#but in all of his sprites he has his hands in his pocket

[probablygayattorneys]

Fun fact for the whole family! This is the only time in the entirety of Apollo Justice that you see Phoenix's ring finger.

[astroboots]

Min Redux

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you're willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Content: sex pollen, restraints, Marc being a stubborn bastard.

Word count; 12,800 words (do not look at me)

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There's a white, pot-bellied goose staring up at Marc expectantly with hunger. He ignores it, pretending he doesn't see it as he turns his head, eyes circling around the park.

If he ignores it, it will give up eventually.

"Oh hello there fella! You're a plump one aren't you?"

Marc resists the deeply ingrained urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Steven would acknowledge the animal.

“I think it wants us to feed it”, Steven says.

Marc hums in acknowledgment. He doesn't want to get into this right now. Doesn't want Steven distracted and excitedly buzz in their head with anecdotes about Geese and the bird wildlife in London when they're supposed to be on the lookout for their contact.

Flicking his wrist, Marc glares at his watch.

8:12am.

Twelve minutes late. You'd think Ancient Egyptian Deities would have some kind of culling process when picking their Avatars. Punctuality should be a bare minimum requirement.

He leans back against the wooden slats of the park bench, hands shoved inside his field jacket against the chill of the London air as a woman with a stroller walks by nearly running over the goose in the process (to Steven's outrage). For the umpteenth time since he sat down, Marc's fingers trace the lining until he catches at the sharp edge of the small golden trinket box, just to make sure it's still there.

Gift of Min. A tiny trinket box that's been sealing away some sex-crazed sprite serving the Ancient God of Sex for decades. One that Steven managed to accidentally free with his uncanny puzzle solving skills in just under a minute, getting himself possessed in the process.

Marc's fingers clutch at the brass-metal, until it's digging into his palms as he squeezes down. Flashes of your bare skin underneath Steven's hands, and the soft curves of your naked form pressed underneath him, pushes to the surface of his mind.

Fuck, he shakes his head. No, his mind is not going there. He needs to stay here, in the present, find the other Avatar and hand this over so it's out of your lives for good.

Get rid of it so that what happened last week won't ever repeat itself. He won’t allow that to happen, won’t risk putting you in harm’s way again.

It's all so vivid and Marc has replayed the memory of it so many times, every detail of it. Every gasp, moan and whimper of your voice. The way your back arched from the floor, the way your mouth fell open. The way your eyes would roll back right before you came… repeatedly. He’s played it like a VHS tape on repeat until it’s been so worn out from replays that the image is filled with static and he almost can't tell anymore if it was entirely Steven's experience or his as well, trapped as he was in the mind space. 

Steven rutting into you mindlessly like an animal. Hips snapping against your soft plump thighs. Your legs squeezed tight around his hips, around his cock as you kept coming uncontrollably, again and again and–

"Marc Spector?"

With a jolt, Marc's pulled from his thoughts at the voice. Looking up, there's a man standing two feet away from him with a much too friendly smile on his face for someone that's—Marc flicks his watch—22 minutes late.

The man reaches out a hand in an inviting gesture to shake Marc's hand.

These Avatars always want to make pleasantries and be friends, like they're all part of the Mickey Mouse Club on account of their ostensible connection of being in indentured servitude to defunct Egyptian Gods.

Reluctantly, Marc relents, slipping one hand out of his pocket. The man's hand is bony, his grip tight like he's trying to assert dominance by crushing Marc's hand. Then he lets it go, the smile spreading even wider with that uncanny eager friendliness.

"I believe you have something for me?"

Standing up from the bench, Marc reaches into his pocket again and shoves it into the man's hand.

"Ah there it is. Gorgeous little thing isn't it?" Min’s avatar holds the box up in the daylight, inspecting it as if it were a diamond, then he tilts his head with a confused expression.

"Oh dear," he says.

At first, Marc misses the alarm in his voice, because the man practically sings out the words.

"What?" Marc asks. 

Instead of answering Marc, the man hums, turning the trinket box in his hand as if weighing the contents, his friendly smile fading into a slight frown.

"What is it?" Marc repeats, irritated this time.

"Well…" the man shifts the box into his other hand, repeating the same weighing motion. Then the man holds the box up to his ear, like he’s trying to hear the ocean in a seashell.

The Avatar’s inability to give a straight answer has Marc's patience balanced on a tenuous line that he can physically hear as it snaps.

"What is wrong," Marc repeats for a third time through gritted teeth.

"The seal's been opened."

There's a tension in Marc's jaw as he grinds down on his teeth. "There was an accident. Someone opened it. But I made sure to trap the sprite back inside."

"Well whatever you did, you didn't do a good enough job.” The man says it so matter-of-factly like it’s not even an insult, and Marc has to take a deep calming breath, his hand closing into a fist. 

“The puzzle sequence wasn't completed when you retrapped the spirit and thus not sealed. It must have escaped." This time, the man flips the panels in sequence of motion, in-out-up-up-down until Marc loses track. The gears in the box whir and the box opens-- and adrenaline ramps up in Marc as instincts have him backing away from the box, holding up an arm to shield his nose and mouth shut.

But there's nothing. No blue shiny smoke like last time.

It's empty.

“Wait so what does that mean?” you ask him, as you stab the fork into the thick double slice of french toast he’s made you. Double dipped in batter drowned in cinnamon sugar, just the way you like them.

Turning on the tap, Marc fills the kettle with water as he puts it on the stove to boil your morning tea.

Except it’s not morning anymore. It’s the afternoon now, almost 1pm. You slept through the whole of the morning, but considering the morning-afternoon-and parts of the evening you endured with Steven barely 48 hours ago, Marc is hardly going to begrudge you sleeping in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marc says, hoping his reassurance will allay any worries you may have. Because you don’t have to worry. He’s going to fix it—fix everything—and keep you out of trouble this time.

But as he looks up at you, the frown that borders on a glare on your face tells him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Shit, he’s doing that thing again isn’t he? The very thing you told him not to do after the post-possession talk.

His shoulders sag. He sighs in capitulation. Right. Communication. Tell you things.

“I have to find it again. This time I’ll have Steven seal it so it doesn’t escape.”

“It’s been days, it could be anywhere, did they tell you how to find it? Do we have some kind of magical ancient artifact compass?”

Marc’s shoulders tenses at your use of ‘we.’ There’s no ‘we’ here. He’s not getting you involved in this. He’s gonna catch it. Steven’s gonna seal it. That’s the plan.

“Marc?” You ask, but he pretends he doesn’t hear you as he moves to the cupboard, to find a teapot.

“Do we know how to find it?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer.

He pretends to busy himself, foregoing the perfectly good teapots he can use that sits in the front and pushes them aside as he continues to search the cupboard.

If he ignores you, you will give up eventually.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Jake’s (sarcastic) voice in his head. “Jefe, she’s not a Goose. Ignoring her isn’t going to cut it.”

“Stop pretending you’re looking for teapots and ignoring me. I’m just going to keep asking until you answer.”

Shit.

You’re so insistent. Worse than park geese. Worse than Steven and Jake combined.

“No compass,” Marc answers as he pulls out a random teapot in the furthest corner. Dusty from lack of use. He’s gonna have to clean this. With the way Steven cleans this apartment, it might be covered in asbestos for all he knows.

“The guy said it likes cramped small enclosed places. Tiny chests, jewelry boxes, tupperware. Anything that closes with a lid.”

“That hardly narrows it down in London!”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”

Turning on the tap, he runs the teapot under water in the sink, scrubbing the dust and grime. He lifts the lid but it’s been so long since it’s been used the pot is practically sealed shut from dirt, even as Marc pushes against the top.

He can hear you approaching from behind. “You won’t get it open that way,” you offer as you turn the tap and turn it as far as it goes for hot water. Then you take the pot from him, running the lid over the running water, gripping at the base and start to turn it until he can hear it give with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Tada!”

You’re grinning at your success, and Marc has to bite the inside of his cheek to tamper down his own smile at the sight of you. Because fuck, that gloating, I-know better-than-you smile, (which should be aggravating) is infectious.

“See! This is why you need me,” you sing-song, rubbing your success in his face as you lift the lid. He’s so distracted by your easy-smile and glow of schadenfreude he doesn’t pay attention to the quiet hiss of pressure that gives from the lid.

A tendril of blue-white fog rises up, reaching towards you. Before Marc fully processes what he’s doing, he’s already stepping forward into your space. One hand clasps at your wrist as he yanks you backwards and away from the kitchen.

Gotta fucking be kidding him. That fucking thing was hiding in the teapot all this time.

It hits him like a kick in the gut. It’s like swallowing live fire into his throat except it keeps burning all the way as it travels into his chest and digs into the inside of his stomach, settling into every inch of his flesh. It’s the feeling of downing a bottle of whiskey in one sitting with none of the side sickness and nausea that he has to swallow down. It burns and crackles inside his veins.

With the intensity of the heat as it bubbles in his blood, he had expected it to hurt. It doesn’t. Instead it’s molten and slow, oozing through his system like a heated haze. He feels heady as the sensation rushes through him from the curl of his toes to the tip of his nose until it has his scalp tingling. It’s pleasant. Euphoric even if he lets his mind linger on it. He doesn’t.

From a distance he thinks he can hear your voice, and buried underneath the fog, Steven’s concerned babbling. But it’s drowned out by the blood thrashing in his ears. He tries to find you, but his vision is swimming in front of him.

Then he hears it, you’re shouting his name. You sound so worried.

He can feel you. Soft and doting hands cupping his cheeks with a tender touch that has the heat in his stomach reach a boiling point, then you tilt his face upwards to meet your worried gaze.

It’s the same expression on your face when you were tending to Steven not two days ago. Heat spikes in his lower belly, his cock twitching against the constricted confines where it’s trapped under hard denim.

‘Need you’, a voice inside his head, neither Steven or Jake’s but entirely his own, calls out. ‘Want you’.

Flashes of you, your back arching from the floor, trapped underneath him as he thrusts into you invade his vision. The phantom sensation of your wet tightness wrapped around his cock shivers through him and the ache makes the length of him pressed hard against his boxers, twitch and leak against the soft fabric.

Fuck… He can’t put you through that again.

He can’t have you here.

"Leave," he grits out, scooting backwards, dragging himself away from you by the heel of his hands along the wooden floor.

"What?"

"You need to go. Leave!" He barks out.

He tries to get up but fuck, his legs have gone all wobbly like fucking Bambi, can't steady himself, and his faulty balance has you running forwards towards him. 

Marc throws out his hands, palms up as a signal for you to keep your distance.

"No! Don't get close to me. You need to go now."

He grabs at the side of one of the wooden shelves, as he steadies himself on his feet and props himself up, but fuck, everything is spinning. He feels like he's drunk, and he closes his eyes to make it stop.

"Marc," you say his name so softly, it makes the heat in his veins grow hotter. There's liquid fire pumping through his blood.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees you.

You underneath him, exhausted and fucked out. Swollen lips kissed raw and tender. Legs shiny and slick, with your come and his, as it drips over his cock in a shiny silvery thread and down the wooden floor below.

Shit! Shit! Stop, don't think of that.

His eyes fly open to the sight of you, the you in front of him right now, your pretty face mere inches from his. Lips so close he can practically fucking taste you already on his tongue from pure sense memory.

He's getting worse by the second. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his body in check. Every inch of him wants to touch you. Fingers itching to dig into your plump flesh. His cheeks tingle and all he wants is to have your thighs pressing down and enveloping his face. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and salivating at the thought of licking every inch of your soft skin, to have the familiar taste of you fill his mouth– fuck, he can’t– he needs something to restrain himself with as a precaution.

His eyes flicker to the bed, and of course, it's not there. Where is Steven's stupid ankle bracelet when it’s actually needed? 

Shit.

Wait, the cuffs. Jake keeps some cuffs here, where did he – his eyes roam the space, until he spots the shiny metal glinting from underneath Jake's cap that he's carelessly slung against the shelf behind him.

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. Let me help," you say and his eyes linger on your pouty lips, the way they open and close as you bite your lower lip in worry. He wants to sink his own teeth into them until you whine for him. Slip his aching cock between them, until his hard cock is enveloped by your softness.

He shakes his head, taking a step back as he looks around himself, planning his exit route. The front door is behind you, which means he'd have to get past you to get out.

Crap. Stubborn as you are, you'd try to block him in a heartbeat, and unless he's gonna tackle you (out of the question) this is going to get him nowhere.

"You can't help with this," he says, eyes continuing to scan the room until he spots the open door to the bathroom.

You frown, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I can actually. We've been here before Marc. I helped Steven remember?"

And fuck does he remember, can't forget. That's part of the problem.

Your hand reaches for him, fingertips brushing over his fisted knuckles, and the touch of it tingles with a burning ache.

"It'll feel better if you let me help you," you say.

Marc takes a step back, arm reaching behind him, until he feels the cold metal against his hand and grabs the cuff.

"I'm not going to do that to you," he says. Before you get a chance to respond, he's already turning around. He's leaping on his feet, darting to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

His fingers are trembling, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he fumbles locking the door.

From behind the door he can hear your panicked voice calling for him.

"Marc? Marc!!"

The rickety panel door rattles and shakes against the frame with your effort to slide it open. “Marc, did you lock the door?! Marc!” 

You sound so worried, and a small pang digs under his skin when he hears you. 

It’s so stupid. He knows you’re safe, that the worry in your voice is meant for him, and yet every instinct in his body is screaming out for him to check on you and make sure you’re okay. He fights it. Eyes darting around the tiny confined space to search for something, anything, permanently affixed to the wall that he can cuff himself to. 

“Marc, open the door or I’m gonna kick this bloody thing down. I swear to god.”

Marc doesn’t have much to work with. There’s the toilet, the sink, with nothing he can attach the cuffs to, and the railing to the shower head that looks… flimsy at best. Still beggars can’t be choosers. 

Forcing his stupidly shaky hands to bring the cuffs to the shower, he tightens one end to his wrist until he can feel the sharp metal dig through his skin, hard enough that it’s probably going to cause the blood flow to constrict. 

Stupid, he’s so stupid, he knows better than this, but his coordination isn’t cooperating and if Marc is honest with himself, the blunt pain helps. 

Helps his mind to sharpen and to distract himself from the burning heat that’s riding him hard at the sound of your voice on the other end of the door calling his name. 

Helps him to shove down the pathetic need that sings in his vein to tear off the flimsy panel door and run into your arms and beg you to help him. 

Helps him find the will in himself to clasp the other end of the cuffs around the metal rod before it clicks satisfyingly to let him know the deed is done. 

Safe. the metal click tells him. You’re safe from him now. He couldn’t get his grubby hands on you even if his weak will breaks. 

The rattling of the door has stopped now. The room fills with silence and you’re no longer shouting for him. Marc turns back and sees the shadow of your feet under the spring as you walk away from the door. You’ve finally given up on him. 

Good. That’s good. 

You should get as far away from him as possible. With any luck, you’re already halfway down the stairs towards the tube.

He knows you’re pissed. Probably slamming the front door on your way out. But that’s ok. He’ll take your anger over your worry. He can deal with anger, knows how to handle it like an old shitty friend he wants to cut ties with but never can. What he can’t take is the way you sounded when you were calling for him. 

The worry. The care. You always care. And it’s wasted on him. All that’s ever earned you since you got involved with him is trouble. 

If you weren’t involved with him then you wouldn’t have been in their apartment that morning when Steven opened the stupid thing. If you weren’t there, Marc would’ve taken over, would’ve taken care of himself instead of — instead of– 

‘Steven, fuckfuck Steven–’ the phantom memory of your voice rings hauntingly sharp in his ears. Slurred and honeyed, the feel of you, slick and dripping between your thighs, clamping down tightly on his Steven’s cock. 

His whole body aches. Skin flushed and burning and his brain feels feverish and rubbed raw with heat at the fraying edges. 

A shower. A cold shower will help. 

Marc takes a shaky breath, as his fingers fumble with the taps. Turning the cold water as far as it goes. He thinks he’s prepared for it but he’s not. It’s a shock to the system. The cold water slams down on him with a heavy punch. Cold and piercing and bitter as it wraps all around his feverish skin and strangles his lungs with it. 

His eyes are closed, but instead of the blank darkness all he sees are your big eyes staring back up at him. Dazed and out of it, fuckdrunk, on him. 

His skin burns. Blood boiling inside his veins until it’s painful. The icy water is still pummelling down at him punishingly, and he’s grateful for it because he thinks he’s going to incinerate from the inside out if it wasn’t. His cock is hard and heavy against the clammy and cold wet denim that’s pressing up against his searing skin. It’s uncomfortable, painful. 

The memory of you refuses to leave him. The silky feel of you wet and hot and writhing on his painfully hard cock. Fuck, fuck, why does he do this to himself. One hand comes up to his face, and he scrubs it hard with the freezing water, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to help with the throbbing heat that’s growing at his temple. It doesn’t help. Can’t scrub out the image of you, mouth parted, head thrown back as you squirm on his cock, as you grind yourself on him and come… again, and again, and– again. His eyes slam open, until he’s staring at the grungy white tiles of the wall. 

There’s something inside his flesh, burrowing into his skin and veins. An infectious heat that slivers and crawls that drips with hunger and greed. Starved for touch and pleasure, it screams and it roars until it’s all Marc can feel too. He wants it, wants you, and nothing else will do. You and the warmth of your body and the way you always welcome him as you wrap yourself around him. 

Shit, he – fuck. fuckfuckfuck. 

He takes a long shuddery breath and it fogs against the cold of the room. He’s shivering but if it’s from the cold of the water stinging against his skin or the heat burning underneath it he doesn’t know anymore. Does it even matter? 

Everything feels raw and painful. Sore and tangled up inside him. He wants– fuck, no fucking stop. He needs to – 

“Marc.” He can hear it again. Your voice calling out his name. Not Steven’s name, his. It echoes and lingers in his mind, soft and sweet. The way it had been when he’d been the one fucking you into the bed between the soft sheets of their bed the night before the incident. 

The way you’d whimpered it, while your nails were digging crescent shaped marks into his skin that were still denting the back of his shoulders when he’d looked this morning. Tiny little marks that are evidence of your love for him. 

His stomach draws tight, hips hitching up without his permission, desperately searching for any friction… shit shit, it’s not enough and it’s too much, the sensation that spears through his stomach as his cock rubs against the hard seam of his jeans. Heat settles at the base of his spine and the sound that escapes him is pathetic. He’s not sure if it’s a gasp or a sob, but he grinds it down between his teeth, snuffing it out. 

Why is his brain trying to murder him like this? 

The heat (or the cold, he doesn’t know which anymore but it doesn’t matter, one of them) is making his mind fuzzy. The grout delineating the tiles in front of him is blurring together, and the room, Marc realizes, is starting to sway and swim. He draws in another breath into his chest, but there’s no oxygen in it. He tries again, and this time the sharp jagged breath hurts, like swallowing broken glass and needles. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. The body is panicking. 

Jake’s trying to push him for the front seat. Marc can feel it, an insistent presence that lingers at the edges of his mind, trying to gain and take hold. But Marc is much better at resisting him these days. Marc’s not going to let him. He doesn’t trust that Jake will be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. Doesn’t trust that the man won’t selfishly uncuff their body and run straight to where you are. His priorities are different from Marc. Jake’s prime concern is to always take care of their body first, everything else comes secondary to that man. Marc doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust him. Not with you. He can’t risk it. 

Alarm and anxiety blares bright in his veins, but he can take it. Can endure this. Can–

There’s a loud slam from behind him. 

“Marc, Jesus christ!” 

The sound of your voice makes him whip around. You’re standing in front of him, the bathroom door’s been shoved to the side, wide open, and you’re holding a butter knife in your one hand and what looks like the remnants of his dismantled door handle in your other. 

His heart flutters erratically, a pleasant warmth trickling into his chest. You’re here.

It lasts for a heartbeat and a half, until the realization hits him harder and colder than any ice water could have. You’re here. You’re actually here.  

There’s a concerned expression in your face as you take him in for a full second. Then you drop the items in your hand and rush forward to him until you’re standing under the shower with him. 

“The water is bloody freezing! Have you lost your mind?” You’re shoving past him to get to the tap and turn it off entirely, as you continue to scold him. “You’re going to get hypothermia”.

Your voice might be harsh, but your hands are soft and doting, palms cupping his cheeks, and your eyes are wide and worried in that way that makes everything inside him tighten. His skin tingles where your fingertips brush up against his cheekbones and it takes everything in him to not nuzzle his mouth against your wrists, chasing into your touch for more. 

“You feel like ice. We need to get you into bed, we need to–” your eyes stop at the shower rail and then trail downwards to his right hand that’s cuffed to it in disbelief. Then he hears you take a long exasperated inhale. “Of course, you did,” you murmur, “of course you’d cuff yourself to the damn shower. Where are the keys, Marc?”

His eyes flicker away from your face to stare at the tiles on his left as he grinds his mouth and jaw shut. 

You sigh, then you come closer. You’re crowding in on him, pressed tight to his chest, “fine, I’ll just look myself shall I?” You stand on your tiptoes to reach for the small shower shelf behind him, lifting a shampoo bottle to check if there’s a key underneath. 

Your hair tickles his nose and the familiar comforting smell of you surround him. You’re soft and warm, and amazing and he just wants to sink his teeth into your bare throat that’s inches from his jaw and bite into you like the sweetest and ripest fruit of Summer. 

You shift as you reach for the highest shelf, hips rubbing up against him where they’re slotted between his thighs and fuck–fuck– 

Sharp heat shoots through his stomach, white pleasure blinding and intense that rushes to his head and his knees want to fold under his weight. He groans at the touch and you freeze as he does. 

For a moment both of you are silent and still. The only thing Marc can hear is his own ragged and hash breathing. His body is trying to acclimatize to the new temperature of the room as the heat from his body is quickly evaporating out of him. But the thing under his skin, poisoning his mind and sanity is still there. He feels like he’s on fire. You’re pressed up against every inch of him, and it is screaming in his ears with an ugly hungry need. Marc feels like he’s burning up. Like he’s going to die, flesh burning away until there’s only ashes left, and that’s okay the burrowing need tells him. Let it burn away every inch of resistance left within him, and then he can have you.

Marc wants that, wants you in any way he can have. 

Wants you to grind up on his aching cock that’s so hard it hurts. Wants you to hold him, fingers tugging at his hair until it stings and burns. Want your legs and arms wrapped around him as he sinks inside of you, bury his cock as deep as it goes until he can never leave. 

Wants you, wants you, wants you. It echoes with fury and overtakes everything else. There’s no other brain process except this, as his hand clamps down on your waist and grinds you down on him. His traitorous hips hitching up until he can feel that perfect press of your body against his trapped and pulsing cock. 

You don’t stop him, hand coming up to the back of his neck and hold him close to you. You’re so fucking perfect letting him rub himself up against you, even when he’s acting like some stupid animal in heat. The pleasure sends him on the tip of his toes, chasing the high and it’s good, it feel so fucking– Fuck! 

His eyes slam open, tearing himself away from you. You’re blinking up at him with a confused look. 

The fuck is he doing? 

With his free hand, he moves you out of the range of the shower until your back is pressed against the opposite wall. 

He’s such an idiot, he’s such a fucking stupid– his cheeks burn and prickle, sweat stinging his back underneath the waterlogged shirt. He needs to cool down. Get his head straight. Needs to rid himself of this burning inferno of a hellfire that is roaring under his skin. 

A shower, a cold fucking shower. He needs to calm the fuck down. Needs to– Marc moves back towards the tap and turns it back on. 

“Marc! No! Stop!”

You’re leaping forward into the shower again, uncaring of being in the firing range of the cold water cascading from the showerhead, as you reach for the tap to turn it off. 

“You’re fucking freezing, you need to stop. Marc, I need to get you out of the shower. We need to warm you up. Where’s the keys?” 

He ignores you, tries to wrangle you away from the shower with his back and shoulders, wrestling his path to the tap again. 

You slap at his hand. “Marc, no!” you bark. “Stubborn fucking –” 

He knocks your hand away from the tap, turning it again as he tries to block the ensuing shower from you with his shoulders, and you growl in frustration. 

“Fine, fine! You want the water on, it stays on, but you have to let me–” you shove your way back to the front of the tap, turning the hot water on. It takes a few moments but then the punishing coldness turns lukewarm and almost comforting against his stinging skin. 

“There,” you murmur and back away enough until you’re both staring up at each other again. The water is hitting you too, drenching and soaking your clothes as you peer up at him cautiously. 

“Should I help you take your clothes off? It’ll be more comfortable for you this way,” you say the words slowly, giving him the time to react before you move. 

The logical part in him that’s still intact knows he should stop you. Should tell you to leave before he loses the last of his sanity and tries to maul you like an animal again. 

But his tongue is heavy in his mouth. All his words are failing him, and as you inch closer to him, all he can do is stare up at you, silently begging you– to go, to stay, to abandon him, to touch him, to run, to help him– until he doesn’t know anymore what he wants, and ducks his head to the ground. 

“I can help you if you want to,” you tell him. 

His eyes squeeze shut. He’s so fucking useless. He swore to never let this happen again to you, never put you in that situation again and here the two of you are not even 48 hours later, in the exact same fucking seat. He’s no better than Steven at this. Useless at protecting you. Instead you’re the one trying to take care of him. Maybe you’d be better off with Jake in the saddle. 

“You shouldn’t have to hel–” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“I want to help you,” you enunciate each word and syllable, leaving no room for doubt, as you’re facing up to him in challenge. Then your eyes soften as does your voice. “But I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.” 

There’s a brief silence and the only thing he can hear is the water falling from the shower. Then, “Marc, look at me.” You say it softly, it doesn’t sound like an order, but not quite a request either as Marc tips his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want to. But I’m gonna stay here with you until this passes. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at you like an idiot, eyes drawn to that determined look in your eyes that he knows he can never win against, and he feels his resolve fail him. 

“Is it okay if I take off your clothes?” you ask again.

And until he gives you an answer, he realizes, you’re going to ask him again and again. You’re so persistent, more than a goose. He loves that about you and he doesn’t know how to say no to you anymore, even if he had wanted to (which he doesn't, not really). 

