#cable hanging system

[gretavangroupie]

Exposure

Word count: 11.3k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Stripping, Photo Exhibitionism, Touching, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Oh! Didn't see you there! Happy February! Welcome to the very first installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy this first story in the set of four. We can't wait to share the rest with you! See you real soon!

You pull your jacket snug against your chest, your camera bag hanging heavy on your shoulder as you make the trek up to the front door of the house. You can hear music coming from the basement already, likely the bands warming up before the show starts. You sneak through the front door, breezing through the mostly empty house in search of the basement. Following the noise, you walk down the stairs and into a small swarm of people all bustling and busy trying to get things set up before the show. How you got roped into shooting a basement show on Valentine's day of all days is beyond you, although it’s not like you have anything better to do.

Your eyes search around for any sign of your friends but you know they’re probably either running late, which is not shocking, or busy unloading their gear outside. You typically never shoot events like this- well, this small, but a favor for your best friend was long overdue. You stand at a small table loading the film into your camera, her one begging request of her set being captured on film, about to be fulfilled. You look around for any other photographers but you see no one, and it’s then that you realize just how small of a gig this really is. 

You did your best to blend in tonight, donning the industry standard of black, but realizing now that it almost wouldn’t have mattered what you wore. You kept it simple with a black long sleeve shirt, and a pair of black leather pants, adding a heeled boot to give yourself a little extra height behind the lens. 

You grab an extra roll of film and shove it into your pants pocket before placing your camera bag beneath the stage for safe keeping. People are quickly starting to fill the small basement, and you’re thankful for this weeks’ cold snap, knowing that this basement would be sweltering otherwise. You pull your phone from your pocket checking for any signs of life from your friends, laughing as you see a ‘we’re running late’ text. Shaking your head you put your phone back in your pocket and start to check your settings, adjusting to the lowlight of the room.

The basement is fully packed at this point, the first band stepping on to the stage and starting things off with a blaring guitar intro. The lights dim even further, causing you to adjust your settings again, and you wonder if you need to grab your flash attachment. You feel a tap on your shoulder, a rush of nerves in your chest as you spin around to see who it could be. 

“Are you shooting film?” A pair of dark brown eyes asks, a look of genuine curiosity painted across the irises. 

You smile and hold up your camera, “Yeah, I am! How did you know?” 

A smile sweeps across his face, his long dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, but partially obscured under a red beanie. His cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold outside, the alcohol in his system, or the weight of his cable knit sweater. “I’m a bit of a hobbyist. Specifically film. I recognized your camera.”

“You did? This thing is pretty old.” you say, pulling your hair from beneath your camera strap. 

“Yeah, I have the same one. Mines the silver version though.” he says, leaning in closely so that you can hear him over the loud music. 

You look up at him, and nod, leaning back in towards him as you respond. “Oh really? Does yours have the battery door issue?”

His hand lays softly against your shoulder as he leans in closer, ready to respond but your attention is ripped away as you see your friends in your peripheral. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, my friends just walked in and they are actually supposed to go on next.” you say holding up your camera to show your purpose of being here in the first place. 

“You’re fine, go ahead.” he smiles, pulling away from you and taking a sip from his seltzer. 

You send him a soft smile, taking a final look at him before turning to meet your friends. As you walk up to meet them you can’t help but to look over to where you were just standing, finding the mystery man gone. You scan the room as your friends talk at you, looking for any sight of him, but you’re snapped back to the present as they are called up to the stage. 

With a hug from your best friend and a kiss on the cheek she darts up the small stairs with a smile. “Wish us luck! And make sure you get my good side!”  

You make your way towards the front of the stage, checking your settings one more time as the band starts to play. Admittedly, they sound a lot better than they did the last time you saw them perform, and the crowd behind you really seems to be into them. You even notice a few people wearing their merch and wonder when that happened. Had you really been that absent?

You duck down as you work your way across the front of the stage, snapping photos of your friends as they play their hearts out. You quietly apologize to the people you block with your camera, taking a quick glance behind you with each step you take. About two songs into their set you’ve made your way to the opposite side of the stage, looking behind you only to catch a glance of your mystery guy, standing against the wall with his drink. 

You try to pretend you didn’t see him, but it’s no use as you trip over an electrical cord and make a complete spectacle of yourself in the process. However, when you don't collide with the concrete of the basement floor and instead are met with a pair of warm steady hands, you feel a sigh of relief hoping that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see you trip after all. Turning to face your hero, you’re met with none other than your hobbyist.

A grin spreads across his face as he helps you to stand, one hand in his, and the other firmly planted on your camera. 

“Falling for me so soon? At least tell me your name first…” he jokes, letting go of you as you steady yourself on your feet. 

“Y/N…And thanks, I– guess they ran out of Gaff tape and I found the only cord not taped down.” you laugh. 

He smiles and shakes his head in faux disgust, “Rule number one, always carry an extra roll in your gig box for the ladies. I’m Sam, by the way.” 

“Well, Sam, thank you for not letting me fall in front of all of these people.” you laugh. 

“Oh, I was actually saving the camera… Precious vintage...” he winks, pursing his lips together. 

“Oh, of course. Yeah.” you stammer, suddenly feeling ridiculous. 

As if he can sense your distress he places a hand on your arm, “Wait no, I was kidding. Of course I was saving you. Let me– Can I get you a drink?” he asks, trying for a peace offering. 

“I think I’m kinda out of hands…” you laugh, snapping a photo as you focus through the viewfinder. 

“I’m not…” he counters, “Whad’ya want? I’ll grab it for you…”

You lick over your lips, deciding maybe a drink assistant wouldn’t be too bad. You turn over your shoulder as he leans close letting you talk into his ear. “A seltzer, I don’t care what flavor, surprise me.”

He gives you an understanding nod and turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd.

You watch your friends start to close up their set and you compose another set of photos you think will be the shots of the night. 

“A drink for the lady…” he says, as he holds a drink up in front of the lens. You lower your camera and spin around to grab it from him, watching him crack the lid open before he hands it to you. 

“Prickly pear, huh…” you pause, taking a sip of the fizzy drink. “Did you know that was my favorite or just a lucky guess?”

“Well, I figured… you have great taste in cameras…” he trails off, taking the drink back from you so you can continue to shoot. 

You feel him lean into your shoulder, his warm breath on your neck. “The red light really does nothing for photos, does it…” he laughs. 

“No, and I’m half convinced that’s why they do it.” you retort. 

“Oh, it definitely is. Trust me. That and it looks badass.” he laughs, stepping back again. 

As the set ends you watch your friends leave the stage, ready to drink and party with the rest of you. The room quiets to a dull roar as the next band starts to take the stage, ready to set up their equipment. You lower your camera around your neck, letting it hang freely as you turn back to Sam. 

“You get the shot?” he asks, sipping the same Prickly Pear Topo Chico. 

“I think so, looks like I’ve got…” you pause, checking your dial. “Two left on this roll. Should probably change over before the next act. Here, smile.” you say, holding the viewfinder to your eye. 

He blushes a little, holding both of the drinks in his hands and giving you wide open mouth smile. 

You capture those last two images and hear the winder start to spin. “That’ll do it!” you say, dropping your camera around your neck and pulling the extra black film cartridge from your pocket. 

“Oh here, let me help you. You have your drink…” he offers, holding out your can. 

“No! You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine, I’ve got it. Just need to find a table or something so I can–”

“I know I don’t have to, I just– want to. I wanna help.” he says, his eyes sweet and genuine. 

You think about it for a second, and consider that you really don’t have anything to lose. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

“Okay, sure, I’ll hold your drink now.” you smile.  

His eyes are focused as he works to remove the used film, replacing it with the new roll as quickly and efficiently as he can, making sure not to expose the roll. He clips the door shut and makes sure it's secure before placing the camera strap back over your head, pulling your hair out from beneath the straps as gently as possible. 

“There. Perfect.” he says, a warm smile on his lips. 

“Thanks Sam.” you answer, offering his drink back to him. 

“You can call me Sammy. All my friends do.” he says, accepting the wet can. 

“Oh, are we friends now?” you ask playfully, all the while thinking that you might want to be a little more than that. 

“I’d like to think so. Or– I hope so. I think you’re cute, film camera girl.”

“Do you?” you murmur, holding the can to your lips. 

As if feeling a little shy, he ducks his head a little and licks his lips, “I do.”

Before you can reciprocate his sentiment the third band starts, and somehow they are even louder than your friend's band previously. The drums are blaring loud and you can tell they need their mics turned down about three notches. You take a few photos, figuring you can never have too much in your portfolio, but after a few shots and the crowd becoming a little too rowdy, you quickly decide you are done ‘working’ for the night. You lower your camera down and spin to talk to Sam, but you find he’s gone.

Your eyes scan the crowd for him, but again, you see no trace of the cream colored sweater or his red beanie in the sea of people. You do, however, spot your best friend off in the corner of the room being hit on by someone you know to be exactly her type. You lock eyes with her, raising a brow and she just smiles at you as she continues to talk to the tall dark haired man. 

Letting her have her time with him, you make your way back to the stage to grab your camera bag. You head up the stairs, grabbing a new drink from the bar area and again searching for any signs of him. You mingle with a few strangers, making pointless small talk about work and the latest gossip before excusing yourself to the bathroom to pee. As you wash your hands you sigh at the missed connection with such a thoughtful and good looking guy, but chalk it up to being Valentine’s Day and not wanting to fall into that stereotype. 

With your new friend gone, you decide to seek out some of your old ones. With your gear bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards the thick crowd in the main living room. As you make your way through, your neck cranes around the bodies in your way, searching for a familiar face. Looking out the back window, you see your friends near their band’s van. You push open the squeaky screen door and are greeted with a harsh gust of freezing cold wind. You retract, and before you can regain your senses, you hear someone calling your name from a little ways away. 

When you get your eyes open, Sam is standing against the side of the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’s giving you a sweet, closed lipped smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel a few butterflies in your stomach as you take in his sweet face, relieved that he’s happy to see you hasn’t disappeared like you thought. You approach him with a sweet smile, holding on to your bag strap with both hands while your main camera hangs around your neck.

“It’s cold as fuck out here.” You say honestly, suppressing a grin. He nods, taking another inhale off the cigarette between his fingers, his smile making it a little difficult. “I thought you left.” you add while he exhales the smoke away from your face.

“What, without you?” He says with a quirked brow and a playful smolder. You laugh, stunned silent by his charisma. He realizes and laughs it off, reaching towards you. “You need a hand taking that stuff to your car?” He asks, dropping his cigarette onto the lawn and stepping on it. He offers you a hand and you willingly offer up your bag, even though you really don’t need to. 

“I didn’t really feel the need to get any more photos of the third band. I didn’t think the headache was worth it.” You say, a little tongue in cheek as you walk. Sam laughs loudly once, like it slipped out, then shakes his head looking at the ground in front of him. 

“I was trying not to be too judgmental but, yeesh. They’re really something, aren’t they?” You laugh and pop open your trunk and he sees inside as he puts your bag in.

“You have a Pentax too?” He asks, seeing the other bag you left in the trunk.

“I do. I have a couple lenses for it, I use it when I shoot… bigger stuff.” You say, not trying to sound braggy. 

“That sucker is heavy though. You must be jacked if you’re holding it up for an entire show.” He jokes, reaching for your bicep and squeezing twice. You flex a little, giving him a wink before you break character and laugh with him. You pull your camera from around your neck and slip it into its case.

“No but, I uh, I have a couple lenses too. I have a pretty big collection… It’s actually getting a bit out of hand at this point. If you ever want to borrow anything...” He mentons, helping you close the trunk. When he reaches up, his sweater rides up a bit and reveals that he’s got a white shoestring laced through the loops of his pants like a belt.

“I’d love to check it out,” you say honestly, rubbing your arms to try and warm up. The wind is brutal but the conversation is worth freezing for.

“This may be a bit forward… but the weather sucks, this music sucks… We could go have a drink at my place and I could show you?” He offers, shrugging a little bit. 

“Well…” you start, looking over at the van on the other side of the yard. Your friend seems to be deep in conversation with the guy who was helping her load up, so you’re sure she won’t miss you if you slip away. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” 

“Two things, though. One, we have to take your car, since my friend was my ride. Two, I’m driving, because you’ve had a few.” He says, giving you a boyish smile and holding out his hands so you can put the keys in them. You eye him with playful suspicion for a moment, but then figure you’ve got nothing to lose. 

“Fine.” You flick open your car key and offer it to him between two fingers with a grin. 

As he gets in, you can’t help but micromanage his actions with your car as you buckle your seatbelt. “The emergency brake is down by your left foot, and just ignore the light on the dash.” 

“I guess I should have told you that I have, indeed, driven a car before. I’m qualified.” He says, starting it and adjusting the mirrors. He’s a good bit taller than you, so he cranks the rearview upwards quite a bit. You roll your eyes at his comment, letting the radio play quietly rather than anything from your phone for fear of judgment. 

“There aren’t any street lights on these back roads. You should put the high beams on.” You comment, looking over at him for a moment, taking in his side profile. He cracks a wry smirk and flourishes his hand, turning them on.

“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, not looking away from the road. You snicker softly.

“When I want to be.” 

Before he can say anything in response, his phone starts to buzz in the center console. He reaches for it, swiping quickly across the screen to answer the call from a contact named Danny.

“Daniel!” He shouts, putting the phone on speaker. Without hesitation, you take it from him so he can use both of his hands and drive. He doesn’t object as the voice from the other end of the phone pipes up.

“Where’d you get off to?” 

“Uh, I left. Are you good to get home?” Sam answers, flipping the brights off when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road. He puts them back on once the coast is clear.

“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?”

You huff a laugh and look over to Sam shaking your head. Is this really how guys talk on the phone?

“Daniel, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell…” he jokes, sending you a wink.

“Right, are you going to that event tomorrow?”

“I had forgotten about it until this very second, but yeah. I said I would. Are you?” Sam says, and you pick up a bit of an accent. There’s a long A in forgotten where the second O should go. You smile softly as you watch the road and listen to them talk. 

“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Daniel says, and you can hear him getting into his car on the other end of the line. 

“Fuck. Alright, get home safe.” Sam says, sighing. They end the call and you’re more than tempted to ask him the meaning of all that, but he’s pulling into his driveway and the nerves start to take over, shutting you up. “Sorry about that,” he says, parking your car in his driveway next to his own. 

“Do you live by yourself?” You ask, getting out of the passenger seat. The wind is still strong and it chills you to the bone. Sam sees and picks up his pace as he leads you to the front door.

“Yeah, it’s just me.” he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts his key in the door. It’s warmly lit inside his house once he steps inside and flips on the lights. There’s an array of musical instruments scattered about as soon as you enter, amps and drums and guitars either hanging on the wall or resting against each other. You raise your brows, looking over at him.

“You’re a musician, too?” You ask as he puts your keys on the cabinet near the front door. There are sliding doors across the front that are opened just slightly to reveal a substantial vinyl collection. 

“I have many hobbies.” 

You smile as you follow him through the house, looking around at the art covering his walls. It smells like incense and it’s warm- a little warmer than you would keep your house, but it’s cozy. 

“I keep everything in here,” he starts, flipping on the lightswitch in one of the bedrooms. It’s furnished with a daybed, like a guest bedroom, but the opposite wall has a desk and shelving full of cameras, cases, lenses, accessories, attachments galore. You raise your brows, surprised, but mostly impressed.

It’s a solid half hour that you spend going item by item, gently looking over everything he’s collected, from vintage to like-new, functioning and under repair. He makes a point to tell you where he got each one, the quirks and intricacies of them all. 

“That one’s really my favorite for portraits,” he says as you look over a lightweight film camera with a noisy lens, clicks filling the room. “She’s got a way about her that makes everyone look good, you know?” You nod, looking it over, peeking through the viewfinder.

“I dunno, I might be a lost cause.” You say, a little self deprecating. He sucks his teeth at you in playful disappointment.

“I just mean that, you know, as photographers, there aren’t many photos of us. I don’t think I’d know how to pose myself for a portrait.” 

“Well, you don’t pose yourself, silly.” He says, looking up at you, not lifting his head and moving only his eyes. There’s a little smirk on his lips. “We should try it.”

You give him a suspicious look, laughing nervously. 

“I look like a mess from the wind and… I’m hardly wearing any makeup..” You say, starting to rattle off excuses as your cheeks heat up.

“So? You look perfect. I don’t want to take… fuckin’ headshots. I want to capture you. This version of you, the pretty photographer that I’ve spent my evening with.” 

The two of you lock eyes for a moment, his honeyed irises so warm and kind and sweet that you probably can’t say no to him if your life depended on it.

“Okay.” 

That’s how you end up in his sunroom, sitting patiently on his couch as he gets set up, sipping a glass of wine. The room is full of plants and you brush your hand against the burnt orange velvet upholstery of his couch underneath you. You watch him move around the room, pushing the ottoman out of the way, adjusting the throw pillows on the opposite end. He reaches behind his head and pulls his thick sweater off, his shirt riding up to show that little shoestring belt and this time, a light dusting of hair above the waistband of his pants. He tosses aside the sweater, leaving him in a white t-shirt. You swallow a gulp of your wine, feeling a little warm.

“I like how you said, ‘as photographers,’ like you looped me in there with you,” he muses. “You’re a professional. I don’t belong in the ranks with you.” He says, grinning as he uses an app on his phone to mess with the lighting from the lamp in the room. It’s a hazy, warm light when he’s done, absolutely flattering to the eye, so you can only imagine how it’s going to look when he captures you.

“If you take pictures, and you enjoy it, you’re a photographer. I don’t think it’s fair to gate keep art of any kind, or… something that brings people joy, you know?” You say, watching as he grabs a cream colored, cable knit throw reminiscent of his sweater and drapes it behind you. 

“That makes sense. Not all photographers are as humble as you, though.” He says, looking down at the camera and making some adjustments. He holds it up and looks at you, then he pulls it away. He looks again, then he hums like he’s thinking about something.

“This black shirt is kind of one-dimensional. I feel like it’s swallowing you up, you know? I feel like there's too much contrast with the colors in the room.” 

You sip your wine and think for a moment, looking around. He’s probably right. 

“What do you think about green?” you ask, leaning forward, placing the wine glass on the table in front of you. 

“Do you have another– oh…” he starts, but is effectively silenced when you start to pull your shirt over your head. Underneath, you’re in a sage green longline bralette, the band of lace under your chest covering a good two inches of your waist. It’s not too revealing and from the shoulders up, it probably looks like a shirt. You shake out your hair and look up at him, tossing your shirt aside.

“Does that look better?” You ask, smirking at his reaction, pretending to be all business. He looks at you through the viewfinder and you hear him clear his throat.

“Much better. Yep. Uh huh.” he says, hiding his face behind the camera, but you know he’s looking at you. “Sit up for me?” 

You adjust the way you’re sitting, sitting up straighter. He lets the camera hang around his neck as he approaches you, reaching out to gently position you. He puts your hand in your lap, then gently pushes some hair behind your shoulder. The other side, he wraps around his finger once, making sure it lays in a flattering way. He looks at you, not scrutinizing you, but deciding what he wants to do with you. His touch makes you feel like you’re on fire, his hands warm and so gentle, his motions purposeful and confident despite the delicate way he handles you.

He crouches down in front of you, holding the camera to his eye, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You suddenly feel exposed in front of the lens, and it must be evident on your face as he moves his finger from the shutter release and lowers the camera from his eye. “You feel nervous.” he states with the nod of his head. 

You shrug ever so slightly, finally feeling the nerves your clients tend to feel. You try to shake it off, but Sam, ever perceptive, pulls the camera from around his neck and sits it next to you on the couch. He pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him in the same state of undress as you are. “There. Even?” he asks with a cheeky smile. 

You smile and nod, doing your best not to stare at the small smattering of a happy trail at the top of his pants. You bite your lips together before looking back into the lens, hearing the shutter click and the film wind. He brings his hand up to your chin, tilting your face to the side with the gentle touch of his index finger. He pulls it back quickly, returning to the shutter button and snapping another photo. He hums from his place behind the lens, standing quickly and scanning the room for something. 

