in the UK. I wish I could escort you, but I still have a lot to learn myself."

okay consider frostheim etiquette is shitty anyway most of the time so don't even worry about it they're assholes.

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"We still have some time until class starts. Why don't we go and fetch the documents for our next mission from Tohma?"

buddy isn't the main building across campus from Frostheim. . .do we have that kind of time. . . .

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"You need to make sure you eat a proper breakfast. You lose muscle mass if you do things on an empty stomach. That's why I always have biscuits on me."

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"In classes I sometimes notice discrepancies between what is taught at Emrys and what is taught at Darkwick. I wonder which is correct?"

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"You worked hard today. No matter what ordeals await us tomorrow, I trust that you'll both be able to overcome them."

Luca believes in you! So believe in yourself too! You'll make it another day.

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I've heard about the bushido ritual of seppuku. It's a rather extreme way of punishing oneself… It must require a great deal of mental fortitude."

IT'S NOT REALLY. . .A REGULAR WAY OF PUNISHING YOURSELF. . .I MEAN YEAH KILLING YOURSELF WITH RITUAL DISEMBOWLMENT REQUIRES A LOT OF MENTAL FORTITUDE BUT IT'S NOT EXACTLY. . .please keep your insides inside. . . .

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"You should go home and rest, {PC}. I won't allow the Devil's hour to pass tonight without finding some sort of hint..."

i feel like he doesn't find many hints and should worry about sleeping instead. . .what's with ghouls and not sleeping and eating enough. . . .

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"Did you manage to get a good night's sleep? Rest is the best medicine. Don't push yourself to stay up too late, all right?"

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Did you see they've announced what our next test is going to cover, {PC}? I hope your studies are going well. I'm happy to help you with review if you need me to."

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I'm going to have a chat with Professor Hyde about demons before I leave today. You and Kaito should go on ahead."

he's so studious! but i bet hyde wishes he'd y'know live a little.

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Is a "pajama party" some sort of important event? Kaito was insisting that we invite you to one."

please teach this boy to relax a little. . .teach him a little fun social stuff. . . .

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Sometimes I feel out of sorts, like I'm not myself. I still have a lot of training to do."

i think that's called exhaustion and having emotions, buddy. . .you can't train yourself out of that. . . .

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"We have experienced many joys and sorrows together since becoming friends. I'm very glad we met. I look forward to walking the road ahead with you."

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"I saw a lot of flowers in bloom while I was jogging through the campus this morning. It really brightened up my run."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Spring in Japan is quite similar to spring in the UK. The weather gets reassuringly warmer, and the air is filled with the scent of flowers."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Kaito has been nodding off in class a lot recently. I wake him up right away, but I'm still worried he'll fall behind..."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I've never seen cherry blossoms lit up at night before. They looked very different than they do in the daylight. I feel it taught me something about differing viewpoints."

i feel like i learned something! not sure what tho.

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Summer days are long and productive, but in Frostheim the days are short all year round. It's easy to get caught in the dark if you're not careful."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Kaito's going to teach me about Japanese summer again today. This is the first time I've spent the summer with friends— it's been a lot of fun."

;;;; please be a good first friend to him

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"There's a summer festival being held in Hotarubi this evening. I've got a yukata for it… Could you help me put it on?"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"The sun stays up until late at night during summer in the UK, so Japan's dark, sweltering summer nights feel quite odd to me."

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Tohma has been going out on a lot of private errands lately. I wonder where he's been going? You don't think he's doing secret training, do you?"

no sweetie i don't think he's secretly training without you. he's doing important administrative business. don't worry about it.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I like that autumn is considered the season for reading here. I'm reading two books at the moment—this one's in German, and this one's French. Can you read them?"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Tohma just gave us some chestnuts, so Kaito and I are going to try roasting them in the kitchen. Would you like to join us?"

once again the Frostheim Family interactions are strong lolol HERE KIDS HAVE SOME SNACKS. KEEP IT DOWN YOUR FATHER IS TRYING TO SLEEP.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Anomalies are more active in summer in Japan, whereas in the UK, they're more common in the autumn. I suppose Obon and Halloween are to blame there."

obon is in august that is barely summer tbh. i mean some places celebrate it in july i guess. but that's an interesting worldbuilding observation. local spirit and 'monster' related festivities influence the amount of anomalies that spawn in a region. so halloween in america and the uk result in a lot of anomalies. maybe there are lots of love related anomalies and like doves around valentine's day? then again Luca said they don't have them in the UK that he's aware of.

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"{PC}, your hands are red from the cold. Come on, let's run to the classroom. It'll warm you up."

while that is a realistic way of warming up who tf wants to go for a run in the cold. i mean it probably feels good the contrast in heat and cold but also HOW ABOUT WE GO TO THE STORE AND GET SOME MITTENS OR SOMETHING. but it is a very in character response for him lol. . . .

(between 11am and 4pm)

"When Kaito put a satsuma on his head and said, "I'm a New Year's decoration," Tohma fell silent and walked away. I'm confused— was it some sort of spell?"

satsuma are those little mandarins they put on top of kagami-mochi at New Years! if you've seen japanese winter/new years art you may have seen characters with them sat atop their heads while they relax in kotatsu. in the japanese version Kaito says "kagami-mochi" and Luca likely doesn't know what kagami-mochi is, so he thought it was magic.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The sun sets early this time of year. It's easy to feel down when the nights are long, but that's why it's especially important to stick to a routine like an exercise schedule."

Luca wards off his seasonal depression with exercise. good to know.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"On a clear, frosty night, you can see an aurora in the sky above Frostheim. It's very inspiring—like a beacon of hope in the darkness."

His birthday: (March 22nd)

"I suppose today is my birthday. Thank you. If you don't mind, will you join me in praying for my twin brother's safety?"

i gently rag on him for caring about nothing else but. it's clear how much his brother means to him and how worried he is about him, that even his birthday is dedicated to worrying over his wellbeing. idk who or what he prays to, or if it's just a general hoping thing or a 'since i'm in japan i'll make my pleas to japan's gods, in case those entities might have any power to help' type thing, like going to a shrine just because it's what everybody does, but. idk. i hope he can have a nice birthday outside of worrying about his brother. then again, it's hard to enjoy your birthday when you know it's your twin's birthday too and not knowing where they are, i guess.

Your birthday:

"Happy birthday, {PC}. There is a reason you were born into this world, and it's something that should be celebrated."

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. I've heard it's customary to visit a shrine, so I'm planning to invite Kaito to go with me. Would you like to come along?"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Thank you! This is all very new to me. In the UK, it's men who express their gratitude to women on Valentine's Day."

i was gonna say something questioning because i'm american but when i think about it women in relationships with men don't really/aren't expected to give something to their boyfriends/husbands are they. it's much more of a day to give to/do something for your girlfriend. usually the idea of a gift for a man on valentine's day is ~dress sexy for him and have sex with him~ or whatever because other material stuff like stuffed animals and candy and flowers are seen as non-masculine gifts and things men wouldn't like. . .but that's kind of sad to think about. idk i guess i never really thought about it because valentine's day is a day that has no meaning to me. and 'valentine's day is a day men express their gratitude to women' is a very kind perspective on how it seems like people treat valentine's day haha. . . .

White Day: (March 14th)

"Thank you for the chocolate you gave me last month. This is a token of my appreciation. They're Thorntons chocolates— I just received them from back home."

do you think his family sent them and he decided to give you something lovingly sent to him by his family, or that he ordered them for the occasion specifically. . .i think it's sweet either way.

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"How odd... Kaito has been acting peculiar all morning. I wonder if he's coming down with something. Did you notice it, too?"

homie's really been living under a rock huh.

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Is that you under that mask, {PC}? I could just tell. I don't really understand what's so fun about this holiday."

on one hand, maybe if you got him to dress up and go trick-or-treating he'd enjoy it more? on the other hand i feel like he'd be on edge about it. More anomalies around in the UK around halloween, and he'd be so busy thinking about if there are demons around under his nose he wouldn't be able to have fun. . .poor guy probably grew out of halloween early huh.