So he doesn’t, instead he nods. 

You move slow, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Your hands come to the soggy hem of his shirt, drawing it up against his torso and over his head. Fingertips scraping under the bare naked skin underneath as you go, and it fucking tingles. It tingles and burns and smolders until his insides are on fire, and for a second, Marc is sure that his knees can no longer carry his weight and he’s going to tip over and capsize. 

He leans down his head for balance, and you’re there to catch him. You ground him, as you always do. He rests his forehead against yours and for a moment, the roaring noise of blazing fire in his veins stops. It’s quiet and calm in his head. 

“You okay?” you ask, staring up at him, eyes gentle, as you go slow. 

“Yeah.” 

His shirt is left hanging on the shower rail, where his hand is still cuffed to it. Then your fingers come to the front of his jeans, nail tapping against the metal button and his cock jerks and strains against the wet and heavy material in anticipation. 

Popping open the button, you undo his fly, and the too-strict pressure of the material finally eases. He squirms, “Fuck, baby,” he gasps out, raw and broken. 

You hush him, sweet and comfortingly, with your lips pressed close to his ear, “do you want me to touch you?” 

His mouth feels thick and dry, everything turned into cotton against the roof of his mouth. He swallows, taking another long breath and holds it deep as he tries to get himself together. He’s weak, useless. Can’t get anything right. Can’t even say no when he knows he should. 

“Marc?” you ask again and he inhales deeply to calm himself, then nods. 

You smile, sweet and bright, and…relieved. You look so relieved and… happy, even. It makes it better. Makes him feel a little bit less of a colossal fuck up that you’re doing this for him when you’re smiling at him like that. Your head tips up, lips pressing up against his, and that helps too. With his eyes closed, listening to the sound of your soft hums as he licks into your mouth, he can almost pretend to himself that this is okay. 

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing firm and tight in that perfect way that you know he likes. It's relief and pleasure and warmth all wrapped into one, as everything inside him buzzes with a quiet soothing noise that drowns out the rest.

Your soft lips, drags downwards, mouthing at his neck, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He’s still aching, but it feels good. It doesn’t hurt this time, instead everything lingers pleasantly as your lips drift further down, soft plushness dragging against the sore muscle, down the slope of his belly and–wait! What’re you– 

His eyes fly open. He’s staring at the empty walls again. You’re no longer standing face to face with him and his head drops down. The sight that greets him slams into his ribs until he nearly doubles over. Fuck. 

You’re on your knees on the wet bathroom floor, tucked between his legs. Staring up at his cock through your water-lined lashes that glitters against the harsh fluorescent light. 

“Baby– wai–wait,” his words fumble and trip out of his mouth, brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for this. “You don’t have to–” 

“Marc,” you breathe, cutting him off again. From this close distance he can feel the warmth of your mouth gust over the overwrought tip of his cock, and he nearly blacks out. Your voice sounds drippingly sweet and warm. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me do this for you”.

He should stop you. You shouldn’t have to be on your knees and take care of him when he’s the one who fucked up and got himself caught in this mess. There’s a tight lump stuck in his throat that he tries to swallow down so he can speak, but it doesn’t ease and the words aren’t coming to him. 

Your hand comes to the side of his thighs, dragging the drenched denim down his legs and discard them into a sloppy pile in the corner of the floor. 

He gazes down on you, how the shower has drenched your oversized sleepshirt, until the white of it has gone see-through. The drenched cotton cling onto your skin and the curve of your breasts and his cock bobs up and strains against his stomach at the sight. Shit. 

Embarrassed heat climbs his cheeks, and judging from the smile tugging at your cheeks, you definitely noticed his reaction. You lean up, mouth brushing up against the length of his cock and press a kiss to the swollen flesh. White blinding heat streaks through his chest and his stomach draws in tight. He can’t think. 

It’s here again, that hungry ember that scalds hot in his veins. It’s overwhelming, his toes curl against the tiles, breath catching sharp in his lungs until he feels like the ground is going to swallow him up. His knees are giving out, the hard tiles gone soft and weightless beneath the sole of his feet. He’s panicking again. His hand flings out, clutching at your shoulders, fingers digging in, it’s too hard and too rough, and he shouldn’t be doing that – shouldn’t be doing anything of this, but he can’t help himself. 

One of your hands comes to rest on top of his, and you tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“It’s okay, Marc. it’s okay,” you say, and with those words, the panic in him dissipates somewhat. Enough to have his fingers ease their hard grip on your shoulders, as you lean your back closer between his thighs. 

Try as he might, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want this, want you. Your mouth is inches from his cock, and he can see the incriminating precome welling up at the tip, where it shines slick, giving him away. His breath constricts in his chest, as he waits for you. 

You lean closer, and he catches the pink tip of your tongue as it darts out to lick at the liquid dribbling down the length of him. His spine seizes up at the barely there contact, an ugly noise tearing from his throat. 

“Marc, you okay?” you ask, and when he blinks down at you, lips slick with him, he feels undone. “Should I keep going?” 

Marc swallows down the whimper that is lingering dangerously at the tip of his tongue that wants to leap out. He nods a little bit too frantically in response and he barely has the time to meet your eyes, and how it glitters with pride at his reaction. Then your lips part and you envelop his cock in the perfect sweet warmth of your mouth. 

An electrical static noise crackles in his head. Your mouth is so fucking good. Soft silk wrapped all around him. Your tongue slides softly over the ridge of his cock and sweet aching bliss twines through his limbs. It’s slow and languid, the tip of your tongue darting out with soft, fluttering licks against his oversensitive flesh as you take your time and try to murder him. You’re succeeding too. 

Heat carves through him sharp and intense. With the way his heart is trying to pound its way through flesh and muscle and out of his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s only got minutes to spare before his heart entirely gives out and he drops dead on the bathroom floor. 

You’re so ridiculously gorgeous. Eyes half-lidded as you stare up at him with unwavering attention. 

It’s bliss. It’s torture. It’s heaven and hell. Marc doesn’t know up from down anymore. All he knows as his cock slides between your lips, wet and slippery and so fucking good, is that he doesn’t want it to stop.  

For all the composure he’s trained into himself for years and decades, he can’t seem to find an ounce of it to draw from in this moment. He never can as far as you're concerned. His hands fists at his side, every muscle in him tensing, trying to stop the way his hips cants up with small thrusts into your mouth. But it’s not working. His body is betraying him, refusing to stay still. 

Good, it feels so– The burning flame under his skin is back, the whole of his body is wracked in warm pleasant shivers and he wants to curl into your touch. 

You hum, a small quiet little sound as you suck on the tip and he can feel the pleasant vibrations of it skitter up his entire spine. He jackknifes forward, pressing further into your mouth and fuck, he can feel the head of his cock nudge against the resistance of your throat. He stops there. Makes himself stop, ignores how every muscle in him is screaming for him to move. His cock pulses eagerly on your tongue, desperate for friction. But he ignores it. 

He can’t have this for himself. Doesn’t deserve it. 

“Come back up here, need to make you feel good baby. Let me- fuck let me make you feel good,” he says, even as his balls are drawing up, cock going somehow even harder, swelling and throbbing on your tongue. 

Marc swears, bites down on his lip hard until he tastes blood, and clenches every damn muscle in his body as he backs away, and slides himself out between your lips. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to hold on. His damn dick jerks and bounces spasmodically, oozing precome all over the damn floor as he struggles for control.  And through it all you just smile indulgently up at him, eyes gleaming, the pearly edge of your teeth digging into that perfectly plump lower lip.

He wonders if you even fucking heard him, because you’re leaning back in towards him, and wrap your mouth back around his cock. That inescapable fire is building at the base of his spine, threatening to burn him to the ground, but he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t because then it will be over, and you’ll have given this to him, and he doesn’t fucking deserve it. 

Marc doesn't deserve you, period. But he definitely doesn't deserve to have you on your knees like this for his miserable ass. Doesn't deserve that warm, worshipful mouth, slicking and sliding so perfectly over his aching cock. Perfect lips stretched tight around him as you struggle to take him as deep as you can. Doesn't deserve the way your hand alternates between clutching at him and petting so gently over his skin. Doesn't deserve the loving look in your eyes. Has to close his own eyes against the sight of you or this is all going to be over in about half a second.

But somehow that's even fucking worse, behind closed eyes it makes the feeling of it all the more acute. There's nothing there to distract him. He can't escape the feel of your clever tongue and perfect wet heat of your mouth wrapped around him in the blank darkness. The way your tongue curls around him. You’re moaning just slightly with each press forward, and he can feel the vibrations of it along every throbbing inch of his dick. It's fucking killing him.

“Let me–I can’t stop, I can’t–” He’s sobbing, the sound raw and needy as it wrenches out of his throat. Pleasure sears through his entire back. 

He's trying to hold still. He's fucking trying. But his legs are fucking shaking. Trembling thighs threatening to dump him on his ass any second, and he can't seem to control the way his hips are hitching forward in tiny abortive thrusts, seeking more even as he knows he should be jerking back, pulling away, and convincing you to let him make you feel good instead. but you don't seem to mind at all. 

Fuck, you seem to love it, moaning louder every time he loses the battle with his instincts. 

This is so wrong. He’s not in his right mind, not in control. You should be shoving him away, but instead you’re clutching at his ass with one hand, fingernails digging in as you encourage him to thrust harder, deeper. Tiny sharp bites of pain that just seem to add to the maelstrom of pleasure twisting and building in his gut.

Marc opens his mouth, determined to make one more attempt at convincing you, but then you swallow around him, moan around him, and all that comes out is a guttural groan. 

"Ba-baby-," he stutters out. He tugs on your hair, trying desperately to be gentle, but he's not entirely sure he manages it. You let him pull you off, one torturous inch at a time, and he barely manages to stop the thrust of his hips, the instinctual need to chase your mouth.

You look up at him, all wide eyes and slick, swollen lips. One long shiny string of spit or precome of both still connecting the two of you.

Oh shit,  how is he supposed to resist when you’re looking at him like that? Like he's actually worth a damn, when you’re the one who's worth anything, everything. He can’t, he was crazy to think he ever fucking could.

"Marc," you say, tone mildly reproachful. Your voice is hoarse... from swallowing his cock, and for a second, he thinks that's fucking it for him.  

Close, so fucking close. It’s pushing and clawing at every stitch and seam inside of his skin and he is unraveling. No wonder Steven lost it. No wonder he gave in. Marc can taste his climax at the tip of his tongue, dangling precariously on the fine thread of his fragile sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to block it out. 

“Let go,” you hum, and you press your mouth to the trembling muscle on the inside of his thigh that makes him jolt up and nearly swallow his tongue. “You don’t have to hold on anymore. I want you to come. Want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuuuuck. 

You kiss your way up, and he’s trying desperately to hold on, to hold back. But he can’t, not when he feels your tongue trail the underside of his cock with a long wet and devoted line. Not when you’re kissing his hips. Not when you put that perfect mouth of yours back on his cock and swallow him down. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, where your mouth can’t reach, giving it a firm stroke downwards, and his toes tingle. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably now. The pleasure is almost unbearable. his muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably with every slide of those pretty lips.

That insidious flame flickers at the base of his spine ominously. Warning him of what’s to come. It feels too fucking good, he can’t deny himself of this anymore. His orgasm swells up, large and looming, rushing out along every nerve ending and won’t be ignored. 

“Baby, fuckfuck, please– I can’t–can’t,” he opens his eyes, and looks down on you and fuck that’s such a mistake. You’re looking up at him, a dark pitch that bleeds into your blown pupils. His eyes slam back shut again because he can't survive the hungry look in your eyes.

But it’s already too late. 

His orgasm is consuming, large and looming as it’s trying to eat him whole. It wraps around his flesh and licks down to the marrow. From the curl of his toes, searing through his thighs until it’s permanently carved somewhere deep into his ribs, as he comes down your throat. Leaving nothing but a tingling ache in its wake.

It feels endless, the way he keeps pulsing into your mouth. Cock twitching against your lips, riding out his oversensitivity at your lapping tongue. 

He’s moaning and whimpering, toes skidding along the wet tiles as he desperately tries to find his footing. There’s nothing left but his undeniable surrender. Letting you take as much as you want from him. Until he’s empty and the blazing blue flame in his veins is sated and wrung dry from your attentive tongue. 

There’s clarity again. The dust and smoke clears until there’s only a faint smell of ashes lingering in the back of his mind and he feels like he can think again. His muscles ache with the soreness, and as he takes a long inhale, oxygen floods his head with a rush. Sweet fucking relief, he can breathe again. 

It doesn’t last very long. His eyes open, to see you smile up at him, bleary eyed and messy, drenched hair plastered on your forehead. The water from the shower is still running down your face as you’re trying to catch your breath.

You look like a mess. He did that to you, and you look so fucking good like this.

It’s all it takes, and the insidious heat licks at his bones, corrupting his blood again. The hunger in him returns with a devastating scream in his flesh. His mouth salivates, like what came before was only an appetizer. Now he’s gotten a taste and he’s hungrier than he was before. 

It makes him gain a new sympathy for Steven and the hell the man must’ve gone through with you two nights ago.

Fuck what’s wrong with him. Marc’s already gotten one release. That should’ve sated him. But he can already feel the simmering hunger gain hold again. All it did was make that selfish hungry monster inside him more insatiable. The greedy need claws at his veins, refusing to be ignored anymore.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that makes his heart seize up. “Do you need more? Do you want to go again?” you ask. 

He swallows around the constricting lump of guilt lodged deep in his throat, blinking up at you, unable to answer. Unable to open his mouth to ask. You’ve given him too much already, he can’t ask for more. 

“It’s okay, Marc. You can ask me.”

You say it with that voice. Breathless, filled with love and affection, like you’d offer him the world if he asked you for it, and it’s not right, he’s the one that should be doing that. The one to give you everything. Yet somehow he keeps finding himself in this seat where he’s the one taking and you’re the one giving. 

“I’m here,” you tell him. “It’s going to be okay, I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

Shit. His chest squeezes tight. The feeling is so large and overwhelming his veins are overbrimming with it. But he never knew how to tell you with words. So he shows you in the only way he’s ever known. 

He drops down to his knees, ignoring the strain in his shoulder from the hand still cuffed tight to the shower. His free hand reaches for you, cupping the back of your neck to pull you in, His mouth slant over yours, and he swallows the sweet affectionate hum between your lips. 

I love you. 

That’s what he’d say if he knew how to. 

I love you and I want to be everything to you. 

He cups your face in his one free hand, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you. Your mouth parts, letting him lick into into your mouth properly. You still taste of him. Tart and salty, and the taste of him on your tongue makes him lightheaded. 

Needy heat rolls over his back, and he can feel it again. The demanding hunger that is consuming his insides. The one that wants him to sink his teeth into your soft and pliant flesh, lick and nip at every inch of wet skin you’ll let him as he tries to swallow you whole. It’s not enough. Kissing you isn’t enough. He wants you pressed up against every inch of him. Wants your body lined against his, your legs spread wide as he settles between them. Wants your back arching up against him, breathless and keen as he buries himself inside you. 

He leans further down, pressing you downwards until he has you flat on your back against the cold and hard tiles, and he should do better by you. Should take you into bed, where it’s soft and warm. Nice and sweet. Not fuck you against the dirty floor of Steven’s dirty bathroom like some savage. 

But his body isn’t listening to him, surging down to reclaim your lips as he grinds his hips and cock against the softness of your stomach. He’s hard again, or maybe he never went down for the count, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s aching for you. All of him dying to be buried inside of you to the hilt. 

Pleasure sparks deep in his veins at the contact, and he does it again, grinds himself needily into you, smearing precome over the fabric of your already soaked sleepshirt. God he’s such a mess, he’s ruining your clothes. 

He forces himself up again, kneeling over your body, as he stares down at you. He’s made such a fucking mess of things… of you. Your face is wet from the shower, hair matted against your forehead, and your shirt is soaked and opaque clinging wetly to your skin underneath. The sight of you makes his mouth dry with heat. 

Behind him, the spray of the shower is raining down lukewarm water over his back. It should calm him, that’s why he turned the damn thing on in the first place, but it doesn’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, can barely hear the sound of the shower drizzling down like rain. Instead it’s all turned to static noise inside his head. 

The only thing he sees is your pretty face look up at him, warm and affectionate, and so fucking loving, and he feels sick with want over you. 

“Baby, you gotta tell me to stop,” he forces out, and his hand draws down between his legs to grip his aching cock, that’s throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

“If it gets too much– you have to–” 

You rise up to meet him, curling one arm around his neck until you’re face to face, so close that your nose nudges his. Your hand reaches down between you, wrapping your hand over his, and your eyes never falter from his, as you shove your panties to the side and guide his hand to notch his cock against your entrance. 

Fuck, you’re dripping. He’s not even inside, and he can feel you slick and warm and wet against the head of his cock. 

“Can you feel that?” you murmur, against his lips. “How wet you got me? I need this too. Need you to fuck your cock inside me, Marc.” 

Shit. 

He snaps. Plain and simple. 

He thrusts down and into you with a long and deep consuming stroke and it’s fucking everything. 

Ecstasy rushes into his bloodstream with a heady sugary rush, and he chases it with his hips, burying his cock inside as deep as you can take him, until it nudges something sweet and blissful that has you clawing at his arm with a gorgeous sob ripped from your throat. 

And it’s so good, so fucking good, he wants to crawl into that sound and nestle into it. He drags himself out of you, until only the overwrought tip of his cock rests inside you, watching you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds, and that won’t do. Marc wants to hear you. Wants you to scream so loud his ears ring from pain with it. Fuck, he wants to go deaf with it. Wants the sound of your voice obliterate him until it echoes in his ears til the day he dies.

His arm moves to your leg, curling around your thigh to pull you in closer towards his torso, canting you upwards, tilting you at that angle that he knows will make you cry for him. Then he slams forward, his thighs tense, burning with the pleasure that threatens to incinerate him. You’re so fucking tight around him. It’s heaven if Marc ever believed in one. 

Your fingers tighten down on him, nails digging into his skin and the biting pain only makes the pleasure of it all the more ripe and sweet as you clamp down around his cock. 

He can’t stop. Hips thrusting into you with a demanding pace like his body is no longer his own, just a conduit for him to chase that mad pleasure that skitters to his brain and has him want to go harder, deeper, until he’s lodged so deep inside that you can never rid him of you. 

It’s a selfish need that Marc would never allow himself to give voice to. He keeps it jammed under a lid and pretends it’s not there. That deep gnawing hunger that wants you all to himself and never have to share. The possessive streak in his veins that wants to mark you, fuck himself so deep into you until you can fucking taste him in your throat. 

Your legs are wrapped all around him, clamping down around his torso until he’s sure you’re constricting his lungs from the sheer force of it and he almost can’t breathe. “Shit, baby–fuck, you’re so– I–” he grinds down on his teeth, and doesn't let himself say the words, swallowing down the groan that tears through his throat. 

So good, he thinks to himself. You feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and blissfully tight around his cock. He loves you. Loves you so fucking much and he can’t stop, won’t stop– Never want to stop fucking his cock into you. 

Then he sees it. That all familiar tell that lets him know you are close. Every muscle in your body goes taut, and you’re squeezing down almost rhythmically and so tight it knocks the fucking breath out of his lungs. “That’s it baby, come on my cock for me.” 

Your eyes roll back, mouth parting as your back arches upward.

And there you go. You’re so fucking beautiful. 

You come hard and punishingly tight as you squeeze around his cock. 

The pleasure swirls hot and hungry inside his gut, and it’s all it takes to push him right over the edge with you. He spills himself inside, pulse after greedy pulse as he fills you. 

He barely manages to catch himself with a palm braced next to your head on the tiles as he tries to come down.

There’s no relief this time. Not like last time, however brief it was. This time his climax only serves to fuel the pathetic need in his chest. Like someone threw gasoline over an open fire and now it’s spreading everywhere and there’s no extinguisher in sight. 

More, the hunger inside his veins scream out. Again. 

Wants to feel you come again. Wants to feel you squeeze tight around his cock, as your lips part and moan out his name in bliss again. Want to feel your slick drench his cock as you come again and again and again and again. 

He’s still hard. 

He thrusts forward, and you cry, high pitched and broken and the sound makes the blood in his veins sing. 

You're slick and excruciatingly tight, but his come drips out of you, easing the tight press of his cock no matter how hard you squeeze down on him. 

“It’s okay baby,” he hushes, and you sob in reply even as he bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You can take it for me. Doing so good. You’re being so good,” he coos, as he cants his hips and pushes into you as deeply as he can again. 

Closer. He needs you closer than this. Wants his hands to touch and grip every inch of your skin. He brings his other arm to wrap around your waist, and something tugs and restrains him from behind. It locks up his shoulder, and no matter how hard he pulls forward, he can’t quite reach you. 

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as you watch him before your eyes widen, hand reaching up for him. “Marc, wait– you’re–” 

His free arm shoots out around your shoulders and reels you close as he captures your mouth, swallowing down your words. He’s trying to come down to you, to press you down against the floor with the weight of his body, and wrap his arms around you, and never let go. Hold you so tight to him until you can never leave. But something won’t let him. No matter how hard he strains forward the strength holding back his arm won’t budge. 

There’s a metallic groaning noise that protests as he continues to pull against the resisting strength from behind him, as he rolls his hips relentlessly into you, chasing the pleasure. It digs sharp into his wrist with a jagged pain, but he doesn’t even care. Marc wants to hold you close, wrap his arm around your leg and squeeze it tight to his hips and lock you there. 

He rips against the hindrance, with an impatient and angry snarl. The strain and resistance finally gives, and he’s free to put both his hands on you. His arms lock up tight around your waist. 

There's a cacophony of sound somewhere in the distance. Of broken dishes and sharp crashing noise, but he doesn't care. The roof could be collapsing right now and it wouldn't make any damn difference to him so long as you were still here with him.

“Fuck! Marc!”

It doesn’t even register until he hears your agitated shout. He looks up in a daze at you, Your wide and alarmed eyes. Something’s wrong. 

His head whips back, tearing himself away from you prepared to leap into action at the culprit. But that's not what he sees.

There’s debris on the wall. Bare cement in the large torn cracks of the tiled walls. There’s jagged pieces of cracked white porcelain on the floor. Debris and parts of the wall along with the showerhead and the metal rod he handcuffed himself to is lying in ruined shambles below, as the shower spits out water all around like a death rattle. 

Well fuck.  

Fuck– what is he… 

Shit!

He’s completely lost control. The familiar dread and anxiety bleeds into his veins, and he can fight it all he wants, but it’s already here. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was the one who was supposed to be able to keep it together. The one who was supposed to protect you from this and keep you safe from harm. The bitter acrid taste of failure lingers on his tongue and drips down his throat until it reaches his lungs. Embarrassment clings to his cheeks and burns like fire. His body wants to curl into itself and hide, until he’s so small no one can see him anymore, least of all you. 

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say as you plant an elbow against the slippery floor to you can raise yourself into a sitting position. Until you’re both at eye level with each other. 

“It’s okay. Just ignore it. We’ll clean it up later,” you murmur as you crawl closer to him, until your face is within inches from his and you press your mouth to his cheek. Then you climb into his lap, the firm press of your warm body straddling his thighs and he looks up at you in dazed awe. 

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask. 

Despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t ask this of you, he still nods, whimpering at the reassuring press of your body against his achingly hard cock. 

“As many times as it takes, okay?” Your fingers circle around the base of his cock, and he chokes on a moan, as you position him against your entrance. You’re slick and warm and fucking dripping for him. 

“Let’s keep going until you feel better. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Is that okay?” you say.

He doesn't understand how that's a question. Of course it's okay, it's more than okay, it's all he wants. All he ever wants. He nods, and you smile at him. That warm and affectionate smile filled with love and it fills him to the brim. He feels like his heart is going to give out again. There's no more space for shame anymore, the way your smile crowds his vision and every inch of space inside him.

You lift your hips slightly, then you lower your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock until he’s buried all the way inside you, squeezing down around his cock in that perfect way you do, and he can’t fucking think. 

You’re looking down at him like you’re expecting him to answer and he doesn’t even remember how to open his mouth and use vocal cords anymore, fuck he doesn’t even remember what the question was. 

“Marc,” you repeat, 

He still doesn’t know what you’re asking him. But it doesn’t matter does it? When it comes to you, he’s never going to say no to you. So he answers you with the only answer he has. 

“Yes.”

It must be the right answer you were looking for, because you’re looking at him in that way again, smiling up brightly at him, like he’s worth a damn, worth everything to you. He knows that you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills his chest with something sweet and heady. An antidote to the poisonous fire that’s still burning hot and bitter in his veins. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t fight the warm buzz that’s trickling slowly into his veins and lets himself bask in it. 

After all, who is he to say no to you? 

You roll your hips against him and your eyes flutter close with a gasp as his cock hits something deep inside, and both of you moan at the feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist. 

You lean closer, lips pressed to his ear, “I love you, Marc” you whisper in the hair above his ears and his whole back shudders pleasantly. 

He tilts his head upwards, his nose brushing up against your chin and cheeks as he tries to find his way back to your mouth. 

Marc might not deserve you. But you deserve everything you want and more, and if Marc is one of those things (for whatever unfathomable reason that he will never understand)… then that makes things a little bit easier for him. 

He wakes with a pounding headache. 

The muscles in his shoulders and back are stiff and sore, cramping up with a sharp throb as he tries to get up. Every limb aches. He feels like he was hit by a fucking truck going at full speed down a highway. 

“Morning,” your voice greets, as your hand comes to his forehead and rests there as if you’re checking for his temperature. It’s soft and soothing, a balm to the ache in body and he fights every instinct to not nuzzle into the palm of your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies. His voice scrapes against the lining of his throat, like something crawled up in there and died. 

He can hear you laugh quietly at his reply, and despite how crap he feels, the sound seeps into his chest and the stiffness melts just a little bit. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge next to him. 

“How long was I out for?” 

“Not too long. Just a bit. You needed the rest,” you answer, and it's entirely too vague for his liking. 