His heavy footfall pads across the room, snatching something from his piano bench before returning to his place on the floor in front of you. In his hands is a multicolored jewel tone pashmina, soft and worn, and clearly a staple in his wardrobe. 

“Can we try this?” he asks, holding it up against your skin. 

“Let me see…” you answer, grabbing it and draping it over your chest. With your torso completely covered you reach beneath it, pulling the green bralette over your head as he watches you with wide eyes. You toss it to the floor next to him, and reposition the fabric to just cover your chest as you lean back into the couch. 

He swallows nervously as he stretches up towards the couch, adjusting the fabric how he sees fit. Your stomach shows beneath the edge of colorful fabric, the curve of your breast just peeking from the top. 

“I– I think this is gonna be a good shot.” he says, looking at you through the lens. “Lean your head back a little more, and turn it to the side, just a touch.” 

You follow his instruction, knowing the angles of this shot have to be incredible from his place on the floor. 

“Perfect, I just…Didn’t want any shadows on your throat…” he whispers from behind the camera. You hear the shutter click, and a murmur of ‘fuck’ leave his lips. 

You stay where you are as he lowers the camera, his breathing picking up a little bit as he tries to remain calm. “Your skin is so…pretty…” he breathes, letting his eyes sweep over you. 

Your eyes connect with his, and in an act of insanity you pull away the pashmina, letting it pool at your side. His eyes can’t help but to flick down to your chest, his jaw dropping slightly before he notices and looks back up at your eyes. 

“We don’t have to–”

“Do you not want to?” you ask, settling back onto the couch. 

“No, I very much do.” he answers a little too quickly. 

“So go ahead. Capture me.”

He takes a deep breath, holding the camera to his eye and lowering it back down. He grabs your hand and places it gingerly over your chest, letting your fingers rest just over your nipple. He brings the camera back to his eye, and takes the photo. “Fuck you’re gorgeous.”

Your cheeks blush and you hear the shutter click again. 

“Sorry, but I think that's the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” he says. 

You smile and shake your head, letting your hand trail to the button of your pants. You slide the button through the loop and pull the long zipper, until just the smallest glimpse of your thong is visible. 

You watch him swallow nervously again, focusing the camera on your hand as it lays across your stomach. As he captures the photo, you watch him try to recenter himself, knowing that he is probably just as turned on by this as you are, if not more. 

“Take them off…” you suggest, watching his eyes flick up to yours. 

“You sure?” he asks again, making sure you’re still comfortable. 

“Very. If you are, I mean.” 

“Lay across the couch. On your stomach.” he instructs, moving himself to sit on the edge of the chaise to your left. You position yourself against the plush couch, propping yourself up on your elbows, as you look back at him sitting behind you. 

“Yeah, just like that. Stay there. Look at me, beautiful.” he says, growing more confident. 

He leans forward, swiping your hair over your shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the curve of your back. And just as your eyes connect with the lens, he presses the button. 

“Perfect.” he breathes, lowering the camera again. He stands from his place behind you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, pulling them gently down your hips until they rest at the apex of your ass. Your thong is fully visible now, only the floral lace resting against your hips. 

He moves back and you feel the couch dip as he kneels behind you, straightening the seam of the pants to rest perfectly in the center, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You feel the goosebumps rise, and you hear the shutter, smiling as you know he’s caught the moment. 

“Are you always this responsive to touch…” he asks, sliding your pants further down over your ass, pulling each leg free until the leather fabric is in a pile on the floor. 

“No. Only when it’s really good…” you answer. 

“Lift your hips up for me, rest on your knees a little, and arch your back.” he says, kneeling on the edge of the couch. His hand slides down your back to assist you, and slides back up, stopping at the hem of your panties. Two fingers hook into the fabric, pulling it down just slightly as you hear the camera shutter. 

You can feel your arousal between your legs, not too far from where his fingers linger, but he releases your panties, sliding them back into place and letting his hand drift over the curve of your ass. He stands up in front of you, and you drop back down, stretching fully across the couch. You lay your head on your hands as you look up at him, watching him crouch down in front of you. He pulls a few pieces of hair over your shoulder, and moves your arm further up to reveal the swell of your breast as it presses against his couch cushion. 

“Pop your hips up just a touch...” he breathes, holding the camera to his eye. “Look at me, baby.”

You bat your eyes as you look at him, seeing the photo in the reflection of the lens as he takes it. 

His chest is heaving as he pulls the camera away, crawling towards you on his knees as he dusts his fingers over your spine. “You make an incredible muse…”

“A good photographer knows that seeing isn’t enough. You have to feel it.” you answer, melting into the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“I think I feel it too much…”

He slides his hand down your arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to a sitting position. He reaches for your wine glass, turning back to you and placing it into your hand. You bring it to your lips, but as you tip the glass a stream of red wine trickles down the stem, dripping rapidly onto your stomach. 

His eyes flick to yours, then down to the small streak of red against your skin, leaning his head forward and letting his warm tongue lap at the spilled alcohol. 

Your eyes close on their own, a breath leaving your lips at the feeling of his lips on your body. He pulls back from you, waiting for your eyes to open, and as they meet you can see he’s asking for permission to continue. 

You open your legs allowing him to move closer, and he takes that as his consent to move between them. He pulls the camera from around his neck, placing it gently on the couch next to you, before grabbing your wine glass and placing it on the coffee table behind him. 

His hands slide up your thighs, his eyes examining every inch of your skin until he meets the edge of your panties. His eyes meet yours and you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on your skin again. 

He hooks his fingers through the fabric and pulls them over your hips, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He takes in a deep breath, lowering his face to your heat, but never breaking the eye contact he has with you. You let a hand slide through his silky waves, silently telling him you wanted this, and he obliges, pressing a kiss to your groin. 

You feel his tongue swipe up through your center, long and slow, hot and soft against you. You fist his hair at the contact, a hum leaving his lips as they vibrate against your clit. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hook his arms beneath your legs, pulling you down the couch to meet his mouth. His tongue works at your clit, flicking back and forth as wet sounds fill the air in the room. His cheeks are flushed as his wet lips suction around you, his brown eyes fluttering closed with every pointed lick. 

You can hardly tear your gaze away from him, your chest heaving as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Your hand reaches out to grip into the cushion, instead landing on the body of the camera next to you. It feels cold against your hand, and as you look at him you realize you might feel it a little too much, too. 

Grasping it in your hand you pull the viewfinder to your eye, positioning him in the frame as he continues to work you towards your orgasm. As his eyes flick up to you, he's met with the camera lens, hesitating momentarily before pulling an elastic from his wrist. He doesn’t cease his actions as he pulls his hair into a messy bun, resting low on the back of his neck. He places his soft hands on the insides of your thighs, looking up into the lens with his blissed out eyes, ready for you to capture the scene below you. 

Hearing the shutter, he grips into you harder, sucking your clit into his mouth with more force, desperate to get you there. His fingers brush your entrance, and with a carefully timed swipe of his tongue he presses them forward until his thumb replaces his tongue applying pressure to your clit. His fingers work inside of you until your legs start to shake with desperation. He replaces his thumb with his lips once more, the warm, wet sensation inching you closer and closer. 

You take a few more shots, hoping to capture the way his dark lashes kiss his cheeks, and the way his nose brushes against you so delicately. Knowing the most vulnerable shots are usually the best. 

He ruts his hips into the couch, desperate for some relief and the groan that leaves his chest is all it takes to push you to the edge. You drop the camera to your side, pulling his face to your body as your orgasm rocks through you. A pathetic sounding whine leaves your lips as his mouth slows, he pulls his fingers from you as gently as possible. 

You’re left a panting mess as you ride the waves of your high, but as you open your eyes and see him licking his fingers, you reach for the camera once more, capturing the act forever on film.

He stands, offering you his hand with a smirk. You can’t help but to notice that his fingers are still pruny and soft as you place your hand in his, letting him pull your shaky body from his couch. He bends over and snatches the camera from the couch cushion before pulling you down the hallway towards his bedroom. 

As you step over the threshold into his bedroom, you’re met with the dark walls and rich earth toned bedding. He drops your hand, and checks his film, before setting the camera on the edge of his bed. He grabs your hand again, and pulls you into him, snaking his other hand around your waist and pulling you close to his body. His eyes search yours before his lips crash to yours, a heady mix of cigarettes, red wine, and you. 

Your tongue tangles with his as his hands grip into your hips, his hardness pressing against your bare stomach. You pull away, locking your eyes on his as you fall to your knees in front of him. You slide your hands up his thighs until you reach the thin white shoelace at his waist, pulling the tip until it unknots itself and slides to the floor. You feel him reach for the camera, letting it hang around his neck once more as he watches you.

You unbutton his pants, feeling the brush of his length against your hand. You work quickly to pull the pants and boxers to the floor, letting him step out of them as you take in the sight of him bare in front of you. You lean forward to kiss at the smattering of hair at his happy trail but you’re quickly stopped before your lips ever make it there.

He grabs your chin in his hand, placing his thumb over your swollen pink lips, pulling the plump flesh down to expose your bottom teeth as the camera snaps the image above you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can think of nothing but the feeling of your mouth around him. 

Unable to wait any longer you grab him in your fist, stroking him a few times back and forth as his eyes study your movements. You wet your lips in preparation for him, letting your tongue dart out to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his cock. 

He pulls the camera to his eye again, “Stay like that. Just like that baby. Look up at me.”

He rests the tip of his cock in your open mouth, snapping a few shots as he leaks onto your tongue, before tossing the camera to the bed. “Fuck, are you sure you’ve never done this before? You look so fucking gorgeous.”

You smile around him, closing your lips and humming in response. You let your tongue slide up his length, taking him as far back as you can the first few times before working into a steady rhythm. Your eyes are locked on his, a look of awe and desperation written into his features. 

His hand finds grip in your hair, moving with you as you work him, gentle whines falling from his lips as you swirl over his tip with each upward stroke. 

Swallowing around him he sucks in a harsh breath, letting you slide back up before repeating the action. You tense around him as you gag, your eyes blinking away tears wanting to continue. Your eyes roll back as you taste the saltiness on your tongue knowing he is nearing his release.

He pulls away from you, cupping your face in his big warm hands, his thumbs swiping away errant tears.  

“I– You’re– Get on the bed for me, sweetness. Wanna ruin that pretty cunt before I cum.”

You look up at him, swallowing thickly, a little shocked by the side of himself he just showed you. You take his hand with a grin as he offers it to you, standing and hopping up onto his bed, laying yourself back on his pillows. He follows you, leaning over to reach for the camera on the nightstand before doing so. He leaves it on the pillow next to your head, focusing all of his attention on you for the time being. 

He’s tender for a moment, leaning down to kiss you briefly before he situates himself between your thighs. He kneels above you, looking down at the sight before him. He traces a gentle line down your sternum, then back up, dragging lightly against the expanse of your clavicle, then back down once more. His eyes seem to roam over every inch of you while you wait patiently for things to advance.

“You…” he starts, a breathy laugh leaving his throat, like he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “So gorgeous.” 

“You’re sweet.” you respond, parting your thighs a bit more for him. He hasn’t stopped his feather light touches just yet though.

“Is that how you like it?” he asks, catching you a little off guard. Your eyes flick up to his and you can’t help the way you squirm a little at his directness.

“I…” you start, but he promptly silences you with a pinch to your nipple, pulling a wanton moan from the depths of your chest.

“Ahh. There she is.” He says, smiling. He lets go and leans down to give it a kiss. “Just trying to get a read on you.”

He palms your breast as he pushes back up, unable to take his eyes off of you. You watch the wheels turning in his head as he squeezes firmly, his eyes cutting to the camera next to your head. 

He picks it back up, adjusting it with lightning speed. He looks through the viewfinder once before reaching for your tit again, your nipple slipping between his long fingers. He snaps a photo, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration while the aperture adjusts, the settings on auto now to save time. 

“That artistic part of your brain just doesn’t turn off, huh?” you ask, reaching up to run a hand down his stomach, your patience running out.

“Blessing and a curse.” he mumbles, reaching forward into his nightstand. As he’s leaning over you, you can’t help but take a moment to place a few wet, searing kisses to his jaw and throat. You know they’re appreciated when he bucks his hips against you, his dick dragging against the inside of your thigh.

He sits back up, tearing the foil of the condom with little difficulty and flipping it over once or twice to check which way is right. He eventually distinguishes top from bottom and starts to slide it on, looking down in concentration. 

After he’s done, he leans down towards you, placing hungry, wet kisses wherever he can find purchase. He reaches between your bodies, taking himself in his palm and brushing the head of his cock through your folds. 

“Wait…” you say, and he rests his head on your chest for a moment, looking up at you with patient eyes. 

“Yes, sweetness?” he says, pulling back, unsure if you’re about to call the whole thing off. You take a deep breath, reaching down to touch him gently. 

“Can we take this off?” You murmur, your hand waiting to pull it off the moment he gives you the green light. 

“God, yeah,” he says enthusiastically, a little chuckle leaving him as you haphazardly pull the condom off of him and toss it by the wayside. “Absolutely. Fuck. I want to…” He trails off, like he’s about to say something else, but once you slip the tip of him inside of you, he can’t get a word out. 

He pushes in about halfway, stopping to settle and watch your reaction. You gaze up at him, reaching up to play with one of your nipples. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before pulling out a little before he pushes all the way in, slowly. 

“Oh… oh my god,” you manage to get out, unable to help the way the words scratch their way out of your throat. Sam’s eyes are glued to your center, watching himself enter you. 

“Everything about you…” he says, taking a trembling breath, “...is fucking picture perfect.” 

You smile at the compliment and watch his face for a moment, the way his dark lashes move quickly with his blinking eyes trying to process everything at once. He starts to move slowly, the drag of him making your breath hitch. 

He fucks into you slowly, deeply, your head swimming at the sensation. It’s good, but it’s not quite enough, and you can’t help but speak up. 

“Sammy…” you begin, calling him by his nickname, like he asked, affectionately. “Harder. Please.”

He snaps his hips into you in response, giving you a dirty smirk from above.

“You’re a backseat driver in the sack, too?” he quips, moving back on his heels a little to change the angle and give himself more range of motion.

“Shut up and fuck me. How’s that?” you bite, grinning up at him. Before you can even prepare yourself, he snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head in just one of his big hands, your slender wrists slotted between his lengthy fingers.

He looks like he’s about to snap back at you, but then his eyes narrow a little. He reaches for the camera again, holding it against the side of his body to flip the switch and open the aperture. He lifts it to his eye and snaps a picture of his hand pinning your wrists together, the strap of the camera falling a little bit into the frame.

Once he’s done, he drops the camera again and braces himself with his free hand, picking up an almost brutal pace. You can’t complain, because it’s what you asked for, and god did he deliver. The sound of skin on skin, his body meeting yours, rhythmically bounces off the walls of his bedroom. You cry out at the feeling of him, reeling at the sensation of him so deep inside you. Warmth starts to build in your stomach, your head getting dizzy.

“Are you getting close?” he asks in your ear, slightly breathless. You whine in the affirmative, spreading your legs further as if you need him even deeper. He lets go of your hands, sitting up a little straighter but still thrusting into you hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your eyes start to flutter closed, your back arching, and you feel his hips stutter slightly as he moves a bit on top of you. 

There’s some clicking and you know what he’s about to do, but you can’t be bothered to change a single thing about what you’re doing. You reach for your chest, holding your tits steady as he pushes you towards the edge, waiting for the moment. 

“Gonna cum…” you warn, your brows knitting together. 

“Come on, beautiful. I’m ready.” he coos as it hits you, your lips parting, your head tilting back as you gasp for breath. You don’t register when the shutter sounds, but you feel the camera hit the pillow again and Sam’s got both of his hands on your waist, so you know he must have gotten the shot. 

He slows his pace, allowing you to catch your breath and come back down to earth. His hand slides up to your throat, running his thumb over your lips in the same manner he did earlier, but this time instead of letting him tug at your lip you suck his thumb into your mouth.  

“Fuck…” he curses under his breath, pulling his hand back and slowly pulling out of you. “Turn over for me.” 

You blink up at him, a little bashful, your eyes darting to the camera, then back to his. You try to suppress a grin and give him a little shake of your head.

“Do you trust me?” 

Feeling a little giddy, you roll over, pulling your hair over your shoulder before propping yourself up on your knees. You keep your face in his pillow, your eyes watching the camera laying near you as he presses inside you, the position allowing him somehow deeper.

His hands find your hips and as he starts to move, the grip tightens, pulling little hiss from between your teeth. You’re glad he doesn’t hear because you’d hate it if he stopped. 

“Gotta be careful…” he mumbles, his voice strained. “Feels a little too good.” 

You hum, a little laugh leaving you. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, and definitely different from anyone you’ve ever slept with. His playfulness mixed with the dominance that peeks out on occasion is a potent combination you can’t seem to get enough of.

He uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, his pace slower, but the feeling of him nudging at your cervix with every stroke makes up for the change in speed. He rubs a hand over the curve of your ass as he slows down and releases his grip.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful.” 

The camera disappears and you push up on your forearms, suddenly shy and nervous and feeling like a shot of that isn’t quite as artistic as the rest of your photos. You look at him over your shoulder, a little suspicious.

“No, no no. Your back, your hair on the pillow,” he reassures you, a warm hand on your back. You giggle a little, laying back down. He splays your hair across the pillow, then taps your arm. “Move this up under you.” You do as he says, one arm and hand under you, the other hand above you, fisted in the sheets. His hand drags slowly up your back before he speaks again. “Arch a little more. Like you were before. Yeah, perfect.” 

Click.

It lands on the bed, then he starts to move again. He groans, a bit louder than he has been, and you know he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Are you… Are you on birth control?” He asks, his voice slightly boyish in this moment. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“What, you don’t want to knock me up on Valentine’s day?” you joke, and he freezes. You wonder if you said the wrong thing for a moment, but then he speaks softly.

“I’m confident you won’t like my answer, sweetness.” 

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, and when you do, you can’t stop the words that fall from your lips. 

“Try me.” 

He pushes himself deeper into you, so much so he leans over and braces himself on his palm next to your face. He’s closer now when he speaks, his breath hot on your shoulder. 

“I’d love nothing more than to knock you up on Valentine’s day.” 

Holy shit.

“So no plans in November, then?” you quip, grinning as the weight of him pushes you into his pillow. 

“Mm, nothing too big, just a world tour.” he responds, thrusting a few more times. “Super flexible.” he grits out. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, feeling him start to twitch inside you.

“The answer is yes, by the way. About the birth control.” 

“....It’d be cooler if you weren’t, but alright.” he jokes, his voice straining as his hips start to falter. You can hear him breathing through clenched teeth as his grip on you tightens. You tighten around him, arching your back just a touch more and as you drop your head between your arms, you see his hand frantically reaching for the camera one last time. 

You can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, his hand sliding up to your shoulder to pull you back to meet him. “There you go, baby. Keep squeezing just like that. I’m right there.” he says, and you can tell by the lilt in his voice he is waiting for you. 

You rock back, your bodies slamming together with a lewd smack, the sound itself just enough to tip you over the edge. You feel the rush wash over you as he pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist as his hips continue to move. He lets out a small grunt with each forceful spurt inside you, and you feel a wave of euphoria sweep over you as you realize he wasn’t joking after all. 

“Fuck…” he whines, pulling out of you. You can hear him adjusting the lens of the camera and you’re so caught up in your own bliss you couldn’t care less that he is documenting his work. You feel him rest his hand on your ass, palming your cheek to the side for a better view as he leaks down the inside of your thigh. 

The camera clicks, and just as you start to lower yourself down, you feel his fingers swipe up through the warmth dripping down your leg, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to look at him, his eyes completely fixed on you as he slides his cum covered fingers inside of you. 

“Just for good measure, huh beautiful?”

You hear the shutter click a few times, a few indiscernible mumbles of praise from his lips, and finally the thud of the camera as it lands next to you on the sheets. He pulls his fingers from you, tapping your ass softly as an indication that you’re good to relax.

The mattress shifts as Sam gets out of bed, his footsteps heading towards the bathroom. The light shines for a moment accompanied by the sound of running water as you wait patiently. He’s back soon after with a warm, wet washcloth, and he gently parts your thighs to start cleaning the mess he made.