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Happy Christmas! It's a shame I'm not able to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family this year, but I'm glad that I have all of you now."

you're his family now ;;;;;

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Penny for them? I'm happy to lend an ear if there's something troubling you."

'them' being 'your thoughts' in case you aren't familiar with the expression

(13 affinity and above)

"When deciding on your next move, I do think it's important to think carefully. That said, hesitation can cost lives. Balance is crucial."

boy it ain't that deep i am idle because i am checking emails or something would you relax--

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"I knew you'd be back. If you're prepared to work to overcome this ordeal once again, I will gladly lend you my strength."

THOSE ARE MOST ALL OF HIS VOICELINES he's very. . .focused. it makes him a little repetitive but considering what's happening to bring him here i don't blame him. . . .

Of course finding his brother is important but the poor guy doesn't even see the world around him really, which is kind of sad. . . . On one hand, it's good that he's able to focus on his goals and desires, on the other hand it feels like those things are all he cares about because he feels like he has to and other aspects of life fly by him even if he'd otherwise enjoy them. . . . But even as his affinity goes up it feels like he focuses on so many of the same things. He sees you very much as his family and the first real friends he's ever made, which does lend to a positive relationship, but even then it feels like he keeps you at arm's length and sees you as someone to protect more than a loved one. . .maybe if he can find his brother or find out what happened to him he'll lighten up a little someday. then again given he isn't familiar with things like pajama parties and april fool's day he was probably serious even with his brother around! I assume they're going to be opposite type brothers, where his brother is a very jovial and relaxed person, but Luca is serious and strict. but only time will tell!

[bobattef]

in the shadows.

“You still here miss y/n?” The office security guard lightly tapping on your desk causes you to glance up from your computer.

“Oh hey Lars” you smiled tiredly.

“Yeah just finishing up a few bits then I’ll be out”

He just nods politely as he walks away, continuing on one of his routine walks of the building.

You glance up at the timer ticking above you, a little surprised.

Everyone else had clocked out around the sound of the klaxon that would signal an end of the work day.

But there’s you, some time later still, uploading word vomit into your research files.

You yawn quite loudly as you click save and close down your computer.

Tucking your chair back under the desk like you always would.

You grab your coat off the office peg, checking your communication box for any messages, sighing out loud when there’s no new notifications.

Switching the floors light off, you close the lid of the clocking out machine slowly, adding the extra time up in your head.

It’s so dark in the corridors behind you as you squint your eyes into the now shrouded walkway.

*why does Larsy do his nighttime checks in the dark* you shudder to yourself as you pull a small torch-pen out, pressing the button to help eliminate the way to the main doors.

You hadn’t been working in the TVA vaults for long.

Time definitely worked differently here but you knew you had clocked in and back out again a total of 164 times so must be about 5 months now?

You were working your way up to a promotion at the moment, hence the later clocking out time stamps compared to your associates.

“I’m gone now Lars…Goodnight” you shout out as you walked past the security desk at the front of the building.

You were almost out the main glassed doors before you realised he hadn’t shouted his goodbyes back.

You turn around, staring back at the un manned desk you hadn’t spotted a few moments ago.

“Lars?” You call out as you see his empty chair being illuminated by the many tv screens he had on throughout his shift.

Walking slowly back towards it now, you take a small pocket knife out of your coat, flicking the blade open.

You’ve always carried protection on you, often being laughed at by your work colleagues after being told there was never a threat here at the TVA.

Yet here you were, about to use it on anyone and everyone who would be jumping out on you tonight.

As you step past the opening of the table, you spot a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the chair.

“Lars!!” You almost screech as you drop your knife in panic and rush over to where he was laid on the ground. 

You couldn’t see much in the dim light but he was definitely unconscious, you search for a pulse and feel relief wash over you when you find one.

“Lars…” you gently call out his name.

“Hey…Larsy!” You say louder now as you slightly shake his shoulder.

“He cant answer you” the deep voice from behind causes you to spin round in panic.

Standing before you was a tall man, wearing a dark suit made up of different kinds of green and black shades.

You worked your line of vision upwards for what seemed like ages before setting your eyes on his.

They were looking deeply into yours, like you were prey.

You glance slightly to your left, catching where you had dropped your pocket knife on the ground earlier.

As you lunge towards it, the mysterious man seems to guess your movement and kicks out, your knife goes skimming across the tiled floor.

“Wha…what did you do to…?” You can’t even finish your sentence before he steps closer to you now. Grabbing you by the collar of your work shirt, he pulls you up to your feet with no effort at all.

You struggle against his grasp as you can feel him start to lift you into the air, your feet dangling, trying to find some sort of surface to land on.

He tilts his head slightly as he tries to work you out.

You weren’t wearing the same armour as the security guard that was passed out beneath him. 

You simply looked like an analyst or office book worm of some sort as he runs his eyes over your brown blouse and skirt.

You stop trying to fight him as you can feel his eyes on you, raking your body as you feel your cheeks heat up slightly.

*what is wrong with you* you think internally.

*this..stranger has you by the scruff of the neck, after taking out one of your security guards and the only thing you could think of was how close he was to you, the size of his hands as he held onto you, the darkness that pooled in his eyes as he stared down at you*

“Who are you?” He simply stated as he could see you were having an internal conversation with your self.

“I…I er…” you swallowed as your throat felt dry.

He raised his eyebrows at you stuttering.

“My…name is y/n…” you tell him as he focuses on your lips moving “and er, I’m a strategist” you add on as you start to cough with the restricting hold the man had on your neck.

“A strategist?” He repeated doubtfully.

You had no further words than to nod. You were sure you would either pass out or be sick if you tried to move your voice box.

“Then what’s with the weapon?” The man asked you as you stared back at him confused.

“The knife” he snaps as he can tell you weren’t keeping up with him. 

“Protection” you splutter out as he lowers you down slowly, releasing the tightness round your neck a little. 

“From?” He asked, genuinely as he drops his hands from you completely.

“People taking out my security guards” you reply back as he chuckles at your quick wit.

“What are you even doing here?” The man asks you as he wonders where you came from.

He had scoped the place out a few times yet he’s never had another in this particular building apart from the one security guard.

“What..what are you doing here?” You ask him his own question as he raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Escaping” he smirked as he pointed at you to answer him now. 

“Working” you say to him as if it was the most obvious thing to say.

“At this time….alone?” He asks as his mouth curls up into a half smile.

You just shrug.

Your feelings of being scared of the man were dropping by the minute.

You no longer saw this menacing being as a threat the more he spoke to you.

“Well I’d love to stay and finish this, riveting conversation but…” the sarcasm seems to ooze out of his voice as he starts to walk away from you now.

“What about Lars??” You blurt out.

He turns on the spot “what about him?” He shrugs.

“Is he going to be ok??” The concern in your voice alleviates it slightly.

He sighs out as if you were supposed to fully understand.

“He’ll be fine” he tells you “…its a temporary thing. Just think of it as…dreaming” he smirks.

You look between him and Lars now, you shouldn’t believe a word this man says to you yet you do.

You stand at the desk whilst you watch him stalk down the corridors towards your labs.

Disappearing into the shadows.

You finally manage to regulate your breathing as you grab your pocket knife from the floor and think about how to move Lars into a more comfortable position.

But your heart rate is sent rocketing once more as the TVA alarms blare out through the sound system above you.

Your hands fly up to cover your ears as you rush round to the tv screens.

Scanning the many different rooms they project back for the cause of the alarm.

Sure enough, it’s the mysterious man that was now stood in front of the TVA time pad vault.

The room being lit up under the red flashing lights as the alarm almost mimics the movement of them. 

You press a few buttons on the keyboard that was in front of you.

Sighing out loud as the alarms come to an abrupt stop, leaving behind a slight ringing in your ears.

You weren’t trained as a security guard but you had read the TVA guidebook to almost everything so knew certain access codes or in this case, control codes.

You slump back on the large swivel chair Lars must of sat on before being taken out unexpectedly. 

You didn’t realise you had closed your eyes until you feel them fly open at the voice stood in front of you now.