He anchors his elbow into the soft bedding below and despite the angry creak of the mattress and the protesting groan in his bones, he tries to get up into a sitting position. His head feels lightheaded with the sudden altitude, like he’s about to throw up all over the sheets. It’s like he’s experiencing the world’s worst hangover, the second time in less two days. As soon as he gets his hand on that sex sprite, he’s going to fling it into the surface of the sun. Don’t care how upset that will make Min’s avatar. 

Bringing his hand to his face, he rubs at his temples and the blunt throbbing pain that’s killing his head, when it occurs to him. His wrist feels light and unimpeded, there’s no sharp metal digging into his wrist.  He stares down at his now bare wrist, then he looks up at you in confusion. 

“Jake told me where the key was,” you answer. 

He frowns, but holds his tongue. That means at some point while Marc was still unconscious, Jake must've woken up without him being aware. Marc doesn’t love that. He’s still not completely at ease with Jake being around you. Especially when he’s unconscious and can’t keep an eye out to step in and protect you if something were to go wrong. 

As if something hasn’t already.

Marc is such a hypocrite, talking about protecting you as if he isn’t the very wolf at your door, fangs poised at your throat. 

Your thumb smooths over his knuckles, as you nudge his leg with your knees.  “Should I make you some coffee? Maybe some breakfast. Can whip up some omelets for you.”

He shakes his head. “No I gotta get up. Try to catch that thing before it does more damage again.”

He should tell you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. But he knows you’re going to fight him tooth and nail over it. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” you say as you rise from the bed, “stay there for just a sec will you?” 

You walk up to the Gus trio’s tank, sliding a few books around, and pick something up before you make your way back to him, holding an all too familiar brass-metal box in the palm of your hand outstretched to him. 

He can see from the shape on the golden lid the puzzle sequence has been properly completed, just like that obnoxious Avatar had shown him. Locked and sealed.

“How did you–” he sputters out in shock as he eyes it. 

“Steven sealed it for me.”

He blinks, feeling a little bit stunned as he takes the box from you. “How did you get it back in there in the first place.”

“You said that it liked small cramped spaces with a lid. I figured it couldn’t have gotten far from the flat like last time. So I just started opening every single item in the place with a lid. It hid in an empty shoebox this time.” 

Marc grits his teeth. “That’s dangerous, it could’ve possessed you.”

You wave your hands dismissively at his concerns. “It’s alright. I had a fly-swatter,” you answer, like that answers everything and Marc’s just being silly. 

“You what?”

“A flyswatter. I just swatted at it until it finally got back into the box. Had to chase it around the flat, reopening every jar and box in the flat for a good hour or so until it got the hint.” 

He wants to scold you, want to point out everything that could’ve gone wrong and how you should have just ran out of the apartment and gotten yourself to safety. It’s a speech he’s made a hundred times before, but you never listened then either, and those times you didn’t have the upper hand with the argument, given that he passed out and you saved the day. 

So he bites his tongue. 

“Hey,” you say softly as your hand comes to cup his cheek. “Everything worked out fine alright? It’s a happy ending. You don’t have to look so sad.” 

He bites the insides of his cheek. Flashes of you under him, soft and moaning, legs spread and wrapped around him, invading in startling technicolor.

“I’m…” he wants to say sorry, but the word won't come. His hand curls into a fist to his side with unease. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you stay and do that for me”.

“Marc, it’s not a punishment for me to have sex with you. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you by now, but I like having sex with you.” 

He doesn’t answer you, just stares blindly at his feet at the end of the bed, as the guilt crawls in his gut and tries to consume him. Maybe he should let it. It’s what he deserves after all. 

You scoot closer to him, an exasperated but fond look in your eyes as you take his hand in yours. “You see Marc, when two adults love each other very much,” you sing-song and start to jokingly explain to him about the bird and the bees.

Despite himself he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and the gnawing anxiety fades a bit. You think you’re so fucking funny sometimes (and to Marc you are), but he isn’t going to let the laugh that wants to push up against his throat betray him. You meet his smile with your own, and that helps to take away the last of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Can you promise me that next time something like this happens again, you won't run away… or lock yourself in the bathroom to deal with it all by yourself? We’ll handle it together alright?”

Marc meets the look in your eye. It's the same one that he keeps finding somehow even though he never quite understands why, of love and adoration for him.

A part of him wants to fight it, push it away because he doesn't deserve it... But your soft voice echoes in his ear. The weight of your arms wrapped around his shoulders still lingers from before. 'I love you', you had told him, and whether he deserves your love or not is maybe not the point. You love him regardless. And who is he to say no to you?

“Yeah,” Marc nods. “Together.”

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

Happy Moon-aversary everyone!!! I can't believe I'm still here a whole year after this show premiered. When I first saw that trailer with Oscar Isaac's strange british accent I remember telling @thirstworldproblemss I was sceptical and then I watched about 5 minutes of Steven on screen and went "oh no, I'm in love with this man" and the rest is history.

I hope you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it I appreciate all of you so very much.

Dedications and credit: To my co-worker, co-clown and the love of my life @thirstworldproblemss she's had a busy few months and she is everything to me please go over and send her some love if you have time!!!!

Also to my muse @guruan who draws horny sketches and the most inspiring artpieces that makes me write near 13k of blowjob for this man. That blowjob scene was particularly inspired by THIS sketch. Send her love! Send her reblogs, send her everything you have and more!

[five-rivers]

Stargazer, Moonweaver, Net

Hey, you. Yes, you. Have you ever wondered, hey, what would it look like if @five-rivers, @jackdaw-sprite, @seaglass-skies, @datawyrms, and @akela-nakamura all worked together on a fic for Phantasy Phest? No? Too specific? Well, if you had, it would look exactly like this fic here.

AO3 link

Tags: Lost Time, The portal accident, Phantasy Phest 2023, Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Fairies, Blood Drinking, Moths, Clockwork has low opinions of the Fenton Parents, Transformation, Body Horror, Danny gets to say Fuck

Word Count: 11,197

Fic continues after cut.

.

"Ohno. Oh, no, no no nooooooo."

The stars were bright tonight.

Danny could even see them from where he was at the edge of a large clearing, where the trees stopped to wreathe the base of a hill.

Unusually, Danny didn't care.

"Nooooo," he said again under his breath.

Danny pushed at the net again. It reeked of garlic and sage the same way his parents’ nets always did, and the cord was rough and knobbly between his fingers. They must have woven this one with something extra.

He needed to get out. But with his flashlight fallen somewhere he could barely see the net or where it might end.

His flashlight. Where was his flashlight? Danny crouched, and began to grope at the ground around him. It couldn't have rolled too far, right?

The net folded up into his face, scratchy and unexpected. Danny flinched back but kept going, moving his hands in a circle. They met dead leaves and earth, and more than once he touched slimy and wet things he hoped were slugs.

He didn't find anything that felt like a flashlight.

"Heck," said Danny.

He sat down on the ground. The damp seeped into his pants but at this point that was a distant concern.

Maybe he could just find the edge of the net. It was a net. It had an edge. And his parents weren't always great at traps.

Danny pulled the net hand over hand in one direction and stopped when he felt something thicker cross over an arm.

He groped at it. It felt like the edge. Or an edge. One side didn't have all the net stuff. With mounting relief he followed it with his fingers–and discovered that it was attached to an opening only about large enough to slip a hand through.

There wasn't a tie that he could feel.

He couldn't find any other holes in it.

The relief withered. He was caught, alone, in the dead of night, in one of his parents' stupid monster catching nets. Without a flashlight.

And his parents, at best, might find him in the morning.

"Heck," said Danny, again.

Then he remembered he was alone, deep in the woods in the middle of the night, and no one would hear him.

"Fuck."

If only, Danny thought a while later, he'd brought his pocket knife. Or literally any knife. Something sharp to cut through the ropes.

None of the rocks he could reach had worked, though that was probably a little because he still couldn't see much of anything. It was really hard to wear through rope when you were doing it with a rock, blind. And through a net.

He was cold. His butt was colder from sitting in the leaves earlier. He kind of wanted to do it again, as a measure of his suffering. He wanted to be home, dry, and warm even more.

Maybe he could just wait for morning. Maybe his parents would know the trap had gone off, and come to check it. Maybe they'd check it anyway. They were the town crackpots for a reason. They didn't just believe in fictional creatures, they did so enthusiastically and with the kind of prejudice that made them set net traps in the woods. For one of their own innocent children to get caught in when he was only trying to stargaze on a clear night before school started in a few weeks. See some constellations, spot a few meteors, maybe a handful of planets, that kind of thing.  

Never mind that he’d maybe snuck out. Because he knew they’d freak out about him going into the woods alone. Because they believed in faeries.

Gosh, he hoped this didn't get back to Dash.

At least the stars were bright tonight.

He sighed and looked up, eyes automatically picking out familiar constellations.  The Big Dipper was easiest, although finding the rest of Ursa Major was less familiar.  All seven stars of Ursa Minor were easily visible, which again highlighted how good the seeing was. Then there were the other circumpolars.  Draco, Cepheus, Cassiopeia…  He could see the V of Andromeda, where it blended with Pegasus, and he could almost convince himself that–

An owl - he thought it was an owl - hooted somewhere nearby.  He jumped, which had the side effect of reminding him that, yes, he was still in a net.  He rubbed his shoulders and neck where they’d been rammed into the net.  Straining against rope shouldn’t have felt like running into a wall, but he supposed he did have his weight on the bottom of it.  

But he soon had other things to worry about than his parents’ irrational net design.

(Seriously, why was there enough room to stand up in this net?  What were they even trying to catch?  At first, he’d thought he could just walk away, back to town, even inside the net, but it was tied to something.  Maybe one of the trees?)

Sounds started to rise up from all around the clearing.  First the high-pitched chirr of crickets, then croaking, buzzing, and chirping.  Small noises, from small things.  

But with those small noises, Danny started to notice rustling and creaking and–  Was that a dog howling or a wolf?  Were there even any wolves here?  He remembered a unit in science last year where the teacher talked about wolves going extinct in some states.

The stars were bright tonight.  The woods around him?  Not so much.  

“People spend nights outside all the time,” he said out loud.  The word probably would have been more impactful if they weren’t whispered.  “All the time.  People go camping and hiking and stuff for fun.”  Never mind that they were usually more prepared to do so than Danny currently was.  And that most of the time, they could decide to just leave and go home or get a hotel room if camping got to be too much for them.  He continued, more loudly, “I just have to wait for morning.  They’ll find me in the morning.  And– and if they don’t, I’ll be able to see.  I’ll be able to get myself out.  I’ll be fine.”

If nothing ate him first.  

No.  No.  That was–  What out here could even eat him, anyway?  Wolves, yeah, okay, but were there wolves?  Still unclear.  Bears?  If there weren’t wolves, he doubted there were bears.  He’d never heard of any bears out here, anyway.  What else could eat a human who wasn’t, well, already dead?  Cougars?  That one school, a couple districts over, had a cougar for a mascot, didn’t they?  That didn’t really mean anything, though.  What else, what else…  Feral pigs?  Those were supposed to be invasive around here, weren’t they?  Danny had kind of laughed at the idea of it in class, but, here, now, in the dark, was a different story.   

He was pretty sure anything else was too small.  So.  Three things out of how many animals?  Thousands?  Yeah.  Yeah, the odds of those three specific animals showing up to bother him were low.  Yes.  Nothing wrong with the math there.  No siree.  

(And the stuff his parents were worried about, the stuff they’d set this trap for, that stuff didn’t exist at all, so he didn’t have to worry about it.  There were no werewolves, no chimerae, no hobgoblins, and definitely no fairies.  Wasn’t even worth thinking about.)

A branch snapped.  Then another.

He’d thought the owl was close, but this sounded closer.  And those didn’t sound like small branches.  

A deer?  There definitely were deer here.  Sam talked about deer resistant and repellent garden plants, sometimes.  Deer could get big.  Like, reindeer were huge, right?

It was dark under the trees, but by starlight alone Danny could still perceive a shadow moving among other shadows.  Something tall.  Something not shaped anything like a deer.

The shadow came closer.  

Danny held his breath and shrunk down against the nearest tree.  He couldn’t fight a bear.  Not even when he wasn’t caught in a net.

"Hello."

"Hi," said Danny back, on autopilot.

Danny continued staring at the shadow for several more tense moments before it occurred to him that it had talked.

"Wait, you can talk?" Danny asked.

"It would appear so," said the shadow, and did not move.  Now that Danny was looking and thinking rather than just freaking out, the shadow looked, well, pretty humanoid.  Tall, sure, and wearing a long coat with a hood - or maybe a dress?  And that could be long hair.  Significantly less weird in the middle of the summer than a coat - but humanoid.  

Human, he should say.  Outside of, like, parrots, there weren’t a lot of other things that could talk.  No matter what his parents said.  

"Um. I'm a little stuck," said Danny.

"Really?" The shadow did not sound surprised.

"Can you, I don't know, cut the net loose? Please?"

The shadow hummed. "I think the more interesting question is why you're stuck in the first place.  One does not frequently encounter those such as yourself in the woods so late at night."

Oh, wow.  Danny could empathize with the curiosity.  He really could.  This was a weird situation to come across, and whoever this was, they must be just as confused as Danny.  But he also really didn’t want to explain anything about this to a stranger.  And he would really rather be out while talking to what was, yet again, a complete stranger.  

… Humans were pretty dangerous themselves, come to think of it.  

“Yeah, I guess not.”  He swallowed.  “Why are you out here, anyway?”  Maybe he was being rude, but the shadow had asked first.

The shadow shifted, looking up.  Starlight limned pale skin and a sharp, straight nose in shades of gray.  “The stars.  The sun is too bright during the day.  It is easier to see them at night.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  Maybe, hopefully, not a murderer, then.  Just another person out stargazing.  A weird person but…  Danny didn’t exactly have room to talk.  “Yeah.  Me, too.  Since the moon isn’t up and all.  I just, uh, ran into this.  Trap.  Thing.”  He tugged at the net.  “And now I can’t get out.”

The shadow’s head tipped back down.  “Can’t you?”

“I really can’t.  I can’t even figure out how it’s tied on.  Do you, like, have a flashlight or something?”

“I do not.”

“Not even, like, one on your phone?”

“No.”  The shadow leaned forward, and might have held out a hand, but if they did, they didn’t touch anything that Danny could feel.  “What a curious and terrible thing,” murmured the shadow.  “What cruelty and carelessness, to leave it to trap the unwary.”

Danny winced.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay, it kind of was, and it was probably a small miracle that no one else had ever gotten trapped in one of these things.  

That Danny knew of.  

He pushed the thought of his parents absent-mindedly forgetting to check one of these traps, or only checking them once a week, out of his mind.  His parents were crazy and kind of forgetful and… well, the point was, he would have heard if something had… happened.  

They wouldn’t do that, anyway.  

“Yeah.  But, um.  Even without the flashlight, please, help?  Just, maybe if you could untie me, or if you have…”  Did he really want this guy to have a knife?  Not really.  Still.  “Something to cut with, maybe?”

“I cannot cut the net in which you find yourself.”  The shadow shifted again.  “However, I will stay with you until you are free.”

“Maybe if you tried some of the knots, you could get me out, though,” pointed out Danny.  

“I have encountered ropes like this in the past.  They do not agree with my skin.”

“What, like, you're allergic?” asked Danny.  

“Something like that.”

Just his luck.  He was found, but the person to find him was… incredibly strange.  And not very useful.  And had possibly run into his parents’ nets before and had a reaction to them.  

“Okay.  But maybe you could call for help?  I mean, I know you said you don’t have a phone, but you could go get someone who can get me out?”

“Child,” said the shadow, with a touch of amusement, “there are things in these woods that would eat you whole.  I am equipped to deal with them.  You are not.  It would be irresponsible of me to leave you while they wander.”  They settled themselves nearby.  “Besides, I can see the stars here as well as I could elsewhere in these woods.”

“Eat me?” squeaked Danny.  He'd thought about bears earlier, but not, like, out loud.  Talking about them out loud was different. He cleared his throat. “You mean like bears?”

“In some respects,” said the shadow, still amused.

"Okay, um." Danny really did not like confirmation that there were bears around. He could have gone without knowing that. Except he probably should know. Considering he was in a net.

The net.

Which the stranger somehow thought he'd be able to escape on his own?

"Hey, um. I have been trying to get out for a while," said Danny. "It hasn't been working. You're sure you can't do anything to help?"

"There is more than one kind of trap here."

Danny blinked.

Crap.  That would be just like his parents, wouldn’t it?  They couldn’t leave it at just one stupid trap in a public space, they have more.  “Where?”

“You will not be able to see it from your perspective, but I have no doubt it would close were I to attempt to free you.”  

“Great,” said Danny.  He took in a shuddering breath.  “Great.  And you, what, think I’ll be able to avoid it on my own?  When I can’t even see it?  Or is this a ‘wait until morning’ thing?”

“You will, at least, be less liable to be eaten by wild animals at that point.  And more able to untie knots with the light of day.”

Okay, yeah.  Danny had been thinking both of those things as well, but with someone here, he’d hoped… 

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly, and, to his absolute horror, his stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry?” asked the shadow, as if Danny wasn’t already embarrassed enough.  

Danny mumbled something indistinct.  He had eaten.  Just…  The main course had…  Well, some things were better left unsaid.  The salad (courtesy of Jazz) had been okay, and so had the carrots.  He’d felt full right after dinner.  He had.  

But, yeah.  He was hungry.  Dinner had been hours and hours ago at this point. 

“I have food enough to share.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Okay?”

Something moved under his nose, and he flinched.  He hadn’t seen the shadow move.  

“Um, I’m not sure I can…”  He tried to wedge his fingers into one of the holes of the net.  He’d lost track of the opening.  

“They are small.  They will fit.  Hold out your hands.”

Danny, only a little skeptical, held out his hands. As promised, several round, slightly damp things, like largeish marbles, were dropped into them through the holes in the net.

“What are these?”

“Star jelly.”

“Like, from starfruit or something?” asked Danny, interested.  He squished one between his fingers.  It was springy, like a gummy.  But still.  Damp.

“Or something,” said the stranger.

“Why is it damp?”

“It hasn’t dried.”

Well. That was almost no information at all.

“But it’s edible?”

“I enjoy them regularly.”

Danny huffed slightly.  This guy was weird.  Again, that was the pot calling the kettle black, but Danny didn’t go around offering weird food to strangers.

No, he went around getting trapped in nets.

And he was hungry.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten weirder things. His parents could be creative.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to accept food from strangers, but…  This guy was his getting caught in a net buddy.  And he had to admit, he was pretty mad at his parents right now.  It’d serve them right, that Danny was eating someone else’s food.  

Did that make sense?  Maybe not.  But it wasn’t like any of the stuff Sam or Jazz did made any sense, either.

Plus, it had ‘star’ in the name.  He basically had to try out at least one.

He squished the smallest between his fingers one last time, then popped it in his mouth.  

He chewed.

There was no burst of flavor. It tasted… pretty bland, actually. All the way through. But the texture was okay.  Mostly.  It was at least better than what had happened to the chicken fated for dinner.

So.  Probably not poison.  

(Although why anyone would bother to poison him when he was quite literally trapped in a net was beyond him.)

“I also have a variety of mushrooms.”  

Who was this guy? The last hippie in Amity Park? A revolutionary war survivor?

“Do you have hardtack, too?” asked Danny, unable to help himself.

“I have biscuits.”

Oh thank goodness. Normal food.

“Can I have one?”

Something distinctly cracker-like was placed in his hand.

Danny didn’t even bother snarking, he just ate it. The texture was flaky, the flavor nutty and buttery and just salty enough to coat the whole of his tongue with flavor. He crunched into it again and the layers almost shattered between his teeth, then melted in his mouth like butter in a hot pan.

Danny swallowed. He’d never had a cracker that good.

“Can I have another?” he asked. Then, as more fell into his hands, “Where did you even get these? They’re great.”

“I baked them myself.”

Well.  That explained why he didn’t have a phone.  He was a hippie of some variety.  Danny didn’t comment aloud, though, too busy plowing his way through another cracker. He spent a little while chewing in blissful silence before he could swallow.

“They’re great,” Danny repeated, and had another one. And another.

“Ah,” said the shadow, “I believe that was the first proper shooting star of the night.” 

“What?” said Danny, looking up from his impromptu meal.  He licked his fingers, then stretched out the net, the better to see through it.  “Really?  Where?”  

“From the neighborhood of Cassiopeia, crossing her and going north.”  A pointed finger stood out in silhouette against the slightly brighter sky, tracing an imaginary line.

Danny sighed.  “I can’t believe I missed it.”  The Perseid meteor shower was, after all, one of the main reasons he risked sneaking out.  

“Many meteor showers reach their peak shortly before dawn,” said the shadow.  “As we will be here for some time yet, I believe you will have the opportunity to see many more.”

“But the first one…” Danny said, trailing off.

“The first from our perspective.  This shower has been going on for some time.  For someone to our east, perhaps it is, instead, the last.”

Danny grumbled.  

First the net and now this…  

Something golden green streaked across the sky and he perked up.  That one had been nice.  A breath later, a smaller, shorter one flashed at the edge of his vision, a tiny needle of light.  

“See?  There will be more for you to wish on.”

“That’s really not why I wanted to see them,” said Danny, wrinkling his nose.  Wishing was, well.  It was the sort of thing little kids did.  It wasn’t scientific.  It was the kind of thing his parents strictly forbade.

“It isn’t?”

“I…they’re cool. And it’s nice. Or it would be, if it weren’t for this net.”

“What would it hurt to make a wish?”

Danny sighed.  It wasn’t like they were wrong.  This situation was stupid and illogical.  So.  

“I wish I could get out of this stupid net. Before my parents find out about any of this.”

The stranger hummed in interest. “They don’t know?”

“They sure know about the net,” griped Danny.  He didn’t take his eyes off the sky, but he did tug on the ropes to make his point.  The rope was homemade, twisted with nonstandard fibers along with more common silk and hemp, rubbed with garlic and sage.  It was distinctive.  It was familiar.  It was something he'd probably tripped on a dozen times when it was left half-finished on the living-room floor.  “But it's not like I told them I was sneaking out. Like, who's going to tell their parents they're breaking rules?”  

The shadow hummed again.  "That is true."

Danny was distracted from replying or continuing by a pale, oddly oblong blur to the north.  It stayed in place, even as colorful shooting stars passed it by.  

"Is that–?" gasped Danny.  He leaned forward against the tension in the ropes and a similar, less tangible ache in his chest, as if he could get closer to the sky.  

The oblong blur widened into several similar streaks, like thumbprints on glass.  Green, pink, and purple began to seep into them.  

"There must have been a solar storm I didn't know about," said Danny as meteors shot through the undulating curtain of the Aurora. Delight was dancing in his stomach and thrumming along his limbs at the sight. "We hardly ever get the Aurora this far south." 

"It is an auspicious night for stargazing, then," said the shadow, "and one I am indeed glad to share, despite the circumstances."  

The thing was, they were right.  Despite the net, stargazing with someone who liked it as much as he did was nice.  It was really nice, despite the net.  Nice enough to wish, quite sincerely, and on a meteor that fell across the sky in that very moment, that they could do it again.  It probably would have been nice even without the Perseids and the Aurora, but with them he was practically giddy.

Briefly, Danny imagined how this meeting might have gone sans net.  

Okay.  Honestly, Danny probably would have run for it.  Weird adult in the middle of the night, after all.  He had briefly wondered if the guy was an axe murderer. 

He rolled his shoulders.  His back was starting to get sore - probably a combination of the net and how long he'd been looking up, but he didn't want to take his eyes off the light show even for a second.  

"My name's Danny, by the way."  They were kind of sort of friends now.  Stargazing buddies.  Net buddies, even.  Danny couldn't refer to the as 'the shadow' or as 'the guy who sat with me all night the time I was trapped in one of my parents' nets' forever, and he doubted the shadow wanted to keep mentally referring to him as 'that weirdo kid who got stuck in a net' for eternity, either.  

"I am honored that you would trust me with your name," said the shadow, tone strangely formal. 

"Uh, you're welcome?" Danny said.

"I go by Clockwork."

Wow. This guy really was strange, huh?  Was that his legal name?  Just a nickname?  A screen name?  Had he changed his legal name to that?

"Nice to meet you, Clockwork," said Danny, for lack of a better response.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, as well."

Pleased to make your acquaintance. Well. Danny's parents were eccentric too (see also: net. see also also: believing said net was going to catch faeries and demons.) and he was now almost eighty percent sure this guy wasn't an axe murderer.

Danny shifted under the net. He could try and shake hands, but the excitement and delight hadn't faded much at all and it was hard to focus on formalities when so much of him was full of so much energy.

Wait.

That was weird, wasn't it? Danny frowned. Should he have taken random food from a stranger? Clockwork had mushrooms, too. Had the star jelly been not just edible but an edible?

Was he high right now?

"Clockwork," Danny began, and the Aurora bloomed across the sky. The moment filled with shared murmurs of admiration, and by the time it died the thought had passed.

Even if the energy hadn't.

He flexed his fingers.  Maybe he’d run through some kind of itchy plant?  That might explain the tingle on his skin.  

There was a hollow, almost melodic popping noise from the vicinity of the shadow.  The vicinity of Clockwork, he corrected himself.  

“You should try to stay hydrated,” said Clockwork.  

A scent both floral and salty wafted up to Danny’s nose.  The green glimmer of the Aurora reflected off the glassy lip of a bottle.  “Is– Is that alcohol?” asked Danny.  “Are you offering me alcohol?  Wine?”

“I am not,” said Clockwork.  “This is far more nourishing.”

“��This’ being what, exactly?” asked Danny, still vaguely suspicious.  

“It is mostly sugar and water.  Fruit juice, salt, nectar, among other things. As you would call them, electrolytes. You have exerted yourself.  It has not been purposefully fermented.” 

This guy and his weird food. Still, that didn’t seem…bad, exactly. Danny was thirsty, and he liked gatorade, and that was kind of similar, right? And he was curious.

The crackers had been good.  And even the star jelly had been edible.