It’s quiet as he tends to you, his breathing slowing down as he does. Once he’s done, he slips into bed behind you, pulling your back to his chest.

“So… what are you gonna do with those pictures?” you ask, the smile on your face audible as you speak. 

“Well, get them developed, I guess. But aside from myself and the poor person at the film lab, nobody will ever see them. Cross my heart.” 

“And me,” you remind him.

“Yes, yes. And you, sweetness.” Silence hangs over the two of you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Will you stay?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. You wrap your arms overtop of his where he’s holding you tight, nodding.

“I don’t think you could force me out of this bed.” 

–

You’re woken by the warmth of sunshine on your face. Blinking and trying to remember where you are, you refamiliarize yourself with Sam’s bedroom in the daylight. Your eyes clear and focus on the camera sitting on the nightstand. 

Sam is in a deep sleep, snoring softly with his mouth open, a few strands of his hair stuck to his face. You can’t help but smile at the sight before slipping out of bed and quietly sneaking through his house to collect your clothes strewn about.

You peek into his bedroom once you’ve gathered all of your belongings and he’s still out cold, only his feet poking out from beneath the sheets. Your eyes are pulled to the camera again, and then an idea forms. You tiptoe inside and carefully grab it, doing your best to remain quiet. 

Needing darkness, you head for the bathroom and wind the film. You duck into his other bedroom on the way and grab an empty film canister. Hoping it’s quiet enough to not wake him, you close the bathroom door behind you and wait a moment before taking the roll out and putting it in the black container. 

Once you’re done, you retrieve your keys from the cabinet by the door and grab an old receipt he must have just pulled out of his pockets when he was putting his keys in their usual spot. There’s a pencil on the music stand of the nearby piano, so you snatch it and leave him a little note. You write out your phone number, draw a little heart, and put the camera over the corner so you know he’ll find it. You silently sneak out the door and lock it from the inside behind you.

The drive back to your home proved to be shorter than anticipated, the light of day giving you a better sense of your location. You glanced over to the rolls of film laying in your passenger seat, taking mental stock on how many bottles of developer and Blix you had sitting on your shelf. It was times like these you were grateful for your little makeshift film lab, knowing that Sam said he would probably send these rolls off somewhere, and that some poor guy would have to see every lewd act appear right before his eyes. 

You snatched the rolls from your seat and grabbed your camera bags from your trunk before making your way inside to your warm house. Feeling grimey, you ran yourself through a quick shower, eager to see what was waiting for you on these rolls of film. 

Stepping into your lab you place the film rolls on the table, grabbing your Patterson canister, your chemicals, and your scissors to start the process. You trim the leads on the film rolls, smiling as you see your roll next to Sam’s. With the leads trimmed, you flip the light switch in your completely blacked out guest room, leaving you in total darkness as you pry the bottoms off of the rolls of film. 

You load the long slippery strips of film into the plastic spools, screwing the lid back onto your canister before flipping your lights back on. You grab your chemicals and make your way to the kitchen, running the faucet to heat the water bath. It’s been a while since you’d done this yourself, but the process was ingrained into your memory, and you were careful to not miss a single step. You drop your bottles of Developer and Blix into the water bath, grabbing your thermometer from your junk drawer. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter as you wait for the temperature to rise, your heart pounding as you see a new number flash across the screen. You make your way back to your lab, grabbing the canister off the table as your chemicals reach temperature. You carefully pour the developer into the canister, agitating it every few seconds while you read the message on your phone.

Unknown:

9:12am: Off so soon? And with my film? Should have known I’d never see those beauties. 😏

Your timer goes off letting you know it’s time to move on to the next step, so you set your phone down, ready to pour the developer out of the canister. Satisfied with yourself for not making a mess, you pour in the Blix, leaning away from the fumes as they waft through the air. You do your duty, agitating the chemical as directed, waiting the allotted time until it's ready to pour out. 

You debate answering him right away, trying to leave just a touch of mystery in the air. You decide that you’ll wait until the film is done, teasing him with a photo for his eyes only. 

You rinse your film with water to rid it of the chemicals, knowing there’s only a few more steps until you can see just how talented of a photographer Sam really is. You pour in your stabilizer, letting it sit for a minute, biting your lips together as you suppress the urge to text him back immediately. 

With a deep breath you pour out the stabilizer, and unscrew the lid, ready to see if the evidence of your night came out in the wash. With shaky hands you pull the film strips from the spools, seeing 36 clear images appearing on the transparent roll of sepia film. A huff of laughter leaves your chest, seeing the negative image of your body in the tiny rectangles. 

You suck your teeth as you hang the rolls of film to dry, knowing that in about an hour or so they will be ready to scan into your computer. 

—

It seems like it’s taking longer than usual for the film to dry, at least it feels that way as you check for the hundredth time. An hour and some change later you’re dashing back to your computer with the film, scanning it into Lightroom to start inverting the images. 

Your breath is stolen straight from your lungs as you see the first image. Your cheeks flame red at the sight of yourself, spread below Sam. You continue to click through the negatives, completely shocked at how good his composition is. You knew he was a hobbyist, but you start to wonder if maybe he missed his calling. You swallow harshly as you continue to look through them, but then you realize just how beautiful the photos actually are. You almost feel bad that you stole them away from him. 

You work through each image, inverting the colors until they appear as they really are. You note the vintage look on the film and check the empty roll for the date. You smile as you read ‘86, knowing he shelled out a good amount of cash for that roll, and he decided to use it on you. The film comes out warm and grainy from the low light, but you feel that it adds to the photos, and you can’t think of a better turnout. 

Your eyes catch on one photo, and after inverting the colors your suspicion is answered. The long finger shaped outlines on your hips were forever cemented in time. The memory of his grip burned into your mind. His body is connected to yours, and you can almost remember the feeling of him inside you as you look at the photo. You feel a rush wash over you, and you grab your phone tapping a few buttons on the screen until the camera opens. You bring it to the screen and snap the photo before attaching it to a text.

You

10:47am: *Attachment*

10:47am: I had something… pressing…to tend to. 😉

You snicker at your comment, hoping he will get the joke as you add his contact to your phone. You bite your bottom lip in concentration as you continue to work on the images, fixing the coloring and resizing them to the appropriate proportions. 

As you reach the beginning of his roll, you start to see images of daily life, with people you don’t know, but are clearly happy to be having their photo taken by Sam. Bright smiles and warm moments captured by his keen eye. 

Sammy

10:53am: Wow, um…

You

10:54am: I think they turned out pretty good, what do you think?

10:54am: *Attachment*

You attach another image of yourself draped across his couch, his pashmina spread across your body, the light hitting your throat exactly how he planned. 

Sammy

10:55am: You’re so gorgeous, I don’t even know what else to say if I’m honest. I have to see the rest.

10:56am: Do you…Need help? I normally send my film off to be developed but it would be cool to watch. 

As you click to the next image you sit in shock, trying to place the face next to Sam’s on his couch. You drop your phone to the table in front of you, trying to focus. You’re going positively crazy running through faces in your mind until it hits you. You take in the features and realize the man sitting next to Sam is the guy your friend was flirting with all night. Your heart starts to race as you make the connection. Is that the friend he left last night? Did she go home with him?

You blow out a deep breath and finish up the last photo of Sam and another long haired man, drinking foamy beers in what looks to be a foreign country. You smile at the bubbly mustaches on their lips and grab your phone to reply to his message. 

You

11:02am: You’re a really great photographer, Sam. These shots are really, really good. All of them. 

11:03am: If you really want to see the process you’re more than welcome to, kind of makes you feel like a mad scientist haha. I don’t have much going on at the moment, probably going to work on this next roll if you want to join. 

Sammy

11:05am: What are you up to tonight? I have a work event I have to go to, but I’ll probably dip out early, especially if I have a good reason. 😉

You

11:06am: I have to shoot a show tonight, but I’m free after that…

Sammy

11:06am: So…

You

11:07am: Bring your film and a bottle of red. I just might have a few rolls we can use while we wait. 😏

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[the-kr8tor]

TTN oneshot request :): reader who's been invited to one of the parties after Hobie's band gigs. Hobie,being his usual teasing self,tries to make r dance with him to one of the songs that come from the speakers but he can't dance at all,so reader ends up teaching him.

-🎸 anon

Ahhh 🎸 anon!! I love this prompt thank you for sending it 🫶 I changed some things around hope u don't mind ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (r is mentioned to wear makeup though) cw drinking, poop jokes lol, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You lean against a railing overlooking the spacious backyard. Watching Yuri dismiss the third man who tried his luck tonight is better than any cable tv, she scoffs, waving the disappointed man away with her long nails. Yuri notices you giggling by yourself, she beckons you over to the dance floor with a smile. You shake your head with a laugh, gesturing to your half empty cup. She sighs dramatically, miming a crying face. You blame the booze in her system on why she's so lively. It's a nice change though, you love seeing her prance around the dance floor, looking for a more worthy partner.

The bass booms, playing all the classic punk music in the speakers. The sky is dotted with twinkling stars, cool air blowing past the grassy backyard. Roaming your eyes around the venue, you spot James chatting up a familiar figure, his arm slung comfortably around her shoulders. She laughs at something he said, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. You smile softly, happy for them both.

You turn around to face the inside of the ridiculously huge house. The home is packed with bodies bouncing around, the glass shakes from the loud music blaring inside. You see Ned becoming an unwilling bartender, mixing drinks for everyone after he got a particularly nasty bloody mary from someone who's so drunk they shouldn't even be near the kitchen.

With all the people watching you're doing, there's one person you haven't seen in a while. You wonder what he's up to, hopefully not to sneak behind you to carry and throw you into the icy pool—

“You're not very good at sneaking up on me anymore, Hobs”

Hobie groans right behind you, looking over your shoulder, you smirk at him. “How?” He effortlessly lifts himself up on the railing, arms envelope around you, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. You help secure him with your hands around his elbows.

“I can sense you a mile away.” You whisper the next part. “I think I got your spidey senses from hanging around you too much”

“You make it sound like a disease!” The alcohol makes him all gooey inside, just for you. “Y’know I have the cure right here”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it then?” Turning around, you face him fully, his arms never leaving your waist whilst your hands never leave his skin.

Hobie points at his lips quickly before he falls on the ground (like you would even let him fall with your hands holding him steady)

“Here”

“Ah! Is your cure tried and tested? Peer reviewed by scientists?”

“Only one way to find out”

You giggle, meeting him halfway to kiss his lips. He tastes of beer and licorice he's been chewing on since you've arrived at his friend's' house. Your hand blindly slides to the back of his neck, fingers scratching lightly. Hobie smiles into the kiss, his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.

Unfortunately, you need air to survive so you reluctantly pull away. He chases your lips making you peck him thrice to ease his suffering from apparent lack of kisses.

“I think I just overdosed on your cure” you hold him close even with the wooden railing between you.

Hobie chuckles, “You'll be fine” he swipes away the sheen left on your lips.

“So considerate. Where have you been, huh?” You lean close to his ear. “Did you go out and fight crime? Are you okay?”

There's goosebumps on his arms, not from the cold. “Nah, I was in the bathroom, taking a huge dump–”

You clasp your hand over his mouth, Laughing through it. “I literally just ate, babe”

“Just answerin’ your question, Gromit. ‘m being honest it was big,” he measures using his hands, “this big. Record size” Hobie loses his grip on the railing, falling flat on his ass.

“Huh, I see a bigger one right here” you look down, seeing him feign offense with his hand clutching his imaginary pearls.

“I should've thrown you in the pool when I had the chance and then we’ll have a floater” he nonchalantly rests on the grass by his elbows. Looking up at you with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes, walking down the steps to help him up before he gets grass stains all over his leather jacket. Hobie clearly doesn't need your help getting up but he would take any opportunity to hold your hand. Your hands are still slightly cool from the drink, a stark contrast to his warm ones, a welcome difference to the both of you.

Heaving him up, Hobie meets you in a tight embrace, smothering you in his hold; you love it though. Slowly he sways you to the beat of a punk song you recognize from back when you and Hobie were in highschool together. A reminiscent of your younger days with only homework and school to worry about and the deep longing you have for your best friend now turned partner.

If only your younger self could see you now, she’d think you did well for yourself. She'd be proud of all the things you've accomplished with the love of your life with you.

“D’you remember this song?” Hobie whispers in your ear, his piercing kisses the shell of your ear.

“How could I not remember?” You lift your head from the comfort of his chest, eyes staring fondly at Him.

He chuckles, you feel the happiness vibrate from him. “Yeah, but d’you know the backstory?” you shake your head.

“I requested this song to the bloke who was holding us hostage with his shitty songs.” You chortle, Hobie continues his story. “I had to bribe the wanker,” he sighs. “So I could ask you to dance with me.”

Your eyes soften, heat behind your sockets, your hold on him tightens.

“Then I realized I can't fuckin’ dance and I'll make a bloody fool of myself in front of you. So I let the music play and continued to talk to you throughout the party because that was enough for me.” He pauses, your eyes are glossy, glimmering under the porch lights. “Being with you was enough.”

You feel the tears fall so you hide your face on his chest once again, feeling sorry for soaking his shirt, you let your hug tell your feelings.

“Don't hide from me right after I poured my heart out to you.” He laughs, his fingers spread across your nape, rubbing softly, finding you endearing. “C’mon, I need to see my Gromit”

You look up with red eyes, mascara and eyeliner smudged. “Fuck you” you say with tears on your cheeks, trying to sniff it away. But your wide smile and grip on his shirt tells your true feelings. “You're such a little shit”

Hobie laughs loudly, fingertips cleaning away smudged makeup. “Yeah, yeah, but you love this little shit”

You lean up to kiss him, as gentle as he holds you, as affectionate as he loves you.

Sighing, you cup his face. “I do, so much.”

He presses your foreheads together, enough to make tears escape your eyes once again. Hobie's fingers catch them, wiping it away from your skin.

“If you let me teach you will you ask me to dance with you?” Whispering, you loop your arms around his neck, swaying with the beat.

“I might be a lost cause, love.”

“I'm patient, don't worry” you can't seem to keep your lips away from him as you kiss the corner of his lips.

Hobie suddenly pulls away, leading you towards the makeshift dance floor. “Alright then, no time to lose!”

You let him guide you, laughing all the way. He shimmies on the dance floor, long limbs flailing about, eyes staying on you.

You've got your work cut out for you.

[operator-4rch4ng3l]

[CYBERDECK PROJECT ACTUAL NAME YELIEL ONLINE]

My cyberdeck is functional, I included an internal shot as well. I have plans on adding a power switch to the front cover, a retractable USB cable (EG Ghost in the Shell), a modular system for the back to house Extra Battery banks and other accessories. This project was a long time coming and instead of 3d printing a shell I found that this container I had full of sharpies was a suitable housing and adds to the "Jank" Factor. I also plan on stickerbombing the back, possibly a hanging charm, and possible LED lights inside the housing.

[monsterblogging]

Jaeger Piloting 101: How Rangers Get Into The Thing & Other Basic Stuff

Hello Pacific Rim fans, today I am doing a post on the topic of how rangers get into the conn-pod, and take control of the Jaeger, plus do a quick look at conn-pod interiors in general! I'll be using pictures sourced from movie-screencaps.com to illustrate the process.

Before I proceed, I'd like to remind folks that Lady Danger's canonical name contains a racial slur. It will be depicted here in screenshots, but I encourage fans to use the name "Lady Danger" in casual conversation, fanfiction etc. It doesn't matter if the name was referencing an old engine, it doesn't matter if no harm was intended by it; a slur's a slur.

Before the rangers enter the conn-pod, they must first suit up. This isn't something they can do on their own - they have a dedicated team of assistant techs to help them into their drivesuits. As we can see here, Raleigh and Yancy Becket's team have the name of their jaeger printed on the backs of their jumpsuits:

If you read my earlier post on jaegers, you know that drivesuits come in two layers. Here's Raleigh and Yancy already wearing the first layer, while one of their technicians assists:

Next, the technicians help them into the drivesuit's second, armored layer. On the right side of the first image is the area where the drivesuits are kept when not in use:

And then we have this thing that's pulled out of a special storage box and put over the spinal area, connecting the back of the armor together:

We also see Yancy and Raleigh pull on their helmets, and this strange liquid drains out. (It makes me think of the orange juice Raleigh was drinking earlier.) It's not clear how common this feature is, but we know it's not universal - the refurbished Lady Danger doesn't have this, and Cherno Alpha's helmets don't look it would even be possible.

Next up, the pilots enter the conn-pod. Note those two light gray things on the floor in the first picture; that's part of the Pilot Motion Rig. Also note the dark gray things hanging from the ceiling in the second picture; that's also part of it.

Once the pilots step into the bottom part of Pilot Motion Rig, metal clamps lock their feet into place. On the right, Raleigh is already locked in; on the left, Yancy is not yet locked in:

Meanwhile, more technicians help pilots get into the upper part of the Pilot Motion Rig.

At this point, something magical and wonderful absolutely terrifying else happens: the floor pulls away, leaving the pilots standing like:

If you look down once the floor's pulled back, it's uh. Quite the view.

In the case of Lady Danger, a nuclear-powered Mark-3, this is where technicians drop the head to connect it to the body. (The head is stored separately to reduce radiation exposure that might damage the delicate circuits.)

At this point, the Beckets are looking at this in front of them:

As the head connects, the pilot-to-pilot protocol is engaged, the computer system fires up, and the Beckets see a LOADING screen:

In the Anchorage Shatterdome, Lady Danger was wheeled out through a door on a rolling platform. At this point, the neural handshake was activated with a countdown of fifteen seconds.

The neural link is established, and you got two people in control of a Jaeger!

From here, stuff often depends on the specific jaeger, as control systems can be pretty different. For example, we see Raleigh and Yancy holding these round things in the arms they're controlling at the beginning of the film, but the refurbished Lady Danger doesn't seem to use them, and neither do the other jaegers.

I'd also like to contrast Cherno Alpha's drivesuits with Lady Danger's drivesuits for a moment, just to emphasize how different designs can be. As you can see, each pilot's drivesuit has cables connected to the arm they're controlling:

Also as I was looking at pictures of jaeger interiors, I noticed something curious about Lady Danger vs. Striker Eureka.

The original Lady Danger has a high console like this:

The refurbished Lady Danger has one positioned lower:

Striker Eureka has both a high and low console:

So make of that what you will, lol.

And that's the basics of boarding and controlling a jaeger! If you haven't seen it already I also recommend checking out my other post on jaeger lore, where I compiled everything I could find out about them from various Pacific Rim medias. And you might also read Drifting, as conceptualized by Travis Beacham if you're interested in knowing more about the drifting aspect, and maybe Drift Hangover Lore if the possibility of sentient jaegers appeals to you.

Happy monster punching, or whatever it is you people do out there. *Slinks back into the bog*

[shinjisdone]

Ticking Springs

(A Yandere Pinocchio X fem!Reader fic from Lies of P)

Pɑɾt 1; Sluɱbeɾ

capitolo uno

capitolo due

here is: capitolo tre

capitolo quattro

capitolo cinque

capitolo sei

capitolo sette

Capitolo otto

Capitolo nove

Capitolo dieci

Pɑɾt 2; Awɑƙeƞiƞƍ

It was a privilege to share the same blood as Giuseppe Geppetto. To be his family, his niece and take part in the marvelous worlds of puppets. The privilege to learn from him as his apprentice. The privilege to care for the things he cares for and to have the things he cares for, care deeply for you.

Tag list:

@greeknerd007 , @mitsureigen , @kame11a , @thirdblogsacharm , @sarah22447 , @blueberryhitosh1 , @written1nthest4rs , @huicitawrites

TW in general: Yandere behaviour, creepy and still puppet, dubious intentions and relationship, still in WIP more warnings may occurr in time

The day felt long but not productive enough for you.

Plopping down on your stool with a sigh, you opened the creaking drawer yet again this evening. Although your uncle showed you a bit more and taught you more as he promised, it still stung knowing that the butler puppets were still there on the tables, waiting. Today was not enough to fully repair them.