It was the man again.

This time instead of a cheeky smile on his face, his eyes were narrowed as he frowned.

“Just a strategist hmm?” He snaps at you as you look back at him puzzled.

“How did you disable the security system??” He asks you as you realise what he meant from his comments.

It definitely wasn’t common knowledge how to over ride the alarms and you had known the security guard by his first name.

He steps behind the desk once more as you stay frozen to the chair.

You definitely relaxed around him a few moments ago but now you felt a little scared by the way he was towering over you.

“Please…I erm…I just” your voice waivers as see something glint in the mysterious man’s eye.

He’s lived his life making people afraid of him.

He had great joy knowing others were scared of his presence but when he saw that familiar look of fear in your eyes he didn’t have the normal gloating feeling like before.

This was weird. 

Felt deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Hmm” he mumbled as he leans towards you, shaking off the uncomfortable senses.

Your words have escaped your mouth, you had no thoughts as you didn’t know how to explain anything right now.

“I need you” he simply states as you’re taken a back.

“You do?” You ask him, confused at his choice of words.

He exhales a breath out as he knows he doesn’t have the time to explain anything right now so instead he just grabs you by the arm and marches you both down the dark corridor.

Your little legs struggling to keep up with his larger strides.

“Open it” he barks at you as you stand before the time pad vault.

You furrow your eyebrows at him “what for?”

He looks at you as if you were speaking another language.

He didn’t like the fact he had scared you earlier at the security desk but you were wasting valuable time right now.

He definitely needs your help so must remain calm as to get you to comply but your stupid questions grind on him.

“Open it…please” he presses his lips together on the please, you watch as his jaw clenches.

You stare blankly at him.

Why does he want a vault unlocked of time pads when you can just use yours?

“You’re after a time pad?” You ask him trying to clear up the confusion.

He feels like shaking you out of frustration.

You gulp as you can clearly see you’re annoying him.

“Just use mine…” you quietly say to him pulling it out from your TVA issued coat.

“I…” he goes to tell you once more to open the damned door but as his eyes land on the time pad you had in your outstretched hand he’s silenced.

“You have a time pad??” He almost shouts.

“Yeah” you shrug “all strategists do…it’s what we work on” now it’s your turn to act like he’s speaking another language.

Everyone here knew both hunter pack leaders and strategists held the time pads.

He took the device from your hand a little too quickly.

Tapping away on it at speed whilst you stood there watching him.

He flickers his eyes up to yours.

You avoid his stare awkwardly as his eyes start to lose that look of urgency he had before.

As he was just about to press the button to open up a time jump, the door to the vault room is blown apart, causing you to duck in fright as the debris cloud of dust dances around you.

“Hands up!”

“Stay where you are!” 

“Drop the time pad Loki!!”

The booming voices of 4 hunters are shouting all kinds of directions to you as you freeze in shock.

You go to turn slowly round to face them as they point their time sticks at you, ready to prune.

Just before you’re able to face them fully, you’re pulled backwards by someone, thrown completely off balance you tumble, landing on something or someone with a thud.

You hear the person cough as you open your eyes, realising that you were sprawled across the chest of the mysterious man.

“Loki?!” You cry out as you try to get back on your feet.

You look around in panic to your new surroundings.

It was dark, it was quiet.

“You’re welcome” Loki says to you as he holds onto the side of your hips now.

Trying to regulate his breathing.

But with you pressed up against him, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else.

“You’re the Loki Laufeyson?” You ask the man as you look up at his face in disbelief.

Please don’t say you just helped the god of mischief escape the hunters of the TVA.

“The one and only” he says cockily as he looks down to where your blouse was straining to keep its buttons done up.

You’ve heard of this Loki variant that had been sent to be pruned by the TVA, but in a change of events that no one would talk about, he ended up helping the TVA, working with them to hunt down variants himself.

“Where are we?” you sound panicked again as you can’t seem to work out the place you were stood in.

Loki shrugs as he wasn’t sure what he typed in that device.

“Timepad Loki!” You raise your voice at him in anger.

He bucks his hips upwards as he fumbles trying to grab the time pad that was tucked safely in his back pocket.

The movement causes your cheeks to heat a little as you can definitely feel something underneath your TVA issued skirt.

He goes to hand it over but stops mid way, why were you so annoyed with him, he literally just saved you from the pruning by the TVA.

Reluctantly, he hands it over as you sit up now, each one of your legs straddling his waist.

His eyes widen at the new position you’re both in as your skirt rides up past your thighs but you don’t notice the look on his face as you focus on the time pad. 

The device beeps twice as the light dims away from the cracked screen. 

“No!!” You sounded horrified so Loki looks up at you for answers.

“The batteries gone” You barely whisper out.

With the time pad having no power, there was no way to open up another time jump door, no way to choose a different time line, no way to escape.

“You gave me a dead time pad?!” It’s his turn to sound annoyed.

“Fuck!!” You curse out as Loki looks at you, surprised at the tone of your voice.

“Now what?!” You ask the darkness surrounding you.

You feel Loki twitch under you.

You were so caught up in trying to find an alternative escape route that you didn’t clock the compromising position you were in right now.

Loki leans up on his elbows, edging his face closer to yours.

You hardly get a chance to ask him what he was doing before you feel his lips being pressed against yours.

You don’t seem to have any control as you groan into his mouth, the sound causes him to kiss you harder.

He snakes a hand behind the back of your head, almost holding onto you as his tongue now joins his assault on your mouth.

You feel like you’re going to lose your breath as you’re pulled towards him.

He doesn’t break the kiss, you’ve never had a  man’s lips be on yours with this much urgency. 

Another moan leaving your mouth causes the god of mischief to dig his other hand into the flesh at your hips.

It seems like you don’t want an inch of thought as you start to grind on him, his hardness pressing against the fabric of your skirt.

You feel his hands on you, roaming your body.

The one that was gripping the back of your head so tightly moves down past your chest.

Teasing your hardened nipples that had started to show through your shirt now.

The other hands slip underneath the fabric of your skirt, the feel of his skin on yours causes you to take a deep breath in anticipation.

Just as his fingers started to stroke the now dampened lace of your underwear, you almost jump out of your own skin as you hear the distance shouts of others.

“Fuck! no!!” Loki curses now as he knows he has to stop what he was doing.

You almost froze to the spot, trying to figure out what to do but Loki springs into action.

He lifts you up effortlessly as he stands from the floor, panting slightly from your make out session.

He grabs hold of you under your arm as he starts to run down a corridor, hopefully in the opposite way of the hunters. 

His grip tightens on you as he starts to work out what to do, where to go.

He kicks open another door, shoving you inside.

He steps in after you, whilst slowly shutting the door behind him. 

“Loki…” you drop your voice down quieter to him as he stands in front of you now, his height allowing him to lean over you to press one ear on the metal listening out.

“Not know” he snaps at you. Trying to strain his hearing to reach further.

You go to answer him back but he places a hand over your mouth, stopping you in your tracks.

You hear the footsteps of people run past the door you were hidden behind as your eyes widen in shock at how close you were just now at being found.

You can feel your heart beating against your chest as fear strikes you yet again this evening.

Your eyes search the darkness for the face of Loki.

Still stood just before you, his hand not moving an inch from its grip across your face.

You can almost hear his quicken breaths also, feel his shallow breathing as his whole body is  pressed up against yours.

Your thoughts start running back to what you were doing just a few moments ago.

You lick your lips slightly behind that large hand of his as he tenses slightly, flexing the muscles in his arm that was still pinned one side of your head.

It’s as if he could read your mind as he casts his eyes downwards on you.

You so wish you could see his face.

It was too dark inside this cupboard type place he had chosen to hide you both in.

“We really mustn’t” Loki whispers to you as you look at him puzzled.

You go to say something but the hand over your mouth muffles your words.

“What?” Loki says a little too loudly as he removes his hand now.

“I said…” you hushed at him.

“I didn’t say anything” 

“What?!” He looks at you with confusion.

“Oh for fucks sake” you sigh out.

“Is that all the language you speak in?” Loki tuts at you “…profanities?” 

