#carried skeleton fic

[innytoes]

You have one of those 12 foot skeletons in your yard and you caught me trying to take selfies with it / Sweet Tarts

Also for @invisibleraven who asked for the exact same thing. Who knew this prompt had Carrie/Reggie vibes?

When the Wilsons celebrated, they went hard. Their birthday blow-outs were legendary from the time Carrie had been in kindergarten. Their Fourth of July drones show (fireworks were so 90s) was epic and set to their favourite music. Christmas? Their mansion was covered in so many lights they had their own generator, and every room had a Christmas tree. (The one in Carrie's room was all pink, of course.)

So of course they went all out for Halloween, too. It was pretty hard to convert a sleek white modern mansion into a spooky old Victorian house, so instead they went all out with other kinds of decorations. Like the skeletons that hung out in front of the large windows on the second floor, having cocktails. Or the ghosts hanging from the trees and railings. Or the spooky lights and glowing orbs in the pool. Or the gazillion decorative pumpkins around the place. (Again, the ones in Carrie's room were pink.)

This year's new showstopper, though, was a twelve foot skeleton that her dad brought home. He showed it off, jazz hands and all, like the dork he was, and she could only barely hide her smile even as she eye-rolled at him.

"Not cool enough?" Dad asked her. "Don't worry, I thought of that."

And then he pulled out a pair of giant novelty sunglasses from somewhere. That got her to crack, and she laughed, which made her dad beam, which made her feel gooey inside. Out in public, they had to be perfect, and cool, and flawless, but when it was just the two of them, they could goof around and be dorks.

Now, while all of October was Go Hard On The Spooky Stuff, their Halloween basically had two big nights. The first was their Big Halloween Bash, where dad invited all his famous friends and people he worked with and Carrie got to invite some of her friends as long as they all promised to be cool.

The second, which deep down Carrie liked much better, was Trick or Treating. Because what was the point of living in the rich neighbourhood if not to show off all your badass decorations and costumes and spooky playlists and wow kids with amazing treats.

Full sized candy bars? Pah, those were for the old money losers down the street. Carrie and her dad got custom made edible crystals. Kids could pick out their own colour and shape, and eat something that looked like it shouldn't be eaten. Did you want a neon green orb, or a jagged piece of quartz, or even a candy beetle encased in 'amber'?

Carrie, of course, made sure to grab some in all her Candi's colours and put them aside. (And a few pink ones for herself.)

But the big holiday bash had come and gone, and trick or treating wasn't until tomorrow, so what the hell was this guy doing in their yard?

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" she asked as she flung the door open. Usually, if someone was lurking around like that, she'd call security, but this guy didn't seem to be paparazzi or a crazed fan who wanted to murder her dad. Also, she'd shoved her taser in the pocket of her cardigan before opening the door. (It was pink. And bedazzled.)

The boy, who seemed to be about her age, yelped and flailed, nearly dropping his crappy little phone. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I thought nobody was home!"

Carrie raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make it better?" she asked in her nastiest mean-girl-voice.

He flushed, looking ashamed of himself. Suddenly, even with the leather jacket, he seemed a lot smaller. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "It's just that this is the first time I've seen one of these giant skeletons in real life and I really wanted to take a selfie with it. I mean, he's wearing sunglasses and everything."

He looked so sad, like a kicked puppy, and really, she couldn't begrudge him too much. Their skeleton was pretty awesome. And he was pretty cute.

"You're never going to get all of him in frame with you like that," she rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys and demonstratively pulling the door closed behind her so he couldn't slip inside in case this was just a ruse.

She made sure to keep her hand on her taser as she passed him, but he just gaped at her. When she was far enough away to get all of the skeleton into the picture, she pulled out her phone. "Smile!" she said, and on instinct, he did. She snapped a picture, and when he realised what happened, he beamed, begging for another one.

She had to admit that the one hugging Skeletor's leg (yes, her dad had named their giant skeleton Skeletor like a massive dork) was pretty funny. As was the one where he was bowing down before it. And pretending to run away from it.

They had a little photo shoot for like two minutes, before he seemed to run out of ideas, and thanked her profusely, before moving to leave.

"Hey!" she shouted after him, and he froze in his tracks. "You have to give me your number so I can send these to you!" Okay, so he was cute but not very bright. She could work with that.

He looked a little flustered, but gave her his number to put in her phone. She sent him a test text, and his entire face lit up when he saw the first picture appear on his own screen.

And if maybe she texted him again the next day inviting him over to try one of their gourmet crystals and see the whole yard done up right for trick or treating, well, she just wanted to share the holiday spirit.

#carriexreggie #julie and the phantoms #carrie wilson #reggie peters #fanfic #I wrote a thing #halloween #oh to have a giant skeleton with sunglasses #reggie being a himbo and carrie being like: guess I'm into that #just picturing trevor and carrie's entire hallway filled with like 50 boxes of custom made gourmet candy #they have treasure chests on tables on the porch with the 'gems' in them for the kids to pick from #because fuck those old money people down the street they're gonna Win Halloween and every other holiday #(for the purpose of this fic Carrie maybe does not live in a house with barbed wire and a gate lol.) #also they make sure to compliment all the kids who are clearly Not From Around Here in their homemade or cheap costumes #because again fuck the old money gatekeeping assholes from down the street

[peachesofteal]

Home

Part of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Relationship issues. Feelings of sadness, anxiety, fear. Mention of attempted suicide. Alcohol use. Tenderness. Simon is soft for you. Simon is a good dad. The 141 is a found family trope. Angst with a happy ending. The gang's all here. Lots of crying. Home.

>You need to come down to the pub.  >What? >Simon’s in bad shape.  >It’s hardly noon?  >Just get down here, Sassy.

The text from Price has you walking briskly down the street within a minute, jittery with nerves and heart racing in your chest. The pub is not a long walk, the shortest route is east two blocks, south two blocks, and a quick left turn into the pedestrian alley that runs between two large brick buildings, to where the red painted door is nestled in off the street.

It’s not a long enough walk at all, because it hardly gives you enough time to collect your thoughts. Your feet fly over pock marked asphalt, anxiety shifting around in your mind, finding the softest pieces of your brain to sink its teeth into and derail you. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s not hurt. He’s fine. 

You’re practically vibrating with nerves. Your body feels uncontained, unbound by laws and physics, like you could fall apart completely at any moment. Rip apart at the seams and disappear into nothing, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a struggle, in the next moment, to not follow that previous thought up with ‘maybe it’d be better.’ 

You weren’t allowed to say those things out loud anymore. Or, so says your therapist. You weren’t supposed to think your family would be better off without you, this shell of a human that is neither a mother or a wife now, just a skeleton, just a nervous system, just a heart and a brain.

You grit your teeth.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. You are loved. You are worthy of being loved. 

You fight the eyeroll and repeat it on top of your other mantra for good measure.

Theo is okay. Simon is okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

When you get to the pub’s front door, you stop for a second and stare at it.

Your hands shake on the handle.

There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. You are still you. You are worthy of being loved. 

“What’re you doing ‘ere?” Simon slurs, and you chew on the inside of your cheek while Price stands opposite you, adjacent to the drunk man’s shoulder.

“Sassy’s going to take ya home.” Price explains gently, and Simon shakes his head furiously, eyes slamming shut like he’s suddenly been blinded by the sun.

“No.” He vows. You fight to keep your voice even when you try to reassure him.

“Si. Hey, it’s okay, you’re just-“

“No, Sass.” His fingers curl around the small glass that’s filled to the brim with bourbon, before he throws it back and wipes his lips on his sleeve. “Price’ll take me home. Go on.” The directive cuts, but you swallow the hurt down. You put him here. You did this. 

“I can’t, mate. Got to meet the wife down the street for an appointment.”

"I can't go with 'er." He snaps, and you try not to choke the saliva that's building in the back of your throat with your nausea. Price looks at you over Simon’s slumped posture, mouthing something that looks like: ‘it’s okay, call the cab’, and you manage it in record time, the tracker on the screen showing a black vehicle pulling down the street a minute later. Your hands are still fucking shaking, and you can’t stop them, can’t do anything with them except hold them together in hopes they’ll keep you from falling apart.

“Okay Si, come on.” You’ve managed to get him out of the car, and into the house, but he’s fading fast. The irritation from earlier settling into drunk sleepiness, draining some of that tension that he’s always carrying from his body. You shift him so that he’s leaning on you, his massive weight nearly bowling the two of you over as you encourage him to take the step up. “Help me out.”

“Wy’re you here?” He slurs and you grimace, pressing your thigh into the back of his knee so it bends forward and then up to the next step.

“This is ou- my house.” Our house. It wouldn’t have been a lie, wouldn’t have been anything but the truth, if you had said it. Instead, you bit your tongue just in time. “Can’t take you to yours because you’ve drank the city dry of Kentucky bourbon, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Always ‘lone now.” He mumbles and you feel the burn of tears in your nose, under your lashes. Don’t fucking cry. “Ya shouldn’t be here.” He protests as you walk next to him, step by step, your arm wrapped as much as it can be around his waist.

“It’s okay, come on.” You heave him up the last stair to the landing, where you keep your hands on his hips and steer him towards the bedroom.

For a split second, you consider trying to push him towards the guest room but disregard the notion as soon as it comes. He won’t be comfortable in there. The bed’s too small. Don't want him to wake up confused either. He grunts when you herd him towards the master. Master bathroom is better. That way he won’t wake Theo if he gets up in the middle of the night to puke. 

You manage to nudge him into the bed, heaving his legs onto the mattress and stripping his giant boots off, throwing them haphazardly in the corner while you glance at the bedside clock. Almost time for pick up. 

“Our room.” He blinks, arm stretching across towards the middle, towards the side you always sleep on, the side you still sleep on.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more relaxed in here.” You explain, tugging and pulling at the sheets. He’s so heavy, like dead weight against the fabric, but you don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and the sheets are knotted together under his back. His head lolls, body full of slack, blissfully unaware, floating high on a river of Kentucky bourbon and he looks like he’s about a minute from falling asleep. A tidal wave of longing sweeps through you, everything yearning to curl up into his side, bury your face in his neck and listen to the sound of his breathing.

You can’t. You ruined it. You ruined everything. Again. 

“My sweet girl.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into it, close your eyes and take a lungful of air. “Don’ cry.” He croaks and you manage a smile, a small one, mostly for his benefit.

“I’m okay.” You try to reassure him, his brow crinkling in the center like it does when he knows you’re lying and he’s about to call you out on it. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and glance at the clock again. Shit. “Si, I have to go get Theo, I want you to try to get some rest.” He stays quiet for a while, eyes drooping before he agrees half-heartedly.

“Right, I’ll be ‘ere then.” He shifts, rolling partially on his side, and yanks your pillow into his arms, folding it down into his body until his chin is resting on it. You don’t move from his side until his eyes start to slip closed, the dizzying rhythm of drunken sleep pulling him under, and when you finally stand so you can go get Theo, you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and press a feather light kiss to his temple. I love you; you think. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. 

Theo is, as always, pleased to see you on the sidewalk after the bell rings, his voice vibrating with excitement as he goes through his day, telling you about the things his friends did and the stuff his teacher said.

When you get about two blocks away from the house, you stop and he looks up at you in confusion, face creased in the center of his brows, the spitting image of his dad. You sigh, and squat down so you’re just about eye level. “Theo, I need your help with something when we get home.”

“Kay mum?”

“We need to be really quiet when we get home, okay? Dad is-“

“Daddy’s home?” He squeaks with glee, eyes wide and excited. Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

“Daddy’s home but he’s sick… so he’s asleep. To help him get better we need to be quiet so he can sleep, right?” He nods, and you know he understands. “Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie in the living room with our snack instead of playing in your room, yeah?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and you melt a little. He’s so kind, so patient. Such a sweet boy, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you at this point. You consider yourself lucky he’s so resilient, because you’ve already gone and screwed up half of formative years.

When he gets to the front door, he puts his finger in front of his lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, the little gesture showing you that he remembers what the two of you discussed and you melt even more.

He’s definitely getting ice cream tonight.

The morning comes too soon. You spent most of the night awake after managing to get Theo in a bath without causing a huge ruckus and putting him to bed, agonizing on having to face Simon, who may or may not even try to slip away undetected. Not to mention, the three of you have dinner at the Price’s tonight, since Johnny is in town, and it will be the first time you’ve seen Kyle in months. You’re already anxious about that, on top of everything. Your nerves feel rubbed raw.

Your brain didn’t let you sleep, not fully, instead choosing to free fall through memories like you were watching a movie, bits and pieces of your entire life playing out in your mind like you were sitting in a dark theatre with a bucket of popcorn.

The first time you met Simon, the confusion over the skull that seemed so familiar, your brain automatically linking it to Mace’s and dousing you in nervous fear. 

The first time he refused to show you his face. The first time you refused to give him your name. 

The moment you saw him in the bathroom, felt the magnetic pull like magic. The time you caught him watching you, standing outside of the safe house, face tilted up towards the rain. 

When he showed up at your house with a battered ultrasound photo and your name on his lips.

When you held his baby, your son, in your arms for the first time while he cried and kissed you over, and over. 

The day you said yes to marrying him, when he got down on one knee in the nursery, hands shaking with nerves. 

Sleep is brief. You’re half-awake on the couch, listening for any sound from either of them, staring at the floor while the rising sun casts shadow across the hard wood.

You hear the creak of heavy feet on the stairs, the hesitancy of someone standing at the top, unsure if they should come down.

What are you going to say when he does? What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?

Hey, I’m sorry I had a panic attack and abandoned you after we touched each other for the first time in almost a year. 

Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out and left which caused you to spiral into a bottle. 

Hey, I’m sorry I’m still a fucking nightmare that doesn’t actually deserve you. 

“Morning.” He calls, and you turn to see him at the bottom of the steps, walking towards the chair next to the couch, the giant one that’s got an imprint of his body in it.

“Hey, morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“A little.” The living room goes deathly silent, and you sit up, crossing your legs in front of you to face him. Say something. Say anything. 

“Look, I-“ you start.

“Sass-“ and so does he. The two of you stop as soon as you realize you’re talking over one another.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You follow up lamely, lip tucked between your teeth. He sighs, long and low.

“I’m sorry, you had to… deal with that. With me. Like that.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve seen you in rough shape.” You try to tease him, try to lighten the giant storm cloud that is bearing down on the two of you, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces instead. Smooth. You curse yourself. “I uh. Didn’t mind. It felt kind of… nice. To do something for you.” He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “You’re always taking care of me, you know?”

“You’re my priority-“ a bedroom door creaks upstairs, followed by the sound of little thundering footsteps, and you feel a pang of regret. Of all times to wake up early, baby. You can't fault him too much, he's so excited to see his dad. “you, and this guy.” He smiles across the room to where your baby stands with his blanket tucked in his hands, still in his pjs with a sleepy smile. “C’mere, bug.” Simon pats his thigh and Theo runs, scrambling up onto the chair and nestling into his dad, eyes still wearing their crust of sleep, hair all a mess.

“Breakfast?” you ask and Theo nods into Simon’s chest.

“Pa’cakes?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh.

“Sure, bug.” Simon looks at you over his head. “Will you stay?” you ask, trying not to let any emotion slip into your voice. It’s his choice. Don’t pressure him. He needs to be comfortable. 

“Of course.”

He stays all day. You don’t intend for it to happen, but it does, and you don’t complain. The two of you dance around the other night gracefully, but it doesn’t feel awkward or awful. It feels… okay. Normal. Without the elephant in the room, you could almost close your eyes and imagine this as before, and your willingness to relax and enjoy their company, together, without getting lost in your own head, is something you’ve been working diligently on thanks to Dr. C.

It feels good. It feels good, when you settle Theo in his room to watch a movie while you figure out his dinner before dinner, just in case he decides to be picky later. It still even feels good when Simon asks you if you want a glass of wine before you start getting ready for said dinner, because he can tell you’re nervous, and you actually say yes without feeling guilty. It all feels great, until it doesn’t, and your little bubble pops.

“Do ya want to talk about the other night?” Fuck. 

“Sure…” you taper off and he sits back in the chair, watching you with a scrutinous gaze, the one you’ve seen dozens of times, but not usually in your home.

“It’s important… that we’re honest with each other,” he says, and a knot twists in your stomach. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I need you to… acknowledge. What happened. I need to talk about it with you.”

“Okay.” You rush out. “I’m sorry… the other night, I- I made a mistake.” It’s the wrong thing to say. The words themselves are an error, and his face shutters, the beginning process of him shutting down taking over his body, his mind. No no no. 

“A mistake.” He repeats and you shake your head vigorously.

“No, no. Not like that I didn’t mean… please. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel or say things the right way anymore and my head has been so messed up, but I swear I… I want to try. I want… this marriage. I want us.” You’re crying earnestly now, tears dripping down your face, nails clenched into your palms so hard it burns. “And I… I wanted to take it slow.” He nods thoughtfully but stays silent. “I lost my head, the other night and rushed into things without really thinking.” Why isn’t he saying anything? “You were not a mistake Simon, I swear. You’ve never been a mistake to me.” You gasp the last sentence, throat raw with your tears and your eyes clench shut, hands going slack. Your chest is tight, it’s so tight and the air feels thin, and… you’ve completely ruined this, again, it’s all you ever do now, is ruin things. You ruined your family, ruined your son’s life, ruined Simon’s life, ruined everything. 

“Hey, hey.” You hadn't noticed, but his hand now curls around yours, pressure steady against where your pulse hammers under your skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to talk, Sass. Actually talk. Talk about where you are, how you’re feeling. Talk about a way to move forward.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to be honest with you about something. What happened the other night… it can’t happen again. I-“ He looks down to his feet. “I had a panic attack, after you left. I thought I was dying, I can’t… I can’t do that again. I have to be able to be present.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, but his grip slackens a little, and you feel your heart ripping into two pieces. Oh, Si. What have you done? “If I can’t be present, then I can’t take care of you, or Theo, or make sure nothing happens to the two of ya and I have to be able to-“ He abruptly stops, choking on the last sentence, and you watch as he straightens himself, twisting his back and rolling his neck. You stand, reaching for him, a tentative, seeking hand tracing along his forearm.

Asking for permission.

Asking for forgiveness.

Asking for everything.

He gives it to you. You fall into his arms easily, curling yourself into his lap, and he buries his face in your hair, shuddering breaths the only sound in the room, the only way you’d be able to tell he’s trying to compose himself. He dwarfs you, his embrace swallowing you up easily and you close your eyes, holding him as tightly as possible. You did this. You’ve let him down. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and he shakes his head. “I am, I… I am, Si. I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, a hand smoothing over your hair and then down your back. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

You check the door lock four times, while Theo jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk and Simon watches him carefully. The sun is starting to set, casting a orange pink glow over the street, lamps just starting to flicker on across the way, the sound of people out and about in the nice weather bouncing off the brick.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching for the bag on your arm. You nod, but reach out to grab his wrist when he turns to head down the block.

“I uh. I’m-“ you think you might be sick, and faint at the same time. You feel too warm in clothes, cold in your skin. You feel unsettled. Volatile. Why is this so hard? 

“What is it?” He’s gentle, voice soft and coaxing, and you try to smile and reassure him, but it comes out wrong, lopsided and nervous. You can do this. Just ask him. Today was mostly great. He’s not going to reject you. 

“I… was going to ask if you… if you wanted to come home with us tonight? After dinner.” His eyebrows raise, and something dark flashes across his face, something guarded.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Not for… that. Not for sex.” Jesus Christ. “I um… I thought maybe we co-could sleep together.” Oh my god. You’re blowing it. You feel like you might vomit all over his shoes. “Just sleep. In our bed. Together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yes. I want to if you want to.” He’s silent for a long time, practically eternity, before he steps forward, and presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, Sass. I want to.”

“Bloody hell. Feels like I haven’t seen ya in years.” Kyle pulls you into a hug and you laugh, head tipped back, pure joy on your face. You really did miss him.

“You look fit, Gaz.” You quip, and he preens just a bit. Simon scowls and raises an eyebrow from behind him. Price shakes his head like he’s already exasperated with the lot of you.

“Alright, alright. Stop hoggin’ the lass.” Soap shouts, elbowing him out of the way, and when he pulls you in for a hug, you’re not surprised there are tears smarting behind your eyes. Get it together. 

“Hey, Johnny.” You hold him back, arms wrapped around his waist, and he gives you a squeeze before pulling away.

“Hey Sassafras. You well?” He glances at Simon, and then back to you. It has not escaped anyone that the three of you arrived here together. You nod, and he smiles. “Where’s my nephew?” He half yells, because Theo is half hiding behind Simon’s legs, a little overwhelmed by the noise.

“He’s here.” You rub his head affectionately, and he peeks out, eyes landing on Johnny right away and glee lighting up his face.

“’cle Johnny!” he shrieks, and then flings himself at the poor man, barreling into him with the strength of a kid half his age.

“Oof.” Johnny gives you a bewildered look and you shrug.

“Why are you surprised? You know his dad.” Gaz barks a laugh, and Price’s wife rolls her eyes, before giving you a hug herself and dragging you into the kitchen. Gaz has got Theo up on his shoulders now, and you see Price handing Simon a beer out of the corner of your eye before you slip away, leaving them to their conversations.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” She motions to your under-eyes, and you tsk. You really did try to cover it up, but the puffiness is hard to hide.

“It’s been… a day.”

“A bad day?” She asks, and you consider it. Bad? No. Good? Also, not entirely. How would you describe it? 

“Not a bad day just… hard.” She reaches across the counter, squeezing your hand in a gesture of affection.

“If you need to chat…”

“Lunch this week?” you supply hopefully, and she readily agrees. It’s nice, having a friend. Having someone who gets it. Even though she’s a civilian, sweet as honey and soft as cotton, she’s still got an edge. She’s never shown fear, or disgust at the group of you. She married John, after all. And he loves her more than life itself. “So. What did you spend all day slaving away at in here?” you change the subject, and she giggles while popping a cork from a wine bottle.

“Fuck no.” She protests as she pours out two glasses. “I ordered catering. I’m not cooking for all you. You’re too picky.” She hands you a glass, and you chime your rim against hers.

“That’s fair.”

“How’s work, Sassy?” Kyle asks, bowl of salad extended towards Simon who turns his nose up at it.

“It’s good. Kind of dull.”

“What is it ye’re even doin’ now?” Johnny asks. He’s sitting next to Theo, who’s sitting next to Gaz, nestled between his two uncles like it’s a holiday, face beaming with happiness. They’re taking turns picking things off his plate too, since he’s already thrown a fit about eating vegetables tonight.

“I’m on a project. I’m just analyzing and compiling data for the DoD.” You try to keep it short, but Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of data?” You sigh.

“I’m tracking and analyzing the historical usage of Semtex.” You deadpan and his face lights up.

“Original compound?”

“Yes, Johnny.” You answer drily. Simon chuckles.

“You tryin’ to figure out how much is left floatin’ around out there eh?” You sigh again, louder for dramatic affect, and Price’s wife takes the cue.

“Okay, let’s talk about something other than bombs, hmm?” Gaz grumbles a protest, but she looks at Theo. “How’s school going Theo?”

“Oh yeah, sure use the kid!” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes, and you swing your toe into his shin. “OW!” He yells. You snicker. Price clears his throat. Whoops. 

“’Cools fun!” Theo supplies and Simon smiles softly at him from across the table. You watch him, the crease in the corner of his eyes, the gentle slope of his lips, the warmth and love that he exudes when he looks at his son. It makes you soft, so fucking soft and weepy and… in love. You feel the burn of a tear and rub your face subconsciously before looking down to your lap. Fuck. 

A heavy hand reaches for where yours sits, white knuckling the arm of your chair. A heavy hand wearing a gold wedding band, and you lean into it, hard, pulling his grip onto your lap, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles until you get your emotions under control.

“We’re gon’ miss you next week, Ghost.” Kyle says, cutting a piece of meat into a smaller portion and offering it to Theo who looks at it suspiciously. Simon coughs like he’s swallowed a fly.

“What?” you turn, and he grimaces. Price rubs his hand over his face, and Gaz looks between you and Simon like he’s confused.

“I’m taking some time off.”

“Well earned.” Kyle adds. “I’m sure Ale n’ Rudy ‘ll miss ya though.”

“You’re going to Las Almas?” Your head swings back and forth between the two of them.

“Wots lallamas?” Theo asks with a mouthful of food.

“Chew your food, baby.” You admonish. When no one else speaks, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head. “You’re going to Las Almas?” you repeat it, and Johnny shifts uncomfortably before answering.

“It’s just to help Los Vaqueros out.”

“With what?” you press, and now Simon is shifting nervously. “Soap.” You hiss and he holds his hands up.

“Valeria broke out-“ he starts.

“Someone broke Valeria out-“ Price tries to explain at the same time.

“Valeria’s on the lam and-“ Gaz uses air quotes around the word lam, and they all come to a stop when you laugh out loud.

“Oh my god.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’ll be out of your depth. She’s too smart for you all, and you know it.” The table goes dead silent.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for something to do lass…” Johnny trails off suggestively.

“That’ll do.” Simon barks, and Theo’s eyes go wide. Gaz looks down at his plate. Price frowns. Simon takes a deep breath, before cutting a glance to you, and you give him a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay. You try to communicate with the gesture. It’s alright. 

Price’s wife stands from the table, a hand on her hip, the other on John’s shoulder.

“Alright. Who wants dessert?”

Bugs chirp in the grass when you step up next to Price outside on the deck. Simon, Soap and Gaz are all in the living room with his wife, Theo asleep in his dad’s arms, cheeks squished together, sweet baby lashes laying softly on his face. Price taps his cigar once, twice, before clearing his throat.

“If you wanted too, Sassy, I could pull some strings. You could come to Las Almas.”

“Thanks, Price but uh. I wouldn’t pass the psych eval for field action? And I’m probably not able to be medically cleared either.” You point to your shoulder, the one that has the nerve damage in it, and he nods. “But, I appreciate the offer.” You sigh, turning around and pinning your hands against the railing, kicking your shoes together before blowing out a deep breath. “I never thanked you.” You say softly. “For taking care of him… during the- when I was- when we were separated. I know… I know he was in a bad place and you both really supported him.” Price nods, cigar pulling free from his lips. “And… I know we never really… talked it out but… I do forgive you.” His head tilts, eyes heavy with full of a world of things you can only imagine.

“What I did, what Simon and I did… it was a mistake. I made a judgement call based on the situation I was put in and… it was the wrong one.” He says lowly and you nod.

“It was, but I consider us square.” You close your eyes. “I remember you, that day. When you guys came for me. I remember… hearing you talk to Simon when the heli landed. When he thought I was already dead. When he-“ Your voice breaks, because it’s too much to try to remember, too much to pull to the forefront of your mind. The memory of Simon’s hoarse screams, his pleas, his hands stained with blood. Your own vision blurred red, Soap holding pressure against two of your wounds, Gaz wrestling a pistol from Simon’s iron grip, Simon trying to die alongside of you, refusing to exist in a world where you don't and Price’s shout, his command for Simon to stand down ringing out above it all. “You kept him alive, kept reminding him he had Theo at home, waiting for him, and I owe you for that.”

“You don’ owe me anything, Sassy.”

“Well, I like to think we’re even at least.” You smile and he nods, blue eyes twinkling under the porch lamp, cigar burning a red hole in the darkness.

“We’re even then.” He agrees, and you turn to look through the living room window, where Simon’s hand is resting gently on Theo’s back, rubbing a soft circle to soothe him as he sleeps fitfully.

“I gotta get them home.” You jerk your head in their direction, and he smiles.

“Goodnight Sassy.”

“Night, Captain.”

You are nervous as hell when you climb into bed that night. Theo’s asleep, locks triple and quadruple checked, water bottle filled and stationed next to your side of the bed. You’re half laying, half sitting up in a mound of pillows, wearing one of Simon’s too big t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, tucked under the blankets and staring at the ceiling when the bed dips beneath his weight, his body sliding under the sheet next to you. He’s warm, so warm, like he usually is, and you’re yearning to sidle over and tuck yourself into him, the feeling so strong it nearly saws a hole through your heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. 

“Sass?” His voice is even, gentle, calming, and you turn to face him a little more than eagerly.

“Hi.” You breathe. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t do anything stupid, or rash, or say the wrong thing, be cool, you can do it, you’re fine, you’re okay now, you’re-

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.” you blurt, partially mortified, even though you can hear your therapist in the back of your mind telling you ‘It’s okay to ask Simon for what you want, if he’s okay with that’. “Sorry. I want- I want… you to hold me? If… you want to. Only if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay.” You frown, fingers twisted together. His gaze grows soft, softer than it was ten minutes ago or an hour ago, and he nods, opening his arm to lift the blankets so you can scoot closer.

When you do, he brings you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck and folding his arm along your back, heavy palm sliding up and down your spine.