You know these models. They were one of the first ones marketed and demanded for and so, so easy to teach and gauge. Geppetto constructed them in a few months. The troubleshoot lasted two weeks. They were a big shot on the market and have been so for half a decade almost and yet you struggled to give them back their voices. Both of them could barely let out a greeting.

Sometimes you wonder how the members of the Workshop Union are with them. Even when you try to push these depressing thoughts away, you bet that many at your age could bring these puppets back to their jobs with one hand. And you were here alone in your room, tinkering with the small box.

It was the size of an adult palm. Sharp and clad in gold, the wires neatly hidden behind the cube. All the vocabulary and speech pattern were intact in the system and Geppetto deduced that the fault must lie in the box itself. Now trying to find the bug within this cable clutter was your job. ‘A lesson’ as your Uncle put it.

He was already gone. Put back on his melon hat and coat for the cold weather and let you know he wouldn’t be back until late at night, as usual.

A frustrated groan escaped you and the temptation to let this cube fall right out of your hands at this hour was big. The tinkering didn’t last long and your eyes would wander around the table, at anything else but the golden box.

The drawer peeked open – you weren’t keen on closing and opening it lest it meant having to bear that irritating creaking – and you’ve given into it. Letting your hand crawl to the very back, you gingerly took out the doll from the other night. Her blonde, long hair swung with the motion and her little, button eyes still seemed so kind even after you stuck her inside a dark drawer. A smile unwittingly graced your lips and you patted her dress down. She was still beautiful.

Biting your lips in thought, your other hand reached out to the box. Gingerly and slowly taking out the screwdriver, you opened one side and while the sight or red, blue and yellow cables did not delight you, your finger crawled into the clutter. Fishing out one core cable, you glanced at the doll – and set her aside before hurrying downstairs.

Turning on the lamp hanging above the work table, you quickly turned one of the butler puppets on their backs, screwdriver in hand.

It is child’s play to insert and disconnect the placeholder for the voice box.

Running back to your room, your hands quickly snaked around your doll, flipped over the dress to show her bare back. Inside there were plugs, as you thought.

The toy was old. One of the first things you’ve gotten and were never really meant to be more than just a toy and not a puppet. Yet you remember when certain possibilities of chatting were mentioned, as if to give your younger self the illusion that there was a real friend in your doll.

That was years ago and you were a simple child. Just her presence was enough to entertain and soothe you.

Before you knew it, the mere thought of looking after the butlers was vanquished from your mind as you spent the next hours connecting cables not meant for a tiny toy to make her speak. Feeling how your eyelids grew heavier and your impatience just as much, you put your tools aside and took your beloved doll in your hands.

The process is much more difficult than you imagined. In her current form, your doll could never speak like the butlers. You’d have to take her apart.

Still, licking your lips, you took a breath.

Your mind halted a bit.

“…Girls are stupid.”

Silent ensued and you could hear something beep for a moment.

“…Girls are stupid.”

A humph escaped your nose. You didn’t think your voice would be repeated from the box itself.

You should be happy though. It worked. You couldn’t decipher why exactly that kid’s stupid comment still stuck in your mind, however.

Shaking off the thought, you continued. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“I am a doll.”

“…I am a doll.”

“And I like to sing!”

“And I like to sing!”

A smile was etched on your face. The voice box even caught your high note.

You couldn’t help but giggle. If you hadn’t remembered that the cord was still connected to her back, you would have spun your doll around. Still, your childish laughter resounded in the room and you were quick to tidy everything up.

Make it seem like nothing happened.

The door was quickly shut in hopes the entrance won’t get drenched again. Shaking of the water and hanging the heavy scarf away, feet quickly but quietly climbed up the stairs. The door creaked ever so slightly and he shook his head at the sight of the young woman leaning her head on the table and hands tainted with oil. She’ll know in the morning that it won’t wash off.

Shutting it close, the bag was picked up just as quiet. The hallway long, longer than anyone else in this building knows it to be.

Still and silent and different. It grew in his heart and none of these gentlemen would understand it, none understand the true humanity behind it. How it excels him, makes him feel alive as he tinkers on new life itself.

The armchair was as soft and comfortable as it was like last time. Its deep red color seated neatly the dim room and he deserved no less as he gently knelled down. He took out one tool after another, neatly putting the ones unneeded away. The materials he fished out were clean and new, welcomed into his hands with enthusiasm that could barely reach his own zeal.

“Time is fastening. And it’s going wonderfully.” He spoke as if no one else could hear him. Gingerly he moved the metal closer to the entrance, before inserting them with care. The resounding ticks of the springs made him smile. “…Nothing else seems to matter. At times I lose myself while even listening. It is all…nothing.” Removing his finger, the spring reacted but there wasn’t a single stir on his face. “Even she seems so unaware but yet even so, more open-minded than them. Of course, she’s part family, only she would even think…”

Trailing off, his gaze wandered over the torso. A thoughtful sigh escaped him as he looked back into the bag. Licking his lips, he stood still there. Still on his knees, hands empty as he simply observed the springs reacting slowly and feebly. Another noise escaped him and he tilted his head. The monocle was littered with small raindrops but he had no problem seeing through them, not when it came to him.

“She’s a bit more open now than she used to be. No more such a wall flower.” His knees cracked as he got up and groan of pain escaped him briefly and softly. A moment later as he managed to fully stand up, he walked to the table left to him. The clothes were neatly folded even as they were unfinished. He’d rather sit at the sewing machine tonight but was unsure if the noise would waken her. Instead, he mused if he should give them over to a tailor.

Taking a fistful of the blouse, he stopped and looked back to the armchair. His mind was more cluttered than he anticipated. He didn’t know where to continue.

“Although she might get quickly upset if you tease her again.”

[strawbubbysugar]

Hiii hope it's not too weird but I was thinking about animatronics equivalents to human courtship, pda and other stuff?

Not too weird at all!

Here are the equivalents, though it isn’t 1:1

Courtship: mostly the same, except animatronics need to wait a year before they’re able to legally be involved in any sort of marriage or legal binding. This allows robots who haven’t gotten the hang of existing yet some time to adjust, even if they think they’re completely fine. It also prevents older animatronics from taking advantage of newer ones who haven’t had enough time to understand the way the world works yet. (Only a year is really needed, animatronics progress much faster than humans)

Kissing: most animatronics (99% of them) aren’t built with kissing in mind, so the equivalent is booping whatever constitutes a “mouth” against your partner’s “mouth”. If the mouths are inaccessable, booping noses is the next best thing. It’s something most animatronics enjoy, much like humans do!

Hand holding: same :3 though some animatronics prefer to just hold pinkies since it’s easier than trying to fit bigger hands to smaller ones, or two clunky hands together

Hugging: a bit harder with some of the older models with how clunky they are, so when two models are incompatible for a hug, touching your foreheads together is an equivalent. That’s more for close friends though, for acquaintances, bowing is the proper route to go. Not too far though, just a little tilt. Some older models aren’t very well balanced and could topple over trying to match the newer ones

Intimacy:

- sharing a charging cable to the same port & fully shutting off is something intimate, though not quite sex. More accurate equivalent is like .. showering together? Not inherently sexual, but deeply vulnerable to charge with the same port. It’s leaving yourself open to being tampered with while turned off, so you’ve REALLY got to trust the person/people you’re doing it with

- connecting to one another via cable, sharing memories and feelings and thoughts is the closest they really have to sex. It’s like saying “here is all of me, from the way I feel to the way I act and see the world. I want to share every piece of me with you.” It’s incredibly vulnerable because to do this, both parties need access to each other’s systems. This leaves them open for viruses, or deletion of files and memories.

- a more taboo version of the above is the equivalent to like. One night stands, called networking, and it’s sharing things wirelessly with another party. Usually involves putting your heads together close enough to work, and sharing the most intense feeling you can remember. (Most often a pleasurable feeling, though the way animatronics achieve a feeling of pleasure is different between all of them. Most involve short electric shocks by unplugging yourself before disconnecting (smaller feeling) or setting up your charging unit to provide far more electricity than needed to charge (bigger feeling). These are considered more taboo because sending things wirelessly leaves you incredibly open to others intercepting it and receiving the information you were sending. (Imagine walking past a room and suddenly receiving the feeling that you just finished running a marathon, then it suddenly goes away, and you hear giggles from the room. Bit awkward, definitely a bit violating.)

Bonus info!

Overclocking is what it’s called when you force your systems to work double speed for a few seconds before slowing them back down further than normal abruptly, it gives you a dizzying feeling and lightheadedness. Extremely comparable to getting high, though an animatronic is able to pull themself out of the sensation much faster than a human can sober up. Only exception to this is robots who do it far too often, their systems end up getting stuck in a loop of either being too fast or two slow.

[russellsppttemplates]

Stomp your foot (Charles Leclerc)

Y/N is trying her best to get Ferrari where they deserve to be, and despite some disagreements and bad strategies, one that is unknowingly working for her is making a certain driver fall for her

Note: english is not my first language. It was requested through a comment from a career mention on New around here and I thought about picking it up. Also, are you happy about this as a stand alone? Do you want a part 2...? Update: part 2 can be read in Dance with me

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can! (I'm posting twice today because my sleep has been all over the place and I might as well take advantage of it)

Tw: Ferrari's season, curse words

Since you could remember, the answer to 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' had been 'I want to be the person that sits in front of the screens and makes the drivers win with their tips' and later, once you had gotten the hang of the word, 'I want to be a race strategist'. You studied engineering in university and always applied to every summer job that was related to F1, wether it was just volunteering in the paddock or, in later years when as your knowledge grew, some teams, like Ferrari, had offered the opportunity for you to be in the factory with the engineers that stayed back there during the races so you could experience some of the thrill and what it was like. "So, Y/N", Tom said as he sat next to you as you admired the screens and all the information in there, "You've been my desk buddy for 5 races now, and I still don't know how you got interested in this whole thing", he finished. When you arrived, Tom as the person they had told you to follow as he was available to explain things to you as the race happened without troubling too much and so far he had been amazing at all the things he had taught you and all the questions he had answered, no matter how stupid they sounded in your head. "My family would watch the Grand Prix together after lunch on Sunday and I used to borrow my cousin's laptop and draw graphs on the screen and pretend they were stats from the race, and I'd give guesses to the screen and get really happy when they would make the same call I did", you commented earning a chuckle from Tom, "who knows, maybe one day you'll sit there with then", Tom smiled as he watched the pitwall appear on the screen as the team got all in their respective places to begin the race. Grabbing your notepad, you waited for the decisions to be made by the team before questioning Tom about why they had done it that way and what they hoped the car would achieve with every change they made. When you finished your degree, Tom had told you about a spot in the engineering team at Ferrari and you submitted your CV, knowing that you would have a handful of other CVs competing with yours, but still feeling confident enough about yourself. Still, you couldn't help the squeal that left your lips when you got a call from the head of the engineering team saying you had been the one to get the spot. That was two years ago, and you had made it to the team that travelled to races at the beggining of this season.

"Y/N, could you get here, please? There's an issue with Carlos' DRS, we've checked and it's not mechanic, the whole system functions, but if you press the button on the wheel it doesn't open", Anthony, one of the mechanics said. You hopped off of the cabinet you had been sitting in and grabbed your laptop, "Have you checked the hydraulic system too? The other day it was Charles' car that was doing that", you forwarded as they nodded, "That's fine too, we've tested it", prompting you to connect the car cable to your laptop to see what it was about. After opening and closing a few tabs and checking some of the car parts, you finally found what seemed to be the problem, "look here, let me just adjust that", you changed the settings before you called back, "Anthony, press the DRS button for me again, please" you asked as you say the part open and then close like it was supposed to, "Thanks, Y/N", the mechanic smiled back before you smiled back and headed to where you were, filling some paperwork about the change you had done and the problem you had encountered for future reference. You were about to take it to one of your superiors when Xavier, Charles' race engineer and a big support since you had arrived in the team, "Y/N, the woman of the hour", the spaniard said as you looked at him, your eyebrows creasing at his statement, "I'm just going to bring this back to Mattia so he can archive them", you tried to justify before he said, "you can leave them there, there are going to be a few more alterations so you're really saving us time, and allow me to talk to you about this", Xavier smiled as you set the folder down, "you really are scaring me, just so you know, I can only hope you don't relish on people's bad being", earning a chuckle. "I don't, don't worry. I was talking with the team and Mattia, and we think that you are ready to try the pit wall for the strategist place" he said non chalantly like he wasn't making your dream come true. Like the little Y/N inside you wasn't ecstatic right now. "We thought that starting this weekend would be good, you'll get used to it all during free practice and qualifying, and since Charles is taking penalties for the engine change anyway, we're thinking that Friday and Saturday are good for you to dip your toes in. And since there's a lot to do on that race it will be interesting to see what we can come up with when we have you there", he smiled as he patted your back, "Thank you so much for the opportunitiy", you managed to squeak out before Xavier turned around and you did a little celebratory dance.

Arriving in the garage on race day, you felt confident about the day until the weather seemed to be playing tricks on you, "they say it's going to be better by the time the race starts", someone said as they saw your less than amused expression as you looked at the grey sky. During your lunch break, Carlos and Charles came up to you, "Y/N, Xavi was just telling me and Charles how you're the new strategist for us, and that you really helped yesterday with my finish", Carlos began as they sat in the table next to you, "Oh, it's really a team effort, and maybe it's just my beginners luck, and you guys are very good drivers, so it wasn't too hard that you finished where you finished", you said honestly. "Oh, ever so modest Y/N", Charles said, "you've been a key part of our team, I'm very happy to know that you're reaching your full potential", the monégasque finished and as you were about to thank them both, the drivers were called for the parade, bidding you goodbye.

The race had been going pretty well, Charles managing to gain two spots on the grid and Carlos was doing a good job in maintaining his position, "should we get Carlos in? I think it would be a good time for that, he seems to have the pace and Max's tyres are looking a bit worse for wear, he's going to need to change soon", Mattia said, "if we could get the advance now he could race for a podium for sure, and maybe even P1 if we can get a fast pit stop too", you agreed as everyone nodded their head, the intent being sent to Carlos over the radio. As you heard the car beside you, you turned on your seat to see the mechanics, flashing them a thumbs up after they had done an incredible job on that pit stop. A bit further into the race, Xavi saw that Charles had a possibility to gain a few more positions and since you seemed to be up for it, he discussed his plan with you, "from this here I think it would be good enough, he has the pace", you reasoned as Xavi turned on his radio, "Charles, you have Alonso and Ocon in front of you, and we think you should try and pass them, the car looks good and the breaks too so when you feel like you can go through...!", Xavi said as you both waited for him, slightly holding your breath as he passed each car. With Carlos on the podium and Charles gaining 10 positions from where he started, the team were happy with the results, some of the developments they had done over the weekend bringing the car forward in its competitiveness, and as the guys got their media duties over, you came back from the bathroom and joined the rest of the team, "here's the rookie. C'mon Xavier, how did she do today?", Carlos asked as he poked your arm, "really good today, she helped a lot, and I think the boss was impressed too", Xavier winked at you as Charles joined, "I hear congratulations are in order, I have a new strategist on my side", Charles beamed as he drank some water, "here's to an amazing season", he high-fived you as he spoke. And little did he know how much of a season it was going to be.

Sunday at Silverstone had been all over the place. You had been officially been promoted to strategist and Mattia had assigned you to Xavi so you could both look at Charles' race closely and, despite being happy that Carlos got his first F1 win, you were disappointed. Disappointed in yourself, your efforts and the team, you celebrated with Carlos for a bit before retiring to the engineers room in the hospitality, and Tom, who had been at the race that weekend, pulled a chair next to him, "I was about to leave, do you want to be alone?", he asked, "I feel like shit and I don't want to spread it around, so do it at your own risk", you stated. Hugging you from your shoulders, Tom squeezed your body in his embrace, "you did amazing out there, don't ever doubt it. And, don't tell them I said that, but you can stomp your foot harder next time, you know what you're doing and they're just failing to see it", Tom said before he left. You were alone in a room full of desks and chairs, screens with the race data on them mocking you and the ideas you forwarded that hadn't been heard or considered when you heard the door open, "Sorry, I just needed a little time alone, I'll be right out", you said as you looked up to see who it was. Charles Leclerc, who in your mind thought would be the last person to want to see you, "I'll be out", you said as you grabbed your closed notebook. "Stay", Charles said, "only if you want to though, but if you want to stay, you can", he saved it quickly, looking at you. You knew you looked broken, but obviously he took it even harder. Sitting next to you in a spinning chair, Charles switched the monitor off, "Xavi told me about what you wanted to do, it's a shame they didn't listen", Charles tried to navigate around you and the orders the pitwall had given him, always knowing how to win and loose in a team sport, "today was hard, in many ways, but we'll come back stronger, I know it. You'll come back stronger", you said and before you knew it your hand had travelled to his, squeezing his fingers in yours as you looked at his beautiful eyes, "I don't care how I'm going to do it, Charles, but next weekend I'm getting you a podium", you looked at him in hopes of bringing some of his spirit back, your words having an understandable result given the circumstances.

The day after Silverstone, everyone was at Maranello for meetings and media duties, and as you passed through the drivers when you went to get coffee, they both waved as usual and Carlos noticed how Charles' stare took a few seconds longer than it used to, "are you fond of your new strategist, Charles Leclerc?", he asked his team mate as he watched how the monégasque driver's eyes followed you as long as the clear windows allowed, "what? Y/N? She's really nice, I've always liked her, and so do you", he tried playing it cool and Carlos could only laugh at his attempt. "Really? You want me to believe it? Just like that, hm?", he teased and Charles gave up on his act, "Well, she's always been around, and she's very beautiful, and smart and kind and... yeah, I like her", Charles tried to put it, "I don't really know what this is but yeah, maybe it's just a silly crush", he mumbled the last part before heading back to the front of the camera to resume the video they were there to film, Carlos smiling knowingly that it wasn't a silly crush in the slightest.

Everything had been going well until Carlos car started releasing smoke, his panicked "No" ringing through the pitwall until they figured out what had happened, ending up with a DNF. Everyone turned to Charles as he seemed to hold his position very well, he had done no mistakes that could cost him the place drop and the strategies you had come up with with Xavier working brilliantly, "You cannot imagine what I'm doing with the pedals", Charles said through the radio and a quick look at the data showed that there may be something going on with the car but, unlike Carlos', Charles' car seemed to be able to handle the last three laps. Taking a breath in, you jotted your thoughts down on the notebook and showed them to Xavi as he transmitted them back to Charles. "Carlos is out which sucks, but I'll be damned if that red car is not the first one to cross that checkered flag", you mumbled to yourself, "one day, we're going to have a peaceful race, one day", you finished as you closed your eyes briefly before looking back t the data, Xavier and the rest not daring to tell you anything as they saw your focused face. "And P1!", Xavier's voice could be heard from space, you thought, as you turned and gave him a hug before Charles confessed how he was scared he was going to loose everything so close to the end, "See? This is what you get when you do as I say!", you screamed out of enthusiasm, forgetting that your finger was still opening the channel to Charles' radio, everyone else hissing at your voice volume. But you really didn't care, the adrenaline on your body not allowing you to do so, "I'm sorry Charles, I hope your eardrum is still intact after this! Amazing drive, well done! There were no flaws", you said after Xavier gestured you to, "again, sorry for the scream!".

You were in a phonecall with your mother when the drivers arrived back for the podium celebrations and when she was done congratulating you and the team you looked at one of the TVs already showing Lewis on the podium, making you run there so you could see Charles receive his P1 trophy, clapping enthusiastically until he noticed you, wetting your head with a good amount of the bottles' content.

You had been helping around the debrief when Charles joined back at the garage, "Y/N! Congratulations to you too!", he said as he neared you, hugging you while he lifted your body off the floor, "you were incredible too Charles! Seemless, absolutely seemless, we were just there backing you up, hopefully it's forward from here on!", you squealed as he finally put you down.

To say that you had fallen hard for the monégasque would be a simple truth. Who wouldn't, right? Especially with the time you spent together, wether it was at the factory, in the race weekends or the dinners the team arranged so everyone could be together outside of work environment. But, at the end, you were a race strategists trying to progress in your career and risking an unrequited confession that could affect your job and workplace was not something you were about to let on, no matter how giddy his contagious smile made you feel. "Loosen up Y/N, we're going to dinner tonight, the team booked a whole restaurant so you better dress your best because tonight, were celebrating". While Charles left, you stayed behind to work with some of the mechanics and engineers around Carlos' car, noticing already how some bits could be fixed now to prevent further damage until it could be handled properly back at the factory.