You glare at him.

Considering your situation right now, the fact that you’re adding a few swear words into your vocabulary surely isn’t the worse part?!

You feel his smile through the kiss he lands on your lips.

He wastes no time to match the same urgent pace he had been kissing you before.

Before you were so rudely interrupted .

The force of him causes your head to hit off the back of the door you were pinned up against.

The noise causing you both to stop for a few seconds before he nips your bottom lip lightly, giving the all clear.

He pushes his knee up to your centre, the sudden pressure there causes you to gasp into his mouth.

Your hands make their way to his hair, wrapping your fingers around a few strands you tug on them.

“Fuck” he rasps, the humming of his voice vibrating on your lips.

Grabbing one your legs under your thigh he lifts it up, you instinctively wrap it around the back of his waist.

Feeling his hardness push up against you where his knee once was, turns something inside you and you find yourself begging him for more. 

“So needy” Loki whispers now as he breaks the kiss.

You’d pout if you could see you.

He chooses this time mocking you, to undo the belt he had on, pulling down on his leathers, his cock throbbing as it strains against the fabric. 

You try to wiggle up your skirt now, it puts up a protest as it clung to the leg that was wrapped around Loki’s waist.

The god of mischief seems to sense your struggle as he drops the hold he still had on your thigh, pulls your skirt up to your waist in one quick moment and then returns his hand to place your leg back to where it was.

His move being lightning quick, you were impressed.

He kisses you once more as he frees his cock, he trails the tip over the lace of your underwear as you unconsciously Buck your hips up towards him. 

He flattens his palm on the door behind you, steadying himself as he pulls your underwear to one side, his fingers tease your folds as you can’t seem to concentrate on the kiss anymore.

Parting your lips slightly, he presses his cock up to your entrance.

Stalling for a moment as if he wanted to make sure you fully wanted this.

“Loki…please” you whine as he leans into you. 

Pushing inside you, his cock being swallowed almost to the base.

He quickly covers your mouth once more with his hand as you moan loudly into his palm.

He knew you would make a sound as he breathes through the urges to come right there and then.

After a few seconds he starts to rock his hips into you, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back, deep inside.

The tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again.

You want to be vocal, you want to tell him just how good he was at fucking you up against this door but you hold your self back.

Imagine being caught this way.

His hand cups your ass as he quickens his pace.

Digging his fingers into your flesh, you know there will be marks left there.

He grunts as he feels your cunt pulsate around him.

You were going to make him come a lot quicker than he had wanted to.

He wants to fuck you forever he thinks to himself  as his movements start to falter.

He tries his best to hold on but the way you were gripping onto him was overwhelming.

It felt like you were made for him and him only as your bodies moulded together inside that small storage cupboard.

You were starting to see stars, you felt Loki’s pace become sloppy as your body was rocked up against that door harder and harder.

You didn’t even care if you were heard now as the sensations you were feeling were too good to even think about stopping.

“Loki….” You whisper out to him as he didn’t even realise he had dropped his hand from your mouth.

He had a hold of both sides of your hips now, holding you in place as he pushed deeper and deeper inside.

He panicked slightly when he thought you had a been a bit too loud so without thinking how you would react, he conjures up his shadows.

The irises of his eyes flashing green as you widen yours in surprise.

‘Is he using his sorcery?’ You think to yourself as you feel a hand move over your mouth once more.

Except this time it was a lot cooler in touch.

The same cool touch you feel trailing down your body, from your neck, across your chest and then down to your most sensitive area.

Your brain working over load as it tried to work out what was happening right now. 

Loki’s hands were definitely on you, gripping onto the curves of your hips as his cock still pumped in and out of you.

But these extra touches were hard to decipher.

Like someone else was in this cupboard with you but it couldn’t be possible.

You go to ask him what was happening, what was causing this weird sensation of being touched by another but your thoughts are cut off when you feel the cooler touch move over your clit.

You jerk against the door as the colder temperatures felt so good rubbing over it.

Loki is in his element as he wishes he could see your face contort in pleasure.

The noises he was hearing, being muffled behind his shadows hand of course, sounded delicious.

You were losing your mind as he put more pressure on your clit as he could feel himself getting closer also.

That familiar feeling starting to knot in your stomach.

The mixture of being fucked so deeply up against that door whilst the pace Loki was moving across your clit was picking up, you weren’t going to last much longer.

You want to scream his name as you come. 

It was increasingly hard not to but you couldn’t, for one the shadow clamping over your face wasn’t letting up plus the situation of still being on the run by those TVA hunters scared you into a more quieter groan as you came around Loki’s cock.

The noises inside that small confinement is something he wants to remember forever as the gushing from you sends him over the edge, falling against the door in exhausted bliss.

You both are panting now as you come down from your highs, the cooler touches of Loki’s shadows have gone. The warmth radiating from the both of you are all you can feel now.

He leans his forehead against yours as his eyes remain closed.

He hopes he hadn’t scared you with his shadow play.

“You good?” He asks you, his voice raspy from trying to catch his breath.

“All good” you finally manage to answer him as your place your leg back on the ground, a little shakily.

“Who?…what was that” you ask him as he gently straightens your skirt from being bunched up at your waist.

He just smiles in the darkness.

“All me” he tells you as he grabs you under the chin.

He places a kiss lightly on your lips now as he feels they were swollen slightly.

“Ha” you breathe out.

You had heard stories circulating your offices of this Loki - God of mischief - having magical powers but you would have never believed those powers were to be used on you in such a way.

“Loki…” you whisper out to the dark at him.

“Mmm?” He replies, still lost in the moment.

“How are we getting out of here” you sounded worried as the cloud you were riding on starts to land back on reality.

“I do believe the coast is clearer the longer we are inside this cupboard” he answers you.

You start to chew your lip with worry as you think.

“We’d just have to bide our time better?” Loki smiles now as he can see you were concerned “I’m sure we can think of something to do whilst waiting?” 

“Only if your shadows come out to play again” you laugh, suddenly feeling safe with the god stood before you.

[gamergerb]

The Night Sky

TW: Possessiveness, coercion, references to abuse and torture.

Written from a prompt from @octarinecat "Write a story that is happening in the middle of the night" Thank you for inspiring me!

Tav woke with a start, eyes snapping open. She was sure something had stirred her, a loud noise, a shout perhaps, but it was lost in the moments between sleep and wakefulness. She yawned and stretched, rolling to her left, feeling for the warmth and bulk of Raphael to cling to. However, her searching hands only found cool silken sheets, void of even a lingering feeling of his infernal warmth. Raphael had not come to bed yet.

Raphael often worked into the early hours, ensconced in his study, quill in one taloned hand and a wyvern whiskey in the other, poring over contracts or, if he was feeling inspired, penning a line or two of poetry or prose.

However, he always made sure to join his little mouse in bed for a few hours of rest. He didn't need sleep, not in the same way she did, but he took great pleasure sliding in beside her, draping an arm possesively over her slumbering body and pulling her gently towards him. She was a light sleeper and often awoke when the cambion climbed into bed, but soon settled back to sleep, comforted in his warm, powerful embrace.

Tav had never woken this early, and the empty bed unsettled her. The House of Hope was silent and still. She rolled back over to her right side and pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and into a waiting pair of delicate satin slippers. She felt her way around in the dark, hands clutching at the thick velvet drapes that surrounded the four-poster bed. The floor, a highly polished mahogany, was slightly slippery underfoot, and she feared falling. Carefully, she crept across the room and towards the balcony, squeezing through the thick curtains that separated their bedroom from the crimson wastes of Avernus.

It was still nighttime. The normally red, firey skies of Avernus were a deep black, scattered with glittering stars. The sky had been a gift. One of Raphael's many gifts, countless boons and indulgences, all lavished upon her. But this gift, when she first saw it, had elicited such wonder and joy in her that even Raphael seemed taken aback. When she agreed to join her Love in the Nine Hells, she feared she would never see the stars again. She had turned her gaze up to his, eyes brimming with tears of joy reflecting the newly minted constellations. He had grinned, delighted with both her reaction and his own genius.