Home. It feels like home. It feels like happiness, and being whole, and feeling like yourself. It feels like your bed, your husband, your son, sleeping peacefully within these walls. It feels like everything’s okay, feels like you’re safe, feels like you’re going to be alright. It feels like home, for the first time in almost a year and it shocks you, the emotional swell of your feelings pulling tears to your eyes because you realize, you finally see, that it was Simon all along. Simon is your home, Simon is your anchor, Simon is your sanity. The father of your child, the man you married, the love of your life. It’s always been him. How could you have been so blind?

You’re crying now, tears soaking his skin, the neck of his t shirt and he’s holding you tight, trying to soothe you, his hand now brushing away the rapid tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“You’re okay, Sass. It’s alright.” He tries to calm you, but it only makes you cry harder into him.

“I know!” you sob. “I know it’s okay.” You sound nonsensical, breaths coming in shorter bursts, and you can feel his muscles tightening, his own panic starting to build over the state you’re working yourself into. “I’m s-sorry.” You sputter. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I ru-ruined us.”

“You didn’t, I promise.” He’s lying. He’s lying. He has to be, because how could that be true? After everything. After the hell you put him through. After the way you reacted the other night. After it all, how could he still be here, still want you? It didn’t make sense. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve anything.

“I don’t deserve you.” you cry, and he goes completely still, hand freezing on your skin, body frozen in the bed. You feel it, the stiffness, like he’s gone to stone, and it makes your heart race, makes you so nervous that your head spins until he speaks.

“I didn’t deserve you, for a long time.” He croaks. “I didn’t deserve to be in your life, didn’t deserve to be a father to Theo. Didn’t feel like I deserved to marry ya either. Could hardly believe it was happening, standin’ up there. Felt like I was in a bloody dream.” He leans back, tilting your chin upwards so he can look in your eyes, his own holding tears that match yours. “You gave me another chance. You forgave me. You showed me grace. Don’t you think you deserve a little bit o’ that yourself?” You take a shaky breath and consider his words. Do you? Do you think you deserve some grace? You close your eyes and count to ten in your mind.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. 

You are loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you intently, his eyes full of hope, full of love and understanding, carrying the weight of decades of pain, the strength of survival, the burden of everything. The burden that you too, carry alongside him. The burden that the two of you have always shared, even before this year, last year, before Theo was even born. A burden born out of trauma and broken homes and bloodshed; a weight that doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s by your side.

Two knuckles stroke along the apple of your cheek, and you turn your lips towards his palm, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his skin.

“I love you.” you whisper it, eyes wide open, looking up at him through blurry and tearful vision.

“I love you.” He says back, pulling your hand into his, kissing your pulse point tenderly, and then folds you back into his arms, your own limbs tangling with his until all you can feel, all you can see, or smell is him. Simon, your person. Simon, Theo’s dad. Simon, your husband.

Simon, your home.

#sassy series #simon riley #sass x simon #peaches writes #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #captain john price #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Someone Like You

Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst, handjob, smut. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: The Halcyon is hosting its Christmas Eve party for its guests, and her and Billy are both feeling the pressure of being rushed off their feet. They find a moment of respite alone together.

Author's note: A part two of my first Smuffmas entry. Day eleven of the Smuffmas prompts - "a fancy party and praising". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It has been twelve days since her and Billy had decorated the staff sitting room. Twelve long, miserable days since she had last felt his lips upon hers and the way he’d rutted against her, not that she’s counting. They have scarcely had a chance to see each other in the lead up to Christmas. Beyond shy smiles and blushes exchanged in passing, they’ve had no other interaction. But that’s not for lack of wanting to or trying. The mistletoe she’d rescued has remained in her apron pocket, primed for an opportune moment.

December is always the busiest time of year for the hotel. People want to celebrate in style, and so they check in to the Halcyon to be waited on hand and foot. She’s not sure what it is about Christmas that drives people to make the most outlandish demands of the staff, but it has stolen away her festive cheer. She is exhausted.

It’s Christmas Eve and the day has been spent preparing for the annual party they host for the guests who will be staying with them on the big day itself. On top of turning down rooms, and helping the kitchen staff to prepare food, she’s now expected to serve drinks at the party itself.

The staff who are married with children have been given Christmas off to spend with their families, so The Halcyon is operating on a skeleton crew of the young and the single, her and Billy are unlucky enough to find themselves among them.

She weaves her way through the bar, abuzz with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Every surface seems to glitter with decorations, amplified by the muted lighting of the lamps that adorn the centre of each table.

Nodding and smiling politely each time a guest relieves her of a saucer of champagne that rests on the heavy tray she carries around the room, she breathes a withering sigh once it’s finally empty. Her feet ache with how many passes she’s made around the crowded space, yet there’s no time to rest. She has to collect the empties and take them back to the kitchen to be washed, so that they can be refilled anew by the bar staff. It seems never ending.

Doing a quick scan of the bar, she can see that Kate and Feldman are circling the room with drinks and canapés, so she’ll be fine to leave for a little while to wash up some glasses. The food prep has already been done, so the kitchen is empty, save for the staff going in to refresh plates and glassware. 

The empties rattle precariously against each other on her tray as she walks carefully back to the kitchen, her burden suddenly seeming not quite so great as she spots Billy doing exactly the same thing. He’s clad in his usual bellboy uniform, though is without his cap, a means to help him blend in with the rest of the serving staff.

He pushes his tray onto the draining board next to the sink, and a glass wobbles, toppling off and shattering loudly against the hard linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“Ah– shit!” He grumbles, kneeling to pick up the pieces.

She quickly deposits her own tray onto the food prep table and kneels to help him.

“It’s okay, Billy, it’s just a glass,” she reassures him, picking up some of the larger shards and depositing them into the bin beneath the sink.

“I know, I know,” he replies with a sigh, “but I can’t seem to get anything right today.”

“How do you mean?” She asks, righting herself and brushing her hands on her skirt as he reaches for a dustpan and brush to sweep up the rest of the mess.

“Spilled champagne all down a lady’s frock just now, broke a glass,” his brow furrows as he brushes the broken pieces into the pan and empties it into the bin. “Brought the wrong luggage to the wrong room earlier too.”

She watches as he stands again, chucking the dustpan and brush to one side, and she offers him a sympathetic smile. “It’s our busiest time of year, everyone makes mistakes. I forgot to fold the toilet paper into a point in the Royal Suite earlier, and Mrs. Garland gave me a right earful.”

He tugs awkwardly at the bottom of his bellboy uniform, his mouth turned downwards, as is his gaze. “Yeah…but…I’m gonna be drafted next year. If I can’t get this job right, how am I gonna manage to defend our country? I’m useless.”

Her brows pinch together in concern, stepping forward to gently cup Billy’s cheek. It’s soft and warm against her palm, growing warmer still beneath her touch. “Oi, don’t talk like that. You’re doing a fine job. And you’re so brave, I know I’ll feel safer having you protecting us all.”

His blue eyes flit up to meet hers, wide and filled with uncertainty. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Billy, I think you’re wonderful.”

He huffs a soft chuckle, turning pink as he pulls away slightly, lips pressed into a tight smile. “I dunno about that…”

“Well, I do,” she reaches into her apron pocket, pulling out the mistletoe she’s kept stashed there since their first kiss. “See? I’ve been saving this in the hopes we’d use it again.”

Billy visibly softens, shoulders pulling away from his ears, and he steps towards her, hands gripping her waist as he presses his lips to hers. It’s a slow, soft, lingering kiss that they hold for a few moments, before he reluctantly breaks away. It sets her pulse racing and she wraps both her arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Anyone could walk in,” he whispers, his eyes searching her face uncertainly.

“They won’t though. They’re all busy.”

She kisses him again, and this time they are both more eager as he backs her up against the sink. She smiles into it, the mistletoe she’d been holding absentmindedly falling from her fingers and onto the floor behind them.

His excitement grows more apparent as he presses against her, and she drops an arm down between them to palm at him through his grey trousers.

He groans, pressing his forehead against hers. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you want to?”

“God…yes…yes!”

His voice is a strained whisper, causing excitement to flutter hotly in her lower belly. She uses both hands to unbuckle his belt, before unzipping his trousers and snaking her fingers into his underwear to wrap around his hardened length.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. Though she’d felt it as he’d ground against her the first time they’d kissed, it’s another thing entirely to have her hand on it. Billy is impressively well endowed.

“So big,” she coos, her thumb swiping over the wetness that’s gathered at the tip.

His head falls against her shoulder with a gasp, and his grip on her waist tightens as she slowly strokes her hand up and down, dragging the foreskin along with it, feeling every ridge and vein.

“So good for me, Billy, you’re so good.”

She speeds up her movements and his head tilts back slightly, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he breathes raggedly. “Oh god…please…”

Smirking, she leans in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Have you ever been with a woman, Billy?”

“N–no,” he pants, hips canting to chase the movement of her hand.

“Do you think about it when you touch yourself?”

“Yeah…I…I think about you.”

She clenches around nothing at the confession, biting her lip, twisting her wrist slightly as she pumps at his cock.

“Is that what you want?”

He whines slightly, nodding and pulling her closer, a strand of his gelled hair falling forward against his forehead. “Mmmm…I want you.”

“Such a good boy,” she purrs. “Perhaps if you ask nicely then that’s what you’ll get for Christmas.”

She feels his stomach muscles tense, a grunt escaping him as he pulsates in her palm, coating her knuckles in hot, sticky spend.

Withdrawing her hand, she licks it from her fingers, the taste slightly salty, and hums in satisfaction.

He stares at her, chest heaving and eyes wide, transfixed by the sight.

“Are you real?” He asks breathlessly.

She giggles, brushing his stray strand of hair back into place. “If you do a good job for the rest of this evening, perhaps I’ll let you find out.”

#billy taylor x reader #ewan mitchell #billy taylor #billy taylor x you #billy taylor x y/n #billy taylor imagine #billy taylor smut #billy taylor the halcyon #the halcyon billy taylor #billy taylor fan fiction #billy taylor fanfiction #billy taylor fanfic #billy taylor fan fic #the halcyon #the halcyon fan fiction #the halcyon fanfiction #the halcyon fan fic #the halcyon fanfic

[that-one-zombie-crow]

So, thinking about writing a Secret Life medieval fic. If I do write it, I have the roles for the factions and members. Plot will be explained at the end. Here they are:

Grian, Cleo, and Etho are three nobles who rule for the King, Ren, when he is away. Grian is an avian, Cleo is a reanimated corpse, and Etho is just a normal guy.

Tango, Skizz, and BigB are all medics and healers who can heal people by giving them their “hearts.” Each week, they heal someone who has been injured.

Joel, Pearl, Bdubs, and Mumbo are all servants in the palace. Pearl is Cleo’s lady in waiting, Bdubs is Etho’s valet, and Mumbo is Grian’s valet. Joel is just a servant.

Lizzie is the gardener/kitchen staff. She grows vegetables and fruits for meals when they can’t trade for the plants.

Gem, Impluse, and Scott are a traveling drama troupe. Gem sings/acts, Impulse plays the drums/acts, and Scott plays the lute and acts. They are stuck in the city/kingdom when it shuts down.

Jimmy and Martyn are law enforcement. Need is say more?

Scar is a noble diplomat who is trapped in the kingdom when it shuts down. He helps advise the council (Cleo, Etho, and Grian).

This is the plot:

A strange group of people called the Watchers have begun a siege on the Kingdom, trapping the residents inside the city. They want to do an experiment of sorts which is carried out by all of the characters mentioned above having tasks they must complete before the end of each week. There’s a catch. Monsters such as zombies and skeletons are set loose in the city. The “players” do not heal naturally. They only heal by A) completing the task that the Task Master gives them or B) Giving their “heart” to another player. The latter works by giving a bit of their lifespan (a day or week of their life) to another person.

#trafficblr #secret life #life series #grian #tangotek #ethoslab #zombie cleo #zombiecleo #bdoubleo100 #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #scott smajor #smajor1995 #impulsesv #skizzleman #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #lizzie ldshadowlady #mumbo jumbo #ldshadowlady #goodtimeswithscar #life series au

[preciouslandmermaid]

cold heart, warm hands (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/2 

First off, I haven’t played a Call of Duty game in years. But, I remember crushing on Ghost back in idk?? 2010? Anyway, glad to see he’s getting the white boy of the month treatment. Glad we’re all totally NORMAL about him. Feedback is definitely encouraged and appreciated :) 

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader!Assassin  

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Fic warnings: angst, injury/bodily harm to reader + some hypothermia, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing/explicit language, knives as metaphors for sexual tension, reader is lowkey feral (I am channeling my inner Princess Monoke), slowburn, the inherent eroticism of catching feelings while running for your life, touchstarved!ghost, bonding, (there will be smut/porn in part 2) i needed a light plot because I cannot function without it, all the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person.

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, though no other descriptors are used. Author isn’t well-versed in other languages, they’re just a sucker for Slavic mythology. Reader’s undercover code-name is “volchitsa” which translates to she-wolf (or bitch-wolf) in Russian. 

Summary: Lt. Ghost is tasked with the extreme mission to extract code name “volchista” from her undercover mission in St. Petersburg. They briefed him on what little they knew of you, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality. 

READ ON AO3 || 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is how it begins. You are a girl made of snow. You carve a pretty smile from the ice. You flatter the diplomats. You trick them. They believe you can be melted and molded. You impress the headmistress of the school. You trick her, too. A man from America comes. They replace your ballet with ballistics. You suspect they offer money to your family, your school. They roll your tongue until you can call upon any accent and shape around any language. When you’ve impressed them or pleased them, they give you tasks, and you carry them out with little question of who at the top of the pyramid pulls the strings. You are better with bullets than you ever were at ballet. 

You thaw, in pieces, until the girl from the snow is a shadow, a puddle, a glistening drip of an icicle from the rooftop. They give you a name. A point of contact. A promise of extraction once intel is gathered. You don’t merely go “undercover.” You go underground. You enmesh yourself. They call you a wolf and release you among the pretty, bronze-polished sheep. After all, this is what your training was for. 

Only now it’s finally time to go home. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Three years undercover?” Ghost says, reviewing your file, “you sure we can trust her?” He glances at your old photo. Pretty thing. He suspects that’s why they assigned you to rub elbows with high-ranking military officials and defense contractors. Three years is a hell of a long time to be someone else. 

Price says, “I know you’ll make the right call if you think she’s compromised.”

“Naturally.” Ghost replies gruffly. He checks the intel for your rendezvous spot. A cemetery at the edge of the Vyborgsky District. At the stroke of midnight. How morosely dramatic. He’ll be a ghost in a graveyard. Is this Price’s attempt at humor? He considers asking Price why he’s not sending someone else out. Someone who shows their face in case some nosy do-gooder comes up asking questions. He shakes the thought from his head. It’s a stupid question that he already has the answer to. 

Price selected him because the target, codename volchista, is one of the most dangerous operatives in the country. If anyone can take you down–if things get nasty–it’s him. 

“You’ll be going in dark on this one until you reach the border,” says Price.

“Not a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s gray everywhere you look. Storm clouds loom over St. Petersburg and block the starlight. Gray and dark gray tombstones. The barren trees appear like black skeletons in the night, like echoes of lightning. Your breath mists gray in front of your lips. A family of gray moths dance around the ground-level lamps. The air tastes like impending snowfall, brisk and sharp on your tongue. 

You check your watch. Three minutes until midnight. There is no one here but you. You are alone, with the gray ghosts, and the gray tombstones, and your gray, foggy breath. 

The hair at the nape of your neck prickles. 

Your knife flashes silver in the gray. Your blood roars in your ears. And you pivot like a dancer, like an acrobat, lethal and light on your feet. The resounding clang of your knife meeting another reverberates through the silent, empty cemetery. You lurch your body forward. You assume your cover is blown and they’ve sent this masked man to kill you. He matches your momentum and avoids your strike. You snarl. He is big but not as clumsy as you hoped. 

A gloved, strong hand grabs your wrist, “steady on, volchista.” Their accent deepens their voice to a rough and pleasant burr. It’s like drinking whiskey. You stare at him. Only your contacts know your code name.

You say, “Lev sent you.” You pause. “You’re early.”

“If I'd known you’d try to skewer me, I’d have been punctual.” He slowly releases your wrist, though what little you can see of his gaze is dark and wary. Lev told you nothing beyond the meeting spot and where he stashed your equipment. It was safer (or so he said). He could’ve at least mentioned your point of contact would be wearing a costume so you wouldn’t assume it was an assassination attempt. Your eyes scan the graveyard, unable to shake the sense of paranoia that slithers around your spine. Whenever something felt too easy, you got anxious.  

“Sorry.” You respond without expression. “Let’s go.”

You’ve walked these pathways hundreds of times. You know them in the dark, you would know them blindfolded. None of Petrovich’s men bothered you when you went to the cemetery. Though, they were never far. You incline your head faintly toward the familiar tombstones, to the names you’ve memorized as a game to keep yourself sane during these past three years of espionage.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder. Skull-man is walking eerily quietly behind you despite the bulk of body armor you can tell he’s wearing beneath his white, camo coat. His hood is drawn up over his head. Probably to hide the mask. 

“What do I call you?” You ask once you’re close to the church.

“Ghost.”

You laugh softly. Although you will never see Lev again, you wish you could. You wanted to praise him for such a stupid, funny joke - setting up your extraction in a cemetery with a man named Ghost. You come to the church door where Lev has stashed your supplies. He’s left the key for you beneath a snow-capped rock. You kiss its cold, metal teeth in farewell before sliding it into the lock. The old, oak door creaks beneath your palm. 

Ghost watches your back, checking behind you before you both go inside. The air smells of incense and candle smoke. The effigies on the altar glow with ethereal, flickering light. You crouch onto the ground and start tapping your knuckles to find the hollow floorboard. Lev said it would be about ten paces from the entrance. 

Rap, rap, rap, rap. A flurry of snowflakes drifts across the mosaic, stained glass windows. You knew you tasted snow in the air. You idly wonder if the snow will feel different once you’re home again. You wonder if everything will be different considering the intel you gathered about Petrovich and all his followers. 

Ghost asks, “why’d they give you the name she-wolf?”

Your smile is a knife. 

You say while looking up at him; “I used to bite a lot during my training.”

Your knuckles find their treasured spot. You jam your knife into the edge of the floorboard, wiggling it, and it gives underneath your pressure. You tug on the backpack, holster your pistol and knife and hide your face in a scarf. You pull the rest of Ghosts' equipment out with a small gruff. The keys to the snowmobile parked in the shed outside bite into the soft flesh of your palm. You and Ghost will ride to the next point. And God willing, you’d make it over the border before anyone noticed you were gone. 

Ghost, silent beside you, stiffens.

“Shit.” You hiss. You duck sideways, throwing yourself into the space between the worship pews. Ghost crouches into the one next to yours. The door to the church swings open. There is a burst of cold air and snowflakes and bright, roaming flashlights. With your back pressed against the hardwood and knife in hand, you glance across the aisle to Ghost and wait for his lead. 

He signals the number three with his fingers. You nod. You track the lights as they move through the church, elongating shadows, and bouncing from the pews and pillars. Two have moved to the side of the church. A single target is walking down the main aisle. They’re trying to pincher you. Could it be Petrovich? Or were you betrayed internally? Or were they police officers? You hadn’t gotten a good look before hiding. Ghost’s entire body is taught like a loaded weapon. You feel it in your own spine and shoulders. The familiar, tense coiling. The single and narrow simplicity of setting a task and then completing it. You are going home. And nothing and no one will stop you. 

A voice calls out in Russian. “Petrovich is looking for you. It’s too late for prayer. It’s time to come home.” It sounds close to the doorway. You roll onto your stomach and signal to Ghost: ‘Enemy’. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to assume he doesn’t know Russian after being assigned to a Russian-Evac Mission. You make a mental note to ask him what he knows (if you both survive). He tells you to ambush right, then signals the go-ahead. 

You wiggle beneath the pews, getting behind your target, and crouch-walk toward him. You stay low and silent. From this vantage point, you can see they’re Petrovich’s bodyguards. They aren’t wearing tactical gear or body armor. They’ve got flashlights and pistols holstered at their hips. They aren’t expecting any sort of fight. You almost feel bad for them. Almost. 

You are a deadly viper hidden in the grass, a wolf stalking her prey, an arrow finding its mark. Your knuckles tighten around the grip of your knife. The church is dark, save for the flickering candlelight, and the blue-white shine of their flashlights. You slam your boot into the back of your target’s knee, causing him to crumple. He grunts, in surprise and pain, and that is the last sound he creates because your knife lodges into his carotid artery. A warm gush of blood covers your glove, and it arcs upward, splattering and spraying onto the fine stonework when you dislodge the weapon. You kick the rolling flashlight aside and run on quick, crouched feet toward the door. You don’t even bother to check if Ghost is alright. You assume he is. If not…well…you’ll claw your way out of Russia yourself. There is no returning to this place. 

The man at the doorway is panicking. He wildly waves his flashlight around the church while holding his cellphone to his ear. You snatch his wrist in a bruising grip and drag him toward you. He shouts. Your forehead smashes into his nose. His cellphone clatters to the ground. Your knife finds purchase through the thick fabric of his turtleneck. The gray sweater blooms deep, dark crimson–nearly black in the low light. He moans, you shove him aside and pick up his phone. He’s calling Petrovich, but the line hasn’t connected yet.

Ghost is suddenly before you. You meet his eyes. There’s a splatter of blood on his white camo hood. Your chest heaves with exertion, and the adrenaline of combat floods your senses until you are woven within it. If you don’t shake off Petrovich, then your extraction becomes thousand times more difficult. 

You grab the bodyguard by the root of his hair, jerking his head back, and snarl into his face. “Tell Petrovich you’ve found me. Tell him I’m coming home.” You say in Russian.

“Traitor.” He spits blood at you. You haven’t removed your knife from the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You twist the blade a little. He grits his jaw from screaming. Prideful to the end. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, hulking shape of Ghost with his knife in his hand. 

“Last chance.” You warn. “I will feed you to the wolves.”

“I am dead either way.” His eyes flick to Ghost behind you. “He will kill you.”

You are uncertain if he is talking about Ghost, Petrovich, or someone else. You don’t care to ask. You click the bright red ‘end’ button on the call screen before it connects. Wordlessly, coldly, you yank your knife from his shoulder and spear him below his jaw. A torrent of blood gushes over his sweater, and your wrist and hand, and onto the shiny wood. He slumps, on his knees like a man in prayer, and you shut your eyes briefly. You take no pleasure in the killing. It was either them or you. Wolf versus sheep. It was survival. A singular question tightened around your neck like a noose. Who betrayed you?

Ghosts’ voice is low from somewhere over your shoulder. “What’d he say?” 

“That I’m a dead woman.”

He shrugs his massive, bulky shoulders. You can’t ascertain how much of it is him and how much is his gear. 

You sheath your knife. “Petrovich will come looking for me.” You nudge the fallen bodyguard with your boot. “No use hiding them. We need to leave. Now.”

He extends his hand, “keys.”

“Who said you were driving?” You scoff.

“I’m the one taking point.” He says. “You’re the escort. I drive.”

You drop the keys into his waiting palm. You simply don’t have the time to argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get an impression of his true size when you’re perched behind him on the snowmobile. Your arms encircle him (as best you can), your cheek is pressed against his broad and muscled back, and the cold wind cuts through your scarf and bites your ears and nose. It’s dangerous to drive in the dark, but you have no choice. No alternative. You must take a risk with the dark forest full of birch trees and lonely pines to avoid the checkpoints at the borders. 

Ghost is, at the very least, efficient. Your stomach swoops each time the snowmobile crests over a small hill and the vibration of the motor purrs beneath your legs. The world is a blur of grayish-white. Snowflakes and branches whip past your field of vision. You force your eyes to remain open, as snowflakes crystalize on your eyelashes, and try to keep watch of your surroundings. 

You release a soft “oof,” when the snowmobile jolts over a hill and freshly fallen snow crashes over you and Ghost like a wave. The trees start to thin. Your fingers tingle inside your gloves from your lack of circulation due to how tightly you're holding onto him and the overall icy chill in the air. You suspect you’re about an hour from the second point. Possibly less, you hope, with how fast Ghost is driving. 

A whirring sound, like a beast waking from its slumber, rises above the rushing wind. You twist your spine to look behind you.

You yell above the engine and the wind, “fuck me.” Above the treetops, a helicopter is risking the storm, its searchlight roaming through the forest. Only one man is hunting you. Only one man is desperate enough to send a helicopter in the middle of the night with little visibility.

“Ghost! We’ve got company.” You shout.

“That was quick.”

The snowmobile banks with a hard left turn. You bury your face in his shoulder blades to protect yourself from the sharp wind. You recall the map Lev showed you. You memorized the route to the second point. Something tugged at the corner of your mind. The helicopter’s searchlight scanned the thick, snowy landscape. It will catch up to you soon. Ghost weaves through the trees, but they provide  little cover. 

It’s dark. It’s snowing. The helicopter is faster than you. These are the facts.

If you stop, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding you. He sent a helicopter; you have no doubt in your mind that he also sent out snowmobiles and ATVs. The darkness is your best cover. 

If you continue, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding the safe house. The only silver lining is that Petrovich doesn’t know who you work for. He doesn’t know you have help. He might assume you’ve been kidnapped. But, what if Petrovich thought you were dead? He wouldn’t chase after a dead woman. 

You say, “Ghost, I have an idea. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

He grunts.

“We need to crash the snowmobile.”

“You’re mad.” Is it the wind filling your ears, or does he sound a little…impressed? 

You squeeze your fingers around your wrist when Ghost takes another sharp turn. You suspect he’s double-backing and confusing your trail while avoiding the oncoming helicopter. 

“My other plan involved a sniper rifle and blowing out the searchlight. However, seeing as we don’t have a sniper, I’m going to plan B.”

“Crashing our only means of transportation sounds more like Plan-fucking-Z to me.”

“You have a better idea?!” You snap.

You continue, impassioned, “the storm will cover our tracks. We can walk the rest of the way. Petrivoch’s men won’t follow us if they think I’m dead.”

He mutters something under his breath. It’s too quiet for you to hear. 

“Find a good place to stop with tree coverage and I’ll do the rest.”

“Jesus.” He grumbles. 

You wait for the inevitable argument. The discussion about how the snowmobile could outrun the helicopter and whoever else might be pursuing you. You brace yourself, drawing counterarguments inside your head, preparing yourself as you have your whole life. The pine trees thicken, and the snowmobile gradually slows. His back is tense. You wiggle your tingly fingers inside your gloves. You slide your arms away from his solid, firm midsection and scoot to the edge of the seat when the snowmobile finally stops. 

Ghost twists around, looking at you, his eyes fathomless beneath the mask.

“Your plan. What is it?”

You tell him. It involves tipping over (or crashing) the snowmobile, lighting it on fire, ripping pieces of your clothing and burning other remnants to imply that whatever was left was eaten by wildlife.

You peel off your bloodied gloves, “it’s not a perfect plan.”

“It’s bloody insane is what it is.”

You shrug, “and yet you agreed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the picture of mental stability, now am I?” He tears one of your shirts between his hands. You work quickly and silently in tandem. The helicopter is searching the less forested areas. It’s loud enough to hear, though you can’t see it or its spotlight through the thick evergreens. You tie together several pieces of fabric and shove them into the gas tank. After it detonates, although the helicopter won’t be able to land nearby, Petrivoch’s men will likely find the remains before dawn. 

You reach under your shirt, toward your collar, and your fingers encircle the charm on your necklace. You tug. The thin golden chain snaps. It was your first gift from Petrovich. A symbol of your loyalty - false as it was. You hold it aloft and the tiny eagle charm glitters above the flickering flame of your lighter.

“I hope I am there the day they burn you.” You whisper with the trees, and the cold snow, and your silent Ghostly companion as your witness. You drop the broken necklace. You light the edge of the fabric. The smoke singes your nostrils and your eyes water. You run toward the trees and don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Ghost put as much distance between yourself and the snowmobile before its explosion. Your muscles strain, your skin glistens with sweat, and you are hot and stuffy beneath your warm clothes. The pace he sets is brutal. You push yourself to keep up, never complaining, though your mouth tastes of copper from how many times you’ve bitten your lower lip. The storm rages and covers your tracks. 

“The storm’s getting worse.” You say. You’ve never endured in silence for this long before. Not since your youth, you think. The howling wind cuts between you and him, dragging snowflakes in their wake. 

Ghost barely glances at you. “Hadn’t noticed.” 

If you squint, he blends into the world. A white-and-gray Grim Reaper here to collect your soul.

“Were you going to kill me in the church?” You ask. You remember how he approached you and the bodyguard. His cold lethality. The silence that shrouds him. His eyes were dark, too far to discern what emotion lay within. He doesn’t answer, but he does look over at you. You are mirrors of another. His face is covered by his strange, macabre mask. Your face is covered, in a heavy scarf, your eyes visible through the slit in the fabric. You speak through your eyes. Nonverbal. Expressive. Weighted.  

You tilt your head slightly to the side as if to say ‘well?’ 