It took some experimentation to hold the bottle firmly through the net.  The body of it was too large to fit through any of the holes.  But the mouth and neck of the bottle could go through, and Clockwork seemed content to hold it until Danny figured it out.  

The liquid inside was thicker than he had expected.  Sweeter and saltier, too.  The flavor was… interesting.  A little sour, a little bitter, a little… savory?  It definitely tasted like flowers smelled.  Only, it also tasted like something else?  A lot of something elses.  

He pulled the bottle back and licked his lips thoughtfully.  He… didn’t hate it.  It sure wasn’t something he’d just drink on his own, though.  On the other hand, taking that sip had made him realize how thirsty he actually was.  Which was very thirsty.  He must have gotten more dried out than he’d thought, first walking here and then fighting the net for who knew how long.  

He took another sip, trying to focus on the flavors he hadn’t quite been able to name.

And another.

Something in him settled as he drank. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been. Was it nervousness? He’d thought it was excitement. Delight. Something positive.  But now it was settling into something softer. Calmer. And yet the sky was no less compelling.

Maybe it was a different sort of happiness, now that the unexpected relief and delight of a fellow stargazer out here had calmed his nerves. Maybe he hadn’t managed to calm down until now, and the drink was finally letting him?

Regardless, his limbs weren't so tense anymore, and breaths he hadn’t realized had become so short were drawing long and even now, and that was a relief.

He alternated sips with looking up at the stars.  The Aurora undulated slowly, and was periodically pierced by meteors.  The stars behind the curtains of light were harder to see, but he could still pick out his favorites coming and going, first hidden, then not.  The motion of the lights almost made them seem as if they were moving. It was hypnotizing. 

He tilted the bottle back once more, and made a disappointed sound deep in his throat when he realized it was empty.  Huh.  He must have liked it alright after all.  That wasn’t a small bottle.  In fact, it was bigger than he’d originally thought when Clockwork had first given it to him.  

… He hoped this didn’t make him have to pee.  He was in the woods, but standing next to, um.  Well.  An impromptu bathroom.  Until dawn, at least.  Would make the net thing much worse.

“Done already?” asked Clockwork.

“I guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

“You had been exerting yourself for some time.”  Clockwork plucked the bottle out of Danny’s hands.  “But I believe that you will soon see the fruits of your exertions.”

Danny sighed and leaned more deeply against the tree he was attached to.  Subtly, he rubbed his back against the bark.  The soreness was getting worse.  “Not unless you see a rescue party.”

Clockwork hummed. “I do not. But perhaps you will not need one. The weave of the net seems looser, now. Can your hands fit through?”

Danny tested it. His hand fit through one of the holes easily. And another. It was the same with the third he tried.

“What,” he said.

“It is progress, is it not?”

“I don’t know how,” Danny said. “It’s not like Mom and Dad don’t tie these things at every connection. I didn’t think they could slide.”

“And yet your hands can fit through.”

“Yeah. I just wish I knew how that happened.”

“Dawn will come,” said Clockwork. “You will be able to see it then. Perhaps you worked them loose with your straining.”

“I guess,” said Danny, still wondering.

“And with dawn, you will be free, one way or another. For now, shall we focus on this spectacular sky?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

He’d never seen a night sky like this before, after all. Even if he was stuck under a net, he had a …not a friend. But a fellow stargazer who was just as appreciative. And he was full, and no longer thirsty, and even the cold of the wet earth beneath him wasn’t as cutting with Clockwork’s company.

He settled in again to watch the lightshow, and worried at the cords of the net as he did. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do both, after all.

The stars flashed.  The sky spun.  Clockwork and Danny both exclaimed and pointed at particularly impressive meteors.  Clockwork noted the visible planets and occasionally pointed out asterisms Danny had never heard of before.  The Veil, the Key, the Mistletoe, the Dancing Maidens, the Hive, the Moth.  He half suspected Clockwork was just making them, and the stories that went with them, up to entertain Danny.  But, then, Danny was entertained.  He couldn’t complain.  Even when Clockwork tried to get away with calling Libra The Balance, Danny found his objections were more laughter than indignation.

The eastern horizon began to blush pale. Danny found himself almost disappointed at the sight, even if he’d be able to get out of the net soon. And really see Clockwork. After stargazing for hours together, it felt odd that he still didn’t know what the man looked like even though his voice was becoming as familiar as a friend’s.

He rubbed one of the net cords between his fingers.  Was it just him, or did it seem… scratchier?  Thicker?

He stroked the skin on his palms. Did he have rope burn, maybe? He had been pulling on the cords for hours.  And who knew what his parents had soaked the nets in after they’d been woven?  Danny sure tried not to.  

More importantly, before too much longer the sun would drown out the meteors and the Aurora both.  He wanted to press this sight into his mind to keep forever and ever.  And not just the sight, but the feeling of…  He couldn’t put a name to it, to what he felt, sitting here with Clockwork

It just felt important.

A meteor fell.  He wished it would last.  Another meteor, brighter.  He wished that even after Clockwork inevitably found out who Danny’s parents were and what they were like in person, he would still want to be ‘acquaintances.’  Friends.  Whatever.  He was weird enough.  Probably.  Like Sam and Tucker.  

He wished–

A huge fireball bloomed directly overhead, a celestial arrow angling down, north, wreathed in blinding green.  It took Danny’s breath away.  

He wished he could do this again. He wished he could cast off the shadow of his parents’ weird fae traps and property damage and hatred of creatures that didn’t even exist. He wished he could have the space and time to figure out who he was and who he could be, whether that was an astronaut, an astronomer, a screw up, whatever Jazz was trying to convince him to be that week, or, heck, even someone just as strange as his parents and Clockwork.  He wished he could be himself, could just shed the image of what they and almost everyone else seemed to see in him.  

Also, the net.  

Some of the net fell heavily around Danny’s shoulders, then slid off them.  He didn’t look down, still entranced by the after-image.  Then pain, white hot and as sharp as a knife, drove into his temples and back.  It took his breath away.

He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air and squeezing his eyes so tightly that tears began to slip out.  What had happened?  What was wrong with him?  He hissed out a shaky breath that was dangerously close to a sob as the pain redoubled, strengthening and strengthening again until static pulsed in the dark of his shut eyes.

It felt as though his head were splitting open.

The pain lanced down his back and he revised the thought. It felt as though he were splitting open.

And then his face came apart.

And then there were only scattered fragments. Scratching.  Growing. Stretching. The feeling of fingers on earth. The feeling fingers of earth. Unfolding. Squeezing. Balance; a knife’s edge.

A great and overwhelming sense of space.

Like a leaf before a storm, Danny trembled.

Eventually, it ebbed.

He was clinging to the ground with all his might, which wasn’t much; the whatever-it-was had left him weak. His limbs felt like jelly and seemed half as cooperative. He was gasping for air, each breath harsh enough to sting his throat. There was a blanket over him and he had the halfway-delirious thought that if Clockwork had a blanket he’d have appreciated it sooner than this.

He couldn’t feel the net.

Had Clockwork gotten him out once it got light enough out? It seemed much brighter now, even if the thought of opening his eyes made Danny wince.

There was a painful, high-pitched chirr sound in the background.  It hurt Danny’s ears and made him wonder if there was an injured animal nearby.  

Something pressed down gently on the back of his neck, where the fuzzy, fluffy edge of the blanket rested.  It removed itself, then returned at the top of his head, whereupon it slid down to the top of his back.  

Oh.  Oh.  He was being petted.  Comforted.  That must be someone’s hand.  Clockwork’s?

It felt… unusually satisfying.  Especially when they fluffed the ruff of the blanket which Danny was strangely aware of.  

Very gradually, the tension in his body began to ease, and he was able to start cataloging the parts of his body that hurt, which was all of them.  But there were a few that hurt more.  His eyes.  His ears.  His temples and the sides of his head.  His entire back.  His shoulders, neck, ears, and large parts of his spine felt like every hair on them had been individually plucked out and then sandpapered.  Speaking of his spine, that felt as if it had been stretched, pulled to bits.  And his back still felt like it had been stabbed.  Multiple times.  Especially around his shoulder blades and at the base of his spine.  

Other than that, he was just sore, everywhere.  

The quality of the chirr sound he’d been hearing started to change, morphing into a sort of purr.  One that rose and fell in time with the hand petting Danny.  

Huh.  

His hand flexed on the ground.  Something was…  There was something very off here, beyond the pain, but that was getting better, and he was starting to feel almost… comfortable.

His weight shifted again, and the ground shifted under it.

It was warm.

It was…damp? Wet. There was something wet under his hands.  Carefully, worried that it would move again, Danny took one hand off the ground and brought it to his face to sniff.   

It smelled good. It smelled wonderful, salty and hearty and just a little bit like chicken soup.

He licked it.

“There we are,” said Clockwork, softly.  “Take as much as you need.”  

Danny needed a lot, right now. His throat was raw, and he was thirsty and suddenly starving, and beyond that the pain that was still leaving echoes through his body. This was warmth and comfort and he wanted both.

He lowered his head and began to lap directly from the source, and warmth and comfort steadily filled him like the morning sun.

He pulled back, not exactly satiated, but needing something else, something different, now.  He made a soft, pleading sound, more like a chirp or a keen than anything human.  He didn’t understand what was going on, but part of him trusted he would be cared for.  Loved.  He’d already been given so much he didn’t know he needed…

Another plea escaped his throat.  It blended with the softening chirr, fitting with it far better than Danny felt it should.  

Something soft and sweet-smelling tickled his cheeks, and Danny dove in, his tongue coming out to search for what he knew was there.

Sweet.

Sweet, but not in the way of candy or even sugar. This was softer, perfumed, more reminiscent of honey but lacking that sharp note.

He wanted more.

As he pushed his face deeper into the… container… something touched his…  Touched…  What?  It was touching his… not his head, but something over it, something attached, something he could feel, and now that he could feel it, was thinking about it, whatever it was, he could feel its movements, as even the sigh-soft breeze pushed it around. 

It– No, they were something fine.  Something soft and delicate.  Something light and flexible and oh so very sensitive.  

The hand, Clockwork’s hand, stroked down his back again, and Danny realized he could feel the fluff of the blanket the same way he’d been able to feel the things on his head. And it trailed past that, to his horribly sore back, and down, all the way down, past where his back should end.

Down, to where Danny could feel something laying across a foot. Down, to where he could feel a hard object under him.

Something twitched, and the thing across his foot fell away. The hard something vanished, too, replaced with the soft ground he found himself on.

Danny chirred, confused.

Oh.  He had been the one making that sound all along.  But.  That wasn’t a sound he could make.  It wasn’t.  

He had to see what was going on. 

Opening his eyes was, perhaps, the single hardest thing he had ever done.  It wasn’t that they were stuck closed or anything, they were just so heavy, and a large part of him just didn’t want to know, wanted to stay half asleep, wanted to keep being held and petted.

Red. A deep, rich red puddled around him on the strange, soft ground. And the ground was uneven, and covered with small ridges and creases where it didn’t vanish beneath the red. Which was welling up from the ground like a spring.

Danny was wrist-deep in it.

A short distance from his face lay the biggest flower Danny had ever seen.  It was bigger than his head, its pale petals stained liberally with the red.   Handprints.  The red stains were in the shape of handprints.  Danny’s handprints.  

The red looked– Well, it looked a lot like–  Like a scene from a horror movie–  But it was coming from the ground, it couldn’t be.  It couldn’t be blood.  

Danny had been drinking this.  What had he been thinking?

“Are you feeling better?” asked Clockwork.

Danny looked around for him.  Then, he looked up.  

The very first thing he noticed was that there were still stars in the sky.  It was still dark, the Aurora was still bright.  The meteors were still falling.

Why could he see?

Why could he see so much more?  He’d only ever seen the stars like this in long-exposure photographs.  The light pollution was way too strong this close to the city.  

There were other, closer things.  The leaves on the trees were green, but they weren’t just green.  Their veins seemed to glow with soft pinks and blues.  He could see insects and birds, too, all of them strangely bright to his eyes, like they had swallowed stars.  

Then, there was Clockwork.  It had to be Clockwork.  There wasn’t anything or anyone else it could be.

“I will interpret that as a yes,” said Clockwork, smiling down at him with love clear in all six eyes.

He had the nose Danny had seen before, yes, and long, silk-white hair, but everything else was so far beyond what Danny had imagined that it was hard to even comprehend.  

And yet it suited him perfectly.

His skin was blue, like summer twilight, warm and rich.

His face glowed in the same soft, steady way as the birds, and set in it, his eyes were a kindly red. There were four on his right side but his left had only two; a deep black scar tore its way down most of his face and left two empty sockets in its wake. It was interrupted only by his primary eye on that side, and Danny felt tender relief that the old wound hadn’t taken that one, too.

White filaments made up a thick ruff around the collar of his– No, that wasn't a cloak, those were wings.  Huge, dramatic, moth-like wings, layered over one another.  There had to be dozens of them, all the way down his back.  They were as dark and starry as the sky on the outside, but some were turned towards Danny to show the luminous, moon-pale undersides.

Below that–below that, Danny couldn’t see. The ground he was on was too high, and Clockwork too large. The ground–

He wasn’t on the ground.

Finally, like disjointed pieces of a puzzle, the details became whole. The uneven place where he lay, with its softness and whorls of ridges and creases. The warmth of it, and the placement.

The–the blood.

He was on Clockwork’s upturned hand.

Forget the rest of it.  When, and how, did Clockwork get so big?  

Danny chirred a question. Wordless, overwhelmed and wondering.

(And why was Clockwork bleeding?)

“You are safe, little one. My little one.”

Danny chirred again, a little cross. That didn’t answer anything.

Clockwork only smiled, and then there was a gentle rocking motion as they moved. Like clouds, the trees in the distance slid sideways with deceptive speed. 

Danny settled, feeling sleepy, slow, and stupid, but still safe.  Like he should be able to make this all make sense, like this should make sense, if he was just a little more awake and aware, but that it didn’t matter if he couldn’t, because he would be protected.

And then, Clockwork tilted, and his hand jostled, and though he didn’t become more visible, they were suddenly surrounded by great spikes of grass and flowers, stories tall. Some of them drooped, heavy with seeds or droplets of dew. They hung huge and heavy from the stalks, like fruit ripe to bursting.

Danny blinked. Frowned. Blinked again.

There was something, an idea, that made sense. But it hung just out of reach, blurry, and every time he reached for it, the thought passed through his mental fingers like the morning mist.

It was, it should have been, obvious.

Clockwork would know. Danny chirred his question again.

“It will come to you,” Clockwork said. ”Give it time.”

Clockwork cleaned him off gently with a huge, damp cloth, taking special care with his ruff, antennae, and wings. He mopped up the blood pooling beneath Danny as well, with a reassurance that Danny was welcome to more if he needed it. With another hand, he laid another huge flower down next to him. The stem where Clockwork had held it glowed briefly, before it faded into the relative dark of early morning, leaving the flower with the same odd coloration as the tree leaves earlier.

Dawn was still hours off. He wasn’t in the net.

Danny looked up.

He’d wondered what it would be like to stargaze with Clockwork without the net.  Apparently, the answer was wonderful.

The stars were still so beautiful. More beautiful, now. There was such an incredible array of color and brightness in the sky, like a living painting. There was scarcely any black left in it.

Danny blinked, slow.  He rubbed his face with his hands, lingering over his ears - which felt long and soft, like a cat’s or a rabbit’s, he must really be sleepy - and the long fluffy things that had sprouted from his head.  They twitched under his fingers.  

He looked up at Clockwork, still hoping for an answer and… Clockwork had things growing from his head, too, now that he looked.  He’d mistaken them for hair, before, but while Clockwork certainly had plenty of that, braided, beaded, and beribboned, that wasn’t all he had.  

They were antennae.  Four of them.  White, fluffy, and softly glowing.  They were much longer, compared to Clockwork’s body, than Danny’s were compared to his.  Danny raised his hands to feel his again.  He had two.  And, maybe, behind each, a ticklish little nub.

It felt…right, that they should both have antennae, though. Satisfying. Comforting, like a hug. Like the stroking had been, and the blood.

What else did Danny and Clockwork share, now?

Danny’s eyes trailed carefully over Clockwork’s face.

Danny was pretty sure he only had two eyes, but he touched his face again, just to make sure.  Then his ears…  Clockwork had big, long ears, too, the edges of them soft with white fur. Just like his ruff.  Danny’s ruff was black shot with silver and… it was growing from his skin.  It wasn’t part of a blanket, which meant…

He twisted his head to check.

There was no blanket.  Danny had wings.  They were wrinkled and slightly damp, but they were wings, just like Clockwork’s, although he didn’t have nearly as many.  Two sets, to Clockwork’s uncountably many.  

He also had a tail. And only two arms, to Clockwork’s four. Somehow, in the moment, this seemed less important than the wings.

His eyes kept returning to his wings.

The outsides looked just like the darker parts of the sky did now, streaked with meteor silver and edged with Auroral green.  The insides were the same vivid colors as the Aurora itself.  Pinks, purples, blues, and greens all dancing together.

They were beautiful.  He definitely, definitely should not have them.

He wanted them.

He shouldn’t want them.  

He did.  

He drew them close to his body and looked up.

There was a huff of fond laughter. “Remember to fan them out, my little fledgeling. We want them to dry well.”

Oh. Right. Danny unfolded his wings again, a little embarrassed he’d forgotten.  

And then he returned his attention to the stars. He was determined to enjoy this for however much longer this might last.  Maybe this would all make sense in the morning.  Maybe all of this would be taken away from him.  Either way, neither was true now.

Now, Danny was here with Clockwork, looking up.

Now, the sky was vast and beautiful.  

Later, his eyes started to feel heavy again.  He pulled the flower close, and began to absent-mindedly chew on the petals in an attempt to stay awake.  He didn’t want to miss anything else.

Despite his efforts, his eyes began to droop. His head kept falling into his neck fluff, and the flower tumbled from his hands.

Clockwork plucked it from where it fell, and replaced it with a blanket, just Danny’s size.

“Some inevitabilities we must fight,” said Clockwork, “but this isn’t one of them, my dear child.”

For another few moments, he kept his eyes stubbornly on the sky.  Another pair of meteors fell, and he wished, perhaps selfishly, that this could last forever.  

But, he admitted to himself with a sigh, he was very tired.  

Danny curled up in Clockwork’s hand, tucking his head under the wings he was careful to keep fanned, and his tail around his head.

“Rest, my little one,” said Clockwork’s voice, already distant. “We can talk more when you are rested.”

And Danny did.

Dawn.

The kiss of the sun on the horizon.  The beginning of a new day.  The banishment of all things of the night.  

Danny jackknifed straight up as if its fire had been poured directly into his veins, heart pounding.  He woke just in time to see his new wings, his beautiful, terrible, fully spread wings evaporate like the morning dew.  

The antennae, the tail, and the fur that had grown around his neck and shoulders and down his spine stayed.  

More concerningly from Danny’s perspective, his perspective didn’t change.  He stayed small, just the right size to fit snugly in the palm of Clockwork’s hand.  

Clockwork’s wings stayed.  So did his extra eyes, his antennae, his skin color, and everything.  

This wasn’t a dream.  

Or there really had been drugs in the food Clockwork gave him. 

Why, oh why, was that the best case scenario right now?  Why was the best possible answer to the question of what was happening that he was just really really high?  

Because if he was just drugged, that meant he was only normal human stupid.  People took stupid drugs accidentally and on purpose all the time.  But if it wasn’t drugs, if this was real… That meant he’d somehow wandered into a world where his parents were right, had always been right, and he was probably about to get eaten.  

“I would not, and will not, eat you,” said Clockwork.  “I never would.”

“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do!” hissed Danny, pulling on his hair. “You turned me into some kind of– of moth boy.”  

“You would have turned regardless, trapped so thoroughly and so long on a faerie door on a night like that. I simply made sure that it was kinder.”

“Kinder than what?”

“Any number of things. Any number of fates. They do not give much more mind to cruelty than your parents.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was their trap you fell into, dear one.  Without their actions, you could be human, still; safe and warm at home.  Though,” and here Clockwork smiled so gently that Danny couldn’t help but be comforted despite himself. “You are safe, and you are warm. And you could be home as well.”

Danny hunched his shoulders.  “What,” he squeaked, “is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that as you are, you would be in danger with those who made the net that trapped you. I mean that you would be welcome in my home, and cared for, and safe. You are not the first lost and lonely child I have found. Nor the first with parents who should have protected them, and did not.”

“You’ve kidnapped other kids?”

“I have adopted other children. Other children, who were not cared for as they should have been, not loved as they deserved. As you deserve.”

“My parents love me just fine,” Danny snapped.

“I see,” said Clockwork, and he seemed sad. “And your presence here in the night? Alone, without even a light to see by?”

“I snuck out. And I brought a flashlight with me.”

“Alone,” said Clockwork.

“I thought the woods were safe.”

“Why? Did your parents tell you they were?” asked Clockwork, eyes narrowed and nose flaring.

“No! No, they said they were full of monsters.”

“So they didn’t teach you we could be dangerous?”

“No, I–I didn’t believe them.”

“My child, humans can be dangerous. Even to other humans. Surely, you know–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny. “I didn’t think you existed.”

Clockwork frowned. “Your parents set cruel traps for the unwary.”

“Because they are crazy. Were crazy?” Danny moaned, burying his head in his hands.  He resisted the urge to start preening his antennae and fluff. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Their cruelty is the same,” said Clockwork, “Regardless of whether you believed the target existed. And they let you go hungry.”

“That wasn’t their fault.  They made dinner.  It just… didn’t work out.”

“Then whose fault was it?” asked Clockwork.  “Yours?  Your sister’s?  As parents, they should provide for you, not leave you to fend for yourself.”

“They didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves,” scoffed Danny, crossing his arms.  

“What do you call them leaving to go test what was left of that chicken?”

“That was– Okay, but what happened to the chicken was really weird–”

“It was not the first time, or the only time, that they abandoned you in favor of crafting their weapons and traps.”

Danny shook his head.  “They love us.  They love me.”

“Sometimes, that is not enough.”

“Sometimes it is.  Of course it is. They love me. They love me enough to–” Danny swallowed, fighting down grief and horror. “I’m not leaving them.  Or Jazz.”

Swallowing hadn’t helped. It had only shoved the churning knot of emotion down into his chest where it could reach awful vines around his heart and squeeze.

His hands were shaking.

God, what would Jazz do if he randomly disappeared?  They annoyed the heck out of each other, and Jazz definitely held some of the things she did for him over his head for guilt trips, but he didn’t doubt she loved him. He didn’t doubt she would be frantic if he vanished.

He chirred again, mournfully, and only looked up again at Clockwork’s light touch.

“If love is enough,” said Clockwork, softly, ”then shouldn’t it be enough that I love you?”

“I–I don’t know,” said Danny.

Because the thing was, he didn’t doubt that Clockwork loved him. Nor that Clockwork would nurture and protect him, as he already had. It was easy, terribly easy, to imagine snuggling under Clockwork’s wings or into his ruff and trusting that he would be safe.

Danny pinched his eyes shut. “I’m going back.”

“As you are?  Knowing how they would treat those they consider monsters?”

“Yes.  They’re my parents.  They love me.”

“Through this forest, and all of its dangers?”

“Yes.”

“Through all the hazards of that human city?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I can do will dissuade you?”

“No.”  Although, Danny reflected, Clockwork could certainly stop him physically.  All he would have to do was hold him.  But Danny would fight him.  He’d fight, and he’d never stop fighting, and trying to get back home, no matter what.  No matter how much Clockwork seemed to care for him, or how gentle and kind he was.  

Clockwork sighed.  “Then I have no choice.  I will let you return.”

“You– You will?” asked Danny, suspiciously.  It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Yes.  But I would not have you killed out of hand, my child, as would certainly happen if you were to return as you are now.  First, let me show you how to change.”

“I don’t want to change anymore,” said Danny.  “I don’t.  I don’t.” The fear was a beating heart inside of him, the idea of more change, unknown and untraveled. 

“Perhaps I should say, change back.”

“I can be human again?” A needle of hope lanced through his chest. But would he ever see Clockwork again? 

“Not precisely,” said Clockwork, before Danny could dwell.  “No more than you are now.  But it was the doorway that changed you, and doorways are of the between rather than here or there.  Thus, you are of both sides of the door, not just one.  You are still half human.”

Danny sat down.  “I am?” he asked, voice wavering.  He wasn’t going to cry.  Not now.

“Yes,” said Clockwork.  “You are half human… and half faerie.  Half of their house, and half of mine, tied by blood, if not birth.”

Danny remembered.  He remembered drinking Clockwork’s blood (again, what had he been thinking?) and how good it had tasted.  

He hoped that wasn’t going to be, like, a recurring thing.  

“So, what do I do?” he asked.  

“First,” said Clockwork, “you ought to take off your clothing, so it doesn’t tear.”

“So it doesn’t…?”  Danny looked down at himself.  Maybe he should have realized earlier, but he wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d put on yesterday.  Which made sense.  At his current size, they would have been far too big.  Instead, he was wearing simple white layered robes that had openings in the back for his wings and tail.  

“I will have to get you something enchanted to change sizes, or to come when you transform, should you choose to remain and change often,” continued Clockwork.  “But I was able to make these on short notice, and they were suitable for the night.”

“You made these?” asked Danny, oddly touched.  He was supposed to be mad at Clockwork.  He was supposed to be afraid of him.  But both of those feelings just ran out of his hands like water out of a fist.  

“I did,” said Clockwork.  

“What happened to my clothes?”

Clockwork shifted one of his wings, showing what was beneath it.  Silver buckles and pocket watches shone brightly against dark silk and leather.  Other things, like bottles, herbs, and what looked like a small spyglass hung from belts or were secreted in pockets.  Danny’s ratty jeans and t-shirt stood out like a sore thumb.  

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Okay.  Um.”  His hands curled around the edge of the tunic-like top portion of the robes.  “Don’t look.”

Clockwork closed his eyes. 

“Now what?” asked Danny, who very much was not enjoying being naked in the open like this.  

“We are creatures of the night sky,” said Clockwork, eyes still shut.  “We are of the Stars and the Moon.”