When Raphael had claimed the power of the Crown of Karsus he had swiftly evicted Zariel from her throne as Archdevil of Avernus, and set about creating the order he promised, reshaping the plane as he saw fit. One such change was the night sky. She wondered whether this was an enchantment or whether Raphael had torn the sky from another world, leaving a void in its wake. When she asked him about her gift's origins, the dark chuckle he had given in response made her fear it was the latter. Such tenderness for her, such ruthlessness for almost everyone else.

She walked further out onto the balcony and sank back onto a plush chaise longue, staring up at her beloved sky. She had intended to check the balcony for Raphael then, in his absence, make for his study. However, the stars had eased her fraught mind and fatigue was beginning to overwhelm her. She felt her eyelids flutter shut, once, twice...

"Little mouse..." he purred into her ear "I do appreciate how much you enjoy my gift, my dear". He kissed her neck slowly, tracing his tongue up towards her ear, and continued in a lower, more dangerous tone. "However, I would rather you slept in our bed. I want to know my prize is safely tucked away, ready to unwrap at my leisure."

She must have dozed off under the stars. She turned her head to answer, and found Raphael kneeling by the chaise, eyes intently fixed on her and a lacivious grin playing around his lips. He was dressed in his bedtime attire, a black silken robe and pyjamas that were often discarded upon entering the bed itself.

"I'm sorry, there was a noise..." Tav was befuddled, still half-asleep. "I woke up and you weren't in bed. I went to check the balcony and must have dosed off."

"A noise?" Raphael raised an eyebrow "Ah. I was engaged in a little unexpected...re-education this evening. I do hope I didn't worry you my dear." At this, he took both her hands in one and stood up, pulling Tav with him and into his arms. "Now, plenty of the night remains. To bed. I will join you."

Raphael picked Tav up effortlessly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder. He strode back into the bedroom.

She was comforted by his presence, but had a nagging feeling. She began thinking about the implication of Raphael's words. "Re-education" And the noise earlier...a shout? Or, a cry of anguish? It certainly hadn't been Raphael's voice. It hadn't sounded human, or cambion for that matter. She felt a deep sense of dread simply trying to recall it.

Raphael laid her on the bed, swiftly joining her, and as if he could detect her thoughts, began to whisper in a low voice. "Certain Archdevils need the occasional reminder of the new order of things." He pulled her towards him, with more force than usual, and gripped her waist possesively. "The art of true power is knowing when to exercise it." He gripped harder, his claws lightly nipping her skin through her thin nightdress. She gasped. "These...exercises were not meant for your eyes, or ears for that matter. They will not disturb you again. The bedroom door will be locked and warded with a noise dampening spell." She was again comforted, then slightly perturbed. He would lock her in? She didn’t like the sound of that, and was about to ask why when he lessened his grip and rolled her to face him. He cradled her face in his palm and smiled, the points of his fangs glinting. "Only the sweetest of dreams for my little mouse." He kissed her tenderly and pulled her down onto his chest, where she sighed in pleasure. Any frightening thoughts of torture, screams or locked doors evaporated. She began to drift back to sleep.

She dreamt of a sky full of stars, and a clawed hand on her shoulder, heavy and possessive.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Unfair

Takes place when the vampire is still held by the hunters

Masterlist

TW: Sunburn, broken bones

It wasn’t good. Not at all.

The vampire knelt silently on the grass, both relishing the feeling of the wind on his face, and waiting for the inevitable pain. The hunters had taken him outside, there must be a reason. At least it was nighttime, so he could enjoy the fresh air without writhing in pain and slowly burning alive.

- Only fifteen minutes left, let’s go.

He flinched as he heard the hunter’s voice, and one of them gave him a hard shove. He lay down on the grass, on his stomach, and stayed obediently still. A hunter knelt over him, his knee pressed into his back.

- Fifteen minutes before the sunrise, leech. The door to the headquarters is right in front of you, about thirty meters. You just have to reach it in time.

The vampire nodded eagerly as he felt the hunter stand up. This was gonna be easier than expected. Even if he could barely see anything, he could still smell the particular scent of leather, metal and blood coming from inside the building. He could do it.

At least that’s what he thought, until a flash of pain exploded in his right knee. And immediately after, his left one. He wheezed, unable to breathe as the overwhelming agony mixed with fear. How stupid he was. Of course, they weren’t gonna let him do it. They weren’t even gonna let him a chance. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and a strangled sob escaped him as the crowbar fell in his shoulders too.

The vampire stayed completely still, expecting more pain to come. But the hunters had left, and he was alone.

He had fifteen minutes before the sunrise. Well, more like ten by now. He tried to crawl, tried everything he could, but pain was shooting in his broken joints every time he dared move even just a bit. When he felt his back start to sizzle, he hadn't even gone a few inches.

He had no way to protect himself ; usually, he would have curled up in a ball to protect every part of him he could. But he couldn’t , and he just lay splayed on the grass as the sun start rising. He could feel everything, his skin blistering and bubbling as he writhed silently. It wasn’t stopping, and soon he wasn’t able to even think anymore, only focused on the agony coursing through his body. Every involuntary movement of pain was sending spikes of pain through his shattered joints, as if they were being broken over and over again. He couldn’t even cry, his eyes burned.

The hunter left him there all day long. He was outside, unrestrained, for the first time in years, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

Even when the sun set and he was finally dragged back to his cell, thrown on the cobblestone floor, he didn’t stop squirming and spasming. It felt like the sun was still coursing through his veins, like liquid fire.

His eyes were too damaged to cry.

[kinglazrus]

this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

An AU where Portal Danny went missing his senior year of high school, and he's back home twenty years later.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Chapter Three: Fenton Works

Nothing in his head is real.

Words: 3593

Warnings: Gore and vomiting in the opening sequence

Blood coats his teeth. It’s gathered along his gums, congealing in thick globs that ooze when he prods them with his tongue. He can barely breathe past it, choking on the smell and the way it clogs his throat. His mouth feels too sticky and too dry all at once. Before he can think better of it, he swallows, or tries to—tries to work up the saliva to spit it all out. But there’s a pop when he bites down, and something too solid to be a clump of drying blood bursts open across his tongue, filling his mouth with a sour taste.

He lurches upright, and even though he’s already gagging on the stringy bits of viscera stuck between his teeth, the way his head spins is what pushes him over the edge.

Bile hits his tongue for a brief, bitter moment before he heaves. Every retch after that is dry, tearing at his throat while his stomach squeezes again and again even though he already feels like his insides have been scooped out. And no wonder why. A pale band of light illuminates the pool of blood spread before him. It’s a considerable amount of blood. Even though it’s too dark to see anything beyond that one pale stripe, there’s no mistaking how slick the floor is beneath his palm, how damp his knees are growing. The fleshy chunks that make him recoil every time he moves his hand.

He’s not sure where he is. Why he’s here. Can’t even remember how he got here, at least not clearly. His eyes had been fixed on that dark space, searching for a glimmer of light, any sign that he was mistaken. That the star would still be there, if only he looked closer. Everything after that is lost to a haze of blood and tears.

He can’t say how long it’s been since he was thrust out of the shadows. Long enough that his tears have dried. Short enough that the blood at his knees hasn’t.

Apparently, his body hasn’t caught on to the fact that he’s already wrung dry, because the retching doesn’t stop. The convulsions drive the pounding in his head and leave him shaking. He presses a hand against his abdomen, but it does little to soothe the sharp, pulsing throbs that twist his stomach every time his muscles clench.

It comes in waves, and between bouts, he inches toward the crack in the wall where the light comes through. A room lies beyond it, still dim but not completely dark, thanks to the windows set high on the walls. It must be nighttime, since there’s just enough light to see by, not that there’s much to see. Counters that run along the two longest walls, the cupboards underneath them, and a doorway on the opposite end of the room, through which lies a set of stairs leading up. Otherwise, it’s empty.

The wall shudders as he leans against it, though maybe it’s not a wall at all. His hand nearly slips off a ridge along the bottom of the wall, and as he steadies himself, his fingers curl over a worn edge, finding a narrow gap within which lies some kind of track. For a door, most likely, to slide open and shut.