You wonder if he smiles beneath the mask. You wonder if he smiles at all. He turns away and checks his compass. For several minutes only your crunching footsteps and the wind screaming through the branches keeps you company. You don’t think Ghost (and by proxy the US government has betrayed you) but you aren't certain. Not until you have some type of proof or motive. The only people who knew about your meeting location were Lev, yourself, and Ghost. You know you didn’t slip up. And you’ve been in this field for too long to chalk Petrivoch’s appearance to coincidence and dumb luck. Someone is compromised. 

You glance sidelong at Ghost through your snow-covered lashes. He’s big, he’s strong and efficient. You’re not a person who doubts their abilities and you’re not an idiot. You know a losing fight when you see one. In close-quarter combat, his reach is longer, and if he pins you then it’s over. If you plan to incapacitate him–it’ll need to be an ambush. It’ll need to be quick. You store the thought away for later. You’re not going to ambush him in the storm.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snowstorm starts to ease, and he’s forced to admit that your plan to torch the snowmobile might’ve saved them. There’s a chance that the weather made it impossible for the helicopter to keep pursuing. However, he won’t know until sunrise. Either he’ll have Petrivoch’s men on his ass or it’ll be smooth from the safe house to the border. He prepares himself for the worst. Petrovich isn’t a man who gives up easily. Price’s file on him was stacked. Although most of the intel you gathered undercover was on a need-to-know basis, he knew the man was powerful, controlling, and deranged. A dangerous cocktail. It gives him all the more reason to wonder if you’ve been broken and brainwashed by Petrovich. But the thought holds little water. Your behavior has been motivated by survival. You handled yourself with extreme grace and brutality in the church. Price said you were good. He didn’t realize you were that good. The takedown of your target was effortless and clean. A thing of beauty, really. You function well under pressure. And you smile often for a woman trained to be a covert assassin. You’re nothing like he expected. 

He announces, “we’ll take a break here.”

He watches you drink from your canteen. Your face glistens with sweat before you wrap yourself back up in your scarf and hat. You pack your canteen with snow and store it away, but he notices your hand flinch near your knife, the brief tenseness of your shoulders. He scans the darkness for threats. He meets your eyes with an unspoken question. 

Your breath fogs in front of your mouth, hazy, obscuring your gaze from his for a moment. When the mist passes, your eyes are cold and narrowed, and you look like you want to skin him alive.

“I didn’t give Lev everything.”

His brow furrows, “what’re you telling me for? I’m not your superior officer.”

Your gaze softens imperceptibly. 

“Someone ought to know in case Petrovich is still hunting me.”

“You don’t need to bargain your worth to me, she-wolf.” He says plainly. “I’ve got my orders.” He’s not sure what game you’re playing. And he doesn’t rightly care. Once you’re across the border, you’re someone else’s problem. Whatever intel you have, or don’t have, it doesn’t concern him. His only concern is making it out of this tundra with you alive. You adjust the straps on your backpack and nod, signaling with your hand that you’re ready to move.

The blue-black sky lightens, and stars fade from view. Tiny, blackbirds flit through the air. The terrain flattens. He recognizes this location from the map. The safe house is over the hill. It was a less straightforward route than if he had the snowmobile, but at least you’ve made it. He keeps checking your six–part of his job–and scanning the open sky for threats. The snow crunches underfoot.

He says, “we’re almost there. Come on.”  He jogs ahead. 

Something cracks under his foot. He spins, looking for you, and discovers you’re a few paces behind. Your arms and legs are spread akimbo and when you meet his eyes, there is controlled panic, and he can practically hear the gears turning within your mind.

“We’re on the lake.” You exclaim like it’s a brilliant revelation. “I remember seeing it on the map!” 

The storm must’ve covered it. Fucking hell!  

“There’s a USB in here.” You strip your backpack from your body and slide it easily across the hidden ice. “It’s more important than I am.”

Another crack reverberates beneath him. He’s hyper-aware of his size and the dangerous risk of getting wet at this temperature.

“What’re you doing?” He beckons with his hand while lowering his body, “this way!”

“Yeah, yeah, working on it.” You take a tentative step forward. Despite the logical distance, it feels like a chasm has split you from him. 

“You need to get low.” He’s on his stomach on the ice and the next crack vibrates beneath his gut. “Spread out your weight.”

You nod. You start to crouch, but lady luck isn’t on your side. The ice ruptures. The crash, your yelp of alarm, and the splash of cold water are like a pike driving through his eardrums. He army-crawls toward your flailing arms. Your gloves scramble for purchase on the flat, slick ice as your head disappears underwater. Ghost unintentionally shouts your name. 

He grabs you, pulling you up. You sputter and gasp, water saturating your scarf that’s peeled partially away from your face, and revealing your wild, stricken eyes. 

“I’ve got ya.” He says, “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him and kick your legs underwater while he lifts you out of the ice trap. Your shivering body crawls across the ice alongside him, though he tracks your sluggish movements and rapid breath. He needs to get you to shelter immediately. The second you’re clear of the lake, he crowds you into his arms and lifts you in a fireman's carry.

You protest weakly through chattering teeth, “I can walk.”

“This is faster.”

He trudges up the short, small hill while carrying you and both backpacks. The sight of the safe house is like fucking salvation. It’s a squat, modest little wooden cabin. He can spot a chimney sticking up from the roof. If it doesn’t have wood, then he’ll start burning furniture. He needs to get you warm before you drop into severe hypothermia. The cold wind cuts across the air like a cruel cosmic joke. Draped across his shoulders, he can practically feel your desperate, galloping heart against his back. 

“Stay awake.” He commands, voice brusque and sharp.

“Aye, sir.” You mumble.

“That doesn’t sound awake to me.”

“Fuck you.” You say this time, with more emphasis, more feeling.

He grumbles. “Atta girl.”

He shoves open the front door with his shoulder, kicking it closed, and deposits you in front of the cold, empty fireplace. You’re trembling worse than earlier, but you’re lucid. You tug your wet scarf off of your face and struggle to unlace your boots. Unfortunately, there are no logs beside the fireplace. He huffs. Plan B then. The cabin is a single, large room with the kitchen and sitting area sharing the space and a door that presumably leads to the bedroom or bathroom. 

Ghost grabs one of the wooden stools and uses his tactical knife to hack a small divot in the wood so he can snap it with his foot. He breaks the stool into pieces, shoves them into the mouth of the fireplace, and starts the fire with his emergency fire starter kit. He shoots a glance over his shoulder to you. You’ve managed to get your boots and socks off, though the rest of your clothing appears to be a challenge.

Ghost shoves your trembling hands out of the way. He yanks your zipper down.

“O-oy!” You shout with surprise and indignation.

He says, “arms.” 

You relax your shoulders, and he tugs the heavy coat off your body. Wordlessly, you lift your shaking arms, and he pulls the drenched mess of your sweater over your head. Your shirt and tank top comes next, then your sports bra, until you're naked from the waist up in front of him.

Your toned stomach muscles clench. A mapping of scars decorates your skin like battle trophies. If this was any other moment–he might’ve taken a second to appreciate the solidness of your form, the shape of your tits, the honed lethality of your biceps and forearms and stomach. There’s nothing waifish or delicate about you. You’re a weapon of flesh and muscle and hot blood. Your eyes focus on some spot behind him, and the firelight reflects and shifts in the depths of your dark pupils. 

You lift your hips and (with his help) drag your soaked pants and underwear off your body. He does not think about your thighs or your calves. He removes a blanket from his bag and drapes it across your legs. The key to overcoming hypothermia is gradually warming the body. He strips himself of everything but his mask and underwear and sits behind you–bracing his knees around your legs and caging you with his body heat. He shucks his gloves off and gently rubs his palms along your freezing arms. The fire crackles before you. The knobs of your spine and the curve of your shoulder blades press lightly into the planes of his naked, muscled chest. You’re weirdly quiet. 

“No cheeky comment?” says Ghost.

You blurt, “Lev’s the traitor.”

Ghost blinks. 

“Enlighten me.”

“You saved me, not the USB.”

“USB means fuck-all to me. I don’t want you dead, she-wolf.”

You laugh weakly. A full-body tremor wrecks through you. He can feel it across his entire chest and straight to his groin with how he’s got you melded into him. His hands slow. He can feel each individual ridge of the scars on your arms. He can feel the fine, thin hair along your forearms. Your wrist bones and knuckles are the only fine-boned, delicate piece of you that he can touch. He glances down at the sleek musculature of where your neck meets your shoulder. 