“The moon is up during the day, too.  It’s up right now.”

“So it is,” agreed Clockwork.  “But so is the Sun that drowns out the Stars.”

“The sun is also a star.”

“So it is.  But it is not like other Stars.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It is not like other stars to us, or to humans.  It is the light by which so many see.  It is what divides day from night.  It is, you see, what has clipped your wings.” Danny shifted slightly, the missing weight of his wings both foreign and familiar. 

(There was so much to unpack.  He hadn’t any time.)

“Why is it different?”

“Its proximity, perhaps. We can discuss it at a later time, if you wish. I would enjoy such a conversation.”

Danny hadn’t really thought about there being a ‘later’ with Clockwork, but…  The thought of never seeing Clockwork again made his heart squeeze painfully, so he shoved it away.  

“In any case,” continued Clockwork, “for those like yourself to change, you reach for one or the other.  For the day or the night.  The light or the dark.  The Moon or the Sun.  However you would like to think about it.  You give precedence within yourself to one or the other.”

“Is it harder when they’re close to one another in the sky, like now?” Danny asked.

Clockwork smiled, though he kept his eyes shut. “As I do not transform that way, I do not know myself. My other children may have more comparable experiences, and we all are more comfortable under the phase we were born under.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be running into your children any time soon,” said Danny.  Seeing them would, after all, mean that Clockwork had succeeded in kidnapping Danny, too.  Even if it meant that he’d see Clockwork again…

“Even so.  You will be able to see for yourself before long.  Reach out, now.  Can you feel them?”

Clockwork had a lot of confidence in Danny being able to figure this out quickly, huh.  

(Despite still being mad at Clockwork - he was mad, he was - Danny didn’t want to disappoint him.)

Reach out… to something inside himself.  Which was also outside himself?  He wasn’t entirely clear on how literal the connection to the moon and sun was.  But…  Right.  Okay.  He could do this.  He didn’t want to be a little gremlin moth thing that Clockwork - or, heck, an average bird - could carry off at a moment’s notice.  

He closed his eyes.  

Day and night.  Light and Dark.  Moon and sun.  This was the kind of Yin and Yang stuff Sam sometimes got into.  Balance and changing balance.  

If he was reaching for the sun - for the Sun, the idea of the Sun - he should reach for heat, shouldn’t he?  Heat and life and truth.  

He could feel it, on his skin, warming him, cutting through the coolness of the morning.  He imagined that warmth sinking through him, filling him up.  

But there was warmth inside him, too.  It built in his chest and left his lungs with every breath. It churned in his heart and coursed through his veins like the blood that helped to carry it.  It was easy to take that, and imagine light to accompany it, centered at his heart.  To imagine it reaching out as the sunlight reached in.  He imagined it growing, brightening, pushing out against the inside of his skin, chasing away the dark, chasing away the moonlight and starlight and Aurora.  Gold, chasing out black and silver.

Except… not entirely.

The sun was also a star, and all moonlight had once been sunlight.  They mixed at the edges, blending comfortably, linked inexorably.  

(There was magic he would be able to touch through this link that few others could.  He understood this instinctively - but he was not yet ready for it, and the feeling was pushed away, put aside for a later, more appropriate day.)

This was the Sun, a tiny spark of it held within himself.  

(There was the Moon, dark but no less itself, no less present and pulling for its invisibility during the day.)

And… the balance shifted.  

He wouldn’t be able to explain what it felt like, to fall back into his skin.  Not now.  Not today.

Maybe not even if he lived a hundred years.

(Maybe he would, something whispered in his ear. Who knew how long moth-things lived?)

But he found himself at his proper human teenager size, cradled in Clockwork’s arms, no fluff or tail in sight.  

Still naked, though.  

He snatched his clothes from Clockwork, and, blushing furiously, ran behind a tree to change.  

It was strange, walking next to Clockwork.  The… Danny wasn’t actually sure what Clockwork was.  Mothman?  Moth monster?  Anyway, Clockwork was still way taller than him, and the way his ruff and wings made him seem bulkier made Danny feel a little bit better about initially mistaking him for a bear.  

The walk itself was still weird and awkward.  Danny kept drifting closer to Clockwork, and then when Clockwork’s wings ruffled out towards him, as if to part or turn back to let him shelter under them, he flinched away, walking as far apart as the trees would allow.  

Danny wondered if one of the things Clockwork had given him to eat had been some kind of… family love potion, and if it would ever wear off.  Despite no longer having any fur, his skin still itched for Clockwork to touch him, pet him, hold him.  

Although, for that to be perfect, he’d need to change back.  Shrink back down until Clockwork could hold him securely in one hand and pet him, head to tail, with the other.  

Which– No.  No.  He was never going to turn back into a moth.  He wasn’t going to think about it.  He wasn’t ever going to have antennae, or wings, or a tail ever again.  

… Clockwork had a tail.  A long one, longer than Danny’s had been, compared to his body.  It trailed on the ground like the train of a dress, and both the left and right side of it was completely lined with moth wings, as opposed to Danny’s where there were only wings next to the little bulb at the end.  Which Clockwork also had.  It flickered with light, like a lightning-bug’s tail.

Danny wondered if his tail would do that, too, under the right circumstances.  

Not that it mattered.  Again, weird fairy door magic or whatever, he was going to be human from now on.  Yep.  

(Wow, the more he thought that, the less convincing he got.  That was sad, actually.)

They reached the edge of the forest.  Amity Park seemed to sparkle in the light.  Too bright.  Too artificial.  Unreal, after the events of the night.

“Here is where we part, for now,” said Clockwork.  “If you need me, you will be able to find me.” Could he say anything that didn’t sound ominous and weighty?

“Right,” said Danny.  He hesitated, then, impulsively, hugged Clockwork.  He shouldn’t have.  Clockwork was exactly the kind of monster his parents had always warned him about, and was an admitted serial kidnapper who had spied on his family and turned him into a moth.  

But he couldn’t imagine leaving without hugging Clockwork.  Just once.  

Clockwork hugged him back, with all four arms and what had to be a dozen wings.  It was the best hug he’d ever had - even if it was also the most terrifying.  

Then, Clockwork leaned down so that his lips were next to Danny’s ear.  He whispered to him a simple handful of words.  Most of them were familiar.  His name.  His full name, the one on his birth certificate, the one his parents and sister used when they were really upset with him.  But… one of them he hadn’t heard before.  Not once.  Not ever.  

It was still his name.  

He knew this with the same surety as he knew the rest of his name.  He also knew it hadn’t been his name before last night.  

It was his name… because it was Clockwork’s.  It was a family name, belonging to him as indelibly and as truly as the name ‘Fenton,’ one that bound him not only to Clockwork, but to the rest of Clockwork’s kin.  

It did more than that, too.  When Clockwork spoke his name, his true, full name, it was as if every molecule in his body had been magnetized and his name was a magnet.  He was held still by it, at perfect attention.  Whatever Clockwork wanted to say, whatever he wanted to do, Danny had no choice but compliance.  

Not that, in the moment, he wanted another choice.  

“Follow your conscience, my dear, sweet child,” said Clockwork.  “I want that for you, always.  But when you do, please…  Have a care for yourself, too.  Do not needlessly throw yourself into deadly danger.”

Danny, pinned to Clockwork’s chest, nodded.  

Clockwork, with palpable reluctance, released him, hands tracing along his cheeks before falling away.  “Be safe, Danny.”

Danny nodded again, and stepped backwards, out of the trees and into the sunlight.  He didn’t know why he felt so sad, all of a sudden.  He was going home.  He’d avoided being permanently kidnapped or eaten.  He was fine.  

He turned away.  

He was going home. 

Stay tuned for the sequel. :)

[auteurdelabre]

BLACKMAILING BABYSITTER CHRONICLES CHAPTER 3: Mr. Morales

HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY Y'ALL!

series summary: You're a babysitter to many of the families in your small town. When the father of one of your charges makes a move you see an opportunity to make enough cash to leave home and teach some bad men a lesson they'll never forget.

rating: 18+

tags: This is pwp y'all. The plot is there if you squint. Oral (f receiving), blackmail, dirty talk.

a/n: I . . . I can't even explain why I write the shit I do anymore. But I do wanna say this shit is gonna get dark soon. I feel it in my bones. Also a 1970 Ford Torino King Cobra is my dream car.

series masterlist here

-----------------

Chapter 3: Mr. Morales

The Morales home is perfectly pleasant.

It's nowhere near as large as the York home but they keep it tidy and organized. 

You arrive twenty minutes early to a very surprised Frankie who opens the door. 

"Sorry I'm so early," you say sliding off your shoes as he welcomes you in. "I got the bus schedule screwed up."

You of course did no such thing. It's just that you wanted to catch Frankie alone before Dana got home. She usually rolls in about the same time you do on a Friday. 

But one day you won't have to worry about a bus. One day you'll be able to fix up the car you bought last summer with the money from your serving job. 

It's an old piece of shit that doesn't run, but it's exactly the car you'd dreamed of owning. A 1970 Ford Torino King Cobra in red. 

"S'no problem," Frankie says with all his usual affable charm "You wanna drink? Sprite?"

"Sure. Thanks." 

Frankie pours you a glass, adding ice. You take this time to appreciate the breath of his shoulders, the curve of his biceps. You like how his dark curls peek out from under the base of his standard oil cap that he wears even on date nights. 

"JR is just upstairs napping," Frankie tells you as he approaches. "He has the sniffles so he might be down for the count tonight."

"Okay."

You take the chilled glass from Frankie, trailing your forefinger over his knuckles as you do. He swallows before busying himself in the kitchen, muttering about how he needs to remind Dana about something. 

Your phone buzzes and you see its Sarah. 

How's the new phone?

You tell me. [Frankie.jpg]

You attach a photo of Frankie standing at the sink, doing the last of the dishes by hand.

Is that him? 

Mhm. Target acquired. 

How the fuck do you manage to babysit for all these hotties? When that Dave guy came in I nearly fainted. 

You giggle behind your palm before slipping the phone into your pocket.

Sarah had been over the moon at her $500 cut for facilitating the "hand over" as she called it. You didn't tell her that is was less than 10% of what you earned. 

Now your savings account reads almost $8000. You're so close to getting out. Ten thousand will get you a few tanks of gas and the deposit on a cute apartment in California, hopefully by the beach. Sunshine every day, beautiful people everywhere. Enough to get you a bed and groceries until you land a job. 

The thought makes excited goose bumps pop up along your flesh. You look back to the phone, tapping quickly. 

You okay to be my intermediary again if I need?

For sure! My life is so boring. this is like the coolest thing that's ever happened. 

Frankie is still clinging to the kitchen counter, almost like he's afraid to get near to you.

You move fluidly to the TV room, sipping your cool Sprite and glancing around as if seeing the place for the first time. 

You take your time looking at the frames photos on the wall. There are so many of JR (their nickname for Francisco Jr) in all stages, others of all three of them looking so sweetly out at the camera.

 You like the one of Frankie standing on a dock holding a fishing pole and the smallest fish on its hook. He smiles broadly, his eyes scrunched shut. 

"You fish a lot?" You ask over your shoulder. You hear shuffling and now Frankie is a few steps from you, the topic obviously one he enjoys. 

"Yeah I go down to Ghalson Lake every summer. Gonna take JR this year."

"Sounds fun," you say silkily, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Maybe I'll have to get my bikini and join you. I love swimming."

Frankie's cheeks go pink and his eyes dart to the floor. "Not sure it's deep enough for swimming."

You turn back, doing your best to hide a grin when you come upon another photo of Frankie with a group of handsome men in front of a helicopter. You can feel Frankie watching you. 

You bend a little more than necessary, sticking your ass out as you peer at the photo. You want to smile at how excited everyone looks in the photograph. . 

"You fly helicopters?"

Frankie looks surprised by your assessment. "Mhm. Repair ‘em too."

"Maybe you'll give me a ride one day," you say with a pleasant grin and wink as you turn to face him. 

Frankie looks thrown, you've never talked to him like this. Usually it's a pleasant hello, goodbye, JR was great, thanks for the money. 

You never come early and start conversations. Never wear shirts without a bra and jeans so tight they anyone can see you're not wearing anything underneath. 

He gives a shy smile, shrugging non-committally. But you can tell he's nervous. His reaction makes you shiver in anticipation. You feel your nipples pebbling under your white tank top and you know he's fighting not to look.

There's the chattering of the screen door and Dana breezes in all apologies and beautiful smiles for both of you. 

"Wanted to make sure we had extra," she explains, sliding the children's cold medication onto the counter. "Just if JR gets fussy."

"No problem," you say nodding. You watch from under your eyelashes as she kisses Frankie on the mouth, sweet and chaste. 

"Gimme a half hour and we can go," Dana promises. "I just wanna shower and do makeup stuff."

"You look great now, carino," Frankie insists, trying to tug her towards him. "Let's just go." 

"Frankie," she says with a teasing whine. "C'mon, babe. Twenty minutes?"

"Fine."

You watch Dana go upstairs, her feet padding lightly over the stairs. You look at Frankie a little awkwardly, a smile on your face. 

"Where are you guys going tonight?"

"Just a tapas place and then out for drinks with friends."

"Sounds fun."

"Mhm."

This isn't going to work. This entire exchange feels awkward and forced. You need to do something that catches him off guard. 

"Do you mind if I use your computer? I wanted to print out this article from my email. I don't have a printer at home."

"Of course," Frankie says, leading you towards the office. 

You go in, waiting for him to sign you into the PC with his password. The one he has taped to the inside of his desk. His shoulders move against yours as you switch places and take a seat in front of the monitor. 

"Just call if you need help."

He walks out, closing the door behind him, leaving you to hurriedly bring up his favorite porn site. 

You double check. Yep, his latest search is my slutty babysitter sucks my cock while wife watches TV. You roll your eyes before opening the video on a young woman wearing a see through t-shirt and short shorts. You have to muffle a snicker when you realize the girl looks just like you. Same hair style, same body type.

She sits on the couch, smiling as the dad comes in and from there its the usual porn fare with shitty acting and no plot. You skip ahead, knowing that time is ticking despite the shower still running. 

You hear Frankie padding by the office, no doubt wondering what's taking you so long. Your hand is down your pants, fingers curling around your clit as you keen back in the chair. 

"Oh fuck yeah .... Right there Frankie ...." 

You pretend not to notice when the door opens, your head thrown back as you finger yourself beneath your jeans. You're barely wet, but you do a very good show of pretending your edging yourself. 

"W-what are you doing?"

You hear his voice, that low baritone reaching you. You tilt your eyes his way, heavy and warm. 

He stands behind the door, one hand still on the handle, the other braced against the door frame. His eyes are wide and his lips parted in surprise. 

"Mmmmister Morales, I'm so sorry," you whine breathily. Your hand still works underneath your panties.

 "I just needed to so bad."

Frankie is still standing there like a statue, half hidden behind the door. You know he's trying to hold back, but his dark eyes on your body give him away. 

"I was gonna print it out but... But then I saw your search history."

Frankie goes white in the face, obviously horrified. His eyes go to the window behind you, the reflection of the mute porno still playing. 

"That's not... I didn't-" be stutters, breaking out in a cold sweat. 

"I liked it," you coo breathily, arching up on the chair, your hand coming to cup your tits through your tight tank top. "The babysitter stuff."

Frankie's eyes are drawn to between your legs. Your fingers are moving faster and there's no mistaking the wet sounds. 

"You did?"

"Yeah... It was so hot and... Fuck, I'm sorry," you whine again. "Never done this before." 

Frankie is fixated on your hand moving under your jeans. His eyes dart over his shoulder to the stairs, listening for the sound of the shower. When he hears it still going he looks back between your legs. 

"Let me see?"  

"No, I shouldn't," you breathe, holding in your grin. "Your girlfriend..."

"S'just looking," Frankie says, his eyes stuck between your legs.

"She won't mind?"

"No," Frankie shakes his head. His cheeks are stained red and there's no mistaking the bulge in his jeans. He moves into the office, closing the door behind him. 

"You're sure, Mister Morales?"

"Mhm," Frankie wets his lower lip. "Lemme see, baby."

"Only if you touch yourself," you beg gently.

"Shouldn't," Frankie murmurs, his neck flushing red. 

You give an exaggerated groan, biting your lower lip. 

"Please?"

Frankie undoes his jeans in haste, not even waiting for the word to leave your mouth. You tug your jeans and panties to your ankles before leaning back in the chair, thighs spread. The fabric is soft under your naked bottom and you’re convinced you’re going to leave a wet mark on his chair after this is all done.

His cock is bigger than Dave's, uncut, rosy and hard as a fucking rock. It throbs in his hand as he stares at you wet cunt. Even in his big bare hand it’s large and almost intimidating if you stare too long.

"So big," you whine again, back arching as your fingers splay around your clit, rubbing slowly. You make sure to part your legs widely, ensuring he can see everything. He’s eyes are at half mast, mouth parted.

"You like it?"

"Uh huh," you simper, watching his hand come to tease the twitching head. 

Frankie licks his palm before wrapping it around his cock once more and you pretend to sound guilty. 

"I'm sorry for doing this Mister Morales, I just needed it so bad."  

"Yeah?" Frankie swallows, sounding almost sympathetic. "You needed to touch yourself?"

"Uh huh."

He watches you work yourself up in the chair, both of you breathing heavily. You enjoy the rhythmic slap of his hand against his cock. 

"Couldn't wait until you got home?"

"No. All I could think about was you."

"Me?"

He's surprised enough at this to momentarily stop jerking himself off. He quickly resumes when he sees your fingers still working hurriedly over your clit. 

"Uh huh," you nod, your eyes cheating to the back of your head momentarily as you bring yourself to the brink of coming. "Imagining it was us in the videos. Pretending it was you eating me out while your girlfriend was in the next room." 

Frankie lets out a hiss at that, his strokes increasing. The head of his cock is growing a dark red, almost angry. 

"You want that?" Frankie finally breathes, grunting a bit as he tugs. "My mouth on your cunt?"

"Yeah," you breathe, letting your thighs part widely. You remove your fingers so he can see you wet and waiting, glistening under the office lights. 

Frankie stares, heavy lidded as if in a daze. 

You don't say anything else. You don't encourage him. You simply sit there, thighs spread and fingers soaked with your arousal. 

"Messy little pussy," Frankie murmurs as if to himself.

You watch as he stops touching himself long enough to drop in front of the office chair between your legs. His hand slides up your thigh, eyes darting from your face to your cunt. You give a look of mock concern. 

"What if Dana hears?"

"She won't," Frankie insists with a groan when his fingers brush the arousal gathered on your soft inner thigh. "She won't hear anything. We’ll be fast." 

You go to give another false protestation but Frankie is already hinging your legs over his broad shoulders, parting your thighs luridly. He takes a minute to gaze at your pussy, inhaling before spreading your lips with two broad fingers and licking a stripe up the center of your quivering cunt. 

Your body jerks up at the sensation and Frankie smirks between your legs, his tongue still working you over. 

"Keep still."

You nod and have to press your hand over your mouth to stop from moaning when he lets his tongue drive between your folds, slowly lapping, groaning gently. 

"Sweet fucking thing," Frankie groans against your cunt. 

His hips rut against nothing as his hands reach up your body, sliding under your shirt to play with your tits. You enjoy this, arching into his both before he's moving his large palms to your hips, pulling you into a slouch so he can fuck you with his tongue. 

"Mmm, Frankie," you coo. 

The shower squeaks off but Frankie is completely lost. His eyes are closed dreamily as he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

He's so far gone he doesn't notice you raising your phone from where it rests on the desk. He doesn't observe when you start filming him, just as he grips your ass in his hands, his mouth working hurriedly to bring you off. 

You focus the video on Frankie without it being blurred. There's no mistaking who it is, even with his hat gone. There's also no mistaking that he's between two soft thighs, eating out someone who is not his wife. 

"Fuck, that's good," you murmur, unable to help yourself, eyes blown wide when you realize you said it out loud.  

"Mhm," Frankie hums, oblivious to the camera that points at him from your eye line. 

You're getting close, you can feel it. You're about to turn the camera off when you hear Frankie groan. 

"Best pussy I've ever tasted," Frankie slurps obscenely as he continues making out with your cunt. 

That's the money shot right there. 

You end the video, carefully placing the phone at your side again and finally surrendering to the pleasure that begins to take you over. 

You ride his tongue, rutting against his mouth in the office chair, the mute porno over his shoulder almost over. Frankie can feel that you're close and he begins to flick your clit with his tongue, causing you to buck your hips and grip a handful of his curls in your fist. 

He gives a delighted whimper at that, face moving back and forth, sucking and licking and you feel yourself release all over his tongue, biting back a stuttering groan of pleasure as Frankie laps between your thighs. 

He stays there too long, licking and teasing. It's obvious he fucking loves going down on you and while you'd normally celebrate such a fact, your blackmail only works if you're not caught by his girlfriend. 

"I think I hear Dana," you lie, sending him sprawling back onto the other side of the room zipping up his jeans and standing shakily. 

"Fuck... You can't... We -"

"I think you should go wash your face Mister Morales," you say as you gaze at the glossy arousal coating his mouth and beard. 

Frankie goes pink before rushing into the kitchen, pouring dish soap onto his hands and scrubbing at his beard and face, washing the evidence of your arousal from his face. 

You sail out of the office fully dressed, collapsing onto the couch and pretending to be looking at something on your phone. Frankie stands in the kitchen, willing his erection to go away. 

Dana arrives looking beautiful and excited moments later. Frankie is immediately at her side, murmuring how beautiful she looks. 

She blushes prettily before glancing over at you on the couch. 

"JR is still asleep so it's an easy night for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Morales." 

"Not a Mrs. yet," Dana jokes, patting Frankie's bottom with affection. "Gotta get this guy to ask first."

You stand, placing your phone in your pocket and sauntering over to the couple gathering their wallet and keys. 

"You love her don't you, Mister Morales?" You ask Frankie wide eyes blinking in mock confusion. 

You feel Frankie's anxiety morphing into anger. 

"Course I do," Frankie says tightly, eyes piercing you. 

"Then I think you need to give the woman what she wants," you insist with a warm smile at Dana before aiming a cool glance to Frankie. 

"You wouldn't want to lose her." 

It was too easy Sarah.  No way really?! Yeah remind me to never get married. Married guys are fucking creeps.  Not my dad!!!!!

This is true. Sarah's dad Joel is one of the sweetest men you've ever met. You can't imagine him ever stepping out on his wife. The Millers are about the most perfect, well adjusted family you've ever met. 

You love going over to Sarah's place for meals, for movie nights, for just relaxing when your place gets too crowded with moms drinking buddies. 

How much are you getting from him?  Dunno. Just got off work so I'm gonna go start negotiations.  Good luck Roosevelt

You unlock the door to your apartment, a smile on your face as you enter. Your mother's slurred voice reaches you the second you step inside. 

"Honey! I was wondering when you'd be home."

You hold in a frown as you enter the kitchen to find your mom with a beer bottle in her hand. Her mascara is smudged and the black strap of her bra shows under her pink tank top.

Across from her sits a sloe-eyed man smoking a cigarette. He's about her age with a trimmed moustache and dark hair that falls into his forehead. 

"Hi there," he offers huskily, eyes sailing from her face to yours. 

Guess Robert or Roger from the other night is a goner. Typical. 

"Come meet my new friend," your mom says, a smile bleeding across her face. 

This is classic Mom bullshit; bringing home some new Daddy of the month that you have to bend over backwards for.

When you were younger, the really desperate ones would attempt to be fatherly, offering to help with homework or putting Band-Aids over your scrapes. 

But over time as you got older, this turned to an increasing mutual apathy with whomever she dragged in. Most of the time you just keep your head down and pretend they don't exist. But she's practically forcing this one down your throat.

This latest one is handsome (most of them are) with dark eyes and a full, pouty mouth. He wears a tight short -sleeve button down, fabric straining around his biceps. 

"This is our new neighbor Javier Peña," your mom says with a put-on smile. "He just moved in next door."

You give a distracted wave, moving awkwardly from foot to foot. You don't want to be sitting here talking to them; you want to be in your room making plans. 

"This is my daughter," your Mom says proudly introducing you. "She just about graduated college. She's gonna be a teacher."

Correction, you will soon hold a bachelor's degree in education. You actually have no idea what you want to do with your life. But you know it'll start in California. 

"Nice to meet you," Javier says extending his hand politely in your direction. He's got a low, raspy voice probably because of his smoking. You hold in a sigh and cross the room. 

"Same here," you lie giving him a weak handshake in return.  

You pull your hand back immediately, cringing at the dry warmth of his palm. You go to turn down the hall but your mom is still talking. 

There's a slight slur to her voice. This isn't her first beer of the night. 

"Javier's a cop," your mom supplies helpfully before turning her attention back on the man and dropping her voice huskily. "I love cops."

Javier shoots her a crooked smile as you hold in an eye roll.

"Okay, well I'm going to my room. Night."

Before she can say anything more you've taken off down the hallway into your room. 

You collapse onto the bed, your phone out as you pop in your earbuds and review the video. 

You watch the tiny screen, feeling your cunt pulse as you watch Frankie's mouth between your legs. 

Fuck that's hot. 

You upload it to your laptop under the file folder named "college plans", there along with the Dave York audio.

You think over what you'll ask from Frankie. $3000? He's not rich like Dave. But then again with Dave you only had voice, with Frankie you have video. You could squeeze a few grand out of him. 

Hi Mister Morales.  (Message read)

An hour passes and he doesn't answer. It doesn't surprise you. doesn't surprise you. Frankie doesn't seem like a guy who faces things head on if he can avoid it. You pull out your earbuds And stretch on your bed, thighs drifting apart at the memory of this evening.

You almost think you can hear Frankie's muffled groans when you realize it's coming from the room next to yours - your mother's room. 

Of course they're fucking. 

You put your earbuds back in, sighing as you turn on some background music trying to relax as you drown out the sound of the bed creaking in the next room. 

Another hour passes and you find yourself getting antsy without a reply from Frankie. You pull his text up, typing thoughtfully. 