Wall or door, it doesn’t matter either way. The metal is cool against his sweat-slicked temple as he tips his face into the light. He’s never been scared of the dark, but at the moment, the shadows squeeze around his heart. He doesn’t even want to close his eyes, though it might stop the room from spinning and help settle his stomach, just so he doesn’t lose that sliver of light.

A burst of music drills into his skull. He claps his hands over his ears and jerks back, banging into the door. It makes an awful screech, and he thinks he might have knocked it off its tracks. But after a few seconds where the only thing that falls on him is rust, he realizes the door is sturdier than it sounds and relaxes against it.

The music blares from his pocket, but he ignores his phone in favour of hugging himself tightly and folding over his knees. His stomach aches. His throat burns. His head pulses out of sync with the erratic thrumming of his core.

Blood and bile and buzzing, and jeans stiffening as they dry, and a single rust flake caught in his eyelashes, and a cloying, citrus scent that somehow cuts through every other wretched smell assaulting him now, and, and, and a dozen little things piled atop each other until it’s one great weight pressing on his shoulders, setting his nerves on fire, pushing a thousand needles beneath his skin as it all sinks in, and he needs out.

He drags himself up, body tilting one way while the world twists in the opposite direction, and throws himself against the door. It shrieks with every hit, but it moves, inch-by-inch, and as soon as the gap is wide enough, he squeezes through to tumble into the room beyond. Dirt, or some kind of grime that’s layered thick and damp in a way dust shouldn’t be in a place like this, smears across his palms as he catches himself on his hands and knees.

It’s quieter out here. The roaring in his head fades a little more with every breath that isn’t laced in shadows, and soon enough he can hear the wind howling outside, and the rain beating down on brick and metal and glass, and a steady creaking in the distance. A symphony, not wholly unpleasant, that he would be glad to listen to for a long while if his phone weren’t still ringing.

The melody plays two more times before he drags his phone from his pocket and checks the caller ID. Fruit Loop, it says. The call stops before he can make up his mind about answering, and a flood of missed notifications fills the screen instead.

Thirteen missed calls—nine from Fruit Loop and two more from School—and a handful of texts from the former.

Fruit Loop Friday 3:17 PM We’ll continue this discussion when you get home. Friday 6:23 PM Are you still at school? Friday 10:17 Answer your phone. This is childish. I’ll keep calling until you pick up. Saturday 1:17 PM I’m sure Johnny is excellent company, but this is getting ridiculous. We will be talking. Are you finally eating? Answer your phone. Yesterday 8:46 AM Why are the police here What did you do Answer the phone Yesterday 11:31 AM Whose blood was that This is serious you’re putting us both at risk Pick up the phone Pick up the damn phone Today 10:06 PM I’ve taken care of it. I told you humans are too fragile.

His nausea, which had waned, surges forth once more as he reads those final messages. It settles into a steady, miserable rolling deep in his stomach that’s somehow worse than when he was stuck in that tight, dark space that reeks of blood and citrus. At least he doesn’t throw up again, small relief that it is.

He jabs the call button, almost surprised when the screen doesn’t crack from the force of it, and slowly pushes himself up. He makes it one step and halfway through the first ring before the call is answered and a stern voice demands, “Where are you?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea how much danger you put us in? You’re lucky this only went as far as the police. If the school had suspected anything, they could have called the Ward.”

The rant fades out of his awareness as he steers himself toward the nearest counter. His shoes peel off the tile with a wet ripping sound that has him gritting his teeth, and leaves a trail of tacky red footprints behind him. He folds himself over the counter once he reaches it, forehead pressed to the metal despite the dust that tickles his nose.

“I managed to redirect their concerns, of course, and you’re still welcome back next year to finish your licensure program. Why you want to be a teacher of all things…”

“Fruit Loop?” he interrupts. He doesn’t mean to make it a question, but the little rise in his voice is present regardless of his will.

“Oh, yes, very funny. You and your clever quips. What do you—oh. Hm.” Fruit Loop goes quiet.

The silence quickly grows unbearable, after only a few seconds, but he can’t bring himself to break it. What would he even say? He shoves himself up—much too quickly, oh that doesn’t feel good—and opens the cupboard underneath the counter, desperate for a distraction. He has to grip the cupboard door to keep himself balanced as he crouches, as the room sways. Maybe there’s more to the nausea and the piercing pain in his temple than he thought. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten a concussion. Once he feels steady enough, he picks through the cabinet.

Bits of frayed wire. Metal scraps. A cluster of jars on the bottom shelf, all lined with a strange residue. In most of the jars, it’s faded to grey, and crumbles like chalk when he taps the glass.

“Do you know how I am?” Fruit Loop asks, a sharpness to it that suggests he’s repeating himself.

“Yes!” It’s not very convincing, with how quick the answer comes.

He scowls, tilting his head to get a better look at the jars. A greenish-black stain spreads between them. Crouching lower, he spies another jar at the back of the shelf, cracked along its side. Inside is a sprout of some kind. It has a deep, hollow stalk, coloured black, with curling lips that split into something almost like flower petals. Its roots creep along the glass, and mycelium dangles from the lid. The stain seems to spill from this jar, where hair-thin fibres have forced their way through the crack in the glass. They’re softer than he expects.

He drags his finger through the stain. To his surprise, only the top layer is dry, a thin crust that breaks easily. Underneath, it’s fuzzy and a rather toxic green. It also makes his skin tingle where the substance clings to his fingertip.

Leaning close, he sniffs it, and isn’t surprised when citrus stings his nose. Ectoplasm has a very distinct smell, although he could be mistaken. He sticks his tongue out to lick his finger.

“Well?”

He starts, mouth snapping shut and catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth, and hisses. “Yes, I know who you are!” He pauses a second too long. “Vlad.”

That feels right, and it must be, because Vlad sighs in relief. “Good. You’re not as far gone as you could be.”

“Wow, thanks.”

It’s easy to spot the mould hidden around the room, now that he’s aware of it. Gathered in the corners, festering between the tiles. It’s noticeably lacking on the far side of the room, by the doorway leading up, and grows more obvious deeper in, spreading beyond damp corners. He traces the patches back to the hole in the wall behind him.

And it is just a hole in the wall, the place he stumbled from. He thought it might have been a closet of some kind, but closets don’t have big octagonal openings blocked by a set of heavy doors striped black and yellow like caution tape.

As he stares at it, an odd feeling creeps through him. It’s not enough to rip the air from his lungs. It doesn’t even touch the ache already settled in his chest, though it still makes his knees weak. He grips the countertop to keep himself from crumpling to the floor.

“Where are you?” Vlad asks.

A laugh bubbles out of him at Vlad’s excellent timing. It’s a choked thing, closer to a sob. But it’s not, because he isn’t sad. He isn’t in pain, at least not from this, or anguished, or even the littlest bit upset.

He’s just…here.

“Do you know where you are?” Vlad prompts again.

“Yes.”

“Good. I can come get you.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“If you’re unstable, and you must be if you can’t remember who I am—”

“I remembered!”

“—and considering what happened on Friday—”

“Nothing happened!”

Vlad pauses. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He’d like to stop saying that. He’d like even more if he didn’t sound so weak and unsure every time he does.

“You know how much I care about you. Well, you might not at the moment, but you’re very important to me. I need to know if you’ve been affected by William Lancer’s dea—”

A screech drowns out the final word. The metal countertop folds under his hand, and he has to pry his fingers from the indents left behind. Vlad has gone quiet again, so he takes the moment to inspect his trembling hand. The slope of his fingers where they’ve begun to taper toward the nail, the image of flesh and keratin melting away. It takes a few slow flexes before the mirage returns, but the colour is off still. The shade of pale skews toward I-have-no-circulation rather than I-need-vitamin-D.

He clenches his fist and tucks his hand into his pocket. “Please.”

“So you do know?”