Unless he chops more furniture, the fire isn’t going to last long, but it should be enough to get you stable. That’s all that matters.

~~~~~~~

Between the fire raging in front of you and Ghosts’ solid heat at your back–your skin tingles as it regulates temperature and your circulation returns. Your eyes drink in the muscles of his thick thighs, braced on each side of you, and the peek you get of his black-and-white tattoo when his arms move. He hasn’t stopped touching you. His hands travel up and down your arms, to your wrists, and shoulders. How come you never noticed how big his hands were? A flush of warmth burns at the nape of your neck. You feel like you’re being surrounded by a large, jungle cat. And it’s tempting to close your eyes and melt into his warmth. You’re at the safe house. You’re almost home. It wouldn’t be so terrible to sleep, would it? Ghost would keep watch. He’d look out for you.

“Talk.” Ghost orders. “You’ve gotta stay awake.”

“About what?”

“I don’t care.” He huffs. His voice is warmer, as close as you are, and it drips like honey and vibrates across your back.

“I memorized names in the graveyard to keep sane.” You say, surprising yourself with the confession, your secret little game. “I can recite those.”

“Do it then.”

You stare into the flames until your eyes start to water and repeat their names. They were your first ghosts before you met this one. You numbly scratch at one of your scars. You repeat the names again. Ghost isn’t rubbing your arms, but he’s still touching you. His large, calloused palms have settled. One is on your hip, the other is clutching your shoulder and that arm squishes into your breasts. Your back is snug against the hard, muscled planes of his chest. He’s holding you?! You’re not sure why this realization comes as such a surprise. He’s sharing his body heat. There’s nothing tender or romantic about it. You’re his mission. Yet, this is the first time in three years that you’ve allowed non-transactional physical contact. Usually, if someone touched you, it was because they wanted something (or you were manipulating them to get what you wanted). Ghost’s motive isn’t ulterior. It’s transparent. He wants your continued survival. That’s it. 

“You got quiet again, she-wolf.” He says with a breathy edge to his tone. “Better not have fallen asleep on me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m awake.” 

To add to your point, you wiggle your toes beneath the blanket. At least, you no longer feel like an ice popsicle, but you selfishly want to stay here–in the warmth, muscled solidness of Ghosts’ body. You close your eyes momentarily and try to absorb this moment into the fibers of your being, your essence, and your bloodstream so you can remember it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. Ghost’s breathing deepens. You only notice because of the proximity of his ribs to yours. His thumb glides along the raised bumpy edge of a scar near the end of your clavicle bone.

You say slowly, “that one was from Petrovich.” 

If he wasn’t wearing the mask, you would feel his breath on your skin. His touch withdraws. He rests his palm on your forehead, checking your temperature before his hand glides below your jaw and registers your pulse with two fingers. Everything he’s doing is clinical and tied to survival. Yet, that doesn’t explain the slowness of his movements. It doesn’t explain why his touch lingers below your chin. Your pulse jolts and your breath hitches. His chest rumbles against your back in a low, deep hum. 

“We need to change our route.” You say with Ghost’s thumb and two forefingers loosely wrapped around your throat. “Lev betrayed me. And he knows my exit plan. We need to find an alternative to the border.”

Ghost says, “then we better move before we waste any more daylight.”

His hand recedes from your jaw, and you are bereft of its soft pressure and warmth. Ghost stands up. And you twist your spine, drawing the blanket over your chest, and allow yourself the very selfish and human privilege to see him half-naked. As expected, he’s a fucking massive specimen of virility. You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of his broad muscled chest, his strong biceps, veiny forearms, and capable hands, the cut of his v-line into his waistband, and the trail of dark hair that travels down from his belly button. Your eyebrows lift in surprise and appreciation. You don’t mind the mask hiding his face because his body is fucking spectacular.

He pulls his shirt over his head. You watch unashamedly at the play of muscles as they ripple across his chest and flex. The low-burning fire snaps loudly and sends a flurry of sparks up the chimney.

“Careful,” His eyes spark behind the mask, “you’ll drool on my nice blanket.” His tone brightens with gentle teasing. Somehow, the sound of his voice like that, deep and teasing, is hotter than the sight of his abs. 

You smirk. “See, I thought you were cute until you got cocky about it.”

He scoffs. “Cute?”

Ohh, you found a little nerve. How delicious. 

“Cute.” You affirm and say no more. You dig through your backpack and procure your last set of clothes. There’s no room for shyness or modesty in an active combat situation. Sure, no one is shooting at you. But that reality can change real fast. You shimmy your underwear and pants over your hips and quickly pull your bra over your head like the house is on fire. You feel Ghosts’ gaze on you. And it blazes like a hot brand across your skin. Forget the fire, the shared body heat, the blanket, all you need is a few seconds of Ghosts’ undivided attention, and you are burning up.

“Here, take this.” You underhand toss the USB to Ghost. He catches it effortlessly.

“Why?”

“In case you fail your mission, I don’t want to fail mine.” You open the closet door and pull a mothball, musty-smelling coat from the hanger. Your clothes drying in front of the fire need a few more hours before they’re wearable. Those are hours you don’t have.

“Lost faith in me already, have you?” says Ghost. 

It’s your turn to scoff. “Hardly.” You level him with a serious gaze, “I’m trusting you with it, Ghost.” 

He says, “Riley.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon Riley.”

Your heart stutters inside your chest. You weren’t expecting him to give you anything in return, let alone his name.

“Okay, Simon.” You smile tentatively, “let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”

<Part Two>

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #reader insert #simon ghost riley reader insert #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x reader #fic: cold hands warm heart

[heartfullofleeches]

Quick descriptions of my milk cow hybrid yans since it's been a while-

Eggnog [They/them] - Seamstress who lives in the attic/walls of the old farmer's house reader lives in in majority of fics. Steals clothing reader no longer uses to make into outfits for their stuffed rabbit/use as pillow cases. Timid, afraid of loud noises. The tallest of the hybrids and most soft spoken mainly due to damage to their vocal cords. Sings to reader from the attic when they upset

Cotton Candy Milk [they/them] - Town Jester. Silly and carefree, but serious about their crafts. Creates paints with their milk they use to paint portraits of reader.

Screamsicle [they/them] - Formerly known as creamsicle, Screamsicle has a love for all these spooky (and reader). Wears a pumpkin mask they never take off after an incident with humans that resulted in injury. Carrie's around a skeleton with a different name every other week and tells it secrets they'd take to the grave

Rootbeer Milk [he/him] - Cowboy cow. Tries to impress with his sharp shooting, but his aim is rather dull due to needing glasses and refusing to wear them because he thinks they're for dorks (unless reader wears them). Related to Ginger Milk

Ginger Milk [she/her] - Mechanic and owner of the junkyard in town. Loud mouthed and hot tempered, but means well. Works daily in her shop on to impress/improve reader's life and only bugs half of them

Peach Milk [she/her] - Token mean girl, but loves to spoil reader regardless. Makes creams and body scrubs for herself and reader with her milk. Older twin sister to Apricot

Apricot [he/him] - Lifeguard and the sweetheart to his sister's bitterness. Spends all his time at the lake, writing love letters he'll never send. Younger Twin brother to Peach

Milk Tea [he/him] - Town Therapist few actually go to. Stickler for rules, life of the party when wasted. Insists most of reader's problems come from having so many people around them and that they should talk to him alone

Spice Milk [he/they] - Bar owner and the shoulder most go to cry on. Offers the same kindness to reader and prays they don't mind if he does the same.

Apple Milk [They/Them] - Town Doctor. Easily and constantly stressed with work who just wants to crawl into reader's bed and never leave

Mint Milk [They/Them] - Pothead. Makes edibles with their milk they dump off on reader and others. Laid back, though extremely possessive

Vanilla Milk [she/her] - Baker. Acts holier than thou, but a freak behind closed doors.

Cherry Milk [she/they] - Skater girl. Never removes her helmet and pads as she's constantly trying to one up previous stunts and to hide her broken horn. One of the weakest hybrids, but carries a spiked bat

Strawberry Milk [he/they] - Heavylifter and caretaker of the farm/crops. Refuses to let reader use their feet when he's around and carries them around on his shoulders

Chocolate Milk [he/him] - Sherriff. Stoic and easy to anger by everyone except reader. Working on a safe room/apartment for reader in his basement. Has never been milked and refuses to be so which is part of his problem

Licorice Milk [he/him] - Probably the reason there's a need for a sheriff in the first place. Also why many human tourists never make it to their final destination. Offers to cook for reader - they'd be wise not to even drink the water/milk he gives them. Rarely speaks unless it's over the phone. Leaves reader messages that range from slightly cute to cute but only through the eyes of a cannibal cowman

Banana [she/they] - Abrasive tech wiz. Hates being touched/bothered by others - reader being their only exception. Often fixes little kinks in Ginger Milk's machinery and replaces her spyware for their own. Wants to be more open with reader, but struggles to express herself

Oat Milk [she/her] - Nun/gardener. Most avoid her, Eggnog is terrified of her. The only hybrid without a tail or horns. Plants her crops outside reader's window. They smell so sweet and speak even sweeter during full moons

#Milk farm tag #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere characters #yandere ocs #yandere hybrid #yandere

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Prologue

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Initial prologue, swearing, slight descriptions of transformation.

a/n: This is my first fic, working off/on for a slight while. I’ve been a long-time lurker, and I’ve finally got a few ideas and the brain power sufficient for at least a good ‘ol attempt! I’d love any feedback y'all could offer! This is just the initial prologue, and true interaction of the trio will begin in the following chapter. Thanks again!

Word Count: 1.9k - Read Length: 7 minutes, 11 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ 

You couldn’t tell where the feathers started, and your skin began.

It had been weeks of incessant avoidance to getting help, or facing the truth of your affliction - it was now, above all else, time to face the music. However, you wouldn’t sing. For you, it had been days of fatigue, the inability to catch your breath, and the hiss of your skeleton rearranging itself. What difference was it than any other succession you’d been through? You’ve always survived alone. Well, if the whispers among your forest’s cool leaves were any indication, this molt wouldn’t play fair.

Your skin itches with a frenzy your dull fingernails couldn’t soothe, the ripple of pin feathers beneath taut skin an uncomfortable ache. Once your campfire’s embers are fully extinguished, the feeling would get much worse. The transformation wouldn’t go too far if you remained in your home, you thought- your dwelling refurbished caverns, the soft drip of percolating water into your carved wooden bowls a welcome sound. You’d have enough to drink through these next difficult days..and a part of you hoped that it’d be enough to satiate your thirst for viscera, for marrow. If the new moon’s presence never struck your subconscious, perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it.

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Your head would throb as you’d rise from your bedrolls, unable to find the sleep you begged for. A keen sense told you it was evening, the night’s chill rolling over your exposed shoulders in waves. If you were truly going to transform, as had been your normal for countless years- there was no point in ripping more clothes in the process. The earth felt rough underneath you, becoming more sodden as you’d trek towards the mouth of your cave, the evening’s darkness doing little but sharpen away the humanity you had left. It had rained, the air’s scent carrying the fresh smell. Recently, to be noticed by your unresponsive nose..and yet, it couldn’t rival the majesty of the sky. Stars speckled across its tapestry, a sigh escaping you at its sheer beauty. It was a enchanting reminder of what you would see when you woke up after your succession, after the molt had picked you clean and rebuilt you. At least that’s what it’d feel like, when you’d regain your mind.

You could feel the dull pain of feathers beneath skin even further, as though your body craved to soar up into its expanse. You’d pat your shoulder down as if brushing dirt from it, knocking sense into your own instincts. You couldn’t afford to further the transformation now- it’d never started this early before. The moon was a mere sliver within the sky, last shades of light due to leave within the next day. “The soil is what I deserve,” You’d grit aloud like a mantra, echoing in your thoughts, soothing you into begrudging complacency. The sinful sky would murmur to you, a voice slipping out through the darkness, and you’d shy away from her. It was your conscience, or perhaps your instincts. They were always mouthy this close to the new moon.

“You must soar,” She’d breathe, her words like rustling leaves in the howling night air. You’d have turned your back to the sound, head low as your arms would cross to cover yourself. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t-

“Hunger plagues you..” The voice would coax, fanning across your back, swirling between the crackled down which speckled new growth on your shoulder blades. You’d turn again, a hiss sparking in your throat- the sound raspy, incomplete, feeling raw on your tongue as it’d clip between barred teeth, gnashing against your words. “I am sane..” You’d breathe, the words harsh in your mouth. You’d done this dance hundreds of times, and yet the voice inside your mind was oddly corporeal today. “I am lonely..” you’d admit, shaking your head out as though it’d rid you from the illusionary tone, giving yourself a reason to be hearing voices, “You are nothing but my own mind. You aren’t-”

“Real?” The voice would ask, before the air sliced against your jaw- finger-like, pulling your gaze back as your body would turn around to follow it. Your eyes would see her then, fully for the first time- spotted in starlight, not just a figment of your own mind’s trickery. Vaguely humanoid, spectral feathers would blanket her arms, slackened wings framing her back as though an angel- ghostly, as her entire form was vaguely translucent, made of a soft white glow. One hand would have pulled your chin to meet her gaze, entire body tensing as her ‘grip’ felt like the crisp embrace of the night’s air. The voice had never had a body before.

“Who are you?” You’d ask, spitting vitriol even though your hands shook, her touch iron-clad even though it seemed to be crafted from the wind itself.

She’d chuckle, tilting your head so she could get a better look at you, and you got the feeling that she could peer at much more than just your skin. “You haven’t heard of me, fledgeling?” The voice would question musically, her tone a soothing balm to your transformation, and yet seemed to aggravate it further. You could feel the low pop of sinews contracting to allow the slow re-arranging of your skeleton, grunting at the uncomfortable sensation.

And even still, she wouldn’t release your head from her hold, tongue tsking at your lack of an immediate answer. “You..aren’t like me-” You’d scoff beneath your breath, expression radiating fury. It was easier to feel angry towards the apex of a lunation, and you harnessed it now. She was no monster, some kind of partial Aegypius- she was not chained to the moon as you were. What audacity did she have to mar your affliction with her words? “Leave me, before I-”

“Silence-” She’d interrupt, the sound layered with the voices of many. Your jaw would close shut before she’d finished the first syllable, something in the word beckoning complete and total submission. “Ah, so they can be trained..” She’d rasp, a sickly sharp grin plastering her see-through expression. She’d pull your jaw up higher, thumb resting underneath your chin, “I know you…and I think it’s time you remember me.”

You’d feel her before you heard her again, the contraction of your stomach causing you to double over. Within an instant, you were no longer yourself, the sharp crack of bone and tendon filling the air as feathers would blanket shifting skin. You’d blink, and see your eyes change into an overwhelming hyper-vigilance, until you felt nothing at all but hunger.

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The fabric beneath you was quickly forgotten as you’d jolt awake, breath shaking as your vision would correct itself to the soft daylight emanating from cracks in your cavern’s walls. Your headache would only intensify, hissing as the soft rays would accost you. It seems you had found fitful sleep, although the harsh feeling of cold against your form would persist longer than you liked. It was all a dream. Just a dream..

In your sleep, you hadn’t known who that woman was. Scrounging through your waking memories bore different fruit, however. Your hands cycled through old tomes- the few you managed to obtain on your species. You'd have to nudge the manacles near your things with a shard of rock to get to them though, keeping even the slightest wisp of your skin away from its metal. It wasn’t the material you feared, but what was carved within it- some kind of passage you’d long forgotten the translation to. All that mattered is that it hurt like a bitch, and did its job of keeping you restrained when a lunation was at its peak.

After a few minutes, you’d find your answer in an especially unweathered page: Matron, the Aegypius creation deity. Another name was below it whose dialect you’d long forgotten; Your birth tongue. With a tight-lipped grumble, you’d close the book shut before rising to weathered feet. It wouldn’t take a historian to tell you that seeing a goddess in your dreams was a bad sign.

You’d don your belongings quietly, the silence calming against breaths which shuddered your slowly-hollowing skeleton. As you’d slip your bedroll atop your fraying rucksack, you could feel the shifting curvature of stretching muscle which had begun within your shoulders, preparing the form for flight in a day's time. Soon, it wouldn’t be your body anymore. The manacles would join you, shoved hastily within your kit with a stray cloth blocking your fingers from direct contact. You’d feel their burn that evening, once you’d return to the cave later that night.

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With a final glance towards your cavern, you’d set off towards your destination; the ‘Spirit Healer of Bellmoor’, although you could care less if they were a toad masquerading as a human. If they could help you, as it’d become rapidly clear that was necessary, then the hike was worthwhile. It’d take a few hours of travel, weaving through tree trunks as your legs carried you where your wings begged to go. The sky was a saccharine prize, and yet you kept your expression forward- gazing at its majesty would only strengthen your molt’s urge to progress.

You’d take the long road to avoid any prying eyes, or any eyes at all, for that matter. You valued solitude, the one hardened aspect of your species which allowed them to not be culled as soon as they came into existence- it kept your kind mysterious, more of a figment than truth, and kept other Aegypius from tearing each other apart for territory. The healer’s house would come into view a second later. It was wooden and humble-looking, the cabin lit with a warm interior glow from within its small grove. Approaching its brass knocker, you’d clang on the door three times, praying that’d be enough. As the second ticked past, you’d raise your knuckles to rap a second time, but the door opened before you could bother. Behind it, claret-colored irises would greet you, accompanied by high cheekbones, fiery red hair, and an inquisitive glance. You wouldn’t meet her gaze as your own turned downward, your voice roughened from lack of use.

“Are you the healer?”

You’d see her face morph into a cheshire grin in your peripheral, as she’d step aside to allow you further passage into her home. “Yes, I am. Welcome, and come in.”

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Heavy breaths would thunder through the open forest, the woman sinking deftly through the trees, in sight of her quarry. A cavern decorated with slung beading, woven from thin, flexible vines and hollowed, pecked-out rocks. The alcove would’ve almost been homey to Natasha, if it wasn’t the den of a monster. Her longsword would be clasped tightly in gloved hands, held forward as the hunter would skulk towards her prey.

She’d settle her back to the cave’s entrance, a trickle of sweat staining her brow. The chase had been long and arduous, but it was finally complete. With a hardy swing, she’d growl her war cry into the air and-

See nothing. The cave was empty.

Natasha would pant, eyes dilated as she’d grit her teeth in rapidly fuming, silent frustration. Her pupils would bounce from corner to ceiling, taking in the scene before her..the monster had fled. It ran. She’d scoff at that, barking a cruel laugh beneath her breath as she’d coat her fingers in leftover charcoal, pulling her glove off to feel its texture. Crumbled and thick, not weathered terribly by elements..this fire was burned recently. The creature’s departure wasn’t long ago.

Her confidence would only return as she’d trudge outside, noticing escaping footprints she hadn’t noticed prior. In her focus to kill, obviously- she would’ve found them ages ago if she were actually looking for them. She’d smirk to herself, before beginning the hunt anew.

“I’m on your tail, гриф..” Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

#bearrrwrites #wandanat x reader #wandanat #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #fantasy au #minors dni #scarlet witch x reader #black widow x reader #wandanat smut #wanda smut #natasha smut #I got no idea what I'm doing #fuck it we ball #new writers on tumblr #new fic

[floralcyanide]

ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Today is your first day pursuing your Master of Arts in History, and the first day you meet your advisor, Dr. Egan, Professor of History.

pairing: professor!john "bucky" egan / fem!reader

warnings: none

author’s note: peep the somewhat grey hair edit of bucky I made lol, this is such s elf indulgent au because I am a history major looking to go into my master's and also I want to be a history professor so yeah ((: I will either write this as an actual fic but idk yet!! enjoy (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

✦ It’s your first day on your path toward your Master of Arts in History. You’re meeting with your advisor today, who will help you on that very path and hopefully guide you to its end with success.

✦ Apparently, your advisor is prevalent around campus despite you never having a class of his. Your university is quite large, so even though your focus is American History, and so is his, it’s not unheard of to never have met him.

✦ He wasn’t too into social events held by the history department, which is understandable. You loved attending them in your later years of being an underclassmen. But they can be overwhelming at times. 

✦ You wrap your knuckles against the wooden door before you, and before you can finish knocking, a tall, salt-and-pepper man swings the door open with a dazzling smile.

✦ “Welcome, I’m Dr. Egan. I’ll be your advisor for the rest of your time here on campus.” He offers a hand for you to shake, which you happily take. His grip is firm, but so is yours. You were taught to look someone right in the eye while shaking their hand firmly- but not too firmly. Dr. Egan picks up on this.

✦ You’re one of three female history majors in the entire department going toward a Master’s and one of about twenty altogether in the major. So, of course, you’re going to need a firm handshake and steady eye contact to get ahead in your field.

✦ “Quite a handshake you have there,” Dr. Egan says, taking a seat behind his desk. He waves a hand for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of it. “Thank you,” you say, “My grandfather taught me always to have a perfect grip.” “Your grandfather was right,” Dr. Egan nods, “because in this major, being an equal with the males will take you far.”

✦ Your grandfather and father were history buffs and even lived through major historical moments, like the World Wars. So your goal in life is to teach others about what they loved so dearly and went through so harshly.

✦ Your mother had you just a few years before your father was shipped off to England, so you spent the beginning of your school years without him. Your grandfather filled in the gaps you missed from your father, thankfully. Sadly, your grandfather passed just last year, but you aim to carry his legacy and intelligence.

✦ “I’m aware, unfortunately,” you grimace at the thought of the male-dominating discipline, “But I’ve made it this far, and I’m not backing down.” “Great, I’m glad to hear that. Especially since you’re the first student I’ve ever advised for a Masters.” “Really?” you ask, a little surprised, “Then we’ll do this together.”

✦ Dr. Egan winks at that and dives into what research will be required for your first paper. The topic is based on the thesis statement of your final project, a little warm-up, as Dr. Egan called it- to the real deal at the end of your two years of studying. You go on to tell him that you want your thesis to be about the pilots of World War II, but you don’t elaborate on why. 

✦ Dr. Egan tilts his head at you when you don’t explain why you chose that exact topic but let it go. He’s had to learn that everyone has skeletons in their closet, as well as personal things, and not just him.

✦ You can’t help but take in his appearance. His outfit consists of a brown tweed blazer and a white button-up with black slacks. His hair is curly and graying on the sides, and he has a faint stubble with a notable mustache on his upper lip. Dr. Egan held himself carefully but confidently, like he’d been hurt by something but still had an ego of sorts. It reminds you of your father and grandfather. You weren’t sure why.  But you’re going to figure it out.

✦ Dr. Egan is in his 40s now and picked up college again after leaving the military due to PTSD. He eventually got his Ph.D. in History and is now a professor, and has been for a few years now. He enjoys his job. Dr. Egan (or Bucky, as we know him) loves that he can focus on American History without living through it, so he teaches it. Bucky tries to avoid WWII as a topic because he doesn’t want students and staff to know he served. He thinks it will hinder their outlook on him. 

✦ Bucky has only known you through letters and now an hour of talking, but he already expects a lot from you. He knows you are skilled and passionate about history. When you look at him, though, he feels you can see right through him. Bucky doesn’t know how to gauge that quite yet.

✦ You bid farewell to Dr. Egan after about two hours of getting to know each other's basic info as well as what’s expected of your MA in History. You leave, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you walked out of the office. You’re still nervous, but not about your Master’s anymore- it’s about how you’re going to manage the next two years with a man like Dr. Egan.

#john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #callum turner x reader #callum turner #headcanon #John Bucky Egan headcanons #mota headcanons #floralcyanide writes

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

A Tight Predicament

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A/N: Of course my first full Baldur's Gate 3 fic is smut! 😂😂 I didn't want to disappoint anyone. 😏😏

Also, let's just pretend for a minute that Astarion hasn't been sexually traumatised and Gale is less self conscious.

So, this is Gale x Astarion x reader/Tav. I've tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but reader is described (vaguely) as having female parts down below. (Sorry)

Enjoy!❤️

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You didn't like separating everyone up. It just made more sense to you to stick together, safety in numbers after all but after clearing out a particularly twisty turny ruin you deemed it safe enough for everyone to do their own thing. Shadowheart backtracked to find a statue of Shar she was sure she had spotted earlier, Gale was one room over checking out some dusty tomes that had been left by the previous occupant and Astarion was behind you working on a particularly tricky lock, murmuring to himself about the want of a skeleton key. Meanwhile, you were sitting on the stone floor trying to wipe the goblin blood off of a new short sword you had found.

It was this particular view that had led you to your current predicament. Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw a flash of purple. Curious, and cautious, as to what could have caused such a thing, you get back on your feet and slowly draw back the moth eaten tapestry to reveal a smallish hole in the brickwork. It was the purple robes of Gale you had seen.

"Hey Astarion!" You call softly over your shoulder, signalling for the vampire spawn to join you.

"Mm?" Comes his inquisitive reply, moving to now stand next to you.

"Bet I could reach through and make Gale scream?" The smirk on Astarion's face makes you reconsider your words, quickly interjecting before he could reply. "Not like that!" God's above...I just mean like, you know, a little spook. In general. No other screaming involved." You're looking at anywhere else in the room except at the annoyingly handsome vampire, already feeling your cheeks start to flush red.

"Of course my dear, I'd never dream of suggesting anything else", faux innocence colouring his voice. "But do carry on, I'd love to see that obnoxious wizard cry out for his beloved Mystra". You bristle at the name of Gale's ex-lover but stay silent, instead bending over and bracing yourself on the stone wall.

It was rough on your hands as you carefully pulled yourself through just a little, thankful it was at the perfect height so your feet didn't leave floor.

"Even if you don't succeed in frightening Gale, this view alone is worth it".

You ignore Astarion's flirty comment, shimmying a little further in only to see Gale wasn't quite in your reach just yet. You'd have to move in just a little bit more...

"Merlin's beard!!"

You'd been so busy trying to shuffle further that you hadn't noticed Gale turning around, finally spotting you.

"Hello", you grin sheepishly.

"What in the name of Ao are you doing?!" He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and snapping the tome shut with the other.

"Isn't it obvious?" Astarion's muffled voice comes through the wall you were currently lodged in. Nervous energy flutters in your stomach as you feel the vampire's hands hold on to your hips lightly. You try to move yourself backwards only to find that you are now completely stuck. You try again, grunting slightly as the jagged solid brick digs into your hips.

"Wait," Astarion begins. Voice barely concealing a laugh as his fingers now begin to creep up under your armoured tunic. "Are you trapped?" He asks incredulously. You cover your face with your hands, a deep blush now settling on your cheeks.

"Yes, okay? Let's not make a big deal out of it". You mumble, trying your best to ignore your occasional lover's adept fingers toying with your belt buckle.

"Are you quite alright?" Gale asks, seemingly genuinely concerned as he leans in slightly for a closer look at the brickwork that had trapped you. Probably already figuring out a magical way to free you.

"I'm fine, despite my...situation. My ego is definitely more bruised than anything." You sigh resignedly.

"Not to worry, between Astarion and myself, I'm sure we'll have you out in a jiffy". Gske smiles reassuringly while crouching down to now be eye level with you.

"Well Gale, let's not be so hasty". Astarion's large hands now squeeze your ass as he talks, you bite your lip trying not to react. "This is a very interesting position our dear fearless leader has found themselves in. It almost seems a waste to not...explore this opportunity to its fullest." Astarion pushes his knee in between your thighs. Gods, this was akin to torture!

"Astarion!" You hiss in warning. Although in warning of what you don't know, it wasn't like you could do much.

"Are you alright? Is he hurting you?" Gale is looking at you so sincerely with those warm brown eyes of his. If this was any other situation, you would have melted. Astarion's laughter snaps you out of your trance, the sound of your belt hitting the floor making you close your eyes in embarrassment.

"You know Gale, it's no secret that you pine after them. We've all seen your lingering stares over the bonfire, bounding after them like an excited little pup. So so eager to please. It's all rather adorable, you know. And to think, Tav here would give you everything if you just asked." Astarion punctuates his words by grinding his knee against your heated core. Gale's eyes noticeably darken as you whimper loudly, hips trying to move against him but finding it impossible. The rogue then continues talking as if nothing was amiss. "They're annoyingly fond of you too. Personally, I don't see it but I am known for my impeccable taste, so make of it what you will I suppose".

There was a beat of silence as the wizard before you tries to take in all that had just happened, his dexterous fingers nervously playing with a little piece of the weave.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to Gale." You say quietly, trying your best to ignore Astarion still pressed tightly behind you. The wizard smiles softly at you, large calloused hand coming up to gently cup your cheek.

"Even in the most compromising position you still try to look after foolish wizards like me."

"Someone's gotta."

His lips touch yours hesitantly, warm and soft, pausing as he waits for you to react. You smile into the kiss as you slowly work your lips together. The tadpole begins to niggle in your brain, you can feel Astarion trying to enter your mind. Gale sighs into your mouth before pulling back slightly to speak. "So impatient," he quietly scolds so only you can hear it. "Let him in then, least we never hear the end of it."

You'll never get used to the gnawing wriggling sensation of connecting to another tadpole, not that you want too. The frown on Gale's face tells you that he too, is seeing the same thing.

It's Astarion's view of you, your belt lying on the floor, armoured tunic bunched above your waist, his knee still firmly pressed against your core. You can feel the heat of arousal radiating from yourself, hear the way your pulse races under your skin. Astarion removes his knee, and you can't help the disappointed mewl that slips out. You both watch as he yanks your leather leggings down, your underclothes barely covering you, slick already dampening the thin fabric. Astarion's voice echos in your mind, as though whispering directly in your ear. "Yes yes, lovely heartfelt confessions all round but-" his fingers teasingly trail over your underclothes causing you to whimper again, the material now clinging to you with wetness. "-I think we all know what we're really thinking about".

The tadpole disengages and you gasp as though resurfacing from being underwater. You open your eyes to see Gale gazing at you with a dark lustful stare.

"I don't usually rush into these types of things. I like to pursue someone romantically first. And yet, now that we're here at this very precipice, at a very crucial part in our relationship. I-"

"-Hells below, Gale!! Would you hurry up and kiss them again already?! How much more of a bloody invitation do you need??"

The wizard rolls his eyes before you quickly reach out and grab his robes, pulling him in for a more passionate kiss. You can't help but whine into his mouth as Astarion behind you slowly pulls down your underclothes, velvet swollen head nudging against your dripping core.

"Please...p-please..." You mutter against Gale's lips before your moan gets swallowed by him as your vampire lover finally pushes inside you, deliciously slowly stretching you around him. His chilled fingers stroke your spine soothingly as his girth strokes your walls expertly at a teasing pace.

"My perfect treasure", he murmurs affectionately. Your fingers thread into Gale's hair, tugging on the silly strands as he kisses you with a passion you didn't quite know he was capable of.

"What...hmph...what do you...what do you need? A-anything".

One idea springs to mind.

"Stand up." You pull back, panting a little, teeth biting at your bottom lip as Astarion picks up the pace a little, his hands now gripping your hips tightly.

"Now what?" The wizard's voice was husky with lust, his lips kiss swollen.

You hungrily reach for the snaps that hold back what you so eagerly wanted, making short work of them. There's a pause as you lock eyes, an understanding flits between you.

"Are you sure?" He asks softly. You can only nod, not trusting your voice to do anything but whine and whimper from the rogue's short shallow thrusts behind you.

"As you wish." Gale hesitates, a look of self-consciousness crossing his face for a second before finally freeing himself from the tight confines of his trousers. Your breath catches in your throat, his girth was impressive to say the least.

"Gods Gale!" Comes Astarion's voice from through the wall. "I don't know what the bloody hells you did to them, but keep doing it!"

You feel a blush on your cheeks deepen, from lust or from Astarion's comment you don't know. Gale gently cups your chin, looking more than a little pleased with himself, as he guides his thick hard cock closer towards you. Your mouth waters as you kitten lick his swollen head, precum salty and surprisingly delicious on your tongue. Gale watches you with a dark intensity as you grab his hips and slowly pulled him deeper into your throat a little at a time. He wasn't as long as Astarion but definitely girthier, you focus on swallowing around him, trying hard not to choke. His dexterous fingers tangle in your hair, petting you encouragingly as he begins to move his hips slowly at first. You've never felt so full or satisfied in your life. Two exceedingly handsome men filling you up over and over again. You can only imagine how lewd you must look like that, so different from your usual composed and in control leader role.

Whether it was you, Astarion or Gale you don't know but once again you feel the tadpole connect. It almost felt like it shivered with pleasure

You can feel yourself getting filled up over and over again, taste the salty precum on your tongue, feel the heat and slick of your fluttering walls surround Astarion, feel your own throat swallow around Gale, choking on his thickness.