Arriving at the restaurant, you looked around before you found someone to bring you to the room where the team would have dinner, Charles and Carlos the first people by the door, "I'm not the last one, am I?", you said as you greeted them, "I was so focused back at the garage that I had to get ready quickly to be here on time", you said as you noticed that some people were missing, "Xavi is still getting ready I'm sure, he takes a lot of time", Carlos joked as Charles chuckled, turning slightly as he grabbed you a drink from the bar section, "this is really nice, here", he offered with a smile, "Thank you, to many more races with you and Carlos on the podium", you said as the three of you toasted, your eyes never leaving Charles' as you drank the liquid. You took your jacket off given the difference of temperatures in the room compared to the outside, "You have something in here, let me get it", Charles said trying to swat it away before realising it was on your skin, "Oh, I think it's the product they use for the stickers, it's better with a napkin", Charles said as he grabbed the napkin from the counter as he silently asked for permission before his paper covered hand cleaned the product out of your skin, "Thanks, Charles! I swear I showered before coming here", you chuckled, looking at the place the ink had stayed in your arm, "I'm sure you did, you smell really nice", the driver replied with a beautiful smile on his face, cheeks pink at his admission as you were saved by Carlos, "since I can't celebrate a race finish today, we celebrate the good strategy because it was on point this afternoon, thanks to Y/N over here, cheers!", he said as he toasted your glass with his once again.

"But everyone else who put on the hard tyre is having trouble and some have even come back to change it, I don't think this is a good idea, and he said he was okay with the medium", you said as you looked at the graphs on the screen in front of you and the notes you had taken about the teams that started struggling as soon as they changed into that tyre compound. And it was the last thing you wanted to hear when the rest of the team decided to still go with it, confident that they could change the results around. Huffing as you looked at the pit stop, you never wanted to be wrong like that exact moment, and since you were someone who liked to be right, it said something, but still accepting your place in the hierarchy. As Charles' car got back to the race, it was clear the pace was decreasing and since it had been consistent through the weekend, you had to bite your tongue as to not say something you might regret.

The look on Charles' face was terrible, and it made everything hurt inside you. He was doing so well that weekend up until the tyre decision and, when he looked at you in the pitwall, you shivered at his empty stare at you. You had been spending even more time together, especially during that weekend and the previous night you had even stayed behind in the hotel restaurant just the two of you as you talked about everything and anything.

The debrief was hard, questions being thrown around as everyone kept their interventions clean and polite, but anyone around could sense the tension in the room, and Carlos noticed how even Charles tapped his fingers on the table incessantly when you were speaking, his admission on how your voice helped calm him down seemingly gone.

After you referred some of the data you had gathered to the rest of the team, you were dismissed from the room as you were needed elsewhere and the race engineers wanted to talk to the drivers. "It's just that it makes no sense why you did it, but now we have the break and we can figure out a few more things after gettinb some rest", Charles said, "knowing Y/N, she's probably writing stuff at her laptop already", Xavi said as he scratched the back of his head, "she was right you know?", he said and Charles and Carlos looked at him, frowning at their race engineers, "she was the only one to say that you should keep the same compound, and at the time it didn't seem like the best idea, but in hindsight it's always clearer", he tempted before excusing himself.

You were sitting in one of the rooms when the door opened, revealing a very tired Charles, "Hey, may I come in?", he inquired with the best smile he could have put out there, "If you're coming in to punch me, can I tell you first how I bruise really easily? And how I'm taking this pretty hard too?", you tried to bring some humour to the situation, knowing that throwing a fit or crying wouldn't actually get it solved right now. Charles chuckled as he closed the door behind him, sitting in one of the chairs next to you, "So, tough day at the office today?", he began, trying to get you out of the bad mood, "yeah, and I'm sure you're even worse. Thank goodness we're going on summer break because I would be ruined if we had a race next weekend", you let out, eyes closed as you took a breather, "going anywhere special?", Charles asked as you looked back at him, "I'm planning on staying a few days in Ibiza, my friend is going to join me there later for a weekend too and then I'm back at the factory. You?", you asked him as you closed the notebook, "I'm doing Italy with some friends and Ibiza with my family too", he said before someone knocked on the door, saying they were doing to start tidying things, "you should come and spend a day with us", Charles smiled as he got up with you, winking cutely at you before making his way out of the room.

Part 2

[voskhodart]

Hey, do you want to learn how to play VHS tapes in the year 202X?

I know this is my art blog, but it has come to my attention that some of you are too young to have experienced the joys of the Video Home System in its prime. Come hither so I can teach you and we can embrace the beauty of physical media together. If you have a thrift store and a TV, this process should work for you.

Step 1: Get a VCR ($4-$15)

DO NOT BUY EXPENSIVE VCR/COMBO SETS FROM THE INTERNET!

The ones you find on sites like eBay and Etsy are insanely overpriced and might not even work. Instead, find a Goodwill, Savers, or independent thrift store near you and go to the electronics section. There’s a good chance they’ll have at least one VCR. If they don’t, try a different shop. You can also check local online marketplaces, yard sales, etc.

Good things to look for:

4 (or more) Heads — Heads are the things that actually read the tape. The more heads you have, the better your picture is going to be.

Auto Tracking — Poor tracking can create a rolling picture, which is a pain to fix. An auto tracking VCR does that work for you.

Pre-2000 — After 2000, electronics started being mass produced with plastic casings and cheap parts. VCRs made after this time are a whole lot easier to break. Ideally, you want something from the late 80s to mid 90s.

Well-known brands — Sony, Toshiba, etc. Japanese manufacturers tend to have the best quality. Early Emersons are nice too.

Generally good condition — If there’s a bullet hole in the case, it’s probably best to pass on. A bit of dust isn’t an issue, but major damage isn’t a good sign. If you can, plug the machine into a power outlet in the store and see if it even turns on.

Head cleaning indicator — Not something you *need*, but I find it nice to have. You’ll want to use a head cleaning tape when the indicator starts flashing.

This is the one I’ll be using for the sake of this guide. This is an old Emerson that I picked up from Goodwill for $7.95. (Notice the five price tags they slapped on top.)

Step 2: Get Some Tapes (¢10-$1)

This is the fun part. Almost every thrift store will have some VHS tapes, usually near the books/DVDs/records. I’ve seen them as expensive as a dollar, but some stores will just give them away for free. I suggest buying a few movies you like, plus one or two shitty tapes to test out your VCR with.

You may also find 20 different copies of Titanic in every store. This is a normal occurance.

Remember to check the condition of any tape you plan on putting in your machine. If the spool looks moldy, you *can* try to clean it, but you’ll need another VCR to do so. If the tape looks wrinkled or otherwise damaged, you can still probably play it, but it will look and sound a lot rougher than you should expect. If the casing is damaged, I wouldn’t risk trying to put it in your VCR at all.

Remember: VHS tapes stopped being produced commercially in 2006. Most tapes you find aren’t going to be in the best shape, because they’re all a few decades old. (Sometimes, though, you will come across a tape with an excellent picture, good sound quality, and subtitles! The Mummy tape that I own is near perfect.)

Step 3: Connecting the VCR to Your TV

For this step, you’re going to want a coaxial cable and a set of RCA cables (the red, yellow, and white ones). If your TV doesn’t have an RCA input, you’ll also need an RCA-to-HDMI converter. If your TV also doesn’t have an HDMI input for whatever reason, you’re shit out of luck.

You’ll plug these cables into the “out” or “out to tv” connection on your VCR, then plug the other end into the back of your TV.

Note: Not all VCRs have right audio (the red one)! That’s fine. Just leave it hanging free. The left audio (white) is your mono audio, so you’ll just have that instead.

Lastly, put the channel switch on the back of your VCR on 3 or 4. I keep mine on 3. This is the number for the channel you’ll go to on your TV to actually see what the VCR is playing.

Step 4: Setting up the TV

I use a little Roku TV, which is surprisingly steady to set up for VCR input:

Settings ➡️ TV Inputs ➡️ Live TV

From here, you’ll either be prompted to scan for channels OR you’ll have to select “scan for antenna channels”. It will ask you if you want to have channels 3 and 4, to which you’ll say “yeah, I do want channels 3 and 4” and click the button that lets you have channels 3 and 4. If you don’t have an antenna, you can skip the other prompts.

I haven’t done this on any other type of TV, but the process should be pretty similar: get yourself to channels 3 and 4 through whatever means necessary.

Once you’re there, it should look like this. Sad, blank, and lonely. But not for long.

Step 5: Playing Your Tapes

This is where things can go really really well or really really wrong. If everything is hooked up, you can grab your shitty tape and insert it into the VCR.

(Make sure there isn’t anything else in there first, though. Some people don’t remove their precious Titanic copies before donating these things.)

You’ll want a tape that’s fairly clean, with no casing damage, and already rewound (black tape in the left window). To insert the tape into a front-loading VCR, slowly and firmly slide it into the slot. Once it’s most of the way in, the machine should “grab” it and pull it all the way inside. You’ll hear the machine make some noises.

(If those noises are really crunchy, that’s probably not a good thing. Troubleshoot with your favorite search engine or head over to r/VHS to see if anyone can help you.)

Once your machine is only making some clunky whirring sounds, it should be safe to press the play button. Enjoy watching your favorite films in the least pleasant format possible. Don’t forget to rewind em when you’re done.

If you have issues, the freaks over at r/VHS tend to be really helpful, but you can also find decade-old YouTube videos that might answer your questions too.

[dannystheone]

Hope it's okay to send this when your requests are closed, I just read your tickling isn't goth fic and my God that was so cute 🥺 is there any chance we could get a fic of Michael messing around with Pete only for Pete to remember Michael admitted he's ticklish so he retaliates?

Yes absolutely! So um I know what I said but

lol I had an idea I'M THE WORST

I've actually had this idea before but I wanted to wait until I could articulate it properly if that makes sense

I hope you enjoy :0

WARNINGS: cursing! mentions of satan and other imagery. also a lot of band references so if it's confusing I'm sorry lol

I'm More Goth Than YOU! (Lee Micheal/ Ler Pete)

This takes place during the 'Basic Cable' episode (Season 23 Episode 9). After finding out that Micheal has already talked to the new girl Sophie, Pete finds himself wanting to discuss a few things with his friend...

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

"-So we just sat around and listened to Bauhaus when System of a Down came on after that. I was like, what the fuck am I listening to, you know. And they skipped the song like when it came on and it switched to another goth band but that's when I knew they were just another poser." Micheal rambled Pete's ear off while they were watching a scary movie together.

Pete was at Micheal's house as it was the start of the weekend and October, so naturally they had to kick it off right. However, watching scary movies was a year-round activity, so tonight was a bit basic by their standards. The movie of choice was Hereditary, but they've seen it so many times that they could talk and watch at the same time and not miss any beats.

Pete was zoning out if he were being honest. He had his mind set on a girl he had talked to earlier that day. Sophie Gray. She was really pretty and she seemed really cool, not unlike anyone else that went to their school. Even though she was new and Pete didn't really know her yet, he could tell that she was different. Pete laid his cheek on his fist while he thoughtlessly said the first thing that came to mind.

"I don't mind System of a Down if I'm in the right mood," Pete said honestly. Micheal turned to Pete with a look of disgust. Pete was laying on his side on the couch with his left leg bent at the knee and his right leg laid over Micheal's thigh. Micheal pushed Pete's leg off of him and crossed his arms with a sneer on his face.

"God, that's how I know you're a fucking poser," Micheal growled. That got Pete's attention. Pete looked up from the television and set his jaw in anger.

"What did you say?" Pete asked, testing Micheal. There was no way his friend would utter something like that again to his face.

"I'm just saying that no real child of darkness would be listening to something so mainstream. I've heard cheerleaders listen to Chop Suey before." Micheal said with venom in his tone.

"Oh yeah? Then how do you know a single song from the band anyway? You're a hypocrite, Micheal. Op- foreshadowing." Pete pointed to the TV where a hidden Easter egg was shown in the movie.

"Nice catch." Micheal relaxed after that. Micheal allowed Pete to put his leg back up to rest on his thigh so it wasn't hanging off the couch. It seemed like Micheal didn't want to be caught being a poser or a conformist in any way, shape, or form. Pete wondered why that was.

"So uh... that new girl at school. Sophie Gray? Talk to her yet?" Pete tested the waters with Micheal. Sophie had revealed that Micheal had already spoken to her before Pete had, and Gods knows what Micheal was saying about the people at the school. To save his own skin, Pete threw Micheal under the bus and called him a total poser. Because let's face it, no one was more goth than Pete was.

Micheal perked up at her name. "Yeah, she's pretty cool. I offered to show her around campus sometime and she started talking about Skinny Puppy. Can you believe it? She's not a conformist dickhole like every other new kid in South Park." Micheal carded his fingers through his curly hair while Pete stared back at the TV.

"Well, too bad she already accepted my invitation to show her around the school. She even said she wanted to talk later. Guess she's only into real goths." Pete was poking the bear on that one. Micheal turned to Pete with a look of thinly veiled shock.

"What? You talked to her? No way." He asked. Pete shrugged nonchalantly with a small smirk on his face.

"Yeah. She said she's not into posers. Her words." Micheal furrowed his brows at Pete's words.

"Well, I'm not a poser!" Micheal said defensively. Pete's smile only grew as he looked over his shoulder to meet Micheal's eyes.

"Then why would she say something like that? She said she doesn't like guys who try too hard." Pete's smile could be heard in his voice. Michael gave Pete an incredulous look and grabbed onto Pete's calve resting on his thigh.

"Did she actually say that Pete?" Micheal asked. Pete threw up his shoulders and turned his attention back to the TV.

"Are... Are you lying? Pete. Answer me." Pete kept a smug little grin on his face when he felt a hand squeezing the in-between spot of his knee and his thigh. Pete let out a shocked cry as he shook off the hand.

"Ah-hah! What are you doing creeper?!" Pete yelled, fighting to take his leg back. Micheal held onto his leg in a tight grip as he defended himself.

"I want you to answer me about Sophie Gray, dork! I'm not doing this 'cause I like it! Are you lying about what you said?" Micheal pressed.

Now one thing about Pete: He was a TERRIBLE liar. He could make stuff up on the spot about a story that was already established, but coming up with stuff out of thin air under pressure? He began to stutter and jerk his leg in Micheal's grip.

"I- I don't know! It's just what she said! Why do you-" Pete and Micheal both looked at the TV at the same time. The main character had passed by another Easter egg.

"Foreshadowing." They said at the same time.

They turned back to look at each other one more time before Micheal squished the inner part of Pete's knee, creeping into his inner thigh. Pete gave an inward squeak as he began giggling and kicking his leg.

"M-Mihihicheal! Stohohop! You're a weheheirdo!" Pete struggled and snickered while squirming all over Micheal's couch. Micheal hadn't heard Pete's ticklish laugh, or any laugh for that matter, since the tickling ritual at Henrietta's place a few months back. They don't really talk about that day, and for good reason.

"What, are you gonna call me a creep next? You're so mainstream it hurts, Pete. I don't know why Sophie would choose you to hang out with. If she should be hanging out with any goth at the school it should definitely be me." Micheal admitted. Pete managed an eye-roll in the midst of his tickle attack which Micheal definitely caught.

"Sounds like you're je-hehealous! Get off mehehe!" Pete snickered with Micheal grabbing both his lower thighs and squishing into the muscle. Through sheer luck (and some determination) Pete managed to sit up in a different position on the couch and grabbed Micheal by his jacket. Their small tussle took them to the floor of the living room in a bundle of pillows and blankets.

Pete thrust a hand out while blind in the flurry of objects surrounding them and just started to squish his hand over and over. Pete didn't really know why he shot his arm out to retaliate, but something in the back of his mind told him it would work.

His intuition seemed to be right as he felt the random body part he had grabbed start to shake with laughter. Pete forced himself out of the small blanket fort that had fallen on top of them and kept squeezing the body part he had in his hand.

He had Micheal's ribs in his grip, which he held onto for dear life. Satan, Micheal was a squirmer. It was like he was being electrocuted.

"Call me mainstream again, Micheal. Do it. I dare y-" Pete egged on Micheal, but he had never seen this expression on his face before. Micheal's eyes were screwed shut as he laughed out from the small amount of squeezes Pete was administering. Had Pete landed on his death spot by accident?

"Pehehete! Gehehe- *hick!* Gehehehet ohohoff- *hick!* ahahasshole! *hick!*" The sound of Micheal's hiccupy laughter filled the living room. Pete was dumbfounded. He had no idea how to react rather than to keep squeezing. Pete shoved both his hands on either side of Micheal's ribcage and scribbled his fingers into Micheal's bony frame. Micheal burst out into a fresh peal of laughter as he tried tucking his knees into his chest for protection.

"I'm gonna put you in your grave for calling me a poser, Micheal. I should record this and show it to Sophie to prove to her that you're just a ticklish conformist. I bet she'd get a real laugh out of that one. What do you think?" Pete was sure talking big words for someone who was ticklish himself. Micheal could do nothing as his head lay on the carpeted floor and laughed out.

Micheal tried fighting Pete's hands back, but that just raised his arm up and out of the way. Pete took the opportunity and shoved his hand into Micheal's armpit and simply moved his fingers in the space before Micheal snorted and squirmed underneath his friend.

"Gohohohod! Yohohohou- *hick!* yohohohou suhuhuhuhuck! *hick!* Screhehehew ohohohohoff! *hick!*" Despite his words, Pete had it hard taking Micheal seriously, seeing as he had a huge grin on his face and giggled out all of his threatening words. It didn't deter Pete of course, he's heard this all before.

"What did you say? You said I suck? You calling me a vamp kid now, Micheal?" Pete tossed his hair out of his eyes just as Micheal had managed to flip himself onto his belly and started clawing himself away from the situation. Pete launched into action as he grabbed his friend's right arm and barred it into his back.

"L-Let go of me! Sophie Gray knows I'm more goth than you, conformist! This is pointless!" Micheal shouted. Pete let out a disgusted groan as he jammed his fingers into Micheal's side, just underneath his lowest rib. If Pete thought he found Micheal's death spot before, he was dead wrong. Micheal immediately started fighting him and trying to hold back his immense giggles.

"Stahahahap! *hick!* Yohohou're fuhuhucking lahahame- *hick!* Pehehehete!" Micheal's face buried into the carpet of the living room while his shoulders jumped with laughter. Pete was a little shocked for words at how well he was taking control of the situation.

"Oh yeah, I'm lame, Micheal? I'm not the one laughing like a preppy straight-A cheerleader right now. If only Sophie were here, she could see how much of a princess you actually are." Pete had no idea where these fighting words were coming from, especially directed at someone who's always been more commonly revered among the goths AND older than him. Micheal struggled at that last remark but crumbled when he felt Pete finding the divet in his side. That was the spot right there.

"Fuhuhuhuck ohohohohoff! Yohohou- *hick!* Yohohohou're thehehe wohohohohorst! *hick!* Micheal tried lying on the side that was being tickled and swung with his free arm, but Pete was quick to grab the arm and stuff it by the other one and kept both his wrists behind his back in a vice grip. Now Pete alternated between tickling one side and switching to the other randomly.

That was cause for disaster. The randomness of the tickles in Micheal's worst spot kept him laughing as his brain was surprised at every turn where Pete would strike next. Not to mention with his increased laughter, his hiccups increased as well.

Pete could feel Micheal's legs bending at the knee and shooting out behind him over and over again as he sat on his hips. He felt all of his struggling underneath him, but his laugh was what intrigued him most. It was hiccupy yes but it was deeper than his speaking voice, and it had the same rasp to it. It would be more of a romantic laugh if it wasn't infested by those goofy hiccups.

"How much more of this do you wanna take, Micheal? You know what you have to say to get out of this. You have to say you're sorry for calling me a poser, you have to say I'm more goth than you, and you have to say Sophie Gray would prefer me over you showing her around the school cause you're a goddamn dorky ticklish conformist." Pete laid all this out while Micheal immediately started shaking his head.