“No! I didn’t…” He gasps. His nails dig into his thigh, hard enough to prick, but that’s nothing compared to the knife carving into his chest. Every breath drives the blade deeper, through blood and bone, piercing him to the core. When he opens his eyes—can’t even remember closing them—he expects to see his chest flayed open, skin peeled back, ribs cracked to expose the empty cavity inside him.

There’s nothing. He’s crumbling from the inside out and somehow, there’s not a mark on him. That’s now how pain is supposed to work.

“Do you know what day it is? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Polka dot napkins. The image floats to the front of his mind. Couldn’t he remember more, minutes ago? It’s all shrouded in a grey fog, now. Except for the parts that are darkness and light and blood and the place where light should be.

Maybe he makes a sound. Maybe Vlad gets bored with the silence. Either way, he’s torn from his spiralling thoughts by a sigh from the phone.

“I suppose next time you’ll know better than to latch on to the first familiar thing you see.”

His phone cracks against the wall. He doesn’t register that he threw it until he’s staring at the blue plastic of his phone case, shattered where it struck the portal’s frame.

The portal.

He’s heard it described many times. Not its shape, but what it did. How it ruined his life. The way it would have torn him open, scooped out his insides, and filled him with something else, something strange. He imagined how vast it must have felt when he took his first steps inside. The pain it would have brought. The connection forged between him and it at that moment. Surely, if he could recognize anything from his former life, it would be this. This would be familiar.

But it’s only a hole in the wall.

He clutches at this chest, breaths coming faster as he tears his gaze away.

There has to be something, something.

Turning on his heels, he runs for the stairs. Colour leeches from his body as he reaches the top and rushes through the door without opening it. He meets resistance on the other side, only for a second, before there’s a tearing sound and a plastic sheet folds around him. He rips the tarp off, paying no heed to the oily green sheet it leaves on his hands and clothes, and leaves it crumpled on the floor.

It’s no brighter here in the kitchen than it was downstairs. One window, covered by a sheet similar to the one that assaults him seconds ago, and boarded up behind that. A broken table in the middle of the room, its legs snapped, the chairs beside it in similar states. Empty cabinets. A fridge—wrapped in another tarp—swathed in caution tape.

No one’s lived here for years.

He knew, if he ever came, that he might find strangers within the walls, but he didn’t think it would be empty. That’s worse, somehow, than finding an unknown face at the door. To know the place he once called home is hollow, too.

He tries to imagine what it would have looked like, once. The fridge unwrapped, covered in magnets holding up report cards and Polaroids and drawings. The cupboards full of food. The table set and ready for a meal. But the people sitting at the table have no faces. And the pictures are patchworks of colour with no real form. The cupboards are full of the oils and spices and jars of dry pasta from Vlad’s manor.

Nothing in his head is real.

The only thing waiting for him here are the Xs spray-painted on the walls.

The front room is much the same, except the graffiti is joined by broken beer bottles and crumpled chip bags. A cold wind comes through one of the windows where the boards nailed over it have been pried away, the protective sheet peeled back. A couch sits under the window, its cushions covered in grime and faded footprints. Has it always been there? Maybe with a TV stand on the other side of the room. Or did it used to sit against the back wall, facing the front of the house, so they could sit there and look out the window to the street?

He tries to picture it.

He can’t.

Upstairs, then. He grips the banister so hard the wood creaks in his hand. His skin is no longer pale, but now a bleached white. He doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t think about it. Focuses on the few blank spaces on the walls where he can see paint beneath the graffiti, on the squares where the paint is less faded, where picture frames must have once hung.

He finds four doors on the landing. Two to the left, two to the right. Only one is covered in a tarp that’s carefully taped along the edges, the letters R-I-P sprayed across it.

Hesitation seizes his limbs for only a moment before he rips the tarp down and tosses it away. A prickle spreads across his tongue before he even opens the door, and he already knows what he’ll find. Mould. Here, it infects every corner of the room. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. What he first thinks might be a soft carpet is, in fact, a dense layer of mould. It’s thickest beneath the empty bed frame, rising into a fuzzy mound with sprouts growing out of it, similar to the one in the jar downstairs.

He steps inside, and light ripples out, spreading in waves across the room from wherever he touches the mould. Clouds of spores puff into the air where he steps. They fall in gentle waves, like snow. If this were any other time, he might stick his tongue out to try and catch one.

But he doesn’t care about this. Doesn’t care that it exists. Doesn’t care that it’s here, eating this room from the inside out while the rest of the house grows stagnant.

This was his room. It isn’t, anymore. It isn’t anything.

He runs. Flees down the stairs and throws himself at the front door, but his body doesn’t pass through it, at least not completely. His head smacks against something hard enough that his ears ring. He stumbles back, clutching his temple, and rips the door open, splintering the frame when the deadbolt tears through the rotting wood. A gleaming white panel covers the other side. 

His core buzzes at the sight of it. He doesn’t need to test it to know he can’t phase through that, so he pivots toward the broken window, clambering though. The frame is already clear of glass. He heads for the street, where the wind shoves him to his knees and the rain beats against his back, and he looks up.

The windows are dark. Cracks climb the brickwork. The flower box beside the stairs is full of weeds, and the grass rises to his knees. The only sound coming from the building is the creak of old joints, from the sign hanging over the sidewalk. His gaze slides across it, skimming over the rusted letters, but the name slips from his mind as soon as his eyes leave it.

This is just a house, and he wants to go home.

Where is that?

“With…” he trails off as the name escapes him. With who? Does he live with anyone? Does he live anywhere? Maybe he’s always been here, kneeling in the rain.

Where are you?

“I don’t…”

Who are you?

“I…”

What’s wrong?

He stares down at his hands, at his blackening fingertips, and realizes he doesn’t know.

“There’s…a hole,” he says. Somewhere. In a place where a star used to sit.

So, fill it.

As he pushes himself up, darkness coalesces at his feet, but he resists their pull. He can’t go there, where it’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone. Instead, he sets off down the street, with slow, staggering steps, and leaves the ghost once known as Fenton Works behind.

—

Masterpost | Next chapter

[latibvles]

literally no one asked for this. i, however, saw these pictures on Ben Radcliffe’s instagram and decided “you know what this fandom needs? Frat Boy John Brady.” So that’s what this is. And also another excuse to write Willie & Brady coupled with shenanigans that aren’t the horrors of war. i now know way too much about fraternities and sororities. special tag for @wexhappyxfew for seeing the vision. brady has now fallen victim to my “putting characters in places they got no business being in” just like Ron

—

John should’ve majored in the art of escape.

It was seamless — slipping away from the beer pong table, head half-swimming and just a little bit stumbly. Pretty much every room on the first floor was swathed in a smoke-laden haze; John figures that Dougie’s countless social media posts must have done the trick. Most people he’s run into are strangers to him. That, and with this being the first party of the year, the turnout was bound to be big. His head was just pounding, and he needed a place to sit that wouldn’t open up the invitation for a random stranger to inadvertently sit on him.

Omega Pi’s brothers and others only policy on the second floor is a blessing in that way. He just needed a solid fifteen minutes before Bucky could sniff him out like a bloodhound and drag him into something stupid. Last semester he’d somehow managed to persuade John into drinking way too much tequila directly from the bottle, and he still gets nauseous whenever someone mentions margaritas.

He’s pretty sure he heard Benny say something about a bottle of Patrón behind the bar and he isn’t sticking around to find out.

John climbs the stairs, a little wobbly-legged, still foggy-brained as he tries to guesstimate how long he’ll have until he’s hunted down by any variety of friends wondering “Where the hell Brady’s at?” He figures maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, and that fact imbues him to move a little bit quicker to his own door, admittedly fumbling with the knob as he makes his way inside — Dougie’s playlist immediately muffled once he shuts the door, and for that he’s thankful.

He reaches for one of his vinyls on the shelf and sets it on the record player, flicking the switch and setting the needle before throwing himself haphazardly onto the bed itself and shutting his eyes a moment. The sharp beginnings of a headache are beginning to take root behind his eyes as he lets them flutter shut a moment. Deep inhale, slow exhale, ears latching onto the smooth jazz of the vinyl as opposed to the muffled Future track that was shaking the walls of their esteemed house.