Both men are caught up in the multihood of sensations flooding their senses, using your body to chase their own pleasure as your thighs shake and your fingers grasp onto the purple robes of Gale tightly. Your moans and whines are muffled around the taller man as you feel the rogue's clever fingers rub at your clit perfectly, urging you closer to the end.

"Cum f-for me, for us! Cum for u-us our b-beloved!"

Pleasure ahoots through your entire body, nerves on fire as stars burst before your eyes and you almost feel light headed. Astarion's quick sharp thrusts stutter behind you into a frenzied arrhythmic pace, groaning low in his throat as he empties himself into you, fingers gripping bruises onto your skin. Gale's hands tangle in your hair, nails scraping your scalp, your name slipping out from between his lips like the sweetest prayer. You bring a shakey hand up to his heavy balls, lightly squeezing and fondling them, urging him to paint your throat white. With a strangled noise from Gale, you feel them draw up tight as the taste of his seed fills your mouth and dribbles out the corner of your lips.

You don't get a second to bask in the glow of your filthy but fun act before Shadowheart's haughty voice yells from a distance.

"I know you said we should 'stick together' but I didn't realise you meant that close! Now if you're all finished, we have a tadpole that needs removing!"

You've never wanted the ground to swallow you up more in your life.

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x reader #astarion x gale x tav

[hollowbait]

Started watching Bleach again as an adult because I saw a 100k+ fic and decided that in order to read it, I needed to understand the canon. Once I actually got into the canon I fell immediately in love with Urahara and got sucked into a totally different ship. This is that ship. And since I'm a firm believer that once you read over 100 fics for a ship in less 3 months, you need to make a list of your favouriters, here we are!

@uraharaichigo's current top 25 URAICHI FIC.

breaking and entering is a crime, you know (but i'd forgive you of anything) by Excalis | T, 4k | “Why do you keep breaking into my house?” Ichigo complained, in lieu of a proper response. It was best to not feed Kisuke’s ego. “I was sexiled from my own home,” Kisuke sighed.

Your Humble Offering (In The Mouth Of This Abandoned Church) by RayShippouUchiha | M, 10k | Ichigo, the man who took Kisuke’s crumbling self into both of his hands and pressed the pieces back together with a gruff sort of gentleness, dies.

the shore at dusk (there you'll find my heart) by Starsilver | M, 5k | Ichigo dreams of the heartbeat pounding of the waves and the taste of brine on his lips.

Alchemy by athena_crikey | G, 22k | Shiba Ichigo leads a boring, blameless life as head administrator for the Shiba Clan. Until one day, a mysterious repair shop moves in next door.

Brightest by athena_crikey | T, 8k | “You fill your life with colour and noise and friendship, Kurosaki-san. It’s a very impressive trait. You turn enemies into friends. I… I turn friends into enemies.” Urahara’s still smiling; bitter, brittle.

Madness of Monday by NotLonelyJustAlone | G, 7k | How… how… how? How do you explain ‘I’ve either gone mad or I’m reliving the same week and I don’t feel mad and everything happens the same but I remember it all and I can’t can’t can’t keep doing this please help please please please because even if I’m not mad already I can tell the road there is definitely shorter today than yesterday?’

Standing Over Him by NotLonelyJustAlone | T, 10k | “And you, Kurosaki Ichigo, are mine.” Ichigo without his powers, but not totally alone.

Bureaucracy Hell by Aliendel | G, 8k | Reizei Ariko was considered old for a shinigami. Useless in a fight, she’d been relegated to an administrative position at the Academy. She was content with her mostly monotonous life dealing with arrogant nobles and stupid brats. Until an orange-haired young man barged into it and turned her life upside down like he had so many others.

Fashion Faux Pas? by celestivian | E, 20k | Ichigo has a big party to go to, and nothing to wear. Out of desperation, he seeks out Kisuke for help. Kisuke, of course, delivers.

You Don't Have a Soul, You Are a Soul (You Have a Body) by FeelingFredly | G, 2.6k | Kisuke has a disregard for his own safety a mile wide and it's enough to drive Ichigo mad. This time he finds the shopkeeper unconscious but not alone, and the woman with him has some very interesting things to say.

Car by CheshireSense (cywscross) | G, 4k | Urahara Kisuke handles pursuit of a love interest about the same way he handles everything else: with needlessly convoluted plans carried out in the most roundabout way possible because straightforward just won't cut it for him. He's lucky Ichigo's used to it by now.

Guard by CheshireSense (cywscross) | T, 18k | Later, Kisuke will remember and tease, "Were you really obsessing over me, Ichigo? Oh my, I have my own personal stalker!", and get an elbow to the face for his troubles.

Skeletons in the Closet (and flowers by the window) by Sky_King | T, 51k | Kisuke has a plan. He always has, and he’s very good at seeing it to completion no matter what. But as he grooms that noble boy into the perfect weapon to defeat Aizen, he begins to regret ever pursuing this idea.

A Deep Drink by Mousieta | T, 9k | Ichigo is a grad student who needs help writing his thesis. And Kisuke…. well no one has ever asked Kisuke what he needs. Does he even know? Does it matter?

i've always been this way (please don't scream) by Mister_Fox | T, 5k | “Ever wanted to snatch a pigeon out of the sky and eat it?” Kisuke asks idly.

Fade to Crimson (I know your name) by Starrie_Wolf | T, 8k | Ichigo’s a relative newcomer at the Seireitei Shatterdome, but he’s settled into the steady pace of his work fine, even made some friends. There’s just one thing.

what is reality? (what is a lie?) by Starrie_Wolf | T, 15k | Sequel to what is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?). Kisuke promises to restore Ichigo's powers after Ichigo makes a sacrifice he doesn't expect, and this changes things when Ginjou starts sniffing.

Equilibrium Position by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf) | E, 15k | He can't believe he has Aizen to thank for getting them together. Can you send fruit baskets to Mugen?

Feeling Horny by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf) | E, 3k | When Urahara shoved Ichigo to Hirako to learn how to control his inner Hollow, Ichigo thought it meant Urahara wasn’t Hollowfied. He was wrong.

Ficlet February by nahnahnahnah | G, 20k | And he had faith, he did, that Ichigo would defeat Yhwach. That was a startling enough realization, that he would have faith in anyone other than maybe Yoruichi and Tessai.

Patience by floweringbloom | E, 4k | Ichigo needs to have more patience, but he's very good at being Kisuke's distraction.

Remember Me (I won’t wait) by fw_feathers (callmeren) | G, 6k | On November 6, 2022, 13:00, the world’s first VRMMO game «Brave Souls Online» officially opened its servers. On November 6, 2022, 15:37, Kurosaki Ichigo put on his NerveGear and entered «Brave Souls Online». On November 6, 2022, 17:30, the game of death began.

Every Second (I’ll be running) by fw_feathers (callmeren) | M, 25k | “You didn’t tell us your zanpakuto spirit is a giant sea serpent, Ichigo-san,” Kisuke says mildly. “Ah,” Ichigo says, shading his eyes with a hand. “Should I have mentioned that?”

For You, My Dear, I’d Wait Forever by PhishyFish | T, 27k | Everybody knew about the 12th’s lieutenant. After all, he made quite the striking figure. Wild orange hair, a permanent scowl, and power that clung tightly to his skin, it really was not an exaggeration that everyone knew him, or at the least, knew about him.

#uraichi #bleach #urahara kisuke #kisuke urahara #kurosaki ichigo #ichigo kurosaki #[] #[text] #|fic rec| #|bleach| #|uraichi|

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Rabbitt's not-so-monstrous oxtober fics.

Not-so-spooky movie night.

Gallzatto x reader

A little halloween shopping here, a little trick-or-treating there. Add some movies, what a perfect day!

A/N: This one's a day early because I'm too busy getting married tomorrow and I dislike queueing posts! Enjoy!!

🎃 🐻 🍬 🎬 🎃

October meant spooky decorations and pumpkin everything.

Little costumes for the girls that you let them pick themselves when you took them shopping.

Every free day you had led to more decorations put up in the house, from little skeleton candle holders to ghost lamps and bat window stickers.

“Mommy I wanna have!” Lily came running up to you with a plush Jack Skellington almost half her size. “Pweeaase?”

Her big, pleading eyes and good behavior today made you give in, telling Rose to go find something as well which had both of the girls run off to the large bin at the end of the aisle that you slowly made your way to, grabbing all kinds of knick knacks and scary themed candies.

You found your girls digging through the plushies like savages, holding up every single one to inspect, giving them a little test huggie with mumbles of disagreement untill Rose emerged from almost toppling over into the bin with a little black and white guy that she cuddled close, happily running to you and dumping it in your hand. “Dis one!”

Upon closer inspection, she had found a Ghostface plush that you almost wanted to get for yourself as well. You caved and took a quick look through the bin yourself and snagged a flannel wearing fuzzy werewolf and sent the kids on their way to the costume rack on a quest for something nice that didn’t give their dads a heart attack.

“Batty!”

You made your way to where the voice came from and saw Lily holding a soft black onesie with wings attached to the arms. You let out a chuckle at her excitement and took it from her hands. “This is cute! But lets look for one in your size, okay?” A quick nod was her answer before zooming off the rack she got it from. “More here!”

Going through the rack to find the right size you swapped the too big one she grabbed for a fitting size before making your way over to your other daughter who was going back and forth between three different sections.

“Hey Rosy, found something?”

She shook her head, not being able to choose. Showing you her three options you she shared her love for each one with a pouty look. You checked each one and quickly removing one from the list already because her size wasn’t available, and one needed a mask so you double checked with her if she wanted to wear that the whole time and no, after some thinking she decided that she didn’t.

So here you were, a Chucky costume in hand as you walked back to your overfilled cart and mentally cursing yourself out for coming here in the first place.

The contents ended up taking up almost the whole checkout belt and cost you over double of what you had wanted to spend so you kindly declined the offered receipt. With everything put in bags you loaded it in the car and strapped in the girls before heading back home and praying you were gonna be able to get all of the bags up in one go because your two little helpers were too busy carrying their plushies.

Bags in hand you elbowed the elevator button and instructed the girls to press the right floor button for you and you made it to your home without falling over or any bags breaking.

Today was halloween and your girls had been nagging since early in the morning to go put on their costumes for trick or treating. Which you were blamed for by their dads. “Your halloween obsession is rubbing off on them.” Stated Lip, who was snacking on some jelly eyeballs as he walked into the living room. “He’s right sweetheart.” Carmen chimed in. “They’ve been begging me to make ‘spooky foods’ all week.” You watched as he dried his hands on he purple and orange pumpkin patterned towel that had sneakily replaced the normal kitchen towels and would not be swapped back out after this month. You sighed in defeat and mumbled on your way to the coffee maker. “Can’t believe I’m dating such party poopers.”

“Yeah! Party poopers!” “Daddies is meanies.”

Your laughter was heard over the loud coffee maker noise, not believing how they heard specifically that part of your conversation. The glares you were given would have sent anyone else running, but you knew your boys loved you no matter what so you shrugged them off as you snickered behind your large coffee mug.

“Spooky foods?” Carmen gaze was pulled from you by a tug on his pant leg. A soft laugh left him a he promised there would be spooky foods later today. He didn’t enjoy trick or treating at all and opted to stay in and prepare for your little movie night.

With the kids all dresses up and Lip’s face painted in stitches and fake blood you went underwhelmingly dressed in reds, dark makeup and a set on horns on your head. You two stayed back on the sidewalk as your kids went to the doors to collect all the candy and dump it in your bag when heir little pumpkin buckets were full. From time to time you’d snap pictures and sent them to Carmy with little loving notes. Once you were on your way back you shot Carmy a text to get the mood set at home and get the movie ready so the girls could throw themselves onto the large lounge chairs and snack on all the spooky foods they could eat.

There were brain cupcakes you had gotten from Marcus, fruity drinks with skull ice cubes, spider licorice candies and white chocolate ghosts. Finger hotdogs and a bowl of skeleton crisps and decorated cookies the girls made with Carmy yesterday were set out on the table over a spiderwebbed tableclcoth.

You placed the candy bags down and moved the kids to the couch, hyping hem up for the movie you had picked for them. Something Halloween themed but not scary, but not childish enough to bore your boys.

With everyone settled you grabbed the remote and pressed play, after a moment hearing the all too familiar into tune to the Nightmare before Christmas begin paying. Lip and Carmen spent more time watching their daughters react to the movie than watching it themselves, enjoying how Lily would excitingly cheer as soon as Jack appeared on the screen and Rose would excitedly swing to the songs.

After the movie was done all three parents made an effort to help the girls to bed. It took promises of candy for breakfast to make them cooperate but after some time they were in bed and asleep.

With most of the snack gone or packed away for tomorrow Lip spoke up. “So, now what?”

“Oh my god fryer snacks and a movie, please.” You dramatically clung to the freezer before grabbing a box of snacks and going your way to prepare them. 

From the kitchen counter you could hear your boys talking.

“We missed you earlier.” Lip casually confessing these little things still made your heart melt right out of your chest. You stood there, listening to them praising each other on their respective tasks today while the snacks warmed up.

“So, have you boys picked a move yet?” With food in hand you returned to the couch and wiggled yourself in between them. “Nah, you’re the halloween lover here, so you pick.” And some agreeing nods were your sign to open op Prime video and dig through your library to find the right movie to watch and settling for the original Scream.

“You find this way too hot, dear.” Lip commented on your lovey dovey smile whenever Ghostface stabbed someone. Carmen stared a your blushing self and jokingly suggested to have the kids stay with Sugar for a weekend so they can indulge in your murder fantasies, but seeing your reaction he almost thought he had to talk to Lip and start planning something.

Lip couldn’t keep the grin off his face while Carmy went on and on about how it was obvious this was something you would enjoy and it being perfect since there was two of them, just like this Ghostface.

A hand had snuck around your waist, a whisper in your ear sending shivers down your spine. “Would you like that, baby? Us pretending to come and kill you?” You were beet red and almost screamed as fingers dug into your side. A hand quickly coming up to silence you as they began their attack. Your back was against Carmy’s chest with your arms held behind your back and shoulders pulled up to your ears to protect our neck. Legs quickly being grabbed and locked in their grasp as your sides were being tortured with tickles. One of Carmy’s hands wiggling his way underneath your jaw to get to your neck as you tried to escape, causing you to scoot to the edge of the seat and dropping yourself off. Your back hitting the carpet while your lower legs were still stuck underneath Lip’s. One hand raised up in defeat while to other covered your mouth to quiet down your laughs looking up at the two boys who were shaking their heads at you. “Baby, we really love you,” Carmen started before Lip finished the sentence for him. “but you’re a fucking idiot.”

Shrugging you agreed with them. “At least I’m you guys’ idiot.”

#sometimes i write #gallzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto imagine #lip gallagher imagine

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(hi uh sorry i sent that ask very prematurely on accident could you delete the previous one? sorry i just had to rephrase it-)

i was wondering if you were interested in doing a Sozo x reader fic (GN preferably) where the reader tries to help Sozo kick his mushroom habit (as you have done before but i would really like some more in-depth mental support for ant boy) or at least help him not to lose himself even more. This next part includes spoilers for the Sins of the Flesh update so if you haven't played that feel free to wait or skip this part. I would especially like to see his Dr. Sozonius personality starting to shine through again as he gains more clarity, kinda nerding out on mushroom stuff but also extremely sorry for everything he did while under the influence of the Mushrooms

YEAH SOZO REDEMPTION ARC <3

.....

"I promise...no more shrooms...please.."

"I'm sorry, my dear. I just can't take your word for it." Sighing, you gazed hopelessly at your spouse: the belligerent ant locked up in the pillory for the third straight day now, wondering if this was the right thing to do.

This all started after you returned to Spore Grotto one evening, finding the Mushroomos there in a panic, one of them eventually leading you to the inside of Sozo's "home".

He had succumbed to the infection, as his body was laying there in such a grotesque display, covered in fungi and rotting away. Of course, the followers didn't know what to do and begged you to bring Lamb back here, as they haven't visited this place in a while.

At first you didn't want to, thinking they were the reason he was dead. You assumed he was still giving him mushrooms behind your back when you specifically told them not to do that, explaining how you're trying to get him to stop. You made him promise not to consume anymore.

It had to be Lamb's fault.

But the Mushroomos revealed something quite shocking: since he wasn't getting mushrooms, he turned to eating them all alive to satisfy his needs instead, unable to stop. The parasite that held him hostage demanded it so.

And it ended up killing him.

You grieved for a little while, before seeking out Lamb and asking if they could accompany you to Spore Grotto, explaining what happened. Yet by the time you both returned, there was hardly anything left of Sozo's body.

Nothing except his skeleton, backpack, and the smiling mushroom.

You decided to take the large fungi back to their cult, carrying it as a sort of "ironic" memento of your lover.

During the walk back, Lamb asked you if Sozo had a life before this addiction of his...and you tell them something rather surprising.

He was actually once a brilliant man: Dr. Sozonius. His research on mushrooms was known all throughout the Old Faith. He's written books, lived with family members in an ant colony, and was very wise. You two fell in love through your research and explored Anura together.

Then he brought you to his camp at Spore Grotto, the very heart and soul of Anura's fungal outbreak. He was studying the Mushroomos and their behavior patterns. They were actually very passive and social creatures, offering you two stews of menticide mushrooms.

You declined, having already ate before your journey. But Sozonius--thrilled to discover a new mushroom specimen--decided to indulge in their generosity for the sake of science.

And things haven't been the same since.

Something in that soup took root in his brain and turned him into a shadow of his former self.

He never came back to the colony, or the home you two shared, devoting himself entirely to all things mushroom-related...while that stupid smiling fungi puppeteered him around. Some days you'd visit him, and he does remember you, but as of late he's been forgetting more and more of your lives together, giggling and not taking any of your words seriously.

He tried getting you to bring him mushrooms, eat them, etc. and if you refused, his eyes turned red and he'd start yelling nonsense.

Despite all of this, you never once blamed the Mushroomos. They were only trying to be kind hosts; they didn't expect such an advanced fungi to take control of him and turn him into their "leader".

After he died, most of them dispersed throughout Anura, but some stayed behind in the hope of seeing you again.

Once you finished sharing your story, Lamb was surprised that you wanted to take the fungi back at all. They figured you'd burn it to ashes for what it did to your husband.

Yet....you didn't blame it either.

Mushrooms aren't inherently evil. It's how nature made them, and you're a strong believer in karma, deciding to instead nurture this one in hopes that it may grow into something better.

Who would've known that mentality would bring Sozo back to you a week later?

Unfortunately, as you anticipated, he was still up to his old habits and never fully understood that they killed him. He tore up the mushroom farm plots and ate any Mushroomos Lamb rescued during their crusades.

Least to say..he was being an utter nuisance in the cult. He never did any work, and none of the followers liked him.

But that's not how he really was.

You knew him better than anybody else.

Ultimately you and Lamb realized that you had to break this addiction of his for good, otherwise the cycle will just repeat..and you might lose him all over again.

Talking to him wasn't enough.

He had to go cold turkey.

Sozo got angry when you shielded a Mushroomo from his bloodlust and told them to hide in the temple, accusing you of denying him happiness and saying he'd rather be put back in the ground than look at you--and that's when Lamb locked him up in the pillory while distracted.

As much as his words hurt..you knew it was only the fungi talking, trying to trick you into thinking that's what he was feeling. But you weren't so easily fooled.

You had to starve it out.

Might it kill him, too? There's a good chance. But you had to try.

Ever since getting imprisoned, he's been shouting and begging passing followers to free him all day and all night, the fungi looking more withered as time went on. Even its smile turned upside down.

Lamb tried using the same reeducation techniques they used on dissenters. Yet they weren't quite sure how to help Sozo, as he babbled over their speeches and wanted them to go away.

You offered to take over instead, and while they hesitated..they eventually handed you a copy of one of their gospel books and said they'd pray for his healing.

If anyone could get through to him, it was you.

For a while you've kept a close eye on him, making sure he had food--all of which you cooked yourself in case anyone tried sneaking in mushrooms. He no longer screamed his head off, but he still tried bargaining with you to free him, each plea growing weaker than the last.

By the time the sun went down, most of the followers were heading to their sleeping quarters for the night--although a couple were having some concoctions at the drinkhouse. But they could usually hold their liquor and not get too befuddled, so you weren't worried about them.

Instead you just focused on Sozo..who was already looking tired. Your energy was very much spent, too, although you didn't wanna abandon him.

Alas Lamb had no moon necklaces to spare, and even if they did...they would hesitate to give it to you.

Speaking of whom, you heard their footsteps and glanced over, smiling. "Hello, Lamb."

"You can go rest, [y/n]." They nodded. "I'll watch over him for you."

"...alright." Sighing, you closed the book and looked back at your spouse, placing a hand on his cheek as you kissed the opposite one. "Sweet dreams, Sozo. For what it's worth..I'm blessed you are back on this earth with me. I promise to keep helping you."

"[Y/n]...loves Sozo that much..huh?" He huffed, sleepily opening his eyes, and you were astonished to see that they were no longer red like the eyes of dissenters.

Even so, you weren't letting your hopes get up too high. He still had a long path ahead of him.

"Of course. There's no one I love more than you. I just hope and pray...that you haven't forgotten the love you felt for me."

As you parted from his side and began walking back to the Lamb, you were confused by their dumbfounded expression. "What? Was I supposed to say-?"

"Look." They pointed behind you, and you turned back around, gawking at what you were seeing.

The fungi had completely decayed, falling off Sozo's head into a withering husk in the grass; the smaller fungi buried in his collar died off, too. It didn't cause him any pain, surprisingly enough.

Then you looked directly at his face, noticing signs of him aging rapidly judging by the wrinkles and graying furs of his collar.

But he was still alive.

And he was back to his old self.

"Wh..Where am I? Where is...my family?" His voice was quiet and raspy as he looked around, confused by the wooden contraption he was locked in.

However once he saw your face, he recognized you and smiled, feeling at total ease.

"Oh, my love. You're back."

"I-I never left.." Tears immediately blurred your vision as you rushed to unlock the pillory. "I was here the whole time. I thought you were gone forever..."

"I hope I didn't go too far." He hummed, although he felt an ache in his back from being hunched over for so long and winced. Lamb was quick to fetch him a cane so he could better support himself, but you looped your arm around one of his own to help.

"Thank you, you're very kind.." He gazed at the sheep. "My name is Dr. Sozonius. We were...studying the Mushroomos. Fascinating creatures, they are. Neither plant nor animal. They gave my partner [y/n] and I some menticide mushrooms...and.....that's the last thing I remember.." He frowned slightly.

'Ah..so he doesn't know...' You realized, but you kept your worries pushed down, too happy to care about any of that right now.

"I can't help but feel that I have you to thank for...something." He continued, smiling at Lamb. "You have my loyalty. I will remain here and serve you."

They smiled back and bowed their head respectfully. "Thank you, doctor. Welcome back."

..........

While it was such a relief to see Sozonius' sanity restored, it wasn't too long before he ended up becoming bedridden, his bones too weak to support him anymore.

You realized that the fungi somehow managed to disguise his true age, as Lamb discovered he was actually 100 years old via mindreading--making him the eldest follower in the natural sense.

Now you feared losing him again..just when you finally got him back, and wondered if Lamb could do something to help.

Sure, resurrecting him may be the easiest option, but it would be the most painful for you. They couldn't put you through that, as it would take a few days for them to be ready for the ritual.

Luckily they managed to find a quick solution:

A fountain of youth in the form of a simple egg dish.

After Sozonius ate it, the magical properties somehow reversed the clock, giving him back the energy he needed to help out with cult duties. And you didn't have to worry about losing each other again, as Lamb gifted you two golden skull necklaces as a "belated" wedding gift.

Of course, the ant was ever jubilant about his mushroom studies and continued to pursue them alongside you--in a far more controlled environment, obviously. He was allowed to tend to the plots and observe how their effects impact followers during brainwashing rituals, although he was forbidden from tasting one himself or participating in those..

At least for right now.

Even though it's been about a week since he was "cured", the few Mushroomos that lived on the cult grounds were still fretful upon seeing him, thinking he was going to eat them alive.

The one you defended couldn't believe that he was genuinely sorry and not under the fungi's influence anymore.

They were so terribly scared that Lamb mentioned that they gained a "cowardly" trait, always flinching upon you, them, or Sozonius approaching, begging to be spared from....some nonexistent threat they made up in their head. They tried to please you two how ever they could, yet were easily frightened by him simply breathing around them.

Your husband was confused until you clarified that he ruled over the Mushroomos for a long time, cannibalizing them and making threats should they fail to bring him more mushrooms--but he found it hard to fathom that he'd ever do such a thing and abandon you and his family..

Even so, he felt guilty and hoped to make things right.

.........

It was late at night when you and Sozonius were having some light brews at the drinkhouse, feeling relaxed but not entirely befuddled.

He was rambling about some of his latest discoveries in mycology, and you listened with such a loving gaze in your eyes, smiling so big your face was starting to hurt.

You were so, so grateful he came back to you..and that Lamb could save him.

But one particular Mushroomo, however, arrived in hopes of drinking their worries away...and instead found you two at the counter, disappointed.

They tried to sneak away, although Sozonius spotted them and whistled. "You, Mushroomo! Come sit with us." He offered. "We don't bite."

"Eek! I-I mean, of course Mast---I mean Sozo..I-I mean....urrgh!!" Already they were fumbling over their words, scratching at their mushroom cap and sweating. "S-Sorry, sorry! AH!" They nearly tripped over a rock on their way to the drinkhouse.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, dear?" You glanced at your husband, who just nodded reassuringly.

"It will be fine."

Even as the Mushroomo sat down and took one of the drinks left on the counter, they seemed too anxious to take a sip. Instead their gaze going to you--and Sozonius, especially. "I-I feel like I'm interrupting something.."

"No, you are not. But listen-"

"D-Do you need more 'shrooms for your studies, Sozo?? More menticide-?"

"No, no. Listen. I wanted to...apologize for what I have done to you and your fellow Mushroomos."

"Wha.....y-you do..?"

With a soft sigh, Sozonius grasped both of their hands, and although they squeaked in surprise, they didn't try running off. "I scarcely recall what I did while under the influence of the mushrooms. But...it's no excuse. I treated all of you poorly, ate your friends...and I'm sorry. I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this old fool."

They meekly nodded. "W-We understand..mast-"

"From this day forward," he cut in gently, "I am no longer your master. You serve the Lamb now. Not me. And that goes for all of you Mushroomos, okay?"

"....yes, doctor." The mushroom creature exhaled a shaky breath, looking utterly relieved to have official freedom from his servitude.

"Good, thank you." Sozonius let go, smiling. "I'm glad you understand. Why don't you go get some rest?"

"I think..I will." They stood up and stared down at their untouched drink, before sliding it back over to you. "You can have this. I...don't feel like I need it anymore."

You nodded, bidding them goodnight as they headed back to their shelter, before gazing at the ant. "Seems you broke their habit, too."

"Well, I am a doctor, after all." He chuckled. "I wanna help whoever I can."

All you did was smile, the two of you sitting in a comfortable silence, finishing your drinks and admiring the golden shrine at the center of the cult grounds.

Finally, everything was as it should be.

#yall dont understand how unbelievably happy i am that we can help sozo #clanask #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #sins of the flesh spoilers #cult of the lamb spoilers #cotl sozo #cotl sozo x reader #sozo x reader #cotl sozonius #hurt/comfort

[phoebus-cluster]

A sample/oneshot of some Astarion headcanon re: his release after the year in a tomb

Finally gaining some steam on my Astarion fic. Fleshed out a little flashback scene. Hope you think it's cool, I love my angst and exposition. --- “How I’ve missed you, little one!”

There was a sudden, loud crack against the coffin door, the rustle of chain mail. A single, impossible ray of light sprung forth into the coffin, somewhere at his waist’s height. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected the glint of an axehead in the fresh opening, wedged and wriggling now to pry the lid open. He tried to peer downwards to better watch, but couldn't–his eyes were too dry to swivel in their sockets. 

He blinked a few times to remove the film of dust from his eyeballs. It did nothing.

He could hardly hold a coherent thought, but felt that this must have been a dream. 

The coffin lid ripped open and he keeled forward, the door no longer propping him upright. He crumpled in a heap, reality dawning on him as his face smacked into the ground. He lay there and watched the shadows of crackling firelight dance across the stone tiles for a while.

He was free. 

He supposed he should have been happy. He gasped for fresh air weakly, as fresh as those musty catacombs could be.

A heavy boot dug into his gut and turned him onto his back. He now looked at a grinning skull looming over him, yellowed, shining and ugly, two black voids regarding him like eyes.

Death. Sweet release. Could it be? 

“Tsk, tsk, boy. Is this how you greet your gallant savior? Your dear, old friend Godey?”

But of course. 

Of course it wasn’t death. What had he expected?

Godey’s detestable laugh rang through the chamber around them.

“What a state, little one. Not so pretty now, are we? Not to worry. I think this look quite suits you.”

Godey seized him by his rags and hoisted him up with ease. He carried him now, up the stone steps of the catacombs and back into the palace.

Astarion's head hung limply, mouth agape, no energy, his muscles all but wasted away. The skeleton cackled again, adjusting and jostling the half-corpse in its arms–playing with him.

“Much easier than I recall,” he jested. “Why, you must be half the weight you were goin’ in.”

They clanked through the halls past velvet drapery, gaudy paintings, lacquered paneling, the luxe prison he remembered, same as ever.

“By the gods, Godey,” sneered a distant voice. “What is that smell? Fouler than any rat you’ve conjured for us before.”

“Shut it, Violet,” growled Godey. “Be a dear and call in your siblings, won’t you?”

She scoffed and whisked away.

They made their way to the spawn’s quarters as the other vamplings trickled in curiously, peering over Godey’s armor to better see the dust-blackened wretch he carried.

The skeleton unceremoniously flung him onto a bunk, the fellow spawn frozen in terror as they beheld a pathetically emaciated mummy with sunken eyes, taut skin, and dehydrated ligaments clinging to bone, grotesque as it pulsed and gasped for breath, struggling to writhe and smearing filth on the sheets.

A hush fell upon them all.

“...Brother?” whispered Aurelia.

“He lives!” cried a male voice, one Astarion did not recognize. “Gods above, it can not be. This is the lost brother you spoke of? I-I thought Master was perhaps bluffing!”

“Leave it to you, Petras, to fancy yourself more clever than Master,” chided Godey. “That’s right. Gather round, you lot, and gaze upon him. Yes, it is your beloved and terribly naughty big brother. Though he strikes a more uncanny resemblance to old Godey these days, don’t you think?”

He cackled and wrenched Astarion’s chin violently, turning his face for the others to see.

Dalyria stifled a revolted shriek, teary-eyed as she clapped her palm over her mouth.

"Let it be a reminder, then," continued Godey. "See what happens when you fail Master's orders? And still, it is Master's mercy that reunites him with us today."

Astarion finally found the will to speak.

He struggled, his lips shriveled back, his tongue desiccated and stuck to the roof of his mouth. Dust coated the insides of his throat. 

His teeth finally found the edge of his lower lip, shrunken and tough.

“Fff…” he trembled.

He drew in more air, his breath ragged and hoarse. It sounded like a death rattle.

“Fuck you,” he puffed at Godey.

There was an upsetting crack as the pommel of Godey's sword collided with the side of his head. A few of the vamplings gasped.

“Dalyria, tend to this ingrate. Godey doesn’t need a nose to tell he’s more fetid than carrion.” He turned on his heel and clanked away.

“Ilmater, help us all,” uttered Dal. “For the love of gods, draw a bath. Water, some blood, this instant!”

---

Hoping to get chapter 1 out in the next week or so.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #work in progress #wip #astarion fanfic #it's giving aftermath of cask of amontillado i hope #ao3 #angst #astarion #astarion bg3 #petras #dalyria #violet #godey #my work

[absurdthirst]

Landlord From Hell {Dark!Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 21.2k

Warnings: Stalkerish behavior, voyeurism, spying, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, manipulation, abusive relationships, gaslighting, murder, trophies

Comments: You've found the perfect apartment to rent. Even better, the landlord is also the hot handyman. Frankie Morales seems to know you better than you know yourself, because he's watching you.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - This story contains dark themes of obsession, stalking, murder🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s perfect. You look around the apartment in the older, yet very well maintained building with a giddy eye. Trying to be critical of any glaring flaws but immediately falling in love with the very lovingly preserved crown molding and the charming original door knobs with the hole for a skeleton key on the interior doors. It was obviously a single family home at one point in time, but it has very thoughtfully been turned into two good sized apartments while still keeping the overall feeling of the place. The price is right and fits comfortably within your budget, although the included utilities wouldn’t hurt at all. 

It is surprising that the space hadn’t been snatched up, but it might be because the landlord - and the downstairs neighbor - might be choosy about who lives above him. Your shoes squeak slightly against the original hardwood floors and you grin as you make up your mind. Turning around and facing the ruggedly handsome man  who had introduced himself as Frankie. “I’ll take it.” You tell him before you give a small shrug of one shoulder and give him a sweet smile. “If you’ll rent it to me, of course.” 

Frankie offers you a smile back, nodding his head. “Absolutely. It’s yours if you want it. You can move in whenever you want. I just need the first, last and security up front then we are squared away.” He can have the lease ready ASAP. You smile at him again and his heart flutters in his chest. It’s been a while since he’s felt like this. Giddy. Yet he can’t let himself get carried away. You’re going to be his tenant…even if you are gorgeous.