"Nohohoho wahahahay!! I cahahahan't! *hick!* Ihihihihit's- *hick!* Ihihihihit's toohohohoo muhuhuhuch! *hick!*" Micheal's voice was getting weaker, maybe since he'd gotten tickled a lot longer than Pete was tickled just a moment ago. Pete decided to give Micheal a little boost. Pete let go of Micheal's hands behind his back just for Pete to grab both of his sides and scratch his blunt nails through the thin material of his blouse. Micheal let out a surprised noise as he fell back onto the carpet with his eyes screwed shut in laughter.

"Then I guess we'll stay here a while, Micheal. Say hi to Cthulu for me when you cross into the Ether." Pete flipped his hair out of his eyes while he watched Micheal manage a quick bird-flipping motion with his right hand. Pete groaned audibly as he shoved his fingers into Micheal's armpit, which made Micheal laugh hard.

"Just say you like it-" Pete was about to say before his phone chirped a notification sound. Pete looked back at his phone and decided to give Michael a break. Pete unlatched himself from Micheal's hips as he walked on his knees to read the notification. With Micheal's freedom, Micheal rolled onto his back and gulped in greedy amounts of air with a hand over his beating heart.

"You're a fucking dickhole, Pete... I swear to-" Micheal started, but Pete interrupted him.

"Oh shit. Sophie just invited me to her house. She said she wants to watch something." Pete looked over to Micheal, who was sitting up with a pained expression on his face. It was then that Micheal's phone chirped as well. Micheal pulled his phone out of his pocket and read out the message he received.

"I got an invitation too," Micheal said simply.

"What should we do?" Pete asked. Micheal started typing and sent back a message.

"I asked her what we'll watch," Micheal replied. Pete nodded and flipped his hair out of his eyes before sending the same question to Sophie.

A moment passed before both of their phones chirped at the same time.

"Mandalorian?" They both said out loud in an equally disgusted tone.

"She has a Disney Plus account?" Pete asked.

"Fucking conformist," Micheal said, displeased.

"Nope." Pete and Micheal said in unison before shutting down her invitation.

"Welp, so much for that. What should we do now?" It was then that the main character screamed from the television, grabbing both Micheal and Pete's attention.

Pete and Micheal decided to make up and spend the rest of the night watching cheesy horror movies. None of what they said they actually meant, and they really felt that way. Besides, no way a conformist could actually change the way two REAL goths thought about each other.

Pete did have some interesting stories to tell the rest of the group while Micheal wasn't around, however...

[cyberrat]

80th Batch Of Fics: 14th Fill

Alastor/Vox – Part 1/2 – shibari; degradation/humiliation kink – Alastor wants to make sure that Vox stops watching him at every turn, but he might just shoot himself in the foot with this one.

---

“Where is he? Where the fuck is he?!” Vox slams his fist down on the keyboard, eyes frantically scanning the screens filling the wall.

They all show every single inch of the Pride ring in rapid succession, but one notable fucker is yet to be seen. He saw him leave the premises of that stupid, fucking hotel, but he vanished in the blink of an eye and has yet to reappear.

“Where are you, you slippery little-”

“Are you talking about me, per chance?”

Vox has only a split second to register that fuck awful old-timey, staticky voice before his world is upended, as black tendrils grab him and rip him into the air. White hot pain lances through him as panels along his body are pried open and delicate cables inside are ripped out into the open.

He can feel his face glitching out, a shrill whistling noise briefly filling his audio receptors as the pain overwhelms him for a moment.

When the flare up dies down and he manages to bring his surroundings back into focus, he’s hanging awkwardly, helplessly in the air, bound by his own cables. His information center around him is dead, not a single spark of electricity running through it. All the light in the immediate space is coming from his own face, wildly moving about and causing the shadows to dance as he tries to find his bearings.

All in all, the whole maneuver has taken maybe ten seconds at max. It was swift and smooth and so Alastor that it immediately brings his blood back to a boiling point.

Alastor.

That prick is standing an arm’s length away, fingers tapping jauntily on the crown of his cane and a satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

“How the… how the fuck did you get in here?!”

Alastor’s smile widens. It looks like it could split his goddamn head in two, which is not that bad of a look, to be honest. He takes a step closer, lifting his cane and putting it beneath Vox’ screen to tip it up a little.

“That is a good question, is it not? I think I will keep that little secret to myself. It is quite… useful if I need to talk to you. Like I do now. So prick up your… ears, I suppose, and listen up good, hmn?” He does not wait for an answer – which would have been filled full of rage and vitriol anyway – and continues: “I very much do not appreciate you snooping around behind me, my dear… friend.”

He speaks the word with such gusto that it makes Vox shiver. He tries to pull away from Alastor’s cane, but that only manages to make him lightly rock inside his own bindings, sending more shockwaves of pain through his systems.

“I do neither enjoy the feeling of your little zippy-zaps, nor do I like your eyes constantly on my person. It makes things a tad difficult. You have to understand that I am a busy person and do not have time to constantly play with you, yes?”

Vox grits his teeth, body feeling hot and prickly from the condescending tone Alastor has chosen to take with him. It is as if the asshole is talking to a damn child.

“I am going to crush you beneath my heel once I get my hands on you,” Vox hisses at him.

Alastor cocks his head, eyes briefly flicking over Vox’ person.

“What heel, my friend? You are quite exposed at the moment, I assure you.”

Vox halts at that. It takes him a moment to realize that Alastor is… right. What little clothes remain on his person are ripped to shreds, probably during the brief attack that had so thoroughly incapacitated him that he is in danger of blue screening from the sheer rage just thinking about it.

Vox looks at Alastor – and Alastor looks back at him, his head steadily starting to cock to the side yet again, heavy lidded eyes sliding from Vox’ face down along his body.

There’s a twitch in his brows and his sharp grin looks a little stiff as he says: “Forgive me for my ignorance, but this seems grossly unsuited for the current situation, does it not?”

Vox has no idea what he is talking about until he starts to extend his cane, his facial expression pinched and on the verge of downright disgusted. Vox knows what he is talking about just a split second before the end of his cane nudges his cock slightly.

He’s sporting a fat erection. Had been the whole morning during his search of this very fuckhead currently standing just a claw-swipe away.

Heat suffuses him and the faint smell of burning plastic starts to permeate the air.

Vox reacts in the only way he knows how: by aggressively pushing forward.

“Oh fuck you, you old timey piece of shit! Just because you can’t get it up anymore- I mean it’s not because of you, don’t get it fucking twisted, okay?! I’ve been pent up because Val’s been out and not putting out, and-”

“Disgusting. You really are excited right now, are you not?” Alastor’s voice is quiet. He speaks like he has not heard a word that Vox had said, his eyes still trained on the long, vaguely curved cock.

It’s one of Vox’ favorites; ribbed along the shaft and the tip glowing a cool blue ooze of pre-cum whenever he gets excited like he is now.

Vox hates his reaction go the asshole. How electricity fizzles through his body and he can feel a small glitch forming on his face. He turns his head away so Alastor wouldn’t see, but his voice his already beginning to get away from him.

“It’S noT bEcause of You!”

“Hm.” Alastor doesn’t say more, but there is so much in that derisive little sound, letting Vox know that he’s been way too fucking transparent, that he’s about to combust.

He begins to struggle again, trying to rip himself down from the vines holding his cables like a puppet master. He only manages to get himself even more twisted up, his heels almost touching the backs of his thighs and his arms twisted more behind his back. He’s a neat little package at the complete mercy of the Radio Demon.

The thought comes straight out of his nightmares.

Alastor nudges Vox’ erection once more with his cane before pulling it away and lightly tapping it into the palm of his hand. His expression is one of… mild entertainment at best, and his next words prove just that: “I had been planning on a nice breakfast with an old friend of mine, but I might have to postpone that to see where this farce is going.

It interests me: just how far are you depraved animals willing to go for a kick? How long will you keep this pitiful little display-” here he jerks his chin in the direction of Vox’ desperate erection, “up, I wonder. I had known you to be pathetic, but this is a quite fascinating new low that I am willing to explore instead of a truly delightful little dinner date.”

Vox just stares at him, horror slowly dawning on him as he realizes just how deep he’s in shit right now; especially feeling how obediently his body reacts to Alastor’s undivided attention.

Alastor huffs a little laugh. A black chair materializes behind him and he sits down without looking for it, crossing one leg over the other.

“Well then. What show are you going to offer me today, Vox, dear friend?”

[impish-intent]

"Needy Bear" - Glamrock Freddy/Montgomery Gator 【NSFW】

18+ (Minors DNI)

If you prefer to read it on AO3, it's linked in the title. If not, keep reading after the cut.

I wanted to write Brat!Freddy, and I randomly wrote this at 1 am for some reason. Here you go.

The afterglow of the concert performance hung over the atrium patrons, the ambience bouncing through the halls and into the backstage area.

Further back, in a somewhat secluded spot with shelves and cables, low murmurs and grunts arose from the two mascots, one who couldn't keep his claws off the other's frame. Freddy was writhing through the heated kiss, Monty's claws having scraped the surface paint off his torso, the gator man-handling him with a lack of concern.

Gritting, Monty feels Freddy's playful resistance, pushing him back against the wall, a solid thud follows, and the singer cooes through the kiss. Monty recoils, a slither of saliva hanging from their jaws.

"Enough pushin', Fazbear, I ain't lettin' ya slip from me this time…"

Freddy’s eye loosens when a claw clips his chin, the snarl in the bassist's voice setting his circuits aflame.

"I assumed you enjoyed a good chase, Monty?"

"Not when you make it so difficult."

"Then, you should try a little harder–"

If he had a diaphragm, Freddy could easily say he had the wind knocked out of when Monty slammed him into the wall, huffing from the exhilaration coursing his circuits.

"Shut it." The warm glow of Monty's red bulbs lit Freddy in fiery highlighting made the singer glance away.

This tension sent warnings in Freddy's systems, bringing caution to overheating and to call maintenance for assistance. A tightening engorged his pelvic plate as Monty's hand roughly snatches Freddy's chin.

A hard grip of his jaw that made Freddy snap his gaze back to Monty results in a shakened drone from his voice box.

"Can't even look at me, so fuckin' full of yourself…" Monty spat bitterly, his other hand hardly taking a second to plunge to the bear's undercarriage.

Freddy simpers a smile, "Tell me how you really feel, Monty."

Then, his eyes widened upon feeling himself being peeled open, the hissing of his pelvic cavity and the release of his throbbing member met Freddy's ear; seconds later a sharp, clumsy hand grasped him eagerly. A string of mewls leave Freddy, pressing against the wall and holding onto the shelf for support, Monty shoving him back into a hungry kiss.

Pumping the swollen shaft with bursts of movements, Monty put pressure around his cock and stroked, deepening the embrace by burying his tongue against Freddy's. Weak noises huff from the kodiak, squinting with mild disdain as he met eyes with Monty briefly, before shoving the reptile back and panting for air.

"M-Monty– haahh…"

"Needy fuckin' bear, look at you." Blinking, Freddy shudders at his degradation, fuming under his shell as Monty continues to jerk and pull. His wires rush with power, "I… am not needy."

A few fast strokes make Freddy purr, clenching his teeth, glaring sheepishly towards his rival.

"We'll see about that," Monty tuts, slowing down and sinking to his knees.

"On second thought," Freddy starts, "perhaps we could–"

Monty slams his palm over the singer's maw, harsh red eyes shimmering from in front. "I don't wanna hear a peep…" a damp tongue slicks up the textured shaft, "you better keep yourself quiet, Fazbear."

Freddy feels his ears twitch and shoulders hitch up upon having his cock be engulfed by the rough mouth, the gator's tongue wrapping up and over. First few licks and bobs, Monty groaned against the thick member, soon softly muttering, "So fuckin' good…"

If his ears could spin erratically, that's what Freddy would have expected upon hearing those grunts. Watching the green head bob onto his girth, a soft whine involuntarily slips from Freddy, Monty's hand sliding down his striped chin, making his jaw slack open.

"Haa– hhngh–" Freddy tosses his head back, lovingly humming.

Rugged noises come from Monty, slurps and gulps combined with elated drones.

Even with both feet planted on the ground, Freddy couldn't hold his weight steady, having sprawled his legs due to Monty breaching them apart. Freddy’s grip on the shelf lessens, automatically grabbing hold, nearly losing balance, stammering, "O-Oh, god…"

Through his fellatio, Monty's eyes smirked at his loss of balance, enjoying the sight of making Freddy wobble. Drool dangles from his chin, having done enough to make the bear mascot yield, retreating back sloppily, giving a parting lick as he does.

"Fuckin' pathetic." He chuckled at Freddy, a wispy set of whines creaked, steam hissing from his joints.

"Monty, please, I-I do not mean to be abrasive…" Freddy mewls, "you k-know I mean well."

"You talk so much shit despite being a submissive punk." Rising, Monty grew close, snatching his orange waist and pressing against him, pulling in for another rough kiss.

Distinct gasps and guttural noises drip from Freddy's mouth as Monty rams his rod in fervent motions, holding the sides of his head as to keep him there.

"Fuckin' take it– yeah that's it–"

Gazing at the sight, Monty groans harmoniously while the lead singer whimpers through his occupied mouth.

"Use your words, no need to talk with your mouth full," Monty chides, pulling Freddy off his cock, giving him a second to breathe.

Steam lifted from the two of them, Freddy leaning in to lick and kiss the dominant shaft feverishly, his blue eyes glowing with glossy wonder.

"You better put that mouth to use, Fazbear." Shoving himself back, Freddy moans into the roughly made member, his eyes rolling back as his throat is thrusted into.

A pair of hands slide up Monty's thighs, shifting to his rear, Freddy trying to stay focused and gaze up at his bandmate. Watching the bear tense with each push, Monty felt his wires curl over every time, losing his composure to the point he let Freddy go and plant his hands on the wall in front of them.

Freddy pushes himself all the way, his fingers curling over themselves as he hits his limit.

"F-Fuck, Freddy–" Monty jitters, expelling a hallow moan.

Pulling out, Freddy catches his breath, dreary with heat and lust, Monty glaring down at him.

"I need it, Monty…"

Tilting his head, Monty teases.

"What's that?"

The bear furrows his brows, glancing down agitatedly as he has to repeat himself.

"...I need it."

Passively humming, Monty lowers himself to Freddy, both on the ground, "Now you admitted your needy, ain't that cute?"

Freddy shook his head, interrupted by his hips being pulled in abruptly and falling onto his back, legs widened. Monty buries his knees on to dingy ground, gathering close against Freddy who is dazed by the sudden switch.

"Don't look so surprised, I haven't even started…" Monty prods Freddy's opening wryly, the orange mascot flinching, lifting his pelvis apprehensively.

"Hha–"

"Be patient, will ya?"

Whirring, Freddy averts his desperate gaze, letting himself be exposed more, Monty running his hand over Freddy's lingering member as he starts to roughly push into him. A strained mewl bounces, Monty hushing the bratty bear beneath.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth–" The first thrusts felt so fucking good, Monty clamps his mouth shut to keep Freddy from whining some more. Their bodies were flushed against each other's, hard pushes sending shocks up Freddy's endo.

Monty grabs Freddy's thigh with his free hand, leaning forward as he lifts and perches his leg in his arm, ramming more of himself deeper and getting a better look at the lead singer's lost expression. Never had he seen Freddy look so pitiful, the poor bear's eyes rolling back and barely open, his muzzle clamped. Muffled whimpers were what Monty could make out.

"You're so tight," Monty strains…

Their skin made solid contact, dull slams filling the space, Freddy's low groans barely lifting from the hand.

"You don't want none of your fans to hear ya squealin'? That'd be a real shame for everyone to know that Fazbear is a little needy brat, huh?" This heightened Monty's energy, talking down to Freddy only aroused him further, feeling the bear clench up.

Freddy's head reels back, managing to let out a cry of pleasure through Monty slipping off his hand. Then, realizing how loud he was, guiltily rests the back of his hand over his own mouth, writhing with each push.

"You like it when I talk nasty huh?"

"This is embarrassing–" Freddy huffs a moan.

"Oh, it's embarrassin'?" Monty taunts, suddenly piping him faster–

"Why don't I keep making it embarrassin' for ya?"

Freddy gasps, "G-Ghn– M-Monty!"

His walls tightened and gripped his shaft, the bassist uncaring about how rough he was, hearing Freddy lose it made it worth it. The paint on Freddy's thigh gathers under Monty's nails, digging into the shell as the roughened pants of the two performers mix together.

With a few last thrusts, Monty manages to stop himself from losing full control, coming down from the buildup, listening to Freddy wheeze below him, steam puffing out of his agaped mouth.

"Too much ya, Fazbear?" Monty exhales, pulling out of his tender hole, playfully grinding their cocks against each other…

Freddy shakily sits up on his elbows, still panting, watching the gator grind against him, "Not… quite…"

"Still kickin', hm…" Monty guffaws, tugging Freddy mockingly, a startled hiss leaves him. His green thumb runs over the bear's chin, slipping over his mouth, Freddy hums– his servos melting from this oddly tender touch– Watching the brat beneath him slick his tongue against the green thumb causes Monty to bubble out a bleak chuckle.

"Let's get ya up, then."

His pectorals and hands were flushed on the wall and his lower half protruding out, Freddy feeling Monty's staggered breath on his neck.

Monty leans in, snaking his hands over Freddy's hips, gifting him a quick nip on his shoulder.

Holding in a pained growl, Freddy rests his forehead on the wall, before feeling himself be filled again with a sickly heat. His hips were yanked, rocked in a guiding back and forth motion, simultaneously being plunged deeper by Monty's rough cock.

Heat crept into Freddy's shell, his circuits frying as his inner core is struck with infrequent pulses.

"Oh god–" Freddy simmers, fists balling.

"That's r-right, take it, you're takin it like a good fuckin' bear, aren't ya?"

Distressed mewls leave Freddy, "Y-Yes…"

"Can't hear ya."

Once more, Freddy whirrs, "Yes– hah– yes, Monty!"

Monty hastens his thrusts, watching his length disappear into Freddy with rapid speed, the little bulb of a tail flinching with every movement. Such a cute tail. A cute frame. Freddy was letting Monty ravish him. For once, Monty was running things.

"Aah–" Monty lurches forward to bite Freddy's shoulder. Spikes of energy zip through Freddy as the teeth sank down, shuddering a few whimpers when Monty became feverish.

From the kodiak's peripheral, another pair of hands plant at both sides of his head, the gator's chest slightly running against his back as his movements run sloppy.

"Y-You feel… fucking amazing, Freddy–" Monty groans hungrily, ramming his heat deeper into his singer.

"Haa hhn– Monty–" Freddy whimpers softly against the wall, his core is struck directly now.

A string of curses captures his tongue, Monty grimacing and containing his own pleasured swears. Freddy becomes a wispy mess, muttering the bassist's name eagerly…

"M-Monty, Monty– o-oh– ahn– Monty–"

"So needy…" Monty chides, "I've fucked ya silly."

Unbearable heat erupts within Freddy's body, his interface being flooded with warnings and messages of overheating. His sight starts to get defocused and cluttered, legs shaking and upper frame rattling as Monty tries to hold him still.

Noticing how overstimulated the singer had become, Monty grinned into his back as he wrapped his hands around Freddy's flailing dick and pumped gingerly as he pounded him as well.

"O-Oh, fuck!" Monty grits, losing control, his shaft is clamped down around and he groans as he gives it his all, sloppy, messy pushes; his seed leaking with each remaining thrust. Cables in Monty's body nearly snapped as he released fully inside Freddy, heaving another rough string of swears in the bear's ear.

Then, Freddy came, erupting on the wall in front, a thick hot trial of seed oozing from his tip, some dribbling down his orange thigh. No longer convulsing, Freddy loosens, still whining from the high of climax. Monty pulls out and a heavy load expels down Freddy's thighs…

"I hope that was worth the wait, Fazbear. I already got more in store for ya when you're not so tired…"

Panting, Freddy slowly turns around, unable to fully lift his arm, resting it on Monty's waist thoughtfully…

"If that's the case… perhaps we should do this more often."