Hi Frankie.  (Read) I need you to answer me, please.  (Read)

Okay, now you're getting irritated. All pretenses of being subtle are over. You attach a screenshot of the video to the next message you send. 

We need to talk. 

Almost immediately the text bubble pops up. 

What the fuck is this? You going down on me, Mr Morales.  That's not me.  It is.  You photoshopped it. 

Is he fucking serious?

Nope. I have an entire video to prove it. My favorite part is where you tell me I've got the best pussy you've ever tasted. 

... ... ...

The bubbles are popping up every few seconds. Something written then abandoned. Over and over and until....

What do you want from me?

You think of Frankie's smaller home and his decades old truck. He doesn't have money like Dave. Even if he does there's a part of you that feels guilty thinking about taking it from Dana and JR. Unlike Dave you have a feeling they'd notice that kind of money missing from their lives. 

But there is something you do need. Something he might be able to help you with. You grin. 

I need a car.  I don't have the money to buy you a car I have one that needs to be fixed up. Got all the parts just needs some elbow grease by a mechanic. 

I fix helicopters. You fix your truck all the time. I see you.

How do I know you'll delete the video? Fix the car up and you have my word. I'll delete it right in front of you.  You'd just put it on your laptop.  Either you take a chance and do it or you say no and you're guaranteed to have your relationship ruined. 

… … … I'll come by Thursday. 

The next few days pass by in a mix of working at the restaurant and researching apartments in California. You go over to Sarah's for dinner a few times a week, thankful for her normal family life and delicious food. 

When you're not doing that you're making a list of who will be next. Keeping meticulous notes and saving the video and photos in your laptop under the folder "research". 

During this time you do see more of the cop next door. Him and your mom smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. Enjoying a beer on your couch. 

He's always perfectly polite to you, nodding to you when he sees you, asking how your job is, typical small talk stuff. 

You're not surprised to see him at your breakfast table one morning with your mom. His hair is mussed and the scent of sex clings to them, mingling with the stale scent of cigarettes. He looks almost shy when you walk in to grab a bowl of cereal. 

"I think he's gonna be coming around a lot more often," your mom says with a proud smile after he leaves a short while later.  

You don't answer. You do your best to be civil. He obviously makes your mom happy and you feel safe knowing there's a cop in the house. 

Thursday your mom is at her job at the liquor store. You made sure to organize this whole exchange during her shift. 

I'm here. 

You head out the front door of your apartment, skipping over to the parking lot. 

Frankie stands beside his truck looking uncomfortably around. When he sees you his neck bobs anxiously. 

"Hi," you say feeling a little shy. Maybe you should have had Sarah here with you to make you feel a little braver. 

Frankie doesn't reply, just sucks at his teeth in irritation. You can tell there's rage there, simmering just below the surface. Despite it being midday you feel a flash of apprehension. 

"Where the car?"

You point to the nearby vehicle, walking behind him. You watch the long line of sweat down the spine of his grey t-shirt, admiring the dark curls that peek out the bottom of his hat. 

He's such a sexy man, too bad he's a bastard. 

"The extra parts are in the trunk," you tell his back. 

You stand in silence as he surveys the car, appraising before he stands and walks back to his truck. He drives it over; backing it up until it almost kisses your bumper. 

He jumps out, his dark eyes fixed only on the cars. He hasn't met your gaze once since he arrived. He retrieves the hitch from the back of his truck, turning back. 

"You know you could have just asked for my help," Frankie tells you as he hooks the car onto the back of his truck. 

It's the first thing he's said so you're not positive he's talking to you. Then his dark eyes dart up, finally meeting yours.  

"I would have helped you with this, you know," Frankie says motioning to your car that he puts into neutral. "You didn't have to fucking blackmail me. I'm not a bad guy."

You can't help it, you muffle a chuckle. Frankie sees it, his dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You know the kind of guy that says he's not a bad guy, Frankie?" You ask with a smirk. "The bad kind." 

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief that this could be happening. He pulls off his standard oil cap, running an anxious hand through his curls before replacing it atop his head. 

"I've kept up my end. Now delete the video."

You cross your arms in front of you. 

"It gets deleted when I get my car back fixed."

Frankie scowls at you, clenching his jaw as he takes a step towards you. For a wild moment you feel a sense of panic flood you and your smile drops. 

You saw the photos in his house, the army friends and helicopter. For all you know he could have a concealed weapon. The thought turns your legs to jelly. 

"Hey."

You hear the quiet rasp of someone behind you. You turn, seeing a familiar face. 

Javier. 

He's heading towards his car, his keys in his hand. You feel pathetically grateful for his presence. 

"Hi Javier," you say with a weak smile. You step back towards him. 

He eyes Frankie, taking in the man's age and wedding ring. His dark eyes dart to you, brows rising. 

"Everything okay?"

"Yep, everything is alright," you assure breezily. "Frankie is just helping me fix up my car."

Javier nods, not missing how Frankie's neck has gone pink, his eyes on the ground. 

"I see." 

Frankie shoots you one last look, mumbling that he'll have your car back to you as soon as he can. You nod both you and Javier standing and waiting as he climbs into his truck and takes off, towing your car behind him. 

You glance over at Javier, watching as he pushes his aviators up the bridge of his nose. 

"How do you know that piece of work?" 

"He's a dad I babysit for," you smile in what you hope is a convincing way. "I was telling him last week that I needed my car fixed up and he offered to look at it for me. Isn't that sweet?" 

"Mhm."

Javier nods, and even though you can't see you're sure his dark eyes are surveying you behind the sunglasses. You can also tell he doesn't believe you. 

Oh well. He won't be around much longer anyway if your mother's track record is anything to go by. 

You give him a final wave and wish him a good day at work. 

Before long you're inside, going over the notes in your laptop. You need a target with real money. No more of this small time bullshit. 

You scroll the babysitter neighborhood forum, eyes darting from post to post. Nothing really jumps out at you and then like manna from heaven a message sticks out. 

Hello, I'm wondering if anyone is available to babysit my girls tomorrow night from 5-11:30pm? Their ages 2, 4 and twin 5 year old. First aid is a must. I know that four children is a large ask and I pay accordingly. 

You read the neighborhood location and

respond to the ad immediately. This is the swanky part of town where the families with serious cash live. In large mansions that have pools and staff. 

Now all you have to do is wait. 

[jaeyunverse]

the perks of having a hot best friend (teaser)

PAIRING(S) | lee jeno x fem!reader

GENRE(S) | fluff, mild angst, crack, best friends to lovers, mutual pining + more to be added as i write!

EST. WORD COUNT | around 10k  

WARNING(S) | profanity, jeno is cocky and annoying but mc loves him regardless, he’s also shirtless in a scene so that makes mc love him more, this is hella self-indulgent + all warnings to be included in full fic!!!!  

SUMMARY | having a hot best friend is nice until you start getting butterflies in your stomach every single time you look at them.

TAGLIST | @notbeforelong​ @w3bqrl​ @rikiflowers​ @mochisnlix​ @allorysayshi​ @hiqhkey​ @angel-hyuckie​ @markleeisdabestdrug​ @j4kesworld​ @timetoten​ @vantxx95​ @sweetjaemss​ @bigtittietoji​ @ahnneyong​ @iwonzzi​ @sunshine-skz​ @baekhyunstruly​ @ja4hyvn​ @centheodd​ @ily-cuz-i​ @jeongyeon27​ @kdyism​ @keemburley @iioyous @n0hyuck @luvenshiti @pckeia @donutswithjaminthemiddle @mosviqu @deobitiful @jeonnyread @h1acynth @pjofics @venusprada @matchahyuck @tbzussy @babyksworld @kae-t-eee @bockhyun @rbf-aceu @ablackbtsstan @tamakofever @naemakkuri @sadgirlroo @fariylixie0915 @pradagukkie @babyjenono @hibernatinghamster @jaemnationnn @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bustedneos send an ask or comment to be added!

AUTHOR’S NOTE | hi!!!! i am deep in my jeno brainrot as always :”) i hope this fic (whenever it comes out) helps you realise you are in love with jeno because you ARE no one can escape that man and you’re lying to yourself if you think he doesn’t affect you!!!! LOL just kidding (i’m being completely srs). also a few paragraphs have been cut from this extract so some stuff might not make sense right away and i probably should have mentioned this at the start of the note but JENO

posted!

02) hugs always make you feel warm and safe thanks to all the beef underneath

“Why do we need such a big bottle of Sprite?”

“Party at my place this weekend. There’s a discount so I’m buying in advance.”

You frowned. “Shouldn’t you be stocking up on booze?”

“The guys said I have an alcohol addiction,” Jeno said, getting in line at the billing counter. “Which is, like, totally untrue but you know I never back down from a challenge. I’m going to prove them wrong by staying sober for two weeks.”

“Sure,” you snorted. “You just find lame loopholes or cheat when no one’s looking.”

A sly grin took form on Jeno’s lips. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and drawled, “I know what you do when no one’s looking.”

“Really?” You feigned a gasp. “You know I sneak over to your house and steal your food when you’re not there?”

His smile dropped immediately. “Wait, what? That’s you? Not Hyuck?”

“The food thief is me but the one stealing your sheet masks is Hyuck,” you admitted.

“He steals my masks?! The ones I buy are expensive as fuck!” Jeno exclaimed, betrayal seeping into his features. His hands fell to his side and his eyes turned distant. “I can’t believe he’s been gaslighting me into thinking I do an extra round of skin care when I’m drunk.”

You giggled and pushed the shopping cart forward once the person in front of you was done. Placing the contents one by one on the billing counter for the cashier to scan, you revealed, “Hyuck saw me raiding your pantry when you were at the gym. He used that as leverage against me for weeks before I saw him stealing your sheet masks and was able to finally strike a deal—he turns a blind eye to my robberies and I turn a blind eye to his.”

“Why’d you team up with him?” Jeno pouted. “I thought we were best friends.”

You laughed incredulously. “Seriously? That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the part where Hyuck and I used your stuff without asking?”

“Well, yeah, I’m pissed you used my shit. But I guess I’m just a little more bothered that you guys teamed up,” Jeno said and shrugged, fetching his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. “Because, you know, it has always been our thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by how he was beating around the bush. “Are you saying you wanna team up with me to get back at Hyuck?”

Jeno grinned. “I’m gonna screw over that motherfucker so bad. You get off the hook, though, because you’re cute and I need your help.”

“You’re impossible.” You huffed and shook your head. Taking the bag of groceries, you said to him, “Text me my share and I’ll Venmo the money to you.”

“You could buy me an ice-cream instead.”

“No,” you denied immediately. “We’re not wasting time on ice-cream. Massage and then straight home so I can pick up my study material and we can leave for the library.”

Thankfully, Jeno didn’t protest. He drove you to your apartment complex and waited for you while you packed your bag. Then, the two of you were off to the massage place.

An hour later, you were done and forced to admit that the massage had indeed helped you. It felt like all the stress had left your body. Thinking about the final didn’t make you want to cry anymore and things were actually looking up now that you were rested.

You were able to retain the knowledge better and it was easier to understand the concepts. Jeno quizzed you and provided you with an endless supply of coffee throughout the night.

Right before lunch the next day, however, the panic resurfaced as you were revising your syllabus for the last time before your final at 3. You couldn’t seem to remember anything you had studied the previous night.

You could feel another breakdown coming, but before you could hyperventilate, Jeno had scooped you up in his arms.

You hadn’t even realised when he’d come back from picking up your food. One minute, you were trying to control your breath and the next, your face was buried in his hard chest.

You held onto his shirt as his hands rubbed soothing circles on your back and he rocked you from side to side.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he mumbled and kissed the top of your head. “You’re gonna ace the final like you always do. You were able to answer all the quiz questions so remember that you are prepared. The pre-exam anxiety is just clouding your thoughts. Everything’s gonna come back to you when you sit down to write, alright?”

Nodding, you clenched your eyes shut and bit down on your lip to keep a sob from escaping. Jeno’s presence kept acting like a tether for you. It always had.

Maybe he was right about the final. Maybe he wasn’t. But at that moment, engulfed in his warm, safe embrace, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

[lovelytsunoda]

uptown girl // mickey "fanboy" garcia

soft kisses shared in the bar light after a game of pool

she would do anything for her nerd boy. except maybe meet his friends in a crowded bar with a pool table where she can make a fool of herself in front of all of her boyfriend's friends. it's a good thing that mickey is a good teacher.

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x female! reader

author's note: he had like four lines and i was prepared to go to war for this man.

the hard deck hummed with activity as she parked her car, flicking off the manual headlights before glancing at her phone, which was pinned to it's magnetic holder on the dashboard.

it wasn't too late to text mickey and tell him something had come up, was it?

as she was thinking it, as if mickey could hear her, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a text message from her beloved.

mickey: hey sweet girl, are you almost here? everyone is so excited to meet you!

she sighed, switching the music off and cutting the engine, sitting in the dark car and waiting for the heated seat to lose its warmth. her relationship with mickey garcia was still very new.

they had only been together for a few months, having met at an eighties rock-and-glow dance night. she was standing by the stage, dressed in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt that glowed fluorescent in the blacklight, an old-timey glass sprite bottle in her hands as she sang bonnie tyler at the top of her lungs. he was the best dancer there, with a goofy personality that captivated her from the moment he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a slow dance to 'heaven in your eyes'.

deciding to rip the band-aid off, she grabbed her tote bag from the passenger seat and slipped out of the car, sea breeze cutting deep and sending a chill down her spine as she walked up the weathered steps to fightertown's navy bar.

her sweet boy was impossible to miss, his smile lighting up the whole bar as he stood next to the pool table, his short-sleeved button shirt untucked from his crisp blue jeans.

as nervous as she was, it was hard not to smile when she saw him, watching as he leaned over the table to delicately knock a striped ball into one of the pockets in the corner of the table. after the shot, he looked up, and infectious grin breaking out over his face when he saw her.

"hey, pretty girl." he beamed, passing his pool cue to a woman in a black turtleneck and jeans before he sidestepped the table and pulled his lover into an embrace. "i'm glad you came."

"hi, mickey." she smiled, kissing him softly. "i've missed you."

"are you ready to meet everyone? or do you want something to eat first? i can order you a plate of onion rings-"

she laughed softly, taking his hand in hers. she loved how attentive and sweet he was, always trying to dote on her whenever he could. when they were together, he hated letting her pay for things, even if it meant dipping into his not-enormous navy salary "mickey, it's okay. i have time to meet your friends before i order."

with a soft kiss to the side of her head, mickey looped his arm around her shoulders and they headed towards the pool table. "guys, this is y/n. my girlfriend."

she underestimated how much her heart would swell at hearing mickey say those words. hearing someone declare to the world that they had chosen her.

"y/n, this is natasha, jake, robert, bradley, hallie and javy."

"hello!" she squeaked, waving at the group. "nice to finally meet you guys, mickey has told me so much about you guys."

robert laughed, reaching out to shake her hand. "and mickey has told us even more about you. fanboy loves to talk."

she never though she'd meet someone who talked as much as she did until she met mickey. they could talk for hours, about anything and everything. when they were together, she suspected it would drive the people around them insane. except she didn't know how his friends would react, what they would think of her.

they made small talk for a little, while some of the guys and natasha all took their turns at the pool table. it was team game, although the teams seemed to be a little unbalanced in terms of skill level. mickey had pulled her into his lap, gently rubbing circles on the skin underneath her peasant top.

jake leaned over the table, his pool cue hitting the white ball, white harmlessly dusted the side of the ball he was aiming for, plunking down in the basket.

"god damn it, hangman!" javy groaned

natasha laughed, high-fiving bradley. "sucks to suck, bagman!"

mickey shifted in his chair, hands running up her sides. "our turn, pretty girl. do you want to try?"

she turned back to him, a small glint of panic in her eyes as she took his hand in hers. "i'm not very good."

bradley snorted, taking a sip of his budweiser. "we're miles ahead of hangman, you could break the table and we'd still be ahead of them."

"go on." mickey encouraged, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder blade. "i'll guide you."

she stood up, still clutching his hand in hers as she moved towards the pool table. hallie passed her a pool cue, and she stood nervously by the table until mickey came up behind her. his hands were warm through her jeans, his back against hers as he guided her into the correct position.

"you got this, sweet girl." he said quietly, kissing the side of her head gently, his hands over hers on the cue. "it's a straight shot into the basket."

mickey stepped back, his hands still on her waist as she took the shot, hitting with just enough force for the white ball to send the orange solid ball into the basket.

one fell swoop.

mickey's side of the pool table started to cheer, and her cheeks flushed pink as she turned around to wrap her arms around mickey, hiding her face from the crowd.

"great job, my darling girl." mickey laughed, kissing her softly. "are you sure you haven't played pool before."

"my grandfather had a table in his basement." she said sheepishly, leaning the cue against the table to she could slip her hands into mickey's back pockets. "but i haven't played a proper game since I was twelve. he sold the table when they sold the house."

"maybe you'll have to play more often." mickey said, leaning in to kiss her softly. "i love you."

"i love you too."

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @thatsdemko @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @httpiastri

[cuffmeinblack]

Azkaban. A fortress to hold the foulest of wizardkind, meant to keep us safe from their wrath. Yet for all we know of Azkaban, there is much more that remains hidden—a deep well of corruption rooted in government to hide the true horrors of the prison and its nightmarish keepers. Garreth Weasley is the first prisoner to walk free from its walls in centuries. As he tries to pick up his life from where he left off, he soon realises that his imprisonment has reshaped the man he once was. Battered and broken, he draws on the strength of a friend to right the wrongs he's suffered. In matters of justice and those of the heart, will truth finally out?

Garreth Weasley x f!OC (Adanna Egwe)

Tags: explicit | friends to lovers | dark themes | trauma

Prologue

Garreth took a tentative step towards his salvation, one foot in front of the other on quaking legs. They shook with fear, both inflicted and for what awaited him outside the towering stone walls. Malnourishment had set in months ago, withering his muscles and the spritely step he once held. Gone was the layer of healthy fat from years of Hogwarts’ delicious fare, and long had faded the glow of his skin, leaving only a palid complexion and freckles that looked more grey than golden. He didn't know this, of course—Azkaban didn't have mirrors, or bathrooms for that matter, only buckets and hard walls and harder floors—but he felt it in his bones and the way the woman now looked at him.

The first person to see him after the long nine months was not his mother, father or various siblings—it was a Ministry worker, unnamed and uncaring. The stout woman looked at him blandly without so much as a sympathetic nod, her lip curling faintly in what looked like disgust. Didn't she know? He was innocent! Garreth supposed she might not be privy to the details, assumed he'd been released on some technicality. A murderer walking free deserved no sympathy, no kindness. She kept her distance and waved him forward, the blazing white of her deer patronus keeping the foul creatures that had tormented him at bay. The cloaked figures of his nightmares lashed out, displeased to be losing their sustenance, only to be buffeted away by the powerful magic. The closer he walked towards her, the lighter he felt. A heavy blanket of despair was gradually peeled away and memories seeped through the edges. Smiles, laughter, a kiss, the smell of apple pie and the freshness of Spring. And then the air shimmered as he entered the deer's embrace, emotions he thought long buried flooded back in one great tidal wave that almost knocked him flat on his back. He remembered hope, once a constant companion that had been suffocated within a few weeks of entering the great fortress behind him.

“Steady, now.” The woman watched him stumble but made no attempt to help him. Garreth thought she moved to offer a steadying hand, instead it plunged into her pocket. He stood within arm's length of her now, could see every line of her face and the hint of warmth in her eyes that she didn't offer to Garreth. He felt suddenly self-conscious—a rarity for him—as he became more aware of his unwashed hair and filthy nails. He must have smelled vile. So distracted with his own dismal appearance, he almost missed her hand hovering between them. Atop her palm, a square of chocolate sat. He could smell the rich aroma permeating the damp and salty sea air, and he salivated. “Take it. It will take the edge off.” She jerked her head towards the dementors still straining against the patronus’ shield. “The portkey leaves in thirty seconds.”

Garreth took the chocolate and shoved it in his mouth with little decorum, savouring the rich cocoa as it melted on his tongue and coated his mouth. He'd not tasted anything so delectable, though he knew it was likely the cheapest the Ministry could source. A far cry from the gruel that had barely kept him alive. The woman bent to pick up what Garreth assumed was his ticket out of this hellhole—a small gold pocketwatch of which the hands twitched back and forth with no progress. The time read one o’clock or thereabouts, yet judging by the stormy grey sky and waning light, Garreth put it closer to six. He was pretty sure it was now Autumn, though there were no trees with their copper hued leaves to confirm his suspicions. All he saw now was grey rock, grey sky and turbulent waves, all desaturated as if the dementors were not only capable of sucking the happiness from the landscape but the colour too.

“Ten seconds.”

Garreth placed his hand over the pocketwatch and the woman clasped him firmly, the cold metal warming between their palms. She herself was warm, her skin soft against his own calloused and clammy fingers. With a jolt, Garreth realised that this was the first human contact he'd had since entering the prison all that time ago. The last had been his mother desperately reaching for him as he was dragged by chains from the courtroom deep below the Ministry. She'd stroked his cheek and told him not to worry before he slipped into darkness, her tear-streaked face etched into memory.

“Five, four, three, two…”

On one, Garreth felt a pull behind his navel and he lurched forward with dizzying speed into the abyss, only to emerge and fall promptly to his knees. His bones hit cobblestones strewn with leaves and he doubled over, retching and gasping for air. Whilst his head swam, he heard voices, cries and screams. He thought this was a cruel trick, that he'd been taunted with the promise of freedom only to be deposited back in Azkaban for some sick amusement. They grew louder as the black spots cleared in his vision and he realised that they weren't cries of pain and hopeless wails—these were shouts of excitement, relief. They called his name and he managed to peer up into the sunset to find familiar faces crowding him. He was home at last, surrounded by countless copper manes and freckled grins, and two figures that hung back, different from the rest. Natty, he recognised by her flawless dark complexion and glittering smile, and the woman next to her by the way his heart leapt at the sight of her. She was here. She'd not forgotten.

He was barely aware of anything the woman from the Ministry was saying as hands pulled him inside the cottage and Charlotte—his dear little sister—was babbling on about such nonsense that Garreth couldn't help but laugh. The sound was strange to him and his voice was weak, so weak. His vocal chords seemed to struggle and creak like something old and long-abandoned, groaning back to life. “You're all here…,” he managed to say before a wave of exhaustion crashed into him.

“Give him some room. Charlotte, Hector, enough. He needs to rest. Oh welcome home, Garreth…”

Mum. She wrapped him up in his arms and he felt ten years old again. Here he was finally safe and loved, though almost inexplicably as if he didn't deserve it. His brother clutched an arm and helped him up the stairs that creaked less noticeably under his newly lithe form. More chocolate found its way into his hand, this square much silkier with chunks of honeycomb that stuck to his teeth. As soon as his head hit the pillow—his pillow—he drifted off to sleep and had his first nightmare-free slumber in months. He didn't dream at all, only surrendered to the sweet silence and infinite dark.

[darkcandy-starfait]

Theory: Ralsei is a Titan (or at least a Neo darkner)

Hey so. this theory and analysis has been long over due, I'm so sorry but I kept forgetting and getting sidetracked with school work.

Okay so many people have noticed how weird Ralsei is, he's honestly a whole can of worms on his own without considering every theory being made about him.

But I have had this particular theory in my for like almost a whole fucking year, so let me propose a weirder one: Ralsei is a titan.

What do I mean by that? Honestly, I kind of only half way know what that means, since this is more of crack theory but here are my points

We all know that Ralsei looks different between the first two chapters. But a few people have pointed out that Ralsei's transformation from chapter 1 to chapter 2 is rather strange, as the two look very different. Toby has said that Ralsei looking different was a recent choice made during development.

He first starts out as this black, fluffy figure in a ratty looking robe, with his hands mostly obscured, and a hat. but after he takes off the hat, he suddenly looks very different: white fur, and more boss monster like. in chapter 2 we see his robes are neater looking and his arms are visible with black sleeves.

I find this bizarre, because it's such a drastic change. Looking at his two forms side by side, it almost looks like two different characters. Like, taking off a hat should not change your form like that, even if it might be dark world logic.

Ralsei is also shown to disappear when he's downed in battles. Susie, Kris and Noelle all have sprites of them kneeling or collapsed on the ground when their hp reaches 0. But ralsei just... turns into a pile of his clothes, in both forms. Almost like he's made of nothing??

Ralsei also seems seems just show up in dark worlds without Kris or Susie bringing him there in his supposed object form. Other darkners like Rouxls and Lancer are physical objects (both of them are playing cards), and need to be carried in Kris' pocket to the Cyber World. Kris has to physically take all the objects from rooms and bring them back to the supply closet.

Since we still only have two chapters at the moment, what object Ralsei actually is in the light world is currently a mystery. Some say he could Kris' red horned headband (personal favourite of mine), or even the missing green crayon in the Dreemurr house.

I even theorised that he might be Kris' mysterious knife they always seem to have on them, which is why he's always in the dark world shortly after Kris and Susie arrive there. But we never see Kris' knife in their inventory anywhere, unless Kris is just. materialising the knife out of thin air???

This still doesn't change to fact that Ralsei, if he did have an light world object equivalent, would have to be carried around like every other darkner in order to travel to other dark worlds. But he doesn't. He just... shows up in Cyber World to help Susie and Kris without any explanation other than "I felt a dark presence."

Most interestingly, he later explains that darkners who don't belong in other dark worlds will turn to stone. All the Card Castle characters in the Cyber World turn to stone in chapter 2, but Ralsei doesn't. He does say that Castle Town's fountain is made of pure darkness, so that's why all darkners can live there.

Ralsei being Castle Town's ruler helps him in this case, and the fact that a piece of text in Toby's concepts for Ralsei's manual says that Ralsei's form is made from Castle Town's fountain. Makes sense that a being made from pure darkness would be able to live in every dark world. But here's another question I have.

WHY is Castle Town's fountain made of pure darkness? How did it get this way? Is it because the fountain has maybe been around longer, while others like Card Kingdom and Cyber World were created only recently? What makes a fountain pure darkness?