You grin, nearly wanting to throw yourself at him for a hug. It would be inappropriate, even if warranted. The housing market is insane and this place is going to be perfect. “Yes! Absolutely. I can- do you - will you take a check?” You ask, eager to secure the apartment. “It’s good, I can show you my bank balance if you need, or would you prefer me to just send you the money another way?” You don’t know how he expects your rent each month, but you don’t mind locking down this gorgeous apartment, already arranging your furniture in the space in your mind. 

“Check will work and I can take a check every month if that works for you.” Frankie offers and you nod, “absolutely. I can do that.” He smiles and watches you open your purse to pull your check book out. His eyes dip down to your ass, appreciating the view and he knows it won’t be an issue to have you living above him. You seem sensible and you seem to be friendly. Unlike his previous tenant who left before the end of the lease.

“I can’t wait.” You gush, happy that you’ve found a place that seems so perfect. “Is it okay if I start bringing things over tomorrow?” You ask as you fill out the check. “I have to be out of my old place soon and I want plenty of time to make sure it’s clean so they don’t try to keep my deposit.” You roll your eyes, knowing they will try, even though you’ve barely been there a year.

“Of course. I just have some repairs I want to finish off later this afternoon so you’ll be fine to move in tomorrow. I’ll give you the key now so you can get situated before your place is cleaned up.” Frankie offers, a friendly smile on his face as he lists the things he needs to do to make sure the apartment is ready for you. He is excited to have someone living in the place above, both income wise and just to not feel so lonely. Ever since the boys found their own lives, he feels left behind and alone.

You give a grateful smile when the keys are in your hands. It’s nice to have a landlord who is interested in making repairs and keeping the property in shape. “Thank you, Mr. Morales.” You hum, making him wince and shake his head. 

“Call me Frankie.” He offers, giving you a grin. “Mr. Morales makes me think you’re talking to an old man.” 

You giggle slightly and nod. “Okay Frankie.” You beam happily, excited to get moved in and your stomach flips at the way that his smile makes you take notice of the way his eyes crinkle slightly. He’s handsome, and that's not a bad thing.

He loves the way you say his name. It makes his stomach twist and he hasn’t felt this way in such a long time. He grins back at you, excited by your excitement. “I’ll see you tomorrow once I’ve finished getting the place ready. Just need to do some paint touch ups.” He tells you, tucking the check into his pants while you grab your purse.

“See you tomorrow.” You agree, letting him walk you down the stairs and you look up at the house again, charmed by the gorgeous exterior. It’s going to be amazing living her, you just know it. “Thank you again.” You tell him, walking down the steps to your car. More amazing than the apartment is that there is actually parking right in front of the house in the form of a driveway that you will not have to fight people for. “I’ll bring breakfast!” You call out happily before you get into your car to hurry back to your old apartment and start packing. 

Frankie watches you leave, waving as you drive down the street, and he already wishes you were moved in. Perhaps he could invite you over for dinner, or a drink. Get to know you better. The possibilities make him smile to himself as he goes back into his unit, making a mental list of what he is going to need to make your apartment more...secure. He wants you to be safe and sound and happy. He can help you achieve that.

****

“Good morning!” You call out, hopping out of the moving truck and grinning at him. “Don’t worry, I have Steven stopping by soon to help out.” 

Frankie frowns, wanting to ask who Steven is, and he does despite knowing he shouldn’t ask such personal questions so soon. “Is Steven - is he your boyfriend?” He asks, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible.

“Steven?” You laugh and shake your head. “No, we are just good friends.” You tell Frankie, opening the back of the moving truck with your furniture in it. You had moved some of your small things already, but this is the boxes and big items. You huff in amusement since it’s been awhile since you’ve dated.“Don’t worry, I won’t be having people parade in and out of the apartment.”

Frankie is pleased you don’t sleep around but this Steven guy already had him on edge. He’s worried that this guy is more than a friend and you’re just making it seem like nothing. Still, he has a glimmer of hope that Steven is just a fleeting inconvenience. “Me neither. I don’t - I’m a relationship kind of guy.” Frankie reveals.

You snort and roll your eyes. “Those types of men still exist?” You ask jokingly as you pull a box from the truck. You hand it to Frankie and a black Toyota comes creeping up the road as if they are reading house numbers until the driver obviously spots the truck and zooms up to part on the road. “Oh perfect. There’s Steven.”

Frankie braces himself and when Steven appears, slightly geeky and awkward but endearing, he relaxes a little. Seems like the kind of guy you’d friendzone. You rush up to greet Steven as he gets out of the truck and Frankie huffs when he sees that Steven is practically in love with you when he hugs you. “Steven. This is my landlord slash neighbor Frankie.” You intro is the men and Frankie offers Steven a smile, gripping his hand perhaps a little too tight after saying hello.

“Nice to meet you.” Steven offers, flexing his hand before he turns to you. “Sorry I was late. I rushed over as soon as I could.” You wave it away and motion to the truck. “We just opened it and Frankie has also offered to help so hopefully this will go pretty quickly!” You smile at both men. “And then we’ll get that pizza and beer!”

Frankie feels the vibe between you shatter with Steven here but he pushes through, knowing it’s gonna take more than moving some boxes to get you to like him. He wants you to like him…perhaps as more than just your landlord. He might show off a little, carrying more boxes than Steven and making you giggle when he pretends like he’s gonna add another one. Steven carries one box at a time, carefully setting it down where you tell him to while he makes eyes at you, making Frankie want to roll his own. “Just friends.” He scoffs under his breath.

Once the small couch and bed is moved in and situated, you flop down on the couch with a grin, happy to have everything in your place. “Wow.” You look over at where Steven is slumped down at your little kitchenette table and Frankie is leaning against the counter. “I’m moved in.” You tell them happily. “Food should be here soon.”

Frankie wants to hint for Steven to leave but the guy won’t be leaving, he’s too in love with you. It’s obvious. “You didn’t need to get food.” Frankie tuts, shaking his head at you and watching as you start to unpack your plates.

“And you didn’t have to help me move my stuff in.” You counter, opening up the fridge to pull out a six pack of beer so you can offer him one. “Do you want one, Steve?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Steven says, almost pulled out of his thoughts and you hand him a beer. When you hand Frankie’s beer to him, his fingers brush yours, making his heart flutter and butterflies explode in his stomach.

There’s an almost awkward silence but you decide that it’s just because Frankie and Steven don’t know each other. “So Frankie, Steven has helped me move what? Three times now?” You ask as you open your own beer and take a sip. “But this time has been the fastest and it’s all thanks to your extra muscle.”

Frankie smiles, pleased that you recognize the effort he put in to get you moved in faster than Steven and he is a little concerned that you have known Steven long enough to move 3 times. However, that shows that Steven has no chance of being with you. You've obviously friend-zoned the poor bastard. "Happy to help." Frankie tips his beer towards you.

You smile at him, unable to deny that he is handsome, even sweaty right now. His hair curls from underneath his hair and his shirt is rolled up in an incredibly sexy working man kind of way. “So….” Steven breaks in, making you look away from your landlord. “Do you want me to help you unpack?” He offers, looking desperate to please. 

You shake your head and tilt your head to the side in confusion. “I thought you had plans with someone this afternoon? I don’t want to take up all your day.”

Frankie smirks at that, hiding it behind the beer bottle when Steven flusters. “No. I, uh, I can cancel if you need me here to help you.” He stammers. 

“I’m sure we will be fine to finish up. Right?” Frankie says to you, trying to act nonchalant.

“Yeah!” You light up, not wanting your friend to miss out on spending time with someone, you want him to find a girlfriend and be happy. He had mentioned plenty of times being lonely and wanting someone to develop a relationship with. “I mean, who better to help hang the curtains than the landlord?” You joke, laughing at your own comment. “He can’t get mad about the hooks if he decides where they go!”

Frankie chuckles, nodding in agreement, and Steven looks annoyed but resigned as he stands up to brush off his jeans. “I, uh, I guess I will head out.” Steven announces, making his way towards you. “I’ll see you soon.” He says, hugging you, and Frankie clenches his fist, trying to not react too much. 

“See you soon.” You promise, rubbing his back. Frankie watches you say goodbye and he crosses his arms after setting down his beer.

“Well that means more pizza for you and me.” You tell Frankie as you look around the boxes and sigh, trying to decide where to start. “Getting the curtains up and my bed made is top priority.” You decide. “Don’t want to give the neighbors a free show tonight when I shower.” You joke with a groan. You have a few hours before you have to return the moving truck, so you might as well use the help while he is here. 

Frankie swallows harshly at the thought of you in the shower, his cock twitching but he ignores it and offers you a chuckle. Steven bids you goodbye and leaves reluctantly, glancing back at Frankie before he goes. “Right. You mentioned pizza?” Frankie rubs his hands together, excited to just spend some time with you.

“Yes! It should be here soon.” You frown at your phone, noticing that there are no bars inside. There had been plenty of signal before and you wonder if something is going on with the cell towers. “That’s odd.” You huff and shove your phone back in your pocket. “My phone says I have no signal.”

Frankie frowns, “that’s weird. I have full signal. Maybe it’s just a fluke.” He guesses, trying to act like it’s unusual. When you shrug, he knows you think it’s weird but don’t question it. The doorbell rings thank God and he makes his way to the door while you find your bedsheets, and he pays for the pizza. Knowing you’ll be mad but you can consider it a housewarming present.

Huffing at the fact that you were supposed to treat him with pizza, you offer him a plate. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “I can give you some cash.” You will feel horrible if you didn’t at least offer to pay him for the pizza. Even if you have the feeling that he will wave it off. 

“Don’t be silly. Consider it a house warming present.” He shakes his head at you and opens the box. You go to protest but he offers you a look that makes you close your mouth and grab your own slice of pizza. “You can make it up to me another time.” He winks, hoping you don’t find him creepy and know he means coffee or just your company.

You moan softly when you take a bite of your pizza. It was a local place you haven’t tried before. It had just been the closest that had popped up when you looked for pizza places. “Oh my god, I’m going to love living here.” You groan as you savor the cheesy, saucy flavors bursting on your tongue. 

Frankie’s cock twitches again at your groan and he picks up his own slice of pizza. He knows the place you order from and it’s his favorite so he groans when he takes a bite. “Fuck. Always so good.” He grunts, closing his eyes for a moment before he reaches for his beer. “So…you from here or move here from another state?” He asks.

You swallow the bite and give a small shrug. “I’ve lived here since college but I liked it so I decided to stay.” You offer with a curious look at him. “What about you?”

Frankie smiles, “I moved here a few years ago. I, uh, had a rough time when I got out of the service and finally decided I needed a new start so I bought this place. It was a shithole when I got it and I’ve built it up into what it is now and I’m proud of it. Decided to rent out the top floor to give me some income and nowadays I just fly when I want to.” 

You frown, “fly?” 

Frankie nods, “yeah I fly helicopters. Used to when I was in Delta.”

“Wow.” You’re impressed and immediately comforted by the fact that he was in the service. You wouldn’t have to worry about weirdos or someone messing with the house. “That’s amazing. I bet you looked great in uniform.” You bite your lip and look away when you realize you had said that. “I mean- uh, guys in uniform are always attractive, right?”

He smirks, pleased that you said that. “My friend Benny was the one the girls went mad for. My best friend Pope was the one who flirted up a storm. I’ve always been in the shadows. Never really found the right girl, ya know?” He says with a shrug, taking another bite.

“I see.” You are surprised that someone hasn’t snatched him up but think that maybe he’s picky. “Well I guess that’s lucky for me right?” You ask, grinning at him. “I can’t see a wife wanting to split up this gorgeous house into apartments and I love my place.”

“Lucky you.” Frankie grabs his beer and tilts it towards you. You are perfect. Everything he’s been looking for and he’s not gonna fuck this up. After you finish eating, you clean up and he makes quick work of putting your curtains up while you make your bed. He’s reluctant to go but he has to. It’s too soon to overstay his welcome. “I’ll let you settle in then. Uh, if you need anything just let me know.” He offers, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Thank you so much, Frankie.” If you knew him better, you would give him a hug. Instead you offer him a smile. “I’m going to return the truck and then probably shower and get some sleep.” You tell him. “So I shouldn’t be banging around unpacking tonight.”

“It’s okay. I don’t sleep that well anyway.” He admits, his fingers twitching as he resists the urge to hug you. He wants to touch you but he doesn’t, knowing it will make things awkward. He has to be patient. “If you need anything, just call or text me. Have a good night. Welcome home.” He offers you a soft smile and makes his way towards the door.

When Frankie leaves, you close the door behind him and sigh softly as you lean against it. Looking around the apartment for a moment, you are eager to get settled in and set up a routine in your new space. It’s been a long time since you’ve been this excited about starting over and yet, you are smiling to yourself. You just know that it’s going to be perfect living here. ****

“Shit! Shit!” You shriek, jumping out of the shower in shock as the warm water suddenly turns ice cold. Nearly slipping on the tile floor, you fumble for the towel to wrap around your body and start to twist the knobs, and huff a curse when you don’t feel any change in the temperature of the water. “Damnit.” You huff, turning off the water and reaching for your phone. It’s been a week since you moved in and you finally finished unpacking two days ago. Frowning when you see the ‘no signal’ on your phone again, you are annoyed. It seems like cell service comes and goes and you’ve called the service provider with nothing coming of it. You will just have to go down to Frankie’s to talk to him about the hot water not working. 

Frankie hears the knock on his door, he already knows it’s you. When he opens the door and sees you in nothing but a towel, his cock twitches. “Everything okay?” He frowns and you shake your head. 

“No. The water isn’t working. It’s freezing cold.” 

Frankie frowns, “oh God. Shit, I’m so sorry. I will fix it today. Do you want to use my shower? Finish up?” He offers.

You nod, grateful to finish up and not be covered in soap and shampoo. “I would appreciate it.” You gush as he opens the door wider and lets you into his apartment. It’s clean, a little sparse, but he is a bachelor. You hum in slight embarrassment as he leads you through to the bathroom. “Go right on in and finish up.” He tells you. 

“Thank you so much, I’m sorry to already be bothering you.” You huff, embarrassed that your landlord and neighbor is already seeing you in your towel. 

Frankie watches you go, his eyes trailing down your body for a moment, until he seeks out his toolbox. He sets it on the counter and waits until you come back out. “You can borrow one of my shirts if you want to go back to your place. I will check the water as soon as possible. Do you- are you going out this afternoon? I can go in then so I don’t disturb you.”

“Yeah I have some errands to run.” You smile at him gratefully. “I appreciate it. I’ll get dressed and get out of your hair. Hopefully it won’t be too hard to fix.” It’s a relief to have a landlord who doesn’t drag his feet or try to stall to fix things. At your old place you might not have had water for a week while waiting on a call.

Frankie grabs one of his shirts for you to wear, handing it to you before you step into his bathroom. He’s excited to see you in his shirt, his cock twitching again, and he is excited to enter your place. He wants to learn everything about you. All the little details.

You appreciate his thoughtfulness and are quickly back out, wearing his shirt and thankful that what he had chosen was obviously longer than most and covers you. It’s skimpier than what you would ever wear around your landlord or maintenance man, but it was better than just a towel. “Thank you so much. I’ll go get dressed really quickly and pop out so you can work in peace.”

Frankie is half hard seeing you in his shirt and he nods, unable to really speak as you make your way back to your place. He gathers what he needs and puts it in his toolbox, carrying it upstairs just as you are about to leave. “I’ll keep you posted on when it’s all good to go.” He offers, admiring your perfume when you come closer.

“Thanks again.” You smile at him, taking your keys out of your purse and deciding that you are going to get him something while you are out. Maybe a cupcake or some cookies to show your appreciation. Maybe just the supplies so you can bake him some. People always seemed to love homemade cookies and for the price of fixing your hot water, it was worth it. “I’ll see you later then.” You call as you make your way down the stairs and out the door. 

Frankie enters the apartment, shutting the door behind him, and he opens his toolbox after setting it on the counter. He grabs what he needs and goes to the bathroom. The water is working, he doesn’t have to do anything to fix it except turn the knob so the hot water is flowing into your apartment. No, he’s not here to fix the hot water. He carefully undoes the shower head, grabbing the miniature camera from his pocket and he starts to secure it in place. After it’s secure, he grabs his phone, checking to see if the video is working. He smiles when he sees it working and quickly replaces everything. 

He makes quick work of it all but once he’s done, he can’t stop himself from going into your bedroom. It’s basic but neat and he opens the closet, grabbing your shirts to sniff them. They smell like your perfume. He opens the dresser and groans when he sees the panties. He can’t resist. Picking up a pair of pink silk ones and he brings them to his face, smelling them and savoring the material. He shoves them in his pocket, closing the drawer and making his way back into the kitchen to get his things together. He’s done what he needed to do. He leaves after a quick glance around and turns the hot water on as he goes, satisfied that today was a success. A step closer to making you his.

Hours later, you pull back up to the house. You had received a text from Frankie telling you that he’s fixed the water and you are impressed with how handy he is. Pulling bags out from your trunk, you quickly go inside and upstairs to start making him a thank you gift. You have a feeling that he will like the chocolate chunk peanut butter cookies. Giggling happily when you check the hot water in the kitchen and find it perfect before you start setting out the ingredients and pulling your mixer out. 

Frankie can hear you’re home. Light footsteps upstairs that don’t bother him. In fact, he likes it because he knows you’re there. He has your panties in his hand, his cock is hard, and he can’t hold back anymore. Taking his length out of his pants, he wraps the silk around his wrist before he grips his cock, starting a slow movement of his wrist. He imagines you touching him like this, cooing his name and looking at him like he has hung the moon. Your pretty face so close to where he needs you. Fuck, you’d look so dirty taking his cock down your throat, tears in your eyes.

You hum to yourself as you cream butter and sugar together. Smiling to yourself as you work and you turn on music from your phone. Another call to your service provider was in order and you were starting to think that there are just dead spots. Maybe an older home has something in the walls to block cellular service. Maybe you would have to get a landline, as archaic as it seems. That way you could have some reliable service. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Frankie hisses, jerking himself a little faster. The silk rubs his cock just right and he imagines you telling him you love him as you sink down onto his cock. He wants you, fuck he wants you. For more than sex. You’d be the perfect partner. Sweet and kind. Funny and smart. Beautiful. Everything he’s been looking for.

“Whoooooahhhhh we’re halfway therrrrree! Whoooahhhh!  Living on a prayeeeerrrr.” You sing along with the song playing and dance around in your kitchen as  you start to spoon the dough up onto the baking sheets. The first batch of cookies are already in the oven and you feel like this is going to become a regular thing for you. It’s homey and fun. “Take my hand, we’ll make it I sweeaarrrr.” You bite your lip as you giggle to yourself, wondering what your neighbor thinks about you dancing and singing upstairs. Probably thinks you're crazy, but you love music that makes you feel good. 

Frankie hears the music and you singing, fuelling his fantasy of having a life with you, and he jerks his cock harder. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” He growls, hips thrusting up to meet his hand. The silk is damp with his pre-cum and he imagines you begging him to cum. “Shittt.” He yells when he cums, spurts hitting his chest and dripping onto his hand.

You stop singing, thinking that you heard Frankie yelling at you to turn it down and you lower the volume of the music for a moment but you don’t hear anything else. Dismissing it as just hearing things, you finish loading the baking tray with cookies just as the timer goes off for the ones in the oven. Humming happily as you rush to pull out the cookies to cool and then add the new tray, you groan to yourself at the smell. He’s going to love these. 

Frankie pants, head tilted back towards the ceiling as his eyes remain closed. God, he hasn't cum that hard in a while. Your panties are ruined and he uses them to clean himself up, admiring the silk, and he knows he's gonna have to steal another pair for next time he jerks off. He just needs to find a way back into your apartment.

Plate of cookies in hand, you skitter down the stairs easily and jauntily knock on Frankie’s door. They are cool enough to plate up but still warm enough to enjoy, the ones on top are just ten minutes off the cooling rack and you are proud of how they turned out. Wanting to show him that you appreciated the quickness of his repairs. Frankie opens the door and you smile at him, watching his face turn from frowning in question to lighting up at seeing you. “Hey- I made you some cookies.” you offer, holding out the plate. “To say thank you for fixing the water problem.” 

Frankie is surprised but swears you just made him fall even harder for you. "Thank you. I, uh, you didn't have to do that." He blushes slightly, thinking about your panties wrapped around his fist and he wonders what you'd think. Would you be turned on? Or disgusted? He hopes the former. "I am the landlord and I gotta make sure the place is good enough to live in."

“Can all landlords be like you?” You joke, shaking your head. “It would be a lot cooler if they were.” You shrug and give him a grin. “I can now soak in a bath tonight.” You don’t want to keep him long but you have to ask him a question. “I do have a favor to ask though.” 

Frankie nods, taking the cookies from your hands. “Go on. I’m a pretty accommodating landlord depending on what you need.” He winks, deciding to be cheeky for a moment.

You give him a little giggle, enjoying the casual flirtation with the handsome man. “Very good distinction.” You tell him loftily. “Otherwise, you might find yourself tied to some renter’s bed.” You are completely joking but it is an interesting idea, seeing what he is like in bed. 

Frankie wouldn't mind being tied up while you have your wicked way with him. The thought makes him shift from one foot to the other as his cock twitches. "The favor?" He asks after clearing his throat. 

"Yeah. Would you mind meeting the cable company tomorrow and let them in so they can put my landline in? They will be here between 10 and 2 and I am out tomorrow all day." You tell him. 

Frankie internally cheers at the opportunity to spend another moment in your place. "Of course. I can do that."

“Thank you.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. It had been the only day that you could schedule until you wanted to wait two weeks, and you didn’t want to do that. “I will make sure that they know that you will be there. I just don’t get why my phone doesn’t want to work, but having a landline will at least allow me to order pizza again.” You give him a bright smile. “Just let yourself in and there are drinks in the fridge if you get thirsty.” 

Frankie nods, "thanks." He could almost punch the air at his luck. Being able to be there when the landline is installed. He looks down at the cookies, "You wanna come in and have one of these with me? I just got some milk yesterday." He offers, not wanting you to leave just yet.

“Sure!” You quickly agree, wanting to spend a little more time with Frankie, he’s nice and it is very easy to talk to him. Frankie opens the door wider and steps back to allow you to come in. “So what was the problem with the water?” You ask, not really knowing anything about it, but wanting to hear about his handyman skills.

“Oh. Just the connection was loose. Must’ve been the older pipes. I might get the house replumbed soon.” He says, gesturing for you to sit down at the counter while he gets the glasses and milk.

“Oh, yeah, I can imagine they are older.” You hadn’t really thought about all the upgrades and repairs an older house might need. “The things you’ve done with this place are great. Did you turn it into apartments yourself?”

“Yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck after he pours you a glass of milk. “After the service, I had a lot of free time so I bought this place for cheap and decided to - well, it was supposed to be for a family but that never happened for me so I decided to convert it into two places and rent one out for income.”

“That’s impressive!” You praise. “Especially because you kept the charm of the house. Most people just strip it of all character in favor of modern updates.” You shake your head. “But you managed to give modern amenities and make me wish that the old oil lamps were in use.”

He chuckles, “I fell for this place because of the charm. I didn’t want to destroy that. I just didn’t get around to updating everything. Like the locks. I want to add technology and update the plumbing and electrical. I will once I have some savings.”

“I fell in love with the door knobs.” You confess. “Obviously the front door needs the more secure locks, but the keyholes and having skeleton keys?” You grin and take one of the cookies to dunk it in the milk. “I just want to put on a hoop skirt and carry a large key ring around.”

Frankie grins, “we will have to see about getting that for you.” He grabs a cookie, dipping it in the milk before he takes a bite. A loud groan escapes his lips as he tastes the sweet treat you made for him. “Fuck, that’s good.” He moans, looking at the cookie on his hand.

“I’m glad you like them.” You look away, shy at the way he had groaned. It was really sexy. “I love to bake.” 

“I bet. Fuck, you bake and yet you’re somehow single? Something is wrong with the world.” He shakes his head, sipping his milk after taking a bite. “If you were mine, I’d never let you go.” He jokes, hoping you see it as banter.

You snort and throw him a grin. “So you’re one of those ‘win ‘em over with their stomach’ kind of guys?” You ask, slightly flustered at his comment. It’s been awhile since someone complimented you like this, beyond Steve, but he was just a friend.

Frankie blushes a little. “I guess so. I just - when I was in Bagram, the food was so shit I just - I missed my home comforts, ya know? I wanted to just indulge a bit. I’m not as fit as I used to be but I try to go running every day or so to keep myself in shape…kind of.” He jokes, rubbing his lower stomach.

“Please.” You huff and roll your eyes. “You look great.” You nudge the cookie plate towards him. “Believe me, there’s nothing wrong with you the way you are right now.” You understand wanting to eat well and approve of it. “Good food, good alcohol and good sex is the dream, right?” 

Looking back on it, Frankie is certain this is the moment he falls in love with you. You are everything he’s been waiting for. “I don’t know about the good sex part. It’s been a while.” He snorts, leaning against the counter as he tries to play it cool but fails, leaning closer to you.

You don’t believe that for a second. “Oh okay, play modest.” You joke, rolling your eyes at him. “I’m sure you are turning down offers. I don’t believe for a second you aren’t getting eyed up like a snack.” You know that you’ve done your fair share of looking since moving in. Two days ago you had damn near licked the window when he was mowing the yard. 

Frankie stares at you, “I don’t - I haven’t been on a date for like, a year or two. I’ve lost track. I don’t - no one has caught my eye.” He wants to add “until now” but doesn’t, not wanting to scare you off too soon. “Besides, why are you single?” He snorts, “surely you got guys tripping over themselves to be with you.”

You bark out a small, sarcastic laugh. “Yeah right.” You huff. “It’s more like they want to have a quick or easy roll in the sack and then decide to ghost.” You had shit luck in the dating world and decided to take a break. “I fucking hate dating aps and that seems like what everyone wants to do.” 

“Me too. I fucking hate using my phone for anything other than calls. Social media is a no for me. Dating apps? That’s a fuck no. Benny tried to set me up on one and I went on a date and the woman didn’t look anything like her photo.” He shakes his head.

“Ugh, that’s the worst.” You commiserate. “I just - I decided I wasn’t going to bother. I would either meet someone in a grocery store or whatever or I would become the spinster with twenty cats.” You joke with a laugh. 

“Cats aren’t in your lease.” Frankie jokes, liking this easy back and forth between you and he knows you are perfect. You are looking for someone too and he hopes he can prove he’s the man for you. He can’t rush this though. “Do you maybe, uh, wanna watch a movie with me tonight? I can - I can order take out. It’s just - I haven’t had company for a while and I like talking to you.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little flustered at the idea that he would want to spend more time with you. “That sounds good.” You agree with a quick nod. “I’ll- do you mind if I run upstairs and throw on some comfy clothes?” You ask with a grin. “It’s always better when you’re comfy.” 

“Of course.” Frankie nods, “what kind of take out do you want?” He asks before you go. He wants to please you, wants you to stay here. He wants you to love him. “I’m pretty open to anything.” He tells you, “I’ll eat whatever I can get.”

You smirk and decide that you are going to test him. “How do you feel about Indian food?” You ask, thinking about butter chicken and rice with some garlicky naan. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had some and it sounds amazing.” 

“Oh yes. I love Indian food. My friend Will made me try it a few years ago and I love it. What do you want, sweetheart?” He asks, the nickname slipping from his lips before he can stop it.

Surprised by his answer, you smile. “I was thinking some butter chicken and naan, ohhhh and some samosas?” You ask, nearly drooling at the idea. “What do you normally eat?” 

Frankie smiles, “I like the same thing. I’ll order it. There’s a place near here that does the best butter chicken you’ll ever eat.” He tells you, grabbing his phone. “Go change and I’ll get everything ready.” He orders, swearing that you are his soulmate. The woman he’s been waiting for.

You jump up from the chair and nod. “I’ll be right back.” You promise and rush upstairs to change. Excited and slightly nervous about it. It kind of feels like a date and you get butterflies. “Should I wear some sexy lingerie underneath comfy clothes?” You ask yourself as you look in your drawers, frowning when you don’t find your pink panties. You love those.

Frankie hears you walking around upstairs after he orders the food and he opens the new app on his phone. Smiling when he sees you walking around your bedroom. When you walk into a different area to change, you disappear off of the camera which makes Frankie huff. He won’t be able to see you undress and he so desperately wants to know if you’re as sexy as you seem. He knows you are but he wants to see you, maybe screenshot so he has something to jerk off to later. “I gotta get back in there.” He mutters, closing the app.

You change clothes and come back downstairs, deciding to bring the rest of the beer you had bought when you had moved. “Knock, knock.” You call out, not opening the door. Even though you’ve been invited to stay, you don’t know if he’s changing or something.

“Come in.” Frankie calls out, the TV already turned on and he has his blankets and the plates are out ready for the takeout. He is excited you’re here but he’s a little peeved still about the camera.  He narrows his eyes a little when he looks at you when you enter before he smiles. “Uh, nice shirt.” He points at your worn out “Army” shirt that looks way too big for you. 

“Thanks.” You brush the shirt down and give him a small smirk. “It was my last ‘real’ boyfriend’s. I stole it from him because it was comfortable.”

To say Frankie is jealous is an understatement. He knows you’ve had relationships but to see you wearing another man’s shirt…it ignites a rage inside of him. He tries to smother it, humming and offering you a smile, but his jaw is clenched. “I ordered the food.” He declares, trying to control himself from just ripping that fucking shirt off of you.

Wondering if you’ve said something wrong, you try to brush it off and sit down on the couch. “Thanks, although one time you should let me pay.” You hadn’t forgotten that he paid for the pizza when you moved in. Frankie scoffs but doesn’t argue and you try to get back to that easy flow you had before. “Have you picked out a movie?”

“No. Your choice, sweetheart.” He tells you, handing you the remote and he leans back against the sofa, unclenching his fists. He is already thinking of how he can get rid of that t-shirt. He smirks when he imagines tossing it on the floor and taking your tits in his hands.

You search through the movies that are available and decide on one that looks like it might appeal to a man who was in the military. “Oh this looks promising.” You look over at him to see what he thinks. “What do you think?” You don’t want him to be bored.

Frankie would honestly watch anything if it means getting to spend more time with you. He nods, “looks good,” and settles back into the sofa. He hopes you want to cuddle but he won’t push anything just in case you aren’t ready for that yet. The movie starts and Frankie watches you from the corner of his eyes, admiring you even in your comfy clothes…that fucking shirt.

You start out leaning against a pillow on the opposite side of the couch, then moving it between the two of you so you can lean the other way. Damn if your back isn’t being ridiculous and you edge a little closer to Frankie as you try to spread out slightly. “Sorry.” You huff, knowing he has to notice. “My back has been kind of weird since moving and I can’t get comfortable.” You admit.

“You’re fine. Sit however you want, sweetheart.” Frankie tells you, his entire body vibrating with the need to have you touching him, even if it’s just you leaning against him. “Lean against me if you want.” He adds, his fingers twitching against the sofa.

You try not to, at least for a few minutes and then you give up. He had offered, so as the movie plays, you crawl closer to him and turn so you are leaning against his side, sighing in relief when the pressure relaxes.

Frankie feels like this entire body is on fire and he can’t resist wrapping his arm around you. “This okay?” He asks. You nod and he smiles, rubbing your arm before you both relax into the sofa. He loves it, how you feel against him. It’s like you are meant to be here.

The movie isn’t great but Frankie makes you laugh by pointing out all the military inaccuracies. You’re slightly disappointed when the doorbell rings and the food is delivered, having to move away from him and soon the two of you are eating side by side on the couch.

“Damn this is good.” You moan, pointing your fork towards the plate. Frankie nods, tearing off a piece of naan. “Right? It’s really good.” He hums, happy you like the place he picked. He could do so much for you if he only got the chance.

“You will have to show me all the best places to eat and drink.” You shove another savory bite of the chicken in your mouth and moan happily, reaching for your drink to wash it down with. “I don’t really go out a lot, but I don’t want to bother with shitty bars if I can help it.”

Frankie nods, “we can make a list and go through it together. I don’t really go out much myself. It’s…sometimes it’s too crowded and I don’t like it.” He admits, setting his fork down. “I don’t do well in crowds.”

“Oh.” You immediately shake your head. “No, we don’t- I’m sorry I didn’t even think about something like that.” You give a small laugh. “I’m an idiot. Never really knew a lot of people in the military.” You explain.

Frankie shakes his head, “it's okay. You didn’t - it’s not something I talk about a lot.” He admits, picking his fork up again. “I’d like to hang out though. I know a few cool bars that serve these local beers.” He tells you.

“Wherever you feel comfortable.” You assure him. It’s not like you have a lot of experience with the bars in the area so it’s not a big deal. Having someone who most likely has some issues from their life be comfortable is more important. Besides, you would like to spend time with him outside the house.

Frankie reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiles, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. He can’t help himself and he hopes you think this is a friendly gesture and you’re not creeped out by him.

You fluster slightly, unused to having a man show those kinds of manners. “I- you’re welcome.” You manage after clearing your throat and for a moment, you think that Frankie wants to lean in and kiss you. Which is ridiculous, so you turn back to the movie. “So, do you keep in touch with your military buddies?” You ask.