[shitsonicsez]

Tails: See Knuckles, the security camera will notify you on this cell phone-

Knuckles: This phone only has a screen with no buttons, it must be broken.

Tails: I’ll explain that later. But this way you can leave the Master Emerald and hang out with us more!

Knuckles: Hm. I dunno. I doubt this will be enough to protect against interlopers.

Tails: Trust me, no one will want to lope with this around! [Nails up a sign saying “Protected by Security System”]. Security systems are a great deterrent on their own. You’ll have nothing to fear.

Rouge: [Already on top of the Master Emerald and hooking up with tow cables for Omega to pull away]

[glasswaters]

the lake by the mountain

It starts, as all things do, with a story. It begins, gauze-thin and stretched across these mountains, long before I was ever born, with the unspooling of a thread. Cotton, bleached white and pulled taut to keep a petticoat’s hem.

“Such was my task”, says my grandmother, who smells of wants and conviction the way my mother smells of daffodils. Her hands are worn, now, by age or by exhaustion, and when she holds her embroidery into the light, I can see the sun peeking through pierced fabric. The gas lamp on the table gives a groan, the sharp noise of the last of the wick eaten up by flame, just before it dies.

 *

Here is how my mother tells it, when my father has left for the day and she lays the pelts out to dry: your grandmother is a stubborn thing, sweeting. When they lay the phone lines, she refused them. When they carved space for the plumbing, she filled it with soil. When they traced cables from outlet to outlet, she stood, lamp in one hand, knife in the other, and bared her teeth.

The grocer knows her by name, yet.

 *

My grandmother’s skin is paper-thin. When she turns her head, I can see the light through it, as though she has long since been pulled taut over a bulb’s jutting edges. When she opens her mouth, her voice comes out a sharp thing, whetted and precise. “What use have I”, she says, and pulls the thread until it near snaps. “My sweetling, whatever would I do with fancy baubles?”

The fire cracks, and paints in the shape of it, my grandmother’s face golden. I shrug. “Comfort”, I say.

“Convenience”, says my grandmother, and drags her mouth downwards. There is a fountain in the courtyard and an outhouse by the trees. There is copper cookware, lined up in the kitchen, and a basin sturdy enough to hold her. The windows are open wide, and in the planters hanging off the sills, my grandmother has made for the bees an offering of sweetness.

Every summer, they feast on the flowers, a thick buzz of wings.

“What need do I have for wires?”, she asks, with her fingertips hooked underneath my chin. “The mountains are slow, dearling, and there is much lays heavy in the valleys that has not yet reached the summits.”

“Heat settles high”, I say, and my grandmother laughs. The furs on her sofa are as soft as they have ever been, silver things that I can dip my hands into and watch them disappear. My fingers sink into them undisturbed, until they rest at the downy warmth of them.

 *

Stories are things made of thread and words, half-spun and half-dreamt. When my grandmother was new, with smooth hands and skin thick enough to break teeth, she would sit on the summit, just by the cross that marks its highest point, and hem petticoats and linens. Her feet were bare, then, and bleeding, still dripping stubbornness over limestone and fossils.

As the locals tell it, a spirit rose from the lake in the valley at night and made the trek to the summit; bloody feet and tender, stubborn mouth. With wild hair and wilder heart, it dragged from the bottom of the lake to the top of the mountain sweet freshwater pearls.

It sat, wanton and wanting, on the moss, until someone came to pin it by the limbs to plush velvet. A needle threaded through every fingertip, string tied about every toe, it stayed, like that, under dull eyes and duller teeth.

Until the dusk came, and brought with it the sun’s death.

As the locals tell it, the spirit made then the trek back down to the lake. Sometimes, at night, something wanton lay, with eyes like polished pearls and hands carved of dripping limestone, motionless until the sun rose above the mountain peaks.

 *

“The skies were clear”, says my grandmother, and in the soft light of the waning sun, her eyes shine white. “Planets pinned to the firmament, and you could map worlds in the space between. Some days, I could see beyond this solar system.” She smiles at me, a wrinkle from the corners of her mouth to the slack of her cheeks, and keeps me pinned, still, on her furs. “When the day was cold, and there were no clouds, I could see to the ends of the universe at night. Not anymore, now.”

In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. My grandmother drags her fingers to the seam of my trousers. In my ears roar the rocking waves of a storm. “I don’t have to check it”, I say. My palms ache at the tips, still buried in the pelts, still half-hidden. Half curled.

My grandmother tilts her head. Like a bird, almost. Like something with sharp claws and sharper teeth, with eyes that see – something moves. Somewhere within my ribcage or tangled about my spine, something shifts. My grandmother’s eyes are mother-of-pearl, and her teeth are soft, soft things.

“Don’t you?”, she asks. Her skin shimmers in this light – a blanket of oil on a lake’s surface, a layer of despair around a kernel of dirt. Hands, worn and wrinkled.

Mine are smooth, still, and I shake my head. “I don’t”, I say. She laughs. She holds out her hands, and fits them to the curve of my jaw. They lay, like that, unmoving, stubborn things, against my skin.

“Child”, she says softly. “Sweet thing.”

My mother leaves the pelts out to dry once my father has left for work. Before he comes home, she collects them and folds them, damp still, until they fit into the suitcase on top of the dresser, with its broken clasp and the belt tied around it. Her mouth has long since fit itself into the gaps of my father’s smile.

Her phone in her pocket buzzes. When she picks up, my father’s voice drips from the speaker. “Hello, my loves”, he says, and my mother fades around the edges.

“Hello”, she says. Her hair is dry.

 *

At night, something lies in the lake, its eyes wide open, its mouth agape. Its hands are smooth the way stones are in riverbeds – so long have they lain in the water that there is nothing at all to them, anymore, except polished rounds. Its hair floats, weightless, like seagrass sprouting from its head. Or, perhaps, like fabric does when it is put to soak in water that is more gasoline and blue dye, now, it drags, swirling, until it lies trembling at the lake’s surface.

The stars are dull behind their layer of light. The city is alive, even at night, flickering billboards and humming streetlights and girls with bright eyes and brighter smiles, gathered about the pavement. They carry their heels in one hand and their phone in the other, texting half-formed flirts to half-shaped crushes.

Laughing, bell-shaped.

The thing in the lake watches the skies. In the morning, it will lead wet footprints to the mountain’s summit.

 *

“Come”, says my grandmother, ever sharp. “Why don’t you help me with the linens?”

I drag my hands from her pelts. My phone in the back pocket of my trousers is warm, and presses smooth against me. I don’t check it.

My grandmother’s hands are a solid weight on me, and my hems are still wet. My feet leave bloody prints on her wood floor.

“Come”, says my grandmother. I come. I breathe.

I reach for the linens. ______ commission for @hasenfu, thank you for commissioning me!

[monsterblogging]

If you're thinking about reading the Pacific Rim novelization... you should know this first.

The only thing Alex Irvine's novelization of Pacific Rim is good for is scraping lore; and if you wanna do that, you have to compare it with all the other available text (Beacham's blog, creator interviews, Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters, Tales From Year Zero, and Tales From The Drift) because some of the information is wrong or outdated. (Oh, and also, some of the information in PR:MMM is wrong or outdated. And Beacham occasionally hecks things up. You have to really compare your texts here.)

The novelization, you see, is just constantly like this:

Extra racism!

Nobody did embarrassment like the Japanese. Mako blushed right to her hairline and bowed several times.

Pretentious prose over authentic emotion! (Also, bonus typo!)

Whenever he got to construct something, he had that crackle in his head… especially when he was about to do something as balls-out crazy as Drift with a sample of a dead kaiju. Swap neurotrasmissions with a silicate cerebellum. Open himself up to the alien alpha waves of a nonhuman sentience.

Casual misogyny!

Mako Mori was a puzzle, and she didn’t seem to be interested in letting anyone solve her.

Hanging lampshades on "problems" that only exist in Alex Irvine's mind!

“Everybody out of here, now!” Tendo Choi started yanking cables out of the control console, hoping to cause some kind of crash in Gipsy Danger’s systems. It occurred to him that he’d shouted in Chinese, but people seemed to have gotten the message.

Capitalist bootlicker Newt!

Newt was almost as surprised. The entire Pan-Pacific Defense initiative was funded by a black marketeer who recouped his investment by selling parts of the kaiju whose killing he had financed. And some of the parts were purchased by Kaiju Science! Newt probably had tissue and organs on his lab tables that came from this Hannibal Chau person. Now that was a public-private partnership, Newt thought admiringly.

So yeah, if you're going to read the novelization, please know what you're getting into first. It's honestly one of the worst books I've ever read.

[tremendousconnoisseurgardener]

Ruthless! Player

A Poppy Playtime AU.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone. Finally finished this new chapter. Sorry if it took a long time, hope you guys like it.

Warnings!

This fics will have sensitive topics:

PTSD

Death

Blood

Gore

Swears

Consumption of alcohol and smoking

If you do not like any of these topics, you are free to leave. Have a nice day/night.

Chapter 1: A Tight Squeeze.

Player closed the door behind him, there they saw in front of them a mural with a blue monster and red lips smiling, as well a yellow speech bubble written *welcome!* Painted on it. Inside, the place was pretty dusty, some boxes and toys thrown on the ground. They saw a light switch and turned on, the lamps flickering back to life.

“Huh, not far from home.” Player said sarcastically. They inspected the place and passed by a ticket gate, who did not need a ticket, but they were stopped by a big metal gate, on top there was a panel with a blue hand painted on it, glowing as well

“There aren’t any locks… how am I going to open this?” Player asked, they went back to the lobby and noticed a closed glass door down a corredor beside them. Taking a closer look, Player noticed a security system connected to the door, with colored buttons on it “maybe it’s a code?”

They tried typing the buttons at different orders, but after 4 tries, they gave up.

“Fuck this.” Using the back of the gun, they smashed the glass door, shattering into pieces “this place is already abandoned Anyway.” They got inside another room and saw a vhs tape on a table, aswell a cassette player connected to a tv. Player picked up the video tape and started the video

The video showed instructions on how to use a special equipment called *Grab-Pack*, a backpack that has two cannons with hands attached to them on both sides of it. They serve to move objects and hold on handles, and also serve to conduct electricity, just push the triggers of the cannons and it will shoot the hands towards the target and grab on it. Just, don’t shoot on any staff, it may cause injury. After the video ends, a small door opens up, revealing a conveyor belt bringing the Grab-Pack. Player grabbed the equipment and saw that there was only one hand for now, a blue hand.

“Maybe this is the key?” They said, placing the Grab-Pack behind their back and tightened up the straps, although the rifle stayed in an uncomfortable position it could work out “feels heavier than a normal backpack-.” Going back to the gate, Player pointed the cannon at the panel and shot the blue hand, gluing at the metal plate as a blue bar started to grow. After the bar was full, the gate started to open, and they walked through to the other side of the gate.

“Never had seen this type of ge-.” They stopped mid sentence when they saw the hulking figure of a… blue… animal…? Staring at them in the distance “the hell is that?” They got closer to the thing, taking a good look at it “that's a statue.” Looking around the area, they saw some box of toys laying on the ground, there they found the same blue creature inside of them, but small, they were called “Huggy Wuggy”

“So, this was supposed to be a toy? I prefer a teddy bear rather than that.” Player said, tossing the box away. After sometime, they noticed a key hanging on one of the hands of the Huggy Wuggy *statue*, using the Grab-Pack, they retrieved the key “this equipment ain’t that bad. But, where to use this key?”

They looked around the place, trying to open up some doors using the key, two of them were also giant metal gates who needed the Grab-Pack’s hand to open up, although one of them wasn’t powered up and the other needed a red hand, something that they did not have yet. They noticed that a black electric cable was connected to the gate without power. With only one choice left, Player inserted the key on the door, written “Power” above them; a click sound was made and the door opened up.

Inside there were various poles made out of metal and an electric box, Player had no problem using the Grab-Pack to conduct the electricity and powering up the place again.

“Now that the power is back, maybe I can open that metal gate with the blue hand.”

Player exited the room, only to discover that the, supposedly, Huggy Wuggy statue is now missing from its place. They were shocked, looking around the area to try finding the tall monster.

“… maybe I should stop drinking…” With more caution of their surroundings, Player opened the gate, revealing a rather long and very yellow corridor ahead, with another closed metal gate at the end and a sign on top written *Make a Friend*. They walked down the hallway, but suddenly something moved and went inside a room at the end of the corridor, it looked like a furry arm sliding across the walls “oh, how I love this place.”

They reluctantly pushed the door open and entered the same room where the monster might be, since it was the only door that was unlocked. Another hallway lay ahead, but now dark and full of pipes, Player grabbed their flashlight and continued on their path, they had to squeeze between some of those metal pipes, even getting a gush of vapor on their face, prompting them to jump back. Crossing the corridor, they enter a warehouse.

Inside there were piles of boxes everywhere, some shelves toppled over, toy parts scattered around. In front of them, they saw a control panel for a crane that was out of power as well as the red hand for the Grab-Pack, but it was out of reach. The panel had 4 plugs on it, Player needed to find power cores to turn on the crane. After some time scavenging around, they were able to find all the necessary batteries and plugged them on the panel.

Now with the power back, Player pushed a button and the crane moved automatically towards the red hand, grabbing it and dropping on a conveyor belt that below, it was used to transfer toy parts to an unknown place. They went down the catwalk and acquired the new hand for the Grab-Pack

“Nice, with this I can open that other gate now.”

Going back to the yellow corridor, the once opened gate is now closed and locked. The reason is unknown.

“See… That's what I don’t like. I know shit is going to happen, but I don’t know when. I hate this place.” Player grumbled with a sigh, while retrieving from his jacket pocket a cigarette to smoke.

Going back to the warehouse, they noticed that there was a red and blue panel on the other side of the warehouse. Using the Grab-Pack, Player opened a hatch that goes deeper inside the conveyor belt; after finishing the cigarette, they went inside and there they had to, yet again, fix the power.

“From Squad Leader, to a delivery guy and now an electrician. My life is a mess.” They said, while finally turning on the conveyor belt. The mechanism started to move suddenly, Player did not expect that and lost balance as they got dragged to god knows where. Toy parts fell on top of them and red lights started to flash, at the end of the conveyor belt they were thrown inside a strange pod full of other toy parts. “Damn, that was a ride.” They said, The window of the pod was broken, so they were able to crawl out of it.

Player was now on the *Make a Friend* área. There they saw two other identical pods, besides the one who they came through, and a giant machinery in front of them, the machines looked strange, shaped in curvy and uneven forms. “I guess it’s for aesthetics?” They looked at the strange structures. They also noticed two closed gates, one of them led to the yellow hallway, the other needed a toy to open it up. Although confused at first, Player understood what to do, they had to make a toy using the strange looking machinery. The only problem was that there was no power.

Going up a staircase at the corner of the area, they got themselves on a catwalk, where they found an electric box and more metal poles to conduct the electricity; they had to, AGAIN, fix the electric problem. It was a bit complicated to connect all the poles this time, but Player got the job done.

“Finally, Now I can do that toy.” They said, going down the staircase, they noticed the machinery had come back to life, literally. Each structure had a pair of glowing white eyes, with a black pupil in the middle, looking at Player “this company has some weird design choices.”

Pressing a button on a panel in the middle of the room and pulling some levers connected to the pods, Player was able to manufacture a Cat-Bee, a half-cat and half-bee character; now with a toy in hand, they placed it on a scanner near the closed gate. After the scanning was completed, the gate opened up for the Player.

“Alright… let’s get out of this place.” Player walked down the corridor, they were a bit disappointed about themselves for not being able to find any clues, at least they tried.

But, near the end of the hallway, Huggy Wuggy appeared right in front of Player, abandoning the dark and finally revealing himself. The giant blue monster looms over the small human, showing his razor sharp teeth at Player with a prettifying smile, his hunched over form only increasing the fear factor and his eyes looking dilated just like from a sea lion, ready to hunt their prey. Player fell back but quickly got up, rapidly backing away to the *Make a Friend* area, as Huggy Wuggy walked towards them, each step he took was heavy, the ground would even shake. Player dropped the cannons from the Grab-Pack, and grabbed their rifle and pointed at the monster, 3 shots were fired in total, hitting the creature’s shoulder, arm and belly. The third shot though, made him clench his wound, but that only made him angry.

“Oh shit..” Huggy Wuggy started to shake violently, as foam came out of his mouth while he stared directly at Player, he screeched and charged towards the small human. Player was able to reload another bullet and tried to fire at him, but the monster managed to hit them first, throwing away the gun from their grasp. He then grabbed Player around their torso, the force was extreme.

Player screamed in pain as they got crushed, they were trying to reach their hunting knife from their pocket. Huggy wuggy started to hold them up in the air, slowly approaching Player’s head inside his mouth, but before getting their head ripped off, Player was able to grab their knife. Bringing the knife down, they stabbed the monster’s eye, blood spraying onto them. The creature screamed in pain as he tried to make Player stop by pushing them away, but they held onto the creature’s fur and kept stabbing the fresh wound.

“Do you like this?! You little shit!” With one last stab, Player was able to rip the entire eye from its socket, it dangled around before sliding out of the knife. At this point, Player’s hands were covered in blood, as well as the blue fur from the monster. Player lost their grip on the monster's fur, this led to Huggy Wuggy throwing them away, making them hit onto a wall.

While the monster was distracted by the pain, Player noticed an opening to the ventilation system of the factory, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to defeat that thing, they retrieved their rifle, grabbed the Grab-Pack’s cannons and entered the ventilation system. Player continue running inside the dark place, they could hear Huggy Wuggy chasing them, his footsteps getting louder and louder.

It felt like a maze, but they were able to find an exit from that place, they were now on top of transportation belts suspended over a seemingly bottomless pit with pipes connected to each other, when they left the vents a door behind them shuts down, but Player knew it wouldn’t hold Huggy Wuggy. Above, they saw another conveyer belt with a large box on top.

With quick thinking, they grabbed the large box using the Grab-Pack right before the monster broke down the ventilation door. The monster sprinted towards Player, but they quickly pulled and dropped the box on the creature, destroying the conveyor belt they both were on top. Player landed on a metal grating, while Huggy Wuggy fell down the dark pit, presumably to his death.

Player sat down, tired of all that running; they retrieved the, somehow, intact whisky bottle from their pocket.

“I’m too old for this shit.” They gulped down a large quantity of the liquid “where to go now?” They closed the bottle and placed it inside their jacket pocket. While looking down the pit, they noticed that the metal gratings led towards a very interesting location. To the center of a giant red poppy flower painted on a wall “Find the Flower…”

They went closer to the giant painting, seeing a door right in the center of it. Player noticed the many toys hanging in strings, all of them covered in blood and missing some of their pats. They opened up the door and went inside, Player was now inside a place that had a vintage aesthetic, with a paper wall full of flowers, countless lamps and long corridors that seemed endless.

After going down a staircase, they saw another door at the end of a hallway, the lamps emitting a red light. They approached and opened the door, revealing a small room; at the middle could be seen a case of glass, containing the most popular toy of Playtime, Poppy.

Player approached her, looking at her perfect porcelain face. With curiosity, they opened up the small glass lid, but suddenly, a strong wave of pain washed over their head, right after they opened. It was so strong that it made Player faint.

Before they went unconscious, they saw the lights flicker and going dark, as well a voice, echoing.

“You opened my case.”

.

.

.

(To be continue)

Chapter 0

EDIT: my dumbass forgot to put the link for the first chapter!

[prolix-yuy]

I'm curious about how Frankie brought up his child/children/ex with Ms. Jackson?

(Just how many mini Moraleses are running around is up for debate, of course. I think there are at least two because of the way he says, "I got the NEW baby now." It doesn't sound like it's his first to me.)

Ooooh, very interesting because I am establishing Triple Frontier as canon in this AU, but I haven’t really gotten into that one line yet. Frankie is a very sweet boy in my AU, but he is human, and he has his own troubles and mistakes. To ignore them would be doing his character a disservice, so yes, let’s talk about Frankie’s past relationship.