Well here we bring up some interesting lore from Queen in chapter 2. Queen says that she needs a lightner to help spread more darkness, by literally opening a dark fountain inside a dark world. In the Giga Queen fight, she calls it a Neo Fountain.

Berdly almost makes this a reality, only to be stopped by Ralsei, who suddenly drops the lore about the Roaring.

The Roaring is a prophecy of a sort of apocalyptic event, where opening more dark fountains and fountains within fountains could cause mass destruction. Giant beings known as Titans will form from all the fountains, and will cover the world in darkness, turning darkners to stone and leaving humans to fend for themselves.

Ralsei speaks of this like its either a prophecy that was passed down to him, or something he even witnessed first hand. Maybe that's why he has no subjects in Castle Town. But I want to go back to everything I've said here about Ralsei, the most important ones bolded.

• is able to change forms by the drop of a hat (haha)

• is supposedly made of pure darkness like Castle Town's fountain

• fades into nothing when he's downed in battles

• can travel between dark worlds without being brought physically in the light world

• doesn't turn to stone when in other dark worlds while many other darkners do

• knows about a catastrophic event where more fountains are made and giant beasts made from darkness ravage the land

That last part. When I remembered that Ralsei said that the titans are formed from dark fountains, and that Ralsei is a darkner of pure darkness... well that got me thinking: What if Ralsei is a young titan? His first form in chapter 1 could be closer to his true titan form, and he might be taking a new form in chapter 2 to appeal more to lightners.

(Side note Ralsei taking the form of a boss monster, the species that Kris' family is, is another can of worms I have to save when I talk about their connections.)

What if Ralsei is a product of a Neo fountain being created? What if he's the last remnant of a time when there were more fountains, when the sky was black with terror, and the land cracked with fear.

Like, NEO fountains are even talked about more in the Spamton Sweepstakes. When you play this puzzle on the website, and click the 3rd option on the bottom row, you are brought to a sprite of a chair.

We all know the chair, but the phrase in the window of this page definitely seems seems be hinting at the creation of Neo fountains.

What if that's Ralsei's deal. Even if he isn't a titan, what if he's some kind of Neo darkner? What if he's more darkner than darkners in general?

_

Honestly I'm fully prepared for this theory to be steam rolled over when the next two chapters drop, but it was fun and interesting to write nontheless! I'm interested to see if anyone else has their own theory about this or if you even had the same thoughts?

[astroanesidora]

🎂Happy Birthday Isabeau From ISAT! 🎉

⚠️ISAT SPOILERS.(Minor Act Two and Up/ Big Act Six Spoilers!!) PLEASE do go play/checkout this game!!✨

Anyhoo!! Lol not much of a writer.. Soo this will probably not be greatest of work, mistakes here n there I just had a rush of motivation, oh well enjoy ig!✨

Sprite/Game art by InsertDisc5 aka Adrienne!

Birthday Image is from Unsplash!

(It's Isabeau's Birthday today.)

You remember because Mirabelle and them had all gathered together to discuss it when Isabeau was out elsewhere. You all came together a week before and talked about getting gifts for Isa's special day.

And so here you are all at this rental lakeside house for the next few days. Floralbreeze Lake is the name of this place, named after windy weather and with all of the flowers that always grew all year. A perfect, serene place for any occasion. The house rent price was 50 but as Saviors of Vaugarde, they were given a pass for their saving everyone quest. The owner's way of gratitude for saving the world.

Everyone's here in the big living room which shares space with the kitchen and a fire place. Isabeau is sitting at the wooden countertop with Bonnie, who's a few feet away near the stove, who's busy at cooking up some food for the occasion!

( The scent of cooked veggies and baked fish fills the air. The clanking noise of metal and sizzling of oil.)

There was some baked fish, vegetable stir fry and vegetable beef stew, some drinks and sweets like White Chocolate Mousse and White Chocolate Cake for Isabeau. The white chocolate dishes were Bonnie's gift to Isabeau. Mirabelle sits down next to Bonnie and Odile takes the other side, leaving Siffrin to sit at Isabeau's side and Siffrin was more happy to have it this way.

Siffrin watches as Odile takes a slice of baked fish, Mirabelle scoops some stew into a small bowl and Bonnie takes a small serving of stir fry, Isabeau gets some of fish and Siffrin, himself takes a nice serving of stir fry. They all eventually take portions of all dishes expect for desserts since that's for later. Everyone is occupied with eating and chatting, enjoying the warm, cozy atmosphere.

( Everything tastes so good! As always Bonnie did a great job!)

Bringing another piece of fish to your mouth, and so you chew and savor the flavor. Your fork sinks into a carrot and then into another piece of fish, you eat both, listening into the conversations around you as usual. Mirabelle is happily gushing away about her favorite books with Odile, Bonnie's listening to one of Isabeau's stories as a Defender. You gaze sweeps upon your family members as you finish up your last bits of your meal. You take a sip of water before settling down in your chair. You reach into your pockets, to double check your gift to Isa, a wooden figure of him in his fighting position. Your hands pet against the smooth and carefully carved wood after getting some assurance to clear away your doubts. You put your empty dish to the side to make some room.

Bonnie and Isabeau finish up after you and Odile and Mira do the same sometime after the other two. You and Mira volunteer to gather the dirty dishes while Bonnie and Odile, and Isa put away the leftovers somewhere. You put the three plates and utensils into the sink, Mira puts the remaining dishes along with it. The dishes will be washed later, for now you all have a birthday to celebrate.

Odile and Bonnie bring over the desserts, Isabeau has a excitied and joyful look in his eyes as he sits down again. You put the candles into the cake, Mira is the one to light them up, the cake is pushed closer to Isabeau.

"Happy Birthday Isabeau!" Mirabelle beamed.

"Happy Birthday Za!! Don't forget to make a wish!!" Bonnie rejoiced with their arms in the air.

"Happy Birthday Isabeau." Odile added, adjusting her glasses.

(You breathe in and out. It's your turn.)

"Happy Birthday Isa." You say in a gentle and kind tone.

Isabeau smiles delightfully at everyone, a small hint of blush showing on his cheeks.

"Thanks everyone! I really appreciate it. This is the best birthday anyone could ask for!" Isabeau thanked, Isabeau closes his eyes for a few moments before blowing out the candles. A small round of applause and cake is about to be sliced and given out to everyone. Mira is the one to slice the cake, giving Isabeau the slice with extra berries.

Everyone gets a slice of the white chocolate cake eventually. You decide to skip out on this one but you do snag a few berries for yourself from Isabeau and the others. Isabeau also takes the mousse once Bonnie hands one to him.

Presents are next, Bonnie explains that the white chocolate desserts were their gift to Isabeau, Isabeau gives an extra thanks Bonnie for the desserts. Odile pulls out her gift, it's something small and wrapped in simple wrapping paper, Mira's gift seems somewhat big, hidden under slanted lined wrapping paper with a small bow on top.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the wooden figure, and hold it firmly. Isabeau looks around excitedly, he smiles so brightly and his eyes sparkle with delight. Isabeau moves his hands towards to you, you hand over the wooden figure of him. His face shines even brighter at the sight of your gift.

You meet his gaze without tucking away into your cloak or hat. The wood figure of Isabeau is smooth and clean, chipped and carved into perfection with small noticeable details like his earrings, indents for his fist, clothing. Isabeau holds it with great care, a quick glance with a mix of his "fufufu" and "Really" expression over at Odile, and Odile shoots a amused look back.

"Thanks Sif, I love it." Isa murmurs to you with a smile.

Odile goes next, she shoves over her gift across the countertop. "Here you go, Isabeau." Odile stated.

Isabeau grabs it and pulls off the paper, revealing the hidden contents. It's a small wooden sewing kit, with some simple leaf patterns decor within was some threads of different shades, clips and needles and a pair of small scissors with some other sewing materials that you can't remember are called.

"Whoa!!! Thank you Madam!" Isabeau bellowed, a hand examining the sewing contents while the other hand secures your gift. Isabeau scans through the small box, he closes it and gives another thanks as Odile nods and Isabeau puts the box and figure safely to the side.

Mirabelle excitedly gives her gift to Isabeau next. Isabeau rips off the paper, Two books now sit on the countertop. They're new books, all nice and clean in good condition and having that classic new book scent. "Ummm! I hope you like them!" Mira speaks with a grin.

"Ooh! Two new books and they're about romance!! I can't wait to give these two a read when I can!" Isabeau responded with joy and excitement. He flips over the books a few times to get a close look at them. Getting in quick looks as Isabeau flips through the pages. He puts all his gifts together, the books sit besides the sewing box and the Isabeau figure rests upon one of the book covers.

Isabeau signals everyone to come in closer to him for a group hug, Odile gives her amused expression again, Mirabelle's expression glows with delight and Bonnie smiles, arms in the air like they're cheering. Isa looks at you, getting that confirmation from you, you give a nod.

You all come together, Isabeau's arms wrap around all of your family members. Your arms and everyone's arms wrap around Isabeau, everyone embraces with love, care and warmth. Like a cozy warm blanket shielding against the cold. Everyone's happy and everything's good.

[daegall]

[00:01]

pairing: best friend!hyuck x reader

genre: fluff, bff2l!AU, new years!AU, college!AU

warnings: none (but lmk if there are any!!!!!)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: for @sungiesworld27, thank you so much for the idea!!!

HAPPY NEW YEARS MY LOVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im not ready for what this year has to bring to me, my blog, or school, and i definitely am not looking forward to it, but time can't just stop (as much as i wish it could) so, here's to 2023! hope that i can write more and everything will be great this year ^^

networks/taglist: @neoturtles @knet-bakery @kflixnet @nct-writers @k-radio + @soobin-chois @markhyuckselca @jaehunnyy <3

You're scared for the new year.

You're even more scared that you won't get to kiss anyone as the new year starts.

It might sound really fucking silly to other people, but it's a thing you have with your friends, where they would always laugh at your face for having nobody to kiss, for having to endure everyone kissing around you.

One person who also has that problem? Lee Donghyuck. Your best friend. It's always been you and Donghyuck whose had to deal with all your friends smooching and kissing around you while the two of you try not to watch awkwardly.

It always ends up just you looking at him, and him looking at you, because even if you wanted to look away from a couple kissing, there would be another one just right next to them.

The new year can kiss your ass.

And now here you stand, just 5 minutes away from the new year. Everyone's jumping, buzzing with excitement. You're surrounded by your closest friends, all with silly hats and new year sunglasses (it says 2015, but who cares?).

You take another swig at your sprite, as you feel a tug at your sweater sleeve. As you turn, you find Donghyuck, grinning at you with his boyishness charm. "Hey," You greet him with a laugh.

"Hey," He responds. He tugs you closer the moment you start to shiver slightly due to the chilly winter breeze. "you excited for the new year?"

You contemplate about it. Sure, there could be a lot of new opportunities and such, but are you really excited about it? "I don't think so," You shake your head. "kinda wanna go sleep."

Donghyuck chuckles at your response, and he digs his hands into his pocket. "Yeah, me too."

There's a silence after that, as you both bask in each other's presence. You don't need to talk, just having the comfort of one another is enough for the both of you to know that the new year will be okay, as long as you both have each other.

Donghyuck suddenly turns to you with a sly smile, one you recognize and associate with his mischievous thoughts. "Got anyone to kiss this year?"

You can't help but physically grimace at the question, your nose scrunching up as you bump your shoulder to his harshly. "It's not like you have anyone either! You have no right to make fun of me!"

"Okay, okay!" Donghyuck snickers, as you start to punch his arm lightly. "Seems like it makes the both of us."

Though you were just sulking a second before, you can't stop the smile that curls at your lips. There's a warmth that swirls in you, a comfort that you're not alone. Donghyuck is so quick to reassure you all the time, you wish you could show him how much gratitude you have for him.

He's not wrong, all your friends are kissing someone this year. Mark and Renjun are kissing their girlfriends, Jeno and Jaemin are kissing each other for fun (you're sure they just really want to kiss each other), and following them, is Chenle and Jisung, who agreed to kiss each other's cheeks for fun.

It really is just you and Donghyuck.

You don't mind it being just you and Donghyuck. Actually, for a few months now, you've been harboring feelings for your best friend. Now, you know it's dangerous, but you really can't help it. With his humor and charm, and that ridiculous gleaming smile he has, the way he cares for you so deeply, how he can remember every little thing about his friends, he's just so captivating that you can't help but fall for him more every day that passes.

Donghyuck falls for you everyday too. And it's crazy how you haven't noticed it the past few days, when he's been very openly flirty with you, taking more care of you than ever before, the urge to kiss you resurfaces every other day.

And Donghyuck's very sure that urge is gonna hit him today especially, stroke at midnight.

Time must really fly when you're together, because just in a moment, Mark is alerting the both of you how it's merely just 30 seconds until the new year.

"This is it," You breathe out, gluing yourself to Donghyuck's side. He doesn't mind, bringing you even closer. "Yeah, this is it."

Though you're infinitely scared of the new year, and though your heart beating like crazy, you still manage to smile, jumping with Chenle as you count down from 10.

10.

Donghyuck glances at you, admiring your grin and how your hand grips his hoodie sleeve.

9.

You glow with the firework lights of the city, shining so brightly. You seem to grow even brighter when you face him and grin even further.

8.

Donghyuck admires you as you laugh at how Chenle's already leaning into Jisung, puckering his lips out as Jisung can't help but squeal at the contact.

7.

Fuck, there it is. The urge has hit him.

6.

Lee Donghyuck wants you to turn around, he wants you to look at him, he wants to lean in and press his lips against yours smoothly, he wants to swoon you so much that maybe you'll like him back.

5.

It's too late to turn back, Donghyuck's fingers have softly wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back towards him.

4.

It's all too quick, one moment you're facing Jaemin, the next there's a pull at your arm. You feel shock fill your system as a warm sensation brushes by your chin.

3.

Donghyuck has one hand on your wrist, the other capturing your chin to turn your head to him. And when it's turned, you're so incredibly close. Your noses brush, breath fanning against your lips, as he breathes out. "Hey,"

2.

Your eyes flicker from Donghyuck's eyes, to his nose, to his lips, and he's so close, you could lean in half an inch and you'd be kissing him. "Hi—"

1.

It happens. Donghyuck's lips fit between yours, his hand now enveloping your jaw. He's stiff at first, barely just brushing his lips against yours, and you can sense his worry.

But it melts away the moment you sigh into his mouth, wrapping your fingers around his hoodie strings to pull him closer.

Now Donghyuck pours all his emotions into the kiss, your noses bumping as he tilts his head to the side. There's something about kissing Donghyuck now, on new years, with all the motion around you.

You don't want to pull away, you almost don't, if it weren't for your urge for oxygen.

When you pull away, the adrenaline gets the best of you, you think, because Donghyuck has never looked as good as he does right now.

There are laughs around you, cheering, but you couldn't care less about those, because Donghyuck still has his face incredibly close to yours, your noses still brushing against one another.

There's a million things you want to say to Donghyuck, ask him. Did he mean it? Did he feel bad for you? Shit, does he like you?

All you can muster up, however, is a breathy, "Wow,"

Your best friend giggles at your response, bumping his forehead against yours. "Wow?"

You sigh, and a smile finally finds its way to your lips, "Wow."

A grin creeps up your lips a moment later, as you tug Donghyuck back down by his hoodie strings once again. "I think I might be excited for the new year now,"

[roetrolls]

(woagh! we did it again!! it's a collab between me and Chase @sasster! Look, there's a google doc!)

Appraisal

Emarra is still drunk on attention when he returns to his trailer, buzzing with adrenaline and the thrill of a crowd. He expects Sylvie will follow him here soon enough, his little sprite always so eager for his praise after a successful show. 

He’s already imagining what he’ll say to her, turning the words over in his mind as he busies himself removing his jacket and pushes past the beaded curtains into his home.

“Yumeno.”

He freezes. Now there’s a voice that will kill a mood.

Ever the performer. Emarra is quick to reel himself in, shocked expression melting into a smile tight enough to rival Faithful.

“General.”

An unscheduled visit from the Marauder rarely spells good news, but retiring for the morning to find the man waiting in your home? That’s a level of horror all its own. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Zerkev has already made himself comfortable–if such a word can even be used to describe such a straight-laced troll–in the seat by the window, gaze hard and stern. 

“Sit.”

It is always cumbersome dealing with fuchsias that feel they can just walk into his home and tell him what to do. Resentment leaves a sick taste in the back of his mouth as he takes a seat opposite to the general.

“There’s no chance that what you’re here to talk about could have been a text message, I’m guessing.”

Zerkev’s expression tightens, not one for jokes on a good day, let alone on one where he is already beyond the threshold of having patience for the man.

“Why have you not found Mallum yet?”

Well, of course that’s what this is about. What else would The Marauder be making home visits for? There are so many ways Emarra can answer that question too, and they all flash in his mind one after the other.

Chiefly, he has been busy with his circus, and also it isn’t his job to play Pravus line babysitter.

Neither of these answers, however, would be met with the most pleasant of responses, so he swallows them down with the taste of resentment that now coats his throat.

“He’s in the company of professionals. You know that.”

“I was under the impression that you were a professional, Yumeno.”

“Gracious and the Roatus kid can’t find him either,” by the grace of God, he manages to swallow the indignance that tries so hard to claw its way out. “It’s going to take me some more time.”

“More time?”

Something snaps behind the general’s eye, perhaps his last thread of patience, something that somehow does not influence the rest of his expression.

Instead, Zerkev sits there stone-faced.

“Just a little patience, I’ll find him.”

“Mm,” comes the muted response. The seadweller stares a moment longer, gaze boring into Emarra with a scrutiny so intense he has to suppress the urge to shift in his seat. “Would you say you’ve been distracted from this task?”

Emarra all but scoffs at the accusation. Was he expected to put his entire life on hold until the kid was found? That’s a ridiculous idea, even for someone as work-focused as the Marauder.

“No,” he answers shortly, stopping himself before anything more insulting can tumble from his mouth.

Zerkev raises an eyebrow. “That so? I’d say otherwise, personally.”

He reaches into the jacket of his uniform to withdraw a phone. It’s almost comical how out of place the thing seems in his hand, but Emarra is in no mood for humor.

After a few seconds, Zerkev brandishes the screen, playing a short, looping clip of a shadow unfurling along someone’s wall. 

The Ringleader feels a brief twinge of satisfaction as he makes note of the tiger-shaped nightlight by the bed, one corner of his mouth twitching as if to smile.

Then he squares his jaw, lifting a blank gaze back to his uninvited guest.

“What am I meant to be looking at here?”

The general cocks his head. “You tell me.”

“It’s a recording on your phone, why would I have that information?”

With a nod, Zerkev pockets the device once more and leans forward on his knees, fingers laced together. He pauses a moment, expression deceptively placid, before answering. 

“I know you’ve more sense than to lie to my face.”

The statement, simple as it is, is easy to identify as a thinly veiled threat. Emarra, having worked with the general long enough to detect that threat a mile away, leans back into his chair as if trying to put some more distance between himself and the fuchsia. It takes some effort to conceal the panic working hard to bubble up through his chest, but he manages even then to keep his gaze level.

”Then you should know that I am not lying, to your face or otherwise.”

Zerkev purses his lips, and though his expression does not shift to betray him, he does possess the uncanny ability of letting his disappointment and irritation poison the atmosphere of the room without such dramatic shifts. 

The Ringleader very briefly finds his thoughts drifting back to the other’s missing son. Yeah, I’d run away too if this guy raised and was looking for me, no question. Poor thing must’ve had an intolerable adolescence.

Locked in a terrible staring contest with his boss, Emarra then takes the opportunity to sift through a mental list of his choice in extracurricular activities up to this point. He risks being skinned alive if he admits how lax he has actually been about finding Mallum in the many perigees that have passed between now and his being given the assignment.

He risks a fate worse than that if he so much as breathes word about harassing that damn runaway of his own in the meantime.

Zerkev clears his throat, the time limit on his second chance at honesty clearly reaching its end.

“Are you telling me that you think every time something goes bump in the day that it will have something to do with me? Come on. Be real, Zerkev. I have a life, you know.”

A disappointed click of the tongue is his only response. Is he really tsk-ing him right now? Beneath his indignation, an invisible fist constricts around Emarra’s lungs, abated only slightly by the thin shred of hope that spawns in him as the seadweller rises to his feet.

Did that actually work?

Zerkev fiddles with his cufflink and hefts a weary sigh, staring ahead of himself as if lost in thought.

“Yumeno?”

For fuck’s sake, would he just go already? “Yes?”

Without warning, the Marauder’s hand shoots out to grasp Emarra by the hair, yanking him from his chair by the scalp. The motion wrenches a pitiful yelp from his lips, palms grasping at his assailant’s wrist in an effort to relieve the pain.

“I thought I told you not to lie to me, son.”

His voice, perfectly level, belies no hint of anger. He might as well be asking about the weather for all his tone suggests.

“Zerkev–” 

The grip on his hair, already ironclad, grows tighter. 

“General Pravus, sir,” Emarra corrects himself breathlessly, a nervous chuckle catching in his throat. It would be unwise to double down he thinks, but… Ah, screw it. He’s a carnie at heart. Honesty has never been his virtue. “I have a show to run. You really think I’m wasting my precious time on pointless games?”

Zerkev regards him carefully, lips pressed into a line. The silence hangs over them like lead, suffocating enough to prompt another anxious plea from the clown.

“You know how Maelia treats me! Why would I go looking for trouble under his nose?”

“Hm.” The general blinks slowly, fingers still wound tightly in the purpleblood’s hair. “I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?”

Emarra nods the best he can with his head practically glued to the man’s hand, eyes blown wide. “Exactly! I–”

“Yumeno.”

“Sir?” He swallows, choking down his pride with some hope of warding off the venom that lurks behind that stony expression.

“Did I tell you that was Drakon’s hive?”

Emarra’s stomach drops like a stone, the panic he’s been working so hard to suppress now lurching to the surface, plain as day on his face. Zerkev’s expression is unflinching, much like the tight and fearsome grip he maintains on the Ringleader’s hair. 

A reply is hard to come by under that icy glare, but eventually the clown manages to find his voice.

“Wh-Why else would you be so upset?” he stammers, choking on his own desperation. “Everyone knows how you get about your privacy.”

The way Zerkev’s lip twitches, it’s clear that was not the answer he wanted.

“My livin’ with Drakon is public knowledge now, is it?” His tone, low before, turns downright dangerous. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped Emarra’s hair right out of his scalp.

Past the edges of his own hubris, the purpleblood can see that he is being given one final chance to come clean. As much as he hates the man, he can’t deny that the Marauder’s patience is astounding. Any other fish would have flown off the handle ages ago.

He swallows, fingers still clasped around the general’s assaulting wrist, and selects his next words with care.

“I made a mistake,” he says slowly, heart lodged in his throat.

“A mistake?” Zerkev echoes incredulously, almost amused at his audacity.

“A poor choice.”

“I’ll say. Unless you wanna tell me spyin’ on my home was a necessary part of the process?”

“I… I was just messing with the kid,” Emarra finally admits, voice small.

“Instead of lookin’ for mine.”

“Both! I was doing both! You couldn’t have expected me to drop my entire life for you!”

Zerkev exhales slowly, something between a growl and a sigh. It’s all the warning Emarra gets before the general throws his arm to fling him face-first into the wall, the ache in his scalp quickly replaced by a new searing pain and the scent of blood in his nose. He loses his footing in the toss and crumples to the floor in a heap, hissing quietly.

Before he has the chance to catch his bearings, the Ringleader feels a cold-toed boot upon his neck.

“I’d say I’m a reasonable man, Yumeno, wouldn’t you?” He grinds his shoe into the base of Emarra’s skull before easing up, not waiting for an answer. “So here’s what I think sounds reasonable.”

Still somewhat dazed, he can only grimace in response as Zerkev grabs him by the collar and hoists him to his feet to slam his back against the wall.

“You’re gonna get one warning. Keep that greasy nose out of my business. Leave my mate and his family alone. And find my goddamned son. Are we understood?”

Emarra squares his jaw and nods.

“Are we understood?”

His teeth are as good as dust with how hard he grits them. “Yes, sir.”

Zerkev regards him carefully, eyes flitting across his face as he, perhaps, tries to gauge the man’s sincerity. Emarra can’t help but bristle. Can’t he let him go already? What more does he fucking want?

The general frowns, evidently displeased by whatever attitude he can still detect on his underling’s face. The clown prickles under his scrutiny, for once facing down a type of attention he would sooner escape. Then, all at once, that attention is drawn elsewhere, to the small voice that sounds beyond the room’s beaded entrance. 

“Emarra!”

Though Zerkev doesn’t release the purpleblood’s collar, his grip loosens considerably, just in time for Sylvie’s innocent, four-eyed face to push its way into the scene. Those eyes become saucers when they land on the Marauder, the woman’s delicate features overtaken by fear.

“General Pravus,” she squeaks, gaze darting between him and her ringmaster.

Zerkev nods in greeting, venom all but evaporated, and Emarra thanks the Messiahs for his sprite’s timely arrival.

“I-I, um…” She shoots him another anxious glance, hand unconsciously drifting toward her own nose as she spies the blood leaking from his. “I didn’t know you would have… company.”

“I was just leavin’,” the general answers, though he makes no move to do so.

Another silence descends on the trailer, with Zerkev’s pensive gaze now settled squarely on the mutant. Emarra can practically see the gears turning in his head, and he only wishes it could come as a surprise when the man opens his mouth again.

“I just got one more thing to square away ‘fore I go. Miss Selari, hon, would you mind steppin’ outside a minute? Won’t be long.”

Sylvie hesitates, again looking to the clown. With an agitated grimace, he sighs and gives her a nod. The sooner they can get this over with, the better.

His approval eases her enough to acquiesce, and soon enough she is padding back out on light and silent feet, the gentle rattle of beads all that announces her departure. The moment that faint click subsides, Zerkev’s attention is back on Emarra.

“She’s sweeter than you deserve.”

The Ringleader balks at him, the tameness of the insult somehow a bigger slap than his previous scathing reprimands. He doesn’t care what the bastard thinks of him, obviously, but it’s not the type of comment he expects during this kind of performance review.