Frankie chuckles, “I can’t get rid of them. No matter how hard I try. My captain, Tom, he’s a few blocks away. Will and Benny are across town and Santi, my best friend, just moved back from Australia. So yeah, we are all still close.” He smiles, reluctantly letting go of your hand so he can continue eating.

You two quickly finish up dinner and lean back against the couch again. This time it wasn’t as awkward as before and you found your head laying on his shoulder as the movie hit the climax. Yawning, you try not to close your eyes, but the combination of a full stomach and relaxed atmosphere has you slipping off to sleep against your landlord.

Frankie’s heart is going a mile a minute when you lean against him. He swears he could die there and then and he’s happy. You trust him enough to fall asleep against him and he daren’t move in case he wakes you up. “You’re gonna be mine, you know? I'm gonna make you so happy and you are going to love me and want me. I’ll make sure it happens.”

You don’t know how long you sleep but you wake up and realize that the tv is on something else and you are still laying against Frankie. “Oh my god.” You sit up and cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

Frankie shakes his head, “it’s okay. Don’t even worry about it. It’s okay.” He promises, missing the warmth of your body against him. He wants to pull you back in and hold you but he doesn’t.

“Talk about being comfortable.” You joke, shaking your head at yourself and standing up so you can stretch and help him clean up. 

“Don’t worry about that.” Frankie insists but you just tut. 

“You fed me dinner, and let me sleep on you.” You huff. “The least I can do is help clean up. Please?”

“Don’t be silly. Go to bed. I can handle it.” He insists, guiding you towards the front door after he stands up. He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the door. “Go to bed, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You give him a small pout, but you are too tired to throw up too much of an argument. “G’night, Frankie.” You murmur before he opens the door and lets you out. “Thanks for being there for the cable guy tomorrow.”

****

When the cable guy leaves, Frankie grabs the toolbox he hid under the sink. Making quick work of installing the jammer on the line so he can control it. He also installs the additional cameras he needs. When he sees the army shirt from your ex in your laundry basket, he grabs it. Shoving it into his toolbox so he can shred it later. He won’t allow you to have clothes from another man. Finally, he can’t help himself. He opens your underwear drawer, grabbing a pair of lace black panties. Imagining you wearing them already has his cock hardening and he can’t wait to get back downstairs so he can jerk off. Grabbing his tool box, he locks your door and goes home to get off with your underwear.

You pull back up to the house and sigh. It’s been a long day and you can’t wait to soak in a bath and relax. You think about knocking on Frankie’s door, but decide against it, trudging upstairs and letting yourself into the apartment.

Frankie groans, his wrist twisting as he jerks his cock, the lace is rough but he fucking loves it. He imagines you wearing those panties, rubbing yourself on him and begging him to fuck you. He hears your car pull in and he imagines you just walking in, kneeling down and taking his cock into your mouth.

You groan after you drop your keys into a bowl near the door and kick off your shoes. The phone is plugged in and you smile when you pick it up to press talk to hear the dial tone. Your wifi should be working too so at least you can play on your phone. You hum to yourself as you walk into the bathroom and start the water. You want to soak in a bath and maybe masturbate.

“Fuck. Oh fuckkkkk.” Frankie groans, cum spurting on him as his mind goes blank to everything but you. Imagining you swallowing every fucking drop and loving it. His eyes are closed as he revels in the climax, your panties ruined but he loves it.

You take your time and pour yourself a glass of wine before you start stripping down. Throwing some bath salts in to dissolve and you stick your toe in to test it, groaning when the water is the perfect temperature. “God that is going to be so nice.”

Frankie cleans himself up, throwing away the ruined panties and he slumps down on the sofa. He wants you, he wants to go and see you but he can’t. He pulls out his phone, opening the app and he groans when he sees you in the bath. “Fuck sweetheart. You’re so pretty.” He coos, holding the phone to watch you.

You sigh to yourself, closing your eyes and leaning back in the tub. The wine is at your fingertips and you let your muscles soak. Relaxing in the moment and wishing there was someone to give you a massage. Instead of worrying about your lack of partner, you sit up slightly and reach for your phone, wanting to turn on some porn so you can get in the mood.

Frankie is glad he installed audio, listening to the moans start as you clearly put porn on your phone. “Fuck. You dirty girl.” He mutters to himself with a smirk, spent cock twitching at the idea of you touching yourself.

Something feels wrong, just for a split second you feel as if someone is watching you. Making you glance over the edge of the tub, looking around the bathroom and leaning forward to look out the door into the living room. Shrugging it off and leaning back as you watch the man start eating the woman’s pussy like he was starving. “Fuck, I need that to happen to me.” You moan as one hand slips beneath the water to start rubbing your clit.

Frankie wishes you didn’t have any bubbles in the bath so he can see everything going on but your breathy moans are enough for him to get hard again. His grip on the phone tightening slightly and he wishes you’d let him lick your pussy. “Fuck. I bet it’s so pretty.” He murmurs to himself.

You watch the screen of your phone for a moment, wishing that it was you that was getting licked and sucked on. “Fuck.” You feel your cunt bottom out when you rub your clit just right. “I need to get laid.” You moan to yourself. “Just have someone fuck me stupid.”

Your words make Frankie pull his cock out of his pants, hard once more and he groans when he wraps his fingers around his cock. He hisses and forces himself to watch you, forcing himself to not just go upstairs and rub your clit for you.

You reach up to cup your tit, pinching your nipple until you moan and the water sloshes as your hips jerk. “Oh fuck.” It’s wrong, but you imagine your landlord. Imagine Frankie fucking you. Sucking on your tits and licking your pussy until you cum. He looks like a man who doesn’t mind going down on a woman.

You’re so fucking beautiful and sexy. Your moans make his cock twitch and he slowly jerks himself off, wanting to watch you cum first. “Fuck. I want you.” He groans, twisting his wrist as he watches you.

Your breathing picks up as you masturbate, closing your eyes and not even paying attention to the porn anymore. Too busy imagining what would have happened if Frankie had spread you out on the couch last night and fucked you instead of watching a movie. Your back arches and your head tilts back with a cry as you cum, panting and shuddering your way through your orgasm.

Frankie groans as he cums for the second time that night. Fuck, you’re gorgeous and perfect. He loves everything about you. “Fuck baby. Fuck. Oh shittt.” He hisses through his teeth, unable to believe how gorgeous you are as you cum and it sends him over the edge. Hot cum hitting his chest and stomach while he groans your name.

You slump back down into the tub after you ride out your orgasm, sighing to yourself and pulling your hand out of the water so you can take another sip of your wine. Your orgasm was good, but it could have been so much better if it was from someone else.

****

Frankie sees you pull into the driveway and he waves. It's been a month since you moved in and he has fallen for you. Watching you in your apartment has become his full time job and he has added more cameras during the "odd jobs" you asked him to take care of. He can see every inch of your place and he fucking loves watching you. You are everything he's been waiting for and he wants you. He's gonna make a move soon.

You give Frankie a friendly wave, smiling as you grab your bag from the car and walk about the car to the steps. Frankie is outside working on the lawn mower and it’s kind of sexy to see a man fixing something. You’ve had some moments of weirdness in your apartment and for some damn reason, your underwear keeps disappearing, but you love living here. “Hey Frankie.” You walk up and watch what he’s doing. “Whatcha doin’ tonight?”

Frankie wipes his brow after taking his cap off. It's hot outside and he has his shirt off while he mows the lawn.  "Nothing. What's up?" He asks. Fuck, you look beautiful. He likes the way you've done your hair today.

You hitch your bag higher on your shoulder and try not to stare. Frankie claims that he’s not in shape, but you love the look of him. He’s not sporting more than a small little pouch that shows his love of good food and you think it’s sexy. Never caring for those guys who spend half their life in a gym. “I was thinking that since it’s Friday…” you are a little nervous about asking. “How about you show me that bar you were telling me about? With the local beers?”

Frankie grins, wiping his brow once again. You want to go out with him. This is progress. “Sounds good sweetheart. I gotta finish this up but you wanna meet here at 8? We can get some food at the bar. They have good sliders.” He tells you, trying to act a little cool instead of freaking out that you want to go out with him.

“That sounds good.” You grin back at him and nod. “Yeah, eight.” You repeat and turn around to dash into the house so you can go up to your apartment to get ready. You want to go out and have a good time tonight and you had turned down Steven’s offer of going out to some club. Instead you wanted to try out the bar your handsome landlord mentioned and you only wanted to go with him. Your crush was starting to be painful and you were afraid you were reading things wrong, but you thought he might like you too.

Frankie is nervous, his hands a little sweaty, but he showers and puts a little effort into his outfit. He has a button down shirt on and his nicest jeans but he can’t leave his hat at home. At eight sharp, he heads outside to wait for you. When you come down the stairs, Frankie’s eyes widen. Fuck, you look gorgeous.

"Do I look okay? For that bar you want to go to?" You ask, wondering if you should change.

Frankie shakes his head, “you look beautiful. Trust me, I’ll be the one bringing my bat to beat them off tonight baby.” He winks at you, hoping you don’t see the look in his eye that he properly means that.

You fluster slightly and look away, before you clear your throat. “So do you want to take my car or do you want to drive?” You ask, wondering if he’s the type that likes to drive. You feel like he is. That need for control.

“I’ll drive.” He insists, pulling out his keys for his truck. He walks over to the truck and opens the passenger door, holding his hand out to help you up into the vehicle. You take his hand and his heart sings, loving how you feel and he wishes this was a proper date. He helps you up into the car, your jeans are tight and he loves your ass, admiring it before you sit down and he shuts the door once you’re settled. Rounding the truck, he gets in and starts the engine, backing out of the driveway to make his way to the bar.

“Yeah. I haven’t been out for a while. I’ve been working a lot and I just want to watch tv. It’s nicer when you have someone to watch tv with though.” He sighs, turning onto another street a few blocks from the bar.

“It is.” You can agree with that. “You’ll have to come up and watch House of the Dragon with me.” You offer with a grin. “It’s that new GOT spin-off.”

“Any good? The way Game of Thrones ended scarred me.” He chuckles, turning into the bar parking lot. He kills the engine when he’s parked and he gets out, opening the door for you and holding his hand out to help you out.

“It is good.” You take his hand and your stomach flips at how warm and strong his light hold on you is. “Thank you.” It’s starting to feel like a date even though you had proposed just something casual. Not that you mind at all. “So this is it, huh?” You smile as you look at the very unassuming facade.

Frankie shuts the door and locks his truck. “It’s nicer inside.” He promises, deciding to be bold and take your hand once again, guiding you inside, and the place is busy but not packed, a nice atmosphere. “What ya think?” He asks, biting his lip.

The music isn’t so loud that you can’t hear yourself think and everyone seems to be having a great time. Servers are rushing around with drinks and baskets of food, and conversations are at a low din. “It looks great, I can see why you like the place.” You grin. “You want to sit at a table or the bar?”

"A table would be good." Frankie guides you over to a table that is close but not too close to the crowd. He glances around, finding the exits and mentally remembering them and he sits you down before positioning himself so he has eyes on every corner of the bar. "What do you want to drink sweetheart?" He asks, handing you the menu.

Looking over the menu, you hum at all the local selections. “Oh that looks good.” You point to a fruit ale and then look up at him. “And you can’t come to a bar without bar food, right?”

Frankie chuckles, "the sliders are really good." He nods, looking over the menu despite knowing what he wants to get. The waitress comes over and Frankie orders his beer, a local IPA, and you order the fruit ale. "I'll get those and come back for your food order." She says and walks off. Frankie doesn't watch her ass as she walks away, too focused on you. You look gorgeous tonight.

God, he’s a gentleman. You notice that he’s not looking around at other women and it’s nice to have a man who has manners with you. You aren’t even on a date so he isn’t obligated, but it still makes your cheeks heat up slightly. “So are you a fries or onion rings kind of guy?” You ask, leaning in across the table. You want to learn about him and have a fun night too.

“Depends on the day.” He answers honestly, “fries probably though.” He wants to take your hand, his fingers tapping near yours but he doesn’t, not wanting to scare you off. “Cookies or brownies?” He asks, remembering the dessert options.

You moan quietly. “Both.” You flash a naughty grin. “Have you ever had a brookie?” You ask. “Combination of brownie and cookie, literally an orgasm in your mouth.”

Frankie groans at that, “oh fuck. That sounds amazing. I want one of those.” He nods, “definitely want one of those. They do an amazing brownie sundae here.” He tells you, biting the bullet and taking your hand in his.

You nearly giggle with butterflies and you shift slightly to let your fingers thread between his. “So, are you glad you came out tonight or would you rather be watching tv?”

“Definitely glad I came out.” He smiles, cheeks flushing slightly. It’s been a while since he’s gone on a date and he wants you. God, he wants you. He squeezes your hand, not letting go when the waitress sets the drinks down and he barely manages to look away from you to order. “I, uh, I don’t want - I’m your landlord but I’m - I really like you.” He admits, flustered after the waitress walks away again.

You bite your lip and sigh as you reach over to cover his hand with your other. “I like you too Frankie.” Your heart is pounding and you feel like your cheeks are on fire. “Really like you.” You think back to your bath and then later on when you had used your vibrator thinking about him. “I guess we could call this our first date? If you wanted to?”

Frankie smiles, “I’d like that.” He picks up his drink after gently taking his hand from yours, holding the drink towards you. “To our first date.” He toasts. When you clink your glass against his, he grins and takes a sip.

You’re laughing at a joke that Frankie tells you as the waitress brings your food. Learning that his sense of humor is wicked and slightly dirty delights you. “Oh my god.” You wave your hand in your face to try to keep from crying, you are laughing so hard. “That’s horrible.”

Frankie chuckles, "Benny got smacked by his mom for that, he deserved it. He was being a brat." Frankie snorts and leans back so the waitress can set the food down. "Thank you ma'am." He tells her, reluctantly letting go of your hand. "You're welcome. You two make a cute couple by the way." She smiles and walks off.

You give a small giggle and look at Frankie. “I guess it’s a good thing we decided this was a date.” You joke and look down at the food. “This looks and smells amazing.” You groan and smirk at him before you pick up a fry out of your basket and offer it to him.

He takes the fry, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. He swears he hasn't been this happy in...in forever. While he chews, he watches you pick up the slider and he enjoys watching you take a bite and fucking loves the moan that escapes your lips after. "Goddamn." He murmurs, reaching down to adjust himself.

“God,” you swallow the bite and roll your eyes over at him, practically mooning over the slider. “This is exactly what I needed.” You gush. “Good food, beer and a hot guy.” You love tonight so much more since you had plans for another bath if he turned you down.

He blushes at being called hot. He is glad you are attracted to him because he wants you. He needs you. God, he needs you. “Glad you like the food.” He winks playfully, wanting this night to end with a kiss. Maybe more but he wouldn’t push. You have to want him too.

“Oh come on.” You huff and snatch a fry up to point at him. “You know you’re hot. Doing yard work without your shirt on is peak male hotness.”

Frankie snorts, “it’s fucking hot outside and the damn grass goes everywhere so it’s easier to not wear a shirt. I got this from too many beers.” He reaches down to slap his lower stomach. “I’m glad you think I’m hot though because you are - you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

You scoff, even though you are loving the compliment. “Then you haven’t known many women.” You joke. “I had an ex tell me I was sex with the lights off.” That had stung but he was a prick so you try not to let it get to you too bad most days.

Frankie’s jaw clenches and he is glad he doesn’t know who that guy is because he would kill him. “That guy was clearly blind. What an asshole. I’d beat him up for you.” Frankie says seriously.

Your eyes widen slightly but you don’t take him seriously. “Thanks, but he’s not worth it.” You give a small shrug. “He’s an asshole who wasn’t worth my time.” You repeat your mantra. “So….when was your last relationship?”

Frankie sighs, “it was a while ago. She, uh, she got pregnant and then told me it wasn’t mine. She cheated on me and I was deployed so it couldn’t have been mine. Obviously we broke up but I- it did a number on me for sure.” He admits.

“Shit.” You hiss, hating that you brought up an obvious bad memory for him. “I’m so sorry. What a bitch.” You shake your head, wondering why someone would cheat and then try to pass the baby off as someone else’s. You reach out and take his hand again. “I’ll kick her ass for you.” Playfully offering the same kind of treatment he had offered you.

Frankie chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer but honestly? She did me a favor. I didn’t realize that I was unhappy and when I was alone, I felt like a weight had been lifted off of me. It - it was for the best.” He shrugs, wanting to change the subject.

You take another bite of your slider and consider another question to ask, enjoying learning about him. “What’s your dream vacation?”

Frankie grins, “I’ve been to the desert too many times to count. I want to go to the mountains. And a beach. I want to go to Hawaii.” He smiles, “just relax and chill out.”

“Hmmm laying on the beach drinking frozen alcoholic beverages and snorkeling sounds perfect.” You sigh, completely agreeing. “I went on a cruise about five years ago and it was really nice.”

“Yeah? Maybe one day we can go.” Frankie offers, wanting you to know that this is more than one date to him. He wants to be with you and he wants to have you. Wants you to be his. You fluster and he adores it, picking up his drink to take a gulp.

“That would be fun!” You finally manage, grinning at the idea of him Frankie in a Hawaiian shirt. You pick up the beer and take a sip of your own, humming happily at the fruity tartness of it.

Frankie insists upon paying for the bill after you share a brownie sundae. “It’s our first date. I’m paying.” He orders, playfully slapping your hand away from the folding booklet.

You huff, grinning and watch as he pays. “Well, I guess that means I owe you a kiss.” You murmur playfully, knowing he won’t expect that of you. You want to kiss him.

“Now that I can agree to.” He grins, standing up and taking your hand to guide you through the bar. He wants to take you home and when you’re out in the parking lot, he guides you to his truck. He gently pushes you back against his truck. “I want that kiss now.” He smiles and leans down, cupping your cheek to kiss you softly.

You sigh and don’t hesitate to wrap your hands around his back and pull him closer. Opening up and moaning slightly when your tongue meets his as he deepens the kiss and presses into you more. You don’t think about anything but Frankie, completely unaware of everything but him.

He is going crazy. He’s addicted already. The way you taste and the way you feel against him has his heart thumping and he’s certain that this is where he was always meant to be. He kisses you a few moments more before he kisses your neck, catching his breath. “Fuck baby. You’re so perfect.”

Panting, you give a small giggle. “I don’t normally do this, but do you want to come back to my place?” You ask, smiling at the idea of your landlord being in your apartment for reasons other than fixing things. “I think you need to check my smoke alarm…. in the morning.”

Frankie is so pleased and he nods, offering you a smirk. “Yes baby. Come on, let’s go.” He pulls you aside so he can open the door, helping you inside and he smacks your ass.

You yelp and giggle as he shoots you a grin. Watching him round the hood of the truck and climb in beside you. “Someone’s eager to go home.” You tease, throwing him a wink. “I wonder why that is.”

He chuckles when he gets in, “baby I’ve wanted you since you moved in.” He confesses, starting the engine before he backs out of the parking space. “Plus I think you’re eager too.”

“Fuck yes I am.” You admit shamelessly. “You look like a man who knows how to make a woman cum.” Your thighs squeeze together in anticipation and you can feel yourself starting to get wet.

He chuckles, “I’ll make sure you cum. I promise you you will scream my name.” He assures you, driving back towards the house with a little more speed than before. “Tell me what you want? What have you imagined when you’ve rubbed that pretty little clit?”

Your brow ticks for a split second, the question of how he knows what your clit looks like fluttering through your mind before you dismiss it. He is just talking sexy - not implying that he’s seen you. “Fuck, I’ve imagined a lot.” You bite your lip and rub your hands on your thighs. “Wondering what your beard would feel like on my thighs and how my legs would look around your shoulders.”

“We can make it all happen.” He promises, his cock throbbing in his pants, and he is eager to get back and get you naked. A bonus if he fucks you in your place is he can access the footage. Have his own personal porno. He groans at the thought, glancing over at you. “Fuck baby. Let me - I want you to take your jeans off. Let me see you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise but you grin at how dirty he is. “Mr. Morales, right here in the truck?” You ask, sounding scandalized even if you are already unbuckling your seat belt and lifting your hips as you unbutton and unzip your jeans to peel them off.

“Right here.” He nods, grinning and he groans at your bare thighs before you push your panties down. You kick the material aside and he loves seeing your cunt up close. “So goddamn pretty.” He murmurs, glad he’s at a stop light and he reaches out to swipe his fingers through your folds.

“Fuck!” You cry out when he touches you, catching the attention of the car next to his truck but you don’t care. “Frankie.” You whimper, spreading your legs wider and letting him touch you however he wants. The fact that he’s doing this here adds thrill to it, making it even more naughty.

If he thought your pussy looked gorgeous, that was before he touched it. Like pure fucking silk. Jesus, the amount of times he’s imagined doing this. He rubs your clit, gathering up your slick before he pushes a finger into you, loving the way you moan his name.

You gasp, your walls clenching down around his fingers. “Frankie.” You moan, your head leaning back against the headrest and a car honks their horn behind you, making you jump. “Oh shit, the light’s green.”

He huffs, wishing you were already home but he continues driving, maybe a little faster than he should while he has a finger inside of you. He pushes another finger into you, loving how tight you feel. You’re so fucking perfect for him. He loves it. He loves you. “Yes baby. Want you to cum in my truck.”

You whimper, closing your eyes as he pumps his fingers into you. “Good- good thing you have a- a automatic truck.” You pant out, giggling breathlessly. “Fuck Frankie, your fingers, Jesus they’re so good.” You moan, rolling your hips down to push him deeper.

Frankie is so proud and so fucking happy that you are enjoying his fingers. He wants you to enjoy everything he does to you tonight. It’s one way he gets to keep you…to satisfy you. “Fuck baby. You are so tight around my fingers. Want you to cum on them.” He presses his thumb against your clit.

Your moan is loud, nearly a sob when he presses against your clit. “Oh fuck!” Your body lurches forward slightly as your cunt clamps down on his fingers and you soak them.

“Fuck.” Frankie groans when you cum, clamping down on his digits, and he hisses when you soak them. Yes you are everything he’s ever wanted. “Jesus. So tight.” He groans, continuing to work his fingers inside of you.

You can’t wait to get back to the house and get him into your bed. “God, it’s so much better than my own fingers.” You praise, riding out your orgasm with achingly slow aftershocks making your thighs clench. Only when you are completely wrung out and slumping back against the seat does he pull his fingers out of you, holding them up to see how wet they are.

Frankie wastes no time in shoving his fingers into his mouth, groaning because you taste so good and he can’t wait to get you back so he can bury his face into your cunt. He wants to make you cum with his tongue. He speeds a little faster and thankfully pulls onto the driveway, immediately killing the engine and reaching out to pull you close so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

Loving how eager he is, you kiss him back. He had barely parked the truck before he pulled you to him and kissed you. Moaning quietly, you let your mouths meld for a long minute before you pull away. “We should go in.” You pant. “I- I need to put my pants back on.”

He knows you’re right, you don’t need the neighbors seeing anything and he doesn’t want the neighbors to see anything so he lets you go so you can pull your jeans back on. “Hurry up baby. Wanna get you inside.” He says, getting out of the truck and walking around to help you out.

You jump out of the truck and let Frankie hustle you to the outside door. Giggling to yourself at the fact that he drops his keys and curses as he picks them up and tries to get the door open. “Get the door open, baby.” You coo, reaching out and cupping his ass playfully.

Frankie struggles to open the door but manages, guiding you upstairs to your apartment and he uses his master key to open up, pushing you inside and shoving you up against the door so he can slide his tongue back into your mouth.

You moan into his mouth, reaching up and tangling your fingers into his hair. Tugging on the strands while you kiss him back, desperate to make him feel half as eager for you as you are for him. “Frankie.” You whimper when he starts kissing down your jaw. “Bedroom.”

He is grateful he knows the layout as he grabs your waist and guides you backwards towards your bedroom while his lips kiss you back. His tongue sliding into your mouth and his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass.

The two of you stumble into your bedroom and you're grateful that you keep your apartment clean as you reach for the buttons on his shirt. The room is clean and you have every intention of throwing his clothes on the floor so you can touch him. “Fuck.” You hiss, feeling his hard cock grinding against you.

“You’re so perfect.” He groans, letting you shove his shirt off of his shoulders and he reaches for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose the pretty lace bra that matches the panties. He might have to take that as a momento. “Love this.” He murmurs, reaching behind you to unclasp it. When he tosses it aside moments later, he leans down to take your nipple into his mouth.

Gasping his name, your fingers fumble with his belt. Eager to open it and touch him, feel the weight of his cock in your hands. Eyes half closed as he bites down on your nipple hard enough to make you moan. “Fuck.” Your hand finally can fit and you don’t waste a second, shoving it into his pants to wrap around his hot and throbbing cock.

“Fuckkkk.” Frankie hisses around your nipple, unable to believe how good just your hand feels on his cock and he prays you like what you find. He wants you to be happy and he wants you to enjoy this. It’s important that you enjoy this since you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him.

Moaning, your fingers encircle him, rolling down the foreskin and swiping a thumb over the sensitive tip. Chuckling breathlessly when his hips buck forward and your nipple pops out of his mouth. “Take your fucking pants off, Frank.” You demand roughly, giving him a good squeeze.

He loves how commanding you are, stepping back to push his pants down along with his boxers after kicking off his shoes and he stumbles while taking off his socks. His eyes meet yours and he hopes you like what you see.

“Shit.” He’s got a cock that is just begging to be sucked. Your fingers eagerly push down your jeans, happy you hadn’t bothered buttoning them up to get into the house, and you kick them off. He’s a combination of strength and softness and you fucking love it. You step closer and wrap your hand around his cock, sinking down to your knees so you can kiss the tip.

“You don’t have to - oh fuck.” Frankie groans when you wrap your lips around the head. “Baby. You don’t - let’s get on the bed. Want you to sit on my face. You can - shit - suck my cock while you do it.” He promises, gently pushing you off of his length.

Pouting slightly, you had wanted to see his face when you took him down your throat. Eager to see the faces he makes when he’s enjoying himself. “Fine.” You push yourself to your feet and press your breasts against his chest as you kiss him. “Get on your back.”

He’s eager, shifting to lay down on your bed, and when you straddle him, he grabs your hips to pull you back to hover over his face. Pulling you down immediately so he can slide his tongue through your dripping folds. Moaning into the flesh while his tongue flicks over your clit.

Giving a small cry, you lurch forward, eyes closed. Feeling Frankie pull your hips back and make you smother him with your cunt. Reaching out, you pant out moans while you start stroking him, eager to make him feel just as good as you wrap your lips around his cock again.

“Shit.” He hisses into your folds and he sucks your clit into his mouth. His hands squeeze your ass and he can’t stop his hips from jerking up towards your mouth when you take him deeper. He’s longed for you to suck him off since you moved in and he is loving it.

Moaning around him, you lap up the salty burst of precum and grind your hips back. His fingers dig into your skin and make you ache pleasantly, knowing they will form into bruises under your skin that you can press as a reminder that this happened. Stroking the base with your hand, you work him deep, loving how he moans into your cunt when he feels that you have him halfway down your throat before you swallow.

Frankie pulls back from your pussy to moan your name, panting when you swallow around him, and it’s been his dream to have you suck his cock. To find out how good you are…it’s unbelievable. It makes him eager to push you over the edge so he can get inside of you. He sucks on your clit, shifting one hand so he can push two thick digits into you.

You squeal around him, the sound muffled and your mouth drops open and his cock falls out while you let out another loud moan. “Oh fuck, oh fuck Fra-nkie.” Your hips roll back and you shudder.

He loves it. The way you soak his face has him nearly cumming too and he laps up every drop of your cum, slurping as he works you through it. When you shake, he stops and smacks your ass playfully.

“Oh shit.” You pant, shifting and moving off of him even when your hand is still around his cock. “That was- holy shit,” you giggle. “You are better than I even imagined.”

Frankie is pleased, so happy that you liked it. “Baby. I need - tell me I can fuck you.” He pleads, cock twitching in your hand and he is desperate for you but you have to want him. He will go home now if you want.

You whine and nod. “I- I’m on the pill and it’s been awhile.” You fluster and bite your lip. “But I have condoms in the nightstand.” You motion over to the table and look back at him to see if he wants one.

"It's been a while for me too. I want - can I cum inside of you?" He asks, caressing your side as you shift to lay down beside him. When you nod, he groans and shifts to kneel between your thighs, gripping his cock and pumping himself a few times as he shifts closer to swipe the head of his cock through your folds.

God, he looks so good as he starts to fill you up. His mouth goes slack, brows pinching together and the sexiest fucking groan you’ve ever heard rumbles out of his chest. It’s hard to watch because your own feelings of relief, of pleasure at being stretched out is starting to make your eyelids flutter. “Oh God.” Hands gripping his shoulder tight, hanging on while he keeps pushing deeper. 

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” He groans, pushing until he is fully inside of you and he leans down to press his lips to yours. The kiss is possessive, taking ownership of you as his as he starts to move his hips. It’s not soft and slow, it’s rough and a little rugged as he lets himself give over to his emotions, the need he has had for you since you moved in.

All you can do is hold on. Gasping and keening every time he pushes deep and his hips snap just a little harder into you. He grabs your thigh, hitching it up onto his waist so he can hit deeper, making you sob and your eyes roll back. “Fuck!”

He watches how much you are loving this. Fucking hungry for his cock, aren’t you? You’re gonna beg him to cum. He clenches his jaw, fingers digging into your flesh again and he hisses when you clench around him. “You like this?” He growls. “You like me being inside of you?”

“Yes, fuck yes!” You cry out, trying to lift up to meet his harsher thrusts but he is pushing you down into the bed with every drilling punch of his cock. “So good, I’m gonna cum.” You promise, feeling the knot in your belly coil tighter every time he moves. “Fuck!”

“Tell me you belong to me. Tell me you’re mine. Then I’ll let you cum.” He growls between gritted teeth, desperate for you to say it. His hips slamming against yours with every word he says, his hand coming up to gently grip your throat.

The possessive tone mixed with slightest pressure makes you nearly squeal the next time his cock bottoms out. “I’m y-yours!” You practically scream it, nails digging into his back as you hold on. “Yours, yours, yours!”

Your words send him over the edge. Burying his cock deep inside of you, he rubs your clit, frantic for you to fall over the edge with him. He can’t hold back anymore, burying his cock deep before he paints your walls with his hot seed. Your name escapes his lips while his hand goes slack on your clit.

Stars burst behind your closed lids and every nerve ending is lit on fire while you shake under him. The heat of his cum floods your core and makes you whimper, feeling the shallow pumps of his hips, the creamy liquid being pushed out from around his cock. “Oh fuck.” You manage after he’s gone still, head tucked into your neck. “That was…..amazing.” You giggle.

Frankie pants, trying to pull himself together and he kisses along your neck after letting go of it. You’re so goddamn perfect. He can’t lose you now. He can’t. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “So good. You’re so - God, so damn good.” He pants against your neck.

“You did all the work.” You remind him, slowly stroking his back and feeling more relaxed than you’ve been in forever. “Definitely better than masturbating.” You hum playfully.

He chuckles, “yeah I agree. Not enough panties for me to do that.” He pants, not thinking clearly about his words since he’s still riding his high.

Wondering what he means, the words stick to the back of your mind, making you frown. Maybe he had a panty fetish, who are you to judge? “I think I lost some during the move.” You complain, thinking about your favorite pair. “Pissed me off. They were my favorite ones.”

"I'll buy you some new ones." He promises, kissing your jaw before pressing his lips to yours, trying to make you forget what he just said. "So fucking good. God, can't believe we waited so long to do that. Wanted to do that the moment I met you." He confesses, a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh really?” You smirk, a little smug about that and your walls clench down around his cock playfully to make him groan. “Waiting a month is a long time, huh?”

“It is when you have the sexiest woman in town, hell, the state, living above you.” He answers, a cheeky smile on his lips as he looks down at you. “I want to date it and I know - I know I’m your landlord but I don’t want - you aren’t obligated to do anything but I want you to know I want you.”

It’s sweet that he’s literally still inside you and he’s still worried about making sure that you are comfortable. “I said I was yours, didn’t I?” You murmur with a smile on your face, reaching up and caressing his cheek. “I want to date you. Obviously.” You cheekily give him a wink and drag him down for a kiss.

Frankie kisses you, now sweet and slow, and his heart is going a mile a minute. “I’m so - I have wanted this for so long.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek. “I’m going to take you to dinner. A proper dinner.”

You make a noise of protest, even if you are smiling. “Hey now.” You huff. “I loved our dinner tonight.” You lean up and kiss him again. “Dessert was even better.” You tease.

Frankie kisses you, groaning as he pulls out of you and he wastes no time in shuffling off of the bed so he can grab a washcloth to clean you up. "Here you go sweetheart." He murmurs, gently cleaning you before he cleans himself up. He will keep this rag. A memento of tonight.

You stand up and reach for your robe, unsure of what to do now. “I’ll go grab us some water.” You offer, walking out of the room and into the kitchen.

Frankie pulls on his boxers, shoving the rag into his pants that are still on the floor and he makes his way into the living room, following you to the kitchen, and he kisses along your neck, wrapping his arms around you. “Am I crazy if I say I think I’m falling in love with you?” He murmurs.

You give a small laugh, tilting your head so you can let him kiss you. “I think that’s just the sex talking.” You tease him. “Might be a little early for I love yous and proposals.”