Rosalie

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish" Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson", Francisco “Catfish" Morales x OFC "Caroline"

Summary: An envelope holds the key to Frankie Morales’ past, and he's been dreading the conversation he has to have about it.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: M, past Sex Worker!Frankie, allusions to sexual acts, descriptions of male and female bodies, descriptions of sex work (not explicit), unplanned pregnancy, drug use, PTSD, semi-toxic relationship, angst, people are complicated and hurt each other even with the best intentions. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Note: I honestly debated whether I wanted to go down this path, but this ask really helped solidify Frankie’s history. He’s benefited a lot from things like therapy and having a support system in the other TF boys, but there was a time when he was unmoored and struggling.

Before we begin, everyone take a deep breath and remember how happy Frankie and Ms J are now. Sometimes we have to push through a little pain for some healing on the other side.

Takes place after Easy Like Any Morning and about 8 months into Frankie and Ms Jackson’s relationship.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

It was an unassuming envelope, the kind that probably held a greeting card. You don’t normally pick up Frankie’s mail but it was lying on a shelf under his apartment complex’s mailboxes, blatantly addressed to Francisco Morales. Thinking little of it, you pick it up and bring it in with you as you walk through the front door.

“Hey babe,” Frankie says, dotting a quick kiss on your lips as you shrug off your purse. You hold out the envelope as you slip off your shoes.

“What’s this?” he asks, which you answer with a shrug.

“Was sitting on the mailbox shelf when I got in,” you reply. Something smells like roasted peppers and sausage, your stomach grumbling.

In the moment between when you hand Frankie the letter and when you finish hanging up your belongings, his whole demeanor changes. His face drops to a stony expression, eyes boring a hole into the white envelope, leaning more heavily against the hallway wall. It makes a cold pit form in your stomach.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, but your voice bodily snaps Frankie out of whatever mood he tumbled into. He tosses the letter onto the hall table with his other mail.

“Nothing. Dinner’s almost ready,” he says, too quick and too dismissively. You follow his retreating back to his small kitchen, itching to ask him for some explanation but deciding to wait it out. Frankie tended towards openness with you, and pushing him in the moment would only succeed in making him sink deeper into himself. All of your hardest conversations required Frankie to come to you first, but he rarely kept you waiting long.

After a quiet dinner, you mostly carrying the conversation, Frankie sets you up with the TV and asks you to find something to watch. His footsteps heading back to the hall worry you, but you try to give him the space he needs to process whatever that envelope holds.

It takes him four excruciating minutes to come back, the digital numbers on the cable box ticking down. You turn to him, about to say you found something that looked good, but your words die on your tongue at the look Frankie gives you. It’s dread and anxiety and nervousness cutting harsh creases into his beautiful face that has you tossing the remote aside and holding your hands out to him. His face crumples as he sits down heavily beside you. You move to take his hands and feel the envelope clutched in one, now ripped open. The card inside is edged in princess pink.

“I…” he starts, and you swallow hard at his hesitation. Whatever is in that envelope involves you in some way, and waves of fight or flight response ratchet up your heartbeat.

Is this where it all ends? Does the clock finally strike midnight and you turn back to a sullen divorcee, alone and heartsick again?

“Fuck,” Frankie swears, dropping the envelope in his lap and gathering up your hands. “I’m sorry, I’m scaring you. I’m sorry,” he pleads, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath since he sat down. You let air rush in, focus on his thumbs circling the backs of your palms.

“Yeah, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” you manage to get out with some strength behind the words. He steels himself before dropping your hands and sliding the card out of the envelope. It’s a child’s birthday invitation, bright and cheery, dated a month from now. The confusion must be written loudly on your face, because Frankie places the invite into your hands.

Please join us for Rosalie’s 2nd birthday party!

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Frankie met Caroline in the way he met most people outside of work those days - passing glances at his dealer’s house. She was pretty, engaging, loud and fun. He often caught her talking with a bunch of other regulars in the back room, eyes shining with the line she’d just snorted. Her hands always spoke with her, accentuating and punctuating her sentences. Frankie couldn’t help but stare, drawn to the life that spilled from every pore of her being. She felt so opposite to him, always drawn in and quiet.

The first time they touched was electric. She passed him in the hallway, one going in, one going out, and her hand skimmed over his shoulder. It made Frankie’s heart pound, more intoxicating than the powder tucked into his jacket.

The next time they met, Frankie plucked up enough courage to introduce himself. She was waiting in front of the house, eyes darting around nervously as he approached.

“Uh, hey,” he said, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. She looked him up and down quickly, ready to bolt.

“Hey yourself,” she answered, but instead of hostility he caught notes of amusement. It made him just a little bit bolder.

“Seen you around a few times. I’m Frankie,” he offered, considering putting his hand out to shake but deciding against it. She gave him a smile, snarky as she licked over one incisor.

“Frankie. That’s cute. I don’t think I’ve known a Frankie since I was a kid,” she said, a nervous laugh popping out of his mouth.

“Francisco,” he added, making her nod along with something like understanding.

“Caroline,” she offers. “Nice to meet you.”

They stood in the baking sun for a few minutes longer, Caroline sweeping her gaze over Frankie as he tried not to obviously do the same. She finally tapped at her pocket with a knowing look.

“I’ve got something to share if you’re up for it, Francisco,” she said. Her tone was laced with more offerings than that, and if Frankie hadn’t have done a quick bump to get up the courage to talk to her he might have seen the problems here. But she was sexy and forward, and he was craving something his lizard brain believed only she can offer.

“Where do you want to go?”

Coke and Caroline were a match made in heaven. Whether they both did a line and waited for Frankie’s cock to get impossibly hard, or she showed up at his doorstep high and needy, they found comfort in the other’s body. She was plush and giving and wet and seemed to be horny for him all the time. In return the coke made him go forever, almost to the point where cumming would be more painful than just letting the high knock him out.

They didn’t share much past their scores, some pizza and electrolytes. She worked in a warehouse, liked reality tv, and only ever called him Francisco. He told her he worked as a private helicopter pilot. Which was…mostly true. He did work part time at a small hanger, but he hadn’t been flying much in recent years. Younger hotshots were hungrier for it than him, and he hated the droning conversations broadcast through headsets. Most days he just babysat the front desk and waited for a call from Pope. The itching in his fingers to be back up in the air…well, he started attributing that to the coke instead.

He didn’t tell her what else he did for work. She never gave him an indication that she’d shame him, or drop him because of it, but it was easier for the secret to just live between the other boys and him. Their meetups were erratic anyway; if he was already spent, he’d take his time making her cum with his fingers and tongue until his cock finally twitched back to life. If it was taking too long, half a crushed up Viagra normally did the trick. Those weeks were a blur of naked skin, the buzz up his spine, and blissful thoughtlessness. It felt like a dream as he fucked and snorted and ignored all of the problems knocking at his door.

It was when the tests skittered across her kitchen counter, positive on all three, that Frankie finally crashed back to reality.

“You’re pregnant?” he sputtered, unable to tear his eyes from the sticks littering the table. Caroline stood with her arms crossed, unable to stop shifting from side to side.

“Not like we paid a lot of attention to where you were cumming, Francisco,” she spat back, and the venom in her tone sobered Frankie up faster than he thought possible.

“Hey,” he said softly, putting his hands on her shoulders. Tears were threatening to fall, her mouth screwing up to choke back a sob. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s gonna be okay,” he soothed, wrapping her in his embrace as she sobbed into his chest.

“I can’t do this,” she cried over and over, words tearing into Frankie worse than if she was clawing him in anger.

“You’re not alone,” he finally said, pulling back to hold her face. Her face was blotchy and red, tears streaking down as he cupped her cheek. “I’m here. I’ll be here for you, for the baby. I promise.” He tried to warm her with a smile, stroking away tears. “If this is what’s happening, I’m going to do it right, with you.” Caroline broke out into more tears then, but grateful ones.

“Fuck, Francisco, I’m scared,” she said, and he smoothed her hair and stroked her back.

“Me too.” He pulled her back into his chest, nose pressed against her ear as her tears calmed down to hiccups and shaky breaths.

Caroline quit cold turkey, endured the withdrawal and the stress of detox. She threw out everything she had, stopped talking to the friends she made through her dealers, and started reading about prenatal care and scheduling doctors appointments. It impressed the hell out of Frankie, watching her take to this mission of being the best possible mother she could be. Instead of their usual conversations about who’s ordering food or when to go score their next hit, Caroline was showing Frankie baby registries and birth plans, talking about car seats and neighborhoods and everything made Frankie’s head spin. He tried to nod through, take notes, be present and supportive, but he was beginning to realize the inevitable.

He was going to fuck this up.

At first he was just afraid of detoxing, something Caroline made him promise to do before the baby was born. After watching a month of her mood changing, becoming more anxious and paranoid, bad dreams making her thrash in the night, Frankie wasn’t sure if he could endure it. His dreams already scared him enough, but without the wall of numbness to keep the terrors away he wasn’t sure he could be of any help to her or the baby.

That’s when the lying began. The sneaking out to his dealer, the subtle hits after listening to her read through long lists of the best foods to eat or best sleeping positions. Instead of growing closer to her, to his future child, he was drifting away as silently as possible. He didn’t want to, kept trying to force himself to man up, but the chasm continued to grow.

Maybe if they had been friends before, Frankie could have found more common ground between them. If they had gone on dates, or talked about their families, met their friends, maybe it wouldn’t feel like they were two strangers handcuffed together. All Frankie ever wanted to do was get high and fuck and forget with her. But she was a full person, one he never took the time to know beyond his needs and was forever tied to now. The sickly voice in his head chastised him about it now, how selfish he was, how he got himself so far into this mess. As she took to motherhood splendidly, he dreaded what kind of a father he’d be.

It came to a head when Frankie was careless after a client. She’d shared some of her own stash with him, and it was stronger than he was used to. She loved it, enjoying his raging libido for well past their hour and tipping him generously. He’d strolled out feeling like a fucking god, still vibrating and full of pent-up energy. He shouldn’t have gone to see Caroline.

She knew right away, could see it in his eyes and the speed of his hands. He tried to kiss her, make her feel as good as he was feeling, and she shoved him off.

“Are you fucking serious, Francisco? You told me you were done, that you would be done for us!” she shouted, so loud it made his head feel split open.

“It was nothing, honey, just a little…” he tried to say, but his fumbling words only made it worse. Her shouting blended into a cacophony of anger and mistrust, further exacerbated when she stepped into his space again.

“Were you…” she says, quieter and with incredulous awe in her voice. “Were you with someone?” Even with Frankie’s brain running at lightspeed he couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough. Caroline’s eyes widened, and the hurt within them haunted Frankie long after.

“Were you fucking some other woman?” she demanded, her voice rising again. “After you swore to me you were all in?” Her voice got warbly and the good feeling he’d been swimming in morphed into anger in Frankie’s chest. It barreled over his common sense.

“It’s not like you even fucking touch me. I was going to give it all up, but it didn’t even seem like you cared if I was here. Never letting me say shit to you. I tried to tell you I loved you and you threw it back at me, said it was just because you were pregnant. How am I supposed to not feel hurt by that?” The words burned as they spilled, pain washing over pain as they both gave in to the repressed emotions they’d been covering with false smiles.

“Why the fuck would I want you to say you loved me if you didn’t?”

“I’m supposed to, you’re carrying my baby. I wanted to say it and you kept throwing it back in my face.”

“What kind of antiquated bullshit is that?”

“You don’t think I cared about you when we were together?”

“Beyond a place to stick your dick when you got high, no.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“No, it’s not, because I barely know you. We fucked around and got in trouble and I should have just told you I’d handle it myself.”

“After you cried to me that you couldn’t do this? How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be here for you and the baby?”

“Telling me you want to help and actually doing what I need you to do are two very different things.”

“I’m trying, I’m just as fucking scared as you are about this!”

“But I’m not snorting my fears, like I asked you not to. You’re just escaping, Francisco, like you want to escape everything in your depressing fucking life.”

“Don’t you dare do that, don’t you throw that shit into my face. I didn’t run away from this.”

“Looks that way to me.”

“I’ve been doing everything I can. I want to give you and the baby everything.”

“Oh yes, all that love you keep talking about. Be really fucking honest with me, Francisco. Do you actually care about me, even just as the mother of your child?”

“What the fuck are you trying to do with this now?”

“It’s a simple fucking question. Do you even like me? Do you even want to be around me?”

“Jesus fuck, no! Is that what you want to hear? No!”

The silence that follows that word cleaves the connection between them. It’s as sharp and final as a bullet to the brain.

“Get out,” is all she manages. He doesn’t try to apologize, or stay. She was right. He was best at escaping.

The next day Frankie called and left a long message for her. He apologized as best as he could and told her that he’ll be there for her as much as she wants him, but he’ll stay away if that’s her preference. She didn't return his call.

The days blurred together for a time after that. A revolving door of scores, clients, fuzzy days spent in the hanger disappearing into himself.

Santi was the first to put his foot down.

“I can’t have you high with clients, Frankie, it’s fucking dangerous for everyone, including me. You get clean or you’re done.”

“Then I’m done,” Frankie spat back, and the pain in Santi’s eyes at this revelation, that wallowing in misery was the preferred choice, made him stalk out of Frankie’s apartment.

The license suspension came soon after. Another pilot caught him rubbing some powder on his gums to get through the day, and the drug test was unavoidable. He stood stoically at his supervisor’s desk as they rattled off the terms of the suspension, the noise barely reaching his ears. Thankfully he was still feeling pleasantly numb, letting the succession of punches he’d been taking roll off his shoulders.

But the wave always crashes. As he was driving home a notification pinged. A sonogram in an email. The text was simple.

It’s a girl.

Santi got called to drag him out of a bar that night. He’d drunk himself blackout, and spilled his feelings, then his guts into Santi’s guest bathroom.

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” Santi said, a firm hand on his shoulder as Frankie heaved into the toilet again. “You shouldn’t have gone through all of that alone.”

“I deserved it,” is all Frankie could manage.

“No, you didn’t.”

It’s what he needed to finally go to a NA meeting.

Frankie threw himself into distractions away from his narrowing thoughts as Caroline’s due date approached. A question hung in the air, making him pull her contact up in his phone over and over.

Do you want me there?

The subtext was clear.

I want to be there.

The call came early in the morning, voice laced with pain.

“Frankie, please come.”

He didn’t take a full breath until he was by her side again.

She let him stay through it all. The pain, the hours of waiting, the birth itself. They talked, more than they had in months, and some of the heartache he’d been feeling lifted. He was clean, finally. He had a baby girl. Caroline wasn’t looking at him like he was a pile of shit. Maybe things could turn back around.

Holding little Rosalie in his arms, it felt possible. Maybe not perfect, but it was what he could have.

Then Santi came to him with a proposition.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve got the new baby now. And my lady isn’t into me doing this kind of shit,” he’d said to Santi. He didn’t want to do it, too many problems and too low in his life. Caroline was an easy excuse, a redirect to politely decline. She wasn’t his girl anymore, most likely never would be, but Santi had to understand what that meant. A life that he’d promised to the mother of his littlest lady. But Santi knew what made Frankie tick. Not just the money, but the purpose and the familiarity of a past life they’d all bled through before. And with that knowledge Santi spoke the words that made Frankie agree.

And Colombia happened.

Frankie’s lips finally stop moving after what feels like an eternity. You’d listened silently to the slow and painful unraveling of his history. It’s a raw, open wound he needs you to look at because he’s been hiding it for too long.

“The relapse made me realize I wasn’t ready to be a good father to Rosalie.” His voice is hoarse from emotion and speaking for so long. You want to get him a drink of water, let him rest, but he’s trying to show you the ugliest part of himself. You have to let him shed it all first.

“It lasted about two weeks while I was still in Colombia. No one knew where I was, or what I was doing. She told me she thought I was dead, and that for a little while she was…relieved.” You tighten your fingers around Frankie’s, showing him without words that life without him would only be crueler.

“She was upset about the relapse, angry at the silence, but eventually she understood. About Tom. And we talked for a long time after that. She left the door open, but with the understanding that I had to be clean to be around Rosalie. And I worked really hard for that. I thought I’d get to the point where I’d feel okay and then I’d just…be her dad.” Frankie’s face flits away from yours, not for the first time tonight. “But the longer I stayed away, the more I came to think that it was better that I did. Caroline’s got a new boyfriend, a good guy. He’s…really great with Rosalie, from the pictures I’ve seen. She’s…really happy.”

Tears are flowing now, and you have to actively stop yourself from crashing into Frankie’s arms. He’s trying to get to a place, to a moment where he can let you in, and you need to be patient. Your hands stroke along his knuckles, trying to bring him back to you.

“It’s her second birthday. I went to her first, and I thought it might kill me, seeing her. But somehow she knew me. Not that I was her dad, but that I wasn’t just some guy. She fell asleep in my arms and I told Caroline I was happy for her. I’m still not a large part of Rosalie’s life, but she’s a part of me, and I’m going to be there for her always.”

Frankie looks back at you, wiping his face roughly. It’s finally your turn. You pause to organize the swirling thoughts in your head and choose the most important words first.

“It’s okay that you didn’t tell me,” you start, and the immediate wave of relief on Frankie’s face belies how difficult of a revelation this was, and how much fear he held going into it. “Am I surprised? Sure, this is a lot. But I’m not mad, or upset. I don’t feel lied to, or tricked or anything like that. This is a part of your life that you weren’t ready to share with me, and it’s complicated. I understand.” Frankie nods briefly, making you shuffle closer to him on the couch. He leans his larger bulk against you, pressing his forehead against your temple.

“Did you tell me because you want to go to her birthday?” you say, trying to draw out the last few worries from Frankie’s mind.

“Yeah, definitely,” he breathes out.

“Were you afraid I’d be upset about you going?” you ask. Frankie pulls back, searching your face.

“Not upset. I, um…I thought about asking you to come. With me. And I knew I had to tell you if you came. It wouldn’t be fair not to. And all that was just…a lot.”

Your brain short circuits for a moment at this confession.

“You want me to…meet your daughter?” you ask. The panic flashes across Frankie’s face again.

“Shit, I literally just dumped this on you, you don’t have to decide that now. And you don’t have to come. It’s not…I’m not going to be getting more involved. Caroline and I decided on that. Jacob’s her dad to her. I’m not getting…joint custody or anything. I just…fuck. I’m fucking this up.” Frankie starts to get up but you pull him back down to you. His eyes are wide and plaintive.

“It’s okay,” you say, even if it all feels exactly not that. But it will be. “I’m okay. It’s an adjustment, but I’m still here Frankie. I’m still with you.” It’s garbled, what you’re trying to convey, but Frankie does seem to understand it. He pulls you into his arms, draping your legs across his lap as he breathes you in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry for waiting so long,” he murmurs into your shoulder. You stroke at his hair, dragging your nails across his scalp.

“I get it. I promise,” you say. You let him calm in your arms, your breathing in tandem. Frankie tucks you under his chin and against his chest.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, placing a soft kiss on his collarbone. He squeezes you a little tighter.

“Thank you for understanding,” he replies, “And for not running for the hills. I really…man, I really fucked that up. Jesus Christ,” he sighs, and you giggle against him for a moment.

“You always keep it interesting, Frankie,” you joke, and a little bit of levity eases the tension.

“And…” you say, Frankie humming to continue, “Tentatively…tentatively…if you asked me to go with you, I’d be okay with that. If it’s okay with her mom, of course.” Frankie’s body goes still under you, and you have to twist up to look at him. His eyes are shining with tears, and gratitude, and so much care. He looks down at you and you’re swallowed up in him.

“I have never loved anyone as much as I love you,” he says, his voice tight. His mouth both crashes and melds into yours, deep passionate kisses that have him laying you out on your back as he seeks refuge in your lips. You return his devotion as he wraps himself around you. Your mouths slow, bodies settling deeper as exhaustion pulls you under.

You wake the next morning still tangled together on the couch, covered in creases and dried drool and tangled hair. Frankie lifts his head up from your neck and groans as his back pops repeatedly. You stroke your fingers through his messy curls as he hazily looks down at you.

“There you are,” you say, and Frankie’s face melts into adoration.

“Hey babe,” he croaks out, “Right where you left me.” You kiss the man you love so dearly, baggage and all.

“Right where you belong.”

END

The story continues in Flight Plan