“How long’s it been now? That you’ve had her?”

“This is what you’re hanging around to talk about?”

Evidently, the question was rhetorical, as Emarra’s non-answer glances ineffectually off the general’s chest. He finally releases him and steps away, at least, allowing the clown some room to breathe while he prepares to prattle on.

“Mallum’s always been a bright kid, you know. Wicked bright. Bit more self control and he’d be unstoppable.”

“Uh-huh,” the purpleblood responds, his irritation palpable.

“He had a hard time with schoolfeeding. Lacked discipline, always got distracted with other things. Ain’t his fault– We’re a species built on base impulse. Same reason we don’t rear our own young.”

What the fuck is he even talking about right now?

“Most trolls lack the ability to self-regulate. We found with Mallum… It sometimes helped to remove the distractions for him. He hated me for it, ‘course, but it did him good in the end.”

“I’ll remember that next time I decide to become a lusus,” Emarra deadpans, wiping the blood from his nose.

Zerkev locks eyes with him, placid expression once again turning grave.

“Yumeno. The next time you force me out here to remind you of your job, I’m taking Miss Selari back with me.”

[blue-jisungs]

not… yet?

submitted. “hey i’ve just stumbled across your blog and i found this hoshi request you answered. it was really good so i was wondering if you could make a part 2? like how cheol reacts to finding out they’re dating and the rest of svt in general! anything continuing the story would be great 😭😭”

a/n. help i forgot i had submissions on i have no idea how it works 💀 also there was SO MUCH asks about continuation of this… so yeah here you go all :D

you were walking around the kitchen, checking if everything is alright and everyone will be pleased. hosting a party for 13 guys with big appetite was surely a tough task.

suddenly you heard a doorbell and your feet lead you to them. it was strange for them to arrive this early but you assumed it’s hoshi that wanted to spend some time alone with you before his friends arrive.

but it was seungcheol.

“o-oh. hi cheollie!” you grinned and hugged him.

“hi y/n! i figured i’d help a bit so i came earlier. and i wanted to talk to you” seungcheol said calmly and let you go, stepping into the apartment.

now, normally you’d freak out. but you overheard what mingyu was talking about - cheol wants to warn you about possibly dating hoshi. well.

“oh? about what?” you asked, remembering to act clueless. because technically you weren’t in hoshi’s bedroom when mingyu told him that.

“soonyoung”

you nodded, grabbing the tea you made for yourself a bit earlier.

“mhm, mhm. go on?” you hummed, distracting yourself with the mug and tracing shapes on it.

“i think he has a crush on you. and i think you noticed, too. especially after the last filming of gose. but… y/n with all respect. i know you can make a decision on your own but… don’t” seungcheol said softly.

“why?”

“you’re considering it and i don’t like it” your friend joked and you took a sip of the tea “it’s just… i’m a bit worried. because what if it doesn’t work out? and it will be awkward between all of us? besides he’s an idol. i’m your bestie and we have problems to meet due to my busy schedule, then what about a boyfriend?”

your gaze softened, putting away your cup. seungcheol sighed, tightening his lips.

“but i’m not the one to tell you what to do. if you somehow end up with him… please do tell me first” he send you a serious gaze and felt your palms sweating.

“yeah yeah. absolutely” you nodded, looking at him trying to keep your cool face. he just grinned and put his sleeves up.

“let’s change the subject, though. but is there something i can help with?” seungcheol asked, looking around

“actually, yeah! i have some sprite and coca cola in the fridge but do you think it’s enough? also–”

it didn’t take long enough until the rest of them arrived, except… hoshi.

“he will be late!” jeonghan said, noticing your confused face “he said he wanted to buy some snacks or whatever. besides that i’m pretty much sure that he forgot we were supposed to meet at 7, not 6”

time passed as you started playing uno, getting lost in the game. your laughs mixed with the soft music minghao sneaked to play in the background when suddenly your front door opened widely.

“hi baby–!”

it felt like you were in a movie. everyone froze, including soonyoung in the doorway. you felt seungcheol’s burning gaze on you. slowly facing hoshi, you cleared your throat to say something when seungkwan spoke up.

“how did he even get in, you closed the door–”

hoshi quickly began to hide the keys from your place into his pocket but they slipped out of his hands and fell onto the ground with a loud clank.

“what’s going on?” vernon laughed and you felt blood rushing to your cheeks.

“oh my god” seungcheol whined and pinched the bridge of his nose. you looked at soonyoung, blinking slowly.

“uh, yeah. i better get going. it was fun!” he announced and left your house, as suddenly as he entered it.

“what?” jihoon scoffed. everyone was looking at seungcheol and you quickly got up, running after your boyfriend.

“OOOOH” jeonghan suddenly gasped, eyes widening “that’s why when we were filming gose you went with him–”

“what?” dokyeom frowned.

“you were too drunk to remember. besides, you were busy trying to take a midnight swim” seungcheol sighed and looked at you… well, your empty spot “yah, y/n y/s!”

you slammed the door just when he called you and noticed hoshi squatting next to your door.

“what do we do now?” you asked, looking at him.

“i don’t know… i’m sorry” soonyoung pouted and you squatted down next to him, grabbing his hand.

“hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about. we would have to tell them eventually. besides, they are our friends. cheol will be a little bit fussy at first but it will be okay, right?” you hummed and hoshi frowned, facing you.

“why would he be fussy?” he asked, confused.

“well he came in earlier today and told me that if i end up dating you i should tell him asap. and well, we have been dating for a while now…” you sighed and gave his hand a squeeze “c’mon… horangi power…?”

you rose your other hand and put it into the horanghae sign. hoshi’s eyes lit up and you swore he just gained a sudden rush of energy.

soonyoung bursted back into the room, raising your intertwined hands.

“we’re dating!” he yelled and you looked at him frightened. and he looked at you cluelessly, goofy grin on his face quickly washing away “not… yet?”

you scoffed, shaking your head and looking at your friends. well, 11 men with their mouth open in shock and one camel with squinted eyes, murder clearly on his mind.

“surprise!” you said, your voice breaking. it caused them to crack up a bit, loosening the atmosphere.

“were you even planning on telling us?” mingyu giggled.

“of course!” your boyfriend shrugged, wide smile appearing on his face. not for too long because seungcheol stood up and slowly walked up to you.

“i need to talk to you” he said, threateningly pointing his finger at hoshi. with no effort whatsoever he unattached your hands and dragged soonyoung to another room. your boyfriend let out a dramatic yelp and you send thumbs up.

“hopefully he’ll live” wonwoo grinned and patted the empty spot next to him, signalling you to join them

“tell us about him! is he as horrible as a boyfriend as he is as a–” seungkwan joked but…

“yah, i can still hear you!” hoshi yelled from somewhere in the house.

when almost an hour passed, the boys noticed you started getting more and more anxious.

“maybe i should go check on them?” just when you asked yourself out loud, soonyoung left the room almost flying towards you.

his arms wrapped around you, eyes glistening with happiness.

“i’ll never hurt you, every never but please do punch me if i accidentally say something that makes you sad” he murmured and you looked at cheol, who just grinned smugly.

“you’ll thank me later. also, i’m the brides man at your wedding” your friend grinned and simply by those words he caused a big discussion.

“WHAT–?!” dokyeom gasped, deeply (and dramatically) offended.

[ masterlist <3 ]

taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinhobi ,, @jung0ne ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @moonacholy ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @stcrlcst ,, @l3visbby

[tw-inkl-e-tit-s]

✩-Milkshake-✩

Pairing: Miguel Cazarez Mora x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Type: idk?

Warnings: Creepy guy, cussing, blood I think, and fights

| Miguel Cazarez Mora Masterlist

Y/N'S POV

I rolled my eyes as I walked away from the table, Putting my pen and notepad in my apron pocket as I made my way to the kitchen, Placing the order paper on the rack. The same guy has been flirting with me for half an hour now, He keeps getting touchier and touchier, Touching my waist to compliment my shirt or when I turn around I hear camera flicks and chuckling coming from the group of teen boys. Don't get me wrong I love my job- but it's people like this who make me want to quit. I worked with my brother and I could easily tell him since he owns the place- but he would probably beat the guy and his friends to death, and that's not good for business, So I just kept my mouth shut and did my job.

I heard the bell ring meaning someone has entered our left, I walked out to see a group of teens around my age, A girl with long brown hair, a boy with short jet-black hair, One with Blond fluffy hair, A tall one with shaggy dirty blond hair, One stuck out to me though, He was tall and had long curly brown hair, Jeause was he the most angelic person to walk into this diner, I have had several guys come in that were pretty good lookin' but this guy made them look like a joke.

I quickly snapped out of my gaze as I noticed they sat down, I grabbed my pen and notepad out of my pocket and took a deep breath as I made my way over to the group. Once I arrived all the chatting stopped and all the attention went to me, Making me stiffen, "Hi what can I get you all to drink?" I smiled, Getting my pen ready to write, "Can I get a Sprite please?" The boy with black hair asked, The boy with blond hair gasped, "I thought you were goin' to try the strawberry soda!?" The boy with black hair laughed, "Tristan, Brady shut the fuck up!" The boy with shaggy blond hair whisper shouted looking between the two, So that's their names.

"uh, Tristan? would you like the strawberry soda, The sprite here is kinda shit and I wouldn't recommend it honestly," I said, He laughed causing me to loosen up some, He nodded his head, "Yeah I'll take the strawberry soda," He smiled, I looked over at Brady raising my eyebrow,

"Oh I'll have a sprite, please," He said

"Um excuse the fuck out of me-" Brady cut Tristan off by laughing, "I'm just playing, I'll take the same thing," I nodded at wrote it down, "What would you like?" I asked the boy with shaggy blond hair, he thought for a little before speaking, "Do you guys have water?" he asked, I gave him a funny look before his friends busted out laughing, "Do they have water? What kind of restaurant doesn't have water? Mason, you are stupid bro," Tristan laughed, I giggled and wrote it down,

"I'll have the same thing!" The girl with brown hair added, I crossed out one and put a little two beside the water, I looked over to the boy with long hair, Who was already looking back at me, Slightly smiling, I cleared my throat and smiled, "Um what would you like to drink?" I asked trying my best to hold eye contact so I don't seem rude,

"You," He mumbled as he looked me up and down, I honestly didn't mind it but this was a place of business and if I wanted to get paid this week I needed to do my job.

Brady nudged his arm giving him a weird look, "Miguel bro, What do you want to drink?" He asked, Miguel shook his head blinking fast, "U-uh Dr.Pepper p-please," he stuttered out, sighing and covering his face with his hands, I smirked as wrote down his drink order, "I'll have your drinks out soon," I said walking off,

"Hey, sexy!" I sucked my teeth as I heard the annoying voice behind me, I put on a fake smile as I turned around, Slowly walking up to the group of boys, "Need anything?" I asked sarcastically, He smirked, "Your number," He said licking his lips, I wanted to throw up, but I laughed and rolled my eyes,

he grabbed me by my waist and tried pulling me onto his lap, I panicked as I looked around the diner Making eye contact with the girl that came in earlier, She raised her eyebrows as if asking "Are you okay?" I nodded my head and tried gently pushing the guy away, but he wouldn't give up, It wasn't until I was grabbed and pulled away from the guy, I looked up to see my older brother fuming, His fists were balled up by his sides, And man if looks could kill, that boy would fucking drop dead right then and there.

"Why are grabbing my little sister like that fool?" He spat, stepping up to the boy who was now standing, He looked like he was gonna shit his pants, "I didn't know she was your sister!" He said raising his hands in defense, My brother chuckled bitterly, "And if she wasn't? What gave you the right to think you could touch women like that!?" he shouted, all attention was on us at this point, "Bro look at her-" He was cut off by my brother grabbing him by his arm and dragging him out back, My uncles, Anthony and Edward grabbed his other friends and dragged them out back as well, I sighed as I made my way to the kitchen to get the drinks for the poor group who was still waiting.

I walked over to the group handing them their drinks, I was gonna walk away but the girl stopped me, "Wait, are you okay?" She asked sounding genuinely worried, I smiled and nodded my head, "It happens more than you would think," I said, "That sucks, if you don't mind me asking, How old are you?" She asked, "I'm sixteen!" I said, She smiled and nodded, "I knew it! you looked young," She said laughing, "I'm Madeleine, This is Tristan, Brady, Mason, and Miguel!" She said, Pointing at all of the boys who just waved, "I'm Y/n, it's great to have some nice people in here," I smiled, "Are yall ready to order?" I asked, They nodded,

"I just want the chicken strips and fries," Mason said, I nodded writing it down, "Ohhh- Wait, Can I get the uh- Can I get the uhhh- uhhh- the… Uhhhh- Oh the burger and fries!" Tristan shouted causing me to laugh, "I just want the strawberry waffles," Madeleine smiled, "I want the same thing but with chocolate chips," Brady added, I wrote it down and turned to Miguel whose face was flushed red, "I just want the shrimp alfredo pasta," He said, "Would you like breadsticks or salad with that?" I asked, He looked at the menu, "Uh… breadsticks?" He said, I nodded at wrote it down, "I'll have your food out as soon as possible," I smiled, walking away.

I made my way to the kitchen where I saw my brother changing his shirt in the far corner, He had some red stuff all over it- which I'm assuming was blood. I walked up to him, "Did you kill him?" I asked half scared of the response I would receive, He laughed shaking his head, "No, but let's just say he and his friends defiantly won't be coming back here anytime soon," I smiled and rolled my eyes punching his arm lightly, "Hey, you're my little sister and I would do anything for you, Just yell if something like that happens again, K?" He said, His face serious, I smiled and nodded as he pulled me into a light hug.

I heard the bell ring, I pulled away and walked out of the kitchen, It was a regular, And my favorite to say the least. I made my way up to the old man who looks like he just got off work, It was Friday so he most likely did, I grabbed my pen and notepad as I stopped in front of the table, which was a table down from the group I was serving. "The regular, Tommy?" I asked, He nodded his head as he crossed his arms, "You know it Y/n," He smiled, I laughed as wrote down a coffee and Breakfast combo.

"How have you been doin'?" I asked as I stuffed the notepad back in my pocket, He sighed as he looked at me, "Oh you know, Just on the road, Had to stop by on my break to see my favorite person," He chuckled, "Aw stop, How is Maria," I asked, Maria worked here but took some time off since she had her baby, Tommy would just come in on his days off and to see Maria, "She's doing good, The baby is doing good, She's coming back soon and I don't think she's ready to leave the baby just yet," He laughed, I giggled as I shook my head, "Well I'm gonna go get your coffee and I'll be back," I smiled as I walked off.

"Y/n table six food is ready!" Anthony yelled, I grabbed the platter of food and quickly made my way to the group, "Ok we got, Chicken stripes and fries, Burger and fries, Strawberry waffles, Chocolate chip waffles, and Shrimp alfredo pasta with breadsticks," I smiled and handed them their food, "This looks so good thank you!" Madeleine laughed as she cut up her waffles, "No problem!" I smiled, "When do you get off work?" Mason asked randomly, "Uh I get off as soon as I'm done with this table and also table six!" I said, looking over to check on Tommy.

"Oh, that's not long!" He said I furrowed my eyebrows, Madeleine cleared her throat before speaking, "What he meant to say-" She gave Mason a look before continuing "-Is we would like to hang out with you after," She smiled, I smiled at her, it would be nice to hang out with some new people, "Well I would have to go home and shower and everything-" "Thats fine we'll wait for you!" She beamed, I nodded my head, "Alright sure!" I said as I walked off to go get Tommy's coffee, "Ohh Miguel, You better ask her out dude or I will," Tristan said causing laughter to erupt from the group, I blushed as I tried to control my smile, I looked up to see Miguel looking back at me, I winked at him, He smirked and looked away, I don't know where that boost of confidence came from but I'm not mad.

Tag list: @vancehopperenthusiast @bradyhepner @deadghosy @finneyblakes @mnsnloverhey @jayceflwrs @mrslandryy @bookobsessedfreak

[fateinthestars]

Can we get a wishes uniform analysis please?! 🙏❤️

I'm guessing this is cos of the ramble I did about Punishments' Uniform and how Zyglavis is the only one who wears it 100% correctly here

Well Wishes is more unique to each person (or do I mean less consistent? 🤣(Seriously though just a more relaxed dress code probably)), but let's see.

With the neckwear being different for everyone the specific thing to look at here is probably more the buttons, so I needed to go take screenshots of when they're standing further back... you'll hopefully see what I mean in a moment:

If there is a 'correct' way to wear the Wishes uniform, Teorus seems to be the closest to it. The only other person who even bothers to use the chains that link the jacket buttons together is Tauxolouve but there's other issues with his. Even here Teorus isn't using all three so it's still not absolutely immaculate like Zyglavis is in Punishments.

I'm gonna include Hue here in the top as well though. Whilst he isn't using the chains his jacket is immaculately straight compared to the others in Wishes.

The neckwear in Wishes seems to be individualised (whereas in Punishments if you're wearing a tie it's gotta be a tie and it's gotta be black). White could make the most sense for Wishes in theory as I think gold would probably be over the top, but I think again Teo is the only one wearing White and it's a cravat rather than a Tie. I'm staring at Hue's sprite trying to work out whether that's some form of tie with the water-bearer symbol as a tie pin type thing or whether it's more like a necklace type thing. (Thanks to @juliettebbgamer seems likely it's a String/Cowboy/Bolo Tie - so yeah as before Teorus and Huedhaut seem the closest to showing off how the Wishes uniform is supposed to be worn)

Let's go to the Wishes' Ministers next shall we?

Now neither Leon or Karno have their jacket done up at all and let it just flow away, but Karno has his collar down properly and is also wearing a tie. (This tie and his human outfit... is red Karno's favourite colour?)

Talking of neckwear something occurred to me earlier when talking to @pwamisaurus : In Ichthys' main story at the end the King gives him a ring to subdue his powers whilst on Earth. If jewellery can be used in that manner, considering Leon's powers were causing problems even with them sealed with a mark of sin, his necklace could be doing a similar thing - meanwhile I was wondering whether Ichthys' is more to do with helping his energy levels or somesuch due to his mortality.

I've one final note on this: It looks to me as though one of the reasons Karno doesn't do his jacket up is cos he likes putting his hands in his pockets. Does he need to keep his hands occupied somehow? Like he's a very insistent hand-holder with MC even before they pretend to date his route, let alone when they actually are.

Okay onto the last two now:

I'm not gonna put Tauxolouve and Aigonorus side by side because poor Lou is trying. As I said before he's the only other one who uses any of the chains but look at the state of that vest... this is gonna be to do with Lou struggling with little detailed work isn't it? Those vest buttons are tiny, and it looks like he's only bothered to get the top one done up.

That purple cravat always feels a little too large to me too but I do really like it aside from that.

Oh my sweet Aigonorus. Of course your uniform is the most in a state. But... there's something that's been bugging me about this: You're telling me Aigo of all people could be bothered with a tie? Like, sure, he's put it barely on and really haphazardly but I would have thought Aigo would be more comfortable without one. Maybe he found a really soft tie and that's what he likes about it? 😆

The other thing that was bugging me was the colour, though @pwamisaurus is right - it's grey. Even without it being black it still feels more like one of Punishments' rather than something Wishes would wear.

[sleepsonclouds]

Clouds tropespots: The Spirealm, E10

Episode 10 (Drum sisters, 3rd door)

The human skin drum story is wrapping up! I really liked the creepy melancholy of this episode. The crossdressing comedy of errors is a bit more subdued, which I honestly liked.

Everyone thinks we're family: Turns out the story is a love triangle between the two sisters and some guy. Even Cheng Qianli gets it! The cheeky brat: "I envy my sister and brother-in-law too. But I'm not jealous." Nanzhu, expression shifting: "Who's your sister? ...Who's your brother-in-law?" Alas, Qianli only gets the sister part right - Li Dongyan is not the brother-in-law wanted here! Nanzhu threatens to bury Qianli alive. Aww.

Everyone thinks we're family (cont.): Li Dongyan gives a (fake) key to Nanzhu, "his brother-in-law". They can't even do that normally, Dongyan must slip it into Nanzhu's pocket. Is his subconscious picking up on the fact that his hypothetical girlfriend and brother-in-law are one and the same? His interactions with Nanzhu are fascinating to say the least.

Seeking advice from partner: Nanzhu tells everyone he lost the (fake) key. How could he?! His little stricken face! Drama sprite mode is ON. Time to consult his partner: "Linlin. What should we do? The key is lost. We can't go back." Qiushi's very chill about it: "It's fine if we can't go back. Let's stay here together." Well, that works too!

Lending out partner: They're solving the plot, and Xu Jin might get in the way. But there's a solution! "You're responsible for dating," Nanzhu tells Qiushi. Perhaps the Girlfriend Discussion (aka Qiushi's utter incomprehension when it comes to women) has mellowed his jealous tendencies...

Saving partner: Qiushi is hallucinating (again), but manages to resist Xu Jin by stating that he'll "only cherish what he has now". And wonder of wonders, we hear Nanzhu's frantic "Linlin" getting through the illusion! He banishes Xu Jin by threatening to break the human skin drum. Nanzhu must know it's pretty important, but not as important as his Linlin.

Supporting partner (probably necessary): Now Nanzhu has reason to get his hands all over Qiushi, who is worse for wear after Xu Jin's banshee screech. Must support partner. With both hands.

As long as you're happy: Nanzhu refuses to explain what happened. Qiushi knows better than to believe Nanzhu's "I reasoned with her", believing quite rightly that the drama sprite is messing with him. But it makes Nanzhu so happy! "As long as you're happy", says Qiushi, resigned to his fate.

Saving partner (cont.): While the others are slumbering peacefully, Qiushi falls asleep for five seconds and is almost killed by the skinless, glowing monster who wants his skin. (Are those fairy lights? They look like fairy lights.) Nanzhu wakes up at the last moment and uses the human skin drum to drive it away. "Are you hurt? Why didn't you wake us up?" asks Nanzhu. I am Qiushi's great indignation. And the drum is now broken. "I was so worried that I broke it." Okay, Nanzhu is forgiven.

Injuries (real): Qiushi is hit by the door ghost when everyone else has already left. He staggers through the door and promptly collapses. Cue intense worry and Nanzhu yelling for the doctor. They really spend a lot of time worrying about each other's physical well-being in this door! Now they're out, and only the lone kaleidoscope is left. I love those, whatever they are. We'll get to spend some quality time in the real world in -> Episode 11.

[small-spark-of-light]

Im telling you guys about my theory on evadare and what the void is(threat/j)

for context(according to what i heard from people who are in rems server): the events of evadare and xrun are REAL events that actually happened to Rafe. this is confirmed

The Void is a VERY big mystery, y'know? like, vaguely gestures. the two main things ive seen are: Is Whats Going On In It Real and Whats Happening.

Heres my thoughts on what it is, and i even have Evidence!!!

I think the void is a weird pocket dimension, in that bermuda triangle-esc thing we see the ship shipwreck into, that projects the viewers traumas and fears into reality as a form of Nightmare, and the way to beat it/get out is to "beat your nightmare". weird right?

this is in Rems video titled "Incredibox || Evadare Chapter III - Void || Announcement"

Now onto why i think the void projects peoples traumas and fears and to why i think its Not Real!! in that order

Do you see those warning triangles that say "OXYGEN LOW"? those are the same warning triangles we see in the Galaxy Bonuses on Rafes space suit

and have you noticed the Void gasmasks name? its 072021. 07/2021. July 2021. its a date, and if you look at all of rems youtube posts during that time, you can see that they all relate to Galaxy:

July 2nd, 2021 Galaxy Mix, "Good old times"

July 13th, 2021 All Unused Galaxy Files

July 18th, 2021 Galaxy's Bonus 1, The Forgotten (remake)

July 27th, 2021 Galaxy, the Zodiac Update

July 29th, 2021 Galaxy, All Bonuses

Nearly suffocating to death in space, only being saved by either his friend sacrificing himself or Aries stepping in, Must have been traumatic for Rafe. and seeing him die(again depending on what you believe) would be terrifying!!

this friend, seen in both the 2nd galaxy bonus and evadares 3rd bonus. Rafe has to see nightmare crush his friend. the next screenshot is from voids 1st bonus, right before it happens

His friend dying is either a severe Trauma to Rafe or a severe Fear. either way, the void takes advantage of it. Now onto whats actually a fear.

Capitan(and his crew by proxy) is one of the only allies Rafe has in this entire journey, and you can see this in his sound in the mod too!! him Telling Rafe that he should stay and he will be kept safe.

it makes sense that seeing him die would be a major fear of Rafe.

And now that we went into what the Void Does, lets go into if its real or not. as i said i don't think it is, and the secret is in the sprites/voids bonus!!

Look at the sprite between Nightmare and Jacko.

They're similar, but Noticeably different!! nightmares eyes and mouth are different, and the shapes his sprite is comprised of are bumpy and rough, compared to Jackos face and smooth/clean sprite-work.

and another: notice the differences between gasmask and 072021(along with 072021 being a incarnation of Rafes trauma from galaxy)

different outfits. but thats not really one im paying attention to tho, despite it being worth noting.

what i want to talk about is their Animations!! gasmasks only animation is his head moving up and down to the rhythm of his sound, and his mask lenses fogging up as he exhales. while 072021's animation has the cheeks of his mask puff up and sink in as he inhales and exhales!! very noticeable difference. especially considering the point i made before

now onto the most notable point:

Rafes cuts on his face are completely missing.

we can clearly see in Voids 1st bonus that he has the cuts on his face he gained in Xrun:

but later, in the same bonus, As SOON as he enters the void and we can see his face, they are GONE COMPLETELY:

you may say its a mistake and rem forgot, but she included the blood spatter on rafes face he got from Capitan dying at Nightmares hands, his cuts stayed the entire time in xruns bonuses and the beginning of Voids, so they are an important detail in his design!!

The blood spatter is even in his sprite!! theres no way rem would include the BLOOD FROM CAPITAN DYING and THE SLIT IN HIS EYEBROW and not include the cuts on his face

That concludes this VERY long post about my theory!!!! i hope you guys consider this :DDDDD