Frankie knows what he feels but he doesn’t push you. Humming in agreement and kissing your neck again. His hands slide down to your stomach, imagining you full of his baby. A life with you. Being married and having a family. It’s all he’s ever wanted. “Soon.” He promises, stepping back and taking the water to down half of it. He’s excited to get back to his place and see the footage from your first time.

You shake your head at his thirst and drink your own water. “Well, I should go.” You are surprised, but you don’t want him to feel like he has to go or stay even. “If you want to.” You lean in and kiss him again. “I think I might run into you sooner than you expect.” You grin and kiss his lips again.

Frankie smiles, kissing you one last time. He doesn’t bother changing, just stepping back to grab his clothes, making sure the rag doesn’t fall onto the floor. “I’ll see you around sweetheart.” He winks, not wanting you to feel too pressured just yet. He will have you, you just have to want him more.

Letting Frankie out, you close your door and hum happily to yourself. You had a great time and so what if he might be a little too eager. It was better than douchebags who string you along or decide to ghost you. Things will be fine.

****

“Hey baby.” Frankie greets you when you open the door. It’s been a few weeks since you had your first date and Frankie is ready to ask you to be his girlfriend. He has take out and champagne in his hands. “I got the food.” He holds up the bag.

“Hey.” You plaster on a smile and open the door wider, slightly irritated because you had told Frankie that tonight had been stressful and you were just going to take a bath and go to bed early. You huff, telling yourself that you’re being a bitch and he’s taking care of you. “Thanks. I didn’t expect that.”

“I wanted to cheer you up. I know it’s been a long day and I wanted to make it better.” He says, wondering if he was a good idea but you step aside to let him in and he holds up the bottle of champagne.

“Fancy.” You take the bottle and examine the label. “What are we celebrating tonight?” You bite your lip and turn towards the kitchen, knowing he will follow you. The glasses are in there but you don’t know where your bottle opener is. You’ve seemed to misplace it again

Frankie watches you take out the glasses and he opens the bottle of champagne, chuckling when the cork flies across the room, and he pours two glasses, holding one up towards you. “I wanted to ask you something.” He clears his throat and you frown, wondering what he is going to ask. “I wanted to ask…will you be my girlfriend?”

There are times when he’s so sweet you don’t know why someone didn’t snap him up already. “I kind of thought I already was.” Grinning over the rim of your glass. “I mean, we are together practically every night.”

“Yeah but I wanted to ask you officially.” He blushes, fingers flexing around the small flute in his hand. “I wanted to officially make you my girlfriend and - fuck, it’s a little high school but I want to do this right. It went so wrong in my last relationship and I just - I want everything to go right with you.”

You lean in and smile, pressing your lips to his to soothe away the frazzled nerves. “Yes Frankie, I’ll be your girlfriend.” You declare softly before you take a sip of the champagne. “Ohhh Steven’s gonna be so disappointed we aren’t both single this weekend.” You snicker, although you don’t mind at all. Not really.

Frankie tries to not let it show how much that fucks him off. Hearing about Steven now and then has him on edge. The dude is in love with you and Frankie refuses to let anyone come between you both. “Are you, uh, you’re going out with Steven this weekend?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell you?” You ask, surprised that you hadn’t mentioned it. “We are going to a concert.” You hadn’t invited him because you knew that he would hate crowds.

The news makes Frankie’s blood boil but he tries to calm down, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. He nods, “that’s gonna be fun. I, uh, it would’ve been nice if you’d told me, I booked a restaurant for us to go to.” He rubs his jaw, trying to act indifferent but he is upset that you didn’t communicate with him.

“Oh.” You bite your lip, not wanting to point out that he had done the same thing by making plans without communicating. “I’m sorry.” You frown with a small pout. “I would cancel, but I’ve already paid for my ticket.”

Frankie is peeved but tries to not let it show. He nods, "I can change the booking. You go have fun with Steven." He offers, trying to compromise and not scare you off. His mind is already whirling with ideas but he will keep those to himself. "Sorry baby. Seriously, you go have fun." He coos, reaching to touch your waist.

“Okay. I know I’ve been neglecting my friends.” You reach out and stroke his chest. “You should get together with your friends. Have a boys night and complain about your girlfriend.” You grin at the title, wrinkling your body happily. “We can text and complain about how we wish we were on your couch with takeout.”

Frankie chuckles, not necessarily thinking it’s a bad idea to catch up with the guys. He just hates the idea of spending a night without you. Of you with that prick Steven who will probably try and turn you against Frankie. He’s heard the calls on the landline. Steven giving his opinion on Frankie being a little too intense. What the fuck does he know? “Sounds like a plan baby.” He kisses your hair, staring at the camera he put in your coffee machine across the kitchen.

“Okay.” You breathe a small sigh of relief, really not wanting to fight with him. “So what did you bring for dinner?” You ask before you take another sip of the champagne. It’s really sweet that he brought you dinner and you appreciate it. You are hungry and it seems like Frankie knows exactly how to take care of you. It’s like he knows you inside and out.

Frankie knows everything you like and dislike. He has watched your every move for weeks and he feels like he knows you inside and out. “I got us pasta from that place in town that you like.” He tells you, wanting you to know how much he knows you without making you suspicious.

“Ohhh god.” You moan quietly and roll your eyes. “You know I love pasta. You’re the best.” You reach out with grabby hands playfully.

He chuckles, glad you like it and he is pleased you are happy. All he wants is to make you happy. After you eat, Frankie and you cuddle on the sofa. He loves just sitting here and watching a movie, safe from the world and no one to take you away from him. “Are you sure you wanna go to the concert?” He asks casually while you rest on his chest. 

“Yeah? Why?” You frown, sitting up to look at him. 

“I just - it’s not very safe. The crowds. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be okay.” He looks doubtful, but you shoot him a serious look. “Seriously, it’s not going to be a rowdy concert. I’m just going to have a beer or two.” You promise, wanting him to trust you.

Frankie wants to put his foot down and tell you you aren't going but he can't be that heavy handed. "I know baby but...Steven won't be able to look after you if something happens. I just - I want you to be safe. I want you to enjoy yourself but I am worried. Steven can't keep you safe."

You sigh softly and shake your head. You don’t want to get into an argument. “I won’t drink, okay?” You compromise, even if you think it’s ridiculous. You have your pepper spray and you’ve never had any major issues. “Will that make you worry less? Maybe you can give me some self defense lessons if it’ll make you feel better.”

"Baby please. I just - it makes me uncomfortable because of my past to let you go to a big crowd like that. I'm scared to lose you." He reveals, his voice small and almost weak as he tries to convince you not to go.

You sigh. “I’ll sell the tickets and we’ll just watch a movie or something.” You are annoyed that he’s talked you out of something that you’ve been looking forward to for a month.

Frankie bites his lip to smother his victorious smirk. and he nods, leaning forward to kiss your hair. "Thank you baby. I promise that I will make this up to you. I just want you to be safe."

You nod, feeling slightly put out but you try to kick the feeling. “I’ll be safe but you need to be safe with your boys too.”

"Sweetheart. We were in Delta...it's who we bump into who needs to be worried." He snorts, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer so he can kiss your cheek before he focuses on the movie you are watching. Hopefully that is the end of the issue and he is satisfied to keep you away from Steven.

****

“You should just go.” Steven frowns at you. “What is he going to do? He’s not even here and he shouldn’t be dictating what you are doing.” You fluster slightly, not wanting to fight with Steven but you had given Frankie your word before he left. “Why don’t we just stay here and watch a movie.”

Frankie’s phone went off when Steven pulled onto the driveway and he opens the camera app to listen to the conversation. When he hears Steven trying to convince you to go, he rolls his eyes. “You - you are different since you’ve been with Frankie. He squashes you. You do everything he wants. You’ve lost yourself because of him.” Steven shakes his head.

“That’s not true.” Protesting that, you roll your eyes. “I’m in a relationship and there does need to be compromise.” You tell him. “We went out just the other night because I wanted to and Frankie really wanted to stay home.” Shaking your head, you frown at Steven. “Look, I know I’m not spending as much time with you and the others as I normally do, but I feel like everyone pulls away from social groups when they are getting a relationship started. It’s new and honestly? You guys don’t want to see us kissing or having sex.” 

Steven shakes his head. “It’s not that. It’s that - there’s something about him. He gets this weird possessive look in his eyes whenever he’s around you and you’ve changed. You do whatever he wants and that’s not like you. You’re so strong and he has just - he’s controlling you and you can’t see it. Please, listen to me. I care about you. A lot.”

Like the stubborn idiot that you are, you shake off your own doubts that have popped up and sigh. “I know you like me Steven, but badmouthing Frankie isn’t going to make me break up with him and want to be with you.” You hiss. “Now we can hang out or you can go home. Your choice.” You’re pissed because he won’t stop complaining about you being happy and it’s starting to get on your nerves. “You are just pissed that I have a boyfriend who loves me and it’s not you.”

Steven rears back like you slapped him, a hurt look in his eyes as his mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words to argue that but failing. “Don’t do this sweetheart. He’s gonna - there’s something off about him and it’s gonna - you’re gonna get hurt. Do I love you? Yes. I do. I’m in love with you and that’s why I don’t want to see you get hurt. I am acting above my emotions here. I just want you to be safe. There’s something off about Frankie.”

You immediately feel bad, but you sigh softly. The joy of hanging out with your friend is now ruined and all you want to do is curl up on your couch and drink the half bottle of wine that Frankie had brought you the other day. Ironic that he went out with his friends and your night has turned into a shit show. “Listen…” You give a small shrug. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now. Obviously we’re both upset and I just-“ you reach out and cup his cheek. “I care about you, I do. But I am fine and maybe- maybe we just need a few days to cool off, okay?”

Frankie listens in on the camera, clenching his jaw at how you cup Steven’s cheek. He’s not out with the boys, he’s just in his truck, watching what is happening. Steven says okay and tells you to be careful, stay safe, before he says his goodbyes. Making Frankie roll his eyes before he sets his phone down, driving towards your place, parking up and waiting until Steven pulls away from the curb. Frankie follows, knowing he can’t allow this asshole to put thoughts in your head. Frankie can’t lose you, not now, and he is going to make sure he never does. Especially because of Steven.

****

You frown as you stare down at your phone. The messages opened and you can clearly tell that they are being delivered. You wonder if Steven has turned off the Read option for you on his phone. Or if he’s just decided that he’s not going to talk to you again. To Steven: “Listen, I know that I said that we needed a few days, but it’s been a week and I really want to talk to you. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Text me back and tell me to fuck off at least?” Your front door opens and Frankie walks in, making you look up and close your phone out with a smile. “Hey babe, that didn’t take long.” You look at the bags in his hands and grin. “Couldn’t decide what to make for dinner?” 

Frankie leans down to kiss you when you walk over to take a few bags. "No. I just- I figured we could spend a few days just hanging around the house. I am tired after work and now that I have some days off...I just want to spend every minute with you." He coos, setting the bags down on your counter. He knows you've been trying to contact Steven, the worried look on your face, even though Steven's phone is now in the middle of the Everglades. "You okay?" He asks you, pulling you into his arms after you set the bags down.

“Yeah….” You hadn’t told Frankie about your argument with Steven, because it was over him and you were worried that he was going to use it as an excuse to tell you that you needed to step back from Steven as a friend. You could tell that he didn’t care for the other man, but you had brushed it off as the two men engaging in a silent pissing competition for dominance. Archaic, but they’re men. “Just friend stuff.” 

Frankie hums, trying to not say that he knows what happened but then you’d question it and he doesn’t need you asking questions. He kisses your hair, “well hopefully it gets better. I got your favorite snacks so go pick a movie and we can relax, okay?” He offers, trying to cheer you up.

“You know…” You sigh and shake your head, stepping out of his arms. “I think that I just want to go to bed early tonight.” You admit quietly. “Alone. I just- I think that I just need a night to wallow.” You look into his eyes and try to ignore the hurt because you need to just be miserable and you will be shit company anyway.

Frankie frowns, not liking this sudden change. He knows it’s about Steven and he supposes he should let you wallow for the night so this silly behavior ends sooner rather than later. He nods, “of course. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” He offers, backing away from you and trying to not show how hurt he is.

“I appreciate it.” You do, wondering why Steven doesn’t see that Frankie lets you have space when you need it and caters to your needs. “I’m sorry, I know you are disappointed.” You murmur softly. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

“It’s okay baby. I’ll talk to you later.” He promises, kissing you softly before he backs away from you. Disappointed but even he knows when to push. He steps back, making his way to the door. “See you later, baby.” He smiles, shutting the door behind him and makes his way downstairs. Hopefully this passes. Steven is gone and you need to get over it.

****

You hum as you make your way to the shared laundry space in the house. The apartments didn’t have separate hookups, but Frankie had kept the original laundry space and made it free for both units to use. Your night had been restless and at the end of it, you had been pissed. Never hearing from Steven, despite calling him several times, you had sent him one last text telling him that you had decided that it was best if the two of you just stopped talking and you had deleted his number and blocked him. If he couldn’t be an adult and talk to you, you didn’t want to deal with him. Frankie is gone, truck out of his parking space in the driveway before you had woken up, so you had decided to do some laundry. When you get down there, you shake your head with a grin. Frankie hates laundry and there is a load in the dryer and one in the washing machine. You pull out the single outfit from the dryer with an amused expression, the jeans look like they had seen better days and had bleach spots all over them. You wonder if he had an accident with the bleach and decided they would be good yard work jeans. After folding them and transferring his clothes over to start your own load, you decide that you will put them up in his closet so he doesn’t throw them over a chair like he normally does. Wanting to do something nice for him to make up for last night.  

You open his closet, preparing to put his shirts away when you accidentally walk backwards, knocking the dresser. You gasp, spinning around when you see the face of the dresser has come off. Confusion follows the shock and you inspect the dresser, wondering why there’s a façade of drawers when it’s just a large chest. You carefully remove the large piece of wood, frowning when you see dozens of shoe boxes and you wonder why he keeps his shoes like this.

It seems weird and there is a moment where you hesitate as you reach for one of the boxes. You’ve seen two sets of shoes on Frankie, his boots and a beat up pair of tennis shoes. So the dozens of shoe boxes has you wondering. Maybe it’s memorabilia. Pulling out a box, you flip the lid open, eyes widening when you stare down at the contents with a gasp. 

Frankie whistles as he gets out of his truck, looking forward to spending another evening with you. He is so in love with you. It’s never been like this before. He opens the door, ready to go and see you upstairs after he changes but he frowns when he hears movement. He approaches the bedroom, ready to fight but instead he finds you in his closet. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growls.

Screaming, you drop the box that you are holding, scattering the contents on the floor next to the other boxes of horror that you have opened. Your eyes blow wide and frantic at being caught, the mottled red fury on his face making your entire body quiver in a panicked flight or fight response. You step back, trying to press deeper into the closet and brush back against his clothes. “I- I was p-putting you-your clothes up.” You stammer, eyes darting back down to the boxes and then back up to him. 

“Doesn’t fucking look like it, sweetheart. What are you - did you open these?” He demands to know, pointing at the boxes scattered on the floor. He steps closer, “did you fucking open these?”

“N-n-no.” You shake your head quickly, as if denying it would make it true. Or maybe it was that you just wanted him to desperately believe you. “I didn’t.” You start edging toward the door trying to move past him. “I- I’ll go get something to clean up.” you offer, needing to get out of this closet and away from him. What you had seen had chilled you to your very soul. 

You get up and Frankie reaches out to grab you by the upper arm, stopping you from moving. “Why did you do that?” He asks, voice calm and even now that he knows you’ve seen the boxes.

“You’re…hurting my arm.” You whimper quietly, trying to pull your arm away from Frankie, but he doesn’t let go. “Frankie, let go!” You hiss, yanking sharply and crying out when his grip tightens even more. 

Frankie keeps a tight grip on you. “Why did you do that? Tell me. What did you see? Did you open those boxes? Fucking tell me.” He roars, leaning closer to you. He’s furious and terrified. So scared he’s gonna lose you now.

“You’re HURTING ME!” You shout, reaching up and shoving the heel of your hand into his nose as hard as you can. You know you don’t break his nose, but he does spit a curse, his hand dropping away from your arm and you scramble to get around him, needing to get away from him as quickly as possible. There was a box with your things in them. Steven’s keys. His wallet, the one you had given him for his birthday two years ago. Frankie had killed him, you just know it. That’s why he hasn’t answered you. You stumble out of the closet and start running for the door. 

Frankie rubs his nose, pain still searing but he knows how to fight against it. "Baby, come backkkk." He calls, stalking out of the bedroom and he crowds you at the door, grateful he always has a habit of locking it with a key from the inside. "Where are you going, sweetheart?" He coos, the anger passing and he doesn't want you to go. He can't lose you.

“Oh god.” You whimper, fumbling with the lock in your desperate attempt to get it open. “Get away- you- you killed Steven!” You sob, tears sliding down your cheeks in your panic.

Frankie chuckles, knowing that there's no point in hiding it. You know now and he has to either deal with you or convince you to accept him. "Baby. He had to go. You were getting upset by him and he wanted to take you away from me so he had to go.” 

Sobbing at his confession, you lurch away from the door and try to rush past him. Frankie is too quick and strong, grabbing you and dragging you closer to him. “It’s okay, calm down.” He croons. “I love you baby, I did it for you.” You shriek and start to struggle against him, desperate to get away.

He pulls you even closer when you struggle, making him huff. "I did it for you! I love you! I can't lose you. I can't - not again. I can't - it can't happen again." He cries, almost smothering you into his chest.

You push and shove at him, trying desperately to get away. Knowing that you have to or you will end up like those women in those boxes. Shrugging against his hold and stomping on his foot as hard as you can.

"For fuck's sake baby. Why are you doing this? Don't you love me? I did all of this for you. All of it was for you. I just wanted to make you happy and you act like this? Baby please, listen to me. I did this for you. Because I love you."

You cry, knowing that you have been so fucking blind. There were pictures in your box. He had been watching you. Inside your apartment. “Let me go!”

"Baby please. This is meant to be. I want you to be mine. I have done everything for you. I killed for you." He confesses plainly. "I - I learned everything about you. What you like...what you don't like. You are perfect for me." He chokes, wishing this nightmare wasn't happening.

Your entire body goes still, knowing you won’t get away from him if you keep struggling. Frankie is a fucking ex-Delta soldier, he can subdue you easily and he’s not done more than hold you. You remember the gun in his closet. “F-for me?” You manage, trying to calm down. You needed to be smart, believable if you were going to survive it. “H-how?” You gesture back to the bedroom and the closet of horrors. “S-show me, show me how this was for me.”

Frankie relaxes a little, feeling like you are calming down, and he guides you towards the closet. “These boxes…they are all of women who have rented here but you - you are different. You are more important. You are the love of my life baby and I had to kill Steven because he was trying to take you away from me. I couldn’t allow him to do that. I couldn’t allow that so he had to go. Baby, I love you. Can’t you see that I did this for you?”

“You love me.” Frankie had told you that over and over again. It had made you feel special at the time, even if it was a little early. “The- the other women…..” You bite your lip and look at all the boxes. So many of them. “Did you- what happened to them?”

He can’t look at you when he says it. “They didn’t want me and they - they didn’t - they had to go. I didn’t want to but if I couldn’t have them, no one could. They had to go.” He chokes, looking at how many boxes have accumulated and he hopes you won’t have to be added.

You shudder at the implication, but his eyes aren’t on you and the gun that he keeps on the shelf is right there. Lunging for it, your hands are shaking when you point it at him. “Get away from me!” You scream, pressing the gun closer and fumbling with the safety on the side.

Frankie’s eyes widen as you grab his gun and he reaches for you but he’s too late and you hit him in the shoulder. He winces but doesn’t react, reaching for you but you manage to evade him. You get underneath his arm as he reaches for you and the gun but you rush out of the closet and through the apartment. Frankie growls, trying to rush after you.

This time you manage to get the door open, fleeing his apartment and then through the door of the house as you start screaming at the top of your lungs. You want someone to hear you, anyone. Desperate to get away from Frankie as you rush towards your car.

Frankie groans, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he makes his way outside, watching you as you try to pull your car out of the driveway. He slams his hand on the car, stopping you from driving away and he desperately wants you to stay.

You don’t even hesitate. Knowing it’s wrong but in this instance, it’s life or death. If Frankie gets ahold of you, you will disappear just like those other women. You throw the car in drive and stomp on the gas, running the car into Frankie and making him fly back into a crumpled heap on the ground.

Frankie curls around himself, his body in pain from being run over and he watches you drive off. “Come back.” He chokes, lifting his hand and he loses consciousness as he watches your car speed down the street.

It takes you nearly an hour to convince the police to listen to you. That you weren’t crazy. Especially since you had rushed into the station holding the gun that you had shot Frankie with. For a moment, you had five officers pointing their own weapons at you until you had dropped the gun, nearly hysterical. Now you are in the back of a cruiser, headed back to the house of horrors so you can see Frankie be arrested.

When you arrive at the house, the police tell you to stay back, their weapons drawn as they approach the house and when they call out for Frankie, no one answers. They edge closer, kicking the door open and they frown when they see his apartment is empty.

“Madam.” You look up as an officer knocks on the back window. “We need you to come inside.” You are shaking as you get out, scared to confront him. To see him again. Taking a deep breath, you exhale harshly when you see his apartment doesn’t have everything it had in it before. Hastily emptied of a lot of things, mainly the shoe boxes in the closet. “I- I don’t understand. He was here!”

“The apartment is empty.” The police officer declares, frowning at you as he puts his gun away. “We checked the records and no one called Francisco Morales has lived here or owned this property.” He reveals, looking at you with sympathy.

“No, he- he did!” You look around and shake your head. “Francisco Morales, he- he is ex Army. He- he’s delta. He lived in this apartment.” You tremble, trying to figure out what is going on. He had told you so much about himself but none of it was useful right now. 

“I’m sorry honey. He wasn’t here. It’s just you. Do you - do you want us to call someone?” He offers, reaching out to touch your shoulder. “Do you want to - we can assist you inside of your apartment.”

You nod and the police officer escorts you to your apartment. Again, you find things hastily moved. Vent covers removed and fixtures pulled out. “Oh god.” You whimper, remembering the cameras. He had been watching you for god only knows how long. “I- I just need to get some things.” You start to cry. “I can’t stay here. He- he has a key.” 

The police officers offer to stay with you while you collect your things. It’s obvious you are upset so they wait until you have gathered everything. “I’m sorry ma’am. If we hear of anything, we will notify you.” The police officer tells you and you choke, nodding in response as you get into your car. Your relationship with Frankie was a lie. Everything was a lie and you are just lucky to not be another box in his closet. You are the lucky one. As you drive onto the street, you realize that the rental was too good to be true. Frankie was too good to be true.

****

“- so what do you say?” You cringe inside, but try to hold it together while the man smiles at you. He was friendly, a nice co-worker, but you were not going for it. “We can have a few drinks after work, have a good time.” You shake your head and give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” You murmur. “I just- I got out of a bad relationship recently.” You don’t even remember this guy’s name right now but you push the door to the office open where he had stopped you. “Thanks though.” You call over your shoulder as you walk out. 

You had moved cities, changed your cell phone number. Rented a house under another name, needing the safety of anonymity and even then you didn’t trust it. Obsessively going through your house every day and checking for cameras or microphones. Scared that Frankie would find you. Your keys in your hand, you hurry to the car and quickly get inside and lock the doors before you start the engine. 

Frankie watches you as you start the engine to your car. He’s been watching you for months, even moving to another city for you. You’re the one who got away and he can’t allow that. He starts his engine, deciding that tonight, he’s gonna make things right. You are his and only he can have you. 

He follows you to your house, parking a few blocks away before he gets out. He walks up the driveway and rings your doorbell. “Coming!” You call out, hands shaking as you open the door, not really thinking about checking the peephole. It’s probably your neighbor asking for some more toilet paper. When you open the door, your blood goes cold and Frankie offers you a wide grin. 

“Hello, sweetheart. Miss me?”

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales imagine #frankie catfish morales x reader #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne

[nuancedeaths]

Cigarettes shared in the darkness 🚬

My take on what happened after the total failure to protect the airport from Makarov in the Flashpoint mission, featuring Ghost and Soap having a first bonding moment. This is a snippet for my fic "the anatomy of starved dogs", this is for chapter 4 and you can find the first chapters on ao3.

Ghost held out the half empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes in Soap’s direction, an olive branch. Soap isn’t sure he’ll take it. 

“I don’t smoke. It's a filthy habit.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing around his own cigarette as he plucked one from the pack, lit it and offered it again, now with a thin curl of silver smoke distending from its orange glow. It highlights the edges of the skeleton motif on his gloves and somehow, Soap knows he’ll carry a part of this day with him for days onwards, because the smell of that cigarette will burn into the fabric of his gloves. 

“I don’t smoke,” Soap insists again with a frown, but all Ghost does is take his hand –not roughly, but not gently either– and puts the thin cigarette between his fingers. 

“After a day like today, everybody smokes, Soap.” 

Soap hesitates with it for a moment, watching the glow eat away at the unburnt part of the cigarette and inching closer away from the ashen end before he gives in and raises it to his mouth for a long, much needed draw. 

He wishes he could wipe the smug look he just knows Ghost has under that mask off his face as he watches the action, knowing how easy it is to fall back into dormant muscle memory. 

“You don’t smoke, huh?” 

Soap pouts, not sure how much he wants to let the strange man in on his past, but he settles for something basic. “I don’t smoke anymore.” 

Ghost nods, whether it was meant to be mocking or genuine is something Soap’s ego can’t discern. “Right.” 

They stand there for a moment in the pseudo-silence, filled with the ambience of night sounds and distant sirens echoing through the ether and surrounding the two of them in a lamentous hum. 

Ahead, somewhere from out of the darkness, the glow of the burning airport stood out, a beacon of hellish light that made Soap’s skin crawl. They’re far away and the attack was hours ago, but it lingers on his skin like an itch he can’t run away from. 

He leans on the cigarette for comfort, and just a little, the presence of the taller man beside him helps to ease the loneliness of feeling like one tremendous failure. 

“Don’t think too hard about it Soap, it’ll make your hair fall out and we certainly can’t have that with that illustrious haircut of yours.” 

Soap jerked his head around so fast, he could’ve almost sworn Ghost startled just a little. 

“Oh you’re one to talk about appearances with that halloween costume shite you’ve got going on.” 

It takes two seconds for Soap to realise he’d chosen the wrong option. He’d overstepped one of the rules Price had very clearly set out for him. No questions about his appearance. 

To his surprise, Ghost just gives him a bit of a laugh, albeit a bit of a snide one. “To each their own, but I’m serious, don’t beat yourself up about what happened today, there’s no use in dwelling on it.”

Soap frowns. “How am I not supposed to dwell on it? If we hadn’t responded to the attack on the stadium, if you and Shepherd hadn’t followed after us, we would have died there too,” he gestures vaguely out at the glow of the still smouldering heap of rubble. 

“That’s just the way of the world, Soap. No one gets into this job thinking you’ll walk away with a bruise or a cut you can just slap a plaster over. People die, that’s how it works. We just happen to see more of it because of what we do. We are not entitled to living longer or dying later or easier because we’re supposed to be heroes. We could have died today, but what does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Lt,” Soap says dryly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost do the same. 

“Maybe I’ve just been screwed over by the system that’s supposed to keep me alive more than I’ve been saved by it.” 

Soap shrugged, but it didn’t sit right with him, the idea that death was just an inevitable fact of life. He’s too stubborn to believe it. For someone who’d spent more than half his waking life trying to change the hand he’d been dealt when he was born to broke college student parents and the expectation to be utterly average, he didn’t take kindly to the notion of just accepting things he can’t change, even if it drives him up the wall. 

There’s a lot of other, more personal questions he wants to ask the man instead, but he settles for something safer. 

“How do you deal with it? Stuff like today?” 

“I’m not the person you should be asking for advice, Soap,” Ghost says with a hint of surprise. “That’s more Price’s thing.” 

Soap turned to face him, trying to analyse what little he could see of his face where the mask was pulled up just high enough for him to smoke. He can just about see the curve of his lip around the cigarette and the edge of what seemed to be a jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Just as quickly as Soap had seen it, he lowered the cigarette, holding the smoke for a moment before he released it in a slow exhale. 

“I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking how you cope.” 

“I keep going. Sometimes the only way to cope is to endure.” 

The silence that followed thereafter was more comfortable, more settled. Soap could begin to see why Price had told him Ghost was an acquired taste. For all his cold facade, he was really just a man with a grumpy disposition. Maybe even one with a personality outside of work, but Soap struggles to comprehend what that might be. 

Reminded of work and everything they’d discussed in the wake of the attack, Soap frowned as he took another drag from the cigarette, now on its last breath.

“What do you think ended up happening to Price’s informant?” 

Ghost scoffed, stubbing out his own cigarette against the rail and crushing the rest under his boot for good measure. “Fuck if I know.” 

Soap shook his head, feeling himself getting riled up just at the thought of it. “Bet you the arse is sitting somewhere comfortable, getting piss drunk, laughing at the news.” 

Ghost shrugs. “Reckon you may be right about that one, sergeant.” 

“Wherever he is, I hope karma comes back to get him good.”

#soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #fanfiction #fanfic #ghostsoap #ghoap #call of duty modern warfare iii #my writing #johnny mactavish #simon riley #ghost call of duty #soap call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii #ao3 link #the anatomy of starved dogs

[stesierra]

WIP INTRO: THE BONE QUEEN

Title: the Bone Queen

Genre: NA fantasy

Setting: The kingdom of Sweelough

Tropes: forced marriage, undead ruler, undead fiancé, ghosts and skeletons, pattern magic, unwise affairs, pregnancy (no, it's not Aubrey's), poisonings, depression, anorexia, damn all nobles, big hair and big dresses, and illiterate peasant MC

Story:

Two years ago, Elise accidentally freed an army of the undead. She paid for it. The Bone Queen snatched Elise from her family and locked her away in Bandrum Palace. Elise hates everything about it: the dead maids who wait on her, the queen who tortures her when she forgets to play the perfect noblewoman, and her undead fiancé, Aubrey, who expects Elise to carry his heirs. Elise's magic, which lets her see the dead as if they're still alive, makes being a brood mare to a skeleton all too possible. She has to escape, but the Bone Queen has bound her to the palace with a spell that lights her nerves on fire when she tries to leave. Worse, if Elise refuses to marry Aubrey, the queen will lock her family up for life.

If Elise knew how to use her magic, maybe she'd have a chance, but the queen has made studying magic illegal. When Elise discovers a visiting ambassador is a spy and a secret magician, she blackmails him into giving her magic lessons. Maybe she should feel bad about that, especially when the ambassador falls in love with her. An affair with him risks everything, but Elise is desperate for comfort in the land of the dead. But his love and his help aren't what they seem. He never meant to free her. If Elise is going to escape and save her family, she'll have to do it alone. And she'll destroy Aubrey and the Bone Queen on her way out, or die trying.

The Characters:

Elise Cropper- our main character and POV. 18 years old. She was born a serf, bound to the land of Lord Moorthleigh, near the shores of Lake Langlyn.

Aubrey Sommer, Duke of Winworth- undead fiancé and true asshole. He tricked Elise into loving and freeing him. He deserved neither thing.

Mausart Tola, Earl of Ardaris- the ambassador from Ahheleisa. Late twenties. Hot as far as my ace ass can tell. But he has his secrets.

Queen Idony Allard of Scarlett- the bone queen, the new ruler of Sweelough. This is her second time ruling, but death took the crown from her last time. Never again.

Lord Moorthleigh- Elise's former landlord, who still owns her parents and little brothers.

Lady Moorthleigh- a friend? An enemy? Elise doesn't know.

Worst Comment from a Beta: Why doesn't Elise want to marry Aubrey? He's rich and she should be thrilled with her luxurious prison. Also, she's too mean to the undead maids who are spying on her. What a bitch. (Paraphrased)

Status Check: In rewrites, after about five drafts and a paid developmental editor. 109k words before revisions. I will try to query it when the rewrite is done. Not currently available for beta reading.

It has two complete standalone sequels (The Spellbound King (106k) and The Matriarch's Daughter (96k)) I must also rewrite. This series is going to kill me but I love it. My mom, who loves everything I write, complained that it was weird. I'm very proud.

First chapter here.

Fic snippet here.

Map here.

Please ask if you want to be added to my taglist and specify if it's just for this book or all books.

Credit for (modified) WIP intro format @sleepyowlwrites

Art commissioned from KozzDraws.

Taglist

@janec23

@gracewritesbooks

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

#The Bone Queen #wip intro #writeblr #writing #writing community #creative writing #fantasy