He just needed t—

Click.

John’s head snaps up upon hearing his door open and shut quickly. His brows furrow, taking in the mostly shapeless form with their back to him. A varsity jacket maybe two sizes too big swathed their frame, they had curly black hair that’d gone frizzy — presumably from the amount of people downstairs. John clenches his jaw, staving off the irritation forming. This was either Bucky sending someone up here to draw him out already, or the nighttime company of someone else who’d found the wrong room. Their shoulders seem to relax and they let out a small sigh, not yet noticing him.

John gives this person the benefit of the doubt and goes with the second option.

“Think you’ve got the wrong room,” he opens with a clearing of his throat. The person gasps, small and surprised, head whipping around to meet him and— oh.

Her eyes are big and brown, brows raised and lips parted for a moment. They stare at each other, wordless, and he’ll blame the fact that he’s kind of taken aback for the moment on the alcohol — taking her in. She has on one of those black corset tops and a pair of beat up white sneakers. He recognizes her, vaguely, having seen her come in with a group of girls from the sorority house down the street. Bucky knew them better than he did, but to be fair, Bucky knew everybody.

“Sorry I didn’t—” she presses herself back up against the door again, lips pressing into a line. “Was just looking for a quiet spot. You guys have uh… persistent party guests. I can— I can leave if—” she’s reaching for the doorknob and John’s sitting up, reaching like he’s going to cross the threshold to stop her from turning the knob.

“No. No, you can stay. I just thought you were—”

“Here to hook up?” His face heats up at her blunt delivery of it, and John coughs unceremoniously into his fist.

“...yeah, something like that.” She nods, her expression unreadable, the silence between them admittedly stiff. He’s sitting up more, as opposed to his prior position laid out sidelong on his bed, extending his hand and feeling almost dumb for doing so. “I’m… I’m John er— Brady. John Brady.” Jesus Christ, when did he ever trip over his words like this.

She takes it, shaking his hand and he can’t help but notice the callouses, the chipped manicure and blue stains on her fingers.

“I’ve heard.” His eyes widen at that.

“You’ve heard?” There seems to be a twitch at the corner of her lip, she looks from their hands back up to him.

“One of your friends… Ev? I think his name was? Was looking for a uh… Johnny with the Donny and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one hiding up here.” John doesn’t know whether to laugh or to hide his burning face in the pillows and try to stave off the tequila-induced PTSD he feels coming back in full force. He decides to snort quietly instead of further embarassing himself.

“Except for you.” She nods, squeezing his hand and then letting it go.

“Except for me.” John really wishes he were more sober for this, just so he’d stop getting caught up in long dark lashes and the pink dusting on her cheeks that he doesn’t know if it’s from makeup or from him. His half-inebriated brain hopes that it’s because of him. He almost misses her introduction. “I’m Willie.”

John smiles.

“That short for something?”

“Nothing worth repeating. Too many syllables.” She waves her hand dismissively, and he scoffs in amusement at how quick Willie is to dismiss it. He figures not to press this time.

“Alright. Hope you don’t mind jazz then. You can uh… sit wherever,” John welcomes, gesturing to his space. At least he could pride himself on keeping things neat in here — even if their kitchen would be sticky with spilled beer tomorrow and it’d take a good chunk of their Sunday to clean everything up. Willie makes her way over to his desk chair and plops down — it rolls with the force of her as she looks around his room with an innocent type of curiosity.

“You have… a lot of music,” she murmurs in a quiet sense of wonder — the kind that makes John feel warm down to the tips of his toes.

“It’s kinda my whole thing…” her eyes are drawn back to him and he feels suddenly shy. “Music Ed.”

“History,” Willie looks at the vinyls he has neatly stored on his shelf by the record player. “If I tell you I’ve never heard this song, are you going to kick me out?”

“You’ve never listened to Sade?” She smiles a little bit — this time he’s sure of it — still eyeing his vinyls, and shakes her head. “Well I won’t kick you out but I might not let you leave ‘till you can name three songs off the top of your head.”

“God, you’re one of those.”

“Oh absolutely. The worst kind,” he’s teasing now, and it’s landing because she’s laughing in a breathless kind of way, a way that sobers him up as if to ensure he could commit her to memory as she is now. And she’s, well… she’s beautiful, sitting at his desk chair, looking at the CD cases he’d put up on his walls at the start of the term. Effortlessly so. He’d make her laugh for the rest of the night in this space if it weren’t for the fickleness of his hiding spot. Her eyes fall onto him again and they look over him from his spot on the edge of the bed. Her gaze is piercing as they dart over the length of him with all the swiftness of a hummingbird, her fingers reaching up to mess with her bottom lip a moment. “I’m sure there’s probably worse.”

John raises his brows.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, considering…” she gestures to the space around him. “I mean— there’re frats with worse reputations too. I just heard that Omega Pi’s—”

“Reckless?” She nods succinctly, with a half-hearted shrug.

“And that some of you go through girls like a mom in a Target clearance aisle,” John makes a noise that’s half between being strangled and laughing. “Guys too.” It takes him a minute to come back down to Earth after that one, rubbing at his face, halfway between embarrassment and amusement. Okay, she wasn’t wrong: his friends had a tendency to do some stupid shit, himself included, and while he in specific wasn’t hooking up with anyone with a pulse — he’s pretty sure that Dougie bought three boxes of condoms after move-in day. But they hadn’t done anything to get arrested and he’s pretty sure all the guys were, well, clean where it mattered.

“That’s just Dougie,” John offers, and she raises an inquisitive brow.

“And Bucky.”

“Christ, what’d he do?”

“Nothing, he just has the look to him.” Okay, that’s fair. “And he definitely stole my friend from me to play beer pong because he couldn’t find his partner.” John clicks his tongue at that.

“That might’ve been my fault.” Willie rises from her seat and he watches as she seems to mull it over for a moment, before crossing to actually sit next to him now. She’s so much closer than before — his lamp lights up some of her dark hair to make it look more brown, there’s a shimmer of faded highlighter on her cheeks and something inexplicably pretty about the mascara flakes dotting just below her eyes. He’d wipe them with his thumbs if she’d let him. He gives her a half-shrug. “Like I said, we’re both hiders.”

With the small laugh and bob of her head, he catches a whiff of her perfume. Something clean and a little citrusy, reminding him vaguely of springtime in spite of the autumn leaves changing outside.

“Well then it’s not all bad.” She decides on, sincerely. His knee bumps into hers and they exchange quiet smiles — the air significantly less stiff between them. Something warm sprouting between them and charged by the points where they connect. His pinky finds hers on the mattress, and in a brief move of boldness, he lets his hand overlap hers. Willie looks down, cheeks flushing as she looks back up at him.

She really is a vision, flustered like this.

She opens her mouth to speak but is immediately cut-off by Mambo No. 5 blaring — John knows that’s not his ringtone, and so he laughs in disbelief as Willie’s eyes widen.

“That’s— my friend Harrie set that I think. I—”

“It’s fine. Maybe you’re just a Lou Bega fan.”

“John—” she narrows her eyes and he thinks he might swat at her so he’s leaning back.

“Well don’t keep them waiting.”

She huffs, picking up the phone with a very flat “Hello?” but the voice on the other end is so loud that he can hear it clear as day.

“Where are you? Fern’s up on the table and I can’t get her down!” Willie looks at John, who’s hand is covering his own mouth to muffle his laughter, evident by his shaking shoulders. The exchange is quick: Willie’s words are flat, almost bewildered, and she’s batting at him as they talk before she hangs up the phone and looks at him with what he’s pretty sure is disappointment. He can’t say he’s not disappointed either.

“Guess I’ve been found. I can leave you here, tell them you passed out.” He shakes his head, standing up as she does, rubbing the nape of her neck.

“That’s never stopped them before and it won’t start now,” he admits, turning to switch off his record player, walking towards his door to get it for her. She walks past with quiet thanks and John watches for a few moments, admiring her departing figure before walking after her and descending back down the stairs into the chaos — the sound of his name on her scolding tongue looping over and over again in the back of his mind.